A Mob Connection in the Family Closet
My grandfather, known by his six adoring grandchildren as, "Daddy Fred," was, as I remember him, a suave man about town. He built Angelus Typewriter Company, usually found somewhere on Spring Street in a very young Los Angeles, until he sold it in 1955 to his two sons-in-law. Though he wrote, as part of his logo, "est. 1912," that was a white lie, or so family fable goes. Daddy Fred had a tendency to stretch the truth just a little.
So, it came as quite a surprise to learn that it was my mother who, while in junior high, spent time with Mickey Cohen, the gangster who is best remembered for his association with the City of the Angels.
Many years after I grew up and moved away, it occurred to me that Daddy Fred had to know Mickey. It only made sense, I reasoned. The time was right, both men had to have moved in the same circles, because both were contemporaries, probably knew many of the same people, and both were Jewish, if nothing else. Though Los Angeles had just made an appearance on the map because of its contributions to the war effort in the 1940's the Jewish community was close knit and clannish. It was nigh unto impossible to avoid bumping into one another, or so it seemed.
One day, out of the blue, I remembered to ask my mother if Daddy Fred knew Mickey Cohen. I had heard the family story about Gregory Peck, and how my very own grandfather, had informed the young actor that he was wasting his time in Hollywood, and would never make it to the silver screen. Everyone came west to break into the movies, and almost no one did. Peck would do much better selling typewriters, Fred advised his friend's son. Thank Goodness, Mr. Peck ignored him and went his own way.
I had never heard anything about the gangster, however, which made no sense come to think of it. Maybe the aunts, uncles and cousins were embarrassed to tell anyone about any such connection, or maybe Fred had managed to keep it to himself, which was unlikely. Daddy Fred liked to live well, and was never ashamed to show it off. He ate at Musso and Franks, the Brown Derby, and the Trocadero and drove Lincoln automobiles. I remember the last one. It was a yellow convertible, with a yellow and chrome wheel attached to the back where the spare tire rode. If he knew a man with a reputation, he'd find a way to share the news.
When I asked mom to confirm my suspicion, she said, "No, Fred didn't. I did." Mom had a friend, Maxine, whose mother was Mickey Cohen's sister. My mother spent a lot of time at Maxine's because it was the teen-agers' hang-out of the day. Uncle Mickey, as all the girls called him, had many a meal of chicken soup or borscht in Maxine's mother's kitchen, and was usually accompanied by his wife. The couple was childless, so Maxine and her brother were shared between their parents, uncle and aunt.
Of course, Mom hadn't a clue as to how Uncle Mickey made his living. In fact, Daddy Fred hinted an interest that an introduction be made by his daughter, but she saw no reason, or just forgot, to get the two men together, much to Daddy Fred's disappointment. Years later, as a married woman, Mother saw a national magazine with a face she recognized on the cover. She shook my dad's coat jacket in excitement. "That's Uncle Mickey!" she exploded in supreme surprise. "I had no idea!" she said.
And that's how I confirmed what I suspected all along - that the family was connected.
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