She knew they contained purchases which her employer had made when she
and the Judge were in Europe during the summer. They had returned to
New York aboard the SS _Normandie_ on September 12, and Rosa remembered
the beautiful clothing Mrs. Lauer brought with her. Rosa had helped
her unpack, exclaiming over the beauty of the new styles. And Rosa
remembered Mrs. Lauer saying, “That’s not all, Rosa. Some lovely things
are coming later. They weren’t finished when I left Paris.” Mrs. Lauer
also left Rosa with the definite impression that one of the nicest
things of all was that she had brought back gowns, hats, and jewelry
without paying duty to Customs.
A few days after Chaperau’s visit to the apartment, both Mr. and Mrs.
Chaperau were guests of the Lauers at a cocktail party. Among other
guests was the famous international financier and playboy--somewhat of
a mystery man about New York--Serge Rubenstein.
And then on October 21 Rosa helped Mrs. Lauer prepare for a dinner
party in the apartment. Rosa brought her sister along to help with the
affair, and again the Chaperaus were among the guests. It was a gay
gathering, and after drinks the guests were seated in the dining room.
Rosa could not help but hear everything said by the guests as she
served the table. And there was much for them to talk about. At this
time war clouds were gathering in Europe.
As the conversation grew more animated, there were loud and bitter
denunciations of Adolph Hitler and his treatment of the Jews.
Rosa Weber listened to the denunciations of Hitler with mounting
fury. No one noticed that her face was flushed with anger until she
crashed a plate of meat onto the table. The guests looked at the maid
in open-mouthed astonishment. Into this silence Rosa Weber shouted:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am a real German! If you don’t stop talking
about Herr Hitler while I am in this house, I am through here!” And
then the maid glared at Mrs. Lauer and said, “Madam, it is up to you.”
For a full thirty seconds there was no sound, and then a babble of
protest broke out. Judge and Mrs. Lauer were on their feet shouting.
Rosa Weber stalked into the pantry followed by Judge Lauer, who
demanded, “Get out of this house immediately!”
Rosa said to the Judge, “All right, Judge, I’ll go.” And she went to
her room with her sister to pack her belongings. Chaperau and another
guest followed the maid to her room and stood at the door while she was
packing. Chaperau snapped, “Hurry up; how long does it take you?”
Judge Lauer came to the room, and Chaperau said to the Judge, “You had
better watch when she goes. She might take some of your valuables with
her.” With this insult sounding in her ears, the maid hurried from the
apartment and slammed the door behind her.
Four days after the dinner party on Park Avenue, a woman entered the
Customs building at 21 Varick Street in New York and asked to see
the Supervising Customs Agent. She was shown into his office. And it
was there that Rosa Weber, in the role of informer, got her revenge.
She told what had happened at the dinner. She accused Mrs. Lauer of
smuggling Paris gowns and other finery into the United States without
paying customs duties. She told agents of the conversation she had
overheard between Mrs. Lauer and Chaperau, of remarks that had been
made by Mrs. Lauer. She described how she had helped Mrs. Lauer unpack
the dresses, and of Chaperau’s visit to the apartment with the black
suitcase and the hat box.
While she was packing to leave the Lauer apartment, she said, Chaperau
had cursed her and said, “I’m just thinking it over--whether I should
arrest you, because I’m from the police department.” She added, “They
threatened to have me deported to Germany, and also said that there was
no concentration camp here but that I would be put in jail.”
When the maid left the Customs agent’s office that day, agents began
a routine check on Nathaniel Chaperau. Rosa Weber was an angry,
vindictive woman whose story might have been motivated solely by spite
as far as the Customs agents knew. But all such stories were checked,
even if the source were a pro-Hitler maid. Each report of a customs
violation was handled in the same manner, regardless of the prominence
of the accused, when an informant gave such minute details of smuggling
as did Rosa Weber.
Agents quickly found that Chaperau conducted a film business from an
office at 30 Rockefeller Plaza with the cable address “Chapfilm.” He
had prominent connections in the movie world in New York and Hollywood
and he boasted of his close friendship with several stars of the
entertainment world. On the surface, his business looked legitimate.
There was no record that he had ever been engaged in smuggling.
