Roman Rocket

 

 

 

ROMAN ROCKET
by
BILL FLYNN

 

In 1978 Robert Daley wrote a book called Prince of the City. In 1981 Sidney Lumet made a movie of the same name that featured Treat Williams and Jerry Orbach. The story line was based on the real life story of an NYPD detective named Robert Leuci who was a corrupt narcotics detective in the city’s Special Investigation’s Unit and who reluctantly became an informer. The movie is outstanding and not just because it is a great story but because it captured the flavor and atmosphere of what it was like being a young law enforcement person living in Manhattan during the 1970’s. The detectives of the SIU were special in the NYPD.

I was a single guy in my late twenties living in Manhattan during this period. I was a Special Agent for the FBI and worked Organized Crime investigations and lived in a studio apartment on 75th Street and York Ave. I was a lucky guy. Just like the detectives of the SIU, I had a special job in a special time and there simply wasn’t a lot of other people who had a more exciting and interesting law enforcement life than mine. My apartment was located in Manhattan’s exclusive Upper East Side neighborhood. The building was built as a studio building so the apartments were very livable units even though they were compact. The best attraction of the apartment was the parking space that I had in the basement and as anyone who knows anything about parking and who owns a car in Manhattan, it was virtually priceless.

The Organized Crime cases I worked were essentially Illegal Gambling and Shylock cases. They were a hot item in those days because they were big income providers for the mob and a source for assorted types of informants. I later went on to work some really good Union Racketeering cases but the gambling / shylocking cases, also known as loan sharking, were fun with surveillances and interviews that were always unpredictable and interesting. The official name for shylocking cases was Extortionate Credit Transactions but we always called them shylocking cases. I suppose it might be politically incorrect today to use the term Shylock because the original Shylock was a Jewish money lender from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, hence it may be offensive to some. Get over it. Like I said, I worked Shylock cases.

The gambling cases were usually centered around wire taps of bookmakers who kept regular hours taking bets by manning phones in some seedy business location or in a marginal apartment where odd comings and goings wouldn’t be noticed. The bookmaker would have to eventually meet up with his customers to settle up. We would follow them and identify the players. Later in an investigation you would approach these bettors and interview them and put pressure on them to flip. It was important at the time and it was fun. I worked with other young agents and we were very contemporary guys whose unusual hours allowed us to hang out in the Eastside singles bars. We were hip, we were Princes of the City.

 

The Manhattan FBI office was located in an office building at 69th St. and 3rd Ave. This was about a ten or fifteen minute walk from my apartment and it couldn’t be a better work circumstance. The neighborhood was a great neighborhood with mainly hi rise apartment buildings with lots of street level stores, restaurants and bars. The non surveillance suit and tie agents were easily spotted in the neighborhood and were welcomed by the locals for both their business and added security.

Manufacturers Hanover Bank was located directly across 3rd Ave from the office and this was a great convenience. ATM machines hadn’t made an appearance at this point and when I wanted cash, I would simply go across the street to the bank and cash a check. My partner at this time was my eternal friend Kenny Giel and before we would take off for a day’s work we would often go to the bank for my cash stop. This was always fun. We are both pretty outgoing but Kenny is an absolute showman when the circumstances are right. When we went into the bank we didn’t just go in, we made an entrance. Everybody knew us and we were greeted with verbal high fives from the employees. It was fun and the bank tellers liked us and we felt the same about them. The stand out was Ms Linda Griffin. Linda was several years younger than me, tall, slender with the greatest head of wavy long auburn hair. She was Irish all the way with a million dollar smile but the thing that really jumped out were the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in any woman. Linda was fun. Linda was a fox. We always kidded her and her girlfriend, Phyllis. Phyllis was a light skinned Black girl who was also very good looking. The two of them together on the street literally had guys turning around to do double takes. They were the original Salt and Pepper.

On Friday nights Kenny and I would occasionally run into these girls and the rest of the bank people at the Sun Luck Restaurant that was located at 69th St. and Lexington Ave. We would meet my future Brother in Law Jack Maguire, who was a detective in the local precinct, and who was a virtual Mayor of the neighborhood. As the Crime Prevention Specialist he was in a Public Relations position with the PD and it was a perfect fit. This was also a hangout for FBI people who would have a couple of drinks before jumping on the subway to begin their commutes to the suburbs. The bank and the restaurant were all part of the Imperial House apartment complex that takes up the whole block. Linda told stories about Joan Crawford, the famous actress, who was a recluse who lived in the Imperial House and how she would go to Crawford’s apartment and handle her banking. The actress would only deal with Linda and treated Linda pretty well for her services. She also told stories about Calvin Klein, the designer, and another Imperial House dweller who she also dealt with and who she said was a nice guy. She knew him when he had nothing and Linda said he remained a nice guy as he became famous. Howard Cossel, the sports announcer, also lived in the Imperial House and every now and then would pass through the Sun Luck. We would chat about all sorts of things and buy the girls drinks. We were friends.

Joe Fanning was an old time agent that worked on my squad. He was mentor to a lot of us young guys. We initially started out working a lot of his cases and the trade off was we got to watch how an old pro worked. Joe would come into work early and leave in the early afternoon to go to whatever horse track was running at the time. He kept an array of informants at the tracks and generated a lot of gambling case leads as well as bunch of other work. Of course cigar chomping Joe played the ponies and was a Damon Runyon kind of guy who was meant to be at the track. This was his environment.

