At 6’3”, 185lbs, Leo didn’t look his age as most people assumed he was 17 – 19 years old. This is exactly what the army recruiter in Buffalo, New York believed.
Righteous indignation was felt throughout the country. Everyone understood there were worldwide tensions in the political scene. Nazi Germany was on a land grab in Europe, Japan was taking over the Asian arena, but a sneak attack, on a Sunday morning no less, was catalyst for the feeling sweeping through the country. The natural thing for a young man to do was to go to the aid of his country, but normally, a not quite fifteen-year-old would be turned away. Leo was not your normal not quite fifteen-year-old boy. Not only did he look much older, but he was already a seasoned con man. The only thing that stopped him from succeeding in his quest was that he couldn’t pass the physical.
From the age of 2 years old Leo was raised up in a children’s hospital in Bath, New York. This was because he had fallen through his grandmother’s rear porch and permanently damaged his hip. In the late 1920’s medicine was not as advanced as today. Young Leo was sentenced to 10 years in a body cast until his body was big enough for the rudimentary repairs that were available for such an injury. The repairs consisted of a fusion of the hip bone, resulting in a permanent limp as well as the inability to bend his right hip. Most children would have suffered mentally as well as physically, but not Leo. He had a spirit of adventure that rivaled every boy’s hero, the legendary Huckleberry Finn.
At ten years old he had learned that if he could get his buddies in the children’s ward to lower him out the window using bed sheets as a rope he could get a clear view of the autopsy room that was conveniently located two stories below. Little did he care if he had to be lowered into the open ventilation shaft and that he had to hang there with his face within inches of a rapidly circulating metal fan blade. What mattered to him was that he was able to entertain his companions with a vivid description of the activities going on in there and the fact that it was an adventure that helped to keep their minds off their unfortunate lot in life. This great fun was only halted when the coroner happened to glace up to the exhaust fan and to his surprise, see the smiling face of a young boy on the other side of that whirling blade!
After being rejected at the recruiting station Leo ended up in New York City. This is where he found out how useful his “smultz” was as he would call it, which is the ability he possessed to fool almost everyone around him. There was a shortage of men in the workforce due to the ongoing war, so he found it quite easy to get a job as a taxi driver. He was very adept at shifting the transmission and working the clutch, brake, and gas with his left foot. He had a room in a low rent hotel and spending money in his pocket. Not bad for a fifteen-year-old. He also had strikingly good looks accompanied by strong shoulders and a large muscular chest from the years of propelling himself around, body cast and all, with crutches. This provided him with plenty of female companionship, mostly from his clients in the taxi. During the first stages of the war, many young women were “war widows” with their husbands off in Europe and Asia fighting the Axis powers and they found Leo a somewhat irresistible temptation. He, of course, was very willing.
During one of his many overnight stays in these lonely women’s apartments he found a complete pilot’s uniform for the United State Air Force. Seeing as how the lady of the home had already gone to work, he helped himself to the new set of clothing and left the apartment, never to return. The uniform fit perfectly and he was a striking figure in it. Without hesitation he confidently tried out his new “persona”. It was not only an additional attraction for his female diversions, but it also allowed him access to the local military bases for free food. All he had to do was con his way onto the base. This was an easy thing for him. He played off his limp as a “war” injury. His lack of papers was explained because of several nights “leave for rest and recreation” at the local house of ill repute. With a knowing wink and smile the guards at the gate usually let him in.
It was on one of these visits that he noticed that there was a C-47 military transport plane loading on one of the runways. He asked a passing airman where the plane was going and was told it was on its way to San Francisco, California. Seeing as how he had never been there, he thought it was about time that he went. He went up to the officer in charge of the line of people waiting to get on and explained that he was trying to get back to San Francisco to see his girlfriend and got rolled at the local bar and lost his leave and travel papers.
“Could you be a pal and let me on?” he asked. The loading officer looked at this obviously wounded veteran of the war and was won over by his friendly smile and sincere attitude.
“Sure” he said, “there are several empty seats. Give her kiss for me when you get there!”
It’s amazing that this country won the war with this kind of security, but this was a different era and everyone was not yet as jaded and suspicious as today. Leo settled into his seat and smiled to himself. This was his first time in an airplane which was something that the rest of the passengers would have never suspected as they smiled and felt proud of the obviously experienced and injured veteran pilot who looked so confident in his neat uniform complete with the brass pilot insignias pinned to his collar. He even received pats on the shoulder from the pilot and co-pilot of the flight as they went by on the way up to the cockpit. They were glad that they were state side, ferrying military families and personnel across the country, and not like this poor young man who could barely fit into his seat with his right leg projecting out into the isle way. Even though he was younger than they were they felt a little intimidated by his confident gaze and knowing wink they received from him in return.
After the third change of crew in Salt Lake City, Utah, the plane started its last leg of the long flight. After the plane leveled off at their cruising altitude Leo was awakened from his dozing by a hand on his shoulder. It was the flight attendant. In a hushed voice he said the pilot wanted to talk to him and would he please come up to the cockpit. The first thing he noticed was an almost comatose co-pilot strapped into a jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. The pilot quickly explained that he needed a favor desperately.
“We both tied one on at the bar last night” he said, and they had barely made it to the flight in time. He was able to get the co-pilot on board without raising any suspicion and he was in a terrible fix as he hadn’t had any sleep in 24hrs, he was suffering from a massive hangover and needed a couple of hours sleep.
“Be a pal,” he said “and keep an eye on things while I get some rest. If the brass finds out about this, we’ll be court-martialed!”
