When I was growing up if someone said I’m gonna cut your motherfucking throat, I would have said, “Get it on.” That was my attitude through life—let’s get it on. I never cared that much. If you can hurt me, so can I hurt you. We have to get our shit together or hurt each other. That was always my philosophy of life. Maybe that is why I lived so long—that I would try to work things out but if not, I could take the first shot.
I think I am very brazen. I don’t scare easy. Even now I don’t. It takes a lotta “heart” to be a fence or even a good burglar. You can’t scare easy, fall apart on a close call like when the police call you in for questioning or there’s a search warrant on your shop. The thieves and even the other dealers can pull some pretty rank shit. Same with the snitching, you can’t stop it all the way but you can make them think twice. It was known I was pretty easygoing, a nice guy, but that I could be very nasty. You can’t be a pushover. There are a lot of assholes out there.
I think I always had a little larceny in me, too. Looking for the buck. To this day it is hard for me to walk away from making a dollar, even a little one. Maybe this is more so in me than the ordinary joe blow on account from little on I had to hustle to get a bicycle or glove or do without it. I knew early that you have to look out for yourself. This came early from my grandpap, was tight-fisted with money and would let you know, hey, there’s no handouts. Maybe for the “higher-ups,” but not for the “little guy.” Doing time and having to fend for myself just added to that. My attitude was I could pull my own weight.
I’ve always had that ability to understand people and figure them out. Whether I did it for bad or for good, I always had that ability—to read people. That’s why I can get over so easily. It is only human nature to do that, to try to outdo the other. Beat the guy, at least a little.
Remember Amos? Kooky guy who bought a lot of antiques from me. Very educated man, very brilliant. Believed in devils, was very strange. One time I got two old chairs, paid like ten bucks a piece. I scratched the name of someone who was a governor one time. Then I put “Death Chair” on one and “Life Chair” on the other, and stained over it. I tells Amos this long story about the legend behind the chairs, how the governor kept them in his bedroom. He fell for it. Two junky chairs and I got like $600 apiece for them.
In my shop or if I peddled at the auction, I didn’t come right out and say, “Hey, my prices are cheap ‘cause I’m selling hot stuff.” But I would give them an opening, play on the larceny that is them. Create a trust so they will feel it is safe, that they can get away with it. Play on the greed that is there. Ninety-nine of a hundred will go for it.
Most people would steal if they, had the nerve to do it. Will take the extra dollar if they can get away with it. In my eye I really believe they would. If you knew where twenty grand was and you thought you had a half-decent chance to get it, you’d take a shot at it. It’s hard to let twenty grand just sit there. Ninety-nine of a hundred have larceny in them, at least some larceny in their heart. Everybody, if they don’t steal in a big way, they steal in a penny. Which is just the same goddamn thing.
You go to an auction, right? You’re going to buy something. How are you going to know where it came from? Say it’s a yard sale. Even if they think it is hot, if they think it’s a bargain, they will buy. I don’t know of anyone, very few in fact, that ever would walk away from something hot if it was cheap. If you go to the bank and there is an extra twenty dollars in there that don’t belong, your ordinary joe blow will snap it up and just leave. Very few would not do that. I did it on a bigger scale, that I will admit. But what is the difference?
Am I rationalizing? Am I really a “bad” person? Should I feel sorry for what I’ve done? The ladies would pray with me and then the thought would cross my mind. All the shit I’ve pulled, some really rank shit, yet I don’t feel bad about it. Don’t see myself as a bad person. That is the way I feel.
I am not saying I would recommend the life I had for somebody else. A life in crime is hell in many ways. That is what I told your students. I would not wish them to go through what I went through. I think they appreciated that.
I think I have changed. Some. Not all the way. I think I am less aggressive now, more concerned about the feelings of others. I don’t think I could go back to the mold I was in fifteen years ago. I don’t think I’d fit. Why, I don’t really know. I know I was changing down the line. I was getting mellower. I am still aggressive but not near what I used to be. Now, I can walk away if someone gets under my skin.
Talking to your class, coming up there, I think made some difference. The students would ask me if I felt bad about what I done, was I sorry for what I had done. “No, I’m not sorry. No, I don’t feel bad.” I drove back a couple of times, thinking: “Am I helping them or is this fucking class helping me? Or was we helping each other?” It seems to me we was both getting something out of the class. I could be wrong like a son of a bitch but that is what I think.
Going to class, but more so talking to you, made me look at myself more. On account of you would ask me. Head-on. And in different ways. “Did you do that? Why did you do that?” That would linger on in my mind even afterwards. Why the fuck did I do that?
Ten years ago I would use a Bobby Beck that would hang around my shop. Not only would I buy what he would steal but I was many times encouraging him. But then I was working with him, too, to turn himself around, to get a job. “Hey, you got a life to lead, don’t fuck it away. If you’re gonna steal, then get your act together doing that.” I do believe that in the last few years I helped turn Bobby Beck around and that makes me feel good.
Same with Donnie—my foreman you might say. He was on his way to being a delinquent when he showed up at my shop. Has really turned himself around. I saw he had a knack for working with wood and converted that into something good. Donnie called just before you came. He may stop by later. Have a new guy in the shop, Pete. Hired him from another upholstery place and thinks he has some knowledge but is blowing out of his ass. Cuts corners to get the job done. I get on Donnie’s ass to make sure Pete uses the hand tools ‘cause it does a better job. That’s why I bought those tools. Don’t use the table saw. Those big scissors do a better job. Make sure now. If he tries to use that table saw, put it up his fucking ass.
