The Outfit (36 page)

Before the Christmas break, the committee heard testimony from the Outfit’s racetrack chieftain, Johnny Patton. Like Russell, Patton had been dodging the committee’s subpoena in Florida, only to finally be tracked down in Chicago. Counsel Halley inquired as to why Patton had refused to come to the door when his wife had been informed that the Senate investigator Downey Rice was waiting to serve him. “I told my wife to pay no attention to him,” Patton answered. “I thought it was Jack Rice, our publicity man, always calling me up for a touch. That is why I ducked that.”

“Mr. Patton, that is the best one I have heard yet,” said Halley.

“Well, it is a good one,” agreed Patton.

After an hour of denials of any criminal associations, Kefauver called an end to the circus, saying, “All right, Mr. Patton. We will see you again sometime.” To which Patton responded, “I hope not.”

Returning to Washington, the committee called no other Outfit notables until Al Capone’s brothers, John and Ralph, were brought to Washington on December 20, for another round of perfunctory testimony.

Curly’s Marionettes Take the Fifth

During the Christmas holidays, the committee’s subpoena finally caught up with Joe Accardo. In January 1951, the man who, unbeknownst to the senators, was the secret boss of the Chicago Outfit testified in Washington. Accompanied by his lawyer, George F. Callaghan, the middle-aged Accardo quietly gave the same response to almost all the questions posed to him: “I refuse to answer.” He let Callaghan explain that the Fifth Amendment’s shield against self-incrimination was the basis for Accardo’s lack of cooperation. In all, Accardo took the Fifth 140 times, only answering a handful of benign inquiries. Callaghan had to explain to dismayed senators that his client had every right to refuse to answer. Senator Charles Tobey of New Hampshire, a righteous member whom Kefauver called “the committee’s lightning rod,” and whom legendary New York UPI reporter Harold Conrad called “about as well-equipped to be investigating gangsters as Shirley Temple,” was particularly frayed by the encounter and interrupted the interrogation to address Kefauver: “I [have] sat here with feelings of rising disgust, and listened to a man come before this committee, and through his answers or refusal to answer, insult this committee and its counsel; and I think it is a new low in the conduct of witnesses before this committee, and we have had some tough ones . . . And so, with a feeling of disgust in my heart toward the witness” attitude and that of his counsel, I move you, sir, that he be cited for contempt.’

Tobey, who regularly toted a Bible into the hearings, inveighed so forcefully at times that he often launched into God-fearing diatribes against the witnesses and, on one occasion, brought himself to tears. Railing against one corrupt police official, Tobey intoned, “Why don’t you resign and get out and put somebody in there that can handle it somebody who has some guts . . . It is revealing and disgusting that a man like you can continue in office! I simply cannot sit here and listen to this type of what I call political vermin!”

Before dismissing Accardo, Tobey led the senators in a unanimous vote for a contempt citation. As will be seen, the charge would wind its way through the courts before its precedent-setting resolution. The Outfit’s bold legal maneuver would trigger a landslide of similar encounters, not only in this investigation, but in many congressional tribunals that would follow. Two weeks after Accardo’s presentation, Joey Aiuppa, the fast-rising Outfit slot-machine manufacturer from Cicero, reprised the performance, refusing to answer all questions. Aiuppa quickly tired of giving the same response; eventually, he sat mute.

“Let the record show that the witness just sits there mute, chewing gum, saying nothing,” a frustrated Halley said before excusing the gangster. Like his boss, Aiuppa was also cited for contempt.

