Joe Bruno's Mobsters - Six Volume Set (43 page)

However, Lozier was not finished with this foolishness. He said he would need hundreds of men to do the actual sawing off of Manhattan Island. Lozier promised he would pay triple wages to those who did the sawing under water.

To see which men were most qualified for this hazardous duty, Lozier lined up hundreds of men, and one at a time, he used a stopwatch to measure how long each man could hold his breath. As each man huffed and puffed, and then held his breath until his face almost exploded, Uncle John Devoe entered the breath-holding times in his ledger. Some men were so eager to please, they pleaded with Lozier to let them try several more times, so that they could improve their scores. Lozier happily agreed to their folly.

As the weeks rolled by, the Manhattan natives were getting restless for the work to begin. Lozier kept putting them off, telling them that
he did not have enough laborers and that the equipment needed had not been completed.

Finally, Lozier had no choice but to set a date on which hundreds of people would gather to commence on their mission to saw off Manhattan Island, tow it up the East River, spin it around, and reattach it. Lozier instructed everyone, who was to be involved in the project, to report to work at the corner of the Bowery and Spring Street. Lozier even hired a drum and bugle corps to accompany the large contingent of people on their march to upstate Kingsbridge.

At the appointed time, a group, estimated to be anywhere from 500 to 1,000 people, assembled at the corner of the Bowery and Spring Street. Included in the crowd were laborers, accompanied by their wives and children, contractors, carpenters, and butchers with their cattle, hogs, and chickens, all crated and ready to go.

But alas, no Lozier, and no Uncle John Devoe either.

As the wait for the two men continued, the crowd at the corner of Bowery and Spring Street was growing inpatient; the cattle mooed, the hogs grunted, the chickens cackled, and the young children started squealing in dismay.

After the crowd had waited several hours, a group of men was sent to Centre Market to search for Lozier and Uncle John Devoe. When the search party returned from Centre Market empty-handed, the more intelligent people started realizing they all had been had, scammed, buffaloed, and humiliated. Some were angry enough to arm themselves with bats and sticks, as they searched the streets of lower Manhattan, looking f
or Lozier and Uncle John Devoe.

However, the two men were nowhere to be found.

Months went by, and still no Lozier and no Uncle John Devoe. Rumor had it that their hoax being exposed, the two men had escaped to a friend's house in Brooklyn and were in deep hiding. Some of the people, who had invested their own time and money to no avail, wanted to have the two fugitives caught, arrested, and punished. However, the bulk of those who had been duped, argued against doing so, since they didn't want to admit that they had been stupid enough to accept the outlandish scenario that Lozier had made them believe.

Here is where the end of the story diverges into truth, and possible fantasy.

In those days, it was not the job of the newspapers to write about hoaxes. They wrote hard news, and the sawing off of Manhattan Island did not fall into that category. Therefore, there is no record in the newspapers that this event had ever actually taken place. As the years went by, word-of-mouth was the only way the story of the sawing off of Manhattan Island was perpetuated.

One version has it, that after several months on the run, Lozier and Uncle John Devoe finally returned to Centre Market, where they were ostracized by their victims and forced to leave New York City; luckily for them, without major bodily injury.

Another version is that this whole hoax never happened in the first place.

However, the latter version was basically accepted as the townsfolk being so embarrassed by the load of garb
age they had been fed by Lozier and accepted without question, they felt it was better to say that Lozier's scam had never happened.

I believe in the former version. You decide for yourself.

W
alker, Jimmy – New York City's “Midnight Mayor”

If New York City
Mayor Jimmy Walker had not been so likable he would certainly have been branded a scoundrel.

Jimmy Walker was born in New York City's Greenwich Village on June 19, 1881, the son of an Irish immigrant, who later became a political mover and shaker in Tammany Hall. Walker attended Xavier High School, which is a military school in Manhattan, and later New York Law School.

However, Walker's first love was music. Walker fell in with the Village's bohemian crowd, and instead of practicing law, he turned to songwriting. Two of the songs Walker wrote were:
There's Music In The Rustle Of A Skirt
and
Will You Love Me in December As You Do in May?
The latter song made Walker an overnight sensation in Tin Pan Alley, with its melodious refrain:

Will you love me in December as you do in May?

Will you love in the good old fashioned way?

When my hair has all turned Gray,

Will you kiss me then, and say,

That you love me in December as you do in May?

In 1910, due to his father's prodding, and with the influence of his mentor, Tammany Hall titan Al Smith (later Governor Smith), Walker ran and was elected to the New York State Assembly, where he served until 1914. Savoring the taste of political power, the now-ambitious Walker was then elected to the New York State Senate from 1914 to 1925. Walker was so popular in the Senate, he was elected President pro tempore of the New York State Senate from 1923 to 1924.

Throughout his term in the Senate, Walker was always smartly dressed, and
he was imbued with a radiant, outgoing attitude. Walker was considered a bon vivant, who spent more time bending his elbow in speakeasies than he did actually serving his constituents in the Senate.

American journalist Robert Caro once described Senator Walker as, “Pinch-
waisted, one-button suit, slenderest of cravats, a shirt from a collection of hundreds, pearl-gray spats buttoned around silk-hosed ankles, toes of the toothpick shoes peeking out from the spats polished to a gleam. Pixie smile, the 'vivacity of a song and dance man,' a charm that made him arrive in the Senate Chamber like a glad breeze. 'The Prince Charming of Politics'.....slicing through the ponderous arguments of the ponderous men who sat around him with a wit that flashed like a rapier. Beau James.”

In 1925, Al Smith, then Governor of New York, thought Walker would be the perfect mayor for New York City, a town now basking in the glow of the naughtiness of the Roaring 20's. With Smith's backing and
backroom maneuvering, Walker moved to unseat the present mayor John Harlan, who was considered quite competent if not a bit stodgy.

