F.B.I. office and told them of the strange visitation. He said he thought he was being set up, although he did not know “by whom or what for.”
The following day, F.B.I. agents knocked on Sophie’s apartment door on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and told her what Bobby had told them. Bobby was no stool pigeon, so this was very strange news indeed. Sophie pulled herself together.
“Yes, indeed, gentlemen, Bobby is correct. Except that the message was not from Mr. Rubell, whoever that is.”
“Who was it from?” the beefy Irish F.B.I. lad inquired.
“Well, I really don’t know,” Sophie answered. “Why don’t you come in?” Beckoning the two agents into the apartment, she explained what had occurred.
“This may sound funny,” she said. “A stranger knocked on my door. I was on the phone with my boy friend at the time. The stranger was carrying an apple in his hand. I was uncertain about him, but told him to come in. Just to make certain, I left the phone off the hook so no one could disturb us.”
The agents sat down on the chairs Sophie provided for them and gazed up at her. “Well, sirs, the man came in and asked me if I knew Prescott. I said no, and he said, okay, that didn’t matter. He wanted me to go see Bobby in Pittsburgh. He took out $3,000 in small bills wrapped between pieces of black cardboard and held together with a purple rubber band. I hope you’re writing this all down.
“I immediately made plane reservations for Pittsburgh using the name Mrs. Harry Salsberg, and flew there the next day. When I saw Bobby he was very negative about this whole thing. He said I was ‘nuts to get involved with such people.’ He was absolutely right. Sometimes I don’t think I have a brain in my head. I went back to New York with the $3,000. Two nights later, the same stranger turns up here, asks me what goes, and took back the money. That was it.”
Summoned to appear before the grand jury the following week, Sophie sat in the waiting room across from Solly Rubell. The two sat facing each other for two and a half hours without showing any sign of recognition. Solly, whom Sophie had known for fifteen years, who had given her the greatest break you could ask for in this life.
When Sophie was called in to talk with the prosecutors, of course she told them she had been advised by her lawyers of her right to avoid self-incrimination. She would answer no questions without a grant of immunity.
Dolly Rubell was arrested three days later.
Sophie was given summonses four more times. Each time she refused to answer any questions, although they threatened to jail her for contempt. Agents followed her wherever she went and inspected her garbage.
Then she was called in and asked to look at pictures of men who might have been the stranger with the apple who sent her to Pittsburgh.
She gazed at pictures of her dearest friends, all the group from Perry Street: Maury Ballinzweig, Wilfred Fuller, Joe Klein, Max Finger, everybody she knew from the neighborhood. None of them, she said, was the stranger who sent her to Pittsburgh.
When Bobby Metzger was summoned before the grand jury, he was asked if he knew Solly and Dolly Rubell, Maury Ballinzweig, Jed Levine, and the rest of the old gang. He said he did not know Solly at all and could not identify a photograph of him, and that he’d seen some of the others around but knew them only casually when he was at City College. He said he had not stayed in the apartment on Perry Street since June 1948 (when he had dropped in sometimes) and that there was never any photographic equipment there.
Bobby went on trial for perjury in February of 1953. The prosecutor recalled his answers to questions from the grand jury about Sophie’s visit to him in Pittsburgh.
QUESTION : What did you say to her, “Hello, Soph”?
METZGER : I may have said, “Hello, Sophie,” and “What are you doing here?”
QUESTION : What did she say after you said, “Hello, Sophie. What are you
The following day, F.B.I. agents knocked on Sophie’s apartment door on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and told her what Bobby had told them. Bobby was no stool pigeon, so this was very strange news indeed. Sophie pulled herself together.
“Yes, indeed, gentlemen, Bobby is correct. Except that the message was not from Mr. Rubell, whoever that is.”
“Who was it from?” the beefy Irish F.B.I. lad inquired.
“Well, I really don’t know,” Sophie answered. “Why don’t you come in?” Beckoning the two agents into the apartment, she explained what had occurred.
“This may sound funny,” she said. “A stranger knocked on my door. I was on the phone with my boy friend at the time. The stranger was carrying an apple in his hand. I was uncertain about him, but told him to come in. Just to make certain, I left the phone off the hook so no one could disturb us.”
The agents sat down on the chairs Sophie provided for them and gazed up at her. “Well, sirs, the man came in and asked me if I knew Prescott. I said no, and he said, okay, that didn’t matter. He wanted me to go see Bobby in Pittsburgh. He took out $3,000 in small bills wrapped between pieces of black cardboard and held together with a purple rubber band. I hope you’re writing this all down.
“I immediately made plane reservations for Pittsburgh using the name Mrs. Harry Salsberg, and flew there the next day. When I saw Bobby he was very negative about this whole thing. He said I was ‘nuts to get involved with such people.’ He was absolutely right. Sometimes I don’t think I have a brain in my head. I went back to New York with the $3,000. Two nights later, the same stranger turns up here, asks me what goes, and took back the money. That was it.”
Summoned to appear before the grand jury the following week, Sophie sat in the waiting room across from Solly Rubell. The two sat facing each other for two and a half hours without showing any sign of recognition. Solly, whom Sophie had known for fifteen years, who had given her the greatest break you could ask for in this life.
When Sophie was called in to talk with the prosecutors, of course she told them she had been advised by her lawyers of her right to avoid self-incrimination. She would answer no questions without a grant of immunity.
Dolly Rubell was arrested three days later.
Sophie was given summonses four more times. Each time she refused to answer any questions, although they threatened to jail her for contempt. Agents followed her wherever she went and inspected her garbage.
Then she was called in and asked to look at pictures of men who might have been the stranger with the apple who sent her to Pittsburgh.
She gazed at pictures of her dearest friends, all the group from Perry Street: Maury Ballinzweig, Wilfred Fuller, Joe Klein, Max Finger, everybody she knew from the neighborhood. None of them, she said, was the stranger who sent her to Pittsburgh.
When Bobby Metzger was summoned before the grand jury, he was asked if he knew Solly and Dolly Rubell, Maury Ballinzweig, Jed Levine, and the rest of the old gang. He said he did not know Solly at all and could not identify a photograph of him, and that he’d seen some of the others around but knew them only casually when he was at City College. He said he had not stayed in the apartment on Perry Street since June 1948 (when he had dropped in sometimes) and that there was never any photographic equipment there.
Bobby went on trial for perjury in February of 1953. The prosecutor recalled his answers to questions from the grand jury about Sophie’s visit to him in Pittsburgh.
QUESTION : What did you say to her, “Hello, Soph”?
METZGER : I may have said, “Hello, Sophie,” and “What are you doing here?”
QUESTION : What did she say after you said, “Hello, Sophie. What are you
Similar Books
