Showing posts with label Leon Gleckman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leon Gleckman. Show all posts

16 April 2023

A Biography of Leonardo Shapiro, Part 1

 

[I met Leonardo Shapiro on 28 June 1986 in Baltimore when I interviewed him at the Theatre of Nations international theater festival, sponsored biennially at that time by the International Theatre Institute, an arm of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). 

[Shapiro’d brought his theater troupe, The Shaliko Company, to present their current production, The Yellow House, at the first TON to be held in North America.  (It’s still the only time TON has been hosted on this continent.)  The avant-garde director was one of the artists I spoke to formally for my coverage of the festival for my newsletter, Directors Notes, the house organ of the American Directors Institute, a service organization for artistic and stage directors (now defunct).  I was also writing an article on the festival for The Drama Review.

[(My report was published as “World Theater Artists Meet in Baltimore” in Directors Notes in September 1986; “Theatre of Nations” ran in TDR in the spring issue of 1987.  I republished my longer TDR version of the report on Rick On Theater as “Theatre of Nations: Baltimore, 1986” on 10 November 2014.)

[I’d been so impressed with Yellow House that I began to keep tabs on Shapiro’s and Shaliko’s work.  I saw a number of their shows until, in 1992, Richard Schechner, who’d been one of my professors in New York University’s Department of Performance Studies and was at the time also the editor of The Drama Review, asked me to write a profile of Shapiro and his company for the journal.

[For the rest of that year, I shadowed Shapiro, dug through his files; collected articles by and about him; interviewed him several times; watched videos of past productions; and interviewed his colleagues, company and cast members, Shaliko board members, and others who knew him, his work, and aspects of his life. 

[The immediate result, of course, was the TDR profile, "Shapiro and Shaliko: Techniques of Testimony," which was published in The Drama Review winter issue of 1993 (37.4 – T140).  Beyond that, I had collected hundreds of documents, video and audio tapes, notes, and random pieces of information on Shapiro’s past, Shaliko, and most of his activities before and after the New York company.

[Since I started ROT, I’ve posted many articles about Shapiro and his theater.  I realized, however, that I’ve never written much about his biography.  I decided to remedy that oversight, and below is the beginning of the outcome.  There’s a caveat, however.  I really only knew Leonardo Shapiro as a maker of theater, so there’s little content about love affairs, friendships, his marriage and son, and the like.

[There is, though, quite a lot about his theater work.  Now, while I do cover his productions, there are many of the most important ones for which I give only the briefest description.  That’s because those particular shows have been the subjects of detailed posts of their own.  I’ve cross-referenced those posts and interested readers should go to them separately if they want more information.  (I’ve also cross-referenced other past posts that relate to Shapiro, such as some of his theater techniques that I’ve discussed on ROT.)

[The Shapiro bio turned out to be longer than I anticipated when I started out.  Leonardo Shapiro led a life that was short, but crowded with incident.  Therefore, I’ll be posting this piece in sections.  “A Biography of Leonardo Shapiro” will run in eight parts, one every three days, starting today, 16 April, and continuing through Sunday, 7 May.  Part 2 will be published on Wednesday, 19 April.

[One last point: I’ve kept an annotated copy of the bio with all my sources recorded.  I’ll be glad to share this information with anyone who wants it, but you should be aware that most of the sources I used are primary—interviews, notes of conversations, e-mails, letters, and so on.  The only extant copies of these sources are in my personal files. 

[Other sources are rare, such as documents from Shapiro’s records for Shaliko and the Trinity/La MaMa Performing Arts Program, and aren’t easily accessible anywhere but my files.  Still others are just hard to find, such as clippings from small-town newspapers, obscure publications, or various archives around the country.

[One resource even I didn’t have is now available—if you can come to New York City to consult it, however.  The Leonardo Shapiro papers are now in the Billy Rose Theatre Division archives at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.  The call number for the collection is *T-Mss 1998-019 (go to archives.nypl.org -- Leonardo Shapiro papers).

[Because of the prominence of New York City, especially its borough of Manhattan, in this history, a brief overview of the city for the benefit of readers unfamiliar with its layout would be helpful.  First, as most know, New York City is made up of five boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and the Bronx.  Of these, only Manhattan and, briefly, Brooklyn and Queens figure in this discussion. 

[Brooklyn, which used to be a separate city and is the most populous borough, was the site of Shapiro’s residence.  It lies at the western tip of Long Island, west of Queens and across the East River from lower Manhattan. 

[Queens, New York’s largest borough, also lies east of Manhattan across the East River on Long Island between Brooklyn to the south and west and Nassau County to the north and east.  The area known as Hunters Point, where a Shaliko production of Mystery History Bouffe Goof was presented, is part of the neighborhood of Long Island City, on the East River where the Newtown Creek divides Queens from Brooklyn, directly across from mid-town Manhattan at 34th Street (south of the Queens-Midtown Tunnel). 

[New York is also a city of distinct neighborhoods.  In Manhattan, those named in this post, the borough’s principal art and performance venues, are as follows:

•  East Village, The Shaliko Company’s home territory: from East 14th Street south to Houston and Fifth Avenue east to the East River (including the section now known as NoHo at the southern end)

•  Greenwich Village (sometimes called the West Village or, simply, the Village): on the island’s west side between 14th Street on the north and Houston Street on the south, from Fifth Avenue on the east to the Hudson River on the west

•  SoHo (which stands for South of Houston) stretches from Houston Street south to Canal Street and from the Bowery west to the Hudson River

•  Chelsea: from West 14th Street on the south to 30th on the north and from Sixth Avenue on the east to the Hudson

•  Theatre District: centering on Times Square, extending north from West 40th to 53rd Street and west from Sixth to Ninth Avenue; Theatre Row, home to many Off-Broadway theaters and companies, is West 42nd Street between 9th and 10th Avenues (officially; unofficially it now extends to 11th Avenue)

•  Times Square (not geometrically a square; closer to two triangles emanating north and south from West 45th Street, where north-south Seventh Avenue intersects northwest-southeast Broadway): formed by the intersection of Broadway, Seventh Avenue, and West 42nd Street; with adjacent Duffy Square, Times Square is a bowtie-shaped space five blocks long between 42nd and 47th Streets; Duffy Square is the northern triangle of Times Square, bounded by 45th and 47th Streets, Broadway, and Seventh Avenue (known for the TKTS reduced-price theater tickets booth)

•  Lower East Side (also often called Loisaida because of the predominantly Spanish-speaking population): formerly including what is now the East Village and NoHo, now running from the Bowery on the west to the East River and south from East Houston Street to Canal (on the southwest) and the East River (on the southeast).]

