The Elusive Alfie Mart

Alfie Mart stayed out of jail for more than 30 years, in spite of the fact that he managed a wide-open bookmaking operation on Miami Beach which probably netted him up to $5 million a year.

   Finally, in 1975, the state's attorney succeeded in locking him up briefly in Dade County's correctional facility. That happened, however, only because of a series of chance circumstances. A Beach cop who recognized him when he slipped into a telephone booth on Lincoln Road sneaked up to eavesdrop on the conversation. He heard talk of odds and point spreads, and he made an arrest based on probably cause. Alfie was carrying unmistakable gambling paraphernalia, and that is a misdemeanor under Florida law. The four-month imprisonment the county judge handed him was Alfie's first incarceration.

A Liberal Policy Toward Gamblers

   Once upon a time almost everyone in Miami Beach knew Alfie and how he made his living. He was the city's

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oldest and least touchable bookmaker. "He's sort of grandfathered in," commented a retired city commissioner who knew all about Alfie and his illegal profession back in the late '40s. It seems not many people in those days were interested in spoiling the fun. Politicians convinced Miami Beach voters the fickle, wealthy visitors in town made necessary a "liberal policy" toward the enforcement of gambling laws. They said it was necessary to the survival of the tourist trade. No one doubted that some of the politicians were paid well for their liberality.

   Since gambling was considered good for the economy, it followed that people like Alfie who provided the means of gambling were as respectable as those who looked the other way when the bookmaker plied his trade.

   Alfie the bookmaker still, in fact, is considered a prominent man in his natural habitat. He is a longtime member of the Miami Beach Optimists Club and is credited with the founding of his civic group's youth baseball league. The Optimists Club has awarded him a plaque of honor for his service to the community. He is carried on synagogue rolls at the fashionable Temple Beth Sholom. His son, Skip, was a star quarterback on the Miami Beach High School football team two decades ago. In the spirit of mitzvah — Yiddish for doing good deeds without seeking recognition — Alfie has made a specialty of hiring as night porters some of the Beach's chronic alcoholics to give them a little boost along the road to sobriety. The evidence indicates that he had the means with which to do it.

   "Great guy," former Beach Mayor Harold Rosen commented to a Miami Herald reporter doing a follow-up story,

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"Nice fellow," ventured Rocky Pomerance, once the local police chief and formerly president of the International Association of Chiefs of Police.¹

"A Local Boy Who's Never Hurt Anybody"

   Alfie agrees with that assessment. "I've never done anything wrong," he insists. "I'm just a local boy, and I've never done anything to hurt anybody." And how does he feel about the cops who now seek to shut down his operation? "They should be out catching criminals," grunts Alfie.²

   Through the years, of course, there were a few inevitable brushes with the law. But these proved nothing to cause a well-established bookie anything more than minor inconvenience.

   The Miami Beach police records show Alfie first was arrested on a charge of illegal bookmaking in 1950, but for reasons not recorded the charges were not pressed. He was represented in this little "misunderstanding" by an attorney retained by the old S & G. Syndicate, a local organization operating under a Florida state corporate charter out of a swank penthouse suite on Lincoln Road. The Syndicate was suspected of controlling all Miami Beach vice — which was plenty.

   In those days, people with money enough could buy anything they wanted on the Beach, legal or not. Bookies set up shop in hotel lobbies on corner settees. Prostitutes worked from barstools in most of the popular lounges. Smoke-filled back rooms on the South End provided the dice and card tables many winter visitors were seeking.

   S. & G. Syndicate members, according to Alfie, were

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really just local boys — a feature far more desirable, he insists, than allowing "mobsters from New York and Chicago" to control the action. "No Mafia members were allowed," says Alfie as he reminisces on those golden days. "If you had an Italian name or a mustache, you'd soon find yourself on the outside."³

Up Front, a Legitimate Businessman

   The year 1950 also was the time Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver organized his Special Committee to Investigate Organized Crime in Interstate Commerce, which accumulated substantial evidence of close ties between gambling syndicates and local political officials — Miami Beach included. The presence of Kefauver Committee members in South Florida apparently cooled Syndicate operations temporarily, and Alfie decided to become, at least up front, a legitimate businessman. He opened a sundries store called "Alfie's" on Alton Road — "open all night."

