9THE INFORMERS
The giant luxury liner, the SSIle de France, slid by the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor on October 7, 1938, with her passengers crowding the rail for a view of the skyline of New York. It was a gay crowd, most of them returning from European vacations. But among them were those to whom the arrival meantmore than gaiety—it meant life itself. These were the refugees from Hitler’s Germany.
As the tugs shouldered the liner into its berth on Manhattan Island, there was confusion ashore. Scores of people had gathered to greet returning friends and relatives. Customs officers were busy preparing for the rush of passengers to the pier, the inspection of baggage and all the little details that are required when a ship brings its cargo from across the sea.
Among those who came ashore on this day was a dark-haired man of medium build, about 5 feet 7 inches tall and hardly looking his forty-five years of age. He was accompanied by a handsome, beautifully groomed woman wearing a smartly tailored suit. These two obviously were experienced travellers. They waited patiently under the huge sign marked with the letter “C” until their baggage arrived from the ship, and then they sought a Customs inspector to present their baggage declaration.
The Customs inspector took the declaration and glanced at it. He said, “Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Chaperau?”
“That is correct,” replied the dark-haired man. “I believe all of our baggage is in this group.”
The inspector read the declaration and noted that Mr. Chaperau had signed it as a commercial attaché for the Nicaraguan government—which meant that he and his wife were entitled to pass through customs without the formality of a baggage inspection. Mr. Chaperau handed the inspector Nicaraguan passports and a letter signed by the Consul General of Nicaragua in New York authenticating the endorsement on the customs declaration.
“Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Chaperau,” the Customs inspector said, handing back the letter. He quickly placed stamps on the luggage, indicating that the baggage had been cleared to be taken from the pier. The formalities at the pier required only a few minutes. Then the Chaperaus had their luggage loaded into a taxi and they were driven to the Hotel Pierre at the corner of 63rd Street and Fifth Avenue, where they made their home.
The following day Chaperau left the hotel carrying a black suitcase and a hat box. He took a cab to 570 Park Avenue, entered the building, and rang the bell of the apartment occupied by New York State Supreme Court Justice and Mrs. Edward J. Lauer. A maid admitted Chaperau to the apartment and he said, “Pleasetell Mrs. Lauer that Mr. Chaperau is here. She is expecting me.”
Mrs. Lauer greeted her visitor warmly and exclaimed, “Nat, it is wonderful to see you! Please do come in.” And then Mrs. Lauer turned to the maid and said, “Rosa, take this suitcase and hat box to my room, please. There are some of my things from Paris I told you I was expecting.”
The maid, Rosa Weber, carried the bag and box to Mrs. Lauer’s bedroom. 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 SSNormandieon 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! Ifyou 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 allsuch 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 governmentand 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 calledabus 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 explainto 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 onprobation 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 theFBI 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 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 fearthat 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, tailinga 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 minuteslater 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.
The theory behind such payments is that the government has made a good bargain when it can pay an informer $1 and then have $3 left over for the Treasury—money which would have been lost without the cooperation of the informant.
There was one Customs informer working in Europe who received the top reward of $50,000 three times by uncovering the smuggling of huge shipments of diamonds into the United States. He refused to accept payment in Europe—but waited until he had $150,000 in credits with the U.S. Treasury. Then he came to the United States, received the money, and settled down to live the life of a country gentleman in the West.
And the rewards were tax free—as are all payments made to informers.