The shop means a whole lot. I put too many fucking hours into it. Don’t want to see it fall apart after I’m gone. Spent a lotta time training Donnie too. He can take over now and I think him and Benny and Wanda will make out after I’m gone. I’m proud of what I’ve built up there.
I think my shop, the guys in the shop, wanting to get Donnie set up to run the shop, my grandkids, and that made a difference. Definitely has mellowed me.
Even now, if had a good tip, I would think of clipping the place. And if Jesse called and said, “Let’s go,” I’d go. I think I still have the heart for burglary but maybe getting too old for crawling in windows. Just the excitement. From knowing what is there and where it is at, having my outlets in place. Would be a kick, a spark, ‘cause life is pretty boring at times. And to see if I could still do it. It would be worth it for that.
Remember the building next to mine in Boonesboro that had a safe in it? An old building. Nobody was using it. I am sitting in my shop one night and I’m thinking about this fucking safe. An old square box. I’m saying, I wonder what’s in it. Bugging the shit out of me.
I said fuck it, I’m going to open it. So I got a couple of tools and tried to punch it. But the tumblers wouldn’t roll. So I said fuck it, I going to get that motherfucker. I got screwdrivers and old chisels. Chiseled off the rivets. It peeled like a sardine can. It was still so easy. Nothing in the damn thing [ha, ha, laughter]. But it was itching at me. Just had to see if I could do it.
I didn’t have the right tools, really. What you need are a couple of drip pins, that have certain thickness, certain lengths. It’s like a punch with a flat end. Couldn’t get the tumblers to roll. There is a kick there, a little thrill you might say, of opening a safe and seeing you can still do it. I enjoyed just pulling a job once in a while.
If a Bobby Beck or a Rocky knocked on my door right now, or came into my shop, told me they know where is good jewelry and this is a good time to clip the place, I’d say go get it. I have changed, but not that much. I would not pass up that. Money is money. I think I could be a preacher but still have my hands in the collection plate. It’s not just the money. How should I say it?— I’d be a dupe to pass it up. Maybe from just doing it so long, it would be hard to walk away.
Except for the last couple of years, I never paid taxes in my whole life. Never. ‘Cause you’re dealing in cash much of the time. This time, after Benny and me became partners on the upholstery work, he pushed me hard to do it. Social security for the guys in my shop. And he was leery the feds would find out. So, I started doing it. Not all the way, hell no, but some.
Go look on that table over there, all the way over. Pick up one of those nigger dolls. Don’t they look old? They aren’t that old. I’m cooking them. I’m cooking them in coffee grounds right here in the oven. Same with those salt & pepper shakers, and those piggy banks. You can cook porcelain and make it age, sell them as antique pieces. This has kept me busy the past few days.
The temptation to get back into the fencing all the way was always there. I missed the good money, what you can make if you’re really heavy in the dealing. It’s play money, really. If I wanted something, or I wanted to gamble big, the money was there. I still love to gamble, go to Vegas or whatever. A big thing for me is to play the poker machines. Wanda has been on my case more than once on how much money I blow on those fucking machines.
I do wish Wanda was better prepared to make it after I am gone. She has been awfully good to me. Has stayed with me, day after day, through all of this. It is a fact I lost too much gambling. I wish I had that back. Could have saved more. There are things for the house she’d like to have. But still, in many ways I was good to her. Compared to the bum she was with before, I was a step up, a big step up. A fucking cop who was no good. Put on a front for the public as a hard-ass, but was very shady. And none of it went for Wanda and her kids but spent it on himself. What an asshole.
Many times I have wished I was back in it, like the way it was before [in American City]. To tell you the truth, I would’ve liked to have gotten a younger guy to be the fence but I would be in the background, more supervising. Say Rocky or Kevin ‘cause he has a good head on his shoulders. My knowledge to somebody is worth quite a bit. I put a lot of hours in getting the contacts, running to the auctions and meeting people. Just like if you’d say, “Fuck it, I’m gonna quit teaching. I want to be a fence.” Well, I’d be a great help to you. The contacts, knowing how to get the confidence of someone, to read people. Who’s buying, what’s the stuff going for. It takes hours and hours, a lot of time consumed to get all that.
I didn’t want the hassles but I still wanted to keep my fingers in it. If I had gotten back in big, I’m talking about right after I got out of the penitentiary this last time, I don’t think I would have slowed down. Then my shop gets going so good and I am supporting five, six families—that is holding me back. The grandkids, Wanda, talking to your class—that has all mellowed me. In a way I got to liking the legit side and having other people see me that way.
I do not feel sad about my life. I did what I thought I had to do at the time. I would always tell your students, “No, I don’t feel bad for what I done. If I had to live my life over, I would not change it. Except get into the fencing sooner. And not get caught.” [Ha, ha, Sam chuckles.] The big time in the penitentiary after I escaped—whew, I do regret that. But I would not wish my life on somebody else. I made that very god damn plain to your students— “a life in crime can be a bitch.”