But in checking into Chaperau’s travels outside the country, the
agents were curious as to why Chaperau had used a Nicaraguan passport
on his return from Europe early in October. A visit to the Nicaraguan
Consulate turned up some interesting information. The Consul General
disclosed that he had given a letter to Chaperau intended only as an
aid to Chaperau in making a film in Nicaragua. Chaperau had called on
the Consul General and told him that he hoped he could go to Nicaragua
and take pictures of the country’s beautiful lakes and other natural
scenery for advertising purposes--without expense to the Nicaraguan
government.
The idea appealed to the Consul General. Chaperau’s credentials
appeared to be excellent, his business address implied a firm of
financial integrity, and Chaperau obviously was well-connected in the
film world.
It seemed like an attractive proposition to the consular chief and,
quite naturally, he had asked what aid he could give in the project.
Chaperau had said it would be helpful if he carried a letter from the
Consul General explaining his mission in Nicaragua and stating that the
commercial enterprise had the approval of the Consul General.
The diplomat had furnished Chaperau with the letter and, to be helpful
further, with Nicaraguan passports. However, the Consul General
insisted to the agents that the documents were intended for use solely
in connection with the movie-making trip to Nicaragua. Under no
circumstances had they been intended for use in connection with trips
to any other country. He added that the letter had not been given
with any authorization from his government and that no diplomatic
privileges had been extended with these documents.
A query was sent to the State Department in Washington asking if
Chaperau had ever been registered as the representative of the
Nicaraguan government. The State Department reported promptly that
there was no record of his being attached to the Nicaraguan diplomatic
service--or to any other agency registered with the State Department.
In short, he had not been entitled to the diplomatic courtesies
extended by Customs.
After these disclosures, the agents discovered that Nathaniel Chaperau
had a truly interesting background. An inquiry sent to the FBI
uncovered a criminal record. Chaperau had several aliases, among them
Albert Chaperau, Albert Chippero, Harry Schwarz, and Nathan Wise. As
Nathan Wise he had been sent to the New York City Reformatory on a
petty larceny charge. He also had been involved in a mail fraud case
in Wisconsin and had been sentenced to the Federal penitentiary at
Leavenworth to serve a year and six months.
But Chaperau had not confined his activities to the United States.
Reports came from France, Belgium and England. In 1927, Chaperau
had been refused admittance to England, and his passport had been
cancelled. Later, Scotland Yard reported Chaperau had a long criminal
record and was wanted by them under the name of “White” in connection
with a swindling transaction in May, 1935. The report from Scotland
Yard said Albert Nathaniel Chaperau, alias R. L. Werner, was wanted by
London police for conspiracy and fraudulent conversion of worthless
shares of stock, that he was internationally known and that he had been
connected “with large-scale fraudulent activities in England and on
the continent.” The French police record showed that Chaperau had been
involved in passing bad checks and in something irregular which the
French called _abus de confiance_.
Armed with this information, Customs decided the smuggling story told
by Rosa Weber was more than the spiteful babbling of an angry woman.
Search warrants were obtained. One agent called at the apartment of
Justice and Mrs. Lauer. When he knocked on the door, the Justice
himself opened the door to inquire sternly what it was the caller
wanted. The agent identified himself, showed the Justice the search
warrant, and said, “I don’t have to explain to you, Mr. Justice, that
you can do this one of two ways. You can do this the easy way, or we
can do it the hard way.”
Then the agent couldn’t resist a sudden impulse. He added, “I would
suggest that you cough up the loot.” The language was inelegant, but
the Justice got the point. He invited the agent in and closed the door
behind him.
At this moment, other agents were entering the apartment of the
Chaperaus in the Hotel Pierre. One article in the apartment which
caught their attention was a photograph of the radio team of George
Burns and Gracie Allen inscribed to “June, Nat, and Paula, you charming
people, sincerely, George and Gracie.”
Papers in the apartment indicated that on his trip to Europe ending
October 7, Chaperau had brought back with him jewelry for George Burns.
