Zeppo, p.16
Zeppo, page 16
Mayer wasn’t just being generous with his bootlegger. The studios had a lot of problems with agents, and Mayer liked the idea of having one in his pocket. There had been talk of banning agents from coming onto studio lots. In June 1931 Adolph Zukor restricted agents visiting Paramount to the front offices and attempted to prohibit them from dealing directly with stars, directors, and writers on the lot. Agents began considering organizing a protective association and exploring legal options. A June 2, 1934, Variety report on the controversy stated that, “there are currently 81 agents visiting the lots, and, with an average of three working clients each, the lots are knee deep with ten percenters and that considerable studio time is lost as a result of the estimated 250 studio calls a day by these agents.” Mayer was generally detested by his studio competitors, but they acknowledged his foresight in simply buying into the troublesome agency business—however surreptitiously—as this controversy swirled around the studios.
As his relationship with Louis B. Mayer evolved, Frank Orsatti began supplying him with more than illegal liquor. Orsatti was arranging liaisons with women for him and helping with other problems. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Mayer used his influence with judges he’d helped get elected to keep Orsatti’s bootlegging associates out of jail. Loyd Wright, a prominent Hollywood attorney—who, incidentally, would later handle Groucho’s first divorce—was at one time the president of the California Bar Association. His comments about Mayer collected in FBI files indicate that he considered the MGM boss immoral and unprincipled in part due to his association with the Orsatti brothers, known bootleggers who were also active in the narcotics trade.
In the book All the Stars in Heaven: Louis B. Mayer’s MGM, author Gary Carey tells of an exchange between Mayer and his business manager, Myron Fox. Fox asked why Frank Orsatti was always hanging around. “‘Look,’ Mayer answered. ‘I’ve got certain things that have to be done and there are things I can’t ask people like you to do.’” When well-known mob figure Pat DiCicco became an agent in the summer of 1933, he worked out of the Bren-Orsatti office. DiCicco was then married to Marx Brothers’ costar Thelma Todd, who had appeared in Monkey Business and Horse Feathers. DiCicco worked for Charlie “Lucky” Luciano, the underworld’s foremost purveyor of narcotics. And if Frank Orsatti’s underworld credentials weren’t convincing enough, testimony before the Kefauver Committee would later reveal that he was also associated with notorious organized crime figures Frank Costello and Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel.
Harry Weber was out of his partnership with Bren and Orsatti after only four months and long gone by the time Zeppo agreed to buy what was essentially Weber’s third of the agency. On March 27, 1934, The Hollywood Reporter revealed the financial details: “Zeppo Marx became an artists’ manager yesterday at a cost of $75,000 to himself, paying that sum for a third interest in the Bren-Orsatti firm. The office has 77 clients.” But did Zeppo have $75,000 and if not, where could he get it? Although he was still the salaried member of the Four Marx Brothers, Zeppo was living quite well in early 1930s Hollywood—while bringing home a fraction of the money his brothers were. Groucho or Harpo could have easily afforded a Malibu beach house for weekends, but Zeppo was the Marx Brother who had one.
When Zeppo left the Marx Brothers and entered the agency business, he basically traded Groucho, Harpo, and Chico for Orsatti, Bren, and DiCicco. Zeppo was friendly with Orsatti and Bren, but he and DiCicco did not get along and had little to do with each other. They participated in an unscheduled added attraction at the Friday night fights at Hollywood Legion Stadium on November 30, 1934. After the main event between Gege Gravante and Harry Serody, Zeppo and DiCicco started throwing punches outside the ring. Public brawls would become a regular part of Zeppo’s routine. On April 17, 1936, the Los Angeles Examiner reported on an incident at the Trocadero. Zeppo commented on a man who had been bothering Marion:
“Whether he was drunk I don’t know,” Zeppo said yesterday, “but his actions made me blaze with anger. Probably I’d have hit him even if he hadn’t given me further excuse, but he really left me no choice because he aimed a kick at me as I remonstrated with him. As I sidestepped the kick, I punched him. His companion hit me behind the ear.”