I done wrong, pulled some rank shit. Some very rank shit. But I do know I done a lot of good, too. Anybody that came in my shop that was on the level, got a fair shake from me. I’d see a needy person, I would help that person out. Somebody needed a refrigerator but was broke, “Take it buddy, pay me when you get the money.” I’m no Robin Hood, but I don’t feel as though I took bread out of anybody’s mouth. No. I do feel I put a lot of bread in people’s mouth. Same with the Red Cross or the charities that wanted to help out some families, they would come to me for furniture and the household supplies. They trusted me. All I had to do was send them the bill. They never even looked at the furniture. I treated them fair, more than fair. More or less gave the stuff away. It was known I had a soft heart, is in my nature to lend a hand if someone’s in a jam.
I was honest with people. Treated them fair. Anyone that worked for me, I dealt with fairly. Got paid a good dollar and helped them out in little ways. Benny would get on my case that I was too easy on my help, that I would keep a deadbeat around and pay his wages. I have had to tell this or that guy, “Hey, we don’t need you anymore” but that was ‘cause they weren’t doing things the right way. The guys in my shop, the different ones who’ve worked for me, if you were to ask them, they would not badmouth me. No, they will say I’m a pretty good guy.
If a mother with a couple of kids came into my shop and I saw she needed something, they had the run of the store. I was always tops with kids. A real pushover, maybe because adults know what they’re doing but a kid is never really bad that way. I gave a lot of stuff to kids—kids from the neighborhood, Puerto Rican kids, black kids. I would hire some of them to wash windows, do odd jobs. It was more trouble than it was worth but it gave them a chance to work and make a few bucks. I felt that was good for them. A lotta businessmen and shop owners are greedy and don’t want to be bothered with those kinds of people [e.g., Puerto Ricans, blacks, poor whites]. Would just as soon throw dirt in their face or chisel them.
Looking back, I think I was too soft to make the big bucks in fencing or from my legit business, too. Same with the auction people and the other dealers, I think I let them get the stuff too cheap. Maybe I wanted to be a big shot more than I should have. I don’t know how to say it but having the thieves come by, rapping with them, their looking up to me—this was important to me. Why, who the fuck knows?
I can’t say if people looked up to me but they respected me for what I was. That I built up a business from scratch, that I always fended for myself. Not once, but twice I did that. My shop in American City was like no other shop in town. I feel personally for the ordinary joe blow it was the best shop in town— had the cheapest prices and the most choice of merchandise, and everybody got a square deal. This time around, my upholstery business is one of the biggest in the area. Five, six guys are working in my shop, supporting families. It makes me feel good what I have built up.
I was never just a thief. See, most thieves don’t work. I always worked. Was always building up my shop. Investing what I made from the burglary and the fencing in my business. I was a businessman as much as a thief. Really more. I would not call myself a thief not all the way. A hustler, a conman, yes. And a businessman. Really the two was hand in hand.
Being seen as a good burglar, as good people, I don’t know how to explain it—was a good feeling. It’s like somebody saying about you, he is one helluva a teacher, one helluva a professor. The fact that I was trusted, that my word was good, that I would handle my end of the deal. With the thieves and the dealers, their knowing that once the goods were in my hands, they didn’t have to worry about it. It was my worry. If something happened I wouldn’t take anybody down with me.
I never cared how the cops saw me but I always wanted the public to see me in a different light Not as a guy who did time, not as a burglar, not even as a fence. But as a businessman. As a good joe. In that way I knew what I done was wrong. I knew this. I wanted the people to think more highly of me, not see me as a bum. If they saw me as crook, that I could handle. But not a fucking bum. I wanted the people to respect me as, me. As a businessman taking care of business in my shop.
Doing what I done, buying hot stuff and selling it doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is to take somebody’s possessions out of their house that they really needed or that meant something very special to them, and then resell it. That would bother me. I never stole from somebody that needed something.
I do feel bad about some of the stuff that came out of private homes that were keepsake pieces. One time seventeen guns came my way. Old guns including a German Luger, which the guy got while in Germany in World War II, off a dead German officer. This was very special to him. I was in a club one night and he was there, complaining about it. Didn’t give a damn about the other guns but that one was a keepsake. So I put the gun in his mailbox one night. Couple of nights later he was in the club and was talking about the gun. Whoever done it he really appreciated it. It made me feel good knowing he felt good.
But it was funny to hear him talk about it. To hear him, it was some kind of gun. Worth so much. Shit, it was a piece of junk. Same way with other people. They build up their story to make it look good in front of others. It might have been a .22, but they tell it like it was an antique 30/30.
I feel bad about very few things. Maybe the one old guy who I hit. Put him in la la land. He was never right after that. Me and Jesse got this tip, that this guy had all kinds of money in his house. Kept it under the bed in a metal box. But he never left the house. This is a seventy-year-old man. So we decided to pull the job at Halloween. I would dress up as Batman, do the trick or treat bit. I knocked at the door and when he opened it, I said, “Ho, ho, ho,” and hit him. Boom. Wanted to put his lights out for a little while. Jesse goes in and gets the box. Some bills but not big money. Then when the guy wakes up, he tells the police that Batman hit him. Batman got in the window and robbed him. In a way it was funny, ‘cause Jesse gets a kick out of telling that story. But the guy was always weird after that. That I do feel bad about.
I do not feel bad for snuffing that guy out. There is murder and there is murder. That guy could’ve ratted and put me away for years and years. Not all murders are the same. Snuffing out your wife just because she is causing you grief, you should get big time. I’m not saying the death penalty, not necessarily. For a baby rapist, yes. He deserves the chair. I’d pull the switch myself. I am a strong believer in the death penalty for that.
