L.A. Noir Part 14

Defending the Democratic Party was, in some ways, an unlikely a.s.signment for Chief Parker, who had become a high-profile antagonist of the party's California branch. In 1956, Parker had expressed strong support for the reelection of President Dwight Eisenhower. Parker also had close ties to the Nixon campaign through Norris Poulson's old campaign manager, Jack Irwin, who had joined the Police Commission after Poulson's election. There he quickly became a strong Parker fan. Irwin was also a friend of Vice President Richard Nixon, the Republican nominee for president that year. Irwin's connection to the vice president (and his ties to Chief Parker) worried J. Edgar Hoover. The FBI director feared that if Nixon was elected, he might attempt to ease out Hoover and replace him with Parker.

Parker was actually a double threat. Politically, he was closer to the GOP Personally he was closer to the Kennedy camp, thanks to his relationship with Bobby. The services he would offer Sen. Jack Kennedy during the convention would further solidify Parker's Kennedy connections.

The convention began under a suffocating blanket of smog that left delegates with watery eyes and burning throats. Jacqueline Kennedy, four months pregnant, stayed away from Los Angeles entirely. Jack stayed with a few bachelor friends in a penthouse apartment in Hollywood owned by the comedian Jack Haley. Bobby stayed with brother-in-law Peter Lawford in Santa Monica. Joe Sr. monitored activities from the Beverly Hills mansion of his old friend Marion Davies, William Randolph Hearst's longtime mistress.

From the start, Parker put the LAPD at the Kennedys' disposal. At the opening reception on Sunday, Jack Kennedy, Bobby and Ethel, and Ted and Joan appeared, escorted by fifteen white-helmeted police officers and a thirty-person plainclothes detail. (In contrast, Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Baines Johnson, his wife Lady Bird, and their two daughters were left to greet the crowd on their own, a.s.sisted only by volunteer "Johnson girls" handing out long-stemmed roses as a band played the Johnson campaign song, "Everything's Coming Up Roses.") In general, though, security was light. There was no Secret Service protection. The Kennedy campaign asked that just one officer be a.s.signed full-time to Jack. That proved insufficient. Well-wishers hemmed him in everywhere, stopping him to introduce themselves, to shake hands, to say h.e.l.lo. These encounters were sometimes quite frightening: on two occasions, enthusiastic supporters nearly tore off Kennedy's coat. Eventually, the campaign asked for backup. Parker upped the detail to four. Instead of mingling with the delegates, Kennedy's unit started to move him through freight elevators and bas.e.m.e.nt kitchens.

The LAPD also proved to be useful during the convention. On Wednesday, July 13, 1960, some six hundred supporters of Adlai Stevenson, the Democratic Party's nominee in 1952 and 1956, swarmed the Figueroa Street entrance of the Sports Arena, where the convention was being held. Although Stevenson insisted that he was not interested in being the party's candidate, his supporters were determined to nominate him. So they settled on the desperate stratagem of blockading the convention and then charging the floor, with the hope that they would be able to take control of the convention proceedings. The police quickly intervened, rushing forces to the entrance in order to break the blockade.

When Kennedy cinched the nomination, Parker was pleased. Yet despite Parker's genuine admiration for the Kennedy brothers, there were things about the family that made him uneasy. Several months after the convention, Parker went to visit his younger brother Joe and his sister-in-law Jane. One evening after dinner, the topic turned to the Kennedys. Bill made a fleeting comment, that "he would never believe" the things the Kennedys were involved in. Joe would later speculate that Bill spurned a job with the administration in Washington because he did not care to a.s.sociate with the likes of the actor Peter Lawford and his good friend, Frank Sinatra.

Sinatra, whom Parker regarded as being "totally tied to the Mafia," was clearly a sore point. Relations between the LAPD and the entertainer had been strained since at least February 1957, when three LAPD officers had burst into Sinatra's Palm Springs house-at 4 a.m.-to serve the entertainer with a subpoena to appear before a congressional subcommittee investigating Confidential Confidential magazine, a scandal sheet that specialized in extorting money from celebrities with skeletons in their closets. magazine, a scandal sheet that specialized in extorting money from celebrities with skeletons in their closets.

Exactly what kind of intelligence Parker had on the Kennedys is unknown. Once-just once-Joe picked up on a pa.s.sing, uncomplimentary allusion to Kennedy-Hollywood skulduggery and expressed his doubts.

"Gee, you know, I just don't understand how that could be true, Joseph told his brother."

"Joe, you don't hear anything about what's really going on," Parker replied.

