Read Online The Westies: Inside New York's Irish Mob by T. J. English - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. J. English
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apartment on 43rd Street, just a few blocks from Spillane’s White House Bar. Huggard had a cousin who regularly placed bets with Spillane. One afternoon, his cousin had introduced him to Spillane, Eddie Cummiskey, and some of the others who hung out regularly at the White House.
Huggard didn’t really give a fuck about Spillane one way or the other. He’d met him, that was all. In fact, once he got a look at Spillane, he couldn’t really figure out how he’d gotten to be such a power on the West Side. Spillane was about forty pounds lighter than Huggard and dressed in a suit and tie. The way Huggard saw it, he didn’t seem like a tough guy at all; just a high liver.
While Huggard demurred, Eddie Sullivan sipped on his beer and lit up another cigarette. “What we wanna know, Bobby, is are you with us on this thing or not.”
Huggard shrugged. It wasn’t the best offer he’d ever had, but it was something to do. “Sure, Eddie. You know you can count on me.”
For the next thirty minutes, Eddie Sullivan explained how they were going to build an arsenal to take on Spillane. But before they did that, he said, they would need cash. And to get cash they would have to pull a robbery. Sullivan knew a bar in the Bronx he felt would be a pushover. That would be their first target.
Bobby Huggard listened as Eddie Sullivan babbled away. Some of it made sense; some of it made no sense at all. Occasionally Jackie Coonan jumped in with a comment. Nineteen-year-old Jimmy Coonan, by far the youngest person at the table, hardly spoke at all.
To Huggard, this was intriguing. He knew all about Jimmy Coonan’s feud with Spillane. From what he’d heard, Spillane once pistol-whipped Coonan’s old man and Jimmy had turned vengeance into a personal crusade. There was definitely something about this kid, thought Huggard. Even as the others did all the talking here at Tony’s Bar—with the elder Eddie Sullivan assuming the role of leader—Huggard could tell the person really behind the move on Spillane was this intense little blond-haired kid, Jimmy Coonan.
* * *
Unlike a lot of Irish kids in Hell’s Kitchen who fell prey to the neighborhood’s “glorious” tradition of gangsterism, Jimmy Coonan had come from a respectable middle-class background. His father, John Coonan, was a certified public accountant. Coonan’s Tax Service at 369 West 50th Street was no great threat to E. F. Hutton, but it was steady employment. Coonan’s mother, Anna, who was of part German extraction, also worked there.
Born on December 21, 1946, Jimmy was the second of John’s and Anna’s four children. Their residence was a five-room walk-up at 434 West 49th, between 9th and 10th avenues. As a teenager, Jimmy was only five-foot-seven-inches tall, but stocky, with a thick neck and broad shoulders. He showed a lot of promise as a boxer, a skill he would later hone at Elmira Reformatory. Although he was a reasonably affable youngster, he was known to have an explosive temper. Once, at the age of seventeen, he got in a fight with a neighborhood kid. The kid wound up in a local hospital with nearly sixty lacerations on his face and body.
It was also at the age of seventeen that Coonan dropped out of high school and began running with the neighborhood’s professional criminal element. Because of his boxer’s physique, it was always assumed Coonan would be one of a dozen strong-arm types, the kind of kid a more established racketeer might use to do the dirty work for him. But Jimmy showed early on that he had higher aspirations, and he was smart, always looking to form alliances that might strengthen his position in the neighborhood.
One of the first partnerships Coonan formed was with brawny, brown-haired Eddie Sullivan, a small-time burglar and bank robber who was nearly fifteen years his senior. Sullivan was a free-lance criminal, not attached to any gang, who often hung out in West Side saloons looking to borrow money or drum up
Huggard didn’t really give a fuck about Spillane one way or the other. He’d met him, that was all. In fact, once he got a look at Spillane, he couldn’t really figure out how he’d gotten to be such a power on the West Side. Spillane was about forty pounds lighter than Huggard and dressed in a suit and tie. The way Huggard saw it, he didn’t seem like a tough guy at all; just a high liver.
While Huggard demurred, Eddie Sullivan sipped on his beer and lit up another cigarette. “What we wanna know, Bobby, is are you with us on this thing or not.”
Huggard shrugged. It wasn’t the best offer he’d ever had, but it was something to do. “Sure, Eddie. You know you can count on me.”
For the next thirty minutes, Eddie Sullivan explained how they were going to build an arsenal to take on Spillane. But before they did that, he said, they would need cash. And to get cash they would have to pull a robbery. Sullivan knew a bar in the Bronx he felt would be a pushover. That would be their first target.
Bobby Huggard listened as Eddie Sullivan babbled away. Some of it made sense; some of it made no sense at all. Occasionally Jackie Coonan jumped in with a comment. Nineteen-year-old Jimmy Coonan, by far the youngest person at the table, hardly spoke at all.
To Huggard, this was intriguing. He knew all about Jimmy Coonan’s feud with Spillane. From what he’d heard, Spillane once pistol-whipped Coonan’s old man and Jimmy had turned vengeance into a personal crusade. There was definitely something about this kid, thought Huggard. Even as the others did all the talking here at Tony’s Bar—with the elder Eddie Sullivan assuming the role of leader—Huggard could tell the person really behind the move on Spillane was this intense little blond-haired kid, Jimmy Coonan.
* * *
Unlike a lot of Irish kids in Hell’s Kitchen who fell prey to the neighborhood’s “glorious” tradition of gangsterism, Jimmy Coonan had come from a respectable middle-class background. His father, John Coonan, was a certified public accountant. Coonan’s Tax Service at 369 West 50th Street was no great threat to E. F. Hutton, but it was steady employment. Coonan’s mother, Anna, who was of part German extraction, also worked there.
Born on December 21, 1946, Jimmy was the second of John’s and Anna’s four children. Their residence was a five-room walk-up at 434 West 49th, between 9th and 10th avenues. As a teenager, Jimmy was only five-foot-seven-inches tall, but stocky, with a thick neck and broad shoulders. He showed a lot of promise as a boxer, a skill he would later hone at Elmira Reformatory. Although he was a reasonably affable youngster, he was known to have an explosive temper. Once, at the age of seventeen, he got in a fight with a neighborhood kid. The kid wound up in a local hospital with nearly sixty lacerations on his face and body.
It was also at the age of seventeen that Coonan dropped out of high school and began running with the neighborhood’s professional criminal element. Because of his boxer’s physique, it was always assumed Coonan would be one of a dozen strong-arm types, the kind of kid a more established racketeer might use to do the dirty work for him. But Jimmy showed early on that he had higher aspirations, and he was smart, always looking to form alliances that might strengthen his position in the neighborhood.
One of the first partnerships Coonan formed was with brawny, brown-haired Eddie Sullivan, a small-time burglar and bank robber who was nearly fifteen years his senior. Sullivan was a free-lance criminal, not attached to any gang, who often hung out in West Side saloons looking to borrow money or drum up
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