by Sally Denton
He divorced his wife, Ellie; bought and sold his share of the Boston Celtics basketball team; spent most of the 1970s living a playboy gambler’s life, jetting between Miami and Las Vegas; and wooed and won the heart of a former Miss America-turned-sports reporter.
Married on St. Patrick’s Day 1979 in Manhattan by Norman Vincent “The Power of Positive Thinking” Peale, the wedding of John
Y. Brown and Phyllis George was a media extravaganza. Guests, including Walter Cronkite, Eunice Shriver, Milton Berle, and Bert
Parks, heard Andy Williams croon “Just the Way You Are” to the blissful couple. On their honeymoon night, they romantically talked of their future together, making a joint decision that John Y. would jump into the Kentucky governor’s race. The primary election was but two months away, but the newlyweds were undaunted: Between them, they had money, name recognition, charisma, energy, naiveté, and a born-again sense of righteous enthusiasm. Already, their sights were set higher—first governor, then senator, then…president?
Their first date had been two years earlier, in Los Angeles. Accompanied by sports commentator Howard Cosell and actor Warren Beatty, John Y. felt instant “chemistry” between himself and Phyllis George. But it was apparently one-sided, as Phyllis met and married Hollywood producer Robert Evans shortly thereafter—a disastrous marriage that ended in a quick divorce. In January 1979, John
Y. and Phyllis became reacquainted when she agreed to appear at a pro-celebrity tennis tournament at a glittery Florida resort John Y. owned.
“We were sitting out by the ocean,” John Y. told the Kentucky Post newspaper. “We talked about everything. I couldn’t believe she was so intelligent and interesting. Oh, I mean, we talked about our careers, how fortunate we’d been with me making money with Kentucky Fried Chicken and she winning the Miss America title. She was interested in politics. And of course I’d always been interested in politics. And we were both involved in sports. Why, I didn’t know an old fellow my age could fall in love.”
He proposed to her that night.
“The voters were star-struck,” Ralph recalled. “They didn’t know what hit ‘em.”
The glitzy campaign attracted the attention of the national media, prompting profiles of the political partners. “With his-and-her matching dimples, they are handsome enough to have inspired The
Candidate. In public, at every opportunity, they snuggle, bill and coo, hold hands, cuddle, kiss,” the Washington Post reported. “She sits in his lap at receptions and he says, ‘I’m in LO-OVE.’ When a taciturn man at a reception in Paducah grumbles, ‘Y’all look like you’re on a damn honeymoon,’ George pats Brown on the cheek and says, ‘We are.’”
Asked if their eyes were on the White House, John Y. told the Washington Post: “I would need a lot of experience before I could get into something like running for the presidency. But I certainly feel well-qualified, with my background.”
The whirlwind campaign was devoid of specific issues. Draped in thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and diamonds, Phyllis announced to the voters that she was “shocked” upon learning of corruption in Kentucky politics. John Y. vowed to clean up crooked government, and run the state like a business.
“Most governors don’t have the background to manage,” he told the Wall Street Journal. “I do. Perhaps the colonel said it best: Once a chicken man always a chicken man.”
Former Governor Louie Nunn, John Y.’s Republican opponent, hired a private detective in Florida to conduct “opposition research” for the campaign. The investigator, a retired FBI agent, reported his findings to Nunn, who then leaked them to the press.
Nunn claimed to find “a lot of evidence of Browia’s association with illegal bookmakers, drug dealers, and La Cosa Nostra (LCN) figures in Las Vegas and Miami,” but Nunn had trouble conveying the significance of John Y.’s involvement with notorious criminals.