Smith's biggest roadblock was that Walker was known more as a party animal than he was as a wily politician. But “Beau James,” as he was now called in the press, promised Smith, if he was elected to the top spot in town, he would mend his wayward ways.

Harlan was a Democrat, and so was Walker, so Smith had to call in some of his outstanding chits in order for Walker to get the Democratic nomination. That mission accomplished, Walker's next obstacle was Republican-Fusion candidate Frank Waterman in the mayoral election.

Waterman basically called Walker a crook, and said that if Walker were elected mayor, because of Walker's crooked ties in Tammany Hall, the New York City Subway system would be immersed in corruption. Walker laughed off Waterman's remarks
, and he said he was running as the “people's mayor,” because he liked to do the same things the general public liked to do: gambling and drinking illegal hooch during Prohibition.

During his campaign, Walker boasted, “I like the company of my fellow human beings. I like the theater and am devoted to healthy outdoor sports. Because I like these things, I have reflected my attitude in some of my legislation I have sponsored: 2.75 percent beer, Sunday baseball, Sunday movies, and legalized boxing. But let me allay any fear there may be that, because I believe in personal liberty, wholesome amusement, and healthy professional sport, I will not countenance for a moment any indecency or vice in New York.”

Yeah, right.

In a blur, Walker partied his way through his first four years as mayor. The public was so in love with the new mayor, it hardly caused a ripple when he left his wife
, Janet, for showgirl Betty Compton, who was 23 years Walker's junior.

In 1928, Walker's shenanigans lost him the favor of Al Smith. So Walker, the cool cat that he was, cozied up to the new governor, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who had been elected governor when Smith stepped down to run for the Presidency against Republican Herbert Hoover. After losing to Hoover, Smith's power at Tammany Hall
was greatly diminished. Roosevelt was the new Democratic power in New York State, and the wily Walker took advantage of that.

That's not to say Walker accomplished nothing in his first term as mayor. Walker did consolidate the New York City hospital system, purchased thousands of acres for park land (including Great Kills in Staten Island), and
he expanded the municipal bus system. The fact that a few of his pals were granted an exclusive franchise to own the city buses caused not a ripple in Walker's popularity. In fact, no one said a word that Walker had basically become a part-time mayor.

“Beau James” was hardly ever in City Hall attending to business, and was instead either at the racetrack, the fights, or carousing in one of the city's 32,000 speakeasies. While enjoying the nightlife, Walker imbibed his share of illegal beverages. Walker's favorite cocktail was a “Black Velvet,” which is champagne poured over the top of a hefty serving of Guinness stout.

In 1929, Walker was challenged for mayor by the fiery reformer, Fiorello LaGuardia. During one heated debate, LaGuardia was incensed that Walker had raised his own salary from $25,000 a year to $40,000 a year. Walked quipped back, “Hell, that's cheap. Imagine what I would be worth if I worked full time.”

Walker chided
LaGuardia's reputation as a “reformer,” saying, “Reformers are guys who ride through a sewer in a glass bottom boat.” Meaning, a savvy politician knew well enough to look the other way when it was politically expedient to do so.

Walker didn't know it at the time, but the beginning of his undoing was the stock-market crash of 1929. It was
all right to act carefree and gay when the city was enjoying economic growth, but when people were out of work, with some even starving, Walker's devil-may-care attitude began to wear thin.

Walker faced his first real embarrassment, in July of 1930, when he and his gal-pal
, Betty Compton, were present when the police raided a gambling house in Montauk, Long Island.

While people were being lined up against the wall and handcuffed, Walker told the
local police something like, “Hey, I'm the mayor of New York City! You can't arrest the mayor of New York City!”

The police agreed
, and they let Walker go. But being “The girlfriend of the mayor of New York City” had no such pull. So the cops cuffed Compton and led her to the local slammer. It took Walker a few hours to reach the right people to get Compton released.

Still, since the embarrassing incident was reported in the press, it left a big scar on Walker's reputation, because it was evident, while peopl
e were starving and out of work and sometimes denied food and shelter, “Beau James” was having a grand old time for himself. And let the city of New York be damned.

Things started to turn bleak for Walker when the Archbishop of New York, Cardinal Hayes, started taking pot shots at the mayor. Hayes claimed that the decadence of New York City, which led to the stock-market crash of 1929, was mostly the fault of Mayor Walker, whose shady antics set a bad example for the rest of the city. Cardinal Hayes even accused Walker of looking the other way while girlie magazines were being sold by the
thousands on 42
nd
Street.

Walker foolishly took on Cardinal Hayes
, when he fired back, “I never knew a woman who was hurt by a magazine.”

Cardinal Hayes kept up his attacks on Walker, and soon the cardinal's rants reached the office of Roosevelt, who was readying himself to run for President of the United States. As a result, Roosevelt was not too happy with Mayor Walk
er, and he was looking for a way to rid himself of Walker's political embarrassments.

Walker had one foot in his political grave and another foot on a banana peel, when he was summoned before the Seabury Committee, chaired by Justice Samuel Seabury, a cantankerous man obviously disgusted by Mayor Walker's excesses. The Seabury Committee was formed to investigate police and political corruption in New York City.

On May 25, 1932, Walker, dressed like he was going speakeasy-hopping, mounted the steps of the county courthouse in lower Manhattan.

A throng of well-wishers clapped at his arrival, yelling, “Atta boy, Jimmy! You tell '
em Jimmy! Good luck boyo!”

Walker flashed his million-dollar smile, and
he raised his clasped hands over his head like a professional boxer after winning a fight.