Leo Richard Shapiro was born on 7 January 1946 in Saint Paul, Minnesota.  (He would adopt his professional name, Leonardo, many years later.)  His mother, Florence (1913-94), recalled that he was an active and inquisitive child—walking and talking before he was a year old, spending a great deal of time outdoors, and demanding attention from visitors to his parents’ home.  

Florence and Leo’s father, Irving (1912-74), separated in 1949 and subsequently divorced in 1951.  Florence noted that Leo became difficult and hard to handle after her divorce.  Where he’d been “full of the devil” but “warm and loving” before, Florence Shapiro said, after the separation, the boy’s antics became “more malicious.” 

Shapiro’s childhood in Saint Paul and, especially, Miami, where his mother moved with Leo and his older brother, Gary (b. 1941), was clearly stressful and difficult and in it lie many clues to his subsequent behavior, both personal and professional. 

According to his recollections and those of his mother, the fault lay largely with Irving, whom Florence married in 1935.  When the young couple became engaged, Leon Gleckman (1894-1941), Florence’s father, hired Irving at the Republic Finance Company, the loan company Gleckman had started with the money he’d made as a bootlegger. 

(The accounts of the years of Florence Shapiro’s marriage to Irving and of Leo Shapiro’s childhood, especially in regard to his father, are almost entirely from their perspective as recalled decades later.  Other members of the Shapiro family, notably Florence and Irving’s eldest son, Gary, remember this family history differently and recount it with a variant interpretation.)

Gleckman, known as “the Al Capone of Saint Paul” because he controlled the illegal liquor business in Minnesota’s capital city, was a notorious—and, apparently, beloved—figure in the Prohibition-era Saint Paul underworld of the 1920s and ’30s.  (See my post on Rick On Theater, “Leon Gleckman: The Al Capone of Saint Paul,” 29 September 2018.)

(Gleckman’s criminal history is largely recounted in Paul Maccabee’s John Dillinger Slept Here: A Crooks’ Tour of Crime and Corruption in St. Paul, 1920-1936 [Minnesota Historical Society Press, 1995].  A musical play, Last Hooch at the Hollyhocks by Lance Belville [1935-2020], was performed at the Saint Paul Arts and Science Center in 1990.  It featured Leon Gleckman as a character, and one of Florence’s younger sisters attended a performance.  The Hollyhocks Club was a saloon owned by Jack Peifer [1898-1936], Gleckman’s rival and friend from Minneapolis.)

Something of a dandy and a man-about-town, Gleckman ran several legitimate businesses—such as a tire store, a wallpaper store, a Cord-Auburn dealership, and the loan company (which was certainly a money-laundering operation)—as well as a political machine which put selected politicians in local offices. 

After Gleckman’s death in 1941, Irving Shapiro ran the loan company and started a number of other enterprises.  He was, in fact, quite prosperous, despite the straits in which Florence and their children lived after she and her husband divorced.  “He cried poor and lived rich,” Florence protested.

(Irving Shapiro’s business interests included ownership of the historic Hamm Building at 408 St. Peter Street in Saint Paul, in which Republic Finance, an automobile loan firm, was located; a chain of used car lots called Kennedy Motors; a Hudson automobile agency in Saint Paul; and the Gale (for his sons, Gary and Leo) Chrysler-Plymouth dealership in Fargo, North Dakota.  

(Details of Gleckman’s death in an automobile accident on 14 July 1941—and more of his criminal record—are related in “Gleckman, Ex-City Boss, Dies in Crash,” Saint Paul Dispatch 14 July 1941.  It’s very likely that Gleckman’s single-car accident—he ran into a bridge abutment—was suicide. 

(Shapiro once confided to me that Arthur Miller’s [1915-2005] Death of a Salesman held special meaning for him; it may have been significant to Shapiro that Willy Loman’s death in the play, also a suicide, was nearly identical to Gleckman’s.)

When Gleckman went to prison on tax charges, he’d transferred his stock to his daughter.  Officially, Irving Shapiro was just an employee of Republic Finance; he and Gleckman had had an oral agreement about his earnings participation but he had no ownership rights.

(Leon Gleckman had been convicted of federal charges stemming from his illegal liquor business, and sent to the federal penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas, twice, once in 1927 for six months of an 18-month sentence on charges of liquor conspiracy and again in 1934 for 18 months for tax evasion. 

(Gleckman was facing a potential third term in prison at the time of his death.  There’d also been state and local charges of bribery of a juror for which Gleckman had served six months in Minneapolis in 1938.  In January 1940, Gleckman had also been convicted in New York in a Brooklyn bank fraud case and sentenced to six months in jail.)

After his father-in-law’s death, Irving couldn’t use Gleckman’s assets to secure loans so he insisted his wife sign everything over to him “so we can make money.”  When Florence resisted, he flew into a terrifying rage and assaulted her. 

Florence fled the house, but when she returned home, she made a decision she later came to regret: at her husband’s suggestion, she signed her holdings over to their elder son, Gary, less than a year old at the time.  Thus, she lost de facto control of the family businesses and income to her husband; when he reached the age of 21, Gary signed everything over to his father and Florence lost de jure control.  In later years, Leonardo Shapiro would deem that his father had stolen the family’s money.

Both Leonardo and Florence Shapiro asserted that after Irving started making money, he became “self-important” and “domineering.”  He’d always had a quick and sometimes violent temper, and Florence affirmed that he’d never really wanted children.  Despite this, she added, once his sons were born, he focused on them. 