John Y. downplayed the magnitude of the charges, and the statewide media chose to focus upon his fast-lane lifestyle—criticism easily deflected in blueblooded horse country. A headline in the Louisville Times read—JOHN Y. BROWN JR.: HIGH STAKES GAMBLER OR SOCIAL BETTOR? Responding to reports that he had wagered more than a million dollars at the Paul Hornung Golf
Tournament at the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas in 1976, that he had bet more than half a million dollars in a poker game, and that he routinely bet twenty-five thousand dollars on sporting events, John Y. denied all charges. He claimed he had never been associated with bookmakers, that he had had no relationship with the Perlman brothers since his purchase of Lums in 1971, that he visited Las Vegas infrequently, and that he had never bet twenty-five thousand dollars on any sporting event.
At the height of the campaign, Nunn disseminated a report entitled “Operation Uncover,” which questioned the credibility of a “multimillionaire playboy who decided on his wedding night to run for Governor, whose high-rolling lifestyle places him far above the concerns of mere working people. We are not talking about social gambling and not pari-mutuel gambling, which pays taxes. What we are talking about is casino and bookie gambling which many times cheats Uncle Sam and the state out of taxes…John Young Brown, Jr. is representative of a very, very few people. He lives in another world. A world of jet airplanes, helicopters, yachts, roman palaces like Caesars, palatial privately-owned ‘fun clubs’ with rooms ‘exotically decorated in harem motifs with waterbeds, whirlpools and sunken baths.’”
Targeting the Bible-thumping Baptist constituents of Kentucky’s rural counties, Nunn blanketed the state with copies of his report.
John Y. dismissed the allegations as the whining of a desperate man. Aware of Kentuckians’ traditional acceptance of wagering, John
Y. admitted that as a young man he had done his fair share of low-stakes social betting-horse races and such—and that as a millionaire he had met a lot of exciting people whose backgrounds he didn’t question. But that was all behind him, he assured the voters, who apparently believed him. Three million dollars and six months later, John Y. Brown, Jr., was elected governor of Kentucky.
The state police Intelligence detectives under Ralph’s direction continued probing John Y.’s background even after he became governor.
Ralph’s preliminary fact-finding mission had merely whetted his appetite for more knowledge about the flamboyant playboy who was now king of the state.
Ralph’s investigators uncovered four areas he thought worthy of closer scrutiny: John Y.’s 1977 purchase of a Florida tennis and yacht resort notorious for its previous ownership by major organized crime figures, which was frequented by Drew Thornton and Bradley Bryant; the conviction of one of John Y.’s trusted campaign employees on charges of importing ninety thousand pounds of marijuana into the United States; the appearance of John Y.’s name in the possession of Gil “The Brain” Beckley—a lay-off bookie and racketeer famous for accepting large sporting bets from the world’s wealthiest wagerers; and John Y.’s close relationship with Caesars owners Cliff and Stu Perlman, who were under federal investigation for their business dealings with associates of organized crime boss Meyer Lansky.
Realizing that most of the information on John Y. seemed to be centered in Florida, Ralph decided to take a trip to Fort Lauderdale. He paid a visit to his friends; in the FBI and the Florida Department of Law Enforcement (FDLE), who provided access to their investigative files. Ralph toured Le Club—the posh resort John Y. had owned located on the intracoastal waterway. Featuring waterbeds and suites of desire, tennis courts and yacht docks, thatched roofs and a gaudy discotheque, Le Club had apparently been John Y.’s center of social activity for the couple of years that he owned it. He had enlisted famous friends to sit on the board of directors, including actor Warren Beatty, singer Andy Williams, and former Green Bay Packer Paul “Golden Boy” Hornung. The mobster hideout had also become known as a place frequented by high-class prostitutes who catered to
the jet set.
Police had long kept an eye on Le Club. Although it had changed hands several times, many of the same notorious individuals continued to visit while it was owned by John Y., including members of the Carlo Gambino and Lansky crime families. Police were convinced that John Y. had purchased Le Club in anticipation of legalized gambling in Florida, and when gambling was defeated in the state’s 1978 election, John Y. sold the complex.
In 1979 Ralph considered Le Club significant, even though John Y. had sold it a year earlier, because its reputation and the notorious criminals who frequented the joint didn’t vary, even with the change of ownership.