   In fact, he had a concession in the bag to open another "Alfie's" store at the new, postwar Miami International Airport, but a bit of untimely — and unfavorable — publicity caused the Airport Authority to reassess Alfie's qualifications. It seems a couple of conniving newsmen placed bets with the entrepreneur in the Commodore Hotel room that was headquarters for most of his bookmaking activities. Immediately they betrayed him by publishing all the details in the morning edition of their paper, and Miami Beach police dropped by to pick up the evidence.

   Again, S. & G. lawyer Ben Cohen got Alfie off the hook. The defense was the soul of simplicity: the cops

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who made the bust had the wrong room number on their search warrant. "Something Fishy on the Beach," newspaper headlines might have commented.

Busted for Selling Pornographic Materials

   After a nearly trouble-free decade of bookmaking, Alfie was busted again in 1960. This time the state's attorney tried to prosecute him for mob ties, but ended up charging only that he sold pornographic materials off the magazine rack in his sundries store — which almost everyone knew all along. But the records show the state failed to prove it. Once more, Alfie went unpunished.

   Another five years passed before the law got on Alfie's case again, and this time it was the long arm of the FBI that draped around his shoulders. J. Edgar Hoover was after interstate racketeering, and he thought he could tie Alfie to a nationwide gambling ring operating as the "Derby Sports Book." In Las Vegas, a federal grand jury included Alfie in its lengthy list of suspects indicted for racketeering, but the FBI lost the case. Alfie swore he was a total stranger to the Las Vegas gambling scene, clinging to his "hometown boy" image to the end.

Persuaded by a Bomb

   Finally a well-placed bomb put a violent end to the sundries business, and Alfie announced he was ready to slow the pace a bit. It was rumored that the bombing was the work of a Chicago mobster seeking revenge because of a dispute over Alfie's gambling territory. No one knew whether the blast was designed to frighten

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him into early retirement or kill him outright. To Alfie, it didn't matter which. He had acquired enough of the wisdom of the street to know that mobsters get what they want. Their message to Mr. Mart was that they wanted uncontested control of the lucrative bookmaking rackets in America's major cities.

   Those who knew Alfie best, however, chuckled at the suggestion that he no longer "made book." The stakes were too high for anyone accustomed to Alfie's kind of income to voluntarily step aside — mob or no mob. There were, after all, ways to negotiate the matter of territories. Compromise was better than out-and-out defeat. There is no indication Alfie ever gave serious thought to early retirement.

   A month after the sundries store closed, "Alfie's Tours" opened its new offices on Alton Road. The agency sold tours to Las Vegas. Fruit vendor John "Peanuts" Tronolone, another Beach gambling kingpin who also had experienced a few busts in the course of his career, popped up as Alfie's partner. The two entrepreneurs chartered flights to the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas. Their clients were selected citizens with big bucks to donate to Nevada gambling casinos.

In Nevada, "Nobody Ever Smiles"

   Alfie says he never really cared much about Nevada, however. He compares it with a place "hit by a nuclear bomb or something." His real complaint: "Nobody ever smiles there." Alfie likes people to smile. His share of the tours business finally ended up in the hands of Hymie Lazar, allegedly an associate of suspected underworld financier Meyer Lansky.

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   "He still must be handling well over 100 million a year in bets," one law enforcement official conjectured recently, "and that means Alfie's personal take has to be something like 5 million bucks each year."⁴ Whatever the accommodation made with the mobsters, Alfie apparently negotiated a deal he and they could live with — and handsomely.

   But in 1976, a special statewide grand jury inquired into Alfie's activities once again. Undercover cops had made home movies showing him in suspiciously clandestine conversation with a Beach police major. Police Chief Pomerance persuaded the officer to retire. The grand jury promptly returned indictments on 99 counts of illicit gambling against the legendary Miami Beach bookie. This time there appeared to be enough evidence to "put him away for at least 25 years."⁵

   It still was not to be, however. Whoever wrote the indictments failed to specify that Alfie's operation took in territory beyond Dade County. Only a technicality, to be sure, but after the S. & G. attorneys finished with the oversight all the charges were dropped. Strange, isn't it, how often our law enforcement process can roll over and play dead when big bucks give the orders?

