Rothstein: The Life, Times, and Murder of the Criminal Genius Who Fixed the 1919 World Series by David Pietrusza Page A
Authors: David Pietrusza
Tags: General, Social Science, Crime, History, Biography & Autobiography, Sociology, True Crime, 20th Century, Biography, New York, New York (State), New York (N.Y.), Criminology, Urban, Criminals & Outlaws, Criminals, Baseball, Sports & Recreation, Nineteen twenties
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criticism of its author), nonetheless, it shortchanges its subject. The 6'4", 250-pound Mizner was the son of Benjamin Harrison's minister plenipotentiary to Central America and the brother of an Episcopalian clergyman, but those were the last respectable facts about him. He soon took up opium smoking, and participated in the Klondike gold rush, operating badger games; robbing a restaurant to obtain chocolate for girlfriend "Nellie the Pig" Lamore; and grubstaking fellow prospector Sid Grauman (of Grauman's Chinese Theatre Fame).
Returning state side in 1905, the twenty-nine-year-old Mizner married forty-eight-year-old Mary Adelaide Yerkes, widow of traction magnate Charles Tyson Yerkes. The new Mrs. Mizner was worth between $2 million and $7.5 million. Mr. Mizner was penniless. They had been introduced by his brother Addison at Madison Square Garden, at the National Horse Show. When Addison asked Wilson where he was staying, he replied, "In a house of ill fame on FortyEighth Street." Mary Yerkes thought this amusing, but it was more amusing to be introduced to such a fellow than to be married to one. Mizner hired an artist to produce copies of the Yerkes mansion's artistic masterpieces and proceeded to sell them as originals. Pickings proved slim. At auction, a fake Last Supper was fetching just $6.00. "Six dollars!" Mizner exclaimed. "Can't I get at least one dollar a plate for this banquet?"
Mizner was next seen supervising the hauling of debris from the San Francisco earthquake. Returning to New York, he managed a sleazy Times Square hotel called the Rand, posting signs about the place with such mottos as "No opium-smoking in the elevators" and "Carry out your own dead." From there he moved to fight promotion and playwriting. Critics found his plays trashy.
Had Wilson Mizner bothered to write better plays, we would remember him at least as well that other great aphorist, Oscar Wilde. That may seem hyperbole, but the list of Mizner bon mots is lengthy. If his name is not particularly remembered, his witticisms are:
Always be nice to people on the way up; because you'll meet the same people on the way down.
Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research.
The best way to keep your friends is not to give them away.
I respect faith, but doubt is what gets you an education.
I can usually judge a fellow by what he laughs at.
The worst-tempered people I've ever met were the people who knew they were wrong.
A fellow who is always declaring he's no fool usually has his suspicions.
Don't talk about yourself; it will be done when you leave.
Life is a tough proposition and the first hundred years are the hardest.
A good listener is not only popular everywhere, but after a while he gets to know something.
For an aspiring young gambler like Arnold Rothstein to hold his own against Mizner, Dorgan, Igoe, and their acquaintances was no mean feat. A. R. could. Although both quick-witted and charming enough to gain admittance to this informal society, he was not well-liked. Some found him too cute, too cutting with his remarks, too full of himself-and, yes, a bit too Jewish. Mizner, for one, wanted to teach this "smart-aleck sheenie" a lesson. So did Dorgan and Igoe and a well-heeled gambler named Jack Francis.
They decided to put A. R. in his place, early on in their relationship, and turn a profit in the bargain. Among Rothstein's many strengths was his skill with the pool cue. Among his weaknesses was his ego. Mizner's friends imported wealthy, young Philadelphia stockbroker Jack Conaway to set Rothstein up. Conaway played pool, played just about anything actually, just for the thrill of it. He was an expert amateur jockey and just as expert a pool player, the champion of Philadelphia's elegant Racquet Club.
Mizner's crowd sprung their trap on Thursday night, November 18, 1909. With Conaway in tow, they took their regular table at Jack's. When A. R. arrived, the conversation centered on the usual athletic and
Returning state side in 1905, the twenty-nine-year-old Mizner married forty-eight-year-old Mary Adelaide Yerkes, widow of traction magnate Charles Tyson Yerkes. The new Mrs. Mizner was worth between $2 million and $7.5 million. Mr. Mizner was penniless. They had been introduced by his brother Addison at Madison Square Garden, at the National Horse Show. When Addison asked Wilson where he was staying, he replied, "In a house of ill fame on FortyEighth Street." Mary Yerkes thought this amusing, but it was more amusing to be introduced to such a fellow than to be married to one. Mizner hired an artist to produce copies of the Yerkes mansion's artistic masterpieces and proceeded to sell them as originals. Pickings proved slim. At auction, a fake Last Supper was fetching just $6.00. "Six dollars!" Mizner exclaimed. "Can't I get at least one dollar a plate for this banquet?"
Mizner was next seen supervising the hauling of debris from the San Francisco earthquake. Returning to New York, he managed a sleazy Times Square hotel called the Rand, posting signs about the place with such mottos as "No opium-smoking in the elevators" and "Carry out your own dead." From there he moved to fight promotion and playwriting. Critics found his plays trashy.
Had Wilson Mizner bothered to write better plays, we would remember him at least as well that other great aphorist, Oscar Wilde. That may seem hyperbole, but the list of Mizner bon mots is lengthy. If his name is not particularly remembered, his witticisms are:
Always be nice to people on the way up; because you'll meet the same people on the way down.
Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research.
The best way to keep your friends is not to give them away.
I respect faith, but doubt is what gets you an education.
I can usually judge a fellow by what he laughs at.
The worst-tempered people I've ever met were the people who knew they were wrong.
A fellow who is always declaring he's no fool usually has his suspicions.
Don't talk about yourself; it will be done when you leave.
Life is a tough proposition and the first hundred years are the hardest.
A good listener is not only popular everywhere, but after a while he gets to know something.
For an aspiring young gambler like Arnold Rothstein to hold his own against Mizner, Dorgan, Igoe, and their acquaintances was no mean feat. A. R. could. Although both quick-witted and charming enough to gain admittance to this informal society, he was not well-liked. Some found him too cute, too cutting with his remarks, too full of himself-and, yes, a bit too Jewish. Mizner, for one, wanted to teach this "smart-aleck sheenie" a lesson. So did Dorgan and Igoe and a well-heeled gambler named Jack Francis.
They decided to put A. R. in his place, early on in their relationship, and turn a profit in the bargain. Among Rothstein's many strengths was his skill with the pool cue. Among his weaknesses was his ego. Mizner's friends imported wealthy, young Philadelphia stockbroker Jack Conaway to set Rothstein up. Conaway played pool, played just about anything actually, just for the thrill of it. He was an expert amateur jockey and just as expert a pool player, the champion of Philadelphia's elegant Racquet Club.
Mizner's crowd sprung their trap on Thursday night, November 18, 1909. With Conaway in tow, they took their regular table at Jack's. When A. R. arrived, the conversation centered on the usual athletic and
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