He wasn’t good at taking the boys out to play catch, she said, “but the sun rose and set on you two kids.”  Although Shapiro insisted that he had no recollection of having lived with his father, he does have vivid images of his father’s physical and emotional abuse.  Florence averred, Irving did whatever he wanted “no matter what” and he began taking business trips and vacations without his family. 

On one trip to Hawaii in probably 1949 (according to Gary Shapiro’s reckoning), he met Lee Hoffman (1929-2002), a younger woman—Florence Shapiro thought Hoffman was only 17 at the time, though she was actually 19 or 20—with whom he began an affair.  In 1949, when Florence and Irving Shapiro separated, she recorded that her husband told her he didn’t love her and realized he never had.   

(Hoffman—who was related to actor Dustin Hoffman [b. 1937] through her mother's second marriage—and Irving Shapiro, then 36 or 37, met on a cruise ship to the island territory.  Hoffman, accompanied by her mother, had been a student at a post-high school finishing school at the time.  The couple divorced around 1966, Gary Shapiro reported, and Irving remarried again around 1970.  He was a widower at the time of his death in 1974.)

The Shapiros were divorced in June 1951, and Florence moved with her children to Miami.  Irving and Florence had been married for 15 years, and Leo was 5½ years old.  In July, Irving Shapiro married Hoffman.           

In Florida, Florence and the two young brothers were pretty much isolated—except, at various times, for Blackie, Leo’s cocker spaniel; two parakeets; two turtles; and a goldfish—because Irving had forbidden his family to visit. 

Even Florence’s family found reasons not to come to her support and she couldn’t stand up to her former husband, who, she said, “could be very charming, a lot of fun, but he could turn it on and off like night and day.”  If she brought home something decent to wear, she recorded, she’d have to return it while Irving always had tailor‑made suits. 

With her loss of control of the family income Florence had financial problems and she and Irving constantly argued over money.  Irving Shapiro became more impressed with himself: when, for instance, he decided that the socks Leo wore weren’t good enough, he bought his son cashmere ones—and then deducted the cost from his child-support payments.  To pay expenses her allowance didn’t cover, Florence sold the diamond ring that her mother had given her.

(Florence Shapiro reported that at the same time that Irving was gaining control of her assets, her mother, Leon Gleckman’s widow, sold her shares of her husband’s businesses to her son-in-law for $2,000.  It became Florence’s responsibility to make the monthly maintenance payments to her mother which had previously come from Mrs. Gleckman’s own holdings.  Rose Gleckman died on 8 May 1962.)

Leo’d never had emotional problems before the divorce and Irving’s remarriage, according to Florence, but afterwards, tension in the family increased and the boy began to show its effect. 

When Leo was little, his mother affirmed, he was very affectionate, forever laughing and smiling—though he was constantly “into things.”  He had been very active, always climbing up poles or over the furniture; he had to be watched all the time for fear he would hurt himself.  The boy was wild and mischievous—his mother compared him to the comic-strip character Dennis the Menace (whom Shapiro insisted he never found funny)—and Florence didn’t know how to handle him. 

Florence related one episode from her son’s infancy in which he pulled out the drawers of a chest and started climbing them like steps until the chest fell over.  She described how her son would climb up on the bathroom sink and shave with his father’s razor and, later, in Florida, how he would disappear into the men’s room at Wolfie’s, the famous delicatessen restaurant in Miami Beach, only to be discovered washing his hair so he could dry it under the hand dryer.  At a Lincoln Road travel agency in Miami, there was a window display of an airplane circling the globe; Leo would ride the plane.

Unfailingly sweet and nice, little Leo really liked people and frequently wanted to give gifts to his parents’ friends.  Until he was three, everything had been fairly normal, Florence said, but after his parents’ separation and divorce, he started taking his unhappiness out on others.  “Apparently the separation was hurting you,” Shapiro’s mother observed, “and it was coming out in other ways.” 

Leo’s behavior deteriorated, and he became hard to manage.  He’d regularly come home with little presents for his mother—then she found out he was shoplifting.  He fought viciously with his brother over inconsequentialities like a ping-pong game and his mother recalled that one time Leo took the framed wedding picture of his father and Lee Hoffman and broke it.

Other incidents that Florence recounted include Leo’s throwing an egg at a neighbor's house out of jealousy “because they were a family.”  He also cut the flowers out of the living room draperies with scissors and drew pictures with crayons on his bedroom lampshade. 

When a babysitter wanted Leo to do something he didn’t want to do, he picked up a baseball bat and, later, he was expelled from Cub Scouts for hitting the Pack Leader on the head with a rock.  We’ll see later that this behavior may have been in part symptoms of hyperactivity/attention-deficit disorder, a childhood condition that wasn’t well known when Shapiro was a child.

There were also constant problems at school.  When a teacher failed Leo in reading and Florence went to see what was wrong, the teacher complained that the boy had read a whole book the first day it was assigned instead of one page a day as she’d specified and that he kept his homework uncol­lected in his desk. 

At another school, a teacher complained that he would continually tell her she was wrong.  (Florence recorded that the teacher was wrong, but added that that didn’t help the situation.)  At a private school, one teacher reported Leo sat looking out of the window not paying attention, while another said he was a leader.  On a different occasion, a schoolmate had Leo’s report card and wouldn’t give it to him and Leo tore the child’s shirt.  He was suspended from another school for hitting a teacher with a ruler. 

In another incident, Leo stayed home from school with a virus but didn’t seem to be getting better.  When the truant officer came to see why the boy hadn’t returned, Florence discovered that Leo’d been dumping his medication in the closet.  He was afraid to go back, he protested, because a schoolmate was threatening him with a knife.

Part of this problem may have been that, as one psychologist determined, though Leo was still emotionally a child, he was functioning intellectually at a college level.

Between 1951 and 1960, Shapiro attended eight different schools—including the Windsor Mountain School, to which he transferred in 1960 as a sophomore.  (He went to one school twice, separated by a year at another school.)  He never went to the same school for more than two years and most he attended for one year or even less. 