Convincing Evidence on a Tape Recording

   Not yet ready to accept defeat, Major Fred Woodridge of the Miami Beach Police Department worked out a new and more surreptitious strategy. He arranged for one of Alfie's regular customers to tape record their conversation as he placed an illegal bet with the bookmaker. The taped conversation came through loud, clear and incriminating. When the tape was delivered to

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Major Woodridge, the evidence of Alfie's guilt seemed irrefutable. The police were confident they had him at last, with all avenues of escape effectively blocked.

   What they had not counted on, however, was the shaky character — the world-class greed — of their witness. Sensing that an opportunity even more golden lay before him if he played his cards craftily, the informant got in touch secretly with Alfie and offered to drop out of sight for a mere $7,500. No witness; no conviction — it would be just that simple.

   And Alfie was his usual giant step ahead. He took this new turn of events to the FBI — right over the heads of the Miami Beach police. The G-men had no choice but to arrest the scheming informant on charges of extortion — and there, of course, went the case against Mr. Mart. The credibility of the witness had been destroyed. After that, Alfie managed to keep his name out of the newspapers for nearly a decade. He took his activities underground.

No Longer "Untouchable"

   He came to terms with the fact that bookmaking in Miami Beach is no longer the wide-open, virtually untouchable enterprise it once was. He did such a convincing disappearing act that some vice squad officers assumed he was dead.

   Several hundred wagering customers, however, kept in touch. "The man is real good at what he does," observed a lifelong Miami Beach resident who admitted he places "a little bet now and then — but only when it's a sure thing." From his new secret base, Alfie knew his bettors by their voices. He used his phenomenal agility

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with numbers and his awesome memory recall to the best possible advantage.

   Though more than 70 years of age, Alfie still can compete with an office calculator in his swift, accurate, off-the-top-of-the-head computing of odds in a race or a sports contest. In his heyday, Alfie balanced the win and lose bets in his books so skillfully that, as he skimmed his commission off the top, he is said to have pocketed as much as "$100,000 a week.

"Nice Guys" Drive Their Customers More Deeply Into Debt

   "The man has a computer in his head," says Florida Department of Law Enforcement gambling expert David Green. Green recognizes that another of Alfie's gifts — the ability to exude warmth, caring and trust — also enhances considerably his professional expertise. "He really does come across as a nice guy," Green concedes. "But then all successful bookies must come across as nice guys. That image makes it easier for them to drag their customers deeper and deeper into debt."⁶

   Recently, Miami Beach police stumbled on Alfie's still-flourishing operation while tracking down a different lead altogether, and the word got around that it was time for Mr. Mart to be put out of business for keeps. Forty years is long enough. Sgt. Mike Klein got a court order from Dade Circuit Judge Herbert Klein authorizing a wiretap on Alfie's telephones. The police put a tail on him the clock around.

   The seasoned old bookie followed a daily regimen that would do credit to an ambitious young business

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executive half his age. He left his three-bedroom home in exclusive Bay Harbor Islands promptly at nine each morning, dressed in the blue pullover sweatshirt that over the years had become his trademark. He boarded his six-year-old Ford station wagon and drove to a downstairs apartment on Lincoln Terrace. There, aided by three assistants, he began answering calls from a bank of telephones. The calls came in through a complicated forwarding system that made it virtually impossible for anyone to discover his location. After a brief lunch break over a take-out sandwich and a Coke from the Epicure, he would spend the rest of the afternoon on the telephones again.

Quick Decisions amid Rapidly Changing Odds

   Police records indicate Alfie often worked three telephones himself, always employing that computer brain to balance his book and make the quick decisions required in the world of rapidly changing odds. No one ever used a name outsiders might recognize. But Alfie knew the code names and the voices as well, and if he didn't know them the conversation was brought to an abrupt end. To avoid the risk of confusion, no two names were alike. There was "the doctor," "the lawyer" and "the major." "Milty was a frequent caller, and there were dozens of other first names and nicknames.

   The investigation dragged out over many months because vice squad people wanted to close every loophole. Then, after a brisk Super Bowl betting spree, Alfie learned the boom was being lowered at last. Beach police stormed the Lincoln Terrace apartment and carried

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away large boxes filled with incriminating evidence.

