Among other clients, his publicity firm represents John L. Lewis’ United Mine Workers, at a reputed annual fee of $175,000. Those who may seem mystified at his range of clients, may be surprised to learn that Lewis, though he doesn’t know it, is a prisoner of the Mafia. It started many years ago, when the United Mine Workers imported Sicilian sluggers from the big cities. With this “in,” the mob bosses began to cast greedy eyes on the colossal fortune owned by the mine union. The Mafia’s policy is never to replace present management if it can take over a flourishing concern. The infiltration went on under Lewis’ nose, yet the beetle-browed egomaniac does not know he no longer is the boss of the United Mine Workers. The boys let him think he is. Last year, the Mine Workers tried to take over New York’s taxi industry, with an abortive strike in which Mafia associates took a part. Charnay’s firm handled the strikers’ publicity.
Charnay now has a pipeline directly to the White House, through the close personal friendship between John L. Lewis and Dr. John Steelman, assistant to the President. Some months ago, on his retirement as Secretary of the Navy, John L. Sullivan joined Charnay’s firm as chairman of the board, but he resigned to practice law. Paul H. Griffith, assistant Secretary of Defense until he was replaced by Anna Rosenberg a few months ago, is now a vice-president of the company.
Charnay had a pleasant luncheon tête-à-tête with Kefauver counsel Halley, before the crime committee began its hearings, and offered to work for it without pay.
Another interesting lobbyist is Samuel Haines, whose contract with the hotel and cafe industry to try to get a reduction in the 20 percent amusement-tax was on a sliding scale, his fee to be determined by the degree of eventual tax reduction. The tax wasn’t cut, but he got $46,000. Haines entertained Senators and Representatives in a playroom at his home, where he had slot-machines, reverse-rigged so the players always won.
A mysterious man about town is Dave Gordon, always seen with beautiful dames. Gordon is a close friend of Nate Lichtauer. Lichtauer is a shadowy enigma. Little is known about him. But this is to tell you he engineers the juiciest deals. (“Juice” is the capital slang for political pull.) Lichtauer is a collector for the Democratic National Committee. He makes the arrangements. When the contributions come through, he passes the word to Dave Niles, in the White House, who pulls the proper strings.
One of Lichtauer’s closest associates is Milton Kronheim, another mystery man. He used to be in the bail-bond business in Washington and went surety for gamblers. He is now the city’s biggest and richest wholesale liquor dealer. He is in on everything. He once peeled off 250 bills—$1,000 bills—to pay an OPA assessment, then put the balance of the still impressive roll back in his pocket.
He is close to General Vaughan and John Maragon, and thick with Jake Arvey, Chicago Democratic boss, friend and apologist for Al Capone’s cousin, Charlie Fischetti, king of the Chicago underworld. Kronheim’s son was recently made a Municipal Court judge in Washington. Truman nominated Kronheim’s lawyer, “Jiggs” Donahue to be District Commissioner. And Kronheim supplies the White House liquor.
One to watch as a power is a Boston lawyer, Paul T. Smith. He got that way because he and Dave Niles ran a forum in Boston called Ford’s Lyceum, a sort of left-wing Chatauqua in which Frankfurter had a powerful say. When Police Chief Barrett was under Congressional pressure, Niles and Smith interceded.
It was through the connections he made with dreamers and schemers like Harry Hopkins, who used to lecture for him, that Niles moved himself into the White House under Roosevelt and has remained under Truman, the only man Harry dared not fire. Niles, whose hand turns up in everything, may be the real ruler of the country.
Anyway, when attorney Smith gets a case with a Washington angle, he phones the White House. He usually gets what he wants.