In 1956, in an attempt to impart some order to their son’s schooling, Florence and Irving transferred Leo to the Admiral Farragut Academy, a military school in St. Petersburg, Florida, for sixth grade.  It was an expensive decision, but Leo resisted the regimentation and, though he made good grades at Farragut, kept threatening to run away. 

Though he returned to the public schools the next year, Shapiro remembered that he was introduced to theater while he was at Farragut, recounting that for punishment he was sent to a room in the basement of the main building that was beneath the theater. 

He could hear the student actors rehearsing above him, and found himself drawn to this new form of expression.  (Shapiro told a similar story of hearing rehearsals at the Windsor Mountain School, the prep school in Massachusetts where he finished high school—this time through the wall of his dorm room.) 

It was at Farragut, too, that Leo became aware of his religious roots, discovering his Judaism and joining a synagogue.  Shapiro said that he was one of only two Jews at Farragut, and this sense of isolation, of being an outsider, may have turned his attention to the faith of his family.

As early as second grade, one headmaster noted that Leo’s behavior changed markedly when his father was in town—the boy would throw chairs and act out in school—and suggested Leo get psychiatric treatment.  The suggestion angered Irving Shapiro who insisted his son leave the school. 

By seventh grade, the boy began getting physically ill, the bouts of illness invariably coming after Leo’d spent time with his father.  On one occasion that Shapiro recalled specifically, he spent a day with his father at the Thunderbird Motel in Miami Beach.  He was sick in bed all day while his father was at the pool and when Irving came back to the room, his son remembered, he hit the boy for being ill. 

The stress was pervasive: the night before Gary graduated from high school in 1959, Leo threw up.  Florence learned that Leo had developed an ulcer.  He was not yet 14.

Florence had thought Leo was suffering from hyperthyroidism, or Graves’ disease, which results in elevated metabolism and activity.  At first, doctors tried a mild sedative, but that made the boy worse.  Then a big change came over Leo when another doctor started giving him Dexedrine, a stimulant prescribed today for attention-deficit disorder and hyperactivity. 

It should be noted, however, that potential ADHD—one of the most common childhood behavior problems—wasn’t the only psychological difficulty with which Shapiro would be associated.  Later in life, he would take Prozac, an anti-depressant, and Rosalía Triana (b. 1946), his last romantic partner, reported that Shapiro’d been “diagnosed” with borderline personality disorder (BPD) with narcissistic tendencies.    

As children, most people with BPD are emotionally unstable, impulsive, and often bitter or angry, although their chaotic impulsiveness and intense emotions may make them popular at school.  At first, they may impress people as stimulating and exciting, but their relationships tend to be unstable and explosive.

Common aspects of the narcissistic tendencies also line up with Shapiro’s behavior: “a grandiose sense of self-importance”; “seek[ing] excessive admiration from others and fantasiz[ing] about unlimited success or power”; a belief of being “special, unique, or superior to others”; an “often . . . fragile self-esteem.” 

(I have no confirmation of a medical determination of BPD for Shapiro, though it’s certain that Shapiro, himself, provided Triana this revelation; neither Shapiro nor his mother mentioned the condition and Shapiro was already dead when I learned of this, so I couldn’t ask him. 

(Even though the symptoms seem to match Shapiro’s behavior, I have no expertise in the fields of psychology or psychoanalysis, so this suggestion is speculative despite Triana’s assertion.  The diagnosis of ADHD, however—though that name wasn’t used at the time of Shapiro’s childhood—and the prescriptions for Dexedrine and Prozac are all confirmed by either Shapiro‘s or his mother’s reports.) 

As soon as he started using Dexedrine, Leo calmed down and despite all his problems, his mother said Leo seemed a happy child.  In his “up mood,” everybody loved Leo: he was attractive and charming, hardworking and energetic, winning prizes and generally aston­ishing people with his accomplishments. 

Leo tirelessly played cowboys-and-Indians with another child—Florence didn’t record whether her son was more often the cowboy or, given his life-long fascination, the Indian—and rode his bicycle all over the neighborhood with Blackie, the spaniel puppy that Irving Shapiro’s business partner had given him for his first birthday back in Saint Paul, chasing behind.

The boy’s interest in Native Americans began, he asserted, when he attended Camp Thunderbird in Bimidji, Minnesota (“home of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox”), in the summers of 1954 through 1957.  There he learned “Navajo riding songs, wood craft, quillwork, the hoop dance, and campfire etiquette.”

“For three years, I wanted to be an Indian,” Shapiro wrote later.  “I made ceremonial regalia, did beadwork, danced, carried a tomahawk to school, scalped the principal, took back the country, drove out the white man, restored the buffalo, and lived happily ever after.”  The childhood fantasies matured into lifelong adult focus and artistic and philosophic application.

The Navajo healing sings the youngster learned about at camp became Shapiro’s “clearest model . . . for healing theatre,” Shapiro affirmed.  (I posted an article on this blog about the chants called “‘My Mind Restore For Me’: Navajo Healing Ceremonies,” on 15 May 2013.)  His affinity for the rituals, arts, and beliefs of America’s native peoples permeated all of his work with Shaliko; indeed, it was at the base of his principal philosophy: that theater is transformative and that art is and should be integral to our whole culture. 

Leo regularly took three buses to the public library in Bayfront Park on Biscayne Bay in downtown Miami, where he exhausted the library’s collection of books on Indians, and also took piano lessons, composing a song for Florence on the piano she had rented for him. 

As a result of shifting from one school to another, Leo had few close friends.  He had strong interests, however—Indians, science fiction, magic—and focused intently on them.  When the boy wanted to learn a card trick, for instance, he would practice and practice: nothing would stop him.

For 12-year-old Leo Shapiro, magic became a refuge from a world he found ugly and inhospitable.  As his mother recalled, when her son was in seventh or eighth grade, he met a retired magician named Al Cohn on the bus to the public library.  Shapiro described the man as “bald, old, smoked a cigar, and [had] 20 fingers; I was in love.”  

