Supermob

by Gus Russo

  Korshak depicted in the 1978 Report of the California Commission on Organized Crime (California Commission on Organized Crime) hotel and gambling business" before his La Costa, California, investment.

  "The best thing that could happen is that these persons would leave Cal­ifornia," Younger said at the news conference heralding the report's release. Also at the press conference, commission chairman James Glavis noted, "California does not yet have someone sitting as its godfather. Despite popular conceptions to the contrary, organized crime doesn't require a top dog to go about its business . . . There doesn't need to be a godfather if there's a functioning board of directors." Insiders might have called that an apt description of the Supermob.

  The report also noted the vast illegal profits that funneled back to Chicago and elsewhere, which the commission estimated at $6.8 billion per year. The report broke down the dirty profits thus:

  • $4.8 billion worth of gambling, which "provides the greatest amount of gross revenue to syndicated organized crime."

  • $1.3 billion in income from loan-sharking, which is usually closely linked to gambling operations.

  • $500 million worth of crime-related securities thefts and investment frauds (generally known as white-collar crime).

  • $200 million worth of income from pornography, which is used to support other activities, such as prostitution and drug trafficking.44

  The Los Angeles Herald-Examiner weighed in editorially on May 3, 1978, with the header is LOS ANGELES BECOMING A CRIME CAPITAL? The article, which noted Younger's likely political motivation for the report, added, "No doubt he believes that there are votes in looking like a tough-jawed crime-fighter. And he may be right. But whatever his motivation in so closely identifying himself with this report—and perhaps timing its release—the report was long overdue. Perhaps it's not too late for Los Angeles to wake up to what's happening in its own backyard." E. Timothy Applegate, Korshak's liaison at Hilton Hotels, felt it necessary to make a few cursory calls to see if there was any truth to the Korshak allegations. "When Evelle Younger listed Sidney in his crime report, I talked to Frank Johnson [chairman of the Nevada Gaming Commission] and one of the Vegas FBI guys, and they laughed at it," Applegate recently said. "They said Evelle was grandstanding for votes and he didn't have anything other than news articles."45

  A few days later, the man himself, Sidney Korshak, gave a once-in-a-lifetime interview to enterprising Herald-Examiner reporter Mike Quails. "He can put up or shut up," Korshak said of Younger, whom he challenged to either back up the damning allegations or retract them. "I've never been cited, let alone indicted, for anything," Korshak declared. "I've never been called before any bar association. As far as I know, there's never been a complaint against me of any kind . . . What am I charged with? What part of this [organized crime] am I supposed to be?"

  Korshak then pointed out that he had donated $3,000 to Younger's political campaigns in 1970 and 1971, and that, amazingly, as recently as three weeks prior to the report's release, he was asked to contribute to Younger's gubernatorial campaign and to serve on his campaign committee. "I read the letter and threw it away, because I don't serve on any committees," Kor­shak said* For good measure, Korshak added that he now wanted his $3,000 contribution back. "I don't understand how Younger can fail to return that to me by messenger," said Korshak. "But, so far, I haven't received it. If I'm the kind of person he says I am—and I'm not—then I don't think he would want it on his record that he took money from me."

  Korshak then echoed the Herald editorial, charging that the report was "pure, simple, unadulterated politics . . . Here's [a] man who has been attorney general eight years . . . and he never has come up with one indictment against any of the people he speaks about. I guess Younger saw his ratings slipping, because the report was released simultaneously with a poll showing [former police chief Ed] Davis forging ahead of him^ I imagine he thought he would revitalize his campaign with this type of sensationalism."

