-Caveat Lector- an excerpt from: Loud and Clear Lake Headly and William Hoffman©1990 Henry Holt and Company 115 W. 18th St. New York, NY 10011 ISBN 0-8050-1138-2 272 pps — out-of-print/one edition --[12]-- 12 Goldwater In mid-February 1979, Terri Lee and I had dinner with Don and Naomi Devereux. I'd been seeing a lot of Terri, socially as well as professionally—movies, candlelight dinners, late-night sessions coordinating the mass of investigative material into a coherent, workable whole. This evening Devereux thought a relaxed, roundtable exchange of ideas on what we knew individually and collectively about the case would help. But first we ate, and I continued to be pleased with how well Terri and Naomi hit it off. They got along great on a personal level-talking about clothes, fun places, the Devereux children—and as members of an investigative team, they meshed like movements in a Swiss watch. >From working with Don on migrant labor articles, plus investigating the Bolles case, Naomi was a research whiz. She had volunteered to show Terri how to research court records, a task she did for Don and I needed Terri to do for me. Terri had located the Pepper Committee transcripts, and then continued with interviews, court record checks, and newspaper files to learn everything she could about Bolles's old nemesis Bradley Funk. The Funk family, Terri explained after we'd eaten, traced its roots in Arizona almost to the turn of the century—a long time in the last contiguous state admitted to the Union (1912). The Funks, ranked among the Arizona elite, used profits from a booming jewelry business to build Arizona's first dog-racing track in the mid-1940s, and the gambling business proved a bonanza. They parlayed one track into half a dozen, the only six in the state, which the family co-owned with Emprise. However, the state audit Bolles referred to at the Pepper Committee hearing revealed that the Funks owed Emprise a lot of money and had pledged their fifty percent interest in the tracks to Emprise as collateral. In the late 1960s Bolles began publishing articles about the Funks' friendly relationship with racing commissioners, who were supposed to regulate the pari-mutuel industry. After he wrote about his phone being tapped, and other serious privacy violations, the Funks had filed their lawsuit, claiming Bolles, Steiger, and the Arizona Republic were trying to "ruin" them. Terri suspected Emprise had its hand in this lawsuit. Attorneys call it the "chilling effect" —turning profit-conscious publishers cold to the idea of running exposes from fear of costly legal action. Often, the claimant, after making sure the publisher has expended a great deal of money in pretrial preparation, drops the lawsuit. Regardless, even if the Arizona Republic had won—and it probably would have since the Pepper Committee said the Funks and Emprise were the ones employing false accusations—the victory would have been Pyrrhic. In reality, the "chilling effect" won out. The Republic's secret out-of-court settlement with the Funks reportedly promised not to run any more articles about the dog-track scandal. On his own, Bolles continued to probe pari-mutuel racing in Arizona and Emprise, but he never wrote another story on either subject. "How about Brad Funk personally?" I asked Terri. "Before the murder he was a very heavy drinker. A loud, abusive drunk. After the bombing, but before Bolles died, Funk checked into an alcohol rehabilitation center near San Diego, called Beverly Manor. I suspect the reason had more to do with removing himself from the jurisdiction of Arizona authorities than with fighting his drinking problem." I needed to nose around Beverly Manor and see what I could learn. Too many people had left Phoenix right after the bombing: the one-legged gambler, Hank Landry, who overheard Roberts's "loud and clear" remark, vanished into thin air; Adamson flew to Havasu; Funk went to Beverly Manor. "Did Funk know Adamson?" "The police think he did. They looked into Adamson's past and found witnesses who claimed to have seen a drunken Bradley Funk being helped into his car by Adamson." "How about Funk and Neal Roberts?" "Regular drinking buddies at the Ivanhoe." "And Adamson hung out there every day," I added. "He used it as his office. That's not a big bar. It would be virtually impossible for him not to know Funk." "Right," Terri said. "Nobody denies Adamson and Roberts were good friends." "Anything else on