The last thing he wanted was to try to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, but he felt he had no option. The pilot really did look bad. As he tried to settle into the seat the first thing he noticed was that there were a lot of very strange looking controls and knobs in front of him. This was no three speed New York taxi. As he glanced around, he didn’t notice the pilot starring at his obvious lack of knowledge of the controls. Even the greenest of pilots knew the basic controls of such a simple plane as the C-47.
“He must be a German saboteur!” the pilot thought to himself. Just last week they received a notice from the high command about the recent discoveries of imbedded saboteurs on the east coast.
“You know pal, I’m feeling much better, why don’t you just go back to your seat. I’ll get you if I need you.”
The very relieved 17-year-old settled back into his seat as the pilot was radioing his” find” to San Francisco.
Leo was greeted by four military policemen on stepping off the stairs from the plane. The only view he had of San Francisco was from the back of the military truck while he sat between two very large and well-armed soldiers. The hostility in their eyes was evident as they glowered at him. Even his patented warm smile and wink was greeted with hostility. It was several days later that the military finally discovered that their “saboteur” was in fact a 17-year-old con man from New York. He was turned over to the civil authorities and he was charged with fraud, theft of government property, and kidnapping for sitting in the co-pilot seat while the plane had passengers – this charge was later dropped.
This was the first of many times my dad became a guest of “the crossbar hotel”, yes, Leo was my dad. I remember as a young boy visiting him at Chino State prison in California. This was the result of one of his “business deals” that had gone bad. Growing up with a con man and gambler as a father led to a very interesting childhood. My wife, Angie, says that mine was a dysfunctional family but I disagree. We had a lot of love and good times also. I learned how to be outgoing and make friends quickly from our often and very necessary relocations during my childhood. This fact also resulted in my attending nineteen different schools. Another thing I learned was to enjoy what you have, when you have it, for things can change overnight as they often did for me.
I vividly recall coming home from school when I was thirteen years old to find two brown Ford Crown Victoria’s in our driveway at the home we lived in on a mountain road bordering the Russian River in Northern California. I walked in the house and found four armed men in suits standing inside while my mother was quickly packing some suitcases. These men were FBI agents that came to take me and my mother away as there was a “hit squad” on the way to kill us. This was to keep my father from turning state’s evidence and testifying against their gang’s drug activity. It seems my father had acquired a large gambling debt with these nefarious characters. They presented him with the choice of a crippling beating and still owe the debt or cooperate with them in a smuggling operation they ran bringing marijuana into the country via Mexico and pay off the debt that way. My father, being a somewhat sensible person, along with the fact that he didn’t relish the thought of being back in a body cast, chose the second option.
The drug runners took him down to Mazatlán, Mexico, and set him up with a new four-wheel drive pickup truck with a large cab over camper on the back, a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser boat that had the flotation tanks removed and the hull filled with packaged marijuana. He was given fake vehicle registrations for both the truck and boat in case they were checked at the border. He was also provided with a fake American wife and child. His instructions were to drive his “new” family back into the United States at the border crossing at Nogales, Arizona, drop off his “family” and then proceed to Las Vegas, Nevada, and deliver the truck and boat to them.
The border crossing went without a hitch. Leo was used to impersonating people, so posing as a vacationing family man coming back home from a fishing trip to Mexico was easy for him. The border guard didn’t even think twice about this friendly guy who confidently answered all his questions about their trip without the slightest evidence of being nervous or guilty about anything. After they crossed the border, Leo dropped off the woman and child as instructed in Nogales and proceeded on his journey.
It was a long drive, and this gave him time to think, way too much time, as it turned out. Somewhere between Nogales and Phoenix he had set upon a plan. When he arrived in Phoenix, he quickly found some individuals of ill repute who were more than happy to buy the contents of the floatation tanks at a discounted price. They even helped him find a business associate of theirs to buy the truck and boat. With his newly ill-gotten gain he flew to Reno, Nevada, and over a seventy-two-hour gambling binge he managed to lose it all at the tables.
After sleeping off the gambling binge he decided that the only thing to do was walk into the FBI offices in Reno and tell them his story. It was that or end up in a landfill somewhere. The FBI offered him total immunity if he would allow himself to be wired and then go back to the drug gang and set them up to implicate them in their drug activity. They gave him a story about how he had had fallen asleep at the wheel while driving north on Highway 93 between Kingman and Lake Mead. He was told to say that when he was awakened when the trucks wheels dropped off the pavement, he had over corrected and flipped the boat and trailer. They then said to say that he had panicked and buried the drugs in the desert near Grasshopper Junction and that then he abandoned the truck.
Leo pulled off the biggest con of his life when he convinced the gang to go with him to dig up the drugs at a location that the FBI had planted a large stash of marijuana. After they dug up the stash the FBI swooped in and arrested the entire bunch including my dad. It wasn’t long until the leaders of the gang figured out that my father was the result of their problems. This is where the four agents at my home in Healdsburg tie in. The result was three years in the witness protection program and repeated relocation across northern California and Nevada.
I think growing up in this type of environment led to my unique sense of humor as that is how we dealt with stress in our family. We laughed at adversity it as it did no good to get depressed or sad about the uncontrollable circumstances we were thrust into. My British mother’s dry sense of humor and my dad’s love of adventure have led to my being the solid, happy go lucky, completely normal person that I am. I have also been told I live in my own imaginary world. That is fine with me as I like my world more than the supposedly normal one everyone else is in. Humor turned out to be my link to sanity.
The following stories are true to the best of my recollection. If they aren’t, I plead insanity. I’m just crazy about this kind of stuff.