KISSING GEORGE WASHINGTON Chapter One

 

I gott'a admit, there was one lesson in military science that General George Washington never learned – Keep It Simple, Stupid. Consider George's plan for his greatest victory: First, 3,000 men under Lieutenant Colonel John Cadwalader would slip across the icy Delaware river near Bristol, Pennsylvania, and threaten the redcoats and their hired mercenaries (the Hessians) billeted around Bordentown, New Jersey. 

Once the British were distracted, Washington himself would lead 2, 500 men across McKonkey's Ferry, 15 miles to the north, and march 7 miles south to attack the 1,500 Hessian troops camped at Trenton, while 700 militiamen under General James Ewing would cross just south of Trenton, and block the Hessian's retreat.   If all these moving parts managed to work, Washington plan would be judge brilliant. Luckily for Washington, it did not work.

There was no reason why it should. The Continental Army had numbered 20,000 men outside New York back in August. But by Friday, 20 December, 1776, it was reduced to less than 6,000 exhausted, starving, freezing, dispirited and nearly naked men, huddled on the south bank of the Delaware River, Washington admitted most of his men were “so thinly clad as to be unfit for service.” Desertions were melting the army into slush, and half of the enlistments would be up on New Year's Day,  

“I rather think the design of General Howe is to possess himself of Philadelphia this winter,” Washington warned Congress, “and in truth I do not see what is to hinder him...”.  In February the Delaware River would likely freeze over, and Howe's 30,000 men could march across the ice into the American capital. Knowing this, the bickering Continental Congress had already retreated to Baltimore. It all made Washington's grandiose plan seem a pipe dream. But Washington did have a few advantages.

First, there was the Delaware River (above) , named after Thomas West, the Third Baron De la Ware. 

Iron ore and grains were carried on the Delaware by 40 foot long flat bottom Durham boats (above) on the upper river as it cut a gap southeastwards through the last ridges of the Appalachian mountains to the 8 foot falls of the river at Trenton. 

The river turned southward 20 miles later at Bordentown, before the last 30 mile reach to the Philadelphia docks. When Washington retreated across the mile wide river he had gathered every Durham boat capable of carrying artillery or cavalry within 70 miles upstream, onto the south bank. And with American defenses dug in at every ford, it left General Howe the choice of either building a new fleet of boats, or just waiting for the freeze.

The second item in Washington's favor was the well known and well hated pro-British Tory, John Honeyman (above), a butcher and weaver from Griggstown, New Jersey. In mid-December Honeyman was captured and dragged before General Washington for a personal interrogation. 

The truth was, Honeyman was a spy for Washington.  In private the butcher informed his spymaster that General Howe was not waiting for the river to freeze. On Saturday, 14 December Howe had ordered his 20,000 regulars to disperse into winter quarters in northern New Jersey, where the accommodations and accommodating companionship were plentiful.  That left 10,000 Hessian's in a string of outposts within mutually supporting distance across southern New Jersey.

Then on Saturday, 21 December 1776, the amazing John Honeyman somehow managed to escape Washington's clutches and re-cross the Delaware, where he sought refuge with Colonel Johann Gottlieb

Rall, commanding the three regiments of Hessians at Trenton. While being congratulated for his escape, Honeyman assured Rall the Americans could not possibly mount any operations until spring. This confirmed Rall's personal appraisal of the undisciplined Americans, and convinced him he needed no trenches to defend Trenton. “Let them come!”, he boasted, “We'll at them with the bayonet!”

But also on that Saturday, 400 Philadelphia militia surprised a Scottish redcoat picket company at the tiny Petticoat Bridge, north of Mount Holly, New Jersey. The Scotsmen fell back on their regiment, billeted a mile north in a village called Blackhorse, and they alerted the man Howe had left in charge of most of southern New Jersey, the Hessian General Count Carl Emil Ulrich von Donop (above). The Count was a competent soldier, and ambitious enough to despise Colonel Rall, who had been left out of his chain-of-command. 

Disturbed by the rebels growing boldness, von Donop roused his two Hessian regiments at Bordentown and put them onto the road, south to Blackhorse.  Normally, faced with such an active response, the American militia would have scattered, but their commander, a Virginian Colonel named Samuel Griffin, got a visit from General Washington's aid, Joseph Reed, who urged the militia to hang on for a little while. However,  Reed did not tell Griffin why he was asking his men to make the effort, ",..as the discovery of it may prove fatal to us".

