The Guv'nor

Title Page
GLOSSARY
INTRODUCTION
FOREWORD
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright

INTRODUCTION

L
enny and I first met when Reg Kray asked me to speak to him concerning a project we were involved in. I knew of his fearsome reputation and had witnessed on television his ferocity in dealing with the opposition. You can imagine it was with some trepidation that I knocked on his door.

The sheer size of the man overwhelmed me for a moment, as did the warmth and friendliness of his greeting. We discussed our business, one thing led to another, and we began working on this book together. It meant being with Lenny for a number of weeks, either sitting in his front room, plied endlessly with tea from his wife, Val, or out and about meeting acquaintances.

I was struck by the old-world courtesy within his circle, where mutual respect is held above all else. A lack of respect towards myself created an incident, which allowed me to glimpse a side of Lenny that I had begun to think was a myth outside the ring.

We had gone to the gym to meet someone who could give me some background information. We were introduced and Len disappeared to take a sauna. I was given a drink, then the man I was interviewing left me for a few minutes to talk to someone else on the other side of the gym. Suddenly, Len was back in the room, beside himself with rage. He seemed to have doubled in size as he ran over to the two men. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I watched him verbally assault the two blokes.

The controlled threat of violence was awesome as he ordered one of them out of the club. His outburst was due to the fact that I was
being ignored while my interviewee was passing the time of day with a ‘no-account grass' referred to later in the book.

This incident gave me an insight into Lenny that I could not have gained in a hundred interviews. Control is the keyword, for he is by no means the ‘lunatic' he likes to call himself or be called by others.

I speak as I find and no coercion is needed for me to say that I found Lenny to be a very caring person, a shrewd judge of character and highly intelligent. He told me, ‘Nobody can pretend with me. I just have to look in their eyes and I can tell just what they are thinking.'

He is an extrovert – a showman. His personality matches his physical appearance, and he can be an over-whelming presence wherever he goes.

I have spoken to many people about Len and I include quotes from some of them as an example of the respect and esteem he has earned and been given.

Peter Gerrard, 2000

(Deceased)

‘Though he is not of the age group, he is one of the old school in principle. Also, he is definitely a positive thinker, yet without it becoming a task in life. He always keeps his word and values his friends. He chooses his company carefully so that he only has good people around him. He also has the unusual combination of brains as well as brawn. My friend Lenny does not give up easily. He is a legend in his own lifetime and he has become a legend on his own merit. Above all, he is a man.'

(Deceased)

‘Lenny is one of the best people I have ever met. He is a gentleman and one of the best fighters I have ever seen. God bless.'

(Deceased)

‘Lenny and myself have been friends for a long time. While I have the greatest respect for him as a fighter, I have an even greater respect for him as a man. He told me that he intends to break into the acting game. Well, all I can say is, “Move over, all you screen heroes, there's another Victor McGlagen on the way up.”'

(Businessman)

‘I heard of Lenny's fearsome reputation many years ago while I was serving my own sentence in prison. Through mutual friends we met and after that he would visit regularly and bring in videos of his fights, which were well received by the other inmates. What strikes me most about him? His integrity and honesty. In my life I have dealt with all kinds of businesspeople, bankers, lawyers and government ministers. These people, pillars of society and supposedly above reproach, will, given the opportunity, rip the coat off your back. Lenny has made a living with his fists, and in younger days on the other side of the fence, but give me his kind of honesty any day. His values are a hundred per cent and he can be totally relied on. When my kids spend a night out in the clubs minded by Lenny, I can rest easy knowing they are in the safest hands.'

(Promoter and businessman)

‘I used to manage and promote the original Guv'nor, Roy Shaw. At the time, Roy was unbeaten and unbeatable. He was taking on challenges and the first thing I would ask was: “Can you sell at least £6,000 worth of tickets?” If they couldn't, they didn't get the fight. Roy was riding a crest, then along came a young fellow from Hoxton. His name was Lenny McLean. I had never heard of him. Roy had never heard of him. We took up Lenny McLean's challenge. After two fights and a win each, a return was arranged and Roy walked straight into a right-hander. Lenny became the Guv'nor. Since that time we have become friends. Lenny is a great guy with a lot of respect. One look at Len's pugilistic features and one can see what he has come through. He has been a good pal to me and I know both sides of him, as a fighter and a gentleman. Funny – he reminds me of the character in the book
Of Mice and Men
… his name was Lenny, too.'

