The Magic Box

Politicians, hangers-on and reporters crowded into the smoke-filled city clerk's office in Jersey City. They were all assembled for a little democratic ritual. Twenty-five cops, loyal subjects of Boss Frank Hague, hovered around the old grey City Hall. Inside, Deputy City Clerk Ben Rosengard grasped the octagonal walnut box, spun it several times, then carefully pulled out a card. His announcement was just what the boys had expected: the magic box gave Boss Hague's foolproof Democratic machine the top place on the city-election ballot, as it had every time but once for 36 years.

"Fraud!" cried Charles Witkowski, a candidate for city commissioner on one of the six opposition tickets. A 210-lb. former tackle at Villanova, Witkowski lunged for the box, grabbed it. "I drew it fairly," shouted Clerk Rosengard. "I swear on my family." Other candidates dived in, fought to get a hand on the box to see what made it tick.

For more than an hour, Witkowski clung; to it, while people shouted, swirled and cussed around him. Some wanted to open the box right there: they suspected it had a secret inner panel. Finally Assistant Prosecutor Abraham Sepenuk showed up and agreed to impound it for grand-jury examination.

Goings-on like this were an irritating challenge to Frank Hague's ideas of law & order. Two years ago, shrewd old (73) Boss Hague had confidently handed the mayor's office over to the man he had carefully trained for the job--his nephew, Frank Hague Eggers. But Eggers lacked his uncle's sure grip, and now needed the old man's help to get reelected. Boss Hague hurried home from "retirement" at Florida's race tracks. Last week he shouted at a Democratic rally: "I really wanted to rest . . . But I stated that if conditions changed I would be back . . . And I am back. I am moving in. You knew I would never desert you . . ."

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