Crime

This is a serious topic. So let me ease into it with a funny story. The topic is crime. The story goes back to when I was just making a name for myself as a radio show host in Miami. There was a convention for police chiefs and another for district attorneys taking place over the same few days. They were both ending with Sunday afternoon sessions. Somebody came up with the idea to cancel both afternoon sessions, rent out the ballroom at the Fontainebleau Hotel on Sunday night, and conclude both conventions with a combined dinner.


This created a slight problem. The problem being that the most boring man on the planet was scheduled to speak to the district attorneys. The change would put him in front of the combined audience at the finale. So my friend, the state attorney in Miami, asked me for a favor: Will you please follow this guy and save the evening?
“I’m just a local radio guy,” I said. “Nobody knows me.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll give you a big introduction.”
So I go there Sunday night. I’m seated on the dais next to police chiefs from around America—all in uniform. I’m a little overwhelmed. My friend the state attorney comes over and says, “Relax. No problem.”
Then, Frank Silverman gets up to speak. It’s hard to make the subject of crime boring, but Frank Silverman turned it into a commercial for Sominex. His own wife went face-first into the Baked Alaska. Frank droned on and on about how to solve crime. As soon as he stopped, half the crowd miraculously awakened and started running for the door.

My friend the state attorney went to the microphone and said, “Now, before you leave, here’s my friend—Larry King.” That was my big introduction. So I rushed to the microphone and screamed, “Hold it!
Wait a minute!
The crowd turned.

“I’m in broadcasting! Yes, broadcasting! In broadcasting we have an equal time code! A fairness doctrine! You have just heard Frank Silverman speak against crime. I’m here to speak on behalf of crime.”

It’s a cliché to say you could have heard a pin drop. Believe me, at that moment you could have heard the tinkle. Everybody sat down. I’ve got them, I thought. Only now, I have to think of something to say.
“How many people in this room,” I ask, “would like to live in Butte, Montana?”

Nobody raises a hand. I slammed the lectern. “You see! Nobody wants to live in Butte, Montana! Butte, Montana, is the city with the lowest crime rate in the Western world! Last year, there were no crimes in Butte! There is not even a locksmith in Butte, Montana!

“Tell me, what are the top five crime cities in America? New York, Chicago, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Miami—the top five tourist cities. So you see, crime is a major tourist attraction. You put crime in your community, you’re gonna double the size of the airport. People flock to crime. “And another thing that he”—I’m pointing at the suddenly important Frank Silverman—“didn’t mention. The money stays local. The local bookmaker goes to the local coffee shop. The local hooker goes to the local beauty parlor.
“And! Criminals have a tendency to take care of their own problems. They don’t put added stress on the police department. They commit crimes you don’t have to solve.
“One more thing that Frank Silverman totally left out. If we listen to everything he says, and we do everything he wants us to do, we will wipe out crime in America. Think of the consequences. The unemployment rate in this room is going to hit 100 percent!”

From the middle of the crowd, the police chief from Louisville jumped up and said, “What can we do to help?” I bring up that story to make a larger point. There’s always more than one way to see a crime. Crime is rarely simple—and it’s very often complex. It can also put innocent bystanders in no-win situations. Like the time Bob Costas was eating dinner in a restaurant and found out that the mobster John Gotti had picked up his check for him. Do you go over and shake his hand? Or do you refuse the offer? Is there a diplomatic way out? Crime can even make us wonder about our own sense of values. Like the time Yogi Berra was asked what he’d do if he stumbled upon a million dollars in the street while nobody was looking. “I’d find the guy who lost it,” Yogi said. “And if he was poor, I’d give it back.”