(Britain's Most Wanted Man)

‘Before I knew of Len's reputation, I went to a fight at the Rainbow where he was on the card. I put my money on the other man and lost every penny. After that, my money was on the “Big Fella” and still is. He's a very tough guy, but he's also got a big, big heart. No one could wish for a more loyal friend when the chips are down.'

FOREWORD

I
'm known as the Guv'nor – I am the Guv'nor. But what does that mean? For a start, it ain't like picking up some boxing title over 12 rounds. I don't want to take anything away from anybody who comes out on top, whether it's the boys' area championships or a world title. But that's where it ends for them – in the ring. Between the winning bout and the next all they've got to do is keep fit, look after themselves and keep ready to defend the title in six months' time. Outside the ropes, life goes on as normal, working, if you're an amateur, doing the celebrity rounds if you're a pro. But being the Guv'nor takes over your whole life – 24 hours a day.

So how did I get there? I'll tell you – by having something deep inside me that wouldn't let me break down or turn away from any trouble or aggravation, no matter how bad or how dangerous. If you're the Guv'nor, you can't pick and choose. Whatever comes up or is thrown at you has got to be faced. People on the outside looking in could say I'm a bit cocky or an arrogant bastard. Not to my face though. And perhaps that's how they see me. They said the same about Muhammad Ali, but he always delivered what he said he would, same as me, although, unlike him, I never went round saying I was the greatest. I knew I was, but I kept my mouth shut and just got on with whatever I had to do.

Remember, I wasn't looking for a name – it was just something that crept up. I did the business, other people put a name to my reputation.

Becoming the Guv'nor doesn't just come from bashing people; there's more to it than that, otherwise every titleholder in the boxing world would have the name. Prince Naseem, Chris Eubank, Frank
Bruno – are they the Guv'nors? Not bloody likely! They're great fighters, but that's where it stops because they haven't got that bit extra that I have. Get a bit of aggro and stick their names up – who's going to worry? You wouldn't want a slap from any of them. But, come on, they're boxers; everything stops at the ropes. Lenny McLean? That's different. He's a mean bastard and, if pushed, a raving lunatic.

I might be retired now, but only six months ago a fella by the name of Eric Forbes got in touch because he was having a load of trouble at Taffy Bradys, a pub he runs. Some punters were running wild, fighting and smashing the place up – it was costing Eric a fortune. Anyway, he asked if he could put the word out that the pub was under my wing. Of course he could, as long as I was well looked after. Simple. Overnight you could have taken your old mum there for a quiet drink. And I never even showed my face. That's what being the Guv'nor means.

Some time after that, Eric got a double result for his money. He sold a few motors so I slipped down his car lot to pick up my share. As I stepped out of my car, I could see Eric arguing with two big blokes. As I walked towards them, one of the geezers turned and spat at Tracey, Eric's wife, who was with me at the time, and was standing well back. Well, nobody spits at a lady in front of me. Eric looked up, they looked round and I cracked their foreheads together like two coconuts. Down they went. I gave them both a slap to bring them round, then told them to piss off. It turned out they were pressuring Eric for another car after wrecking the one they'd bought from him months before. He tells me he's never seen or heard from them since.

I mentioned that I never pick and choose. I'm the Guv'nor – if I'm asked, it's done.

Somebody put my name up and I got a visit from four faces looking for a minder. They told me they had a bit of business going down with a North London firm and they wanted me on the meet in case of trouble. They told me that it was a good money deal, but that it might be a bit heavy. I agreed to look after them and we arranged a meet at Highbury tube station.

I came out of the station and they were waiting for me in a black cab. ‘Don't worry about the driver,' one of them said, ‘he's family.'

‘Right,' I said, ‘fill me in on what you want me to do.'

‘You don't have to do nothing. Bloke like you just has to stand
there while we're talking. You look the business so they ain't going to try anything.'

I said, ‘If they make one move to get out of the pram, I'll put the lot of them down.'

‘OK, Len, but we've told you, you don't have to do nothing, we're well covered.'