Although ill, Griffin was willing. So on 22 December, when von Dunop's 2,000 men crossed over the Petticoat Bridge and pushed toward Mount Holly (above, center- right), the militia stayed in contact, taking causalities and even trading some long range artillery fire. But they avoided a full fight.  The dilatory shooting continued into the short day of 23 December. The Hessian planned a full assault for the morning of  24 December, but Griffin sensed the blow and retreated during the night. Frustrated, von Donop would decide to tempt the Americans and remain in Mount Holly another day. He was also, charged one of his disgruntled subordinates, enjoying the company of an attractive local widow -  who might have been seamstress Betsy Ross.  Whatever the truth, the skirmish had drawn von Dunop a full day's march south of Bordentown, even farther away from Trenton just when Washington's would be assembling his men for an attack on Trenton.

That same Monday, 23 December, General Washington (above)  was at his modest headquarters in William Keith's Pennsylvania farm house, about 10 miles north of Trenton.. In the afternoon he was visited by the handsome, urban and catty Doctor Benjamin Rush, signer of the Declaration of Independence, and distinguished member of the Continental Congress. Dr. Rush found Washington moody. “While I was talking to him”, Rush wrote later, “I observed him to play with his pen and ink upon several small pieces of paper. One of them by accident fell upon the floor near my feet. I was struck with the inscription upon it. “Victory or Death.” Rush decided the general was depressed, and probably would have prescribed his favorite treatment - a bleeding. Luckily for the United States, Washington could not spare the time to open a vein.

The spirits of Washington's men were improving. It had snowed, the cloud cover moderating the overnight temperatures, and a supply of long promised blankets from Virginia had finally reached the army. The colonists were getting a first painful lesson -   that a nation of 50 independent sovereign states, is not a nation. A year earlier, the Continental Congress had established the soldier's daily ration as one pound each of meat and bread, a pint of milk and a quart of beer or cider per man. But the rations were almost never met. Without an internal system of roads, or a navy, the colonies occupied by the army, were really the only ones that could supply the army. And they would always short of resources. Washington's little army was in such terrible condition, that a few blankets could raise the spirits of the men. But change was on the wind.

Around noon, on Christmas Eve, 1776, Washington called his commanders to a meeting in his headquarters. It was only then that he informed them of his plan. The next evening the army would cross the river at McKonkey’s Ferry, at the mouth of Knowles' creek. The Delaware River was only 300 yards wide here, and Washington calculated it would take about six hours to carry 2,500 men to the New Jersey shore.

Once reformed, the army would march 7 miles south to Trenton, surprising Rall's Hessians before dawn and trapping them against General James Ewing's 700 man militia, which would cross after midnight at the Trenton ferry. The Hessians at Bordentown would be prevented from reinforcing by Colonel John Cadwalader's force.  After Trenton was captured, and joined by General Ewing's militia, the victorious army would march the 13 miles north to Princeton, and attack the British force there under Major General James Grant.

It was a bold plan. It took account of Colonel Rall's unprepared position at Trenton and General Howe's dispersed forces. But it could not allow for the huge storm winding up off the Carolina coast, and about to slam into the American army.  And the plan was certainly was not simple.

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THE FLAMBOYANT JAMOOK

 

I gotta' tell you about this big jamook named David Friendland, who is a suitcase  (i.e. a mob lawyer) with a very big motor mouth. He could sell life insurance to your dead grandmother., He never shuts up. He's also what you call, flamboyant.

Friendland was the lawyer for Johnny Dee -  that’s Johnny Digilo (above), an ex-boxer and a lieutenant in the Genovese crime family in New Jersey.   Now, the Genovese have been running Jersey unions since forever, and they made Johnny Dee Treasurer of the Longshoreman’s Local 1588 in Bayonne. Johnny is a little crazy sometimes, but he's a big earner, and between the Union pension skim and the protection rackets, not to mention the loansharking, its a cash cow for the Genovese.

This Friendland (above) is brought in by his old man when the kid graduates law school, back in 1961. Father and son are both Teamster suitcases, so it seems like the perfect deal, one hand watches the other - you know? But the younger Friedland, first he's oobatz – he's crazy – and then he decides to become a politician. That oughta make everything perfect, but for one little problem.

See, in 1966 Johnny Dee approved a one 'G' loan to this car wash goomba named Julius Pereria. The vig is fifty small a week, until Pereria pays off the principal. Of course he never pays off the principal. That's the whole point of making the loan.  And a year later this goomba borrows another 'G', under the same terms. So now the vig goes up to $100 a week. Well, when the hundred a week adds up to seven “G's', and the goomba is still hasn't paid off a dime of the principle, Pereria decides he's paid enough. 

