Specs Howard and I stood on the frigid sidewalks of Cleveland under the icy glare of Teamster President Babe Triscaro. He and his sinister retinue had just arrived at the imposing  front entrance of KYW Radio and Television during the opening stages of the peaceful strike by AFTRA, against Westinghouse Broadcasting. 

Many of the KYW/AFTRA strikers were popular television personalities, more sensitive to their coifs and the cut of their wardrobes than the bothersome demands of the working stiffs who made up a larger  portion of the over-all staff. They had  been conditioned to flash an automatic  smile for the cameras, and were constitutionally incapable of frowning out of concern for some obscure union demand.  

Triscaro was there to focus them. He got the hard ball rolling when one of his bodyguards body-blocked  our secretary, Mandy to the ground, spilling a food and drink tray she was carrying inside. She had been on her way upstairs to deliver food, her duty during the strike. 

I reflexively struck the tray jostler with what I thought was a pretty good wallop causing him to blink and fall back a step or two, then focus and  prepare to mutilate me.. Triscaro intervened with his body guard.

When he had first arrived, he may have had no real strategy on how to proceed, except to do a little ‘improv,’ maybe maim somebody, but there were  Specs and I, targets of opportunity. Recognizing us from the many billboards and television promos heralding our new show, Triscaro told us  that he was a ‘fan of the Martin and Howard show’ and that he needed a “little help” from us to help restore order in this untidy strike. He motioned for us to huddle off to the side. 

                                            THE ACTION RESUMES 

“Fellas” he began in his raspy command voice, “You have seen how things can get out of hand, that poor lady, your secretary, being pushed on her ass and all. I have a suggestion that may result in…”  

He looked past us and his eyes lit up., “Paulie!” he shouted.  He was motioning toward a fellow picketer, Paul Sciria,  the intrepid television feature reporter for Channel 3. Sciria was like a ferret after a rat when it came to fighting local corruption. 

Spec and I took advantage  of this break to speak a little shorthand between us. We honestly did not believe  that the AFTRA members could stand up under the pressure of the rough house tactics that were about to happen. Babe Triscaro was doing it for them, but, in actuality,  they would  recoil in horror and ruin his play.   He simply did not realize that this was not  a bloody Teamster strike in Detroit or even Cleveland. We decided to go along with him  in hopes that the professional AFTRA negotiators had a strong enough hand to score with their principal demands despite Babe’s “help”.  

Triscaro spent a moment with the fearless Sciria,  paying him the same  respect that was bestowed on him generally in that part of Ohio. In Mafiaspeak, the word “respect”  also translates to ‘quite a bit of fear.’ I overheard the exchange, mostly small talk. Sciria asked  if he was staying in shape, a reference to Triscaro’s well known  boxing career when he was national amateur Flyweight champ back in the early 30’s. I say ‘well known’ because Specs had told me this a few minutes prior. 

Triscaro turned back  to us. “Fellas, this is what I would suggest that you do to help things along. Like I said, this strike is gonna get nasty. I would like to see it end. I want you two to consider going inside and talking to your manager, what’s his name, Perry Bascom? Now I don’t want you to do no more than to tell him what you saw here, and then suggest that he gets serious at the bargaining table. Okay?” 

Specs spoke quietly, but with conviction. to Triscaro. “We are not going to get involved in the actual negotiation, but if that’s all you want….”:He looked at me and I nodded. “We can do that.”  

Triscaro raised his palms like ‘hey no problem.’   

I had a sudden flash. “Babe……. can I call you ‘Babe?’ ” 

“Sure” 

I said, “We will do it, but I hope you will add a minor demand in your negotiations.” 

Triscaro was not used to being handed “conditions,.” but humored us. 

“Go ahead.” 

“We are Union brothers and support this strike,” I proclaimed, “but we are hampered by the presence in our studio of a Sound Effects Man who is part of an ancient union contract with NBC. He is not essential to our show and slows us down. Maybe you can throw in a suggestion that they dispense with him…..as a sort of bargaining chip.” 

Triscaro shrugged like this was nothing. 

We, the two Judas Goats, passed through the picket line, and rode the elevator up to the management floor. The energy inside was electric. Word had gotten around about the Teamster arrival on the picket site. 

Specs and I strode into Perry Bascom’s suite, and greeted a subdued Bascom. He looked more like he was in a bunker instead of his posh suite. 

What’s up guys? He asked. I was a little put off. Bascom was not a “guy” person. I had him pegged as being wound so tightly that his body would hum in a slight breeze.. 

We waded into the reason we were there.  

“Perry, “ Specs said with sincere solemnity. “I don’t want to get involved in your business, but the Teamsters are out front and…”  

We went into detail about the grim implications of their arrival and Bascom was nodding.. No resentful reaction like, ‘what the hell are you guys doing in here negotiating with me,?’ He did not respond right away to our grim speculation about what might happen if the strike went forward, but….the strike was over in a day or two, and I never did find out what came down regarding the settlement. One good  thing did come out of our involvement: Triscaro had the door shut on our sound effects man. 

                                          FAST FORWARD TO DETROIT, 1966. 

The moveable Martin and Howard feast had moved to Detroit with great fanfare. I had everything I wanted: a helluva gig with Specs Howard at my side, and Carol back in my personal  life.  

It had been five years since I had asked Carol to marry me, a proposal that took five long years to bring  closure. I will relate that epic saga to you later, but now here we were, reunited in Detroit. During those years of separation, she had risen to Chief Aide to her dad, Ben Chapman, who ran the Ivan Tors “Flipper” Studio in Miami 

She, miracles of miracles, gave that all up for me. Scroll down and click onto the RDN  “Happy Hare’s Trifecta” series describing our hilarious epic return to Detroit after a Mexican marriage in Juarez.  Bonus! Bonus, There’s a picture of Carol in the first “Trifecta” installment   

In early 1966, She and I sat having lunch at The Fox Restaurant on the outskirts of Detroit, talking about nothing and everything when out of the shadows of the sheltered entrance burst….Babe Triscaro…aimed straight for our table.  I rose, delighted to see my former Teamster cohort. when he waved all that aside and said urgently, “Martin, get the hell out of here…NOW….don’t ask questions.” 

Hell!  If he was alarmed, I was alarmed.  The Cleveland  Teamster leader in a “driver mode”…scary..  

I flipped  a wad of money on the table to settle the bill, took Carol firmly by the arm and…. too late…..there bursting out of the shadows of the entrance with a murderous scowl on his face was a man who looked a lot like……. Jimmy Hoffa.,              

Next week:  The exciting crisis climax and I mean both crisis and climax

                                              THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

       Some people are alive today only because it is illegal to kill them