An innocent man was placed in law enforcement’s crosshairs in late 1930s Los Angeles for a heinous crime … the frame-up stuck.

George “Les” Bruneman

Caught Unawares

While strolling on Southern California’s Redondo Beach Strand, or boardwalk, with a female employee on a July Monday night after dinner with friends, George “Les” Bruneman, 40, was shot in the back. The bullet, which entered his left shoulder, pierced a lung and entered his abdomen. He survived but spent months in the hospital.

“I’m living on borrowed time,” Bruneman told a detective lieutenant. “I’ve got about six weeks more. They’ll get me the next time. They won’t send the same pair, though. They’ll send experts after me the next time” (Oakland Tribune, Oct. 25, 1937).

Bruneman owned/operated the Surf Club gambling house in Redondo Beach and had many horse racing bookmaking establishments throughout that Los Angeles County beach area.

In Cold Blood

Six weeks after his release from the hospital, on October 25, while drinking with friends in Los Angeles’ Roost Café in the wee hours, Bruneman was executed, sustaining four shots from a distance followed by six more at close range. An innocent bystander, Frank A. Greuzard, ran after the killers, but they fatally gunned him down, too.

Police theorized that Bruneman’s murder was related to a gambling feud of some sort, perhaps even rivals wanting his territory for themselves.

Pete Pianezzi, 1981

Seeking A Suspect

While various persons of interest were questioned and released, an informant led police to Peter “Pete” Attillio Pianezzi, an ex-convict from San Francisco, California with bank robbery charges pending against him. He was arrested for the murders of Bruneman and Greuzard.

Pianezzi went on trial for the killings in February 1940, when he was 38. In court, one of the owners and the bartender of the Roost Café identified him as being the shooter. The prosecutor went for the death penalty, but the jury couldn’t agree on a verdict.

In Pianezzi’s second trial, which ended two months later, the panel of his peers convicted him of first degree murder, and the judge sentenced him to life imprisonment at Folsom State Prison.

Around the same time, he was found guilty on three counts of first degree robbery netting $17,000 in bank holdings. For those, he was given three life sentences. All four periods were to be served concurrently.

Long Overdue Exoneration

Pianezzi served 13 years, getting released in May 1953. For the next several decades, he worked to clear his name with respect to the murders and always maintained his innocence regarding them. He especially wanted his wife Frances to see him cleared, but it didn’t happen by the time she passed away.

“I’ve been pretty upset and depressed,” Pianezzi said. “I wanted her to see it. But even if she’s not around, I’m going to hang in there. I didn’t commit the murders, and that’s it” (Folsom Telegraph, June 26, 1981).

In 1966, California Governor Edmond “Pat” G. Brown, offered Pianezzi a pardon on the grounds that he’d been rehabilitated. He turned it down though because he wanted exoneration based on his innocence.

Fifteen years later, in 1981, Brown’s son, California Governor Gerald “Jerry” Brown pardoned Pianezzi, then age 79 and retired from a job distributing newspapers in Mill Valley.

Moceri on left, Bompensiero

Later Revealed

Roughly four decades after Bruneman and Greuzard’s murders, the identity of the actual killers and the motive for the crime supposedly came to light. Two hitmen, members of the Los Angeles Mafia — Leonard “Leo/Lips” C. Moceri and Frank Bompensiero — committed the murders, according to Jimmy “The Weasel” Fratianno, one of their cohorts who became an FBI informant. Jack Dragna, head of that crime family, ordered the hit, he said. (Moceri and Bompensiero had died, by murder, before Pianezzi’s pardon, the former in 1976, the latter in 1977.)

What allegedly led up to the hit on Bruneman was a dispute between him and Johnny Rosselli, whom the Chicago Outfit had dispatched to Los Angeles to protect Nationwide, the only horse racing wire service provided in California at the time. Bruneman had been bootlegging the service. A rumor swirled that Bruneman wanted to take out Rosselli, then a respected member of the Dragna crime family. When Dragna heard it, he acted pre-emptively.

According to Fratianno, Moceri had described to him years earlier how the assassination had gone down and the fallout, concluding with: “Want to hear the payoff? The cops arrested some dago, Pete Pianezzi, and believe it or not, the son of a bitch was convicted and he’s still serving time on that murder rap. It’s a bum beef.”