And there was a letter, written in friendly terms, in which Burns
thanked Chaperau for bringing the jewelry over from France. Further
search disclosed correspondence and documents which also indicated
Chaperau had brought back jewelry for comedian Jack Benny. There was
no Customs record that such jewelry had been declared or that duty had
been paid.
The information obtained in New York was sent to Customs agents in Los
Angeles. As a result Burns handed over to agents a ring and bracelet
valued at approximately $30,000. Jewelry was also obtained by the
agents from Jack Benny. The case was a minor sensation in the daily
press and particularly in the Hollywood community.
Nathaniel Chaperau hoodwinked many of the stars in the film colony
with his front of the affable, worldly-wise man ready any time to do a
favor for a friend. He met most of them in Paris. He and his wife were
attractive and interesting people who seemed to have good connections
because they could buy almost anything at wholesale prices. Chaperau
let his friends know that he not only could help them buy at wholesale
prices, but that he would be glad to do them a favor and bring the
purchases through Customs himself.
George Burns and Jack Benny protested any intent of wrongdoing. But
they were charged with smuggling and both pleaded guilty when brought
into court. Burns was sentenced to a year and a day on each of nine
counts and fined $8,000. However, the execution of the sentence was
suspended and he was placed on probation for a year and a day. Jack
Benny was also sentenced to a year and a day in prison, his sentence
was suspended, and he was placed on probation for a year. He was
required to pay fines totalling $10,000.
The tattling of Rosa Weber brought tragedy to the Lauers. Justice Lauer
resigned from the court in the uproar which followed the smuggling
exposé. Mrs. Lauer was sentenced to three months in prison.
The dapper Chaperau confessed to the smuggling. He was fined $5,000 and
sentenced to five years in prison, but because of his cooperation in
the case, President Roosevelt ordered his release from prison in April,
1940.
The story of Rosa Weber is not a new one to Customs officers or, for
that matter, to any of the Federal and local police agencies, because
the informer has always played an important role in law enforcement’s
never-ending battle against the criminal world.
In 1944, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover wrote in the _FBI Law Enforcement
Bulletin_:
The objective of the investigator must be to ferret out the truth.
It is fundamental that the search include the most logical source
of information--those persons with immediate access to necessary
facts who are willing to cooperate in the interest of the common
good. Their services contribute greatly to the ultimate goal
of justice--convicting the guilty and clearing the innocent.
Necessarily unheralded in their daily efforts, they not only
uncover crimes but also furnish the intelligence data so vital in
preventing serious violations of law and national intelligence.
The Customs Bureau--along with other enforcement agencies--has
developed a network of informers who aid in combatting smuggling and
other violations of the tariff laws. Information comes from maids,
disgruntled employees, ship’s officers and stewards, shop girls,
bartenders, narcotics addicts, businessmen, racketeers, and jealous
mistresses--each with his own motive for passing information to the
agents.
Some informers are motivated by a momentary fit of anger--as was Rosa
Weber. Some report smuggling activities to settle an old grudge against
an enemy. Some inform through fear of the law--fear of deportation,
fear of a severe prison sentence, or fear that unless they get the law
on their side, their underworld enemies will destroy them. Then there
is the information which comes from citizens who have no other motive
than the desire to see the law upheld.
There are petty criminals who turn informer because it gives them
a feeling of holding the whip-hand over the “big shots” of the
underworld. Others inform because of a sincere desire to break with
their criminal past and to start a new life with a clean slate.
But a sizable number of Customs informers are those who seek a money
reward. Among these are professional informers, who make a regular
business of checking on the sales of jewelry, clothing and other
merchandise in Europe, and learning whether the buyers intend to
declare their purchases to customs on arrival in the United States.
Most of the large seizures of heroin, diamonds, gold and other
contraband have been discovered because some one gave advance
information. Customs agents readily concede that most smuggling rings
are broken up because of the tips that come from informers who often
play a deadly and dangerous game.
Federal agents are taught the art of developing contacts with
informers--and the absolute necessity for acquiring information from
those with first-hand knowledge of a criminal operation.
The agents cannot often disclose the full story of how an informer was
enlisted, and how he aided them in breaking up a criminal combine,
because the disclosure could be fatal to the informer. But the story of
how Narcotics Agent Pat O’Carroll, a handsome, black-haired Irishman,
recruited one informer can now be told.
