embassies. The Washington newspapers cover Embassy Row--there are
two--16th Street and Massachusetts Avenue--but usually give their
readers stories about cocktail parties, dances and weddings, instead of
snappy copy.
Being confidential reporters we did not go through the front doors.
What we know is mostly backstairs buzz, out of the kitchens and garages
of the following embassies:
ARGENTINA--The Embassy, at 1815 Q Street, provided Washington with
one of its liveliest tidbits. The real lowdown has not been divulged
before. We got this out of confidential Congressional files, where the
information was testified to under oath.
Nina Lund, niece of ex-Senator White, of Maine, was one of Washington’s
loveliest and most popular dishes. Her husband, Nathaniel Lautrelle, a
local department store executive, suspected her frequent absences from
home were not to go to the beauty parlor, so he and three men, whom he
engaged, followed her to 3030 O Street, NW. Those with Lautrelle were
Lt. Joseph Shimon, wire-tap expert of the Metropolitan Police who was
recently under Congressional investigation; Joseph Mercurio, a dope
addict and locksmith, and James Karas, former Pinkerton agent, who
now operates the flower-shop in the Mayflower Hotel. Mercurio sprung
the lock on Apartment 2 and the four entered. They found Nina and an
Argentine Ambassador naked.
Shimon got five grand for his service. Lautrelle and Nina got a
divorce. The Ambassador, sent here originally because Eva Peron fancied
him, went back to Argentina for consultation.
But they have something else to occupy their minds these days. Many
employes and upper attachés of the Argentine Embassy are feathering
their futures by shipping electric refrigerators home, packed as
personal household furniture.
This is simple, as it is not unusual for diplomats to buy enough
personal furniture in the country of their station to furnish their
homes. Hundreds of refrigerators can be packed into such cases, and
each so smuggled brings a premium of $100 in American currency, worth
ten times that in Argentine currency black markets.
BRAZIL--Hospitality in the Embassy, at 3000 Massachusetts Avenue, is in
the best old-fashioned tradition. The Ambassador, Mauricio Nabuco, is a
bachelor. His hostess is his sister, Carolina.
The Ambassador is one of Washington’s best hosts. He constantly
entertains at large formal affairs and at intimate gatherings to which
statesmen, musicians and poets are invited. No scandal attaches to the
Ambassador, but he likes to have pretty women around him. Maybe that’s
why he entertains so much. One 18-year old cutie told us, “Oh, the old
guy is harmless.”
CHINA--There’s little gaiety as we write, in the Embassy at 3225
Woodley Road. But things were not always so. As witness:
Congressman Hale, of Maine (Rep.), is a short, white-haired, pompous
gent, heavy with dignity. Not long ago he attended a formal affair at
the Chinese Embassy.
Suddenly a woman came up behind him and “goosed” him. The legislator’s
dignity exploded with a scream. He turned around to confront his
tormentor. The embarrassed lady apologized. “Oh--I’m sorry--I thought
you were someone else!”
A good-looking, well-knit young man, employed by one of the government
agencies, was showering in the bathroom of the YMCA, where he lived,
some years ago.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw another man in the room, but
thought nothing of it, as the bathroom is public.
When he came out of the shower the other was fixedly staring at him.
Our friend grew embarrassed, and was not especially put at ease by the
other’s appearance. He was an elderly Oriental.
Our friend inquired what was doing. The Oriental, in a singsong voice,
replied:
“You like go bed with rich Chinee lady?”
The chap was going to bop the guy, but first he tried to find out what
it was all about It developed that a high-placed woman in the Embassy
liked American boys, sent her servant to recruit them in places like
the Y, after having them looked over. What a switch on the oldie about
“Is it true what they say about Chinese women?”
The son of a famous Protestant clergyman worked for the Maritime
Commission, where he became friendly with the commercial attachés of
many countries. He found some would take loot. This troubled him. He
discussed it with an older man who had a desk in the same office.
This older fellow used to run errands for Lepke and Gurrah and their
famed Murder, Inc. After Bill O’Dwyer destroyed the ring, he got a job
with Uncle Sam.
He advised the young fellow to grab what he could while the grabbing
was good. So the minister’s son became the bagman for several embassies.