I do feel bad for hurting my mom as far as my going to the penitentiary. Even more my grandma and grandpop. Could see the hurt in their eyes after I was sent to the juvenile reformatory. After that, we would talk but no real conversation.
Seven, eight years ago, my brother called, said Mom was in the hospital. Was in bad shape, wasn’t going to live long. Said she asked about me. So, I stopped by to see her the next time I was in the area. I remember sitting there with her, seeing how she had aged. We talked but there was no closeness. I stopped by a couple of times after that. I felt an obligation. Why, I don’t know. I went to her funeral but not to the viewing and that. No tears, no nothing. Her lights were out, that was it. There was very little feeling there.
I was never that close to my mother. I don’t think she stood up for me. I can’t remember her ever doing that. If my stepdad was a hard-ass, my mom would not interfere. It wasn’t that I hated him but I certainly wasn’t in love with him, put it that way.
Getting popped for the gas station burglary and my mom not showing up for the hearings, not coming to visit me in jail, that was a final straw. I would not want to admit it at that time, but there was a pain there. Some of my friends came to visit but not my mom. Not a letter, not a peep.
Looking back I think this is a big reason I like kids, try to help them. Stand up for them, really. Make them feel good about themselves. In her eye, yes, she is probably thinking she did. But, in my eye, no, my mom was not really a mother to me. I don’t give a fuck if life has dealt one a good hand or a bad hand, a mother should be there for her kids, not take the easy way out. My daughter, even my grandkids, I am going to go to bat for them. No matter what. My mom did not do that. For my half-brothers, yes. For me, no.
I’m not saying my mom should answer for the rank shit I’ve done. Not saying that at all. I did what I did. But was she a good mom? Did she do right by me? Not in my eye. She had her head in the sand.
Looking back, I don’t believe I led people into crime. That I don’t believe. But, yes, I did help bring that out, more or less, what was there natural. Did help people realize the larceny in their heart, you might say. Like Woody, was not a crook like me or Louie. But he could be shady. Was a free spirit. I played on that. But did I make him do it? That is bullshit.
I do admit I gave tips to different ones on places to hit. Running to the auctions all the time, I’m hearing things. Just driving to them, I am spotting wicker or I see a place that is ripe, you might say. I gave Rocky a lot of tips on places to hit. And the Beck boys and ones like Andy. A few to Steelbeams and Bowie, but Rocky more than anybody.
Couple of them, like Rocky, I showed how to crack a safe. If it won’t punch, then peel it. It was no big deal. Same with Bowie, he learnt safes from me. He is one of the very best around. Punch, peel, and good with the torch. Or can drill it. Bowie can do it all.
I more or less financed thieves. A few. Not all the way but put up bail and that. A few bills here and there to hold them over until they could clip again. Nothing big. Did a lot of coaching, you might say, on antiques and jewelry. What is a good piece, what ain’t. You let them know what you are looking for, what will bring a good dollar. With some of them, sure, I’d go over how to spot places to hit, how to check it out. Don’t leave a car parked near where you’re clipping. If you get popped, keep your mouth shut. Don’t let the fucking police buffalo you, play head games on you to get you talking.
It is only natural that this will happen. ‘Cause your thieves are curious and will ask, “Why isn’t this worth more? What are you looking for?” Same with breaking into places, you hear them doing dumb things. You say, hey, you’re being a dumb motherfucker. Don’t leave your car nearby, don’t be high on dope, take your time and check the place out. Shit like that.
Take the Beck boys, you heard me chew their asses a couple of times for the dumb things they would do. I did put up bail for them ‘cause that is covering your ass, too. A thief is more likely to roll over if he’s sitting in jail. The cops know that too, so they will push for higher bail.
Chubby pulled a lot of shit for me. He did it as a favor to me and ‘cause he wanted to be part of something, just to blow out of his ass what he had done around Rocky or Jesse. If you could guide him closely, very closely, he was okay. He didn’t really have the heart for it. Would be too shaky unless it was an easy place and you guided him. Am I right? You have seen me working on Chubby, to get him to follow through. He can really fuck it up.
This is a funny one. I don’t know if I ever told you. I knew of an older couple that moved away, retired to Florida. Left a ton of antique furniture in a big barn on their place. Were planning to have a big auction in the spring. I would pass the place on a back road to the auctions, so one time I stopped by. Nobody around. Place is back in the woods. The barn had no security at all. Just crawl in a window and open up the doors from the inside. I spent an hour just looking around, putting a mark on some of the better pieces. Like antique high chairs and cribs, even a French antique crib worth a very good dollar. Then I send Chubby to clip the place. But he takes the wrong turn, ends up at the wrong bam, and drives the truck into a silage pit. Surprised the track didn’t roll over. So, I get this call. It is Chubby. “Hey, Sam, you didn’t tell me about this hole in the ground.” I get Donnie to go with me. Take my truck and pull him out. It was lucky this place was vacant. About a month later, I check out the place again. Antiques are still there. So, I send him back—but I had to draw very careful directions. This time he pulled it off. Goddamn Chubby, he is really something.
Who is leading and who is following? I don’t think I ever made anybody do something he himself didn’t want to do. Know what I mean? I could point to this or that which made me a burglar or a fence. Blame it on my mother or that I didn’t get a fair shake from the judge who sent me to the juvenile reformatory. That Angelo and the local clique were pushing on me to do the fencing. You hear this bullshit, so and so came from a broken family, he was raised poor, blah, blah, blah. See this in prison—guys whining, crying it wasn’t their fault. That is blowing wind out your ass. What I did, I did because I wanted to. Nobody got me to steal, nobody made me be a fence. All the rank shit I pulled—I, Sam Goodman, did it.
