Remembering Barry's Old Buddies.
By Tim Vanderpool
"Virtue consisted in avoiding scandal and venereal disease."
--Robert Cecil
PHOENIX WAS AWASH in black earlier this month to mark the
passing of Arizona's favorite shoot-from-the-lip, far-right political
powerhouse, Sen. Barry M. Goldwater. Air force fighters screamed
overhead as dignitaries from Nancy Reagan to Newt Gingrich poured
out for serious memorial face-time.
Even a Native American flutist flitted about, offering his regards.
"My people will never forget you as long as we shall live,"
said a winded Robert Tree Cody.
Goldwater's younger brother, Bob, recalled a particularly mirthful
moment in the family's retail empire, back when Barry designed
a pair of boxer shorts. They were painted with big red ants, and
became a smash hit. According to Bob, the marketing hook was "You
rant and dance with antsy pants."
Barry, his brother said, "had a great taste for things that
were pretty."
Sen. Jon Kyl then touted Barry Goldwater's much-vaunted integrity.
"The senator from Arizona was not only a great patriot, he
was as he wished to be remembered, a good and honest man,"
Kyl said.
Oh, the memories. Like those darned corners of our minds.
Unfortunately, nostalgia's gilded winds that day swept right
over the sleazier corners so often frequented by Barry Goldwater
and his brother Bob. Robert Tree Cody didn't mention how the political
strongman pushed a 1974 congressional bill to forcibly remove
hundreds of Navajo families from their homes and prolong the agonizing
Navajo/Hopi land dispute. Or the gutsy plain-talker who once called
the Yavapai Indians "nice," "very sweet" and
"very lazy people."
But that's another story.
More telling is how Bob Goldwater skipped those charming tales
of when he and his sibling hobnobbed with known Mafia thugs, ran
shady citrus farms, exploited illegal aliens and were linked to
land deals that stank to high heaven, in a state already reeking
with real-estate scullduggery.
And maybe he just forgot about the pack of angry journalists
that descended upon Phoenix 20 years ago, dispatched by the national
Investigative Reporters and Editors organization to uncover facts
surrounding the grisly assassination of Arizona Republic
reporter Don Bolles.
Bolles was dissecting the state's murky land fraud network when
his Datsun was bombed in June 1976. Pieces of his flesh were found
up to 10 feet away from the shredded car.
By the following February, IRE reporters had uncovered a shadowy
trail of influence peddling and shady deal-making that started
with the Bolles murder, weaved through the mob-laced terrain of
Arizona's power structure, and landed smack on the doorstep of
the brothers Goldwater.
Indeed, soon after the murder Barry Goldwater was interviewed
by police about his ties to Phoenix attorney Neal Roberts, who
in turn was linked to Bolles' death. A witness said that Goldwater
made five phone calls to Roberts just before and just after the
bombing.
At the time, Goldwater aide Judy Eisenhower denied that her boss
made the calls. "We were in Washington when the bombing occurred,"
she told police, "and no telephone calls were made to Mr.
Roberts or received from Mr. Roberts at any time."
She said Goldwater knew Roberts only from a joint appearance
on a local Phoenix TV show, and possibly from "some later
cocktail party." But Roberts' culpability was manifest, especially
after he admitted arranging a flight out of town for one of the
killers.
Either way, it was a portentous connection. In March 1977, the
IRE reporters began publishing a series of stories incriminating
the Goldwaters in newspapers across the country, including The
Arizona Daily Star.
For his part, Robert Goldwater was longtime buddies with Moe
Dalitz, a Cleveland gangster who made extensive investments in
Arizona in the late '30s. A decade later, Dalitz confederate and
Mafia underboss Peter Licavoli Sr. bought a Tucson ranch, while
Dalitz set up shop in Las Vegas with the help of Licavoli and
Mafia moneyman Meyer Lansky.
Before long the Goldwaters had opened a Vegas store exclusively
placed in Dalitz' Desert Inn, and Robert Goldwater even went into
the restaurant business with a tight pal of Licavoli's.
And that was just the surface. Ultimately, all these links go
back to Harry Rosenzweig, the colorful onetime state Republican
chairman, 1975 Phoenix Man of the Year--and Barry Goldwater's
financial/political mentor. The night Barry Goldwater was crushed
by Lyndon Johnson in the race for president, there was only man
by his side: Harry Rosenzweig.
Rosenzweig in turn had close ties to Gus Greenbaum, a racketeer
whose throat was slit in 1958 by former "business associates,"
and to extortionist and pimp Willie Bioff.
