The Anderson Tapes (28 page)

Up to this time, this was the extent of our casualties.

“When I ordered, ‘Cease fire!’, we determined that the gunman in the truck was dead (later certified as Edward J. Brodsky) and the driver of the truck (later certified as William K. Brodsky) suffered a broken shoulder as a result of the crash.”

NYPDSIS-#146-92A.

MRS. HATHWAY: Well, we were all across the hall in Apartment Four A when suddenly the shooting started. I would say it was about fifteen minutes after four in the morning.

MISS KALER: Closer to four thirty.

MRS. HATHWAY: I had my brooch watch, you silly thing, and it was almost four fifteen.

MISS KALER: Four thirty.

QUESTION: Ladies, please. What happened then?

MRS. HATHWAY: Well, this masked man who had been so mean and cruel rushed to the window and began firing his weapon. He broke the glass—and what a mess it made on the rug. And he fired his gun down into the street. And then… .

MISS KALER: And then there were these terrible explosions on the stairs and men shouting and everyone wondered what was happening. So I said we should all sit right where we were and not move, and that would be the best thing, and this ruffian kept shooting his gun out the window, and I was thankful we were not in our own apartment as I feared the policemen might fire an atomic rocket through the window and destroy just everything.

And just about then this other masked man came through the door and he was drawing a gun from his pocket and I thought he would also fire down through the window but he didn’t… .

NYDA-#146121AT.

BINGHAM: When the firing started, I suggested everyone get down on the floor. We all did except for the old ladies from across the hall who said they wouldn’t—or perhaps they couldn’t. In any event, they slumped in their chairs. The man who was guarding us fired his pistol out the window.

QUESTION: Was there any return fire, Mr. Bingham?

BINGHAM: No, sir, I do not believe there was. None that I was aware of. The man just kept firing his gun and cursing. I saw him reload at least once from a clip he took from his pocket. And then a few minutes later another masked man came into the apartment. I recognized him as the second man who had been in my apartment.

QUESTION: The man who told the first masked man to stop kicking you?

BINGHAM: Yes, that’s the one. Well, he came into the apartment right then and he was drawing a gun from his pocket.

QUESTION: What kind of a gun? Did you recognize it?

BINGHAM: It was a revolver, not a pistol. Big. I’d guess a .38. I couldn’t recognize the make.

QUESTION: All right. Then what?

BINGHAM: The second man, the man with the revolver who came in the door, said, “Socks.”

QUESTION: Socks? That’s all he said?

BINGHAM: Yes. He said, “Socks,” and the man at the window turned around. And the second man shot him.

QUESTION: Shot him? How many times?

BINGHAM: Twice. I was watching this very closely and I’m sure of this. He came through the door, taking his gun from his pocket. He said, “Socks,” and the man at the window turned around. And then the man coming in walked toward him and shot him twice. I could see the bullets going in. They plucked at his jacket. I think he shot him in the stomach and the chest. That’s where it looked to me where the bullets went in. The man at the window dropped his own gun and went down. He went down very slowly. As a matter of fact, he grabbed at the drapes at the window and pulled down a drape and the rod. I think he said “What?”—or maybe it was something else. It sounded like “Wha” or something like that. Then he was on the floor and this maroon drape was across him and he was bleeding and twisting. Jesus… .

QUESTION: Shall we take a break for a few minutes, Mr. Bingham?

BINGHAM: No. I’m all right. And then my wife was sick; she up-chucked. And one of the old ladies from across the hall fainted and one screamed, and the two faggots I didn’t know and had never seen before hugged each other, and Dr. Rubicoff looked like someone had sapped him. Holy God, what a moment that was.

QUESTION: And what did the killer do then?

BINGHAM: He looked at the man on the floor for a very brief moment.

Then he put the gun back in his pocket, turned around, and walked out of the apartment. I never saw him again. Strange you should call him a killer.

QUESTION: That’s what he was—wasn’t he?

BINGHAM: Of course. But at the moment I got the feeling he was an executioner. That’s the feeling I got—this man is an executioner, doing his job.

QUESTION: Then what happened?