BY ALL ACCOUNTS, the department did a superb job during the convention. Hailed by the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times editorial board for its good work, Parker was later feted at the Biltmore Bowl by nearly nine hundred leading citizens. His standing had never been higher. On November 8, 1960, Sen. John F. Kennedy was elected to be the thirty-fifth president of the United States. Less than two weeks later, while out golfing with a editorial board for its good work, Parker was later feted at the Biltmore Bowl by nearly nine hundred leading citizens. His standing had never been higher. On November 8, 1960, Sen. John F. Kennedy was elected to be the thirty-fifth president of the United States. Less than two weeks later, while out golfing with a New York Times New York Times reporter, the president-elect casually let drop that he was considering appointing his thirty-five-year-old brother to be the next attorney general of the United States. The response was immediate-and negative. Bobby had never been a practicing lawyer. Most recently, he had been Jack's presidential campaign manager-hardly the nonpartisan background many hoped for in the nation's top lawman. An editorial in the reporter, the president-elect casually let drop that he was considering appointing his thirty-five-year-old brother to be the next attorney general of the United States. The response was immediate-and negative. Bobby had never been a practicing lawyer. Most recently, he had been Jack's presidential campaign manager-hardly the nonpartisan background many hoped for in the nation's top lawman. An editorial in the New York Times New York Times warned against nepotism in high office. "Wise men" such as Supreme Court Justice William Douglas also criticized the prospective appointment. Privately, even JFK was doubtful. But Joe Sr. insisted that Jack needed his brother at the Justice Department precisely because he was the ultimate loyalist. Joe Sr. also wanted Bobby at Justice to protect the president from the one person in government best positioned to do JFK harm-J. Edgar Hoover. On December 16, the president announced the appointment, with his brother at his side, in front of Blair house. warned against nepotism in high office. "Wise men" such as Supreme Court Justice William Douglas also criticized the prospective appointment. Privately, even JFK was doubtful. But Joe Sr. insisted that Jack needed his brother at the Justice Department precisely because he was the ultimate loyalist. Joe Sr. also wanted Bobby at Justice to protect the president from the one person in government best positioned to do JFK harm-J. Edgar Hoover. On December 16, the president announced the appointment, with his brother at his side, in front of Blair house.

The reaction in the underworld was explosive. Chicago Outfit boss Sam Giancana (who shared sometime paramour Judith Campbell Exner with Jack) immediately called Kennedy confidant Frank Sinatra and demanded to know what was going on. According to Outfit historian Gus Russo, Giancana "ended the call by slamming down the phone and then throwing it across the room."

"Eating out of the palm of his hand," the Outfit boss reportedly screamed. "That's what Frank told me. 'Jack's eatin' out of his hand.' Bulls.h.i.t, that's what it is." In Los Angeles, Cohen was equally surprised. Like virtually everyone in organized crime, Mickey had a.s.sumed that "the people" had reached an understanding with Joe Sr. "n.o.body in my line of work had an idea that he [JFK] was going to name Bobby Kennedy attorney general. That was the last thing anyone thought."

Parker was delighted. "It has been the pleasure of my office to work closely with Bobby Kennedy during his period as counsel for the McClellan Committee," Parker noted in a statement released by his office to the press. "This opportunity to observe his philosophies in the law enforcement field has been most gratifying." Parker confidently predicted "increased levels of support for law enforcement at all levels." He was right. Within two weeks, Kennedy had declared war on organized crime. Press reports suggested that Chief Parker might well be tapped to head the effort.

Publicly, J. Edgar Hoover welcomed Kennedy's appointment. (In fact, when JFK first floated the idea in November, Hoover had been the only major figure in Washington to express support for it.) But no one in the Kennedy family was fooled by this attempt to align himself with the new president. The antipathy between the two men was well known.

To the sixty-six-year-old J. Edgar Hoover, everything about Robert Kennedy was annoying: his sloppy dressing (Kennedy's ties were rarely straight and his shirtsleeves were rarely rolled down); his lack of regard for the dignity of his office (Kennedy often brought his ill-behaved dog, Brumus, to work, despite the fact it violated Justice Department rules, and sometimes liked to throw the football to aides in his cavernous office). Hoover was aghast to find Kennedy playing darts one day, seemingly without any concern about whether the darts. .h.i.t the target or the wall. (Hoover later fumed to an a.s.sociate that Kennedy was "desecrating public property.") Worst of all, though, was the obvious lack of regard for Hoover himself. Kennedy even had the audacity to "buzz" Hoover and ask him to come down to the AG's office at once instead of courteously requesting an appointment with Hoover, as previous AGs had. In contrast, Kennedy was almost ostentatious in expressing respect for the man J. Edgar Hoover increasingly regarded as a rival, LAPD chief William Parker.

OVER THE COURSE of the 1950s, Hoover's dislike of Parker had turned to hatred. Parker's cardinal sin-the offense for which he was never forgiven-had occurred seven years earlier, at a policing convention in Detroit. J. Edgar Hoover had been the honoree of a gala dinner. Although the FBI director was not there in person, his achievements had been lauded by the a.s.sembled police executives-with the notable exception of Bill Parker. After the awards ceremony, Parker wandered "from bar to bar" grumbling that Hoover wasn't the only competent police executive in the country. According to other attendees at the event, he'd also complained about the bureau's civil rights investigations into his department. Hoover was incensed. He instructed the L.A. SAC "to have no contact with Chief Parker in the future." He also suggested that friends of the bureau complain to Mayor Poulson about Parker's conduct at the Detroit convention. They did, and when Parker got back, he was summoned to the mayor's office to receive a personal rebuke from Poulson. Parker was bewildered that such minor grousing had reached the mayor. Puzzled, the chief called the L.A. SAC to clarify his comments. He asked if the bureau had put someone up to complaining to Poulson. Of course not, the SAC replied, telling Parker that it was "absurd to even entertain the thought." Meanwhile, bureau agents were instructed to monitor Parker closely.