In Son of Harpo Speaks! Bill Marx commented on his pugilistic uncle:
He was easily the most aggressive personality of the brothers. He had a very short fuse, and because of it, would often wind up duking it out with someone twice his size, and still make the fight quite interesting. Zeppo had been a remarkable physical specimen. Pound for pound, he was put together as well as anyone. The chest expansion of the great heavyweight champion of the world, Joe Louis, was two and a half inches. Zeppo’s was an astounding six inches. You can’t begin to imagine the sight of him puffing himself out like a peacock.
For most people, punching Pat DiCicco would be very dangerous, but Zeppo feared no reprisals from DiCicco’s underworld friends—probably because they were also his underworld friends. That no trouble came Zeppo’s way for belting Pat DiCicco at a public event was solid evidence of the quality of Zeppo’s connections.
He certainly had a reputation as one of the best bridge players in Hollywood and played for high stakes, but Zeppo also had his share of gambling setbacks—particularly in 1934, the year he bought into the agency. He bet heavily on Primo Carnera in the June 14 heavyweight championship fight against the victorious Max Baer. Ten days later the Los Angeles Times gossip column “That Certain Party” (credited to the pseudonym “Tip Poff ”) noted, “Zeppo Marx still paying off his Carnera bets.” Probably best that the hot-tempered Zeppo had no idea who “Tip Poff ” really was. But the anonymous columnist had also reported on July 17, 1932, under the column title “Don’t Quote Me” on Zeppo’s winnings: “Zeppo Marx still seems to hold top record as a bridge player in the colony. There was that little matter of some $90,000 that he was reputed to have won last summer, you know. Rumor has it he makes as much money playing cards as some of the other brothers do on their pictures.”
Zeppo’s apartment at the Colonial House was an impressive home but he left it vacant on weekends. On August 20, 1932, while Zeppo and Marion enjoyed a weekend in Malibu, burglars entered the fifth-floor apartment and helped themselves to jewelry valued at $37,600. Zeppo’s neighbor, actress Carmel Myers, had been victimized at the same address on January 17. These were among the first in a series of almost identical crimes. On September 28, Mae West was robbed of her jewelry at gunpoint while sitting in a car in front of her apartment. On October 30, Helene Costello was the victim.
One attempt was foiled when the burglars waited on New Year’s Eve at the home of Ruth Chatterton and George Brent. They mistook the maid and her husband for the Hollywood couple as they opened the front door. The criminals were stunned when the maid’s husband pulled out a gun of his own and they quickly fled. A few nights later the jewel thieves displayed their sense of humor by robbing the home of Los Angeles district attorney Buron Fitts during a dinner party. Fitts had been making some public remarks about knowing who the perpetrators of the earlier robberies were and promising that he’d soon capture them.
The robberies continued into 1933, with Dorothy Burgess, Betty Compson, William Von Brincken, George Raft, and Aileen Pringle all being relieved of cash and jewelry by a group of very polite well-dressed, masked burglars. But the pattern took an unusual turn when, on June 1, 1933, Zeppo and Marion were victims for the second time—with the take being reported as $30,000. And this time they were in their apartment with Alan Miller—Marion’s brother, who had stopped using the name Bimberg during their father’s arson scandal.2
Miller had just arrived from New York. The doorbell rang and Marion was confronted by two neatly attired men, one of whom covered his face with a handkerchief. They asked to see Zeppo and pushed their way into the apartment as Marion hurried into the kitchen. The Los Angeles Evening Herald Express reported that the gunman told Marion, “Listen, you, if you act right, there will be no slugging or rough stuff—it’s all up to you.”
One man pointed a gun at Zeppo and Alan, and the other followed Marion into the kitchen and held her and housekeeper Lillian Scott at gunpoint. Zeppo, Alan, and Lillian were told to face the wall, and one of the intruders forced Marion to show him where the jewelry was kept. Among the items taken was Zeppo’s twelve-carat diamond ring and Marion’s platinum bracelet with rubies and diamonds—each valued at around $12,000. The men then asked for Alan and Zeppo’s wallets, but they only had a few dollars in cash, and were allowed to keep the wallets. The phone lines were cut, and the criminals proceeded to bind and gag Alan and Lillian with his belt and her apron. Zeppo and Marion were forced into a closet. The thieves moved a heavy piece of furniture to block the closet door and left.