With that they all opened their coats and there were guns everywhere. Fucking hell! I came prepared with a pair of fingerless leather gloves, and this lot are all hiding behind about a dozen shooters. If the other mob are kitted out with the same hardware, I can't help thinking that if anything goes wrong, they'll probably go for the big fella first. Still, I'm aboard now, so I might as well go along with it.

The firm turned up – mean-looking bastards and everyone an Irishman. As we walked into a local club and straight into a back room, my nut was doing overtime. I gave one of our blokes a tug and asked him if these people were who I thought they were. He didn't really have to say ‘IRA' – it was written all over them.

The only furniture in the room was a card table in the middle and about 50 fold-up chairs. The main face on my team pulled up a chair opposite the Irish leader. The other six blokes sat behind their respective bosses and I stood between all of them. Two briefcases were thrown on the table and the meet began. The deal was over £2 million worth of bearer bonds for cash and both blokes were doing their best to rump the other. These two argued, swore and threatened for what seemed like hours. This was mid-August; the sweat was running down my legs and I was dying for a lemonade. I was just wondering why I need to be there at all, when my bloke screams out, ‘You bog Irish c**t.' He stood up, kicked his chair back and pulled two pistols from his belt. These people are all professionals and in the blink of an eye all the chairs were over and enough guns to start a war were clicking out of belts. I grabbed the gun hand of the Irishman nearest me, pulled him towards me, got hold of his face and swung him across the room, smashing him up against the wall, shouting, ‘Anybody moves and I'll rip his fucking face off.' It was a stand-off. I don't think any of them wanted to fire those guns because we were right next door to a busy club. I held the Irishman for about 30 seconds and then slowly let him go.

Nobody moved, so I said, ‘Just do the business and let's get the fuck out of here.'

The two main men disappeared into a walk-in store room, leaving us all staring at each other. Five minutes later, they returned. Briefcases were exchanged and it was all over.

I didn't get a handshake or a kiss my arse from any of the Irishmen. Just a lairy look from the one with the thumbhole in his cheek and the four red marks on his face. Bollocks to 'em. I just wanted my wages and to get home.

Back home, I gave my Val the money and she said, ‘Been busy?

It's just another day, so what can I say? ‘Not too much, babe, not too much.'

I had only been in for about five minutes when the phone went. It was Asil Nadir's nephew, and he wanted a favour.

It turned out to be a nice little earner and I didn't have to lift a finger – that suits me nicely these days. All he wanted me to do was to give some young kids a bit of support when they came up in court on a murder charge.

Apparently, these boys had suffered abuse and violence from their father for years, until one day they couldn't take it any longer. They got together, and ended up stabbing him. I've got to say I understood the way they felt.

I went down to the court and had just arrived when their brief came steaming over.

‘Mr McLean,' he said, ‘I know the boys will appreciate you being here, but I am trying to get them acquitted. One look at you and I am afraid the judge might think that the company they appear to keep qualifies them for a custodial sentence.'

‘No problem, pal, I'll go and sit in the car.'

I reclined the seat, stuck a Pasty Cline tape on, and started having a nice smoke. Patsy and me are just harmonising nicely on ‘Crazy' when Old Bill surround me. The usual – get out the motor slowly, hands on the roof, the works. I noticed that a couple of them were tooled up, but if they gave me too much hassle and I lost my temper, it wouldn't stop me chinning a few of them. It didn't come to that, though, and we sorted it with no aggro. It turned out that they had a terrorist in one of the other courts, and when somebody clocked me outside, they thought I was getting ready to spring him. Now do I look like a villain or what?

Asil's nephew bunged me a grand for my trouble and if he's got a fraction of the money his uncle's got, he must have felt like he was parting with tuppence ha'penny.

What I'm doing is giving you an idea of what it means to be the Guv'nor. If somebody's got trouble, they think of Lenny, because they know that once I've taken their problems on board, it isn't a problem for them any more. Sometimes, all I have to do is growl over the phone, or perhaps not even get involved, just let my name be put up. But every now and then I have to stare death or serious injury in the face without ever backing off. Would you want my life? Would you want my title?

If you wonder why a man would choose to be involved in violence every day of his life, perhaps by the time you've read my story you'll understand.