Cohn (1891-1988), known as the “Sponge Ball King” for a famous trick he invented and sold, had retired to Miami in 1951 after owning the Magic Centre on Eighth Avenue near Times Square in New York City for many years.  Given the boy’s response to him, Cohn may have been Leonardo Shapiro’s first surrogate father in a line that continued well into adulthood.

He taught the boy some sleight-of-hand tricks and soon Leo started taking daily lessons from him; attended Saturday-morning meetings of the Magic Roundtable, a magician’s group, at the MacArthur Hotel in South Beach; and even performed at bar mitzvot and children’s parties in Miami Beach:

I gradually moved up from guinea pig to stooge to accomplice, to junior magician.  I started to create my own routines.  I acquired a stage name, a hand-me-down tuxedo, a bright red cummerbund, and actually made some money performing at children’s parties.

Leo’s devotion to magic lasted several years, Florence remembered, and like his other pursuits, it was a total commitment.  It also, like many of his other childhood pursuits, found expression in his stage productions.

Miami Beach in the 1950s was a “concrete fake Art Deco landfill,” in Shapiro’s view, and his Dade County public school was a restrictive and confining environment.  Performing magic tricks surely gave young Leo at least the feeling of control over his surroundings, his “violent peers, their bullying parents,” and “the Cuban Revolution’s . . . angry exiles,” perhaps in the same way that Indian shamans, in whom Shapiro would later take an interest, took control of the nature around them through magic. 

The science fiction books were clearly an escape, too: “I used them like drugs,” he said.  Shapiro disclosed that he read a novel or two every day, including Isaac Asimov’s multi-generational Foundation Trilogy with its theme of social evolution in a universe of many diverse worlds—an obvious appeal for young Shapiro. 

We’ll see that both science fiction, which he said gave him “a Utopian imagination,” and magic would continue to be an interest for Shapiro well into his professional adulthood.

[Part 2 of “A Biography of Leonardo Shapiro” will be posted on Wednesday.  I’ll pick up with Shapiro’s transfer to the Windsor Mountain School in Lenox, Massachusetts, for 10th grade.  This move marked a great change in the young man’s life and was a major influence on his path toward becoming a theater artist.  Be sure to return to Rick On Theater on the 19th to continue this story of Leonardo Shapiro’s life and work.]


29 September 2018

Leon Gleckman: The Al Capone of Saint Paul


In the 1920s and ’30s, Saint Paul, the capital city of Minnesota, was known as a “crooks’ haven”—a sanctuary where bootleggers, bank robbers, and gangsters of all kinds from all over the Midwest came to hide out when the heat got too heavy in their home towns.   At one time or another the likes of  bank robber John Dillinger (1903-34, with his girlfriend Evelyn Frechette, 1907-69), mob leader Alphonse “Scarface” Capone (1899-1947), Alvin “Creepy” Karpis (1907-79), Kate “Ma” Barker (1873-35) and her boys, and the outlaw couple Clyde Barrow (1909-34) and Bonnie Parker (1910-34) spent down-time in Saint Paul under the protection of the chief of police, the sheriffs of Ramsey and Hennepin Counties (Saint Paul and Minneapolis respectively), the Twin Cities’ mayors, the county DA’s, other local officials, and the cities’ own gangster bosses.

When I first learned of this history, doing some research I didn’t know was connected to any of this, I had no idea that Minnesota even had a gangstedr past.  I wonder how many others are aware of this little sliver of American history.  New York, sure.  Chicago, no question.  Detroit, L.A., even Miami.  But Minneapolis-Saint Paul?

But it did.  And it had its gangster kings, too.  New York had Arthur “Dutch Schultz” Flegenheimer (1901-35) and Chicago had Al Capone.  Well, Minneapolis had Benny Haskell—and Saint Paul had Leon Gleckman, known, because of his control of the liquor business in the state capital, as “the Al Capone of Saint Paul” and “the Bootlegging Boss of Saint Paul.”  (An odd fact about the Minnesota gangster scene is that it was largely a Jewish mob.  Among many other Twin Cities hoods, both Haskell—his father was Haskell Zuckerman—and Gleckman were Jews.  Another of Gleckman’s sobriquets was “the Jewish Al Capone” and he was raised in a traidtionally observant Jewish home.)

Leon Gleckman was born in either Minsk, Byelorussia (now Belarus), or Brody, Ukraine, both then part of the Russian Empire, on 1 June in either 1893 or 1894 (records vary).  His family emigrated to the United States in the winter of 1903 (initially settling in Michigan, by way of London and Nova Scotia), and his father, Herman (that was his Americanized name; he was apparently born with the name Gershon), who started out as a rag-and-bone man with a horse and wagon, raised six children (a seventh child died in infancy) of which Leon was the third-born.  Leon married Rose Goldstein, daughter of Austrian and Russian immigrants, in 1913; the bride and groom were both 20 years old.   Herman Gleckman managed to accumulate some money, bought stocks and property, and prospered in the new land.

Leon Gleckman began working when he was very younng, selling flowers on the street.  He was a natural-born salesman, and eventually, he became a traveling salesman—but what he wanted was to go to law school.  He was something of an autodidact, however, writing poetry and spouting philosophy.  He began supplying Saint Paul with its illegal pleasures: booze, gambling, and prositutes. He set up his clandestine operation in the Hamm Building, a 1919 limestone, terra cotta, and brick six-story commercial building at 408 Saint Peter Street at 6th Street in Saint Paul; it was built by Williiam Hamm to house offices of the Theodore Hamm’s Brewing Company.  Gleckman’s St. Paul Recreation Company, comprising a billiard parlor, cigar stand, gym, boxing ring, and bowling alley, was in the basement.  The space also housed one of the city’s biggest illegal gambling operations, the foundation of Gleckman’s criminal empire; the legitimate activities made it difficult for city authorities to close the establishment—if anyone actually wanted to do that.  

