Being Oscar: From Mob Lawyer to Mayor of Las Vegas Read online

  BEING

  OSCAR

  ALSO BY GEORGE ANASTASIA

  Blood and Honor

  Mob Father

  The Goodfella Tapes

  The Summer Wind

  The Last Gangster

  Mob Files

  Philadelphia True Noir

  The Ultimate Book of Gangster Movies

  BEING

  OSCAR

  FROM MOB LAWYER

  TO MAYOR OF LAS VEGAS,

  ONLY IN AMERICA

  OSCAR GOODMAN

  WITH GEORGE ANASTASIA

  WEINSTEIN

  BOOKS

  Copyright © 2013 by Oscar Goodman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Publisher. For information address Weinstein Books, 250 West 57th Street, 15th Floor, New York, NY 10107.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for this book.

  ISBN 978-1-60286-189-3 (e-book)

  Published by Weinstein Books

  A member of the Perseus Books Group

  www.weinsteinbooks.com

  Weinstein Books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the U.S. by corporations, institutions and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail [email protected].

  Editorial production by Marrathon Production Services. www.marrathon.net

  Book design by Jane Raese

  First edition

  10987654321

  FOR MY BRIDE, CAROLYN,

  AND THE DYNASTY

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  PART ONE.LAS VEGAS

  1The Man and the Brand

  2Never Back Down

  3What They Don’t Teach in Law School

  4Playing Fast and Loose

  PART TWO.GOODFELLAS

  5The Black Book

  6Heavyweights I Have Known

  7A Nineteen-Minute Defense

  8I Never Represented a Rat

  9A Visit to the Mustang Ranch

  10IBM, Not FBI

  PART THREE.CITY HALL

  11From Mob Lawyer to Mayor

  12Bitten by the Bug

  13A River in the Desert

  14Problems with the President

  15Fun in the Playboy Suite

  16To Rome, with Showgirls

  17Benevolent Dictator

  18All in the Family

  Acknowledgments

  Index

  PROLOGUE

  Once in awhile there is a mayor whose personality defines his city. Richard Daley in Chicago. Fiorello LaGuardia in New York. Frank Rizzo in Philadelphia.

  Oscar Goodman, who recently completed his third and by law final four-year term as mayor of Las Vegas, belongs on that list.

  Vegas. Sin City.

  Goodman. Mob Mouthpiece.

  Could there be a better fit?

  Oscar Goodman is Las Vegas at the neon-lit start of the twenty-first century. No excuses; no alibis. Life is short—grab it with both fists. Let others whine, moan and complain. Do your best. Be who you are.

  Vegas is a town built on glitz and glitter. Its foundation is an industry that used to be illegal in most other states. The city offers people a chance to lose their money. In fact, it almost guarantees it. Yet millions flock there every year to live the fantasy—to roll the dice. To be, for just a few hours or a few days, somebody they’re not: a high roller. A player.

  Vegas is mostly make-believe. An adult fantasy world. Yet Oscar Goodman is for real—he embodies the city. Go figure.

  This is his story, told in his own words and through his perspective. It’s the way he saw things go down, the way he interpreted what happened, the way he played the hands that were dealt to him.

  President Obama, casino executives, U.S. senators, federal prosecutors, and FBI agents will all have their own versions of these stories. Oscar Goodman doesn’t care what they think. If they disagree, let them go write their own book.

  Over the years, he’s dealt with mobsters and moguls, pimps and politicos. His take on who they are and how they fit in society is fascinating. His is a unique look at life through a prism that only Las Vegas could provide.

  The fiction, of course, is that the mob created Vegas. Gambling existed in the Nevada desert long before the wiseguys came along. But you could make an argument, and Oscar does, that it was the vision of men like Meyer Lansky and Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel that turned the city into something special.

  What Las Vegas got in return was the problem.

  There was a time when organized crime had its hooks in some of the biggest gambling palaces in town—places like the Tropicana, the Stardust, the Hacienda, the Fremont, and the Marina. The skimming scandals of the 1970s and 1980s documented this. Mob families from Kansas City, Chicago, Detroit, and other parts of the country were said to be sharing in cash taken out of the counting rooms before any earnings were reported. Estimates put the annual take at anywhere from $7 million to $20 million.

  In street corner terms, the mob was cooking the books at some of the city’s biggest gambling halls. What grew out of these scandals was a push to clean up the industry. The exclusion list, the “Black Book” that contained the names of individuals whose very presence in a casino was deemed to be inimical to the integrity of the industry, was established, and individuals were banned.

  Oscar Goodman was in the middle of dozens of legal battles and criminal cases that sprang from the controversy. Two of his major clients, Anthony “Tony the Ant” Spilotro and Frank “Lefty” Rosenthal, became the poster boys for all that the do-gooders said was wrong with casino gambling. He also represented reputed Kansas City mob boss Nick Civella and a dozen other wiseguys throughout the country, including Vinny Ferrara in Boston and Phil Leonetti in Philadelphia.

