Boardwalk Empire: The Birth, High Times And Corruption of Atlantic City (24 page)

Miller’s contract with the railroad was a “cost plus” agreement. Under the terms of the contract, Miller submitted bills periodically and received payments for the sums expended plus a small portion of the profit to pay for his overhead. The remainder of the profits was retained by the railroad until the job was entirely completed. Should Miller fail to live up to the terms of the contract, the amount retained could be forfeited as a penalty.

When Miller received his first check, Nucky demanded his share of the profits. Miller explained that his money had to wait until the end of the job, but Nucky’s greed was too great. In January 1934 the written contract was prepared. Judge Jeffers asked Corio’s secretary to destroy her shorthand notes, but without telling anyone, she hadn’t. The only two copies that Nucky knew of were his and Miller’s, and both of them were destroyed.

Nucky’s lawyer, former U.S. Attorney Walter Winne, made repeated inquiries to learn if the government had a copy of the contract, but each time the prosecution denied him. The court rules at the time permitted this and Winne went to the Department of Justice in Washington and offered to plead Nucky guilty if the government would show him the contract. The U.S. Attorney’s office refused, and it wasn’t until the trial when Corio’s secretary produced a copy of the document that Miller and Nucky had signed. Nucky testified to the contrary, but there was no way the jury could believe his denials.

As to the second half of the government’s case, the protection money, the government eventually had more witnesses than they needed. Once Ralph Weloff made the decision to testify, he encouraged other members of the numbers syndicate to do the same so that he wasn’t alone. Weloff testified that the numbers syndicate began making weekly payments to Nucky in 1933. The purpose of these protection payments was to ensure there were no raids and that no out-of-towners competed with them. Should there be a problem with the police or a renegade numbers operator, the syndicate’s contact person was Atlantic City Police Detective Ralph Gold, who was in charge of the vice squad.

Weloff and others testified that between 1935 and 1940, they personally delivered $1,200 in cash to Nucky each week. In all, a total of 12 numbers racketeers testified that protection money had been paid to Nucky. Despite tough cross-examination, their stories held up.

Nucky’s lawyer, Walter Winne, began the defense by conceding that his client had received the money. “We admit that we received money from the numbers racket in Atlantic City. We are not too proud of that source, but we deny that we ever received as income any money that we did not report for taxes.”

Winne then proceeded to outline his defense. He began by declaring that the numbers operators had approached Nucky and asked for his help. The numbers game was looked on in Atlantic City as something that should be legalized. Weloff and other numbers people had filed a petition with the City Commission containing the signatures of more than 7,000 local residents in which the petitioners requested city government to recognize the numbers game as legitimate. Nucky was just following the wishes of his constituents, and the money he received was used to support his political organization. According to Winne, Nucky’s sole profession was that of a politician. All the payments he received were political contributions, which were spent to finance the Republican machine. As Winne stated, his client needed “plenty of oil to run his political machine.”

Proof of the money spent was a shoebox filled with more than 800 receipts, which were presented to the court through the testimony of James Boyd, Clerk to the County Freeholder Board. According to the testimony of Boyd and Rupert Chase, a messenger in Nucky’s treasurer’s office, Nucky had spent more than $78,000 on political expenses during the several years involved on the tax evasion charge. The remainder of the income that the government could prove was included in Nucky’s tax return under “commissions.”

Nucky took the stand and testified he had taken the money from the numbers syndicate and spent it “to elect candidates that were friendly to my policies and to carry on throughout the year the building up of my organization—taking care of the poor, paying rent, buying coal.” Further testimony in support of the defense that all the money had been used for politics came from the mouths of three local newspaper publishers. The newspapermen testified they had received money for the purpose of publicizing Nucky’s organization and that their editorial policy was favorable to his candidates.

Finally, Winne produced a legion of character witnesses on behalf of his client. They were led by former Governor Harold G. Hoffman and retired U.S. Senator David Baird, Jr., but it was to no avail. At the age of 58 Nucky suffered his first defeat. He was found guilty of tax evasion. On August 1, 1941, he was sentenced to 10 years in jail and a fine of $20,000.

If Nucky was humiliated, he never showed it. Johnson handled his conviction with the composure of a deposed monarch, maintaining his poise through it all. With his usual flamboyant style, he had one last jolt for Atlantic City before going off to jail. He decided to take a bride.

During the nearly 30 years following the death of his childhood sweetheart, Mabel Jeffries, Nucky never even hinted at a second marriage. He had known Florence “Flossie” Osbeck, a showgirl/actress, for several years and they had become an item, but no one ever imagined they would marry. On July 31, 1941, the day before he was imprisoned, Nucky and Flossie took their vows at the First Presbyterian Church. Following the ceremony in which the groom was attired in a cream-colored mohair suit with a yellow tie and white shoes, the newlyweds were greeted outside the church by thousands of well-wishers. The wedding was followed by a gay party for hundreds of guests at the Ritz Carlton and went on late into the evening. “Nucky sure knew how to throw a party. You’d never know he was leaving for jail the next day.” Nucky and Flossie were devoted to one another until his death, but people who knew Nucky intimately believed the only reason he married her was to ensure a regular and safe communication link with his associates in Atlantic City.

