Authors: Myles (Mickey) Golde
Smiling broadly at the conclusion of the meeting, Frank put his arm around Herb’s shoulder, saying, “Come on partners, we’ll buy you lunch to celebrate our new beginning.”
They met at Miller’s on Western. Each ordered a Martini, straight up, laughing when two were vodka and two gin, each with something different stuck on a pick in the drinks. A second round followed. Herb, a big husky man with a shock of wavy blonde hair, sitting across from Vic, was telling a story about coming to Chicago after the war. Slurring his words he kept touching Vic’s hand to be sure he was listening, stopping only to order another drink. Vic’s second drink, still almost full as he picked at his burger, tried to humor him by being attentive.
Frank was paying attention to Sonya, whispering across the table and getting her giggling. A tall chunky blonde, in her late thirties, with large blue eyes, that sparkled when she smiled, picked at a French fry raising her eyebrows as Frank kept her laughing, ignoring Vic and Herb.
With a loud laugh, Herb downed his drink and ordered another as Vic turned to Sonya, saying. “I know you’re going to love this project. Frank and I have great plans for building four bi-levels with side driveways on 40 foot lots. Each will a have a furnace room, a small powder room, and a good sized family room in the basement, with a kitchen, dining room and living room combination on the main floor and three bedrooms and a full bath upstairs. Our goal is to set sale prices under $30000 and expect to clear approximately $3000 per unit. In fact I’d like to review the plans with you to get a woman’s opinion and ideas about the design.”
“Thanks but, I don’t think I’ll be much help. Herb knows more about such things than I do, but if you need me, just let me know,” she smiled in reply.
Conversation switched to Herb’s golf game and he invited the boys out to play, which they both declined. Neither played the game, or had clubs. In the parking lot they parted. Sonya insisted on driving, when Herb dropped the keys and had difficulty picking them up.
Over the next few weeks Vic contacted a Savings and Loan on Devon using the Warner land as collateral for a bridge loan to start the project. He also pushed the Architect, making several changes based on his frequent visits to other developments and seeing what other builders were offering.
Late one afternoon, six weeks after the meeting with the Warners, Frank walked into Vic’s office. He closed the door and slumped into the chair across the desk. His tie was hanging low and his collar open. Sitting quietly, he waited for Vic to put down the phone.
A deep line formed on Vic’s brow as he quickly concluded the call.
“What’s up?”
“You’re not gonna’ like it.”
“Like what?”
“Herb Warner, just caught me in bed with his wife.”
“Oh shit. How could you? We’ve been workin’ our asses off trying to put this deal together and you gotta fuck with his wife. Are you crazy?”
“It just sorta happened,” Frank replied softly. “You know, she started playin’ footsy with me under the table that day at Millers. I’ve only seen her a few times.“
“God dammit, Frank, can’t you keep your zipper up. I’ve been working on this deal for months and you hadda screw it up. For cryin’ out loud….Ah shit, get the fuck outta my face.”
Things were quiet around the office the next week. Vic had not spoken to Frank and Frank had been scarce. When he tried to apologize, Vic wouldn’t listen.
Vic hadn’t told Darlene what had happened, but merely said the deal for the land fell through at the last minute. Seeing how upset he was she knew it was something serious, but didn’t question him further.
Six weeks passed without any Saturday lunches or much conversation between the brothers. Frank entered Vic’s office the following Wednesday after everyone had left for day.
“Look, I know I apologized and I can’t blame you for bein’ mad. I did a dumb thing so I want you to know it’ll never happen again. Let’s put this behind us.” Vic listened without comment or looking at Frank.
Biting his lip Frank waited, clearing his throat, he went on. ”I think I’ve got something that’ll help.” Vic looked up and nodded.
“I’ve been working on this for six months, but didn’t want to say anything until I got the deal. Here’s a contract,” Frank said, holding up some papers,” for all the materials and supplies for the construction of that new building at Great Lakes Naval Hospital. I know it won’t settle things between us completely, but it’s a start.” He said laying a folder on Vic;s desk.
“These last weeks have really been tough,” Vic answered without looking at the folder. I’ve been debating whether to pack it in.”