About this time the Chinese bought some gunboats and let out word they
were in the market for repairs in American shipyards. The yards were in
a post-war depression, needed business. Immediately, representatives
called at the Chinese embassy. An official there, who spoke better
English than most of us, mumbled in pidgin and routed all inquiries to
“the young man in the Maritime Commission, in whom we have implicit
faith.”
The young fellow collected more than half a million in cash as the
go-between, then beat it with the loot.
DENMARK--Ambassador Henrick de Kauffman and his family are so proper it
hurts. The Embassy, at 2839 Woodland Drive, is like a morgue.
EGYPT--They are still laughing at this at 2301 Massachusetts Avenue. An
Egyptian officer came to Washington recently on a buying mission. His
embassy bespoke the American authorities to give him the A-1 treatment,
the best. The Navy boys took him to Charleston to see the ships and set
him up in style. The visitor wanted a blonde. But he was black, and
Charleston is down South. This posed a problem. They finally found a
woman, but had to take her in through the back door.
The Egyptian was insulted. He returned home without buying.
FRANCE--No Parisian spice about the Henri Bonnets; however, there is
no doubt the wife of a very exalted member of the staff is a Communist
drop and transmission belt.
Mme. Bonnet has family connections interested in the sale of Lanson
champagne. Important friends and guests pose with her, popping a bottle
of the labeled bubble-water.
Latest to fall for the publicity gag were Averell Harriman and his
wife, photographed with Mme. Bonnet while opening a bottle of the
champagne. It got into all the papers.
GREAT BRITAIN--The embassy, at 3100 Massachusetts Avenue, under the
Right Honorable Sir Oliver Shewell Franks, Knight Commander of the
Bath, C.B.E., and Lady Franks is as dull and austere as England itself.
But a former British Ambassador had as his lover his Russian valet.
ICELAND--Plenty of problems at the Icelandic legation. Lovely Margret
Thors, debutante daughter of Minister Thor Thors, got too friendly with
thrice-divorced Blaine Clark, Washington playboy, so Ma and Pa packed
her off to Iceland, where Clark couldn’t follow without a visa, which
the old man wouldn’t give. Margret promised to be a good girl and was
permitted to return, but has to behave.
IRAQ--As we write, Abdullah Ibraham Bakar, Iraqui minister, has a
headache. That’s because Cham Chum Sesi was arrested for murder in
his basement room of the Iraq Chancellory, 2205 Massachusetts Avenue.
Muhmud Rodani, chief janitor, had been stabbed in the neck with a
kitchen knife. Sesi told police he killed the janitor because he had
made repeated improper advances to him. The diplomatic set talked about
a lovers’ quarrel there when a new homo came from Iraq.
NORWAY--The dean of the Washington Diplomatic Corps is Ambassador
Wilhelm Munthe de Morgenstierne. The Norwegian Embassy, 3401
Massachusetts Avenue, generates no gossip.
SAUDI ARABIA--This country is orthodox Mohammedan, goes in big for
polygamy. The Ambassador, Sheikh Asad Al-Faquih, had no desire to
insult America by bringing extra wives with him, was afraid to affront
his wives by choosing one and leaving the others at home. The result
is there are no women in the Embassy at 2800 Woodland Drive, or in the
homes of any of the attachés. When they want parties, they go to New
York, or to the State Department, where Protocol provides.
SPAIN--America and Spain long exchanged no ambassadors. Don Eduardo
Propper de Callejon, Spanish Minister, was nominally in charge of the
Embassy. The wily Spaniards got around having no ambassador here by
sending Don Jose de Lequerica, former Foreign Minister, as “Inspector
General of all Spanish Embassies in the Western Hemisphere.” However,
the farthest he got from Washington since 1947 was Cuba.
Lequerica is a personality kid and a lobby genius. He entertains
lavishly. His conniving paid off with the Spanish loan, and in time
with full recognition. Ambassador Lequerica had cultivated the law firm
of Sullivan, Cromwell and Dulles, until the 1948 election returns were
in and Dulles was out--as potential Secretary of State. He switched to
Max Truitt, son-in-law of Vice President Barkley. Smart guy.
Minister Propper de Callejon is married to an English Rothschild and is
as proper as his name.