In effect, Le Club seemed to both Ralph and the Feds to be a regular meeting place for organized-crime figures—before, during, and after John Y.’s proprietorship.
Coupled with John Y. ‘s close relationship with the Perlmans, whose ties to the Lansky syndicate were under scrutiny, Ralph saw John Y.’s ownership of Le Club as further indication of his routine hobnobbing with mobsters.
He began to inform the FBI of his findings since it was really that federal agency that monitored relationships between public officials and criminal elements.
Ralph was especially interested in John Y.’s sixty-five-foot yacht, named The Boat, which he had kept docked at Le Club. The captain of The Boat was a Kentucky native named James Glenn Gibson, who had held a responsible position in John Y.’s campaign.
“Brown did everything he could to keep Gibson out of jail,” a U.S. Customs agent later said, referring to Gibson’s 1975 marijuana bust. The bust had been the largest marijuana seizure in the history of the DEA at that time. Indicted on federal charges of smuggling nearly fifty tons of marijuana from the Bahamas into Florida, Gibson was convicted and received a four-year sentence. But Brown exerted considerable political pressure to get Gibson’s sentence reduced. Although Gibson’s rap sheet indicated a history of robbery convictions dating as far back as 1951, Brown intervened with a federal judge, a congressman, and federal prison authorities to beg for leniency in Gibson’s criminal case.
He implored Florida Representative Claude Pepper to pull the necessary strings to have Gibson transferred to a minimum-security facility in Florida. He then dispatched a letter to U.S. Judge Charles Fulton, pleading that favoritism be shown Gibson because “no hard drugs” were involved in his arrest.
“I was aware of his pending sentence when I employed him [in 1976],” Brown wrote to the U.S. Parole Board. “During this period of time I had close personal contact with Jim. He was totally responsible for the operation and maintenance of The Boat (for me personally and also in connection with charter trips for Le Club.) In this capacity he was entrusted with substantial sums of cash, as well as unsupervised access to credit in my name… During vacation periods I also entrusted Jim with chaperoning my three children, ages 11 to 14, while they were visiting me in Florida… Upon his release it is my intention to employ him again.” The letter, dated August 18, 1978, was written on Lums, Inc., stationery. A few months later, Gibson was back in Kentucky, working on John Y.’s political campaign.
Ralph’s investigators found that federal drug agents identified many of Gibson’s co-defendants in the marijuana load as members of the Company. Although Ralph didn’t see any direct links between John Y. and Bradley Bryant or Drew Thornton, he felt the matter warranted further investigation. The last thing Ralph thought Kentucky needed was four more years of state police constraint by a governor who had personal relationships with the state’s biggest crooks.
The basis for much of the controversy swirling around John Y.’s gambling associations began with Gil Beckley. When Beckley had been arrested in 1967 in Miami on illegal bookmaking charges, FBI agents raided his plush home and seized a little black book that read like a Who’s Who of sports figures, entertainers, and gamblers. John
Y. Brown’s name surfaced along with celebrities such as Bob Hope, Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Hoffa, Paul Hornung, Rocky Marciano, Barren
Hilton, and Jules Styne. The feds knew that Beckley’s organization included a network of National Football League players.
After becoming a government witness, Beckley apparently met an untimely demise, though his body was never found. John Y.’s relationship with Beckley was but the tip of the iceberg where gambling was concerned. Through law enforcement sources and friends in Florida and Nevada, Ralph learned that Brown had been known to lose as much as half a million dollars at a Vegas baccarat table, betting twenty-five thousand dollars a hand.
Since the state police provided security for the governor and Cave Hill, Ralph learned a lot about what was going on: “That’s how it became clear to us how closely John Y. was associated with bookies and drug dealers. We kept track of everyone who came and went. Brown’s close relationship with Jimmy Lambert was immediately obvious. Lambert visited John Y.’s home weekly, sometimes daily. According to our logs, he’d even spend the night when Phyllis was out of town.’’