“Don’t Vic, I need you. You have my word, it’ll never happen again.”
“It better not.” Standing he held out his hand. Frank grabbed it. “You might as well know that things here are very tight.” Vic Added. “We’re in a bind. I had a lot going on this deal going through and we’re hurting. With some luck though, I think we can make it. This contract will help.
Following Vic’s plan, the Waynes started building six homes later that year in a new section of Morton Grove, a fast growing suburb, north of the city. Their inexperience with zoning laws, subcontractors and scheduling projects, coupled with the fact that they had to learn each step of the building process as they worked, created problems.
Despite the contract with Great Lakes, financing the new homes construction became a major concern. Vic exhausted the company’s bank account and with the lag time on collecting customer invoices, they were having trouble meeting bills. In addition, Vic’s efforts to borrow from banks were not going well. The small neighborhood banks turned him down flat and while a few of the larger downtown banks showed some interest, Vic was informed that Wayne Construction would need to establish a track record of at least a year of successful building before they would authorize a loan.
After several meetings with John Pinnelli, a loan officer at American National, John suggested that they meet for lunch at the Italian Village to talk privately.
The popular downtown restaurant was noisy and crowded, but John knew the manager and got a table within a few minutes. The dimly lighted eatery was filled with well-dressed business people and politicians. Around the room, tuxedo clad waiters, scurried between crisp white tables, carrying drinks and steaming food. Vic recognized a couple of aldermen and judges he had met at functions he had attended during the Stevenson campaign in 1952. On the way to the table, John waved hello to a few people and stopped momentarily to chat with a dapper older man. He introduced Vic, saying, “Mr. Rubloff, meet Victor Wayne, a young man who wants to be a competitor of yours.”
Looking over his heavy rimmed round glasses, Rubloff, shook hands and smiled. “Good luck, Victor, and keep an eye on John; he’s a sharpie.”
Vic nodded, winking at John to let him know that he was impressed; Arthur Rubloff was one of the best-known real estate men in the city.
Once seated, they ordered drinks. After a few pleasantries concerning business and their families, John said. “Look Vic, I wanted to get away from the office because I didn’t want to discuss at the bank, what I’m gonna’ tell you now.”
“Hey, that’s okay,” replied Vic. “I figured as much.”
Their drinks arrived and the waiter took their order. John, clicking his martini against Vic’s, toasted. “Here’s to good luck.”
Then he took a sip and returned his glass to the table. “It looks to me that you and your brother are into a good thing with those houses you’re building and if it was up to me personally, I would approve your loan. It’s also my job however, to bring in clients that will help me build my career, so I have a suggestion to make. But you’ve got to promise that you won’t tell anyone who told you what I’m about to tell you.”
Vic nodded. “Look, John, I understand and don’t worry, this is just between you and me.”
The food arrived amid a clatter of dishes, interrupting their conversation, as the waiter set John’s linguini with clams and Vic’s Ravioli in front of them, asking if there was anything else they needed.
“No thanks Tony,” John replied, looking around to be sure no one would hear him and turned to Vic. “Have you ever heard the name Paschey Cohen?” he asked.
Vic thought for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t know him, but I’ve heard of him. Sort of a mob guy of some sort, isn’t he.”
“Well let’s say, I don’t really know, but I do know that he lends money to people like you. His rates are a little steep, but I don’t think you’ll need him too long.”
Vic looked up, holding his knife and fork over his plate. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“Look, Vic, I’m only telling you what some of my clients have told me. Once they got established, they were able to come to me for a line of credit and I think you can do the same thing.”
Vic’s mind began to race as he listened. “Thanks John, I hear what you’re saying. It may be the answer for us. Is there anything else I should know?”
“I can’t tell you anything more than that, except I know you know Sam Viti, from Emerald Construction, since you listed him as a reference on your loan application. He knows Cohen. Why don’t you talk to him? Just don’t bring up my name.”
“Thanks John, I’ll do that.”
“How you doin’?” A tall man with glasses, stopped at the table on his way out. Vic recognized him, as one of John’s associates from the bank.