To me the people who buy [stolen goods] are as guilty as the ones who steal. The public and the ordinary businessman is buying from me, surmising the stuff is hot. The cops are shopping at my store, looking for bargains and asking me to keep my eyes open for something they needed. The cops I have known in my life were always looking for a handout. There are some very crooked cops who have pulled a lotta rank shit.
The guy who runs a store, legit now, is buying from a dealer like me—who is buying direct from the thieves. His [store guy’s] chances of hassles with the police are small, and he doesn’t have to put up with the thieves. To me, this store guy is a businessman looking for an easy buck. Is he a crook? Sure as hell doesn’t see himself that way. But comes down to it, some of them were pretty shady.
Especially if they are in a pinch, the shit people will pull. The exceptions to this are very, very few. The line is narrow between the do-gooders and the ordinary joe blow who will take an edge, and even between the do-gooders and people like myself. In my eye the do-gooders are not more moral. They are more leery. Whereas I went through a lot of risk and wasn’t fearful of taking a chance. The average person would be afraid, leery of his old lady finding out, or maybe his kids and the people he knows, and scared of the cops, too.
I am lying in my hospital bed, right? Who comes to visit me? Paul, the contractor guy. Builds a few houses from scratch but mostly does remodeling. Have known him a long time, from him putting a roof on my shop and my doing some upholstery work for him. Bumping into him here and there. Tells me his wife is running around on him. He is thinking of getting a divorce. Turns out he has been siphoning off her jewelry and is coming to me to unload it. She has a helluva collection from her parents and from him buying for her over all these years. Is carrying a couple of pieces with him. One is a set— necklace, bracelet, earrings with little diamonds in them. Very nice. He is leery about peddling the stuff to an ordinary jeweler. Is figuring I might know where he could take them. Told him, we should keep in touch. Would call him when I got out of the damn hospital. Got a hold of him this last week. He should meet me at my shop, bring in what he has. In the meantime, I am calling Skip [a jewelry fence]. Yeah, he is interested but will be tricky to do on account I can’t run the stuff to his place. Is not the way Skip does business, to have to arrange a meeting place. Wants to know, “Am I sure these are good pieces?”
Has been a pisser to pull off. On account I can’t drive. Can’t even walk is what it comes down to. Donnie or somebody from the shop has been picking me up and driving me around. Worked it out that Paul would come by my shop. Have the jewelry in a toolbox. Pay him so much now, pay the rest later. Paul leaves, then have Skip’s daughter stop by later. She should pick up some fabric samples and look over the jewelry. But may have to take some pieces back to their shop, to Skip, to give a closer look.
This was done on Tuesday. Paul is edgy as a son of a bitch and Skip’s daughter is antsy. With different people coming and going, I’m surprised the whole thing wasn’t fucked up. Talked to Skip on Wednesday and is coming by Monday to settle up and to visit ‘cause we haven’t seen each other since I went to the hospital. Then I will settle up with Paul. Is a good dollar for all of us but this is not the way you want to handle things.
I have no qualms from doing this. What is between Paul and his wife is their business. Still, it has crossed my mind. Here I am, I do not think I will make it, yet I am messing around with this. Very little hesitation on my part. In a way I am thinking this will be extra cushion for Wanda ‘cause it will be tough for her to make it when I’m gone. Maybe too, I am not wanting to back out on Paul, that he was counting on me to do this. Or, am I doing it to get away with something? I don’t know—maybe from doing it so long, it gets to where it is hard to walk away from the easy dollar.
Everybody is out for the easy dollar. Not so much on account of they want to have stacks and stacks of money or want to buy everything they see. No, ‘cause making money and having money is the way things are. What you have to do get by, what you are looked up to or looked down for. I made a lotta money in my life. A lot. Not to put it away or save for a rainy day. Maybe put a little aside to invest in my business or just to have a little cushion. But no, I made it to spend it, to come and go as I wanted and not be dependent on somebody else. I think most people are that way.
I’m not saying I done no wrong. I know I done wrong. Not saying the good I done undoes the wrong. But the line is thin—this I truly believe, that everybody has some larceny in his heart. One way or another, has his own racket. Is getting over on somebody or is chiseling in some other way. Is some rank shit in everyone and a good side too. A good joe and an asshole joe in everybody.
I’m a smoker, right? That’s how I got the cancer. Nobody made me do it. I bought the Camels, I lighted the match, right? But still, the tobacco people are pushing me. Tried quitting but then I was very nasty. Irritable as a son of a bitch. I’m not making excuses. Don’t feel sorry for me, but what about all the kids that are lighting up? They are being hustled, conned is what it comes down to. To become dope heads, only it isn’t called that. The hell many of these kids will be going through, ‘cause it’s a bitch [the cancer] that I can tell you. All the rank shit I pulled, who should find it harder to look at himself in the mirror?
You ever watch the preachers on TV? Being in that goddamn hospital I got my fill. Is a good racket, playing on old ladies and people on their deathbed. I don’t think I’m blowin’ wind outta my ass when I say, they are the ones that ought to be locked up.
