by Joe Corso
Two months later on June 6, 1962, Profaci died of liver cancer. A man by the name of Magliocco succeeded him as head of the family.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Red had been so busy with handling the Profaci situation and putting things in order that he never noticed how long it was that Lt. Creighton didn’t show up for his monthly envelope. Punctuality was something engrained from the force. It wasn’t like him to miss five paydays in a row. One or two but not five. Creighton enjoyed his visits to the club. He liked bantering with the guys, shooting the breeze, drinking espresso and chatting with Red. The Lieutenant would catch Red up on the latest scuttlebutt at the precinct. The cops at the precinct liked Red. If any of them needed a place for their kids, christenings or bar mitzvahs, they called Red and he offered the use of The Starlight Club. It was common knowledge that Red was connected, but Red was normally low key and he was always accessible. Creighton normally handled any potential problems before word reached the Precinct.
Red’s thoughts at the moment were focused on the five envelopes he held in his hand. Curious, he called the 110th precinct.
The desk sergeant answered. “110th Precinct, Sgt. Logan speaking. How can I help you?”
Red knew the man. “Sarge, it‘s Red from The Starlight Club. How are you?”
“Fine, Red. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Lt Creighton. I haven’t seen him for a while. Thought someone there might let me know what’s up. ”
There was silence for a moment then the sergeant asked, “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Creighton has cancer, he’s dying. The department put him on terminal leave.”
“Christ, no one told me. I wish I would have known. You say he’s at home?”
“Yep, give him a call. I know he’d like to hear from you.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks Sarge.” Creighton was a greedy son of a bitch but he was also a loyal stand up guy. Red hung up the phone and said to Trenchie, “Come on, let’s take a ride. I wanna go see Creighton.”
Creighton lived way above his means in a large home in Rego Park, Queens. Red knew that he could never afford this life style without Red’s monthly envelope. Still, it was worth it. Creighton was reliable. Trenchie and Red rang the bell. The door opened to a slight woman, around fifty, with bloodshot eyes. It appeared she had been crying. She did not recognize the men standing before her.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?” Red explained to her that they were friends of George’s and asked to see him.
Just then a voice boomed out. “Over here Red, I’m by the window.” Creighton’s voice sounded strong. Red wondered if the sergeant had exaggerated a bit but what he saw was clearly no embellishment. When they walked into the room they were shocked at how emaciated he was sitting in a wheel chair by the window with a blanket over his legs. The two men were looking at a living skeleton. “How ya doing George?”
“Doing just fine,” he said. “I’m comin’ along, taking it a day at a time. What’s new with you guys?”
They had to give the guy credit, he had guts. Red lied and told him. “We dropped by to invite you to a wedding.”
“Yeah? Who’s getting’ married?”
“Remember Jimmy The Hat?”
“I do. Is he the one getting married?”
“No, but Trenchie here is. I don’t know if you heard, but Jimmy’s a movie star now.”
“No kiddin’ - Jimmy a movie star. Well can you beat that? I’ve been wasting away in this wheelchair looking out the window for the past few months, so I’m not really up on current events like I normally would be. But I sure would like to make the wedding if for nothin’ else than to hang out with you guys. Then you could tell me all about how Jimmy the Hat became a movie star. Well we’ll see how I feel, and if I can make it, I will.”
Trenchie thought how he’d be lucky he’d be to make it till the end of the month. As they were about to leave, Creighton motioned for Red to come near him. All the talking was sapping his strength fast. He pulled Red close and whispered in his ear, “In my jacket.” With a shaky finger, he pointed to a jacket laying over the sofa. “Look in the pocket. I’ve been carrying it around for a while now. I didn’t have a chance to give it to you before, but I’m glad you’re here. Take it. It’s the name and phone number of a friend, my replacement. I told him about the arrangement we have and if I don’t make it, and it looks like I’m not, he’ll handle any problem that might come up just like I did. He’s a good man, dependable, he’ll do a good job for you. Give him a call and introduce yourself. Tell him Creighton said to call.”
