Steven J. Phillips - No Heroes, No Villains

Acknowledgments

Writing, I have come to learn, is a lonely experience, and one is grateful for good company along the way. I have much to be grateful for.

Michael Meltsner, my friend and former professor, knew I wanted to write this book before I did. His encouragement and guidance have helped me through some hard times, and I am much indebted to him.

My good friend Elaine Romano made many invaluable suggestions, as did Dwight Darcy, Paul Stark and Cecile Grossman, all former colleagues at the district attorneys office. I also owe a great deal to Judge Mary Johnson Lowe for far more than her encouragement and advice.

Gerald Robbie, at Kreindler & Kreindler, read the manuscript with his customary sharp eye and offered many important recommendations. I also received assistance during the preparation of rough drafts from Marka Boyer, Trent Knepper, Mercedes Ludmirski and my secretaries, Mildred Lackey and Nancy Ann Gammino.

Most of all, I owe a deep dept to the many people who figure in this story. Some were adversaries and others were allies, but all of them, without exception, taught me a great deal and made my life richer by their presence. This is especially true of George Wieber and Pat Skagen, two of the most decent people I have ever known. In many ways this book is theirs more than it is mine.

Contents

1

The Robbery

N o newspaper ever reported the robbery, and it was quickly forgotten. Even the bartender, who for a few terrible moments stared down the barrels of two guns, has little to tell. Marzans Bar had been robbed before the evening of March 2,1972, and it has been robbed since. There was nothing unusual about this occasion. Nobody was hurt, not too much money was taken, and in the South Bronx, on the corners of Spofford and Tiffany streets, there is nothing remarkable about an armed robbery.

As nearly as anyone can remember, two black men entered the bar. One was short and wiry, with a medium complexion and an Afro hairstyle; the other was tall and heavy-set, with a dark complexion, close-cropped hair and a moon-shaped face. The shorter man appeared to be the leader. He did the talking.

They walked up to the bar, opposite the cash register, and the short one beckoned to the barkeeper, who was rinsing out used glasses. He put them down and approached the two men. Out came the guns. The short man spoke.

This is a stickup! Motherfucker, do you hear what I say? This is a stickup!

The barkeeper put his hands on the counter. He did not panic. Take what you want. Dont shoot me. I wont do nothin.

The tall robber went behind the counter and emptied sixty-seven dollars from the cash register. As he was leaving he noticed a womans purse on a shelf nearby. It belonged to May Elaine Williams, the day barmaid at Marzans Bar. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed the purse on his way out of the bar.

The two men fled. From start to finish, the entire robbery had taken no more than forty-five seconds.

The police were called, and ten minutes later a squad car arrived. A patrolman interviewed the witnesses. Later, the barkeeper went down to the 41st Precinct and looked at some mug shots. He was unable to make an identification.

May Elaine Williams had not always worked as a barmaid. A large, buxom, good-looking black woman in her thirties, Mrs. Williams had been employed as a corrections officer at the womens penitentiary at Bedford Hills, New York, until September 1971. She had not been happy at Bedford Hills, and when an illness in her family made the daily trip from her home in the Bronx to the prison in upper Westchester County too burdensome, she quit and took a job near home working at Marzans Bar. It was a stopgap measure. Soon she began studying at night to become licensed as a practical nurse.

May Elaine Williams was not in the bar at the time of the robbery. She had gone out for a bite to eat. On leaving, she had asked the barkeeper to keep an eye on her purse. By the time she returned, the robbery was over and it was gone.

In the purse at the time of the robbery was a gold correction officers badge in a blue leather card case which Mrs. Williams had been issued when she first became a corrections officer. She had neglected to return it when she left the Department of Corrections.