  They were the “bad guys.” But Oscar also dealt with a lot of so-called “good guys.” Sometimes he had trouble telling the difference.

  While he was doing all this, his persona and his reputation grew. His ego—and Oscar would be the first to acknowledge this—can fill up a room. Arrogant, self-deprecating, opinionated, understanding, aggressive, caring; they’re all part of the package. His emotions are the pistons that drive his engine. But what sometimes gets lost in all the hype is his abiding belief in, and love of, the law.

  The caricature—a martini in one hand, a showgirl on each arm—is sometimes so strong that people miss the person behind it.

  Twelve years in City Hall and nearly twice as many bobblehead dolls fashioned in his likeness. What other mayor in America can make that claim? Goodman loved the attention. It made him feel, he has often said, “like a rock star.”

  When he defeated a tic-tac-toe-playing chicken at a media event, he quipped, “I don’t cluck around.” When the College of Southern Nevada asked him to teach a class on mixing martinis, he jumped at the chance.

  But his three terms were more than just headlines and photo ops; more than show girls and martinis. In a political world where form is often more important than substance, Oscar delivered the goods. Las Vegas is a better place now than when he was first elected. That sometimes gets overlooked in the hype and sizzle that he brought to local government.

  What he said sometimes overshadowed what he did. He could often be outlandish in an effort to make a point or, his detractors might argue, to call attention to himself. The point is, becoming mayor didn’t change the way Oscar Goodman operated. He was as ag
gressive an advocate for the city as he had been for his criminal clients.

  After 9/11, when the economy was tanking and Las Vegas casinos laid off 30,000 workers, he railed against the industry, arguing that it was taking advantage of a bad situation to enhance its own bottom line. Then he stood in front of the media and suggested that every man should get a lap dance in order to boost the economy.

  When a local health clinic was endangering its patients through the faulty use of products in colon cancer testing, Goodman didn’t hesitate to act. Nearly 14,000 patients had been warned of their potential exposure to hepatitis because of the questionable practices of the clinic, but neither the health department nor the medical board thought it had the power to do anything about the situation. Oscar ordered the city to pull the clinic’s business license, effectively shutting down the facility.

  When the FBI exposed a little known Arab-American as a publicity seeker who sought to stir a media firestorm by falsely claiming that he knew of a terrorist plot targeting the gambling capital of America, Goodman suggested the guy should be “whacked.” It was a sentiment no doubt shared by many, but one that you might not expect would come out of the mouth of the mayor of the city.

  Every day, no matter what he’s doing or where he’s doing it, Oscar Goodman brings it all to the table. He loves life. There is probably not a better way to describe him.

  After his battle with federal authorities in the impeachment of his good friend, the late Judge Harry Claiborne, one of Goodman’s former junior high school teachers wrote a letter to the Philadelphia Inquirer, Oscar’s hometown newspaper. The teacher, Joseph L. Pollock, had this to say about Oscar:

  “He is a . . . lawyer who combines the scholarship of a Sam Dash, the forensic skills of F. Lee Bailey, and the poise of Melvin Belli. He is in the proud tradition of what is called ‘a Philadelphia lawyer.’ . . . I was Oscar Goodman’s American history and government teacher at the William L. Sayre Junior High School in 1952. In 40 years as a teacher, principal, and superintendent I met few pupils who are his equal in ability, talent, and social consciousness. Philadelphia should be proud of its native son who performed his legal services in a difficult case.”

  Oscar Goodman’s roots are in Philadelphia, even if he has come to epitomize Las Vegas. Part of what he brought west is what Philadelphians often refer to as attitude. So while the comment of his former teacher was well-deserved praise, the more telling point was that the praise came not after a great courtroom victory—and God knows Oscar has had many of those—but after a grueling battle that ended in defeat.

  Philadelphia can appreciate that. It’s part of the city’s DNA, part of what Sylvester Stallone captured so perfectly in Rocky. Life is not about winning, but about going the distance; not about throwing a punch, but taking one; not about getting knocked down, but about getting back up.

  Oscar Goodman always gets back up.

  —George Anastasia

  BEING

  OSCAR

  PART ONE

  LAS VEGAS

  CHAPTER 1

  THE MAN AND THE BRAND

  The crowd was on its feet cheering. Nine thousand fans rising to salute me.

  If this was what being mayor was all about, I thought, bring it on. I loved every minute of it. I had only been in office a couple of years and was still feeling my way in the job when I was asked to throw out the first pitch at a game for the Las Vegas 51s, then the triple-A affiliate of the Los Angeles Dodgers. This was our team and this was my city. I couldn’t wait.

  My wife Carolyn had driven me to the game at Cashman Field that night. We were running a little late, so she dropped me off before parking the car. Everyone was waiting for me. I emerged in a pinstriped suit, shirt, and tie, the kind of outfit I often wore during my days as a criminal defense attorney. But on this night it fit the image I was to project. They handed me a martini and arranged for Jen and Porsha—two beautiful showgirls wearing four-inch heels and sequined gowns festooned with ten pounds of white feathers—to escort me out to the mound.