“Thanks George,” Red replied as he held up the paper with the number showing so Creighton could see that he had it. “It was nice of you to think of all this, going through what you are.” After about an hour of catching up, talking about really nothing, Red and Trenchie said their goodbyes. It would be his last conversation with Creighton.
On the drive back, Red mentioned to Trenchie that Creighton had given him a contact on the force, but since he didn’t know the guy, he was going to use Doc until he could put out some feelers on the cop.
Doc Lamb was an interesting character, and completely legitimate. He was called Doc not because he had any medical knowledge, but because he could fix just about anything. He was the neighborhood Captain. He earned his money by doing favors for people - favors that ranged from fixing a traffic ticket to getting someone out of jail when no one else could. Everyone in Corona knew Doc from gangsters looking to get a better deal on a prison sentence, a mother whose son got into some trouble, to someone just looking for a job. Judges, gangsters - it didn’t matter because whatever the problem, Doc seemed to find a means to make it go away or at least make it more palatable.
Doc didn’t come around once a month for any envelope and he wasn’t on any one person’s payroll. He just did favors for people but he expected to be paid for those favors. That was how he survived. Once a sanitation man was fired on a Friday by a supervisor drunk with power. By Saturday morning, the terminated employee was sitting with Doc. On Sunday morning, Doc (the man who had helped him get his job in the first place), the employee and Commissioner Mullrane had a meeting. Monday morning, the man was back at work. Meanwhile, the supervisor received a commissioner’s letter of admonition. On another time, a teamster delegate was arrested for beating his wife. While in jail, no one could get him out on bail, not even the popular union president who attempted to called in many a favor. As a last resort, it was suggested that there was a man who might be able to help. Doc made one phone call and within the hour, the teamster was released.
At present, Red had no need for Doc’s services, but he knew he could count on him if he did. Their relationship was longstanding, since childhood. Red thought back to the time when Doc’s son, Tommy died a hero. A B-29 pilot, he had volunteered for a suicide mission bombing the Pulaski oil fields in Romania, during the second world war. Doc’s son had been arrested 13 times as a kid, for minor infractions, and never once had the key turned on him, thanks to doc, but a negative should never have dwelled on his past problems with the law. It infuriated Doc that his youth overshadowed the man he had become. He had died in flames in the belly turret of the bomber but the author mentioned nothing of posthumously receiving the nation’s second highest medal, The Distinguished Service Cross. The article went on to mention how Doc’s grandson had been arrested in a bar fight and it described in detail how he spent the night in jail. “Like father like son,” the article said. Doc was shaken and in tears as he explained all of this to Red.
“This was a nothing rap,” he said while sipping a scotch to steady his nerves. “All his mother had to do was to call me and nothing would have happened to my grandson.” But the mother was estranged from Doc, for reasons only he knew. And it angered Doc that someone could be so vile as to demean a war hero in the newspaper. That day, Doc visited the paper’s main office holding a copy of the paper unde
r his arm. He approached the front desk and asked the receptionist to see the man who wrote today’s editorial. She pointed to a row of chairs lined against the wall and asked him to have a seat until the writer got off the phone. A few minutes passed, before the receptionist asked Doc to follow her, leading him down a long corridor past numerous shoebox cubicles and stalls, filled with workers crammed like sardines. They arrived at a divvy little office surrounded by four walls direly in need of a paint job. Doc wondered how anyone could spend their life working in a room like this staring at these walls with no windows to look out of. As he studied the room, he wondered if this depressing place was the reason why the man never had anything nice to say in his editorials. Maybe this was the source of his negativity.