Bottom line is, crime is very rarely black and white. Wesley Snipes was the guest the night after the Al Pacino interview aired. I thought he was terrific with Halle Berry in Flight 57, but he wasn’t on to discuss an upcoming film. He came on as a man about to surrender himself to a federal prison in less than forty-eight hours. It was a very confusing story. Ultimately, he was convicted of three misdemeanor counts of failing to file federal tax returns in 1999, 2000, and 2001. Snipes claimed he was innocent. He claimed that someone else was supposed to file the taxes for him. The jury agreed in part—acquitting him of two felony charges. The judge gave him the max: three years in prison. Wesley was hoping my show would allow people to see his case in a different light and halt his incarceration. One of his big problems was that the case had attracted the attention of groups that believe nobody should have to pay taxes. He became a poster child for these groups. So it was plausible that the government wanted to make an example of him. Wesley’s attorney said he’d paid more than $30 million in taxes and that he’d shown up in court with a $6 million check to try to resolve the problem. You couldn’t help but wonder. Why was that check rejected? Wouldn’t anyone want to look into the case after it came to light that the chief witness against him turned out to be the same business manager who’d ripped off Al Pacino for millions? But also, why did Wesley wait until the last minute to make his case public?

It was hard to do the story justice. To do it right you needed to have the prosecutor on the show. Anyone can look like they were railroaded in a case when you don’t hear from the other side. Which is why I’d really like to interview Bernie Madoff.

Because when it comes to Bernie Madoff, there doesn’t seem to be another side. If there is, I’d like to hear it. I’m often asked to name someone I would have liked to interview but never got the chance. Near the top of the list would have to be Madoff. There would be a double lure—it would be a victim interview. I’ve never interviewed anybody who ever committed a crime against me. I was one of thousands of “investors” who got taken by Madoff. Time magazine estimates there were up to 3 million direct and indirect victims. In some ways, you could say I’m the last guy who should have fallen for his scheme. Over the years, I’ve talked with FBI agents about great frauds and Secret Service agents about counterfeiting. I’ve sat down with the legendary bank robber Willie Sutton. Recalling great crime capers always makes for a great breakfast at Nate ’n Al’s. After hearing all those stories, how could a guy like me not have a clue?

There’s a good answer to that. Bernie Madoff was brilliant. There was even a little Willie Sutton in him. Willie was a robber, but he never carried a gun. He had an amazing mind and he had that great line. I said to him, “You could have been a giant of industry. Why rob banks?” “That’s where the money is.” It was logical to him. He was more interested in being outside the law than inside. Robbery attracted his cunning. Once Sutton pulled off a bank robbery in Queens. Get this setup: What Willie did was go to the bank for months in various disguises—a couple of them female. He opened about eight accounts, deposited money, made withdrawals. The idea was to go almost every day so that all the tellers trusted his characters. In a sense, he befriended the people at the bank. All the while, he was casing the joint. It took him a couple of months to know every move. He knew exactly when the Brinks boys made their pickups. Then, one day at precisely that time, he came in dressed as a pregnant woman. That gave him ample room to hide bags filled with confetti next to his stomach. The bags looked just like the ones the bank used for the Brinks pickups. He casually switched his bags for ones that had cash and walked out the door. There were no video cameras in those days to replay what had happened. Nobody even discovered the switch until that night when the money was counted.

You know how cunning Willie was? He kept going back to the bank dressed in the different disguises for weeks after the robbery. The investigators never suspected any of his characters because none of them stopped making deposits. The police just couldn’t solve the crime. They found out only when Sutton was caught for another robbery and decided to confess. One reason why Madoff’s scheme worked for as long as it did was that he was disguised. He didn’t need a costume as elaborate as maternity wear. His disguise was much better than that. He was disguised as himself—the former chairman of NASDAQ and a pillar of the Jewish community.

Charities trusted him to watch over their money—and, why not, he made large donations. Who would rip off a charity? What Jew would rip off Elie Wiesel—a Holocaust survivor? Madoff was the best friend of respected and well-known people. Is there a better way to lure in someone than with a friend’s recommendation? Shawn once mentioned to Freddie Wilpon that we were looking for investment advice, and Freddie said, “Ever hear of Bernie Madoff? He’s been my friend for years . . .”
Freddie is the owner of the New York Mets. Freddie has been my friend for years. Of course I’m going to listen when he says, “Madoff’s the best. The best! I’ll try to get you in with him. I’ll try . . .”

This was yet another lure Madoff had going for him— exclusivity. Madoff didn’t take just anybody. So there wasn’t a normal vetting process. Instead, Madoff had me wondering if my money was good enough for him to handle. When Freddie called back and said, “Good news! Madoff will take you,” I wasn’t thinking about checking the guy out. I was happy to be accepted into the club.