“You remember Victor Wayne? I’ve been trying to get him to switch some of his business to us,” John volunteered.
“Oh, yeah,” the other banker replied shaking Vic’s hand and continuing on his way.
Vic grinned. “That’s what I like about this place. You always see people you know and you can tell there’s a million deals being cooked up all over the place.”
“Yeah, you’re right; look over there,” John said, nodding at a table where Chicago Daily News columnist Mike Royko was eating with two men, both of whom Vic recognized; one an alderman and the other a man who helped him raise funds for HIAS the previous year. John also pointed out another man, at a table close by, that was a senior vice president at the bank.
Back at the office, Vic called Sam Vitti and asked him to have lunch the next day. Two days later he met Paschey Cohen and his associate, Howie Rabin, at a table in the back of a coffee shop near the Uptown Theater. A stocky black haired man with a Greek accent who Vic assumed was the owner, led him to the table and set a cup of coffee in front of him, before quickly returning to the front.
Vic recognized Howie immediately; he still looked the same as he did at Frank’s wedding almost ten years before, tall, thin and well-dressed. But he was surprised that Howie refused to even look at him until Paschey attempted to make introductions.
“Yeah, we’ve met; he’s from the neighborhood,” Howie growled, reluctantly shaking Vic’s hand.
Vic settled into the cracked vinyl and metal chair, hoping that Howie’s attitude toward him wasn’t going to influence Paschey’s decision about whether or not to work with Wayne Construction.
A heavy set man, Paschey looked to be about forty-five. He was shorter than Howie, but exuded a powerful presence just sitting there. His hat, which he kept on, was pushed back on his head, and he held an unlit cigar in his left hand as he fiddled with a coffee cup with the other. Howie sat to Paschey’s left and didn’t say a word other than the short greeting.
“Sam told me you could use some help,” Paschey said, getting right to business.
“Yeah,” Vic answered and then explained about Wayne Construction and that they needed to borrow forty thousand dollars for about three months. After a long discussion, during which the Greek returned to fill coffee when Paschey waved to him, the terms were settled. The loan would be made in five-thousand-dollar increments up to forty grand at a weekly interest rate of three percent, payable in cash each Thursday. Howie would come by Vic’s office to collect.
Paschey told Vic to meet him at the restaurant, the next afternoon at one to pick up the first five thousand. When he left, Vic shook hands with the two of them without either of them standing.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Howie turned to Paschey, “I hope that son of a bitch has trouble paying. He’s a smart ass that went to school with Shirley and I’d really like to lean on him.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Paschey cautioned. “This is business, not personal. We can always use people like this guy. Within a year we’ll be his partners and he’ll end up workin’ for us.”
Howie didn’t answer. Getting up, he headed for the door, smoke from his cigarette floated above the table. Turning back he said, “We’ll see. I hope you’re right, I’d like to get my hooks into that prick.”
The next day, Vic picked up the first installment of the cash. The following Thursday, Howie and a short, broad-shouldered man in a dark zippered jacket showed up at Wayne Construction. Vic ushered them quickly into his private office and handed him an envelope containing a hundred and fifty dollars. Howie didn’t open the envelope, but looked around and said, “Nice place you got here. If you need anything else, you know where to find us,” and started for the door. He didn’t bother to introduce the other man, who had stayed several feet behind him and didn’t say anything.
“How’s Shirley?” Vic asked.
Howie stopped, and turned back abruptly, his eyes forming small slits.
“None of your fuckin’ business,.” He paused. “All you gotta know is, I’ll see you next week.”
Over the next three weeks, Vic borrowed an additional fifteen thousand and Howie and the broad shouldered man showed up to collect the interest. The fourth week, Vic asked for a few more days to raise the cash.
With his eyes glaring, Howie leaned forward placing his fists on Vic’s desk and hissed, “No way, Wayne. You know how we do business. We get our money by Thursday, or your rates will double. After that, if you don’t come through, you’re gonna’ have a new partner.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I just need a few days and I’ll take care of this,” Vic replied. “All I can handle today is three hundred. But a payment from a job at Wesley Hospital is in the mail. We should have it tomorrow and it should clear the bank by Monday.”