Mac began to seek what knowledge he could on such short notice about the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and the Longshoremen Union. He had an old Harvard chum in Naval Intelligence, Buddy McGee, so he figured he would start there. They agreed to meet at the Riverside Restaurant under the Brooklyn Bridge, quite close to the Navy Yard, where Buddy worked, that same day. Mac assured his good friend that he would pick up the tab on his firm, knowing full well that the bill would far exceed his good friend's ability to pay, on his government salary.
At noon, Mac headed by cab across the Brooklyn Bridge, proceeding to the waterfront. In the middle of this warehouse area, sat the beautiful white one-story restaurant, hugging the waterline just south of the Navy Yard. The cab pulled up into the circular driveway, through the green hedges, and ornate statuary, letting Mac out by the front door of the restaurant. The valet opened his door for him, inviting him into the charming building. The wind was whipping up off Wallabout Bay, blowing Mac's hair amiss, but cooling down the air. Mac knew he had to start wearing hats, but it was too hot now, and he would sure to sweat through them anyway. There were big fresh flower arrangements all over the lobby, which amazed Mac, given that they were not wilted in the summer heat. He was shown to a table by the full-length windows overlooking the New York harbor, where his friend Buddy was already waiting, with a drink in his hand.
Buddy was Mac's age, but he looked older, more seasoned. He wore a rumpled poplin suit, clearly presenting himself as a guy who didn’t mind getting dirty when necessary. He looked like a young savvy executive, but his highly buffed shoes gave him away as military.
“I would have ordered a drink for you, old man, but I was not sure if you were still drinking that single malt poison? That stuff will kill you,” continued Buddy, as a rather large freight ship passed by the window abutting their table, undoubtedly on its way to the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
“A single malt will be fine, although it is a bit early. I have never been one to pass up an opportunity for a good stiff drink, though. What is that you are drinking, Buddy? It looks like a lady's drink. What, no umbrellas?”
Buddy laughed, as the good friends often did at each other's expense. They ordered from the menu, as they nursed their drinks, and smoked a few butts. After the first course salads were brought to the table, and after they had a chance to catch up a bit, Mac began to tell Buddy the official reason for this meeting.
“I need to know whatever you can tell me about the Navy Yard and the Unions. My boss gave me this assignment, and I need some background.”
“Well, my friend, much of that stuff is secret, as you must know. I am not sure how much I can tell you?”
“I do not need anything that would be considered secret. Just give me the general low down. I must attend a meeting tomorrow, and I want to seem like I know what I am talking about.”
“What is the meeting about, Mac?”
“Now that is secret, Buddy,” laughed Mac. “It's just something the firm has me looking into fixing.”
“Touché! Ok, fair enough. I will tell you what I can tell you.”
Buddy began to tell Mac about the Brooklyn Navy Yard, which was not its official name. It was known as the New York Naval Shipyard in official circles, but everyone referred to it as the BNY, or the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
“The actual Navy Yard itself, despite its many buildings and ship building facilities, is only a relatively small portion of the New York Harbor, which stretches over 400 square miles of water, from the bottom belly of Brooklyn, through all the Boroughs, and most of Northern New Jersey. The Port ships food and other staples, along with munitions and war supplies, around the world, with the munitions and ship supplies coming from the Naval Yard itself. Supposedly, the Harbor, with its naturally deep channels, is large enough to hold all the world's ships afloat at one time.”
“The Naval Yard itself consists of some 300 buildings, give or take, 9 piers, 2 shipways, 7 dry docks, 30 miles of Railroad tracks connecting all these buildings, piers and dry docks, plus over 5 miles of paved roads, 6 miles of paved sidewalks, lots of bars, and places for the workers to spend their hard earned money, if you know what I mean,” Buddy went on, with a little bit of a chuckle.
“Yeah, I get it,” said Mac, now understanding the interest of Charlie Luciano, and his friends.
“I am sure you have heard of Sand Street? Well, let's just say that the Navy guys say they want to go there when they die. Lots of bars, dance halls, and painted ladies, all overseen by “the boys.” Nothing happens on Sand Street, not to mention in the Naval Yard, that the boys do not know about, and have a hand in.”
“Anyway, most of the fifty old four stack destroyers that Roosevelt intends to ship to Great Britain are sitting in the slips, being readied to transverse the ocean to their intended homes, when the workers get to doing it, that is. Things move kind of slowly here. The Navy Yard employs mostly a civilian work force, under military command. However, everyone understands who the boss on the waterfront is, and it isn’t the military. The Unions are loosely in charge, by controlling the work of their workers. But we all know who controls the Unions. So, unless you get the cooperation of all involved, nothing moves around here.”
“I understand,” said Mac, continuing to listen without interruption.
“Since it was announced that there would be an accelerated construction schedule back in May, with the starting of a second shift, it became even harder to control the workers. There is plenty of work for everyone. The Depression is quite literally over in Brooklyn. I have heard that even women have been hired recently, mostly working in the sewing shops, making 300 different kinds of flags, hemming tablecloths, and making drapery for the officers’ bunks in the ships. Rumor has it that they are considering putting women to work in the ship fitting and welding areas, as they are good at using their smaller hands to get the work done better than men can. They are talking about increasing the workforce to seventy-five thousand workers, with a payroll of between fifteen and sixteen million dollars. Not only does no one fear losing their job if he does not work fast enough, but the underworld sees dollar signs, given the increased workforce, with money to spend on liquor and women, the burgeoning Union dues, and whatever else they can steal.”
“Work does go on, however. We are in the process of building another battleship, the Missouri, along with finishing up the work to get the North Carolina fitted for Commission. It takes over a year between launching a battleship and getting it fully outfitted for commission, particularly with how slowly these guys work. There are also contracts for various other ships, landing craft, and what have you. Primarily, however, the Navy Yard is responsible for ship repairs, which attracts ships from all over the world. The place is very busy, despite the workers taking their sweet ass time.”
“I understand,” said Mac, genuinely appreciative for all the information. “That gives me a pretty good idea of what is happening over here. You will have made me look real good tomorrow.”
Mac now understood the importance of getting Lucky Luciano on board, and what it would take to do so. As he was incarcerated, the money aspect was not as important as his freedom, and his ability to stay in control of the waterfront from where he was in the meantime.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” said Buddy, as he finished off his coffee, and his cigarette. “This was a really nice lunch, but I need a nap now.”
“Me too,” chuckled Mac. “Perhaps you were right about the single malts.”
The two friends finished their lunch, laughing over old times, and their adventures since. Buddy told Mac about his job for the Naval Intelligence Unit, and how exciting it was to be out front like that, with the war obviously on the horizon. He was looking to get into espionage in Europe, but his language abilities were not yet up to snuff.
“What about you, Mac?” You would be great at it. You speak like a hundred languages, don’t you?”
“Not that many,” laughed Mac, “but I have considered it. I think my bosses are pushing me in that direction. The Dulles brothers are very involved with that kind of thing. I hear they are even talking about starting a separate Intelligence outfit outside the strictures of the Navy, where more aggressive measures can be clandestinely taken against our potential enemies, without the necessary formalities of the military.”
“Well, you should consider it. If war comes, it will beat being drafted into the infantry. There are many ways to serve your country, Mac.”
Mac nodded at this friend without word, fully appreciating the opportunity that could be there for him.