This goomba Pereria gets outraged and calls the state police. Now he's really in trouble. And when four of Johnny Dee's associates visit the Du-Rite Car wash in Iselin, N.J.,  Pereria won't come out of the toilet. So the boys leave him a few messages, smashing up a couple of windows, some water pumps and electric motors.  To the state police this is evidence. But Pereria gets the message and suddenly develops amnesia in court. Case closed, right? Wrong.

The local D.A. now has a hard on for Johnny Dee, and calls Pereria in front of a Grand Jury. Safe behind closed doors the goomba remembers again, and Johnny Dee gets indicted for racketeering. This is a problem. And that's where this jamook Freidland comes in to our story. 

Its 1968 by now, and Friedland is still a suitcase for the Teamsters, but now he's also a state representative from Hudson County and the “quintessential New Jersey politician”. Flamboyant, you know?  He approaches the goomba's suitcase and tells him, if Pereria doesn't take a $6,500 cash gift from Johnny Dee in exchange for dropping the whole thing, then Johnny Dee is going to sue him, Pereria, for slander or liable or false arrest or something.  It's like a gift he can't refuse, if you know what I mean.

When Pereria takes too long thinking about the offer, Johnny Dee (above, light jacket)) calls and tells the goomba if the doesn't take the money then people are going to come down to the car wash and "chop your fucking head off!"  Not surprisingly, that intimidates Pereria all over again.

But, see, the problem is not that Pereria can't be intimidated. Oh, they intimidated the hell out of him. And he takes money. The problem is, the goomba has a record of not staying intimidated. So Friedland shows the $6,500 to Pereria,  But instead of handing it over, Friendland puts it in his desk drawer. He says he's gonna hold onto it until Pereia  suffers another memory lapse in front of the new Grand Jury. So Pereria does, and the charges against Johnny Dee are dropped, again.  

Of course, on his own,  Friedland takes a fee for holding the cash. And the goomba's lawyer takes his cut. By the time the cash gets to Pereria, there's only like $2,500 left. You gotta love suits. What Johnny Dee did was called extortion. What Friedland and the other suits did was called an out-of-court settlement. 

Anyway, now the D.A. is so pissed, he brings ethics charges against Friedland. The New Jersey Supreme Court suspends Friendland's law license for six months. He doesn't lose his seat in the Jersey Senate, of course. But Friedland is now on the Fed's radar.

All this is B.R., Before RICO, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, named after some ancient movie gangster. Anyway, After RICO, in 1971,  the feds start prosecuting the family bosses. And knocking them off.   

By 1979 they are down to smaller fish, indicting Friedland and his old man for taking a 360 “G” kickback for setting up that $4 million loan from their Teamster's local 701 pension fund to Johnny Dee. On Wall Street they call that a “finders fee”, business as usual. Across the river in Jersey, that's a RICO violation.  And in 1980 Friedland and his papa are convicted and the jamook is forced to  resign  from the state Senate. 

Well, this jamook Friedland doesn't want to go to prison. So in 1982 he turns C-double U,  a cooperating witness. He even wears a wire. Now this could be a problem, a connected suitcase wearing a wire. Except everybody knows Friedland is a jamook, and that he's facing serious jail time. Nobody is going to talk to him;. What strunz of a prosecutor signed that deal? But Friedland is nothing if not adaptable. He tells the feds a long and colorful story that leads pretty much no where, leaving the Feds stuck with their own deal gone sour and then Friedland disappears into the witness protection program. 

And guess where they ship him off to? Miami. Which in 1982 is the cocaine empire. So here is David Friedland, ex-mob lawyer, ex-mob state senator, a guy with the morals of a rat. . He's got a new name, a new job - working for a mortgage company, like nothing illegal ever went on in the legit banking business - a  new name, even a new girl friend. And what a girl friend. Great lungs, you know what I mean?  

She is the the smoldering brunette named Colette Golightly, who had just dumped her cold and cloudy Indiana optometrist husband for sunny Boca Rotan, Florida (above).  Now single, she becomes an underwater photographer, which is how she meets David Friedland. Underwater.  And together they are gonna go straight. Right? Fur-getta-bout it!

It takes Friendland just six moths before this jamook is back in New Jersey, setting up yet another loan from local 701 Pension fund, again for his old buddy Johnny Dee, and taking his cut.  Now, who thinks the feds have forgotten about Teamsters' local 701? 

Two years later the Jamook gets indicted again, for falsifying loan documents.  And in 1986 he gets convicted again. And this time the feds are not interested in a deal. Friedland is going to have to do something really flamboyant to get out of this one. Like, name names. And maybe his boss, Johnny Dee, starts thinking, maybe we ought to clip Friedland before he starts singing. Maybe not, but that is what Friedland is thinking Johnny Dee is thinking.