Later that month, the committee arrived in New Orleans, where television station WNOE acquired permission to televise the hearings, preempting its entire commercial schedule. The gambit was such a success that subsequent hearings were televised in New York, St. Louis, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Also attempting to cash in on the drama was a company called Movietone News, which produced hour-long edits of the New York testimony and leased them to theaters across the nation. Kefauver, who initially coveted the attention afforded by the telecasts, eventually found the cameras’ presence to be a drawback, as the committee members began to play to the audience, careful not to become too bogged down in detail that might bore the viewer. Chairman Kefauver tried to cancel the arrangement, but it was too late, commitments having been made to broadcasters. The viewing public was captivated by the event, with some 20-30 million viewers (twice the audience for the 1950 World Series) tuning in regularly. “It is the best thing we have had since television came in,” said one New York viewer. Kefauver biographer Charles L. Fontenay described the reaction of the home audience: “Housework was neglected and movie theaters and stores were nearly deserted as the number of home television sets turned on rose from the normal less than 2 percent to more than 25 percent in the morning and from the normal less than 12 percent to more than 30 percent in the afternoon.”

As expected, the broadcasts made Kefauver a household name overnight, distinguishing him as the first politician to create a national image using the new medium. During those initial New Orleans broadcasts, the committee attempted to probe the gambling empire of local boss Carlos Marcello, a syndicate chief known to be in regular contact with the Outfit. Once again the committee was hit with a tidal wave of responses that began with “I refuse to answer.” In all, Marcello demurred 152 times. When the committee returned to Washington, they heard from one malaprop-prone gang member who lightened the proceedings when he garbled his Fifth Amendment plea by saying his answers might “discriminate against me.”

“Murray went nuts when he heard how the ’spaghetti benders’ almost screwed up what he had worked so hard on,” recalls Humphreys’ then mistress, later wife, Jeanne Stacy. “He had to type it out on index cards so they got it right. Then he worried if they could even read.” Humphreys had little time to chafe over the performance of his inferiors, as the committee finally succeeded in serving a subpoena on him in the spring of 1951. It seemed fitting that his testimony would come near the end of the hearings, a worthy climax that did not disappoint those in attendance in the Capitol in Washington.

Curly and the Stooges

On the morning of May 28, 1951, the Kefauver Committee sat on its raised dais, but it was Curly Humphreys, in rare form, who held court. Although Humphreys’ initial intention was to not answer any questions at all, he soon found he could not pass up the opportunity to match wits with his interrogators. Resorting to the Fifth only on occasion, the master negotiator, who appeared without counsel, preferred to verbally joust with his inquisitors.

After instructing the committee to send photographers out of the room, which they did, Curly politely requested that he be allowed to make an opening statement. For the first five minutes, the committee tried to change the subject, but Curly would hear none of it. “I would still like to get my statement into the record at this time . . . I have requested to make my statement when I first came into the room.” Then he advised, “It will save you time.” Like so many people before, the committee relented under Curly’s articulate purposefulness. Finally granted his demand, Humphreys politely responded, “Thank you.” He then quoted the Fifth Amendment to his questioners, again ending with “Thank you.” Curly then had a longer written statement placed in the record, elaborating on his privilege under the Constitution. At that point, one of the committee counsels unwisely challenged Humphreys on his understanding of the amendment.

“You understand that if we ask you questions, the answers of which will not tend to incriminate you, that you have to answer, and that the only questions you can refuse to answer are the ones which will tend to incriminate you?”

Curly cut him off. “Would you mind telling me your name, sir?”

Kefauver interjected, “This is Mr. Richard Moser, chief counsel for the committee.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I just like to know who I am talking to.” Humphreys then added, “Well, I don’t understand it that way.” Curly next turned self-effacing, saying, “Well, I’m not a lawyer here, and I would like to help this committee if I possibly could, but I don’t feel like I am amongst friends, just to be plainspoken.”

Senator Charles Tobey of New Hampshire naively believed he could cajole Humphreys by resorting to the “good cop” tactic: “Don’t you think, as a good citizen, that you ought to tell us all you know about the sordid characters of the underworld?” Curly deflected him with, “Do you doubt whether I am a good citizen or not?” After teasing the senators by answering their questions about his childhood, Curly started pleading the Fifth when asked about his business dealings. At this point Kefauver interjected, “You do understand in regard to all of these that you are directed to answer by the committee, and you still decline for the reasons you stated?”