  Then, in a rare display of vulnerability, Korshak said, "The damage this has caused me is irreparable, because what can I do to combat it?" Korshak ended the interview by saying, "Someday I hope I have a confrontation with Younger, and I can ask him, 'Why me? What was your purpose?' "46

  The canny Korshak was correct in his assessment of Younger's controversial history, and especially accurate in his reference to the AG's limp prosecutorial record. In 1970, the year before he had taken office, there had been thirty-one organized crime prosecutions, but in the seven years following, Younger had overseen none. Thus, it was widely perceived that the report was a feint, aimed, just as Korshak said, at getting votes. In fact, Younger's "soft on crime" history led some to believe he had a personal interest in giving hoods a free ride in California. In his previous post as L.A. district attorney, Younger had quashed a subpoena for his files on Moe Morton when Morton had filed a civil suit against Hollywood Park for barring him from the track (all other agencies—L.A. police, L.A. sheriff, and U.S. marshal—had promptly delivered their files). However, insiders had a good guess as to why Younger might be sensitive about Morton. A decade earlier, a Los Angeles superior court judge had to recuse himself from a hearing involving Morton when it was revealed that he had met Morton—thanks to an introduction by Younger at Sid Korshak and Moe Morton's notorious Acapulco Towers, where, according to a former L.A. FBI agent, Younger had received a briefcase containing $50,000, delivered by messenger from Sam Giancana, then living in Mexico.47 Interestingly, in February 1969, Younger had been among a group on Marvin Whitman's private plane to Mexico, where it was suspected that he had stayed at Morton's Acapulco Towers. Among the other thirty-four passengers were Paul and Micki Ziffren, and Al and Viola Hart.48

  But there was more. In 1967, when the FBI had busted the Beverly Hills Friars Club card-cheating scheme orchestrated by Maurice Friedman, DA Younger had failed to cooperate with the Bureau, prompting FBI agent Wayne Hill, who investigated the case, to remark, "There was an attempt [by Younger's office] to put pressure on us to pull in our horns." In fact, in 1967, Younger had written a letter on Friedman's behalf to the Nevada Gaming Commission to help him obtain a gambling license for Vegas' Frontier Hotel and Casino, where he fronted for the Detroit Mafia. Friedman later bragged about how he had bribed someone in the DA's office with $2,000 for the letter. Worse still, soon afterward, Younger was Friedman's personal guest at the Frontier.

  Thus it came as no surprise when Younger and his AG office were frozen out of an ongoing federal probe into possible political corruption in California. It was rumored that federal authorities were holding Younger at arm's length due to his acceptance of Korshak's $3,000 contribution to his election.49

  The entire series of accusations made Korshak a virtual behind-the-scenes campaign issue, with the Democrats hitting Younger for his ties to Kor­shak's partner Morton, and the Republicans excoriating Brown for his association with the Korshak-influenced Culinary Workers Union.

  Ira Silverman had heard enough. As NBC News' top investigative producer, Silverman decided it was time for a major broadcast network to follow up on the tireless work of the print journalists who had been dogging Korshak and friends over the decades. Silverman convinced his superiors at NBCNightly News and his on-air reporting partner Brian Ross to pursue not only Korshak, but also the murky history of organized crime's link to the movie business. "Ira Silverman was the main guy—he moved heaven and earth for that show," Ross recently recalled.50 At the time, Ross was the hottest, and arguably the most talented, reporter at the major networks. He had joined NBC News as a correspondent in 1976, and soon after, his five-part series on the Teamsters won both the 1976 Sigma Delta Chi Award and a National Headliner Award. In 1977, he had won a National Headliner Award for a five-part study of organized crime in the United States.

  After weeks of investigation, the duo parceled the story, to be called "The Mob and the Movies," into three segments. Part one dealt with Teamster extortion of the studios on films such a
s Dino DeLaurentiis's The Brink'sJob, in which Korshak had played such a key role (see chapter 18). Ross and Silverman named the Mafia bosses who were the focus of a Boston grand jury probe into the scheme and also interviewed both DeLaurentiis, who said the payoffs to the Teamsters cost the production an extra $1 million, and the overprotective head of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), Jack Valenti, who warned Ross about the dangers of singling out his precious movie business for corruption charges. For his part, DA John Van DeKamp assured Ross that he was looking into movie corruption.

  Part two of the series focused squarely on Korshak, whom Ross introduced as "the most powerful man in Hollywood . . . [and] believed by law enforcement to be the senior adviser to organized crime bosses, looking out for the mob's interests in Nevada and California." They were drawn to Kor­shak after learning that his friend Lew Wasserman's Universal Studios was the only major in town to have never suffered a labor walkout "because they had Korshak."