Shortly after World War II, O’Carroll was assigned to the Bureau of
Narcotics’ International Squad in New York City to help with the
investigations being made into the narcotics traffic. Two of the
squad’s prime targets were Benny Bellanca, who lived in Jersey City,
and Pietro Beddia, who resided in Westchester.
Both men were suspected of being involved deeply in the international
narcotics traffic--with connections in France and Italy--but agents
were unable to make a case against them and they remained untouchable.
Perhaps they would have continued their operations for years, except
that O’Carroll played a hunch.
The case began to take shape when Agent Angelo Zurlo, tailing a
suspected narcotics pusher on New York’s Lower East Side, saw his
man enter a small olive oil and cheese shop on Christie Street near
Delancey. He noted the name and address of the shop in his notebook and
later made a memorandum of the incident which went into the Bureau’s
cross-indexed file. Some months later, Narcotics agents following
another suspect saw him enter the olive oil and cheese shop on Christie
Street. They made a memorandum, also, which went into the files.
In the summer of 1952, O’Carroll was checking the files when he
noted the two memos mentioning the small shop on Christie. Further
investigation revealed it had been owned by Alphonse Attardi before
he was sentenced to serve an eight-year prison term for a narcotics
violation in Galveston, Texas, in the early 1940s. Attardi had
completed the sentence, but Immigration authorities were studying the
possibility of extradition proceedings, inasmuch as Attardi was Italian
by birth.
Attardi at this time was sixty years old, 5 feet 3, and weighed
about 140 pounds. He had the appearance of a meek and humble little
shoemaker, and he scarcely fitted the part of an underworld character.
He had an engaging, warm personality, and he was known in the Mafia as
“The Peacemaker” because of his knack for compromising disputes--but
that was before he had served time in prison.
O’Carroll decided to pay a call on Attardi, who he learned was living
in a cheap, transient rooming house on 16th Street just off Third
Avenue. It was after midnight one warm night when he strolled down
Third Avenue in the shadows of the old El to 16th Street. Even the
softness of the night could not hide the shabbiness and the squalor of
the area.
O’Carroll entered the rooming house and climbed two flights of stairs.
He knocked on the door and then tried the doorknob. The door swung
open, and at that moment the agent knew that Attardi was in a bad way
financially. If he had had a bankroll, he wouldn’t have left the door
unbolted--not in this dive.
He saw Attardi sitting up in bed, a skinny gnome of a man wearing only
undershirt and shorts.
“Who is it?” Attardi said. “What do you want?”
“Take it easy,” O’Carroll said. “I’m a U.S. Treasury agent. I just want
to talk to you.”
Attardi switched on a light over the bed. “What do you want to see me
about?” he said. “I’m clean.”
“Have you got any narcotics in this room?” O’Carroll asked him.
Attardi shook his head. “No. You can search the room if you like. I’m
out of the business.”
O’Carroll pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. He began to
talk about Attardi’s connections with well-known underworld figures,
asking him why it was that he had been convicted in Houston while
others in the mob had gone free.
As they talked, bitterness began to creep into Attardi’s voice. He had
taken the rap in Houston--and then his pals had deserted him. They
didn’t even try to communicate with him while he was in prison. His
wife had become ill and no one had come forward to help her. She had
died. He had even lost the little olive oil and cheese shop on Christie
Street.
“Now I have nothing,” he said.
“Maybe we can help you,” O’Carroll said. “I can’t make any promises,
but if you help us we may be able to help you when your deportation
case comes up.”
Attardi shook his head. “I can’t do it. I’d be dead if I worked for
you.”
O’Carroll continued talking of the injustices done to Attardi by his
old pals, insisting that he owed them nothing since they had deserted
him. But Attardi continued to say no.
At last O’Carroll said, “Well, I’ll leave my name and telephone number.
If you ever need help--I’ll be glad to talk to you.” He wrote his name
and telephone number on a slip of paper and handed it to Attardi.
For six months O’Carroll heard nothing from Attardi. He made no move to
see the man again. He had planted the seed, and whether it took root
depended on what went on in the mind of the skinny little ex-convict.