Gleckman was doing all right purveying Saint Paul’s vices, but in 1920 Prohibition began across the country after the ratification on 16 January 1919 of the 18th Amendment.  (The Volstead Act, the law that athorized National Prohibition, passed Congress on 28 October and took effect on 17 January 1920.).  From that point on, Gleckman went into the boolegging business in earnest, supplying Saint Paul with another sinful pleasure, essentially cornering the market—with the chief of police running interference with both federal and state authorities and rival bootleggers.  (In 1930, Gleckman had enough influence  in city government to get Thomas Archibald “Big Tom” Brown, 1889-1959, appointed Chief of Police in Saint Paul.  To repay the debt, Big Tom, who stood 6’5", protected Gleckman’s rackets.)  He eventually had the Mill Creek Distilleries in Cuba to supply the Saint Paul speakeasies, and another distillery in the Virgin Islands.  General disdain for Prohibition among Saint Paulites boosted Gleckman—and Haskell across the river in Minneapolis—from mere bootleggers to important figures in their cities.  

Gleckman’s circle of “friends” didn’t just extend to gangsters, corrupt politicians, and crooked cops; he cultivated businessmen, bankers, and anybody with money or influence (preferrably both).  He was in contact with Thomas D. Schall (1878-1935), the state’s Republican junior senator, and Einar Hoidale (1870-1952), a  Democratic at-large Member of Congress from Minnesota.  By 1930, he insulated his family and his legitimate enterprises from his illegal activities by keeping suite 301-303 at the Saint Paul Hotel, the city’s luxury hotel at 350 Market Street, a three-minute walk from the Hamm Building.  This was where he conducted what he called “politics”: paying off police and city officials, as well as meeting with politicans and gangsters.  The FBI—just known as the Bureau of Investigation (BOI) until 1933, when it was renamed the Division of Investigation (DOI); it was named the Federal Bureau of Inestigation in 1935—called the Saint Paul “a rendezvous for gangsters,” and T-Man Michael “Mysterious Mike” Malone (1893-1960), who had previously infiltrated Al Capone’s syndicate in Chicago, also rented room 309 at the hotel to keep Gleckman’s visitors and activities under surveillance.

The bootlegger also had legitimate businesses: in 1927, Gleckman acquired a Cord-Auburn luxury auto dealership to go with his tire store, wallpaper store, and loan company (which doubled as a cash laundry).  But Leon Gleckman’s real buisiness, the source of his power in Saint Paul, was becoming more and more the running of a political machine.  With so much of Saint Paul’s administration on his payroll, he had become adept at getting his friends into important (and lucrative) positions in city government and law enforcement (like Tom Brown’s appointment as police chief).  He’d apparently inherited (or learned) his father’s talent for hondling—dealing—and turned it to fitting the right friendly peg into the right advantageous hole.  Gleckman was a macher—a fixer, a wheeler-dealer.  And he was good at it.  He “could fix a grand jury, buy off a judge, sheriff, or prosecuting attorney, secure a governor’s pardon for a convict, and ensure the appointment of a lenient police chief,” reports Paul Maccabee in his history of the time and place, John Dillinger Slept Here: A Crooks’ Tour of Crime and Corruption in St. Paul, 1920-1936 (Minnesota Historical Society Press, 1995).  He could also decide who would be a candidate for public office in Saint Paul, all the way up to city hall.  He was, in fact, in complete control of Saint Paul’s municipal government.

Average Saint Paulites saw Gleckman as a generous neighbor—he’s reported to have kept a jar on his desk for parking tickets people wanted fixed and they’d be picked up by a cop and never be heard about again; others with a taste for gaming, drink, and women of the evening found an accommodating pleasure provider; those who sought city jobs or needed help to negotiate the Saint Paul bureaucracy—cutting red tape, say, or smoorhing over a permit or licensing snag—knew him as a powerful advocate who knew where a lot of the bodies were buried.  (He may have known where they were buried, but he never planted any of them himself.  Gleckman probably caused a rub-out or two—we’ll hear about one likely instance—but he was not prone to violence, unlike his nickname’s sake.)  

By the late 1920s, at the height of his influence, Leon Gleckman ran Saint Paul without ever holding a city or county office.  He could get anyone he wanted a job on the municipal payroll—for his future son-in-law, when the younger man started dating Florence,  the oldest of Gleckman’s three daughters, in 1929, he got the 17-year-old a job trimming trees for the city.  (When the couple got engaged, Gleckman brought his daughrer’s fiancé into the Republic Finance Company.)  Of course, the flip side was that he could also block anyone from getting city work if he didn’t want them to.  

Then, on 5 December 1933, the 18th Amendment to the Constitution was repealed, ending Prohibition—and the wind went out of Leon Gleckman’s sails, as well as those of all other bootleggers in the U.S.  Booze was no longer illegal to make or sell, and Gleckman had to fall back on the other vices he purveyed.  Of course, his legit business were doing all right, having weathered the Great Depression (1929-39), at least until the Auburn Automobile Company ceased production in 1936.  

And he still ran Saint Paul.  Florence Gleckman called him “the man behind politics.”  “One time,” she recalled, Gleckman “had an argument with the editor of the St. Paul Pioneer Press.  Then the man had a vendetta against him.  They finally locked him up.”  In any case, he asserted that “he made more money through politically secured contracts than he ever made in the alcohol business.”  He even ruminated that “with the return of legalized liquor . . . and, having a large amount of money, [I] entered the political situation in St. Paul with the hope of some day becoming Mayor of St. Paul.”

But Gleckman’s power within Saint Paul wasn’t an impenetrable shield against legal troubles.  His first arrest came in August 1922 when revenuers raided his Minnesota Blueing Company, a front for an illegal distillery which the U.S. Department of the Treasury estimated was generating as much as $1 million a year (worth $14.25 million in 2018) from its 13 stills.  Gleckman was charged with liquor conspiracy, but the bootlegger remained free on bail for five years while the case was appealed.

In 1927, he was convicted of federal charges stemming from his illegal liquor business and sentenced to United States Penitentiary, Leavenworth, a maximum-security prison, for 18-months on charges of liquor conspiracy.  After six months or a year, the jailed bootlegger became a trusty because he was so well bahaved, assigned to work in the prison greenhouse, and then paroled.  Again in 1934, he was returned to Leavenworth for 18 months for income-tax evasion.  