BINGHAM: After he left? Dr. Rubicoff went over and knelt by the man who had been shot and examined his wounds and felt his pulse.

“Alive,” he said, “but not for long. This is very bad.” QUESTION: Thank you, Mr. Bingham.

BINGHAM: You’re welcome.

NYPDSIS recording #146-83C.

HASKINS: It was a lifetime, an eternity. All that noise and gunfire and confusion. But I did what Duke told me and stood there on the second-floor landing.

QUESTION: You trusted him?

HASKINS: Of course, you silly! If you can’t trust a man like Duke, who can you trust? So of course he came back down from the fourth floor, as I knew he would, and he said to me, “Better take your mask off, put your hands up, and go down slowly out the front door.” QUESTION: Why didn’t you do that? It was good advice.

HASKINS: I know it was, I know it was. I knew it was then. But I can’t explain to you how this man Anderson made me feel. He made me forget caution and made me willing to take a chance.

Do you understand?

QUESTION: I’m afraid not.

HASKINS: Oh, Tommy, Tommy—he gave me balls! Well, anyway, when I didn’t move, I could see him grin, and he said, “Out the back.” So we took off our masks and gloves, dashed down the stairs, out the service entrance, started climbing the back wall … and suddenly there were eighteen million screws with flashlights in our faces and guns firing, and then I had my hands in the air as far as I could reach and I was screaming, “I surrender! I surrender!” Oh, God, Tommy, it was so
dramatic!

QUESTION: And what happened to Anderson?

HASKINS: I really don’t know. One moment he was there beside me, and the next moment he was gone. He just simply disappeared.

QUESTION: But you trusted him?

HASKINS: Of course.

NYDA-#146-113A-114G, interrogation of Gerald Bingham, Jr.

WITNESS: The noise suddenly stopped. There was no more gunfire or shouts. It was very quiet. I thought it was all over. I was still lying in bed. I was very wet, sweating… . Then suddenly the front door slammed. He came running through the apartment, through my bedroom, and out onto the terrace. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me. But I knew it was him… .

Statement of Irving K. Mandelbaum, resident of Apartment 6C, 537

East Seventy-third Street, New York, New York. This transcription is coded NYPD-#146-IKM-123GT.

WITNESS: What a night. What a
night!
I mean, we didn’t go away for the weekend. We’ll stay in the city, I figured. We’ll have a nice, quiet weekend. No traffic. No hangups. No crowds. Everything will be nice and quiet. So we’re in bed. You understand? Five cops armed like the invasion of Normandy come through the bedroom and go out the window. Okay. I’m a good, law-abiding citizen. I’m with them. We get out of bed. Gretch, she goes into the bathroom while the cops pile through the window. At least one of the
shvartzes
has the decency to say, “Sorry about this, pal.” So then Gretch comes out of the bathroom and says, “Back to bed.” So then the fireworks start. Guns, lights, screams—the whole thing is right out of a Warner Brothers’ movie of the late 1930’s, which I really dig—you know, something with James Cagney and Chester Morris. We get out of bed. We’re watching all this from the front windows, you understand. It’s very exciting.

What a weekend! Then everything dies down. No more guns. No more yells. So Gretch says, “Back to bed!” So we go. About five minutes later a guy comes through the bedroom window, hoisting himself up and climbing in. He’s got a gun in his hand. Gretch and I get out of bed. He says, “One word out of you and you’re dead.” So naturally I didn’t even agree with him. A second later and he’s gone. Gretch says, “Back to bed?” And I said, “No, dear. I think at this moment I will drink a quart of Scotch.” Oh boy.

Statement of Officer John Similar, Shield 35674262, driver of car George Nineteen. Document NYPD-#146332S.

“I was stationed with my partner, Officer Percy H. Illingham, 45768392, in car George Nineteen closing the exit at East Seventy-third Street and East End Avenue. We had been ordered to place our car across Seventy-third Street to prevent exit from or entrance to the street. We had been informed of the action that was taking place.