"As the Bureau knows, Parker has a flair for sounding off," noted one memo. "He is like a rattlesnake in many respects; he is full of venom but seldom does he fail to give a warning when he is going to strike. When he is working on a new idea, he throws it out here and there to test reaction, and if he finds that his ideas are generally accepted he crystallizes them into a speech before some law enforcement groups."

The rattlesnake was now in a position to succeed Hoover as the next director of the FBI.

Parker did not lobby for the job directly. Instead, he revived his idea of a national clearinghouse that could provide big-city police departments with information on organized crime. He also resumed his criticisms of the FBI's director.

"The F.B.I. shows great interest when stolen property moves across a state line but little interest when criminals move from state to state," Parker pointedly told the Herald-Express Herald-Express in December. Although the FBI was the natural choice to take on the job of leading an organized crime clearinghouse, "they have shown no indication that they will or that they want to," Parker continued. As a result, a new agency was needed. in December. Although the FBI was the natural choice to take on the job of leading an organized crime clearinghouse, "they have shown no indication that they will or that they want to," Parker continued. As a result, a new agency was needed.

"I have a high opinion of the F.B.I. and Hoover," Parker continued. "They are fine firemen. But the house is burning down."

The L.A. office hastily fired off a memo to headquarters, describing the chief as "a blabbermouth." It also suggested that Parker was attempting to stir up dissension between Hoover and the new attorney general. In truth, Parker hardly needed to work at that. The Kennedys weren't exactly circ.u.mspect about whom they might prefer as FBI director. On the contrary, they openly joked about it. Just a few weeks after her husband was sworn in, Ethel Kennedy took the liberty of slipping a card into the FBI's suggestion box at main Justice. Her suggestion was for Chief Parker to replace Hoover as the head of the FBI. She helpfully signed the note "Ethel."

Ethel was a prankster. The card may have been a joke. But the joke was a pointed one because the sentiments it expressed (the desire to be done with Hoover) were obviously true. To his closest aides, Kennedy frequently criticized the director and mocked his intimate a.s.sociate, Clyde Tolson. Once his brother Jack was reelected, he told friends, Hoover was out. No wonder Hoover feared that Kennedy and Parker were conspiring to dethrone him. But Hoover held a trump card-information. Eleven days after John F. Kennedy was sworn into office, Hoover forwarded a memo to RFK alerting him to a woman who was claiming to have had a s.e.xual liaison with Jack. It was the first in a very long line of memos.

TO MICKEY COHEN, the selection of Robert Kennedy to be the attorney general was the latest development in a nightmarish autumn. On September 16, the LAPD intelligence division's painstaking efforts to doc.u.ment Cohen's extravagant lifestyle (along with a ma.s.sive investigation by the Treasury Department and several months of intensive surveillance by the FBI) paid dividends when prosecutors at the U.S. Attorney's Office indicted Cohen on thirteen counts of tax evasion and fraud. The sums named were startling. Prosecutors alleged that between 1945 and 1950 and between 1956 and 1958, Cohen had evaded $400,000 in income tax. Federal authorities also filed liens against Cohen in Los Angeles, El Paso, St. Louis, and Cambridge, Ma.s.sachusetts, in an effort to recover some of the $135,000 he still owed in back taxes following his first tax evasion conviction.

To Cohen, the case was nothing more than a personal vendetta.

"There's no question about Bobby Kennedy and Chief William Parker having everything to do with my being indicted," he would later fume. "[H]is squads were following me around here at the Mocambo, Ciro's, Chasen's. They had little cameras, they would snap pictures, they would take data."

That data was now put to d.a.m.ning use. The strategy pursued by the U.S. Attorney's Office was basically the same as that used in Cohen's first trial: prove that Cohen's expenses vastly exceeded his income. With information provided by the intelligence division and others, Treasury Department investigators were able to reconstruct in vivid detail Cohen's free-spending ways. A string of witnesses further bolstered their case. The landlord of Cohen's apartment at 705 S. Barrington in Brentwood testified that after moving in, Cohen had spent between $5,000 and $8,000 redecorating his apartment, a sum he described as "a nominal figure" for the retired gangster. He also noted that Mickey had paid $9,000 up front for rent and other expenses. The owner of the Sportsman Lodge remembered paying Michael's Greenhouses $9,500 for landscaping work but was rather vague on what, if anything, had been done. A psychiatrist recalled a $10,000 gift to Cohen-in exchange for the right to study the gangster's aberrant behavior.

Then there were the people who had invested in the Mickey Cohen life story.

The first investor appeared as early as 1951, when Beverly Hills decorator Henry Guttman gave Cohen $10,000 for all story and screen rights to the Cohen life story. That didn't stop Mickey from seeking other investors. Several years later, a nightclub owner paid $15,000 for a 10 percent cut in Cohen's book. When he tried to back out, he'd gotten a frightening phone call from someone in New York telling him that if he didn't "straighten things out" with Mickey, he'd "be taken care of." Other investors had followed. Comedians Jerry Lewis and Red Skelton testified to being approached by Cohen about producing and starring in his movie. (Cohen had originally wanted Robert Mitchum to play himself.) Lewis demurred, saying that "any productions bearing his name should involve levity." (He did make a small investment in the project though; Mickey had been the person who first brought him to the West Coast to do a show at Slapsie Maxie's.) Skelton had also turned down Cohen's offer, pointing out that a "tall red-headed fellow" would hardly make a credible Mickey Cohen.