SWEDEN--Ambassador and Mrs. Erik Boehman are no exception to the rule
that all Scandinavian embassies are tame and respectable. Theirs, at
3900 Nebraska Avenue, is.
TURKEY--The Turkish Ambassador, Feridun Cemal Erkin, insists on decorum
in his Embassy at 1606 23rd Street. Turks there put on gloves and
are fully clothed when they go to bed with their wives, an Orthodox
Mohammedan custom.
UNION OF SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS--The Russians used to be the big
spenders. Parties in the great white Embassy at 1125 16th Street were
Washington’s most brilliant affairs. Invitations were eagerly sought
after. The Russian government paid all expenses of the Ambassador and
his staff, even bridge losses. The Russkies were terrific gamblers and
few locals could go along in games with them. Once when a Washington
businessman was asked to play bridge at 25 cents a point he pleaded,
“I’m only a capitalist, not a proletarian.”
There was always plenty of food and liquor in the Red retreat. All
members of the local press corps were remembered with presents,
especially beluga caviar. But now the Russians don’t go out except to
official functions, and that goes for their satellites, too. And they
travel only in pairs, one to spy on the other.
The Russians and their slave states bring their own females from
abroad, because they’re afraid to trust American women, Communist ones
included, any more. In the good old days, the consecrated American
left-wingers used to go to the Soviet Embassy, where they proved their
party loyalty by getting in the hay with the men from Moscow. After
many frightened American Reds got religion and betrayed the cause,
Soviet diplomats were forbidden to Ostermoor with American women. This
did not cause too much hardship, because most American Communist women
are no dream-girls; even the Russians shrank from them.
Almost every member of the embassy set has a wife or a concubine posing
as a wife with him. In Russian Naval Headquarters, a few handsome young
orderlies are being used. There are said to be few homosexuals in
Russia, where perversion is strictly punished, except for “Kremlin and
world revolution.”
As one humorist remarked, “There are no fags in Russia, because they
like goats; but where can they find goats in Washington?”
As a further check on their own people, members of the Soviet Embassy
staff are not permitted to live alone. Even couples must share
apartments with others.
The Russians have been getting special kid-gloving in Washington since
1933, when the Embassy became the fashionable place to go. At Teheran,
Stalin asked President Roosevelt for permission to set up a shortwave
radio transmitter in the U. S. to enable his boys to contact Moscow
directly. Roosevelt sent a memo to General Marshall, instructing him
to cooperate. Marshall wrote back that the law absolutely forbade any
foreign government to maintain a transmitter in this country. F. D. R.
penciled across it, “Do it anyway.”
Consequently, an entire wing of the Pentagon was turned over to the
Commies, where they sent over a million words a week. The President
ordered Military Intelligence not to try to break the Russian code, but
some officers took their oath to defend the Constitution literally,
and overrode the President without his knowledge. As these words are
being written, thugs of the NKVD are sitting 24 hours a day with
ear-phones and transmitters in Russian Naval and Military headquarters
at Massachusetts Avenue and Kalorama Road.
* * *
When an embassy wife isn’t worrying about a change in government at
home, which may mean the recall of her husband, she’s worrying about
getting her daughter properly married. A lot of the debutantes of
the embassy set are beginning to get American ideas after attending
American schools. The foreign aristocrats don’t like it.
Embassy wives have rarely been known to fool around. On the whole,
embassy children behave themselves. When they don’t, they get packed
off to schools in their own countries.
With the exception of the Iron Curtain diplomatic slums, there is
considerable camaraderie among attachés of the various embassies,
though usually on equal strata. They go dancing in the hotels, visit
at each other’s homes, ride and play golf together. Some time ago, an
attempt was made to start a United Nations Club at R and 19th Streets,
by Meredith Howard, who is the twin sister of Mrs. Teddy Hays. Hays, a
big Democrat and White House intimate, is assistant to Federal Security
Administrator Oscar Ewing, the socialized-medicine man. The idea was to
get younger members of the embassies together, but it blew up when Miss
Howard left town with no public explanation.
When it comes to con games, the diplomats and foreign missions could
show Yellow Kid Weil something.
Washington and New York are constantly being dazzled by members of
foreign missions who come here talking about purchases in hundreds of
millions (the dough to be put up by Uncle Sam).
Salesmen, sure-thing boys and big executives turn on every tap to
entertain the foreigners and grab their business.