“At approximately thirty minutes after four A.M. on the morning of 1

September, 1968, a male (white, about six feet, 180 pounds, black jacket and pants) approached us, walking on the sidewalk, the south sidewalk of East Seventy-third Street. Percy said, ‘I better check him out.’ He opened the door on his side of the car. As he emerged onto the street, the man drew a weapon from his pocket and fired directly at Officer Illingham. Officer Illingham dropped to the pavement. Later investigation proved that he had been killed.

“I thereupon got out of the car on my side and fired three times at the suspect with my service revolver (Serial Number 17189653) as he fired one shot at me which hit me in the thigh and caused me to fall to the pavement. He then began to run, and while I was trying to line up another shot at him, he disappeared around the corner of Seventy-third Street and East End Avenue.

“I did what I could.”

The following manuscript has been made available through the cooperation of its author, Dr. Dmitri Rubicoff, psychiatrist, with offices at 535 East Seventy-third Street, New York City. It is a portion of a speech Dr. Rubicoff delivered on the evening of 13 December, 1968, at a meeting of the Psychopathology Society of New York. This is an informal association of psychiatrists and psychologists in the New York area, which meets at irregular intervals to dine at one of the larger Manhattan hotels, to exchange “shop talk,” and to hear an address by one of its members which then becomes the subject of a round-table discussion.

The speech from which the following remarks are excerpted (with the permission of Dr. Rubicoff) was delivered by him at the meeting of the society held in the Hunt Room of the President Fillmore Hotel. It is quoted exactly from the typed transcript of the speech made available to the author by Dr. Rubicoff.

“Madam Chairman—although I have long thought that title something of a sexual anomaly!

(Pause for laughter)

“Fellow members, and ladies and gentlemen. After such a dinner, a belch might be more in order than a speech!

(Pause for laughter)

“May I interject at this time that I feel we all owe a vote of thanks to the Entertainment Committee which arranged such a Lucullan feast.

(Pause for applause)

“Indeed, I’m certain you’ll sympathize with me if I question whether their motive was to feed you well or to dull your sensibilities to my remarks that follow!

(Pause for small laughter)

“In any event, it is now my turn to offer the intellectual dessert to such a delightfully physical meal, and I shall do my best.

“As some of you, I’m sure, are aware, I was recently one of the victims of a crime which took place in the City of New York during the late evening and early morning of August 31 and September 1 of this year.

My remarks this evening shall concern my thoughts about that crime, about crime in general, and what our profession can contribute to the amelioration of crime in our society.

“I can assure you my remarks will be brief—very brief!

(Possible pause for applause)

“These thoughts I offer to you are pure theory. I have done no research on the subject. I have consulted no hallowed authorities. I merely offer them as what I feel are original ideas—reactions to my experience, if you will—that will serve as subject for the discussion to follow.

Needless to say, I shall be extremely interested in your reactions.

“First, let me say that it is hardly new to suggest that sexual aberrations are the underlying motivations for criminal behavior. What I would like to suggest at this time is a much closer relationship between sex and crime. In fact, I suggest that crime—in modern society—has become a substitute for sex.

“What is crime? What is sex? What have they in common? I suggest to you that both share a common characteristic—a
main
characteristic—of penetration. The bank robber forces his way into a vault. The housebreaker forces his way into a house or apartment.

The mugger forces his way into your wallet or purse. Is it his intention to penetrate your body—your privacy?

“Even the more complex crimes include this motive of penetration.

The confidence man invades his victim’s wealth—be it wall safe or savings account. The criminal accountant rapes the firm for which he works. The public servant bent on fraud invades the body of society.

“Indeed, a term used for the most common of crimes—breaking and entering—is a perfect description of the deflowering of a virgin.

“So I suggest to you this evening that the commission of a crime is a substitute for the sexual act, committed by persons who consciously, unconsciously, or subconsciously derive extreme pleasure from this quasi-sexual activity.

“The crime having been committed—what then? The sex act having been finished—what then? In both cases, what follows the penetration is similar. Escape and withdrawal. Getting out. Frantic departure and sometimes a difficult disentangling, be it physical or emotional.

“I suggest to you that the
commission
of the sex crime—and I am convinced that
all
crimes are sex crimes—is easiest for the disturbed protagonist. The
withdrawal
, the escape, is much more difficult.