The Gourmet Pirate

Lafitte snobs abound in New Orleans, the nominal descendants of Jean and Pierre Lafitte, the famed 19th century pirates.* Last week the exploits of a new Jean Lafitte enlivened the New Orleans scene. The legend flowered anew when FBI agents walked into the kitchen of the city's posh Plimsoll Club, collared its manager-chef, Jean Pierre Lafitte, and charged him with a $350,000 swindle. The arrest ended a six-year search by federal authorities. But Lafitte--who naturally claims to be descended from his namesake--seemed unwilling to admit that his colorful career was over. "Just when we have everything," he told his wife, "it looks like we'll have to run again." Although Lafitte declined to elaborate, he could be running from either the feds or the mob. Like his predecessor, Lafitte, due to be arraigned in Boston this week, worked for both the law and himself.

Foreign Legion. The modern Lafitte's background is as mysterious as his career. Not even the FBI is sure whether Lafitte is his real name, and its "wanted" flyers merely suggest that he is somewhere between 66 and 74 years old and may have been born in Canada, France or the U.S. Lafitte loyally claims U.S. birth. He says that he was born to the madam of a bawdy house in Louisiana's Cajun country. His mother, he relates, took him to France, abandoned him and left him to be raised by friends. He denies a French police report that he was arrested in 1921 and claims that the authorities picked up a relative whose name he just happened to be using at the time. A matter of record that he does not deny is his enlistment in the French Foreign Legion--and his desertion a few months later.

Lafitte returned to the U.S. in the 1930s. He first came to the attention of the authorities in the early 1940s, when he failed to register for the draft and was sent to Ellis Island to await deportation to France. While there, he saw a chance to ingratiate himself with the law by becoming an informer. He won the confidence of some racketeers who were being held on the island and offered to carry a message to their fellow gangsters in New York. Instead, he carried it to the Government.

From then on, Lafitte, who changed identities as easily as he changed his stylish clothes, led a double life. Although police records show that he was arrested 23 times in 48 years for fraud, confidence schemes and burglary, they also show that he was a valuable undercover man for the Federal Government. He helped trap some of the late Vito Genovese's mafiosi for the Federal Bureau of Narcotics. He also posed as a buyer for the FBI, luring thieves into selling him stolen paintings and jewelry and then testifying against them in court.

Expensive Tastes. In public as well as private enterprise, Lafitte has always had flair. His expensive tastes appalled the Government auditors who approved his expense accounts as an informer. He drank only the best wines, smoked only the finest cigars. He rented only Cadillacs, stayed only in hotel suites. His bait was costly and effective. Once, when trying to ferret out some stolen paintings, he set himself up at Chicago's Drake Hotel. Instead of getting down to business right away, he entertained the thief's intermediary over dinner, sent wine, caviar and crepes suzette back to the kitchen for imagined flaws, then prepared the crepes himself before the wide-eyed fence. Lafitte refused to rush the business discussion. "Not now," he told the middleman. "See me tomorrow." Convinced that Lafitte was genuine, the thieves delivered the paintings the next day--and stepped into an FBI trap.

As expected, Lafitte's undercover activities made him a prime target for underworld revenge. In 1956, as a matter of self-preservation, he dropped from sight. A year later, he reappeared in Kittery Point, Me., posing as Louis Romano. There he offered to help speculator Ralph L. Loomis out of his difficulties with the Securities and Exchange Commission for $30,000. One deal led to another, and Loomis soon found himself investing more than $300,000 in a pair of Lafitte-organized companies to develop mineral rights and diamond mines in Africa. When the mines produced glowing reports but no acres of diamonds, the Government moved in and indicted its errant undercover man on 15 counts of mail fraud and transportation of stolen property. Lafitte posted a $25,000 bail, and on Dec. 3, 1963, vanished. He was reported in Africa, Europe and the Bahamas.

Lucky Pierre. Two years ago, he turned up in New Orleans, where he answered the Plimsoll Club's advertisement for a manager-chef. He was a stunning success. Local gourmets praised his Dover sole, sighed over his crepes suzette. Governor John McKeithen visited the club and made Lafitte an honorary Louisiana colonel. Mayor Victor Schiro dined there and gave him an official welcome from the city. Mrs. Lyndon Baines Johnson, too, was impressed by his cuisine. After Lafitte escorted her along a table loaded with his delicacies, she sent him a letter of praise from the White House.

In the end, Lafitte's skill with a saucepan may have been his undoing. Aware of his culinary finesse, the FBI distributed its "wanted" posters to restaurant operators across the country. A New Orleans restaurateur is reported to have recognized Lafitte from a poster and tipped the FBI because the elusive impostor was planning to open a competing French pastry shop.

Even so, Lafitte may turn out to be Lucky Pierre. Although the Government can still prosecute him for jumping bail, its fraud case against Lafitte depends on the testimony of the victim himself. Loomis will be unable to testify against Lafitte. He died a year ago and, as every schoolboy pirate knows, dead men tell no tales.

*The French-born brothers preyed on British, Spanish and French shipping in the Gulf of Mexico and sold their booty in the markets of New Orleans. Though the derring duo occasionally raided an American ship, by and large they were fiercely loyal to their adopted country. When the British approached Jean for help in the Battle of New Orleans in 1814, he led them on long enough to learn their plans, then brought his knowledge--and his guns--to the aid of Major General Andrew Jackson. Pardoned for his past plundering, he cheerfully returned to piracy.

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