Joe’s son Michael worked for a trainer at the Belmont Park Race Track and among his duties was the early morning timing of various horses workouts. Michael got very adept at spotting up and coming future winning horses. Of course Michael would pass along this information to Joe who would bet on them and quite frankly, clean up. Joe was truly a good friend to all of us but for the guys who were willing to work directly for him he would quietly pass along the tips. We in turn would go to OTB (Off Track Betting) and place our bets. All legal. We did pretty well too. There was one point where Michael had given us 7 winners in a row. Unheard of! When Joe called us it was like the EF Hutton commercial of the day, everyone listened.

It was a normal morning with Kenny and I at our desks catching up on whatever paper was due when Joe called. He told us not to bet the ranch on it but that he had one that looked pretty good. We lit up as we always did when one of these came in. Everything immediately was put aside and off we went to OTB. We needed a cash infusion for our bets so our first stop was Manufacturers Hanover of course. Our favorite teller Linda was working and as I gave her my check, I don’t know why, I kiddingly asked her if she wanted us to place a bet for her. She asked me to put $2 on the horse and said that if she won she would take us to lunch.

It’s funny how my relationship with Linda was one of friendship and had been that way for a couple of years. I would see her at the Sun Luck on Friday nights every once in awhile but I never asked her out. I have no idea why. As they say in today’s language, she was hot. Normally, if I thought I had a chance with a girl as good looking as Linda it didn’t take me long to try my luck. The Sun Luck was always crowded but the bartenders Norman and Bob would save Linda and her girlfriends seats at the bar. Linda served as the de facto private banker for the restaurant and they always treated her like a queen. I benefitted from her relationship with them because in an impossibly crowded bar, Linda was always able to get me a drink. We were friends.

Well Michael’s tip, by the way named Roman Rocket, came in and paid a whopping $2.80. He extended his streak but there was no real profit made. We won little but we weren’t complaining. We hadn’t lost and we were looking forward to the next one. We told Linda about her questionable good fortune and she said that the lunch was still on. Of course there was no way we were going to let her pay.

The big day came. I was sitting at my desk and it was getting close to the lunch date time with Linda. I went to Kenny’s desk to get us started over to the bank. Kenny sat back, looked at me and said “Are you out of your mind?” He made it clear that he was not going to tag along on a date between Linda and I. Bingo, the light went on. This was a date with Linda wasn’t it? Somehow or another I had compartmentalized this get together as just a lunch with some friends.

I went across the street to the bank to pick up Linda for our date and she seemed to be under the same impression. It’s incredible how quickly my attitude changed. I was looking at my friend with a whole new perspective. I was proud of the beautiful girl I had on my arm as we walked to Gleason’s Bar on 1st Ave. This was a regular hang out of mine and one of a number that I frequented in my neighborhood. It was an Irish pub with a world class hamburger and it attracted a nice crowd from the famous Sloane Kettering hospital around the corner. We had a good lunch and it was never difficult keeping conversation going with Linda, it just flowed, everything was right.

During the meal, I sat facing the rear of the restaurant. I never did this and still don’t. I’m like Wyatt Earp. I’ve got see whose coming in and going out the front door. It was fortuitous that I deviated from my pattern because as I sat looking at the kitchen a rat the size of you average house cat casually strolled across the floor. I almost pointed it out to Linda. This would have been a very critical mistake. As I found out later a roach would launch her and a rat would have required a 911 call. Strangely enough, as it turned out, it wasn’t a bad omen. After that date, it just seemed to make sense that Linda and I would get together as much as we could. I got in the habit of picking her up with my car after work and driving her home to Inwood on the northern most tip of Manhattan.

We dated for awhile and after some on again off agains we settled in and got engaged. We started out, broke of course, to have a small immediate family wedding at our very good friends Judy and Bill Bradbury’s home in Summit, New Jersey. At every turn, Bill “Boop” Bradbury expanded the guest list. Judy went with the flow and wound up doing a mountain of work with a great big smile. You have to have your cousins, your friends from work, your outside of work friends who you have known for years. Eventually, we wound up with about a 150 people in Boop’s backyard with the most dangerous element you can have at any wedding, plenty of alcohol and no time limit. In a catering hall, they throw you out. We wound up with people sitting in the back yard at 4:00am. A clean up party started again at 8:00am and day two of the wedding effectively started. In the end, nobody got locked up, nobody got hurt and property damage was minimal. Thank God for small miracles.

Before we got married, I bought a house in Oradell, NJ, based on the strength of my good job and a flawless credit history. It was also based on my knowledge of the bank mortgage vetting procedures of the time. In other words, I borrowed the down payment for my home mortgage from the Federal Credit Union knowing that there was no cross checking between the two data bases. To my mind, I knew that I could handle both payments and that my moral responsibility was to pay back my loans and I did. When Linda and I went to the closing in NJ we had just enough money to celebrate with 2 bottles of Michelobe Lite, a bag of beer nuts and the exact change for our return trip over the George Washington Bridge. Our life together got off to a great start and we both feel that we have been more than fortunate.

My single Prince of the City days came to an end but the trade off of finding my real Princess was a good deal. Who would of thought that Roman Rocket and a trip to OTB would be one of the the most life changing events of my life.