Then there were the "loans." By his own account, Cohen had borrowed more than $140,000 since his release from prison. Acquaintance after acquaintance appeared before the jury to relate loans in the range of $1,000 to $25,000, none of which had ever been repaid. Almost everyone said they'd happily lend Cohen more.

The most damaging testimony, though, came from Cohen's stripper paramours.

In early June 1961, Candy Barr was flown in from prison in Texas to testify. Barr told the jury that during the two months they had dated, Cohen had given $15,000 to her defense attorneys and lavished expensive presents on her, including jewelry, luggage, and a poodle. He had also picked up a $1,001.95 bill at a local clothing shop. At one point, he had even helped her flee to Mexico, arranging for her hair to be dyed black, providing phony doc.u.ments, and giving her $1,700 in cash. (Barr got bored and eventually returned home.) Others put the figure even higher. Federal narcotics agent T. Jones put Cohen's spending on Barr at roughly $60,000.

The next witness after this damaging testimony was Sandy Hagen, Mickey's current fiancee. Per Judge George Boldt's orders, the twenty-two-year-old ex-model/waitress/car hop arrived wearing the mink stole Mickey had given her. Hagen insisted that she'd bought the $600 mink with her own personal funds, despite the fact that she had no apparent income. The prosecution insisted that it was a gift from Cohen, paid for with unreported income. When prosecutors proceeded to quiz Hagen about other gifts Cohen had given her, she refused to answer. She was ultimately sentenced to a week in jail for contempt of court. Hagen still refused to testify. So the prosecution moved on to another target.

On June 14, two Treasury Department agents slipped into Los Angeles and tracked down stripper Beverly Hills, just before her performance. There they served her with a subpoena to appear before the federal grand jury investigating Mickey Cohen. After meeting Miss Hills, they decided to stay for the show. Afterward, the stripper asked them sweetly, "Now that you've seen everything I've got, do I still have to appear?"

The answer was yes. And so it went. For forty days, the jury listened to the parade of witnesses-194 in total-testify about Cohen's lavish spending and unsecured personal "loans" of a sort that no sane person would voluntarily extend to a penniless ex-gangster with a small stake in an ice-cream parlor. On June 16, 1961, the United States summed up its case against Cohen. Prosecutors claimed that in 1956 Cohen had failed to report $2,500 in income from the greenhouse. For 1957, the government had doc.u.mented taxable income that exceeded $46,000 (Cohen had reported $1,272). In 1958, Cohen had failed to report at least $13,000 in income. All told, for the years 1956-58, Cohen owed the government $34,799.70 in unpaid back taxes.

Cohen's defense was simple: He insisted that these were simply loans against future income from a book and movie deal.

"I feel it's now up to G.o.d's will," Cohen told the press, after the defense rested its case. "I know in my heart I'm innocent."

The jury disagreed. After two days of deliberation, on Friday, June 30, 1961, Cohen was convicted on eight counts of income tax evasion. The next day spectators packed the 150-seat courtroom to witness Cohen's sentencing.

Judge Boldt had been a genial presence during the trial. But this particular Sat.u.r.day morning he was all business. He started by asking Cohen if he had any remarks for the court.

"I can only say to your Honor very respectfully... [that] I made every effort to live my life in the past six years correctly, and I thought I did so," Cohen replied.

Judge Bolt thought otherwise.

"In my opinion, it is clear beyond doubt that defendant Cohen has little, if any, sense of truth, honesty, or responsibility either in his personal and financial affairs or in his obligations as a citizen of the United States," the judge said sternly.

"Notwithstanding kind and humane efforts to help Mr. Cohen's rehabilitation... there is no credible evidence that during the last six years he has ever engaged in any useful or commendable work or activity," Judge Boldt continued. He noted that within a short time from his first release from prison, Cohen "was in full flight on a profligate style of living, financed by many fraudulent or extorted so-called loans in a very large amount.

"If there be substantial decadence in society, as sometimes charged, Mickey Cohen is an excellent specimen," the judge continued. "The obstruction and impending weight of the collective Mickey Cohens in our national community could tip the balance to our doom in the struggle for the free way of life."

The judge then handed down his verdict-a $30,000 fine and fifteen years in prison. Cohen himself, watching calmly, seemed not to understand what had happened.

"What is the sentence anyway?" he asked reporters minutes after the verdict had been announced. When informed, he replied simply, "Well, I ain't going to say what I think until I ride with the punch a little." Mickey's reaction to the judge's lecture was succinct: "He is ent.i.tled to his opinions," Cohen said, simply.

Girlfriend Sandra Hagen put on a rather more dramatic show. Sobbing, her hands thrown up "in an att.i.tude of prayer," she told the scribbling newsmen, "It's too long, but I'll wait for him!" The following month the government denied Cohen and Hagen's request to be married while Cohen was in federal custody as "contrary to established policies." With good behavior, Mickey would be eligible for parole in five years.

From Washington, D.C., the new attorney general called a.s.sistant U.S. attorneys Thomas Sheridan and, in Washington, Charles McNeil to congratulate them for their work on the case. He also issued a statement praising the jury.