The receptionist introduced Doc to John Byron, the author of the article. Doc watched the door close behind her as she left and he waited until he heard the satisfying click of the door rasp settling into the door jam. Doc turned to the man and asked him politely if he was the one who had written the article, holding up the paper to show him. “Yes,” he said, “I wrote it.” Doc thanked him and then hit him square over the head with the newspaper that was wrapped around a pipe, knocking him senseless. Doc glanced at him lying sprawled across his desk unconscious, uttered “too bad” and unceremoniously walked out of the room, leaving the building still holding the newspaper under his arm. Odd how, when the man was released from the hospital, his editorials seemed more balanced than before.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jimmy completed The Breaking Point and the studio had already decided to release it prior to Mob Hit Man. The story was about a man who returns home from the war, marries his sweetheart and buys a fishing boat with a G.I. Loan. The boat is heavily financed and while he works hard to make the payments, he is consistently late and falls steadily behind. The finance company warns of repossession if late payments aren’t reconciled. The lead character borrows money from some shady characters, who unbeknownst to him, are planning a robbery. Jimmy wore a mustache for the part to make him look older, making him look a lot like Douglas Fairbanks Jr. The movie was yet another hit for Bernstein and his studio.
Bernstein knew that Jimmy was leaving in June to attend a wedding so he hastened to assign Jimmy his next lead role - this one a romantic action comedy, a different type of character for Jimmy. The studio was taking a calculated risk as it would be released between The Breaking Point and Mob Hit Man. This, Bernstein rationalized, was an opportunity to expand Jimmy’s image and range. It was a gamble and could hurt Mob Hit Man, but Jimmy was the hottest thing going for Bernstein and if he could spread his acting wings, the sky was the limit for the studio. The picture was a takeoff of the Cary Grant picture To Catch a Thief and was named To Love a Thief. The question remained if Jimmy could pull off this part successfully.
To Love a Thief was being shot jointly in Monte Carlo and the Italian Riviera. Jimmy’s part was shot in three weeks - the rest of the film would take another three weeks to complete before going into post production. With a clear conscience, Jimmy was free to leave for New York.
There was just one last piece of business to complete before heading out two days later - an interview on the Joe Franklin Show, WOR-TV, which was being televised from California before a live audience. The nature of the interview was to be the discussion and promotion of The Breaking Point. The host, Franklin, knew a good interview when he nabbed it. James Roman was an opportunity for high ratings. Franklin’s reputation was that of a solid interviewer with the distinction of being easy on his guests.
The interview started amiably enough with the usual talk about Jimmy’s success and his runaway hit movie. As minutes progressed, and with his guest comfortable, out of nowhere Franklin shot a loaded question. “James, is it true that you were known as Jimmy the Hat and you associated with many questionable and even disreputable characters when you were living in New York?” Jimmy was clearly taken back by the question, but being a pro at this stuff by now, he restrained any signs of anger or surprise. Jimmy smiled his ingratiating smile and answered Franklin’s question directly, yet amiably. “Joe, I love hats and I wore a different hat every day and because of that, my friends began to call me Jimmy the Hat and the name stuck. I don’t wear hats any longer because the studio feels it doesn’t go well with my image, but to tell you the truth I really miss my hats.”
And from there, the barrage of questions continued. “What about your friends? Some of them I’m told are rather disreputable.” “Do you still see them?” “What do they do for a living?”
Jimmy smiled and looked directly into the camera asking the living room and live audiences, “Would you ever turn your back on the friends you grew up with? Nah, I don’t think so.” He continued, “You know, Joe, I grew up on the mean streets of New York City - the school of hard knocks - and some of my friends went on to become champion boxers, others successful businessmen and still others, presidents of various unions. And, yes, some had records, but I never judge anybody by their past. I just judge them by how they treat me and others.” The audience ate it up. The audience loved the honest way he communicated, the quick, deliberate responses and his unrattling nature. The live audience applauded him enthusiastically for his candor.
“I hope I answered your questions to your satisfaction, Joe. Do you have any other questions for me?”
Franklin knew where to draw the line and simply responded, “James, I’m impressed by your frankness and I want you to know that my good friend George Raft told me that you remind him of himself when he was your age, and he said he’s impressed, as well, with your screen presence. But why am I telling you this when he could do a much better job of telling you himself? George, will you please come out here and say hello to James Roman?