As governor, Brown put together a Cabinet comprised of wealthy and prominent businessmen who coined the phrase: “Kentucky and Company—The State That’s Run Like a Business.” The two men who controlled John Y.’s campaign, and who received two of the most powerful jobs in state government, were Larry Townsend and Frank Metts. Townsend became Secretary of Commerce, and Metts was appointed Secretary of Transportation.
Townsend, a forty-two-year-old insurance salesman and son of a minister, had served as a corporate officer of Lums, Inc. As state Commerce Commissioner, Townsend immediately initiated an extensive and expensive campaign to advertise Kentucky as a mecca for out-of-state developers. He opened Kentucky Commerce offices in New York, California, and Brussels, and quadrupled his department’s advertising budget.
On the other hand, Metts, a former real estate developer known for his thrifty management style, cut his 9,300-person staff by 25 percent and vowed to seek the lowest bidder on state road projects, thereby challenging Kentucky’s infamous history of patronage highway contracts.
To underscore his promises to clean up political corruption, John
Y. began a nationwide search for a law-and-order man to head the state’s law enforcement and regulatory agencies. If he was serious about a dark-horse presidential bid in 1984, John Y.’s confidants knew he would first have to overcome the scandalous rumors tying him to organized come figures. What better way to counter criticism than to select a renowned law enforcement officer and organized crime expert to head the state police?
At the behest of a mutual friend, John Y. made overtures to Neil J. Welch. So tough that fellow agents nicknamed Welch “Jaws,” the fifty-five-year-old, thirty-year veteran of the FBI was the reputed mastermind of Abscam—the two-year undercover probe in which six congressmen and one senator were videotaped accepting bribes.
Governor-elect Brown lured Welch to Kentucky by offering him the cabinet position of Secretary of Criminal Justice, and sweetening the pot by combining two salaries, one from the State Police and one from the Cabinet in order to offer him sixty-four thousand dollars a year. Welch would not only become the highest-paid official in state government, but also would be one of the few members of John Y.’s cabinet to receive a salary at all, since many of his inner circle—millionaires in their own right—”volunteered” their services for an annual salary of one dollar.
John Y. Brown considered Welch a prize catch. At a time when congressional Democrats were decrying Abscam and its most notable architect as overzealous, John Y. thought Welch’s presence would elevate his administration above reproach. But what could be in it for Welch? If John Young Brown, Jr., fulfilled his presidential aspirations, would Neil Welch become director of the FBI? Or had Welch and the FBI bamboozled Brown—had the vulnerable politician unwittingly imbedded a fox in his henhouse?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
From his fifth-floor office, in the spring of 1980 Ralph Ross had a view of most of Frankfort,
Kentucky. He could see Main Street, the state capital’s historic district, and, off in the distance, the rugged bluffs carved by the Kentucky River. To the south he could glimpse the majestic dome of the statehouse, a richly adorned structure built of the native limestone commonly called Kentucky marble. The General Assembly had convened for the first time since John Y. Brown had been inaugurated as governor, flooding the small town with politicians and lobbyists from the state’s 120 counties.
Across the river a legislative committee peppered his new boss, Neil Welch, with questions about Welch’s plans to use Abscam techniques in Kentucky law enforcement. Of concern to the legislators was Welch’s proposed reorganization of the state police, which included the formation of a public integrity section and the purchase of a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of electronic surveillance equipment.
Ralph was anxious to see how Welch would handle the heat. He knew how hostile it could get battling the power structure. He also knew this was just the beginning. If Welch was serious about his professed intention to dismantle the state’s most sophisticated criminal organization—the Company—he’d better be prepared to play Kentucky hardball.
Welch had been on the job less than a week when he summoned Ralph and state police captain Don Powers. Welch had handpicked Ralph and Powers, following a recommendation from the FBI, to create a “Special Operations” unit. He addressed both men with questions such as, “What are the problems with the state police? What are the problems in Kentucky? What are the major criminal elements? What cases are ongoing? What types of resources do you need?”