SMILEY’S DICE

SMILEY’S DICE

SMILEY’S DICE

CONFESSIONS OF OTHER KIDS  

The day after Confessions of a Mob Kid posted Iin the NEW YORK POST new names appeared in my email box.  The messages were the same, “We have a connection.”

Over the years I’ve contemplated the whereabouts of all those aunts and uncles belonging to my father’s world. The aunts and uncles were not genetic; they were part of that other family. 

Some of them had children that became part of my childhood gang.

When our fathers were talking business in delicatessens, poolside or a hotel, we were busy being children.  Over the years I asked dad what happened to some of these kids, and he‘d answer, “Meyer puts it this way; ‘You don’t inherit friends.  He said if often, as if it was a warning; “When I’m gone so are my friends.” He was right; all of his friends vanished into thin air. It was if they had not been part of my life. Yet they formed my first impressions of conversations and behavior between adults.  They set the standards for whom I felt comfortable and with whom I didn’t.  

 The first email was signed Uncle Myron. He said his father, known as “Sugie,” was in the juke box business in New Jersey with Abner “Longy” Zwillman.  We had a juke box in our first home.  I was too young to remember Abner, but I remember the name Longy; my dad talked of him with other friends.  Uncle Myron took over his fathers business and during the seventies and eighties was known as the Emperor of slot machines in New York.  

After three emails, I was ready to talk to my Uncle Myron.   

“Hi Myron, this is Luellen.”

“How are you sweetheart?”  That one line ran circles around my memory. His voice assimilated all the voices of those uncles, and best friends that left without saying goodbye.

“I’m all right.”

“Our fathers were from another world.”

“I know. Do you think they’d be angry with what I wrote?”

“Absolutely NOT! Are you kidding, you’re humanizing them. My father may his soul rest in peace, worked with Longy and Meyer.

“Yes, mine did too. But more closely with Ben Siegel.”

“Sure, they all came from the same fabric. And when you met them, you were part of the family instantly. They knew how to treat you so you would never forget.

“ I haven’t forgotten.”     

“When did dad pass on?”

“It was 1982.  I was devastated. It was awkward to have that background and no one to share it with.

“It’s difficult for all the kids to adjust after that upbringing.”

“Are there a lot of us?”

“Sure, some don’t acknowledge the background; they hide for one reason or another. Most of them are in legitimate business today, it’s a different world sweetheart.”

Sugerman broke the ice within seconds.  I was ready at that moment to get on a flight to Newark and meet him.  Over the next few days he sent me fascinating articles and stories.  The breakage of that controversial and complex lineage is rebuilding itself.  I feel as if I can call on him any time of the day.  

The next email came from a relative of another member of the Jersey boys.  He knew both my parents, and especially liked my mother. He had stories to tell and was eager to exchange impressions.  We got cut short on the telephone by present day business interruptions. 

The next one came a few days later. First an email and then a request to call him.  When Michael answered the phone, he introduced himself as

an associate by birth of the Cleveland Syndicate. It struck me that each one felt loyalty towards their parent’s people.   

My dad was as close to the Cleveland bosses as he was to Ben Siegel.  Lou Rothkopf, one of the four bosses was referred to as Uncle Rhody. Lou flew out to be with Dad the night of Ben’s murder. He would do more for a friend than the friend’s own family. If someone owed him money, he crossed the street to avoid the meeting. He was respected in his community.  After Senator Estes Kefauver whipped up the country’s vengeance against gangsters, bookmakers, bootleggers, and on down the line, Lou was called in to testify.  The humiliation killed him, he committed suicide. Michael’s Uncle was part of Lou’s syndicate.  It is better known as the “Silent Syndicate” because the bosses were so understated. They’d never have been discovered by the feds if it wasn’t for the fabulously flamboyant Benny Siegel. 

Michael didn’t follow in his dad’s footsteps but he has no reservation about pointing to his history. He is, like Myron, an educated and proud Jew.   “I’m sick to death of the caricatures of hoodlums in books and on television.    My life is boring–the history of my people is what fascinates me.  If I had more time I’d study it all day long.” 

“Me too.  They seemed to run the whole country.”

“They did! Your absolutely right.”

“We have a very close connection.”

“We do?”

“Yea. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.”  

“You know who backed the Flamingo.”

 “New York and Chicago wasn’t it?”

“Cleveland.”

“Oh really.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“ Cleveland took Ben out.”

“Cleveland? You don’t mean Rhody’s clan?”

“I don’t know– its conjecture. From all the stories I heard, the books I’ve read–that’s what I’ve hypothesized.”

We talked for over an hour, and then he said, “Call me anytime; I’d love to talk more. I have a lot of stories about Cleveland.” 

The third connection came as I was driving along the highway in Santa Fe. When she identified herself, I told her to hang on, “I had to faint first.”

It had been thirty years since I’d spoken to her.   She was the one I wanted to find.  I’d imagined our meeting again.  Our mother’s were best friends.   Instead, I was given a friendly warning not to mention anyone in her family.  I agreed.  I didn’t inherit his friends, but I did adopt his sense of loyalty. When a friend says don’t identify me; there is no argument.  I doubt we will have that reunion. She is suspicious of writers and honestly I can’t do anything without writing about it.  

No regrets on my end.  Had it not been for the New York Post, I wouldn’t

be planning a trip to New Jersey to meet Uncle Myron.   He’s saving the

best stories until we meet, and I will pass them on to you.