"This was a major case and a very significant verdict," proclaimed Robert Kennedy.

Cohen's attorneys (who now included Jack Dahlstrum in addition to Sam Dash, as well as longtime Parker foe A. L. Wirin) pet.i.tioned for a new trial and asked that Mickey be freed on bond during his appeal. Judge Boldt declined both requests. Cohen's last hope for escape came in the form of a message relayed to Dahlstrum from Tom Sheridan, a special a.s.sistant to Attorney General Robert Kennedy.

"Lookit, now, don't get hot," Dahlstrum told Mickey, when he came to him with the offer. "I know you're not going to like this, but it's my duty as your attorney to relay this to you.

"The government's got three names-George Bieber, the attorney in Chicago, Tony Accardo, and Paul 'the Waiter' Ricca. If you want to cooperate with any of these three names, you can gain your freedom."

Mickey responded by instructing Dahlstrum to tell Sheridan and Kennedy that they could go f.u.c.k themselves.

At daybreak on the morning of Friday, July 28, deputy U.S. marshals removed Cohen from the L.A. County Jail and flew him to his new home: Alcatraz. It was an unusual destination for an income tax evader. Cohen had little doubt the choice was Bobby Kennedy's doing.

ALCATRAZ was like no prison Cohen had ever been in before. "It was a crumbling dungeon," Cohen would later write. The prison blocks were always bathed in the cold ocean clamminess. There was no hot water to shave with, no newspapers, no radio, no television, no magazines. "You never seen a bar of candy there, only on Christmas," lamented the man who had once wooed Candy Barr. The yard was a mere fifty feet long. Inmates got only forty-five minutes a day outside. Life inside was dank and dangerous. Mickey did have a few good friends in the joint, such as onetime Siegel a.s.sociate Frank Carbo, Harlem crime boss "b.u.mpy" Johnson, and Alvin Karpis, the head of the notorious Ma Barker-Alvin Karpis bank-robbing gang in the 1930s. But even the prestige of the Syndicate afforded little protection against his stir-crazy, ultraviolent fellow prisoners.

"The atmosphere was such that you lived in fear," Cohen would later recall. "Like if you're walking around a corner, you're liable to get a shiv in your back."

After three months on "the Rock," Cohen was abruptly summoned to the warden's office.

"Well, I guess you got the good news," the warden began, reluctantly.

"What good news?" Cohen replied.

Cohen had been released on bail-freed on a writ signed by U.S. Supreme Court Justice William Douglas, who had decided that he could return to Los Angeles to await a decision by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit on his income tax conviction appeal. It was the first time an inmate from Alcatraz had ever been released on bail.

Mickey was exultant. After stepping off the boat in San Francisco, he promptly made his way to the luxurious Fairmont Hotel on n.o.b Hill for a night of pampering. How Cohen paid for the evening-or managed to purchase a luxury cla.s.s ticket to Los Angeles the next day-is unclear. But despite these splurges, this time Cohen appeared to have learned a lesson. When Cohen (looking natty in a black monogrammed Alpaca sweater, open white-on-black sport shirt, and black-and-white checkered pants) presented himself at his bondsman's to sign the note required for his $100,000 bail, he announced to the amused press corps that he had turned down an offer to borrow a Caddy for the duration of the appeals process and would be driving a Volkswagen instead.

Reporters noted that he "killed the engine twice, had trouble adjusting the seat and then tried to take off with the brake on" on the way out.

Then, two weeks later, something shocking happened. Cohen and four others were indicted for murder in connection with the December 2, 1959, death of Jack Whalen. LoCigno had started to talk behind bars. In the process, he'd given authorities an important new lead, which prosecutors argued led straight to Mickey Cohen.

* As is often the case with Cohen, the truth is difficult to ascertain. Early FBI reports portray Mickey as an active partic.i.p.ant in the prost.i.tution racket-if not as an outright pimp. See, for instance, FBI file #92-HQ-3156, Subject: "Meyer Harris Cohen," memo dated October 8, 1960. As is often the case with Cohen, the truth is difficult to ascertain. Early FBI reports portray Mickey as an active partic.i.p.ant in the prost.i.tution racket-if not as an outright pimp. See, for instance, FBI file #92-HQ-3156, Subject: "Meyer Harris Cohen," memo dated October 8, 1960.

25.

The Muslim Cult.

'"Civil disobedience'... simply means the violation of local laws that someone has decided are not based on morality of justice."-William Parker POLICE LIEUTENANT Tom Bradley didn't immediately realize that his transfer from public relations to Wilshire Division was a form of punishment. Instead, he seems to have viewed the move as an opportunity. Wilshire Division had long been largely off-limits to black officers. The appointment of a black lieutenant-even to the midnight shift-seemed like a huge step forward. Chief Parker's comments before the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights were also encouraging. Bradley decided that the time was right to attempt a major goal-desegregating the radio cars.

As watch commander, Bradley had considerable authority. Soon after moving to Wilshire Division, he gave the order that henceforth all radio cars in that division would be integrated. But Bradley knew he would need the chief to back him up. At least some white officers were sure to complain and resist. So he sent a request up the chain of command asking Chief Parker to support the new policy. Bradley's proposal was tough: If officers didn't go along with the new policy, they would be out of a job, "just like any other type of insubordination."