If I had the chance to live my live again, do it all over, I would find it hard to pass up the fencing. The money is good. There is the satisfaction in knowing you can do it, knowing you can handle whatever comes up.
Maybe be a con man. A good confidence man. That is something I have a knack for. To get over on somebody who is wanting to get something for nothing, who is more or less shady himself. That is part of fencing, too, so maybe do both.
I doubt I would get into burglary. For one, it is harder today. With the safes and security systems, and harder to find a good partner. There are fewer decent thieves to clip with. I would not be content just to be thief. It wouldn’t be me. The burglar is out crawling in windows, breaking into cars. The risk and the money can be there, but the scheming and dealing with people from different walks of life isn’t. Even being known as a “good burglar” by the thieves and different ones wouldn’t mean as much. The satisfaction is not the same as being a dealer.
Maybe even go strictly legit, a legit businessman. There is a status there I can honestly say I enjoy. That people look up to you if you run a business. That you have people working for you, are supporting their families you might say. That is a good feeling. It has grown on me the past five or six years especially, that I would want to be known as a businessman. Maybe on account of my daughter and my grandkids, and for Wanda and her kids. Maybe on account of you, too.
If go legit, then work with kids on the side. Bea juvenile counselor. I think I have a knack with kids, know where they are coming from. If have to knock them down, leave room to build them back up. I know that sounds like I’m blowing wind outta my ass but I would enjoy doing that.
It can be a bitch to be a fence, can get to you. But the satisfaction and the recognition. That’s why I liked the fencing. That and the good money. Fencing made me a smarter person. Gave me an understanding of people and how to relate. Fencing showed me I could be a leader. Knew I had the business ability but gave me more confidence. If I had it to do again, I would not be as wide open as in American City. Not as cautious as in Tylers ville and have a better spider web. Shoot for somewhere in between.
Or be a guy in the rackets, if the opportunity was there. Like Angelo or Phil, who mostly stay in the background. Are pulling the strings and bringing in good money, and are keeping a layer in between. Are shady but legit, too. Operate where the line is thin between the two. In their eye and in the public’s eye, they are more a businessman than a thief or a crook. That is what you want.
You were naive—very, very naive—when we first met. But I never tried to pull the wool over your eyes. Never said, “Let me shake this guy’s fucking cage.” ‘Cause to me, I liked you right off the bat. Don’t ask me why, ‘cause I don’t know that. I believe it was because you were honest with me. Yeah, you went around the block questioning me—ask questions different ways. I knew you were doing that. No problem. But you were always honest with me.
There is nothing that I did not tell you or try to conceal from you. Nothing. I have been honest with you. If you asked, I told you. Some rank things I may have not thought about when you asked. But intentionally, no.
Remember my shop in Boonesboro? That place was pretty nice. Was very cozy. You came there often ‘cause we used to sit around the fireplace. Really peaceful. Jesse, Bernice, Rocky, and different ones used to come and meet with you there. Even Woody dropped by a couple of times. You would go around the block with questions, egg us to bullshit about the past. You would tape sometimes and play it back. We all got a kick out of that.
Rocky told me you gave him a headache sometimes ‘cause you kept going around the block with the questions. “Fucking headache,” Rocky would say. But I never got a headache. If you would look at the many times you went over the same territory, I think I would be consistent. I always told it like I remembered it. Now, I might forget some things and you could jog my memory. I told you the truth as I saw it.
Now, one time I did check you out but the stuff wasn’t hot. I was heading for an auction in my van, full of wicker. You were along. I tells you, “Hey, this stuff is a little warm.” I wanted to see how you would act, if you got scared or what. You didn’t act scared or nothing. You acted natural. No reaction. You didn’t show me nothing. You didn’t sweat no blood. It surprised me you acted as calmly as you acted. No wind blowing out of your ass.
See, I have a theory that if you weren’t a teacher that you would like to be a thief. That was my feeling. Jesse and Rocky felt the same way. ‘Cause we talked about it. “Hey, what’s with the Professor?” This is what I feel. You would have loved to be in it. Say, I was younger and you were younger. I told you, “Hey, this is really safe. We can clip it.” You would have gone along. You would’ve loved to play the part.
Doing the part of a driver or the man casing the place, getting the information, you would have been okay at. You could have put on a very good front. If the pressure was there—hey, man, twenty fucking years—I personally don’t think you would have held up. Not many do. Now, I never worried about you talking or ratting on me. I trusted you that far. Besides, I would have just denied it. Who in the fuck is this guy? Would just be hearsay. Never worried about you turning this stuff over or gossiping.
The penitentiary would be hard time for you. But the other cons would accept you as a square. Would want to use you for your brains, to help them in little ways. Maybe be a jailhouse lawyer. You could find a niche doing that.
Now Bernice [Jesse’s wife] did worry some. Remember when we was sitting around the fire, just talking, you asked Bernice how she felt about being the dropoff for me and Jesse. She got very emotional, cried and everything. Not like Bemice to do that. All the stuff she pulled with Jesse as his dropoff driver and that—did it for him but didn’t like it. How she got scared, very scared, the one night when he nearly got popped and she has to wait several hours for him. That was the last time she dropped Jesse off. Said she always wanted Jesse to quit but also admitted she liked the extra money. Bernice was skittish about talking to you after that. More revelation than she wanted. I could tell you shook her.
