Governor Herbert H. Lehman of New York has dinner in Manhattan with Alderman Lex Luthor at the Hotel Brevoort, Fifth Avenue and Eighth Street. Afterward they go by town car to the Booth Theater on West Forty-fourth Street and take in a musical revue (not especially tuneful, but Jimmy Durante and Beatrice Lillie are quite good). Later, they have drinks at Versailles, a nightclub at 151 East Fiftieth Street, where they are joined by Public Works Commissioner Robert Moses, golfer Gene Sarazen, and wrestling promoter Jack Curley. Later still, they huddle privately for an hour in the Wedgwood Room of the Waldorf-Astoria, Park Avenue and Forty-ninth Street. They conclude their evening in the governor’s suite. Shortly after two o’clock on the morning of July 10, Alderman Luthor is picked up by his driver.
Early in the afternoon of July 11, Governor Lehman confers in his downtown office with the district attorney of New York County, William C. Dodge.
On the morning of July 12, D.A. Dodge meets with Thomas E. Dewey, an impeccably dressed prosecutor with black wavy hair and a thick mustache. The discussion lasts until noon.
The following Monday, July 15, promptly at eleven A.M. , it’s announced to members of the press assembled below the steps of the Old County Court House on Chambers Street that Mr. Dewey enthusiastically has accepted a position as special deputy assistant attorney general, charged with conducting a thorough investigation of citywide vice and racketeering before an extraordinary grand jury.
Although he is not mentioned by name, everyone there knows the target of that investigation is Charles (“Lucky”) Luciano, the undisputed “czar of organized crime.”
Or at any rate the presumably undisputed czar.
5
On Thursday, the first of August, Willi Berg is informed that his doctors have deemed him sufficiently recovered to be moved from his bed in Roosevelt Hospital to the hospital ward in one of the new fireproof brick buildings constituting the model penitentiary on Riker’s Island. The transfer will take place sometime within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, once the paperwork is completed.
Later that morning, Dick Sandglass tells him, “I’ll still try to keep my eye out for you, kid, but it won’t be quite so easy from here.” Removing a 3 x 5 deckle-edged photograph from his billfold, he inches forward in the chair, closer to Willi. “Recognize this guy?”
“No.”
Sandglass sits back, looking disappointed and beginning to put away the snapshot.
“Who is it?”
“I thought you might’ve told me . . .”
“Is that Stick? Is that Herman Stickowski? Let me see it again.”
“Willi . . .”
“I didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face, I seen his legs !”
“But on the other hand, you saw Lex Luthor’s face clear enough.”
“I did! And if they hadn’t stolen my film, the other two guys would’ve been in the picture. You woulda seen!”
“ ‘Woulda.’ ”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Sure, Willi . . .”
Early that afternoon, a lawyer from the Legal Aid Society who stopped by on two previous occasions informs Willi that he’s been unable to convince a judge to set any bond, then suggests that he hire a criminal attorney for his trial defense. “Sooner,” he says, “rather than later.”
According to hospital admitting records, at three-thirty P.M. , a male Caucasian, weight 240, height 6'3", date of birth 5/12/95, occupation left blank, is assigned a private room two doors down from Willi’s. His chart gives his name as Sidney n.m.i. Marsden and claims he is suffering from diverticulosis. He is not. He is in perfect health, although he does remember to groan occasionally, as he’s been instructed, and to complain, but not too much, about his discomfort. In between his groaning and his complaining, he entertains himself by reading stories in a year-and-a-half-old issue of Argosy. It’s a tribute to his professionalism that he resists ogling and
Early in the afternoon of July 11, Governor Lehman confers in his downtown office with the district attorney of New York County, William C. Dodge.
On the morning of July 12, D.A. Dodge meets with Thomas E. Dewey, an impeccably dressed prosecutor with black wavy hair and a thick mustache. The discussion lasts until noon.
The following Monday, July 15, promptly at eleven A.M. , it’s announced to members of the press assembled below the steps of the Old County Court House on Chambers Street that Mr. Dewey enthusiastically has accepted a position as special deputy assistant attorney general, charged with conducting a thorough investigation of citywide vice and racketeering before an extraordinary grand jury.
Although he is not mentioned by name, everyone there knows the target of that investigation is Charles (“Lucky”) Luciano, the undisputed “czar of organized crime.”
Or at any rate the presumably undisputed czar.
5
On Thursday, the first of August, Willi Berg is informed that his doctors have deemed him sufficiently recovered to be moved from his bed in Roosevelt Hospital to the hospital ward in one of the new fireproof brick buildings constituting the model penitentiary on Riker’s Island. The transfer will take place sometime within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, once the paperwork is completed.
Later that morning, Dick Sandglass tells him, “I’ll still try to keep my eye out for you, kid, but it won’t be quite so easy from here.” Removing a 3 x 5 deckle-edged photograph from his billfold, he inches forward in the chair, closer to Willi. “Recognize this guy?”
“No.”
Sandglass sits back, looking disappointed and beginning to put away the snapshot.
“Who is it?”
“I thought you might’ve told me . . .”
“Is that Stick? Is that Herman Stickowski? Let me see it again.”
“Willi . . .”
“I didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face, I seen his legs !”
“But on the other hand, you saw Lex Luthor’s face clear enough.”
“I did! And if they hadn’t stolen my film, the other two guys would’ve been in the picture. You woulda seen!”
“ ‘Woulda.’ ”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Sure, Willi . . .”
Early that afternoon, a lawyer from the Legal Aid Society who stopped by on two previous occasions informs Willi that he’s been unable to convince a judge to set any bond, then suggests that he hire a criminal attorney for his trial defense. “Sooner,” he says, “rather than later.”
According to hospital admitting records, at three-thirty P.M. , a male Caucasian, weight 240, height 6'3", date of birth 5/12/95, occupation left blank, is assigned a private room two doors down from Willi’s. His chart gives his name as Sidney n.m.i. Marsden and claims he is suffering from diverticulosis. He is not. He is in perfect health, although he does remember to groan occasionally, as he’s been instructed, and to complain, but not too much, about his discomfort. In between his groaning and his complaining, he entertains himself by reading stories in a year-and-a-half-old issue of Argosy. It’s a tribute to his professionalism that he resists ogling and
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