Girls are provided, expensive gifts are passed, and plenty of money
changes hands. Then, suddenly, the mission packs up, leaves without
buying, says it can’t find what it wants.
Cooks and butlers in every Washington embassy get kickbacks from the
merchants. Groceries, meats and other household goods are overpriced on
a regular scale for the embassies, with a rebate going monthly to the
aforementioned functionaries.
Lower-echelon foreigners have their wild parties in the Washington
field offices of the United Nations. There is no central installation
of the international body in the capital, but offices are spread out
around the town.
One of the principal places for after-work revelry is in the U.N.
offices in the Longfellow Building, on Connecticut Avenue, where booze
and babes are available every day after five.
Employes of the embassies, foreign missions and the U.N. and such carry
special cards which exempt them from the payment of all U.S. taxes such
as DC sales, Federal amusement tax, etc. They are, of course, exempt
from income tax, too.
It’s a racket in Washington to borrow a friend’s card when making any
expensive purchase like a mink coat, where the sales and luxury tax
swindle comes to 22 per cent by this means.
A racket begun in UNRRA and now going on in other foreign aid
organizations is engaged in by top administration figures and important
diplomats:
Most of the durable goods aid sent abroad goes with the proviso that it
must be resold in the currency of the country to which it is consigned,
and the money must be used to provide local home relief, such as food,
clothes, etc.
So the way it works is this: The embassy wangles a shipment of, shall
we say, locomotives. They arrive in the country of destination. They
are then duly and dutifully resold in the currency of the country. But
the law doesn’t say for how much.
Some locomotives were sold in Greece for 10 drachmas each. The drachma
runs about 1,000 to the dollar. The local poor get the ten drachmas.
The local political bosses, gangsters and crooked diplomats split the
resale profits with their opposite numbers in America.
That’s big racketeering. A couple of Washington sisters have a petty,
but profitable one. They operate a so-called Embassy social list and
charge chumps to get on it, dangling invites to diplomatic balls as the
bait, which they obtain from legation employes for a “cut.”
Some fall for it. Our confidential advice is, don’t pay. You can crash
almost any Embassy party--but who wants to?
23. THE RIGHT TO PETITION
“_Congress shall make no law abridging the right of the people
peaceably to assemble and to petition the government for a
redress of grievances_”--First Amendment to the Constitution.
* * *
Don’t you believe it. Congress hamstrung lobbying by requiring
practitioners to register. Then it appointed a committee to investigate
them. Neither gesture got far. Lobbyists are among the most delightful
people in Washington. They are the friends of everybody, including the
Congressmen who are “probing” them.
Lobbying is like the Indian rope trick. Everyone talks about it, but no
one has ever seen it done. It’s one subject all Congressmen shy from,
regardless of party. That’s because there are lobbyists on both sides.
You can hardly expect a Congressman to insult a supporter.
Many ex-Congressmen, who can’t bear the thought of returning
home after their defeat, remain in Washington as lobbyists. They
enjoy an advantage, because, forever after, all ex-Senators and
ex-Representatives have the privileges of the floor and the
cloak-rooms. They can collar the ones they need while the legislators
are in action. Thus, members, who are always aware of the possibility
of being lame ducks themselves, keep these pleasant prospects of
earning a generous living after retirement open and in good working
order.
When you read about lobbying being a $100,000,000 business, don’t
believe that, either. Maybe they soak their clients that much, but most
of it goes on padded expense accounts. Lobbyists are their own best
press-agents. They are more responsible for the hue and cry against
lobbying than are the reformers. By making it look more difficult, they
can load their take.
Lobbying is as old as Magna Charta, which first granted people the
right to petition their sovereign. Ever since, those who wanted
something have hired someone to speak up for them. Washington is full
of these hucksters. They are about the brightest spot on the glum
scene. They spend, entertain, throw wild parties with pretty gals as
souvenirs, tip lavishly and keep the hotel and liquor industries going.
They are the only cream here in a welter of skimmed milk.
An Act of Congress, of doubtful legality, requires lobbyists to
register and divulge the amount and source of their income. Some do,
many more don’t. Those who comply are the technical lobbyists--in other
words, they are errand boys who merely transmit messages and appeals
from their clients to the Congress. Many have no physical contact with
Congressmen at all, reaching them through mimeographed propaganda
mailed from a Washington office.
