Connect with us

Features

A deep dive into the lives of some shadier members of our community

By BERNIE BELLAN A few weeks ago I was contacted by a publicist for a publishing company, who asked me whether I’d be interested in obtaining a copy of a new book, titled Jukebox Empire: The Mob and the Dark Side of the American Dream?
Here’s what that publicist wrote: “This fall, Rowman & Littlefield is publishing a true crime book focusing on one of the key figures in the story of organized crime in the 20th century – Jukebox Empire: The Mob and the Dark Side of the American Dream by David Rabinovitch (publishing October 15). Rabinovitch, an award-winning filmmaker from Morden, Manitoba, unravels the story of his uncle William “Wolfe” Rabin, which takes him from the Canadian prairies to Chicago in the 1940s and Rabin’s invention of a jukebox. This is the first book to expose how organized crime infiltrated the jukebox industry and it’s an untold piece of criminal, cultural, and musical history. Rabin was the son of Jewish immigrants.

Wolfe Rabinovitch and his brother Milton, circa 1947. Wolfe counts $1,000 bills to give to his brother Milton to take to Canada “for a rainy day.” The Rabinovitches were originally from Morden, Manitoba. Photo taken from Jukebox Empire: The Mob and the Dark Side of the American Dream, by David Rainovitch. (Used with the author’s permission) Jukebox Empire will be published in October 2023.

“Caught between the Mob and the feds in a plot to save the casinos in Havana from Castro’s revolution, Wolfe Rabin pulled the biggest money-laundering scheme in history, but his hubris led to the conspiracy falling apart in a sensational trial. At a time when there was a jukebox in every restaurant, diner, bar, barracks, arcade, and canteen, Rabin’s trajectory from inventor to promoter to outlaw is set against the Mob’s growing influence of the jukebox industry. In a world of music, machines, and money, popular culture and organized crime collide in this true story of invention and greed. Rabinovitch pieces together the puzzle that begins in Chicago and spans the casinos of Havana and the financial giants of Europe, leading to what the FBI called “the biggest bank robbery in the world.”

“Rabinovitch is a winner of Emmy, Peabody, and Gemini awards. His significant films include the documentary Politics of Poison and the mini-series Secret Files of the Inquisition. Jukebox Empire is his first book.”

Of course, the moment I read that email I was interested in reading the book. Here we have some of the essential elements of a story that’s perfect for this paper: A crime story with a Jewish character at its centre – who comes from Morden, Manitoba no less!
I immediately thought of historian Allan Levine, who’s written extensively about Jewish characters with sordid backgrounds – especially in the bootlegging business, and contacted Allan to ask him whether he’d ever heard of this “Wolfe Rabin?”
Allan said he hadn’t previously, not that is, until he was contacted by the author, David Rabinovitch, who asked Allan for some help.

After I began to read the book, however, I was again contacted by the publicist, who asked me to withhold writing a review of the book until October, when the book will be released to the public.
But, to whet readers’ appetites even further, here are some endorsements David Rabinovitch has already received in advance of the book’s actual release to the public:
“A fast-paced, colorful romp through a slice of the twentieth century American underworld”
-David Kertzer, Pulitzer Prize winner
“Jukebox Empire reads like a novel but the characters and events are real and chilling.”
-Peter Edwards, co-author, The Encyclopedia of Canadian Organized Crime
“It has everything: action, incredible characters, suspense, humor. Can’t wait to see the movie.”
-Fred Fuchs, producer, The Godfather, Part III
“A compelling story of family and crime that touches on key events of U.S. history in the 1950s and 60s”
-Scott M. Deitche, author, Garden State Gangland
“An eye-opening, informative, and fascinating book. Jukebox Empire is must-read.”
-Antonio Nicaso, author, Made Men, The Dark Mafia, Angels Mobsters & Narco-Terrorists
“A delightfully entertaining story of jukeboxes, money laundering, and stolen bonds.”
-Alex Hortis, author, The Mob and the City
“A unique combination of family memoir and investigative journalism.”
-Gary Jenkins, producer/host, “Gangland Wire”
“A tour-de-force account of the Mob’s growing infiltration into legitimate American industry and how it affected one man who was obsessed with power and money at all costs.”
-Joe Saltzman, Prof. of Journalism, Annenberg School of Communication, University of Southern California

I also asked David Rabinovitch whether readers could order Jukebox Empire in advance, so that they could obtain a copy as soon as it’s released.
David responded: The book “is available for pre-order online through the website www.jukeboxempire.com (Chapters Indigo in Canada) or readers should request it at their favourite bookstore.”