Parker refused. Without backup from the bra.s.s, Bradley's integration was doomed. Just as he had feared, some white officers under his command complained loudly of reverse discrimination and sabotaged a.s.signments by calling in sick on the days they were paired with black officers. Without support from his superiors, Bradley was unable to respond effectively to such disobedience. Bradley's efforts to integrate Wilshire slowly withered. As for Bradley himself, with a law degree in hand and pension eligibility fast approaching, he began to consider a new career-in politics.

IN JUNE 1959, at roughly the same time Lieutenant Bradley was beginning to seriously consider a political career, Officer Francisco Leon responded to a report of an auto theft. He soon spotted the stolen car and set off in pursuit. The car chase ended with a hail of bullets and the sixteen-year-old African American car thief dead. The shooting of an unarmed teenager led to demands for an investigation. County coroner Theodore Curphey announced that he would convene a coroner's jury to determine whether the shooting had been justified or an act of criminal homicide. He then made a provocative announcement: The coroner's jury, he declared, would be composed entirely of Negroes.

The NAACP immediately objected. For years the group had protested the selection of all-white coroner juries, but this was reverse segregation, the group argued. So Dr. Curphey amended his plan. The coroner's jury would have six black jurors-a majority-and four Caucasians. On June 29, 1960, the coroner's jury handed down the recommendation that Officer Leon be prosecuted for homicide.

Chief Parker exploded. The coroner himself had originally stated "that he saw no basis for prosecution in this case," Parker stated. The intentional selection of a majority Negro jury was, Parker charged, a reckless experiment in whether "a Negro jury could be unprejudiced." As far as Parker was concerned, by recommending that Officer Leon be prosecuted for murder, the jury had essentially answered the question-in the negative.

Soon after the verdict, Parker addressed the issue of why groups like the NAACP and the ACLU were always on the attack against the police department. It was not because of actual police brutality, Parker told his audience. No, complaints of police brutality represented something else entirely; they were an example of that most nefarious of totalitarian propaganda techniques, "The Big Lie," an untruth so colossal that most people were unable to grasp that it was wholly fabricated. Pioneered by the n.a.z.is, adopted by the Communists, this was the technique now being deployed against the LAPD. Those who used it-notably the NAACP and ACLU-did so knowingly, as part of a plan to undermine American democracy. As Parker told the Bond Club, "The type of democracy they [the NAACP and ACLU] are trying to sell is represented by People's World," People's World," the weekly newspaper of the Communist Party of the United States. the weekly newspaper of the Communist Party of the United States.

Whether because of the department's actions or the "Big Lie," by early 1961 one thing was certain: Chief Parker had become a deeply unpopular figure in the black community-even as the black community was be coming an increasingly important part of the city. A mayoral election was fast approaching, and the conduct of the police department under inc.u.mbent mayor Norris Poulson promised to be a significant issue. That presented Poulson's primary opponent, Rep. Sam Yorty, with both an opportunity and a danger.

Yorty was one of the oddest figures in California politics. Elected to Congress in 1936 as a radical liberal, he had run for mayor of Los Angeles during the 1938 mayoral recall as the favored candidate of Red Hollywood. He'd been soundly thrashed. Two years later, he ran for a seat on the city council and lost again. Instead, he settled for a seat in the California a.s.sembly. There he reinvented himself as a hard-core anti-Communist. It didn't help. In 1940, he failed in his attempt to win election to the U.S. Senate. In 1945, he lost another mayoral election. He returned to Congress in 1950 and, four years later, promptly lost another Senate election. During the 1960 election, Yorty, ostensibly a Democrat, endorsed Richard Nixon. Kennedy's victory promised two years of misery in Washington. So he decided to run for mayor again instead. In January 1961, he formally entered the race.

This time, Yorty's timing was good. After two terms as mayor, Poulson seemed burnt out. A few months earlier, he'd announced that he wouldn't seek a third term. The resulting cries of anguish from the downtown business establishment persuaded him to run one more time. Yorty now took aim at that establishment, which was led, as always, by the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times. He positioned himself as the champion of the "little guy" and as someone who would pay attention to the needs of the fast-growing San Fernando Valley When Poulson supporters mocked him for enthusiastically discussing new methods of trash collection, Yorty embraced the moniker "Trashcan Sam." The candidate's populist message played well. So did his direct, colloquial style, which was highly effective in the still newish medium of television. One of Yorty's supporters was George Putnam, the news anchor at KTTV (and the inspiration for the character Ted Baxter on The Mary Tyler Moore Show) The Mary Tyler Moore Show), which was actually owned by the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times. In the old days, the Chandlers would never have tolerated a mixed message. Now, for whatever reason, they did. While the Times Times took the mayor's side, Putnam was allowed to tout Yorty. took the mayor's side, Putnam was allowed to tout Yorty.

Poulson, meanwhile, struggled with rumors. A long-standing throat ailment was alleged to be cancer. Yorty's team also maintained that Poulson had acquired a $250,000 ranch in Oregon during his time in office. (In reality, it was a much smaller property owned by his wife.) Then, in the final weeks of the campaign, Poulson came down with laryngitis. Photographs of the inc.u.mbent mayor in the hospital filled the papers in the days leading up to the primary election, which the mayor lost. Under Los Angeles's system of nonpartisan elections, a runoff election was scheduled for June 1.

