DICTATED, SIGNED, SWORN, AND witnessed statement by Timothy O’Leary, 648 Halverston Drive, Roslyn, New York. This is transcription NYPD-SIS-#146-11, dated 7 September, 1968.
“On the night of thirty-one August of this year—that is, the night it was between the last day of August and the first of September, with Labor Day to come, it was that weekend—I come on duty at 535 East Seventy-third Street where I am doorman from midnight until eight in the morning.
“Being my usual custom, I arrived on the premises about ten minutes early, stopped to exchange the time of night with Ed Bakely, the lad I was relieving, and then I went down into the basement. There we have three lockers in the hallway that leads from the super’s apartment to the back basement rooms where are the boilers and such. I changed to my uniform which, in the summer, is merely a tan cotton jacket, and as I was wearing black pants, white shirt, and a black bow tie, the time was nothing.
“I come back upstairs and Ed goes down, to change back. Whilst he was gone, I took a look at the board where it is we keep messages and such. I saw that Dr. Rubicoff, he’s One B, was in his office and working late. And also there would be two friends of Eric Sabine, he’s Two A, staying in his apartment for the Labor Day weekend. Ed, then, came up—he was carrying his bowling ball in a little bag—and said he was off to his alley, and would be able to get in a few games with his mates before the alleys closed.
“No sooner was he gone, with me out on the street taking a breath of air, when a truck come slowly down the street—yes, from East End Avenue since that is how the street runs. Much to my surprise it made a slow turn and pulled into our service entrance, going all the way to the back where it stopped, and turned off motor and lights. As it went past me I saw it was a moving van of some kind—I remember seeing the word ‘moving’ painted on the side and surmised it either had the wrong address or perhaps some of my tenants was moving or was expecting a furniture delivery of some kind which struck me as strange considering the time of night it was and also, you understand, we would have it on the board if some tenant was expecting a night delivery.
“So I strolled back to where the truck was now parked and dark, and I says, ‘And what the hell do you think you are doing in my driveway?’
“No sooner was these words out of my mouth when I felt something on the back of my neck. Cool it was, metal and round. It could have been a piece of pipe, I suppose, but I surmised it was a gun. I was twenty years on the Force, and I am no stranger to guns.
“At the same time I felt the muzzle on my neck—a crawly feeling it was—the man holding the gun says, very cool, ‘Do you want to die?’
“‘No,’ I tells him, ‘I do not want to die.’ I was calm, you understand, but I was honest.
“‘Then you will do just what I tell you,’ he says, ‘and you will not die.’
“With that he walks me back to the service door, kind of prodding me with the muzzle of the gun, if that’s what it was, and I think it was, but not hurting me, you understand. All this time the truck was dark and quiet and I saw no other men. In fact, up to this time I had actually seen no one. Just felt the gun and heard the voice.
“He had me stand pressed face-up against the wall by the service door, the muzzle of the gun still in the middle of my neck. ‘Not a sound from you,’ he says.
“‘Not a sound you’ll get,’ I whispers to him.
“‘All right,’ he calls, and I hear the doors of the truck opening. Two doors open. In a minute I hear a rattle of chain and the sound of a tailgate flopping down. I saw nothing, nothing at all. I stared at the wall and said ‘Hail, Marys.’ I had the feeling others were standing about, but I turned my head neither to the right nor to the left. I heard footsteps walking away. All was quiet. No one spoke. In a moment I heard the buzzer and knew that someone inside the lobby was pressing the button that released the lock on the service door.
“I was prodded forward into the service entrance, the gun still at my neck, and told to lay on the concrete floor, which I did although I was sorry for soiling my uniform jacket and my trousers, which my wife Grace had pressed that very afternoon. I was told to cross my ankles and cross my wrists behind me. I did all this, just as I was told, but at this time I switched to ‘Our Father, Who art in Heavens. …’
“They used what I guess was a wide strip of adhesive tape. I could hear that sound of sticking as it came off the reel. They taped my ankles and my wrists, and then a strip was put across my mouth.
“At this time, the man—I think he was the man with the gun—he says to me, ‘Can you breathe okay? If you can breathe okay, nod your head.’
“So I nodded my head and blessed him for his consideration.”