Humphreys: “Yes, Mr. Chairman. Thank you very much.”

In one of many droll exchanges, Humphreys refused to tell Senator Tobey whether he’d flown in from Chicago with Rocco Fischetti. Humphreys would only admit that he had arrived on the ten-o’clock Capitol Airlines flight from Chicago. A surprised Tobey said, “I was on that flight too.”

Humphreys: “You were? Well, we had a distinguished guest on it then, didn’t we?”

Tobey: “I can say that goes both ways. However, if I had seen you there, maybe we could have settled this all before we got in town.”

Humphreys: “Well, if I had seen you, Senator, I think I would have tried to get off.”

In another verbal joust, Humphreys denied having anything to do with the 1931 Fitchie kidnapping, explaining that the Milk Wagon Drivers’ Union boss had framed him in a fit of vengeance. “His revenge was caused by my being in the milk business,” Humphreys said, “and that was one way of getting me out of the milk business.” The probers were dubious, however, that the genteel man who now appeared before them was ever in the milk business. Tobey attempted to trip Humphreys up, asking, “Which side of a cow do you sit on to milk?” To which an unfazed Humphreys quipped back, “Well, I don’t know if I have ever gotten that low yet.”

When Senator Lester Hunt of Wyoming started asking about Curly’s wife and daughter, Humphreys let him know he would have none of it:

Humphreys: “I don’t see where that has anything to do with this hearing.”

Hunt: “All you have to do is to say you refuse to answer.”

Humphreys: “Let’s start right now. I refuse.”

Hunt: “Do you want to tell me what year your daughter is in high school?”

Humphreys: “I will refuse to answer that, so long as you have suggested that.”

Hunt: “What is your daughter’s first name?”

Humphreys: “I don’t see where my daughter has anything to do with this hearing.”

Hunt: “It is not for you to pass on the type of questions I ask at all. If you don’t care to answer, just say so.”

Humphreys: “Would you like to have people asking questions about your family?”
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Hunt: “You are not questioning the senator; the senator is questioning you. You are the one who is the witness.”

Humphreys: “I realize that, but I still resent the line of questioning, Senator.”

Hunt: “You are going to be cited for contempt; I can tell you that.”

Humphreys: “I am sorry to hear that, sir.”

But the Welshman was not really worried, so certain was he of his interpretation of the Constitution. The set-to concluded with Curly’s asking Hunt, “Then you are under the impression that I am a criminal, is that it?” At this point, a frustrated Hunt threw Humphreys’ legal masterpiece back in his face: “I would refuse to answer the question because it might incriminate me. I have no further questions.” When Kefauver moved to stop the questioning, Humphreys made another demand. He wanted the committee to send a copy of its interim report to whichever court was to hear his contempt citation. This request reminded Kefauver of a similar request by Rocco Fischetti just moments before. It then dawned on Chairman Kefauver that Curly had been coaching the other witnesses. Curly readily admitted his tutelage of the gang. Unable to resist a bit of swagger, he added, “And you know, the longer you fellows work, the more we understand what our rights are.” Having totally disoriented the august body, Curly took his leave, but not before reminding them to forward their report to the courts. With that, Humphreys stood up and smiled courteously, saying, “Thank you very much.”

While Curly Humphreys’ testimony provided comic relief during the public hearings, the secret executive sessions were enlivened by the appearance of the Outfit’s feisty courier-spy, Virginia Hill. Just hours before her public testimony on March 15, 1951, the committee wisely chose to pre-interview the scorpion-tongued vixen behind closed doors during their New York road trip. According to Kefauver aide Ernie Mittler, Senator Tobey refused to drop the topic of Hill’s enormous surfeit of money. Like most other witnesses, Hill had been appropriately vague about her business with the Outfit, but when she had had enough of Tobey’s line of questioning, she knew exactly how to stop it dead in its tracks.

“But why would [Joe Epstein] give you all that money?” Tobey asked for the umpteenth time.

“You really want to know?” Hill teased.