I spoke with my accountants. No warning bells there. They never even spoke to Madoff. They talked with one of his guys. We sent him $250,000 to start. A month later, we got a list of stocks he’d bought for us. The statement said our investment had already grown to about $272,000.

If our account had lost money during a bad stretch we might have paid close attention to it. Sort of like the grocery store that week after week was coming up short of cash. Merchandise gone, unaccounted for. The owners searched and searched and just couldn’t figure out how they were losing money. Then one day, somebody looks at the receipts from all twelve cash registers and then counts the registers in the store. There are thirteen. The manager had installed the thirteenth register for himself. Terrific thinking, but when you’re constantly losing money, the scrutiny is eventually going to catch up with you.

Madoff did the exact opposite. Month after month, you got good news. Two months after we sent him the $250,000, we got a statement that the account was worth $291,000. Why would you want to scrutinize him? The guy never lost. You’re thinking: This is almost too good to be true. That’s where I should have caught myself. When you’re telling yourself it’s too good to be true, then it’s usually too good to be true. The biggest reason to have faith in Madoff was that you got your money as soon as you asked for it. I had a large insurance premium to pay a few years back. The same day my accountants requested the money—bam!—it was wired to my account. Madoff could do this, of course, because so many other people were giving him money that he wasn’t really investing.

It’s estimated that $170 billion rolled through his offices at one time or another. Should I have paid attention to the one guy who didn’t trust him and made a public squawk? Of course! But everybody else ignored that guy, too. Nobody else asked the basic questions. He’s handling billions of dollars and not dealing with any of the top accounting firms? Why are Madoff’s accountants three guys from Queens? Those are questions you don’t ask when winning statements come in month after month. What you do is spread the good news. It’s only natural that you’d want to tell your brother about Madoff. Now, my brother was interested. Only—get this—my brother’s money wasn’t good enough. Madoff rejected him. Freddie called back and said, “Sorry. What can I say? Bernie doesn’t just take everybody.”

Are you going to pull out your money in anger? No. It’s Madoff’s business. It’s his prerogative. And it’s just your luck to be one of the chosen. If the economy had continued rolling along, Madoff would have remained undetected. But when the financial meltdown hit in the autumn of ’08, requests came in for billions. I try to imagine what that must have been like. This is going to sound crazy, but when I think of myself stealing, the first thing that comes to mind is a Duncan yo-yo.

When I was a kid, all my friends had Duncan yo-yos. You could hear the zing of a Duncan. My yo-yo didn’t have any zing to it because it was cheap. So one day I cased the yo-yo aisle at Woolworth’s. I waited until just the right moment, then put a beautiful red Duncan in my pocket. The walk to the door was perilous. Perilous! I can still remember the pounding of my heart. If someone had screamed, “Hey, kid!” would I have run for it? I don’t know. I was a good kid and well known in the neighborhood. Maybe I’d have tried to squirm out of it.
“Ohhhhh jeez, sorry, I was going to pay for it.”
There’s just no comparison between my yo-yo and the billions Bernie Madoff stole—which is one reason I’m so curious about him. It’s exactly why crime is so fascinating. We all wonder: How could he do that?
Here’s what really puzzles me. Madoff knew he was going to get caught the minute he couldn’t make a payment. If you’re that cunning, why not get on a plane and go to Brazil? There’s no extradition from Brazil. Why not call your family and say,
“Who wants to go with me?” Or just tell them, “You can visit me in Brazil.” It’s not a tough choice. You’re one of the most hated men in the world. And who hates you? The Jews that you stole from. They’re not gonna kill you. It’s not like the Italian Mafia. So it comes down to, Let’s see. I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. Or else I’ll go to Brazil. That doesn’t seem like much of a choice to me. I talked with the guy who wrote a New York magazine article about Madoff that was headlined  BERNIE MADOFF ,  FREE AT LAST . The story was called that because Madoff had told the Securities Exchange Commission that his last seven years had been a nightmare. He always knew there was going to be a knock on the door, and when it came, he said, it was a relief. You really wonder what was going on in his mind. He’d wiped out friends. Destroyed charities. Caused investors to commit suicide. Would it be possible to see him differently if we knew his side of the story?

