3
DECEMBER 1, 1935
Cleveland ’s city hall was one of the older sandstone buildings in a metropolis where even the newer buildings didn’t look good anymore. There was no money for improvements, not in the middle of the Depression and the most sluggish economy in history. Nonetheless, Mayor Harold Burton reflected, gazing out his office’s wide double window, it wouldn’t matter what they did to the buildings, not so long as that perpetual dark cloud hung over the city, day and night, regardless of the weather. He should be able to see the Terminal Tower rising above the other buildings like an arm stretched to heaven. Not anymore. The Tower was still there. But the dark cloud rendered it invisible.
He pressed a hand against his back. It still ached. Why had he agreed to those dancing lessons? Of course, he wanted to please his wife. He needed her on his team, especially during the campaign. But that music-what they were now calling “swing”? Hideous. And the rumba. Who thought they needed a new way of dancing? Give him a waltz any day.
“Mr. Mayor?”
Burton slowly turned about in his swivel chair. He still hadn’t gotten used to it. Had they stolen this from a barber shop? As soon as he thought no one would notice, he was bringing in a chair from home. A good steady chair that kept four feet on the floor and didn’t move.
“Wes. Please come in.”
Wes Lawrence had earned his right to the mayor’s ear. He had been one of Burton ’s leading supporters, contributing both finances and wisdom to the campaign. Burton would’ve listened to Lawrence, though, even if he hadn’t played a role in the campaign. The man was street smart. Savvy, particularly about politics.
Burton gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “What brings you to my office, Wes?”
Lawrence tugged at his pleated pants before taking the chair. “I wondered if you’ve given any thought to what you’re going to do?”
“Can you be a little more precise?”
“You were elected as a Reform mayor, Harold. On a Reform ticket.” His eyebrows rose. “So what are you going to reform first?”
“Honestly, Wes? I don’t know how much a mayor really can do. Only the legislature-”
“That kind of thinking will not go down well with the press.”
“Wes, I handled the Huns during the Great War. I think I can handle a few scribblers.”
“Unfortunately, being a war hero won’t get you reelected. Only the people can do that.”
“Isn’t it too early to be thinking about reelection? I just won the first one.”
“It’s never too early to think about reelection.”
“Relax already.” He pulled a sizable humidor out of his bottom desk drawer. “Have a cigar. They’re from Havana. Best in the world.”
“I’m not interested in tobacco. I’m interested in knowing what return I’m getting for my investment. We’ve spent too much time and money to end up with a one-term mayor.”
Burton folded his hands flat and sighed. “Fine, fine. What societal ill would you like me to tackle first?”
“You know what’s wrong with this city as well as I do. You talked about it enough during your campaign. The mob is taking over. We may not have an Al Capone but we have a lot of little terrors who might add up to something worse. Racketeers control the unions. Our traffic system is chaotic. The economy stinks. We’ve got a shantytown filled with poor and itinerant unemployed, people who can’t afford to live in anything better than a shed or a cardboard box. Women, children, living in conditions like that, searching through garbage cans for something to eat.”
“So many choices. Where shall I begin?”
Lawrence continued. “The police department is thoroughly corrupt. Gambling parlors thrive. Juvenile crime is at an all-time high. Prostitution-”
“All right, I get the message. But I’m still just the mayor.”
“You have to do something.”
“Look, pick the issue you think will play best and I’ll propose a municipal directive-”
Lawrence shook his head. “You can’t get personally involved.”
“Excuse me? You just said-”
“Do you really think you can solve any of those problems? Because I don’t. I don’t think anyone can. If you get personally involved, you’ll sink like you were in quicksand.”
“So if I understand you, Lawrence, you want me to appear to be working on the city’s problems without actually working on the city’s problems because any effort to solve the city’s problems is doomed to failure. Is that about right?”
“I knew you’d come to understand politics one day, Harold.”
Burton leaned forward across his desk. “Then what is it you want me to do?”
Lawrence paused a few moments before answering. “The position of Safety Director remains vacant.”
Burton blew air through his teeth. “Lavelle turned that job into a joke.”
“It doesn’t have to be. The right man, with ample authority, could restore credibility. You need someone with a higher profile.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a copy of the Plain Dealer. “Read the paper this morning?”
Burton grimaced. “I saw the piece about the disembodied torso. Think that was a mob rubout?”
“Probably. But the article I’m interested in is on page three.” Lawrence spread the paper across Burton ’s desk and pointed.
G-MAN NESS CLEANS UP LIQUOR RING.
Burton shrugged. “So? The city’s got a lot worse problems than illegal booze.”
“I agree. Almost trivial compared to police corruption and deadly traffic. But-” He stopped, then leaned back into his chair. “How much do you know about Eliot Ness?”
“Who?”
“You’re kidding me. You don’t know who Eliot Ness is?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Treasury agent. Formerly in Chicago. Provided the testimony that got Capone indicted on Volstead and conspiracy allegations.”
Burton thought for a moment. “Didn’t they put Capone away for income tax evasion?”
“Yes. They could never make the other charges stick. But Ness and his so-called Untouchables hounded him for years. And Ness got a lot of favorable coverage in the process. The press loves this man. That baby face and unassuming modesty make for a very appealing image. He can afford to be modest-his accomplishments speak for themselves. Dwight Green, one of the prosecutors in the Capone case, gave him a ringing endorsement. William Clegg, foreman on the Capone grand jury, was also a big booster. I’ve talked to them both. They tell me you couldn’t find a straighter arrow if you searched the world over. They call him an American hero-maybe the last of his kind. Hardworking, honest to a fault. He’s been offered all kinds of bribes and payoffs. Turned them all down.”
“And you want me to bring him to Cleveland?”
“Read the article, Harold. He’s already here. Has been for months. The Alcohol Tax Unit posted him here as a special-investigator-in-charge.”
“Why here?”
“Because according to the Feds, we have more bootleg liquor passing through our town than anyplace else in the country. And from here it flows into all the major eastern cities.”
“Then maybe we should let Mr. Ness do the work he’s been assigned.”
“I hear he’s frustrated. Thinks he can do more. Applied for the FBI. Got turned down.”
“If your man is so amazing, why would the FBI turn him down?”
Lawrence inched forward. “This is just between you and me. But what my sources tell me is that J. Edgar Hoover doesn’t like agents who attract more publicity than he does. While Hoover ’s made a name for himself catching hick bank robbers, Ness went after organized crime, which according to Hoover doesn’t exist.”
Burton snipped off the end of a cigar and lit it, puffing till it caught. “I’m not so fond of people who attract better publicity than I do, either.”
“No need to worry. He may be good with the press, but he’s politically inexperienced. Doesn’t understand the machinery.”