But most of those we consider lobbyists are the ones who feel they
are not required to register. When we mention anyone in this chapter,
we are not inferring that if he is not a registered lobbyist he is
breaking the law. We group together for purposes of posing a picture,
every Washington lobbyist, fixer, five-percenter, hot-shot lawyer,
industrial press agent, and man from Missouri. They are a multitude,
especially men from Missouri.
When a really big fix is made, it usually is not handled in Washington
at all. The deal is consummated back home, as a quid pro quo for a
large campaign donation, after which the county or state chairman sends
word through channels to his men in Washington that the matter should
be okayed.
Lobbying can be a delightful and well-paid occupation. The mouthpieces
of the industrial petitioners are usually charming gentlemen who
know how to entertain. Buying an uninstructed Congressman C.O.D. is
obsolete. Giving him a high time will do it, and the lobbyist can
pocket the money earmarked for bribing and tell his client he passed on
the boodle.
Most solons are lonely uprooted rustics. Usually their wives are away,
holy frights they are glad to leave back home. These men want to talk
and drink with someone. You don’t even have to get them girls, just
invite them to a hotel and spend an evening with them. They’ll be so
thankful, they’ll do anything you want.
The average big lobbyist doesn’t bother with run-of-the-mill Senators
and Representatives, who are in the bag without much trouble. He sets
his sights on the key characters like committee chairmen and floor
leaders, and even they can be snared at little cost, though naturally
to corral a chairman means an even heftier bill to the employer. The
procedure used in the case of VIPs is simple and cheap. Each lobbyist
is on friendly terms with some local hostess, for whom he does favors
or to whom he gives gifts. When he has an especially important deal
on, he asks her to invite his prospect to a party. During most of
the evening he keeps away from the man he wants to meet, until by a
fortuitous accident he is placed next to him at the table. Even then
the conversation is kept chatty and frothy. A couple of days later,
the lobbyist phones his erstwhile table companion and invites him to a
rubber of bridge or a game of golf, and from then on he’s on his own.
Administrative heads and assistants are much more sought after than
Senators. They are the ones who receive the deep freezes and their
wives, the expensive gifts. In the final analysis, the best contact
is a clerk, not a division head. The clerks do the work and make the
decisions while their bosses drink cocktails.
Much of the big-time fixing is done by law firms. Many New York outfits
maintain offices in Washington. These firms usually have partners
belonging to both parties, so they are prepared for any political
eventuality.
We would like to introduce you to some of the boys in Washington who
can get things done:
First comes to mind an attorney, Charles Patrick Clark. Mr. Clark is a
wonder-worker. When others can’t score, Clark is called in. Even Max
Truitt, the Vice President’s son-in-law, had trouble getting Franco’s
loan, so Clark hit in the pinch and Congress voted it. It may be a
coincidence, but Clark was a counsel for the Senatorial Committee
Investigating War Frauds when Harry Truman was its chairman.
Part of Clark’s success can be ascribed to the majestic manner in which
he entertains. He used to project his parties in Georgetown, but now
hosts it in a palatial four-story building near the Mayflower Hotel.
It set him back a hundred grand to furnish its interior. The yard was
landscaped at a cost of $25,000 more. Clark can muster more pretty
girls than anyone else in Washington. You will always find enough of
them at his parties. He has two stunners in his office, a blonde and a
brunette, who frequently are escorted by his clients and his contacts.
Congressman Buchanan, Pennsylvania Democrat, chairman of the committee
investigating lobbying, fell for Clark’s charm. He and his wife visited
Clark’s play-place.
Clark is hot-tempered. He recently had a fist fight in the lobby of the
Mayflower Hotel with Charlie Rogers, handsome former counsel of the
committee that nailed John Maragon.
Dan Hanlon, a former law-partner of Democratic National Chairman Bill
Boyle, has an office at 1727 Massachusetts Ave., where he handles
internal revenue cases with much success. Hanlon is from Missouri. But
as Boyle seems to be on the way out so is Hanlon.
The business is intensively departmentalized. Different lawyers
have ins in different branches of the government. Persuasion on the
Department of Justice is handled by Laughlin Currie, a former Truman
appointee, through Tommy “The Cork” Corcoran, a Roosevelt favorite.