I’ve always wondered what the outcome would have been if OJ had been found in the driveway after the murders screaming for the police. What if he’d fallen down on his hands and knees next to the bodies of his wife and the waiter, with the bloody knife in his hand, and the police had arrived to find him sobbing, “What have I done? I was in a rage and I lost it! I’m guilty! Punish me! I deserve to die!” 

Americans are very forgiving. I believe they’d have forgiven OJ over time. He’d have done a few years for the murders, written a book, and become the number one expert on rage. What came over me? He’d have been on every show. The audience would have cried. The audience would have applauded. OJ could never have smiled in public for the rest of his life, but he might have been able to help a lot of people.

It’s difficult to imagine how Madoff could ever be seen in a sympathetic light. Especially after he told fellow prisoners that his investors deserved what they got because they were greedy. All con men take advantage of people’s greed. But greedy charities? When Freddie Wilpon sees an old boyhood friend at the stadium, he screams at him for buying tickets. Why didn’t you call? I would have gotten you tickets. Freddie Wilpon is not a greedy man. I’ve had lunch with Freddie Wilpon many times since the Madoff house of cards came down. There’s probably no way to describe the sense of betrayal Freddie feels. Not only for the problems Madoff caused to his finances, but for all the friends who suffered after Freddie brought them in.

Looking at all the damage that Madoff inflicted, I can see how lucky I was. Overall—after putting in, taking out, putting in and taking out—I lost about $780,000. About $280,000 of that was to Madoff. The other half million was money paid in capital gains taxes on stocks I never owned. I gave the government the capital, without ever getting the gains. The government refunded that money. Then the trustee in the case sent a check for the remainder. I feel for the people who never got back what they lost. If I’d been wiped out of everything I had, I’m sure I’d feel what they feel. But at this point, any anger I have has been overcome by sheer curiosity.

I’d like to know what inspired this. How did it start? There are endless questions. I don’t know what his answers would be—and I never guess. So I don’t know where my questions or follow-ups would take us. No matter how you feel about Bernie Madoff, you can’t help but be curious. Because there’s probably never been anyone quite like him. There’s got to be more to this than we can imagine. I’ll tell you why.

One of the most memorable interviews I ever did came about because of a series of stolen bicycles in Central Park. It was with a New York City policeman during the early days of CNN. I had no idea what to expect. The policeman was in public affairs. He arrived in a wheelchair. He came in with his beautiful wife and a little boy. He was paralyzed from the neck down. His son could touch his face, but he couldn’t feel his son’s touch. He explained that his father was a cop and his grand- father was a cop.
So, I asked, what happened?
He described how he and his partner were in a squad car riding around Central Park on the lookout for bike thieves when they spotted this black kid with a brand-new Schwinn. He got out of the car to approach the kid, and the kid shot him. He remembered the smoke coming from his chest. He fell down in a heap. His partner ran over and grabbed the kid. An ambulance arrived. So did a Catholic priest, who gave him his last rites. He was brought to the emergency room. The doctors saved his life. But he was now paralyzed.

Subsequently, the kid got convicted of attempted murder. He was a juvenile who’d never had a record. The sentence was split: some of the time he had to spend behind bars would be as a juvenile and the rest as an adult. After the cop recovered somewhat, he thought: I want to go see the kid. He went to the jail and he said to the kid, “Why did you shoot me?”

The kid said he was sorry. Then he starts to explain. “I worked in a grocery store part time. I was an A student. I had just bought the bike. My brother—he’s the bad guy. He was running out of town and he told me to hold his gun for him. I had never held a gun in my life. He said, ‘Hold it for me,’ and he left.

“I put the gun in my little pack, and I went off on my new bike. And you were the fifteenth cop to stop me because I had a new bike. I’m glad you came, because I want to ask you something. If I were white, would you have approached me?”

The cop told me: “I had to take a look inside myself and honestly say: ‘I would not have approached him if he were a white kid riding on a new Schwinn.’”