In a footnote to history, Gleckman had the dubious distinction of being only the second man tried for federal tax evasion as a way to prosecute him for other crimes.  The first had been Capone in 1931, and the Department of Justice brought the same prosecutor who had tried Capone to Saint Paul from Chicago, U. S. Attorney George E. Q. Johnson (1874-1949).  Johnson had to try Gleckman twice to get a conviction, the jury having deadlocked the first time.  Leon Gleckman and his brother Alexander, known as “Jap,” had bribed a juror with $695 (about $13,000 today) to hold out for acquittal.  Later, there were also state and local charges for bribing the juror in the 1934 tax-evasion case, for which Gleckman served six months in the Minneapolis workhouse in 1938.  (Florence, who’d have been 25 at the time, recalled that he tried to break out.)   

In January 1940, Gleckman had also been convicted in New York in a bank-fraud case involving the Fort Greene National Bank in Brooklyn and sentenced to six months in federal prison.  According to no less an authority on the case than FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, “Strange things were going on in the” bank, whose “accounts were a maze of queer transactions.  Names of mysterious individuals of unknown address”—which included “two-time ex-convict and former czar of the underworld in St. Paul,” Leon Gleckman—“were found on notes running into hundreds of thousands.”  Gleckman and two confederates had been alleged to have defrauded the bank of over $250,000 (now worth about $4.4 million) by overstating the value of liquor stored in several warehouses.

Personal peril,  alongside legal consequences, was also a danger of Gleckman’s gangland life.  In what Maccabee dubbed the “occupational hazard common to bootleggers of the 1930s,” Leon Gleckman, the boss of Saint Paul, was kidnapped on 24 September 1931.  

Florence Gleckman recalled: “The summer before he was kidnapped, we had a cottage by the lake.  Mom [Rose Gleckman] kept saying the furniture’s been moved.  They sent her to a neurologist.  Afterwards, it turned out it had been the kidnappers.  They were going to take him from the lake, but he was never alone.”  If the recollection of the 18-year-old Miss Gleckman is correct, the kidnappers changed their plans.  The press record says that Gleckman was taken as he left his home at 2168 Sargent Avenue, forced to the side of the road by a car.  According to Florence’s account, “Leon liked to walk.  His office was downtown [at the finance company in the Merchants Bank Building at 332 Minnesota Street, seven miles away], he used to walk to work every day . . ., [and] he was kidnapped on his way to work.  A man in a corner house gave a signal when he walked by.”  

The Gleckman house was a whirl of gangsters, politicians, and ransom notes.  Florence also recounted, “One day Rose went to a fortune teller who said she saw him in a cabin, in the woods, by a lake playing cards.  Finally they paid the ransom.  When they got him back, it was true, he’d been in the North Woods.”  Indeed, when her father was released, after eight day’s of captivity, he’d been held in a cabin 40 miles from Woodruff, Wisconsin, 220 miles east of Saint Paul.  The kidnappers had demanded $200,000 (about $3 million today) but only $6,400 ($98,000) was paid—$5,000, plus whatever Gleckman had in his pockets, which turned out to be $1,450 (apparently, the kidnappers left their victim 50 bucks for cabfare).  Gleckman was released on 2 October and within days, one kidnapper had been killed, putatively by his confederates; four others had been arrested; and about 40 men and women had been jailed.  

(The Gleckman ransom money had been recovered, but it ended up in Big Tom Brown’s campaign chest for his run for Ramsey County sheriff.  Brown lost the race and in 1932, he was demoted to detective.  In 1936, he was permanently removed from the Saint Paul police force entirely.)

The identity of the person responsible for the whole plot was a matter of endless debate—and never successfully proved—but one popular candidate was Jack Peifer, a rival rum-runner of Gleckman’s.  Peifer had actually served as a go-between for the ransom money from Gleckman’s racket and the kidnappers holding him, but Brown and the Ramsey County attorney both warned the kidnapping suspects not to bring up Peifer’s name during their interrogations “if they knew what was good for them.”  When Gleckman was informed that some of the participants might be people he regarded as friends, he told the BOI he’d “take care of them his own way”—whatever that might portend!

For six months after the kidnapping, Gleckman had a 24-hour police guard outside his Sargent Avenue house.  Then, in the summer of 1932, Florence herself was taken for a ransom of  $50,000 ($850,000), which was never paid.  The young woman had just started studying at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.  Driving home from class one evening, she pulled in to park near her home and someone cut her off.  He had a blackjack in one hand and maybe a gun in the other.  He came up to the side of the car, according to Florence, and told her, “Do what I say and you won’t be hurt.”  The young man handcuffed her, took her glasses, and taped her eyes.  They went through a sewer and the man took her to the woods along the Mississippi River; the man left her tied up in the woods at night.  She was very scared, she said, and in the morning she started to cry.  “I’ll take you home,” the young man said.  He never hurt her.  The authorities never found him.

On Thursday, 15 June 1933, Jack Peifer was engaged once again in a high-profile kidnapping for ransom.  This time, he was in cahoots with the Barker-Karpis gang: Alvin Karpis, Ma Barker’s sons Arthur “Doc” Barker and Fred Barker, and a couple of hangers-on.  The gang had moved on from bank robbery to kidnapping as its principal criminal activity, having engaged in at least two previous abductions before taking Willam Hamm, Jr.  Hamm (1893-1970), son of William Hamm, Sr., who built the Hamm Building where Leon Gleckman had his gamblng parlor-cum-boxing gym-cum cigar stand-cum pool hall, et al., and grandson of the brewery’s founder, Theodore Hamm, was grabbed off the street in Saint Paul in the middle of the day by Karpis and Doc Berker who put him into a car driven by a third man.  

Hamm was made to sign four ransom notes in the amount of $100,000 (about $1.9 million in 2018).  Eventually, Hamm, who had succeeded his father as president of Hamm’s Brewing in 1931, was kept at a house in northern Minnesota by five or six men.  He was held until Sunday, 18 June, when he was driven after dark to Wyoming, Minnesota, and left on a highway.  Early the following morning, Hamm called his family and shortly, police arrived and took him home.  