I think I went out of my way to educate you. I did do some of that. Like going to the auctions. Just wanted to show you how easy it can be done to unload warm stuff. Or the hustling part, the buying part. Then the selling, getting rid of it. Wanted to show you for your own benefit. I just didn’t want you to know from me saying it or another joe blow telling. Wanted you to be able to say, “I seen it done.” I’m a firm believer in learning by seeing. Telling you is not like showing you. I did try to educate you.
I did get a kick out of one of the times you came with me to the auction, met Jesse and Rocky and Steelbeams there. Chubby came along too. Around Thanksgiving. Got there early in the morning. Rained the day before, then froze. Very chilly. You were dressed in a cowboy shirt and work shoes. New outfit. We razzed you about making yourself look like the auction crowd. Your shoes weren’t insulated, cheap K-Mart shoes, so your feet were freezing. We got a helluva kick out of that. The Professor, trying to look like the auction crowd, is freezing his dick off. We got a helluva kick out it. Jesse and them razzed you pretty good.
There were a few times, I had warm stuff in storage and wanted to unload at the auction and you were riding with me. You could not have gotten popped—cause you had no way of knowing. I didn’t do it for a charge, to rattle your cage. You were there, the stuff was there and I trusted you enough to do that.
I think I’m a good judge of people, of being able to analyze them and see which way they’re coming from. If I’m with somebody a couple of hours, I can tell if they are bullshit or not. Right off the bat I felt comfortable with you. Why, I don’t know. Your students would ask me that, too. “Why do you do this for Dr. Steffensmeier?” I told them I thought you was “good people.” That you had always done right by me. If I could help you out, I would do that. But I always got a kick out of their asking, “Why do you do this for the Professor?”1
Not that you pulled any strings but I do think your knowing the assistant DA played a part in my getting off the time I was popped for buying from Bobby Beck and his buddies. That was a bad rap anyway. Just the word of a couple of kids claiming they sold me warm stuff. But I still had to be leery ‘cause of my record. Assistant was from Penn State and knew you. I feel that made a difference.
I do know you helped with Becky after the [furlough] trip to American City. I am staying with her that weekend and she overhears me on the phone talking to Steelbeams. Finds out later I have been hooking up with him, Phil, and different ones during the weekend. Get back to the penitentiary, boom, says we should split, that I haven’t reformed. Had a major bug up her ass. I gave Becky your phone number and she talked to you. Your vouching for me I feel really helped ‘cause the letters and the visits from Becky were very regular after that. But she was keeping her distance, too,, mostly was going through the motions.
But we have always stayed in touch. She has even been calling me at the hospital and now at the house. This really pisses Wanda. She is very leery of Becky, that there is still something between us. I get a kick out of it.
That the book [The Fence] turned out good is a good feeling for me. Different ones have told me, “Hey, Sam, that book is you.” Not that they read all of it but enough to know. A lotta hours spent going over things, lotta work for you. Whichever way a question could be asked, you asked it. It is a good feeling for me that the book helped you get ahead, that it even got an award.
Rocky is the only thief to come by fairly regular. Is clean now for a couple of years. Do think Rocky has packed it in and all the way this time. Seeing me lying in that damn hospital bed shook him. Not that he won’t still chisel a little.
Jesse has come by only that one time. Didn’t stay long. “Hey, Sam, how the fuck you doing?” Blah, blah, and he was gone. Bernice will call but Jesse doesn’t get on the phone. I think it is too hard for Jesse to see me this way. That is what Bernice told Wanda, “Jesse doesn’t want to remember Sam that way.” I can see Jesse’s thinking. But still, if it was Jesse lying here like this, I think I would stop by. We go back a long ways, have been through a lot together.
Same as Jesse going on with the burglary but telling me he has packed it in. More than once I have thought about that [these past weeks]. In a way I was hurt ‘cause we was awfully close. That time he came to the hospital, I could tell he was uncomfortable. But in truthfulness it has hurt, his not coming by.
It is funny, lying in that hospital bed, how many times Jesse has run through my mind. The clipping we did, what we got away with, the close calls—even shot at a couple of times. This goes way back, Jesse and me clipped this house. Broke into a safe. We’re taking off, I spot this porcelain dishware. Whole set, very beautiful. Jesse is edgy, wants to get out of the place. But goes along we should carry it out. Turns out it is registered. Worth top dollar. But we can’t unload it. Even Scottie in Ocean City couldn’t help us. We are leery of hanging onto it and having to shop around. Was even some suspicion we had done it. So, we’re stuck. Jesse says, hell with it, we’re gonna dump it. Broke it up and buried the pieces. No way they could trace it to us. But to have to get rid of it that way, I can still feel the tears [Sam laughs].2
A few others [crime associates] have stopped once or twice, maybe because you brought them. Now, the Beck boys will stop by the shop and ask how I am doing. That is what I am told. But, no, I have not heard from Steelbeams or Bowie. Except that Chubby ran into Steelbeams at one of the auctions, and he said to say hello.
The other ones you ask about—like Phil or someone from the local clique in American City—I don’t feel bad about their not coming. I was pals with some of them but there was no real closeness there. I can’t say nothing bad about them. Ones like Angelo and Phil, sure they are gonna fuck some individuals like the shitass thieves. But treated me right.
