Record Haul

One sunny day last week New York City's Police Commissioner John Francis O'Ryan celebrated his 60th birthday. Same day Rubel Ice Corp., operating 40 distributing plants throughout the city, was making backpage news on the ground that the firm had refused to sell small ice peddlers short lots. Next day Rubel Ice Corp. was on Page 1 of every paper in the land, and Commissioner O'Ryan had received a most unwelcome birthday pres ent.

Shortly after 9 o'clock that morning a man in a white apron rolled a pushcart filled with gunny sacks up to the loading platform of a Rubel plant in the Bay Ridge district of Brooklyn. He pushed away an inquisitive child who poked among his sacks, strolled across the street to some tennis courts, lolled on the grass all the forenoon. Later a nattily dressed character sauntered into the neighborhood, obligingly tossed back a ball that had bounced across the tennis court fence. A third character drove up in a huckster's wagon and, waiting for the noon ice delivery, comforted his horse by feeding him first water, then hay. Another wagoner watched him with astonishment. Every horseman knows that his beast gets his hay first, his water second.

At 12 130 p.m. a Rubel employe known as Charlie left his shanty office on the loading platform, went into the building to open the company safe. He was about to remove $450 to turn over to U. S. Trucking Corp.'s armored car, which was due on its collection round at any moment. Another employe dashed through the office. "Close it, Charlie! Close it quick!" he panted. "There's a hold-up outside!"

The one weak link in any armored car service is the 15 seconds between the opening of the car door, to let out the armed guard and a cash carrier at a pick-up point, and the closing and locking of that door from the inside by the driver. At that precise moment, after the U. S. Trucking Corp.'s car had halted close to the Rubel platform, the man in the white apron whipped out a submachine gun from beneath the sacks on his pushcart. Instantly he was surrounded by numerous allies, some of whom had just drawn up in three automobiles. Others, like the natty dresser and the inexpert huckster, emerged from the crowd that had loitered about the plant during the morning. Like a crack football team, the robbers went through their criminal plays with the precision of true professionals.

"Get out of there, you bastards!" yelled the submachine gunner. Out got the driver. Under orders from their leader, three robbers entered the armored car, began transferring money bags to one of their automobiles, the rear seat cushion of which had been removed. Another sprang up to the office on the platform, jerked out the telephone connection. Still others cowed the surrounding crowd, disarmed the guards, forced them under the loading platform. The men in the armored car had not finished unloading all the sacks when the leader yelled: "Scram!" Without firing a shot the robbers leaped into their machines, roared off around the corner, down past the Bath Beach police station. The armored car men grabbed up an abandoned machine gun, fired a few bursts as they gave chase. But their truck was no match for the bandits' swift cars, two of which simply melted away into the city's traffic. The third was seen more than an hour later as it pulled up to a dock, 19 blocks from the scene of the robbery. Three men carrying two white bags got out, jumped into a cabin cruiser called Popeye and another speedboat. They, too, vanished across Gravesend Bay.

Caught flatfooted, police rushed to the Rubel plant. If the smart execution of the robbery was amazing, its dimensions were even more so. Well could the bandits have afforded to leave behind $29,000. They had snatched $427,950 in cash, a record robbery of its kind. All of it was in old bills, practically impossible to trace.

A cheerless birthday party took place in white-haired Commissioner O'Ryan's office. An oldtime militiaman, John Francis O'Ryan joined New York's smart 7th Regiment in 1897, was abruptly promoted from major to major general commanding all State troops in 1912. In 1916 he led the New York national guardsmen to the Mexican border, two years later went to France at the head of the 27th Division. He served with distinction, was the only militiaman to retain his command of a division throughout the War. His men selected for their divisional insignia a starry arm-patch supposed to represent the constellation Orion. Back home General O'Ryan returned to the law, took up commercial aviation, was boosted last year for Fusion Mayor of New York. As a reward for withdrawing his candidacy. Fusion Mayor LaGuardia made him the Biggest City's biggest policeman.

As such, Commissioner O'Ryan personally supervised the ensuing robber hunt. Interborough bridges were scrupulously policed, suspicious-looking autoists halted and frisked for guns or loot. Up from Floyd Bennett Field soared two police planes to scout up the Sound, down the New Jersey coast for Popeye and its companion craft. To work straight 24-hr. shifts on the case until it was solved, 25 of the youngest detectives on the force were selected, because their faces would be less familiar to criminals. On the supposition that the hold-up men had left New York, Department of Justice agents were ready to begin working on the case under a new law which makes interstate transportation of stolen goods, worth more than $5,000, a Federal felony.

As usual, suspects were loudly picked up and quietly released in other cities--Baltimore, Philadelphia, Scranton. As usual, Val O'Farrell, oldtime detective, masterminded the case for the Daily News (his angle: "inside job"). U. S. Trucking Corp. was quick to certify the good characters of its robbed guards, promptly sent checks to all who had suffered loss, was happy that it was fully covered by theft insurance. Turning an unprecedented lemon into lemonade, theft insurance firms bought space on financial news pages to advertise their protection service.

As the week ended, all the police had as evidence were the pushcart, some fingerprints on the abandoned car and a scuttled lobster boat which they were trying to connect with the case. In tracing the escape boats they were embar- rassed to find no less than 22 innocent Popeyes.

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