When the coroner put Jack Whalen's body on a slab, it measured 72 inches, just 6 feet. For years, people had described him as 6-foot-2 or 6-4. But "the Enforcer" was smaller in death than life.
On the death certificate, his family gave his occupation as "actor" and listed as his employer a production company that had cast him in four episodes of a TV western, "The Restless Gun." They were bit parts, but no one could laugh any longer at Whalen's claim that what he really wanted was to make it in Hollywood -- he'd died with a SAG card in his wallet thanks to producer David Dortort, who had just launched a new series, the first ever in color, called "Bonanza."
The last days of the 1950s were filled with conjecture about how the 38-year-old Whalen had come crashing down in Rondelli's, with a bullet between the eyes, next to the table where Mickey Cohen dined with his crew and his bulldog, Mickey Jr.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Wednesday, November 05, 2008 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 1 inches; 37 words Type of Material: Correction
Gangster Squad: An article Saturday in Section A, the final installment of the series "Tales From the Gangster Squad," identified the prosecutor in a 1950s gangland murder case as Manley J. Bower. His last name was Bowler.
The state attorney general's office said an anonymous caller had suggested that Whalen was ready to blow the lid off the LAPD -- to identify cops who had taken "juice" to protect his operations.
But the dead man's father did not blame the police. Fred Whalen had been a pool hustler, rumrunner and master con man. Fred was no fool. He said, "Mickey Cohen as good as pulled the trigger, and everybody knows it."
Mickey said he heard that "Freddie the Thief" was out to kill him. "He has my invitation to come out and see me," Mickey retorted, "any time."
The Los Angeles Mirror-News lamented that the city had been transported back to when Mickey was the cocky boss of the Strip. He'd come out of prison playing the harmless ex-hood swooning over the floozies and selling plants, but here he was tweaking the cops again while "murder walks in his wake." Suddenly 1959 felt like 1949 all over.
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At least the wheels of justice turned quickly. They were set for trial in three months, and a bizarre trial it was, given that Sam Lo Cigno was the only one charged. Authorities considered him a "flunky and errand boy" for Mickey and were far from convinced he pulled the trigger. But he had confessed, and the only diner who admitted seeing anything at Rondelli's was a horse bettor, Hollywood Al, who'd had 20 drinks.
That left Mickey's table mates to describe a menacing Jack Whalen going "Dago-this" and "Dago-that" and all but begging for a bullet, though all insisted they never saw a gun. And though Lo Cigno said he did it, he couldn't recall what became of his .38. "It's one of those foggy things," he said.