Racketeering and Bookmaking Charges for Alfie and His Son

   On November 15, 1984, Mart and 16 of his associates — plus their 13 lawyers — surrendered themselves to Judge Marie Korvick at the Dade County Circuit Court on charges of racketeering and 18 counts of bookmaking. One of the associates arrested as Alfie's by-that-time 35-year-old son — the former star quarterback. For the court appearance, the white-haired, bearded patriarch diplomatically exchanged his blue sweatshirt for a dark business suit. Four additional suspects, now living in other states, agreed to surrender later that month. Two gentlemen named Nick Sklaroff and Louis Sitaras refused to cooperate, and Assistant Attorney Ben Daniel said they would be sought as fugitives.

   Police claim they have information linking the legendary "nice guy" with the Colombo Family in New York, along with organized crime figures in Las Vegas, Chicago and New Jersey. His private empire apparently has reached far beyond the now deteriorating beach community in which it had it's origin and where it grew and prospered. The empire probably embraces even the kingpins who tried to bomb him out of business a couple of decades ago.

   And how does Mr. Mart feel about all that? Not exactly the kind of repentance one might hope for. In fact, to Alfie's way of thinking, neither a lawmaker nor a law enforcer in our country would recognize an honest or an innocent man "if one bit him on the leg."

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An Ethical System Uniquely His Own

   Alfie lives by an ethical system uniquely his own. "The gambler's business is the most honorable of all," he insists. "In the so-called legitimate businesses you have lawyers, contracts, checks, periods, dotted lines — and a complete lack of trust. And you have plenty of cheating."

   And what about your business, Mr. Mart?

   "In my business it's like when two gentlemen sit down to a game of poker," Alfie says. There it is your word and the other person's word. What it really comes down to is reputation. What it really comes down to is honor."⁷

   Mr. Mart may not be aware of Ralph Waldo Emerson's astute observation in one of his essays more than a century ago. "The louder he talked of his honor," wrote the outspoken Bostonian, "the faster we counted our spoons."⁸ It sounds now as if the spoon count in Miami Beach finally has begun.

Points to Ponder

1. When you read that someone ran a highly visible bookie operation for 30 years in the same location, do you (a) take for granted, (b) assume, (c) suspect or perhaps (d) doubt seriously that he did so with police knowledge and maybe even the protection of

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law enforcement people? If you were a police officer and a believer in Jesus Christ, how would you deal with the appearance of evil involved here?

2. How do you feel about Alfie Mart's comment that Miami Beach cops "should be out catching criminals"? Should law enforcement officers establish priorities for types of crime more despicable or more harmful than gambling and concentrate on those rather than on enforcing vice laws?

3. How could mobsters in Chicago possibly get interested in a bookmaking operation in far away Miami Beach? Do you think there really is a conspiracy properly known as "organized crime"? Should the fact that crime already is a costly reality cause us to lower our guard against or lessen our efforts to keep organized crime out of our communities?

4. In our eagerness to protect constitutional rights, have we made it too easy for law violators to avoid punishment for their crimes? What about the possibility of an innocent person being punished unjustly? Would you testify against someone on trial for mugging you without being sure beyond all doubt you could identify him as the guilty person?

5. Is there truth in the old adage that there is "honor among thieves"? How do you feel about Alfie's claim that "the gambler's business is the most honorable of all," a business in which thousands of dollars change hands constantly on the basis of a handshake and a verbal agreement? If Alfie had a disastrously bad week, losing far more bets than he won, forcing him to the edge of bankruptcy, do you feel you could trust him implicitly to pay you the $5,000 you won? When?

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Notes

1. Miami Herald, November 15, 1984, sect. D, p. 1.

2. Ibid., sect D, p. 12.

3. Ibid.

4. Anonymous police officer in personal interview with the author, November 17, 1985.

5. Miami Herald, November 15, 1984, sect. D, p. 12.

6. Telephone conversation with the author, November 25, 1984.

7. Miami Herald, sec. d, p. 12.

8. John Bartlett, Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 15th ed. (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1980), p. 488: n.1.

Chapter Thirteen  ||  Table of Contents