  "We had this great stakeout for two weeks at the Bistro's Table Three," Ross recently recalled. He and Silverman utilized every technique available to observe their mark: helicopter flyovers of the Chalon manse, off-the-record sources, surveillance cameras across from the Bistro, and even a courtroom sketch artist who drew Sidney from the next table. Ross elaborated:

  We did some long stakeouts at the Bistro, which served as his office. At the corner table he had this trunk line of phones—a four- or five-line phone, right there, like an office phone. When we went into the Bistro with a sketch artist from NBC, he sort of became afraid. He started showing up in a zoot suit.

  We had a van across the street and saw him coming out the front door with Andy Anderson, who was picking lint off of Korshak's jacket. The body language was one of subservience. The maitre d' told Sidney about the camera crew outside and he tried to hide behind a screen and look out for us saying, "Where are they?"

  We saw Gregory Peck there with Sidney. Peck was trying to get labor support for [son] Cary Peck to run for Congress. It was an incredible scene. Everyone came and paid homage to him.

  Ross and Silverman's hidden cameras trailed Korshak as he walked between the Bistro and DeLaurentiis's office, steps away on Canon, or to his "secret office" at the Riviera's headquarters two blocks away on Wilshire. DeLaurentiis's assistant Fred Sidewater remembered the occasion: "Sid actually came to my office a few times, using the door that connected from the street. One time Brian Ross used a hidden camera and snapped a picture of him talking to Swifty Lazar on the street, then walking into my office, trying to expose him."51 Korshak's walks rang familiar with Silverman. "Sidney would 'take a walk,' much like the boys in New York do," remembered Sil­verman. "We got footage of him coming out of the Riviera office with George Raft."

  The investigators' sources provided them with Wasserman's phone logs, which evidenced the closeness of the relationship between Korshak and the strike-immune studio boss. "The logs showed that Lew Wasserman began and ended every day with phone calls to Korshak," said Ross, "with numerous phone calls in between. Every day." With the Ross-Silverman work on the Korshak-Wasserman-Xmg Kong negotiations tightly held, there was great surprise when they received advice from an NBC talent, who was not then even part of Nightly News. In a recent e-mail correspondence, Silver-man wrote at length about the working climate:

  In my years [as an investigative reporter], there were very few outright threats. The pressure was usually much more subtle. An intermediary would come to you with a strong suggestion not to do such and such a story. You would be told, "Let somebody else do this story." That kind of thing. In working the Korshak-Wasserman connection, a federal agent I was talking with at the time predicted that an attempt would be made to get me to back off. "You're going to get a visit," the agent said.

  Sure enough, Brian and I did get a visit. The visitor, a very prominent person, said, in a very pointed way, "If you're working Lew, you better be right." I said, "If we're working anybody, we better be right." And then I asked this person if his visit had been prompted by a call from Wasserman. He said it wasn't Wasserman, but someone very close to Wasserman.

  No threat. Just a visit. But, the message had been delivered just as the federal agent, a veteran of organized crime investigations in L.A., said it would be.52

  In a recent interview, Ross was less circumspect about the identity of the well-known visitor: "I remember Tom Brokaw, who was on the Today show then, came to Ira and me and said, 'Well, I just advise you to be careful.' I don't know what that meant, but he had obviously gotten a call from Wasserman. Brokaw had worked in Burbank as a local anchorman and knew the Wassermans. They were socially and politically powerful people. It was not that we were dealing with Korshak but with Wasserman, and people were very protective of Wasserman. MCA supplied a lot of product to NBC." Whether or not Brokaw carried a message from Wasserman's quarter or was merely voicing personal concern over the importance of journalistic accuracy cannot be known. But the power of Lew Wasserman was undeniable.

  Ross next confronted DeLaurentiis, who, with his power attorney Richard Ben-Veniste at his side just off-camera, emphatically denied Korshak's role in the King Kong production detente. Then Ross advised him that NBC had obtained Wasserman's testimony from one of the Kong lawsuits, wherein Wasserman described the powwow with Dino at Sidney's home. As aired nationally, DeLaurentiis is seen taking a long pause, then finally fessing up, "Oh, I remember now."