  While no one knew it at the time, they were witnessing the birth of a brand. On August 17, 2002, I made my first public appearance as the symbol of Las Vegas. I had been a mob lawyer for years and was proud of it. That was my reputation. I also loved martinis, and on any given night, once I had finished work, I was quite capable of knocking back several.

  Martinis, the mayor, and the mob.

  How’s that for the city’s image?

  On this night, my detractors might have been thinking that, but no one in a position to promote the city, least of all myself, had realized how perfect that image could be. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

  I walked out to the mound and the overflow crowd—the exact figure was 8,861, about 4,000 more than the normal turnout for a game—rose to cheer me. I nodded in acknowledgment. I couldn’t wave because I had my arms entwined with those of the showgirls. And I didn’t want to spill my martini.

  Now I was on the mound and ready to do my stuff. I handed Jen my drink. I slipped out of my suit coat and handed it to Porsha. They both smiled and peeled away. I was alone, center stage, ready to throw out the first pitch.

  Did I mention that the first 2,500 fans to arrive that night were given bobblehead dolls of me? The caricature, which I thought looked more like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was wearing the same pinstriped suit I had on that night and was holding a baseball bat. It was another first. During my three terms as mayor I would be “bobbleheaded”—is that a word?—about twenty more times.

  But as they say, the first is the one you always remember.

  I’m on the mound. Ready to pitch. I’ve watched hundreds of baseball games in my lifetime. I played the game. I’m a fan of the game. And, truth be told, I’ve bet on the game. I grew up in Philadelphia where, during my youth, the Phillies were doormats. But that didn’t stop me from embracing the sport. As I was standing on the mound I began channeling the great pitcher Robin Roberts, a star with the Whiz Kids, the only really good Phillies teams I ever saw growing up. Fastball or curve? What do I want to serve up?

  But first I pause and reach for the rosin bag like I’ve seen hundreds of other pitchers do. I load up. The sweat from my hand mixes with the rosin to form a sticky, gooey paste. I take the shiny white baseball and go into my windup. The fans continue to cheer. I rear back and follow through.

  Nothing!

  The baseball sticks to my hand. No trajectory. The fans grow still. The ball falls from my hand and plunks me on my big left toe. Then it rolls, oh, so slowly, toward first base.

  The cheers are now replaced by eight thousand moans. As one voice I hear, “Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.”

  I think of Charlie Brown when Lucy lifts up the football.

  My wife, who was entering the stadium at the time, later talked about the horrible sound. To her it was all audio: first applause and cheering, and then this terrible sound; this group exclamation of disappointment.

  What could I do? I bowed, waved, and walked off the mound.

  As we all know, there is no crying in baseball. But my wife Carolyn vowed never to go to another game where I threw out the first pitch.

  I think it says a lot about me that I was undaunted by the experience. I would be invited twenty-five more times while mayor to throw out the first pitch at a baseball game. The great Greg Maddux, a future member of the Baseball Hall of Fame, even coached me before one game. It was no help. I have thrown out twenty-six pitches. After that first one trickled off my hand, just two of the next twenty-five, all of which made it to the general vicinity of home plate, were strikes.

  That’s the beauty of baseball, however. There’s always another chance. Baseball, more than any other sport, teaches us about life. It teaches us patience and perseverance and something else that is very important; something that we used to learn in kindergarten; something that we seem to have lost sight of in twenty-first century America.

  Baseball teaches us that we all have to wait our tu
rn; that we’ll all get a chance, and that the secret to life is to be ready when that chance comes.

  My life has been built around chances and opportunities. I’ve taken advantage and succeeded when they presented themselves. In the courtroom and in City Hall, I never backed down, never shied away, never failed to take my cuts.

  And I think I can say with certainty that the only time I dropped the ball as mayor of Las Vegas was that night in August, 2002, when I took the mound in Cashman Field.

  I had three terms in office, twelve years, and I enjoyed almost every minute of it. Before that I had a career as a criminal defense attorney that spanned more than four decades. I’ve accomplished a lot, but there was more I wished I had done. Anyone who knows me knows I’ve always been a risk-taker, and that I don’t shy away from unpopular positions. For starters, I wish I could have legalized prostitution and drugs . . . all drugs, not just marijuana. More on those issues later in this book.

  To me, Las Vegas is unique, unlike any other city in the country—unlike any other city in the world. That’s what I love about the place, and that’s what I’ve always tried to promote.

  Sin City? I’ll take it.

  Built by the mob? Yeah. So what?

  Guys came here with jackets—long criminal arrest records. And when given a second chance, some of them became our founding fathers. Guys like Benny Binion and Moe Dalitz. They were community leaders. They built churches and synagogues and some of the fanciest gambling palaces the world has ever seen. That distinguished us. Now forty-eight different jurisdictions have some form of gambling. Dozens of places have casinos. But I still consider Atlantic City and those other places the industry equivalent of the 51s—minor leaguers.

  Las Vegas, my town, is the major leagues.

  CHAPTER 2

  NEVER BACK DOWN