This was the fourth time the gang had hit the Colonial House building. In addition to the previous visit to Zeppo’s apartment, and the Carmel Myers robbery, the thieves had been to the apartment of Grace La Rue and Hale Hamilton on the same day as their second visit to Zeppo. The Los Angeles Times reported details of this failed attempt. “Hamilton said two men answering the description of the bandits, knocked at the door shortly before 7 p.m., and asked for Miss La Rue. On being informed she was not in, one of the men said, ‘tell her the men from the gas company were here. She’ll know what we wanted.’”
Curiously, the robbers politely left and moved on to Zeppo’s apartment. They chose not to rob Grace La Rue and Hale Hamilton if La Rue was not at home. Perhaps there was concern that Hamilton or the housekeeper would be less cooperative than La Rue. They’d already run into that once before at the Chatterton-Brent home. This suggests that Grace La Rue knew what was going on and simply failed to show up for her planned robbery.
The robberies were the subject of jokes around the studios. Occasionally a joke would become public. Arthur Forde’s Hollywood Filmograph column contained this item on June 10, 1933: “All the stars gathered on the Paramount lot to hear the thrilling adventures of one of the famous Marx Brothers, who was giving the other three and Maurice Chevalier the account of his second or was it tenth robbery in Hollywood.”
Although it was never established as part of the investigation, the victims could have easily been profiting from this scheme with virtually no risk. If they had knowledge that the jewelry would be returned, and the insurance company would pay the criminals to return it, there was plenty of opportunity to turn cooperation into cash. Note that by the spring of 1934 Zeppo Marx—who was the only two-time victim in the jewel robbery scheme—had the money to pay Frank Orsatti and Milton Bren for one-third of their agency. Presumably some of the money would have come from his profit on the sale of Perry’s Brass Rail, but that alone would not have been enough. Of course, he could have had a very good run of luck in high stakes bridge games—particularly with Milton Bren, with whom he was known to gamble for large amounts of money, but cooperating in the jewel robberies seems more likely.
Another clue that the stars may have been in on the scheme is that one of the victims was Chico Marx, who was relieved of $15,000 worth of jewelry somewhere in between the gang’s visits to Betty Compson and Charles Butterworth. It’s easy to imagine Chico asking Zeppo to get him in on the action. Incidentally, Butterworth was also a friend of the Marx Brothers.
Police were able to conclude very quickly that the jewel robberies were the work of one very organized group with specific knowledge of their movie industry victims. There was a finger man involved—a person who ingratiated himself into the community and socialized with the victims. The problem in solving the case initially was that the thieves didn’t really want the jewels. They were willing to take 20 percent of the value in payment for the return of the stolen items. This was a good deal for the insurance companies, so there was little pressure to solve the crimes. Zeppo reported his losses to his insurance company after both robberies and was among the cooperating victims who ultimately got their jewels back, leaving their insurers to take the 20 percent loss.
The exception was Mae West, the rare victim who stared down the barrel of a gun and got smacked around by the robbers. As she was removing a bracelet from her arm the clasp jammed and the impatient thief struck her demanding she hurry and hand over the bracelet. Mae reportedly told him, “Relax. You’ll get it.” Other victims were bound and gagged, locked in a closet, or simply told to face the wall and be quiet. But Mae West got hit. Despite anonymous phone calls warning her not to testify, she appeared in court at the trial of the three men who were ultimately charged. Betty Compson also received telephone threats and refused to cooperate with police.