The main ones who come by are people I know from my business. Benny, my partner, comes by couple of times a week. Tommy and George, and the other guys who work in my shop, will stop by. Different antique dealers would come by the hospital and sit with me, to give Wanda a break. Like Nicki and Log Cabin, the.antique guy. And Cooper, the auctioneer I’ve known all these years comes by. Puddy has visited pretty regular. Some of my regular customers, people I’ve done upholstery work for, would come by. Marge, the one neighbor lady would come. Is very religious. Would watch my booth sometimes at the big flea market in Hampton Square. Some of Wanda’s friends would come by. Hard for me to know who all came to visit ‘cause my lights were pretty dim. Wasn’t eating and the dope would put me to sleep. Just from what Wanda tells me, that there was always people stopping by.
Norm comes very regular. Is a main one for handling good antiques. This is something else I do regret, that I would have to say I feel bad about. Remember my telling you about clipping Norm’s place. Norm is good people. We have stayed pals all these years. I stopped by his shop to see him after I got out of the penitentiary this last time. He was friendly as hell. Has always sent a lot of work my way, would recommend me to other antique dealers—that I knew my business, could upholstery and doctor up pieces. I only used him that one time for the warm stuff, for the Louis XIV cabinet. Helped me make the contact but wasn’t comfortable doing it. Did it as a favor for me. Then, a year or so later, I’m at his shop and worked into our conversation that I ran across some dolls that go back fifty, seventy-five years. Described to Norm what I had, they had real hair and everything. He flat out told me, “Sam, I don’t want to get involved that way again.” Solid, it was no big deal.
He stopped by the house this last week. Is wanting to come by on Monday. To see you, too, if you can stay that long. It has never come up but I think he surmises, at least a little, I had his place robbed that time. Included a collection of dolls and a china tea set. Very nice. Found out later Norm was planning on giving the china to his wife for their anniversary. Did cross my mind to get it back but it was too late for that. Is this rank shit or not? We were pals already then. We’d stop at each other’s shop—oh, hell, maybe once or twice a week. This is one of the few things I am sorry about. Not that I am shedding tears or losing sleep over it but, yeah, I do feel bad about it.
I tease Wanda that she has a crush on him. He is a very kind man, very respectful towards women. You would want your daughter to marry him. He wouldn’t hurt a flea, that is how he is.
Connie [Sam’s ex-wife] comes a lot. Will usually come with my daughter. Other times she comes with her minister and they will pray over me. I go along with it. Wanted to come over today to pray with me. Told them you’d be here. Would have to wait until Monday. All these years, I still can’t get away from her. Really, I appreciate her coming. She is a good woman, a good mother to Amy. I helped financially and that but I wasn’t really a part of Amy’s life. Not like I shoulda been. Might stop by Connie’s house and take Amy for a ride in my truck, say, if I was delivering something. Other times, she’d come to my shop and I’d take her across the street for ice cream. The fact that I done time in the penitentiary was hard for her. Was some hurt there ‘cause her friends knew and would ask questions. Her mother did some bad-mouthing, too, which I probably deserved. Looking back, I was an okay dad but could of done better.
Different ones have prayed with me. Elaine, Elaine’s minister, Connie and her minister. But when Log Cabin’s wife prayed with me, I felt something. There was some strength there. She was the hot wire. Same with Elaine’s minister. They gave me strength. I felt it. Just this last week, after Mrs. Log Cabin had prayed with me. She had left. Listen to me, I’m laying in bed. We had prayed. Boy, I tell you what. It was hard for me to pull my fucking hand away. I said to myself, boy, if only this could be possible, if this could be true, that I could beat this fucking thing.
Maybe there is something to this. One night, everybody left. I can’t go to sleep. I’m laying there, my fucking shoulder is hurting like you wouldn’t believe. I’m in pain like you wouldn’t fucking believe. I prayed. It was like a big fucking black cloud came over me. Boy it scared me. It fucking scared me. I start getting better after that. Started eating. Was that an omen from up there? Or wasn’t it? I don’t know what it was. Supernatural or what. I cannot tell you what to make of it.
Do I pray now? No. I prayed a couple of times at the hospital. I more or less shun it. I really should pray ‘cause that is the only answer there is. It is over unless there is some miracle. But I don’t really believe in it. I don’t want to make a mockery out of it. I wouldn’t believe my own mockery. It is a hairy subject, very hairy. If there is a God, I don’t want to take any chances. Don’t want to knock the praying. But for me it would be a mockery.
I didn’t realize the cancer would go this fast, that it would end up this way. ‘Cause life means a whole lot to me now—the shop, my grandkids, Wanda being there all the way through this. What I’ve built up. I would really get a kick out of doing that study of American City [follow-up study of Sam’s criminal network Steffensmeier had considered doing]. If only I could lick this fucking thing.
I would help you all the way. Has it changed? Are the same people operating? In my eye, there are some new faces, but many of the same ones are still operating. The penny-ante thief and the ordinary burglar will be the ones that have packed it in. May sell a little dope or chisel here and there, but nothing major. The big ones are still at in American City, or they are dead. I hope I’m not blowing wind outta my ass ‘cause I would really enjoy doing that.
If it were only possible to lick this.
1. Sam also told the students that Steffensmeier liked to talk about his daughter, that his wallet was mostly pictures of her—”this is a connection between us, my knowing he is a ‘soft touch’ for kids.”
2. Jesse points out Sam’s reluctance to destroy the porcelain. “Sam didn’t want to. Should shop around, he has some contacts. I said, ‘No way.’ Sam was more willing to take the risk, harder for him to walk away from a dollar. That is why he gets jammed up more than me.”