Raft, dressed impeccably as was his signature style, glided onto the studio stage, dapper presence and all and embraced the young star. Almost immediately, they began to chat comfortably, practically forgetting that cameras were trained on them. They smiled, exchanged on-set stories and the audience was clearly part of something special - two superstars, each from a different generation, with so much in common. Joe Franklin registered the highest ratings of any show he’d ever taped.
The two movie stars continued their conversation off stage and into a local, upscale bar. There were similarities - their backgrounds, friends of friends who knew each other, friends of “the boys” and the feeling was as though they had known each other for years. Raft knew Owney Madden and Roman had Big Red.
Jimmy was intrigued with Raft. He was like one of the guys back home. Raft was the guy who had loaned Bugsy Siegel a quarter of a million dollars a week before he was killed and Jimmy related to that - it was something that he would do himself. Before he knew it, Jimmy was asking about Raft’s schedule and extending an invitation for him to fly to New York to meet some of the guys and attend a wedding. Raft candidly explained to Jimmy that the phone calls had dried up a bit - his agent hadn’t been bringing in projects and that, unfortunately, he had more free time on his hands than he would like. There was something else - Raft was having some tax issues.
“Come out with me to New York, go to the wedding and don’t worry about the expenses. It’s on me,” Jimmy stated.
At the bar’s booth, they sat chatting, completely oblivious to the hoards of mounting patrons trying to inch closer to the two men, pausing only briefly for a photo with the owner of the bar.
With the onlookers hanging on their every word, Jimmy insisted that Raft join him for dinner at his home - where it was private - and called Shorty Davis to invite him over, as well. Moose was almost dumbfoundedly speechless when Jimmy and Moose’s favorite actor walked through the door. Unbelievable, he thought, and now they were all going to eat together? This was nuts.
The four men reminisced about old pals, growing up in New York, favorite restaurants and everything else in between. Raft opened up, showing his vulnerable side. He expressed how he had many times wished that he’d ha
d a mentor when he broke into movies, explaining that he’d had no education and felt out of place among the erudite elite of Hollywood. His insecurities were often misinterpreted at parties and glitzy galas, he said, as he was simply too afraid to talk for fear of sounding foolish. The word around town was that he was sullen, but here at Jimmy’s with Shorty and Moose and The Hat, he was gregarious and comfortable. He lamented about the roles he should have accepted, roles that had made Bogart a star and roles that were perfect for him, but he had never had proper guidance - someone advising him along the way. This was the reason his stardom waned in the 40’s, he believed. Raft cautioned Jimmy about making that mistake, advising him to solicit Big Red’s advice when it came to career decisions.
“If you need to kick something around, call me, too. At this stage of my life I made all the mistakes a guy can make in this business. I’ll be happy to listen, to help ya out as well.” The evening ended with an exchange of phone numbers and the promise to finalize the details of the New York trip the following morning.
And the upscale bar, well, the owner’s photo with the two stars made its way to the bar’s matchbooks, napkins and menus, making it look as if this was ‘the hangout’ for the two megastars. The bar became an overnight, wait-in-line, success.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Wednesday, June 13, 1962
The car arrived around seven thirty in the morning. The driver rang the doorbell and opened the trunk in preparation for his passenger’s luggage. With the luggage safely stored in the trunk and the group seated comfortably inside, the stretch limousine left Mulholland Drive, heading south into the Cahuenga Pass and down Highland Avenue to LAX. The men, their first class tickets tucked safely inside their jacket pockets, were in an upbeat mood looking forward to their flight into New York’s Idlewild Airport. The trip was for the express purpose of attending Trenchie and Mary’s wedding. The gang back east was some of George Raft’s most devoted fans. Mary and Trenchie were no exception - they adored the movie star as well. This was Jimmy’s surprise, his special wedding gift to his ole friend, Trench.