Funk?" "Little things. Maybe important, maybe not. He went to Phoenix North High School with Max Dunlap. His family is understandably close with Kemper Marley, also a member of that tiny elite circle that largely controls affairs in this state." Terri Lee was our team's resident expert on Bradley Funk; and Don Devereux knew more than any of us about Barry Goldwater. "Goldwater," said Devereux, "his brother Bob, and former Republican State Chairman Harry Rosenzweig have been the movers and shakers in Arizona for the past thirty years. Barry is the national political force. Bob is the money guy, a successful businessman. Rosenzweig takes care of the nitty-gritty political details." "Tell us about Goldwater and organized crime." "What helped launch his national career was a five-thousand-dollar campaign contribution from racketeer Willie Bioff. This was back in the forties when five thousand dollars bought something. Barry was also a friend of Gus Greenbaum, who worked for Meyer Lansky. The Goldwater family had a close relationship with Moe Dalitz, who came to Phoenix from the Midwest and paved the way for all the major hoodlums that followed. With backing from Lansky, Dalitz began wheeling and dealing in Las Vegas, and one of the results seems to have been the installation of a Goldwater Department Store at the Desert Inn." I took notes while Devereux talked. Bolles, with the breath remaining for only a few words, had included the Mafia in his triumvirate, along with Adamson and Emprise. "Robert Goldwater," Devereux continued, "later went into a chain-restaurant business with a close associate of Peter 'Horseface' Licavoll, a friend of Dalitz's. Give credit to IRE for the good things we accomplished," Devereux said directly to me. "True, we probably fumbled the ball by ignoring the murder itself, but some solid investigative work got done." Probably so, but I became agitated every time I thought of their "continuing Bolles's work" when they didn't know what that work was. Worse, they in effect allowed the wrong people to be convicted because their "seeking of vengeance" for the murder didn't include finding out who committed it. "Greenbaum," Devereux said, obviously warmed up to his subject, "operated the Flamingo and Riviera hotel-casinos for the Mafia, where Barry and Bob Goldwater stayed at no charge. There's quite a list of things we learned. Barry Goldwater personally intervened in an attempt to obtain better prison conditions and a more moderate sentence for a syndicate member named Clarence Newman. Newman was Bob Goldwater's bookmaker. Barry Goldwater and Harry Rosenzweig took a vacation with Willie Bioff just a month before Bioff was blown up by a bomb. Bioff, by the way, started out in crime at age nine, telling johns he could fix them up with his younger sister. Like Bioff, Gus Greenbaum and his wife, Bess, were murdered, their throats slit in their Phoenix home, and Barry Goldwater attended Greenbaum's funeral. The Valley National Bank of Phoenix, of which Bob Goldwater was a director, loaned money to finance the Flamingo. Greenbaum's ties to the mob were very strong. He worked with Al Capone, Bugsy Siegel, and Meyer Lansky." Devereux talked about organized crime with an ease and surety that reminded me of Don Bolles's testimony about the Funks. He discussed Moe Dalitz, about whom Robert Goldwater said, "I am not at all ashamed to have maintained an acquaintance with Mr. Dalitz. While I know nothing of your reporters' allegations with respect to Mr. Dalitz, I do know that during the time that I have known him, he has been a public-spirited citizen." Dalitz, a bootlegger, bookmaker, and syndicate boss, was instrumental in borrowing $93,700,000 to build Rancho La Costa Country Club, the Teamsters-financed 5,600-acre resort in Carlsbad, California. According to the FBI, La Costa gave "red carpet" treatment to Mafia visitors. "Public-spirited" Dalitz was a key figure in the murderous Purple Gang, befriended Jimmy Hoffa, and obtained dozens of loans from Teamsters pension funds. Dalitz admitted to Nevada gambling authorities that his friends had included Mickey Cohen, Frank Costello, Lucky Luciano, Anthony "Big Tuna" Accardo, and John Roselli. Gene Butler, former husband of Barry Goldwater's daughter Joanne, said the name of Dalitz was often brought up in family conversations. Butler said Joanne was treated "like royalty" when she visited La Costa, which never billed her for her