In the '40s, Bioff had testified against members of Al Capone's
gang. He later moved to Arizona under the alias William Nelson,
and soon carved himself a niche in Phoenix high society, becoming
fast friends with the Goldwaters and Rosenzweig. He even traveled
around the state with Barry Goldwater on the senator's private
plane.
At first, Goldwater denied knowing of Bioff's past. Later, when
it became public knowledge, he justified his continuing relationship
with the gangster by saying it was an attempt to gather information
about labor racketeering.
Bioff was blown to bits in 1955, by a bomb hidden in his pick-up
truck. He was reportedly killed by the mob after dallying with
$300,000 earmarked for racetrack investments. That money belonged
to Peter Licavoli and his hoodlum pals.
A month before he was killed, Bioff and his wife, Barry Goldwater
and his family, and Harry Rosenzweig vacationed together in Las
Vegas. At one point, Bioff even loaned Rozenzweig and Robert Goldwater
$10,000 for a farming investment in California.
Bioff also contributed to Barry Goldwater's first senate campaign,
and the Senator paid his respects by attending the funerals of
both Greenbaum and Bioff.
Next in this sublime parade comes a childhood friend of the Goldwaters
named Mike Newman. He grew up to take over Greenbaum's gambling
racket, and operated unhindered in Phoenix.
The web thickens further: Greenbaum regularly hosted the Goldwaters
gratis at his mob-owned Flamingo and Riviera casinos. Following
Greenbaum's murder, Rosenzweig became the unpaid appraiser of
Greenbaum's real estate, along with an official from the now-defunct
Valley National Bank. At the time, Robert Goldwater was a bank
director.
When Newman's gambling operation was eventually busted--in a
building owned by Rozenzweig and frequented by Robert Goldwater--Sen.
Goldwater used his power to get Newman a lenient sentence and
prime prison conditions.
The IRE investigation also led to liquor magnate Kemper Marley
Sr. Before his death, Gus Greenbaum had established the Transamerica
Wire Service, a racing network for Arizona bookies that Marley
and Peter Licavoli later took over.
A major state powerbroker, Marley was soon playing hardball to
land a seat on the Arizona Racing Commission. He was appointed
to the post in 1976 by then-Gov. Raul Castro, only to resign several
days later when his ties to organized crime surfaced.
It was Don Bolles who had brought those connections to light.
Though never officially charged, it's widely believed that Kemper
Marley ordered Bolles' murder. He was fingered by John Adamson,
a suspected burglar and arsonist who had confessed to carrying
out crime. Adamson also named two co-conspirators, James Robison
and Max Dunlap. Both were later were convicted of killing the
reporter.
During the trial, surprise witness Howard Woodall, himself a
convicted land scam-artist, testified that Robison told him Bolles
was killed in part because he'd uncovered evidence of a loan swindle
involving Marley, Rosenzweig--and Barry and Robert Goldwater.
One of the convicted killers made the same claim in a police affidavit.
Finally there's the Arrowhead Ranch, a huge spread of Phoenix
citrus groves established by a pair of Detroit Mafia bosses, and
later owned in part by Harry Rosenzweig and Robert Goldwater.
Barry Goldwater was also rumored to have a stake in the business.
Besides the operation's Mafia-laced past, Arrowhead also hired
illegal aliens from Mexico, and housed them in subhuman conditions.
At the time, the United Farm Workers Union was pushing hard to
infiltrate the ranch, where pickers were regularly beaten by guards
and told that the Border Patrol would be called if they escaped.
At one point union official Lupe Sanchez crashed a tribute party
to Barry Goldwater, confronting the Senator firsthand about his
brother's hiring practices at Arrowhead.
In The Arizona Project, Michael Wendland's book about
the IRE investigation, Sanchez recalled his encounter with the
Senator: "Well, right there, in front of all these people,
Barry looked me right in the eye and said that if all my people,
the Mexican-Americans, weren't so lazy and would get off their
butts and work for a living, his brother wouldn't have to hire
wetbacks. And he was cheered."
Barry Goldwater consistently dodged interviews with IRE reporters,
and referred to evidence of his links to Bioff and Greenbaum as
"trash." He labeled the exhaustively researched stories
"totally false and libelous." Robert Goldwater likewise
dismissed the evidence gathered against him as "poppycock."
And so it went. Now, some 20 years later, Don Bolles has become
little more than a historical footnote. Kemper Marley has a UA
building and an Arizona Historical Society museum named in his
honor. Barry Goldwater is dead, and his brother eulogizes the
Senator's fondness for kitschy underwear.
Just goes to show that time, dosed with selective recall, is
a very curious and comforting thing. Perhaps British humorist
William Trevor summed it up best. "The nice thing about having
memories," he said, "is that you can choose."
|