All the perpeterators were apprehended or killed eventually, but not before they engineered one last kidnapping: Edward Bremer (1897-1965), son of Adolph Bremer, the major stockholder in the Jacob Schmidt Brewing Company, another Saint Paul beermaker, on 17 January 1934.  The gang asked for $200,000 ($3.7 million), but police and DOI speculated that there was also a more personal motive for the abuction.  It seems that the Bremers had cooperated with bootleggers during Prohibition, making beer on the QT which the bootleggers distributed, surviving when other liquor manufacturers suffered.  When the 18th Amendment was repealed, Schmidt Brewing severed its ties to the criminals, angering their former associates enough to prompt some to take revenge.  Bremer was generally not a popular man, even to members of his family.  

Of the main gang members, Doc Barker was arrested in 1935 and Karpis in 1936; Fred Barker was killed, along with his mother, in a 1935 shootout with the FBI; other members of the gang met similar fates.  (Historical footnote: after Alvin Karpis pleaded guilty to kidnapping, he was sent to prison on Alcatraz Island, the federal prison in San Francisco Bay.  He was paroled in 1969, becoming the rock’s longest-serving prisoner.  Doc Barker was also sentenced to Alcatraz, but he was shot during an escape attempt in 1939.)

Big Tom Brown also paid consequences, obliquely related to the kidnappings.  During the investigatons of the several Saint Paul abductions, the feds suspected that Brown had leaked information to the kidnappers.  He was removed from the investigation team and after further probing, the DOI determined that Brown had been involved in the kidnappings themselves.  He was dismissed from the Saint Paul police force on 9 October 1936, though he was never successfully prosecuted for his corruption.  The former police chief moved away from Saint Paul and, ironically (given his long association with bootleggers) opened a liquor store.  He stayed in that trade for some years, but was later arrested for non-payment of his taxes (a little like Gleckman and Capone) and for selling liquor without a license (also a sort of pale imitation of Gleckman and other bootleggers).  Brown was sentenced to a year in jail for these offenses but the punishment was suspended.  He died of a heart attack in 1959 at 69.

Leon Gleckman, the bootlegging kingpin and political boss of Saint Paul, also didn’t end well.  He died on 14 July 1941 in a one-car accident.  He was 48 years old.  The St. Paul Dispatch of that date reported:


Gleckman was killed when his west-bound automobile crashed at 1:50 a.m. into a pillar supporting the Union Depot concourse across Kellogg [B]lvd.  He died in a police ambulance en route to Ancker [H]ospital.

According to the Dispatch, Gleckman had played golf the afternoon before and then spent the evening with friends at the golf club.  He was apparently driving home and, the police believed, may have fallen asleep at the wheel.  Gleckman’s blood-alcohol level was .23, the equivalent of having had nine drinks of 90-proof liquor.  Geckman’s Chevrolet hit the abutment of the Saint Paul railroad station concourse so hard that the hood and steering wheel were crushed.  A night watchman at the Union Depot Company, who heard the crash, reported that he hadn’t heard any sounds of brakes or skidding tires.  The police didn’t find any skid marks, either.  

Gleckman died of a fractured skull.  The death was declared “probably accidental,” but privately, many people, incuding Gleckman’s family, beleved he’d committed suicide.  One cop stated: “You can’t prove it, but in my heart as a policeman, I think [he] wanted to do himself in.  We all think Leon killed himself. . . .  He was due to go to federal prison.  He was the king of the bootleggers and he didn’t fancy sitting in the Can.”

Gleckman, a notorious—and, apparently, beloved—figure in the Saint Paul underworld of the 1920s and ’30s, never made it to law school and never ran for mayor.  He was, nevertheless, the chief executive of Saint Paul, at least de facto, for the years of Prohibition, 1929 to 1933—and for several years thereafter.  Something of a dandy and a man-about-town, he was judged to have been highly intelligent and insightful, with an extraordinary problem-solving acumen.  In the early 1990s, when Florence wrote down some of her memories for her son, she noted that the name Gleckman was still in the phonebook, and she wrote: “People still call to say thanks for sending me to college, all kinds of stories, everybody loved him.”  According to Florence, her father had started the Republic Finance Company because he was always lending money, helping people out.  Even his prison file  characterized him as “self-confident, glib, and respectful.” 

A musical play, Last Hooch at the Hollyhocks by Lance Belville, was presented by the Great North American History Theatre and performed at the Minnesota Arts and Science Center in Saint Paul in 1990.  It featured Leon Gleckman as a character (the Hollyhocks was Saint Paul’s spiffiest speakeasy, owned by Jack Peifer), and one of Florence’s younger sisters attended a performance.  There’s also the Eagle Street Grille, a local restauant that features “a mob-themed menu” with interesting names for the menu items.  (There used to be sandwiches and platters named for the gangsters who lived or visited the city, including Gleckman, but that no longer seems to be true.)  Even the Saint Paul Hotel invokes its gangster history on its website and tells about Gleckman’s residency there.

[I wrote above that I learned about this history when I was researching another topic.  That subject was Leonardo Shapiro, the avant-garde theater director about whom I’ve blogged many times now, and I was researching his childhood and early family life.  You see, Leon Gleckman was Shapiro’s grandfather  and Florence, née Gleckman, was his mother.  Born Leo Richard Shapiro (he adopted the name Leonardo when he was in high school in homage to Leonardo da Vinci, whom he admired), the director-to-be was named after his grandfather, whom he never knew as Gleckman died 4½ years before Shapiro was born.  He nevertheless felt a special connection with Gleckman because both men were largely self-educated, an achievement Shaprio esteemed, and they both loved and wrote poetry.  (Shapiro had started out to be a poet before turning to theater.)  Shapiro once confided to me that Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman held special meaning for him; it may have been significant to Shapiro that Willy Loman’s death, also a suicide, was nearly identical to Gleckman’s.]