accommodations. Interestingly, the Goldwaters also frequented the Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach, whose members included several of the Funks. Former U.S. Congressman Sam Steiger revealed that while he was investigating Arizona dog-racing interests, both Harry Rosenzweig and Barry Goldwater asked him to "go easy on the Funks" because they were old "family friends." At the same time, 1970, Barry Goldwater wrote a letter to one of the Funks assuring that he would pass on any information he received regarding a justice Department probe of Emprise. The IRE charged that for years Rosenzweig, Goldwater's mentor, "nurtured prostitution and gambling" in Phoenix. Rosenzweig, the 1975 Phoenix Man of the Year, denied influence in Arizona bookmaking but admitted that "maybe twice" he recommended prostitutes to friends. I'd been in close contact with Jerry Kammer, a graduate of Notre Dame who was soon to publish a book called The Second Long Walk. In this book Kammer gave a lot more background on Adamson and Roberts "creating havoc," detailed the century-old Hopi-Navajo land dispute, and related a mysterious incident I'd also been putting together. "The Goldwater-MacDonald story became bizarre in February 1977 with sworn testimony of John Harvey Adamson," Kammer wrote. "Adamson testified that he had discussed the idea of planting a bomb in MacDonald's offices with Neal Roberts, a Phoenix attorney, and Joe Patrick." Kammer continued, "Adamson recalled asking Roberts what Patrick did on the reservation. 'Mr. Roberts said Mr. Patrick was a spy on the reservation—that he was a spy for Senator Goldwater and reported directly to Senator Goldwater what happened on the Indian reservation, especially in regard to Peter MacDonald,' Adamson said. Adamson's testimony became even more unsettling as he recalled that he, Roberts, and Patrick also discussed planting a bomb 'in a car one Indian drives back and forth to Phoenix, where he stays at the Granada Royale Hotel.' He said the plan was to rig the bomb in such a way that it could not explode. Later it was learned that the 'other Indian' who drove back and forth to Phoenix was Tony Lincoln, who was director of the Bureau of Indian Affairs on the Navajo reservation. Explaining the rationale for planting a bomb that could not explode, Adamson said, 'They wanted some havoc to be raised on the reservation.' He said the ultimate goal was to discredit MacDonald and bring about 'martial law on the reservation.' "It was a terrifyingly rational scenario. Lincoln, a Goldwater protege, did not get along with MacDonald. If a bomb were found on Lincoln's car, MacDonald could be blamed. Then, if federal officials stepped in to impose martial law (as they had considered doing during the Wounded Knee takeover in 1973), MacDonald would be pushed aside and Lincoln, the highest federal officer on the reservation, could assume control of the Navajo government." * * * Don Devereux, no matter how keyed in to our Bolles investigation, never let the plight of farm workers wander far from his mind. This night, largely reserved for talking about the Funks and Goldwaters, he recounted the IRE team discovering that Robert Goldwater had for more than a decade profited brutally from the labor of illegal Mexican immigrants. Robert Goldwater was president of Goldmar, Inc., whose wholly owned subsidiary was the three-thousand-acre Arrowhead Ranch, northwest of Phoenix. IRE learned that in 1977 Mexican workers at Arrowhead labored from sunrise to sunset for an average of five dollars per day, a wage bled down even further by Social Security deductions and food prices charged by overseers. The workers lived in orange crates amid their own excrement surrounded by black plastic sheets hung from trees so they couldn't be seen by passersby. Each of these super-exploited toilers had paid a hundred dollars and more to "coyotes," who smuggled them to Arrowhead Ranch where they labored in 110-degree heat. Gene Butler, Barry Goldwater's former son-in-law, had told IRE there was no doubt the senator knew about the employment of the illegal Mexican workers, and Butler remembered Robert Goldwater saying that Arrowhead would have to go out of business if the border patrol became more vigilant. Not much chance of that happening. "The border patrol are my friends," an Arrowhead foreman had asserted. "If there is ever a report, the border patrol calls me, and I tell my workers to hide." Said a public