  "That was a great moment," Ross remembered with a laugh. "You can see the man thinking to himself, 'What do I d o ? ' " DeLaurentiis later told NBC about the $30,000 payment to Korshak, but not the new Ferrari.

  The segment closed with a classic, cameras-rolling ambush of Korshak on the street outside the Riviera's office. Ross continually pointed the microphone in Korshak's face, asking for an interview, while Korshak's path changed directions a number of times in an attempt to shake off his pursuer.

  Ross: "Can we talk with you for just a minute?"

  KORSHAK: "No, you can't!"

  ROSS: "We just want to ask a couple questions."

  KORSHAK: "Will you quit pestering me?"

  ROSS: "We're not pestering you, we just want to ask—"

  KORSHAK (Aggressively Jabbing His Hand Toward Ross): "You're not going to ask me any questions. Now, good-bye.53

  With that, Korshak walked away. "He was like an old man with a lisp, not intimidating," said Ross. "He was a scared old man. As far as we knew, this had never happened to him before. He probably imagined a thousand things we could be asking about that we weren't even aware of."

  The final episode described how many producers tried to persuade their guild to join the Teamsters, essentially capitulating because the entire industry was "swimming in a pool of corruption" anyway. Pro-Teamster producer John Mantley noted, "The Teamsters can stop this industry to­morrow." In closing, Ross reported how Columbia chief David Begelman had recently pleaded no contest to a charge of stealing $40,000 from his own studio—for which he was rewarded with the producing gig for the film version of the Broadway musical Annie. "So far," Ross narrated with no small amount of sarcasm, "there are few signs that Hollywood is ready to clean up its act."

  What neither Ross nor the gullible pro-Teamster producers were aware of was that the FBI had a high-level Teamster informant who told them the true purpose of the organizing drive: "Source indicated that organized crime wanted the producers guild to join the Teamsters Union as it would be possible from then on to exert pressure through Teamster leaders and connections to launder funds through film production."54

  After the show aired on December 13, 14, and 15, 1978, Ross heard from one of the many law enforcement officials who traditionally gave Korshak's ilk a pass. "The Los Angeles DA, John Van DeKamp, inquired as to whether we should be prosecuted for obtaining Wasserman's phone logs," Ross recalled. As to Van DeKamp's own probe into shady Hollywood, like other Los Angeles DAs, his office made a few "show busts" that focused only on the mob's connection to pornographe
rs, steering clear of the major studios' links to the Teamsters, the curious studio associations with the likes of Michele Sindona and Dino Conte, Universal's offshore tax "avoidance" schemes engineered by Korshak, or showbiz investments by Eastern crime bosses. In Boston, a federal grand jury found that the Universal production had paid local bosses Ralph Lamatina and Joseph "Joe Shoes" Cammoratta for their help in persuading North End residents to "cooperate" with the crew of The Brink's Job, yet their studio Supermob contacts remained predictably untouched.55

  Of course, the program had zero effect on Korshak's legal status or lifestyle, although he displayed some concern over another possible effect of the reports. "Sidney was very angry over the Brian Ross program," said lawyer friend Leo Geffner, "mostly because his grandchildren were watching television. That was his main concern. The rest he sort of shrugged off."56

  The NBC-Universal love affair that had started in the fifties (see chapter 10) was consummated when the two entities merged in May 2004, becoming NBC-Universal (a subsidiary of GE), the fifth-largest media conglomerate on the planet* It was thus virtually assured that NBC would never bother Universal again.

  NBC's absolution of Universal did not, however, extend to Sid Korshak. Six months after the "Mob and the Movies" series, Ross and Silverman went right back at Korshak, with a one-parter on Korshak's most recent adventures with Hollywood Park racetrack, tied to his twenty-year feud with Marge Everett, now a board member of the track. The situation was notable because Korshak had previously represented the track in labor talks, until Everett fired him in 1973. Now, according to Ross's sources, Korshak, whose client the Service Employees Union had called strikes against the track to protest the installation of new betting computers, was actually trying to pave the way for an organized crime takeover of the facility. When "The Hollywood Park Story" aired on June 19, 1979, Ross noted, "Korshak was believed to represent Chicago mob interests on the West Coast."