Upon his release from jail, four years later, he led a quiet life and took a pauper’s oath when pressed by the government for payment of his tax fines. While his name was suggested several times as a candidate for city commission, Nucky shunned any opportunities to return to power. If he couldn’t be the boss, it was better to remain on the sidelines. He remembered the humiliation the Commodore had experienced when he tried to regain control of the Republican Party and refused to expose himself to another defeat.

For the next 20 years, Nucky strolled the Boardwalk and escorted children home from school. He went to charity dinners and, occasionally, political fundraisers. Most years his many friends staged a large birthday party in his honor. The local leaders visited him often, soliciting advice, and in a critical election he aided the Republican ticket in a way only he could. But never again did Nucky Johnson wield the power that had made him Czar of the Ritz.

Gradually, Nucky’s health deteriorated. He was placed in the county nursing home in Northfield, where he spent his final days holding court and drinking Scotch with his cronies who visited him regularly. Quietly, on December 9, 1968, Nucky died at the age of 85. They say he died smiling. His career personifies the greed, corruption, and high times that were Atlantic City in its days of glory.

7

Hap

As the elevator came to a stop its lone passenger waited impatiently for it to open. When the doors parted, Frank Farley was through them like a shot. At a near run, he was on his way down the hall. Awaiting him daily in the reception area of his office were 14 chairs, each one filled with someone seeking a favor. As he entered the office, Farley greeted everyone and asked his secretary who was first. Then it was into his office where he met with one person after another until they all had a chance to speak with the senator.

Atlantic City’s residents had come to expect favors that went beyond politics. Farley’s duties were like those of a feudal lord. The calls for help ranged from jobs, licenses, and contracts coming out of city hall to advice with legal or personal problems and pleas for financial aid. No one was turned away without hope. Sometimes it was a telephone call while the person sat there. Often it took the form of a letter that Farley dictated to his secretary, Dorothy Berry, while the person waited. Occasionally there was no solution, but Farley never let on. Instead, he referred them to someone else who gave the bad news. Regardless of the outcome, everyone who left Farley’s office was grateful for his help. He was the town’s new boss.

The transfer of power from Nucky Johnson to Frank Farley is revealing of both Farley and the organization Nucky had built. The type of control exercised by Johnson wasn’t something he could simply pass to another. The cogs in the machine had a say about whom they’d follow. Nor could Nucky’s kind of authority be grabbed by sheer force—there were too many competitors, and no one had an edge.

The power structure Nucky Johnson left behind was more complex than the one he inherited from Louis Kuehnle. While the Commodore had cooperated with the local vice industry and used protection money from the rackets to build his political organization, they remained separate spheres of power. Under Nucky the hierarchy of the local crime syndicate was linked to the chain of command of the city’s Republican Party. The local power structure was a single, integrated unit comprised of politicians and criminals. The two spheres of power became one. Nucky presided over what had become a perfect partnership, and the person who took his place had to have the respect of the politicians and racketeers alike.

By 1940, several years into the FBI’s investigation, Johnson’s inner circle knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be in jail. William Frank and his agents weren’t going to leave town until they got him. Once Nucky was indicted and awaiting trial, several of his lieutenants began jockeying for position. The two main competitors were Frank Farley and the mayor, Thomas D. Taggart, Jr.

Tommy Taggart was born in Philadelphia in 1903, and his family moved to Atlantic City when he was six. The Taggarts were one of hundreds of Philadelphia families who relocated to the resort at the turn of the 20th century. Thomas, Sr. was chief surgeon at the Atlantic City Hospital for 25 years and was one of the most respected members of the community. Taggart’s mother came from old wealth and boasted that her ancestors had arrived in America on the Mayflower. If Atlantic City had an upper class, the Taggarts were part of it.

Tommy Taggart attended Atlantic City High School and then Dickinson Law School. He was admitted to practice in 1927 and with his family’s backing opened his own law office. Taggart immediately gravitated toward politics, joining the Third Ward Republican Club, serving the organization faithfully as a campaign worker in several elections. He did everything from writing campaign literature and printing copies, to personally handing them out on the streets. Despite his advantage in education and family wealth Tommy Taggart worked side-by-side with the other ward heelers. But he wasn’t “one of the boys.” A little known fact about his personal life was that Taggart was a closet homosexual. One well-connected tavern owner spoke of Taggart this way: “What can I say? He liked boys, young boys. Several times I even fixed him up with good-looking young fags. But he was a hell of a politician, even though he was queer.”

Taggart was more fascinated with political power than the attraction of handsome young men. He was devoted to the organization. His commitment and loyalty impressed Nucky, and in 1934 Johnson passed over several other people with more seniority and made him a candidate for State Assembly. Upon his election, Taggart was married to Atlantic City politics. “What you had was a solid organization man. Tommy Taggart moved up because he played by the rules of the ward system.”

Once elected, Taggart found the campaign never ended. He was expected to devote himself full-time serving the people; however, an Assemblyman’s annual salary of $500 didn’t begin to pay for the time spent on politics. Nucky supplemented his income with a second office. The position was police recorder. Comparable to today’s municipal court judge, Taggart handled minor criminal complaints, disorderly persons offenses, and traffic violations.