from British Columbia. The pipeline they opened to L.A. was so lucrative that Marco soon decided to move to Southern California too. There Crawford introduced him to slot machine king Robert Gans, Milton “Farmer” Page, and former LAPD vice squad officer Guy “Stringbean” McAfee. Crawford also had the all-important connection to Kent Parrot. He and his associates were prepared to pay handsomely for favors from the department, and Parrot set out to become the man who would satisfy that desire. In order to do that, he needed to establish his control over the police. Chief Oaks’s firing—followed, in short order, by the appointment of Captain Heath as chief of police—left no doubt about who controlled the department.
In Seattle, Crawford had overreached. Expanding prostitution beyond the red-light district (today’s Pioneer Square), partnering with Seattle police chief “Wappy” Wappenstein to use the force to collect $10 a week from the city’s prostitutes—it had been too explicit, too open. In Los Angeles, the gradations of protection were more subtle. Rather than making the police direct partners, as they had in Seattle, in Los Angeles, the police were simply encouraged to crack down on Combination competitors such as Tony Cornero.
Cornero tried to buy his way out, reputedly contributing $100,000 to Mayor Cryer’s second reelection campaign. But the Cryer administration just took the money and continued with the pressure. Cornero would later blame the police for some $500,000 in losses during this period. In contrast, Parrot associates such as Crawford, Page, and Marco received very different treatment from the criminal justice system. When Page was involved in his second shootout in four months at the notorious Sorrento Cafe in early 1925—self-defense, he claimed—he was promptly released on bail by Judge Craig, Parrot’s mentor. Crackdowns on the establishments of Crawford associates likewise had a way of fizzling out: One deputy sheriff reported that on two occasions he witnessed LAPD patrol cars departing Page-owned casinos he and his colleagues were about to raid. When on yet another occasion an inexperienced young patrolman arrested pimp Marco for assault with a deadly weapon, two veteran detectivesstepped in and reduced the charge to “disturbing the peace,” a decision the city prosecutor defended even after it emerged that Marco, a noncitizen, was ineligible for a concealed weapons permit. So how did he get one? It turned out that Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz, later Los Angeles County’s longest-serving sheriff, had given him a license. The LAPD wasn’t the only organization doing Charlie Crawford’s friends favors.
In exchange for such kid-gloves treatment, Crawford and his associates gave Parrot the money he needed to run expensive political campaigns—and to resist the dictates of Harry Chandler, an assertive multimillionaire with a printing press. This alliance between city hall and the underworld was soon dubbed the Combination. The Combination supplied the money; the backlash against Chandler’s reactionary political positions (he was opposed, for instance, to the cheap public power supplied by the Boulder [later Hoover] Dam) supplied many of the votes. With underworld money and populist political positions on such issues as public energy, Parrot and Mayor Cryer shrewdly built a base of supporters.
The Combination got its first true test in the mayoral election of 1925, which pitted incumbent Mayor Cryer against a conservative judge hand-picked by Harry Chandler. At issue was the question of who would control Los Angeles.
“Mr. Cryer, how much longer is Kent Parrot going to be the defacto Mayor of Los Angeles?” thundered the judge in his campaign appearances.
“Shall We Re-Elect Kent Parrot?” echoed the
Times
. The real contest, it informed its readers, was the judge “or the Boss.”
Parrot replied by plastering downtown Los Angeles with posters that proclaimed that