But in early December Attardi called the Narcotics Bureau office and
Agent George O’Connor took the call. He explained that he wanted to
talk to O’Carroll and he would be waiting for him on Delancey Street
near Christie.
That afternoon O’Carroll and O’Connor drove to Delancey and parked
near the street number mentioned by Attardi. A few minutes later the
hoodlum walked from a doorway and ducked into the car with them.
The agents had assumed that Attardi had made the call because he
was frightened over the prospect of being deported to Italy. But it
wasn’t deportation that was on Attardi’s mind. He had fallen in love.
He had met a twenty-two-year-old waitress in one of the mean little
restaurants on the Lower East Side--and this girl had become the most
important thing in his life. They wanted to get married, but he had no
money.
Attardi said he was willing to put the agents onto some Puerto Ricans
living in Brooklyn who were dealing in narcotics. If the price were
right, Attardi would help knock off the gang.
The agents listened to Attardi’s story and then O’Carroll shook his
head. “It’s no deal,” he said. “We want better cases than that. We want
to go to the top.”
Attardi was frightened but he also was in love. And so he began asking
how the agents could protect him if he did agree to work with them. He
flatly refused to do any buying of narcotics himself.
At last it was agreed that Attardi would introduce an undercover agent
to some of his friends who were in the peddling business. Then it would
be up to the agent to handle the deals, Attardi’s role being to vouch
for the agent as “one of the boys.”
Undercover Agent Joe Tremoglie, a big, curly-haired man, was chosen to
work with Attardi. Tremoglie’s parents had come to the United States
from Sicily and Joe spoke fluent Italian. He knew the underworld,
its mannerisms, superstitions, and nuances. He had about him a
conspiratorial air that seemed to appeal to criminals and to disarm
them.
Attardi’s first assignment was to introduce Tremoglie to a cafe cook on
Newberry Street who was pushing narcotics on the side. The agent made
a small purchase and then let himself be seen in the right places with
Attardi--who began to introduce him as a distant cousin.
As the weeks passed, Tremoglie met narcotics pushers and wholesalers.
He played poker with them. Slowly he moved up the ladder until one day
he was introduced to Benny Bellanca, who took an immediate liking to
him after Tremoglie had given the right answers to all the questions.
He liked him so well, in fact, that they discussed the possibility of
Tremoglie going to Europe as a courier to bring back a load of heroin.
He met Pietro Beddia, too, and an intensive surveillance by Narcotics
agents disclosed a link between Bellanco and Beddia.
At the end of ten months of work by Tremoglie, the trap was set.
Arrangements were made for Tremoglie to make a series of purchases
during one afternoon and night on a timetable that was worked out to
the minute. For twelve hours, Tremoglie raced from one meeting place
to another, making the prearranged purchases of narcotics. And at 3
o’clock in the morning twenty of the leading narcotics dealers in the
New York area--including Bellanca and Beddia--had been rounded up.
Alphonse Attardi wasn’t around for the trials. He took his $5,000
reward money plus expenses--plus his bride--and faded from the scene.
All he would tell agents was that he planned to buy a little place in
the country and settle down to make an honest living.
The underworld finally figured out that it was Attardi who had sprung
the trap on them, and defense counsel for the accused men demanded that
he be produced by the government for questioning. But Narcotics agents
could honestly say they knew nothing of Attardi’s whereabouts. They
didn’t want to know.
Informers have given valuable aid to the Customs Service in its drive
against smuggling, and there are many Alphonse Attardis--each with his
own motive--who work with the agents.
Under the law, the Customs Service is permitted to pay up to $50,000
for information leading to the seizure of smuggled goods. The system
provides that the informer may receive 25 per cent of the net recovery
in any case in which he provides the original information leading to
arrest and conviction for smuggling or fraud. Net recovery means the
amount which goes into the Treasury of the United States as a result
of a disclosure. For example, suppose Customs agents seize from a
smuggler a diamond necklace that is worth $10,000, the appraisal being
based on the American selling price. The necklace is forfeited and sold
at public auction for $8,000. Assuming expenses of $400 involved in
the case, then the net recovery is $7,600, of which the informant is
entitled to $1,900.