The two of them bonded, and the cop became that kid’s big brother, and that kid later became a cop. I’ll never forget that older cop crying as he told the story.

One of the reasons I like the story is it tells me that some- thing good can come from anything. In the end, life always comes down to how we can help others.

Willie Sutton went on to work for a safe company to design safes that thieves couldn’t break into. He also helped wardens design escape-proof prisons. If Madoff conducted classes on how to spot white-collar crime, aren’t there people who’d attend? A mind like Madoff’s could do a lot of good. Maybe there’s a way to monetize it to help pay back those who lost their money.

I’m going to be doing four specials a year for CNN. I’ve written Madoff quite a few letters requesting an interview. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be any plus for Madoff to sit down with me. Maybe it has no meaning for him. On the other hand, he didn’t say, “I’m sorry” in his contrition statement to the judge. I’m not going to put words in his mouth, but if he ever did feel that way, he’d have the chance to say those two words. I wouldn’t be coming to hurt him. I don’t like what Madoff did. But I don’t know him. I might like him. He’s a rogue. I like rogues. I’d certainly treat him fairly. People have always accused me of throwing softball questions. But if I started an interview with: “Good afternoon, Bernie Madoff, you’re a creep,” what would I learn? I just want to know how it happened.

I’m sure he wants to protect his family. I had lunch with his wife’s lawyer. He said that she didn’t know a thing. What must her life be like? One minute you’re living like a billionaire, the next minute the beauty parlor won’t take your appointment, and the restaurants won’t give you a table. And every day it keeps getting worse. The day before her son was led to believe a Wall Street Journalarticle would appear with information that he was about to be indicted, he committed suicide in front of his two-year-old son.

It’s not easy to have to answer the question, Do you have regrets over your son’s suicide? But I don’t know how Madoff would respond. Maybe he’d blame the Wall Street Journal. There are so many ripples and complexities. I myself wonder if the people who wrote the Wall Street Journal story—that, in the end, never implicated the son—felt any guilt when Madoff’s son committed suicide. I remember when the investigative reporter Jack Anderson broke a very legit story about a white-collar criminal. The criminal killed himself after the story came out. Jack couldn’t rationalize it. It’s not like the guy had ever killed anybody. He’d stolen money from some agency. It made Jack very depressed.

There are so many complexities. Maybe there’s no upside to talking—except the one that must have occurred to Wesley Snipes now that he’s behind bars. When you realize it’s helpful to talk, you don’t want it to be too late. There is a lawyer at our table at Nate ’n Al’s who brought to breakfast a list of similarities and coincidences in the assassinations of Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy. It’s been almost a hundred and fifty years since Lincoln was shot. But you couldn’t help but be fascinated. Lincoln’s name has seven letters.

Kennedy’s name has seven letters.
Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846.
Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946.
Lincoln was elected president in 1860.
Kennedy was elected president in 1960.
Lincoln had a secretary named Kennedy.
Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln.
Lincoln lost a child while living in the White House.
Kennedy lost a child while living in the White House.
Lincoln was shot in a theater built by Ford.
Kennedy was shot in a car built by Ford.
Lincoln was succeeded by a southerner named Johnson.
Kennedy was succeeded by a southerner named Johnson.
Andrew Johnson’s name has thirteen letters.
Lyndon Johnson’s name has thirteen letters.
Andrew Johnson was born in 1808.
Lyndon Johnson was born in 1908.
Lincoln was sitting beside his wife when he was shot.
Kennedy was sitting beside his wife when he was shot.
John Wilkes Booth was born in 1839.
Lee Harvey Oswald was born in 1939.
John Wilkes Booth’s name has fifteen letters.
Lee Harvey Oswald’s name has fifteen letters.
Booth ran from the theater and was captured in a warehouse.
Oswald ran from a warehouse and was captured in a theater.
Booth was killed prior to trial while in police custody.
Oswald was killed prior to trial while in police custody.
Lincoln died on a Friday.
Kennedy died on a Friday.

Two murders, and this is what we’re left with. When we don’t understand why, we never get tired of wondering. Because when it comes to crime, we’re always looking for some thread that will help us understand.