Al Smiley Also originally from Winnipeg, Smiley was best of friends with Benjamin (Bugsy) Siegel. Smiley was sitting next to Siegel on Siegel’s living room couch in June 1947 when a gunman shot and killed Siegel, firing through the living room window.

All this got me to thinking: Over the years, we’ve published quite a few stories about Jews with mob connections, and some of those individuals came from Winnipeg. Perhaps the story that elicited the most interest was one we published in 2015 by Martin Zeilig about a character by the name of Al Smiley. (You can still find that story on our website’s online archive. Just search for “Al Smiley.” in the “search archive” button on jewishpostandnews.ca)
Smiley, it turns out, was best friends with Bugsy Siegel (whose real name was Benjamin – and who hated being called “Bugsy.”) In fact, Smiley was sitting right beside Siegel – on his living room couch in his Las Vegas home, when Siegel was shot and killed by a Mafia hitman.

That story led to another story about a mobster with a Winnipeg connection who, it turns out, was actually related to me in a very distant way, someone by the name of Harry Altman.
In 2020 I wrote about someone by the name of John Novick in an article I wrote about the children of Jewish mobsters. In that same article I referenced Myer Lansky and his daughter, Sylvia, who was the subject of one of the greatest interviews Anna Maria Tremonti ever conducted when she was host of CBC’s “The Current.” (You can still listen to that interview on the CBC website.)

Finally, a few years back I happened to attend a Fringe show which was titled “Davey the Punk.” The creator of that show – and its sole performer, was singer Bob Bossin (who was a member of a well-known group called “String Band.”) The show was about Bob’s father, Davey Bossin who, while not a “made man” per se (Mafia parlance for someone who is accepted into the Mafia), but who was very “connected” and about whose background Bob Bossin knew nothing until years after his father had died.

What’s my obsession with mobsters, you might ask? Well, I don’t think I’m much different than a great many others when I say that I’m both fascinated and repelled by all these figures – and the fact they’re all Jewish only adds to my interest.

But, it got me to thinking – once again: Where are the stories about Winnipeg Jewish hoodlums from the North End? Even in Russ Gourluck’s masterful history of Winnipeg’s North End, The Mosaic Village, he only mentions two shady characters: Stanley Zedd, a well-known operator of gambling establishments, especially the Margaret Rose Tea Room on Osborne, and Bll Wolchuk, a major bootlegger in the 1920s.

Ernie Chisick One of the most authoritative sources on “shtarkers” (strong guys) and assorted individuals from the North End who had somewhat unsavoury reputations


So – to find out more about Jewish hoodlums of a bygone era, I turned to my most trusted source on the subject: Ernie Chisick, whom I first met at the Y reunion in 2019.
For those who don’t know Ernie – he is a raconteur of the first order and his own brushes with the law when he was younger only add to his mystique.

I sat down with Ernie one recent evening and asked him to repeat some of the fabulous stories he’s told me over the years about colourful North End characters with whom he crossed paths over the years. I was especially keen on hearing Ernie recite some of the nicknames of guys with whom he associated when he was younger.
The problem is, as Ernie explained, some of those individuals are still alive and, even if they’re not, they have kids and grandkids, so referring to them by their full names might not even be embarrassing, it might be potentially lethal for me!
I have attempted to reach out to one character in particular who, as Ernie described him, probably knows more about Jewish hoodlums… and criminals, from the North End of the 40s and 50s than anyone else alive, but even if that guy does get back to me, I rather doubt he’s going to want to see his name end up in the Jewish paper in Winnipeg. (I’m hoping that he will respond to my message and I’ll promise him full anonymity if he’s prepared to talk about his former friends – who weren’t quite boy scouts.)

Ernie though, has too many good stories not to at least refer to some of them here. He told me about a gambling club on Selkirk Avenue between Salter and Powers that was run by an individual who was known as “Montreal…..” (Again, I’m leaving out the surname because it’s a name that would be familiar to at least some readers.)
According to Ernie, that club had a lookout by the name of “Srulik Flaxman.” When Srulik would spot a cop coming, he would shout to the guys who were in the back room: “Watch out – it’s the football shoes kimmen!” (Why he referred to cops as “football shoes,” Ernie didn’t know.)