So, the jamook drowns. While scuba diving, 12 miles off Grand Bahama.  His good buddy, Jack Wynn, tells the Coast Guard he personally saw the Friedland take pain killers just before he disappeared beneath the waves, with only half an hour of air in his scuba tanks. And, of course, hours later he still has not surfaced.  Of course Wynn does not radio the Coast Guard until the next morning, and while they search most of the next day, they really don't expect to find anything. Sharks, you know. And they don't. And while they can't prove Friedland isn't really dead, the Feds do know this guy. Now that should be the end the story. The ultimate witness protection system, right?

Until...a month after he makes a clean getaway,  the flamboyant David Friedland, jamook extraordinaire, reappears healthy enough to call his lawyer from beyond his watery grave and insist he is innocent. Which nobody believes that anymore.  But for once, Freidland's timing is really good.

Back in Jersey in April of 1988, Friedland's old boss, Johnny Dee, beats the racketeering rap for the Teamster loan. But his people who run the local 701 are convicted. And  all the Genevese union officers, including Johnny Dee, are forced out. Not that the management goes clean, but all the Genevese union officers are replaced by Gambino union people.

This angers the Genevese bosses because of the loss of income, and they blame Johnny Dee. In May pf 1988 the Genevese mob takes Johnny Dee for a ride in a Lincoln Continental, and put five .38 rounds into the back of his head. He is next seen floating down the Hackensack river. So Friedland dosen't have to worry about Johnny Dee anymore.

Anyway, with this good news in his suitcase, the jamook and Colette are playing hopscotch across the globe, with the FBI half a step behind; from Bermuda, to Kenya, to Switzerland, to France, to Venice, to Hong Kong, to Singapore. When they get to Sri Lanka the feds lose track of them. 

And then for a year, the jamook and Colette disappear completely. Clean getaway. Almost. Because Friedland keeps popping up in various countries, like a whack a mole, just long enough to empty various bank accounts he has under various names, before vanishing again. And then the feds get a phone call from a string of coral atolls out in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

The cops in the Republic of the Maldive Islands had gotten curious about a flamboyant American resident named Richard Smith Harley who seems to be floating in money. He's an avid scuba diver, with pockets full of cash that nobody seems to know where it came from. But then, who ever really turned down a pile of money because it was greasy. And this Harley has invested this greasy cash in a half dozen local diving schools. 

And it seems the flamboyant mister Harley likes to have his picture taken with his scuba students, feeding sharks, while holding dead fish held in his teeth. Very flamboyant. He even started a health clinic on tiny Bondos Island (above), and everybody there calls him “Pappa”. 

But what really peaks the Maldive cops' interest is that every couple of months Harley would get his American passport stamped when he flew out of the Maldives (above). But when he flew back, always a few days later,  it was never stamped to show entry into any other country. It was like he was traveling into the Twilight Zone.  So the cops started comparing Harley's passport photo with the pictures on their alert sheets and early in December of 1988, they found a match - David Freidland. Same jamook. A couple of days later Frieland was arrested, and at the end of December the feds brought him back to the states.

“Tanned and smiling”, David Friedland tells the press, “I had a good time, but I'll tell you it's good to be back." (above)   Apparently it was not good because he was coming home to his wife Carol, and their daughter, because he wasn't doing that.  Rather, the smoldering Colette came to the states to be  with him, if only on visiting days.  Awaiting sentencing the jamook announced he had converted to Christianity, and tried to cut another deal with the feds. But nobody was impressed anymore. That's the problem with being flamboyant. Over time the your bilge tends to fill with water, until you are not so buoyant anymore  You are just flam.

In 1989 the bars of the Correctional Complex in Coleman, Florida (above)  finally slam shut behind the Flamboyant jamook.  And they did not open again until July of 1997, when David Friedland was released from a West Palm Beach halfway house. The jamook told a reporter, “'I can't tell you the nights that I lay awake just crying, because I realize the opportunity I had to do so much good, and how I blew it.”'  He never stopped selling this stuff.  He was by then about 60, and after working for a Florida advertising firm, he retired to Boca Roton, with Colette. And he finally learned to shut up.

Maybe the final word on the jamook belongs to Thomas Kean (above, left), who became the Republican governor of New Jersey, thanks in part to the political deals he cut with the Democrat David Friedland (above, right). Kean described him as “He was one of the most brilliant people I ever worked with. He just was a bit crooked.” Just a bit, do you think? Another jamook.

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