The anti-Yorty forces, led by Times Times man Carlton Williams, played tough, delving into some dubious ties between Yorty, the Teamsters, and Las Vegas gambling interests. The day after Yorty placed first in the primary vote, Poulson contended that Yorty's campaign was "backed by the underworld." Yorty responded by filing a $2.2 million libel suit. He countered that Poulson was controlled by an "overworld" consisting of Carlton Williams and the downtown business establishment. Yorty also stepped up his attacks on the police. man Carlton Williams, played tough, delving into some dubious ties between Yorty, the Teamsters, and Las Vegas gambling interests. The day after Yorty placed first in the primary vote, Poulson contended that Yorty's campaign was "backed by the underworld." Yorty responded by filing a $2.2 million libel suit. He countered that Poulson was controlled by an "overworld" consisting of Carlton Williams and the downtown business establishment. Yorty also stepped up his attacks on the police.

In his public appearances, he was always careful to distinguish between Chief Parker, whom he promised to keep on, and the Police Commission, which he criticized mercilessly. But as election day approached, Yorty sharpened his rhetoric against the chief, describing the current police commissioners as "Parker's appointees," promising to clean house, and insinuating that Parker would probably resign as well. In private, and to select black audiences, Yorty may have gone even further. Many Parker foes certainly believed they had received a firm promise that as mayor Yorty would force Parker out. Yorty also promised to fully integrate the department. Not surprisingly, candidate Yorty soon noticed that he was being trailed by plain-clothes officers from the LAPD intelligence division.

In fact, Yorty did have some worrisome connections. One of his earliest and strongest supporters was Jimmy Bolger, the man the Shaws had put into former chief James Davis's office as a secretary (and minder). After Davis's forced resignation, Bolger had found refuge on the Board of Public Works, which for many years was the bastion of the old Frank Shaw camp. Bolger was a notorious figure, one widely considered to have been a direct link to the underworld in the 1930s. It was natural that Parker would be concerned about his reappearance. Yorty was less understanding. Like Poulson before him, he was soon fuming about the LAPD's "Gestapo-like tactics" and complaining that the inc.u.mbent mayor was attempting to scare law-and-order voters with the specter of Parker's dismissal.

Ultimately, however, it was race that decided the election.

One day before the general election, on May 30, Memorial Day, a black youth attempted to sneak onto a merry-go-round at Griffith Park. An attendant tried to make the seventeen-year-old pay. At this point, accounts of what happened diverge. The attendant and his employer claimed they were a.s.saulted; others claimed that the seventeen-year-old fare-jumper was roughed up. A fight broke out; police officers rushed to the scene; and soon a mini-riot was under way, pitting roughly two hundred black rioters against a considerably smaller number of policemen. Dozens of black rioters and four LAPD officers were injured in the brawl.

The next day, newspapers splashed news of the incident across their front pages. The Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times insisted that the incident was not a race riot-and that Los Angeles was not Alabama. But the city's African American voters drew a different conclusion. Voters in South Los Angeles shifted decisively toward Yorty, who won by sixteen thousand votes. That shift, wrote the insisted that the incident was not a race riot-and that Los Angeles was not Alabama. But the city's African American voters drew a different conclusion. Voters in South Los Angeles shifted decisively toward Yorty, who won by sixteen thousand votes. That shift, wrote the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times one week later, was "perhaps the single biggest factor in Mayor Poulson's defeat." one week later, was "perhaps the single biggest factor in Mayor Poulson's defeat."

It now fell to Mayor Yorty to decide what he would do with his police chief. At his first postelection press conference, Yorty's tone was harsh.

"I have confidence in [Parker] as an administrator, but as a public relations expert I think he could stand a lot of schooling and a lot of direction," Yorty told the press. In the days that followed, Yorty was even more outspoken in his criticisms of the department. It was "perfectly obvious," he told reporters, that "the department was used to check the history, from childhood to current date, of everybody even remotely connected with my campaign and even my [law] clients." Asked if the mayor-elect thought Parker was aware of such activities, Yorty replied, "[H]e had to be." Yorty further described such activities as illegal and vowed to investigate the department further after he was sworn in on July 1. There was thus considerable antic.i.p.ation about the outcome of the two men's first private meeting. Reporters observed a grim-faced Chief Parker heading into his conference with the mayor. They also noted what reporters described as "a bulging briefcase." The two men emerged all smiles. An understanding had been reached. Yorty would replace most of the men on the Police Commission, but Parker would stay on as chief, with the mayor's full support.

Rumor had it that Chief Parker had shown Mayor Yorty his file.

"BLACK AND BLUE" brawls at Griffith Park were just one of Parker's worries. By the time Mayor Yorty took office, Southern California police agencies had identified a new and altogether more worrisome adversary. Police called it The Muslim Cult. Its members preferred the Nation of Islam.