Here’s another story Ernie tells – about a character who went by the name “One-eyed Connolly.”
“They’re playing cards,” Ernie says, “and Connolly says he’s got to take a piss.” But before he gets up to go to the bathroom, he leaves his cards on the table, then takes out his glass eye, puts it on the table, and says to the eye: “Watch them guys; they’re all a bunch of thieves!” Apparently that so unnerved the other players, they sat there frozen in their seats, afraid of that well-known Jewish superstition: “the evil eye.” (But Connolly wasn’t Jewish. Can a non-Jew threaten someone Jewish with the “evil eye?” There’s a Saturday morning sermon for you, all you rabbis and would-be rabbis out there.)

With reference to Stanley Zedd and the Margaret Rose Tea Room, Ernie says that his father, Charlie, once said to him, “Take this to the Rosie (the nickname for the Osborne Tea Room) and ask for Stanley Zedd.” Charlie handed Ernie a paper bag (which, Ernie now says, unbeknownst to him at the time, contained betting slips. Ernie claims he was only an innocent 16-year-old. not yet wise in the ways of the world. Anyway, the statute of limitations protects him now.)
So, Ernie drove to the Tea Room and announced, when he walked into the room, “I have something for Stanley from Charlie.”
He was ushered into the back room where Stanley Zedd held court. “He was very nice to me and told me my father was an honourable man,” Ernie recalls.
Another time, Ernie says, he got a phone call from his father in the middle of the night.
“Charlie,” Ernie asked (Ernie says he always called his father by his first name), “what is it?”
“I’m in jail,” Charlie responded. (He didn’t say why.)
“In the morning,” Charlie continued, “give Roland Penner a phone call.” (Roland Penner would go on to become Manitoba’s attorney general, but at the time he was in partnership with Joe Zuken in the firm, Zuken and Penner.)

“So, I phoned Roland Penner’s office in the morning. I told his secretary who I was and she put me through immediately to Roland Penner.”
“Roland says to me, ‘You heard from your dad? The mounties made a raid in the middle of the night. Eighteen guys (from different cities) were charged with conspiracy to commit bookmaking.’”
“Roland says: ‘I’ve got something for you.’ “ He explained that the mounties took Charlie out in the middle of the night and it was quite cold.
“Your father wanted me to give you his gloves,” Penner continues.
“I put them on,” Ernie says, “and I feel a lump in one of the gloves. They were betting slips that could have been used as evidence in court.’
(Did Penner know that, I wonder? Ernie says he doesn’t know.)
“All the guys were taken to a lock-up in Calgary. Harry Walsh represented the three Winnipeggers,” Ernie continues.
“My dad explained that the Jewish boys were able to get kosher food to eat because one of the mounties was Jewish and he brought them deli.”
The Grey Cup was being held that week, Ernie says. “Charlie said he made $10,000 taking bets on the game” – while he was in jail.
Eventually, when the accused were brought to trial, they were all acquitted, Ernie explains.
“Walsh said they weren’t betting with each other; they weren’t in business together.” As a result, the conspiracy charge didn’t hold up, Ernie says. (If they had simply been charged with bookmaking, then the likelihood is that at least some of them, including Charlie, would have been found guilty.)

I don’t necessarily approve of Charlie’s behaviour. Rather, the stories about the less savoury aspects of Jewish lives don’t usually receive much attention in North American Jewish newspapers. (Some Israeli newspapers, in contrast, are not at all reluctant to publish extensive investigative pieces about the Israeli underword.)Yet, there are so many colourful stories to tell I thought I’d deviate from the Gerry Posner and Myron Love types of stories that extol the virtues of individuals who have led honest, hardworking lives to write about other less honourable fellows who, as the late Harvey Rosen used to say are “of the Hebraic persuasion.”

We’ll have more about members of our community who had connections to activities that were not always on the right side of the law in our Aug. 16 issue. If you might have a story to add about a relative with a shady past that you might like to share, you can email us at jewishp@mymts.net

Features

I Speak “Jew”

Morrocan Jewish fish dish

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”

That’s all.


Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967

He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project

Continue Reading

Features

At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact.  A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many  contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store.  He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls.  “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.)  “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says.  We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s.  After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William.  The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales.  “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says.  “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods.  “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods.  The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete.  I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage.  Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed.  She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly. 
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene.  For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century.  Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.  

Continue Reading

Features

Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

“The Chronos of Andalucia” author Merom Toledano

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier.  She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego.  When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape.  They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous  journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places. 
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom  Toledano’s first language.  The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world. 
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country.  His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano.  His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele.  He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.        

Continue Reading

Copyright © 2017 - 2023 Jewish Post & News