health nurse who visited Arrowhead Ranch: "It was a horrible situation. The conditions in which these men lived ... no sanitary facilities, no shelter, crowded together ... make them prime targets for disease and infection. Communicable diseases like tuberculosis, lice, scabies, impetigo, influenza, etc., would spread through a camp like this very rapidly." Men weren't the only Mexicans the IRE team saw struggling for survival at Arrowhead. A pregnant woman and her family of five lived in a packing crate. The reporters found a six-monthold baby lying on a blanket, flies swarming around his dirty face. Another baby was seem eating soup whose main ingredient appeared to be half-dead insects. Of course, the Social Security deductions were a scam to take back what little the workers were paid. All but one of the Social Security numbers began with the digits 000, which the Social Security administration does not use. How could this go on? The head of the U.S. border patrol office in Phoenix, Raymond F. Feld, said that he and only four other agents were totally responsible for patrolling a thirty-six-thousand-square-mile area extending from south of Phoenix to Idaho. Several days after the dinner conference, I found myself in a Phoenix restaurant having coffee with Joe Patrick, the reputed Goldwater spy. A slender, distinguished-looking man in his early sixties, he dressed in cowboy clothes and generated the demeanor of a slick PR man. The business card he handed me looked like this: HORSE TRADER JOE PATRICK WARS STARTED WHISKEY SMUGGLED WOMEN PROCURED ABORTIONS ARRANGED ORGIES ORGANIZED BARS EMPTIED ADVICE ON HOW TO GO IN DEBT BRANDS ALTERED EX-MAYOR, WAKE ISLAND MERCENARY HAS BEEN FIGHTER PILOT WILL STILL TRY Remember, any war is better than no war at all. Joe Patrick ranked as possibly Barry Goldwater's best friend, the senator's "wing man" in the Air National Guard, and a former Phoenix television personality. He and Goldwater fished and hunted together, shared confidences, worried about each other's family, and generally were just comfortable in a friendship that had lasted for decades. Patrick wanted to confine the interview to telling me what a great guy Barry Goldwater was, but I had other interests. Before meeting with him, I'd obtained copies from the Navajos of Patrick's daily logs, which he had to give to tribal authorities to justify his pay. These logs confirmed that Patrick had several meetings with Don Bolles. The most recent meeting, Patrick admitted, occurred just two weeks before the bombing. I asked him what they talked about. "Bolles asked questions," Patrick said, "about the attempted bombing of the Indian Health Services Building." "The one Adamson was involved in," I said. "Yes." "What else did Bolles want to know?" "He asked about the plane that crashed carrying those Navajo councilmen. He found it suspicious. He seemed to be looking for connections between the Health Services Building and the airplane crash." I wondered about that, too. Adamson had confessed to planting the bomb at the Health Services Building. He had confessed conspiracy to commit bombing on the reservation. Did he also have something to do with that tragic plane crash? The interview with Patrick ended. If it accomplished nothing else, it uncovered a possible motive-fear of Bolles sniffing out potential homicides-more compelling than the one used to convict Robison and Dunlap. Finding motives for the killing of Don Bolles, as a matter of fact, did not rank as a difficult task. It was turning out that with a smorgasbord to choose from, the prosecution had latched onto just about the only one that made no sense. pps. 124-132 --[cont]-- Aloha, He'Ping, Om, Shalom, Salaam. Em Hotep, Peace Be, Omnia Bona Bonis, All My Relations. Adieu, Adios, Aloha. Amen. Roads End Kris DECLARATION & DISCLAIMER ========== CTRL is a discussion and informational exchange list. Proselyzting propagandic screeds are not allowed. Substance—not soapboxing! These are sordid matters and 'conspiracy theory', with its many half-truths, misdirections and outright frauds is used politically by different groups with major and minor effects spread throughout the spectrum of time and thought. That being said, CTRL gives no endorsement to the validity of posts, and always suggests to readers; be wary of what you read. CTRL gives no credeence to Holocaust denial and nazi's need not apply. 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