One of the suspects, Edward H. Friedman, confessed to the Mae West robbery and implicated his accomplices, Morris Cohen and Harry O. Voiler. Friedman identified Voiler as the mastermind of the plot. Voiler was the “finger man” and the person seated in a car with Mae West when she was robbed by Friedman and Cohen. Voiler, an ex-convict and former theatrical agent had been an associate of notorious Chicago mobster Dion O’Banion and was very skilled at avoiding prison time. In 1930, while managing Texas Guinan’s nightclub in Chicago, Voiler was arrested in the shooting death of the club’s previous owner but was not prosecuted. By comparison, beating a jewel robbery rap was child’s play for Voiler.3
But what does all of this have to do with Zeppo buying into Frank Orsatti’s agency? Perhaps nothing, but there is an unusual connection that can be established through Voiler’s numerous other criminal activities. In September 1933—during the time of the jewel robberies—Voiler was arrested on an unrelated vagrancy charge with two other men: Joseph “Red” O’Riordan and James “Socks” McDonough. McDonough was one of eight men indicted in the 1930 kidnapping of wealthy Agua Caliente betting commissioner Zeke Caress—who was known to frequent some of the same illegal gambling establishments as Zeppo. The others indicted included former Al Capone associate Ralph Sheldon, and Frank Orsatti’s older brother Jesse, the proprietor of the Club Royale, an upscale nightclub located at 5355 Wilshire Boulevard. The club was used as a headquarters for the kidnappers, and Jesse Orsatti—who knew the clientele and could point out which customers would make for the most profitable kidnappings—was perfectly positioned as the gang’s finger man. The link from the jewel robberies to Frank Orsatti is circuitous, but mobsters tend to work that way.
For a more unusual coincidence, another of the indicted kidnappers was a local gambler and strongarm man named Les Bruneman. He would be gunned down in October 1937 and the newspapers had some fun with the story of him having a check from Chico Marx in his pocket when he was killed. One of the other kidnappers was James Doolin—also known as “Jimmie the Squealer.” No imagination is needed to figure out how Doolin acquired his unflattering nickname. Jesse Orsatti, whose nickname was “Cheesy,” should not have been surprised when “Jimmie the Squealer” identified him as the finger man.
When Zeppo went into business with Frank Orsatti, Jesse was a guest of the State of California in the penitentiary at San Quentin, where he remained incarcerated until February 1940 on the kidnapping charge. When Jesse Orsatti arrived at San Quentin in August 1933, he met an inmate who had arrived there in March. They had a mutual acquaintance in Hollywood. The other inmate was Joey Bass, Zeppo’s boyhood pal from Chicago.
Another remarkable coincidence is the arrival at San Quentin of Steve Palinkas in November 1934. He had been Chico’s butler and chauffeur before he was arrested for stealing $73,000 worth of bonds, cash, and jewels from his next employer. Once the police had Palinkas in custody they expressed the opinion that he was part of the Hollywood jewel robbery gang, but he confessed to the later crime and punched his ticket for San Quentin without being charged in the jewel robberies.
It might not be more than circumstantial evidence, but it would be difficult to dismiss a few pieces of this puzzle that appear more than coincidental. Frank Orsatti’s brother is the finger man in a kidnapping gang that counts among its members an associate of Harry Voiler, the finger man in the jewel robbery gang that victimized Zeppo Marx twice, shortly before he bought a partnership in Frank Orsatti’s agency. Of course, Zeppo got his jewelry back and the gang profited from the insurance company payoff. Is it farfetched to suggest that perhaps Zeppo and the other victims got some cash from the gang for their cooperation? Maybe Zeppo did so well the first time, he asked for the jewel thieves to pay him a second visit.
The Club Royale was also frequented by a lot of movie industry people and a good finger man with an eye for expensive jewelry could have done well there. An aggressive prosecutor might theorize that Zeppo Marx raised the money to buy into Frank Orsatti’s business through some harmless larceny with Orsatti’s brother. A more extreme suggestion would be that Jesse Orsatti made payments to his brother look perfectly legal by disguising them as Zeppo Marx’s business investment.
Variety didn’t miss the obvious signs and reported a very plausible theory on the robberies on January 24, 1933:
Recent stickups and robberies of half-a-dozen picture players have the local police figuring that someone is tipping off the hoodlums just how and when to pull their jobs. In the cases of Zeppo Marx, Mae West, Helene Costello, George Raft, Betty Compson, and William Von Brincken, the victims were ripe for banditry when taken. Each was loaded with cash or jewelry at the time of the stickup.