In the fall of 1959, the LAPD circulated a briefing and training memo from the Culver City Police Department that set forth the basic facts about the organization (as law enforcement understood it): Briefing and Training Memo from the Culver City Police Department, Cla.s.sified and Restricted, 11/1/1959IntroductionNation of IslamOrThe "Muslim Cult"In 1931, a pseudo-religious group was organized in the United States and called the "Muslims." This group adopted, in part, many of the rituals of the true Islamic movements. The Muslim cult, however, is not a legitimate member of the Moslem religion and its existence is denounced by the leaders of the true Moslem Church in the United States....Relatively little has been known of the "Muslims" until recently, partially because it has been a secret organization and partially because it was felt that any attendant publicity would create some fanatical attractiveness to its recruitment program. However, within the last three months, this cult has been exposed in scores of national magazines and newspapers and by many national and local TV commentators as a purveyor of racial tensions and unrest.It has been determined that the "Muslim" cult is nation-wide-well-organized and well-financed, militant, and growing. The known membership in New York is over 3,000, in Indianapolis over 500, and in Los Angeles, membership figures range from 600 to 3,000.There are reportedly 3,000 Muslims in the Los Angeles area a.s.sociated with either Muhhamed's Eastside temple at 1106 V2 V2 E. Vernon Street, Los Angeles, or Muhammad's Temple of Islam No. 27, located at 1480 W. Jefferson Blvd, Los Angeles. Both temples are headed by Henry X, minister. None of the members use their last names but use the letter 'X.' The reason being that their last names are not really theirs but names handed to them by the masters of slaves. They supposedly will continue to use no last name until the Caucasian race is eliminated. E. Vernon Street, Los Angeles, or Muhammad's Temple of Islam No. 27, located at 1480 W. Jefferson Blvd, Los Angeles. Both temples are headed by Henry X, minister. None of the members use their last names but use the letter 'X.' The reason being that their last names are not really theirs but names handed to them by the masters of slaves. They supposedly will continue to use no last name until the Caucasian race is eliminated.

THE REPORT acknowledged that "to date, there have been relatively few 'incidents' attributed to the 'Muslims' on the local scene;" however, it predicted that it was only a matter of time until a clash occurred.

"Any organizat ion that advocates racial hatred must provide violence and action to satisfy the appet.i.tes of its members and to stimulate its program," wrote the Culver City police. When it did, police predicted that officers would find a formidable adversary in the group's paramilitary arm, the so-called Fruit of Islam.

"These men are selected for their physical prowess and are adept at aggressive tactics and Judo," continued the memo: They are almost psychotic in their hatred of Caucasians and are comparable to the Mau Mau or Kamikaze in their dedication and fanaticism. It has been reported that many temples have gun clubs in which this militant group are trained in weapons.... It has been stated locally, that the members of this cult will kill any police officer when the opportunity presents itself, regardless of the circ.u.mstances or outcome.

Little did the Culver City police antic.i.p.ate that the LAPD would fire the first shot.

AT ABOUT eleven on Friday night, April 27, 1962, Officers Frank Tomlinson and Stanley Kensic spotted two Negro males standing behind the open trunk of a 1954 Buick outside of the Muslim Temple at 5606 South Broadway, Mosque 27. The two men seemed to be examining something in a black garment bag. Despite the fact that he was getting married the next day, Kensic decided to stop and ask the two men some questions. Tomlinson, who was completing his one-year rookie probation period that very night, flicked on the cruiser's lights, and the officers double-parked near the two men. Kensic asked if the men were Black Muslims.

"Yes, sir," came the prompt reply.

The officers had heard about the dangerous new cult before. Seven months earlier, two Black Muslims had gotten into a brawl at a market on Western Avenue near Venice Boulevard, when the manager attempted to stop them from distributing their newspaper, Mr. Muhammad Speaks Mr. Muhammad Speaks, outside. Since then, police had received regular warnings about the Muslims at roll call. As a precaution, Kensic and Tomlinson decided to frisk the men for weapons. They found none. They then checked the Buick's tags against their hot list of stolen cars. Again, nothing. The officers asked the two men where the clothes came from. Monroe X Jones was beginning to explain that he worked for a drycleaner, when the officers decided to separate the two men. Kensic would later testify that he said, "Come with me." Fred X Jingles, the other party present, heard something different: "Let's separate these n.i.g.g.e.rs."

Jingles pushed away Kensic's hands. Although he wasn't fighting back, the att.i.tude worried Kensic, who promptly grabbed Jingles's arm and spun him around, slamming the man onto the trunk of the Buick. A bystander ran into the temple to call for help. Instead of going limp, Jingles fought back. Jones now slipped away from Officer Tomlinson and pulled Kensic off his friend. A fight broke out. As Tomlinson ran to help his partner, he was grabbed by another Muslim. The scene was briefly interrupted when a black off-duty special deputy driving down Broadway stopped and fired a warning shot. Officer Tomlinson now had a chance to regain control of the situation. But instead of composing himself, drawing his gun, ordering the crowd to freeze, and then radioing for help, Tomlinson pulled out his sap and attempted to hit the nearest Muslim. At that very moment, the black special deputy motorist fired into the crowd, wounding Jingles. In the confusion, Jones grabbed Kensic's gun-and shot Tomlinson. An African American policeman who happened to be driving by jumped out and fired a shot into the air to disperse the crowd. Then he radioed for help. Meanwhile, Black Muslims were racing back to the temple from across the neighborhood.