Sources

Photo of Bruneman: from the Oakland Tribune, Oct. 25, 1937, by the Associated Press
Photo of Pianezzi: from the Arizona Republic, June 25, 1981, by the Associated Press

Town House gambling saloon, Reno, Nevada

1944-1945

The trial of Andrew Jackson “Jack” Blackman, free on $10,000 bail, began in April 1945, six months after he’d fatally shot James Lannigan in the Bank Club in Reno, Nevada.

District Attorney Melvin E. Jepson, in his opening statement, asserted the state would prove the defendant had committed premeditated and deliberate murder.

Blackman’s attorney, Harlan L. Heward, offered that his client admitted to shooting Lannigan but the act had been in self-defense; that because his client, a man with a solid reputation, was disabled, he’d had to carry a gun to protect himself; and that his injuries had indicated Lannigan likely had used brass knuckles or a similar weapon when he’d struck Blackman.  

Livelihood As Gangster

During the trial, various witnesses revealed snippets of Lannigan’s past. His real name was John Nicholson, but he went by Lannigan because an aunt and uncle with that name partially had raised him. The monikers under which he’d served time were John C. Nicholson, John Cline and James Moran. As a youth, Lannigan, along with fellow gang members, had held up speakeasies routinely and by age 20, had been believed to have committed murder.

In 1928, he’d begun a five-year-to-life sentence at San Quentin State Prison for armed robbery. There, he’d been put in solitary confinement or otherwise punished 16 times for various infractions, including knife cutting an inmate in the face, striking another convict in the head with a length of pipe, stabbing yet another prisoner with a shiv, stealing from the tin shop and insubordination, among others. At one point, he’d been in solitary for 362 days in a row.

In 1932 he’d been transferred to Folsom State Prison as an “incorrigible” inmate (Nevada State Journal, April 11, 1945). There, he’d served eight years, until 1940, when he’d been paroled.

After Lannigan had relocated to Reno in the summer of 1944, several times local police officers had told him to leave town, as they’d considered him an “undesirable,” “dangerous and aggressive” person whose employment was being “a gangster,” (Reno Evening Gazette, November 29, 1944). Instead, he’d stayed.

Soon after, in August, Lannigan had been arrested for armed robbery of $14,000 at the Ta-Neva-Ho casino at Lake Tahoe, along with his accomplice and friend from San Quentin, Marvin Paul Michaels. Whereas Lannigan had been released due to lack of evidence, Michaels was to stand trial, which was about to begin any day. This allegedly was the court case for which Lannigan wanted money from Blackman, for the defense of Michaels, who was facing repeat offender charges.

No Choir Boy

As for Blackman, he’d been arrested several years earlier in Texas for attempting to pass counterfeit money, a mistake, he claimed, because he’d been handed a bill that he’d then tried to use to buy cigarettes. Further, the case had been dismissed. He also admitted to having been fined $10 for gambling and having forfeited $25 in bail once when he’d been arrested for dealing a game of 21.

More To The Story?

In court, Jepson contended there had to be a reason why Lannigan had chosen Blackman specifically to extort. He vowed to unearth and reveal what it was, but he never did.

“One of the puzzling matters in the trial is why Lannigan allegedly persisted in trying to obtain money from Blackman despite the fact he had been advised to let him alone by men who had known him [Lannigan] for years,” reported the Nevada State Journal (April 15, 1945).

Last Ditch Efforts

Six days into the trial, the prosecution called a surprise witness, Lannigan’s widow, Barbara Nicholson, who appeared dressed in a Women’s Army Corps uniform. She contradicted Blackman’s testimony by saying she’d met him before, at her apartment where Blackman had visited once to look at some clothes; that she, her husband and the defendant had a friendly conversation and drink together at the Town House one time previously; and that Hilliard, upon her request, had taken a $100 bill, not a weapon, out of Lannigan’s pocket in the hospital.

A verbal volley, in the form of closing arguments, ensued between the prosecution and defense.

After deliberating for 4.5 hours, the jury found Blackman not guilty.

Sources

Commercial Row, Reno, Nevada, early 1900s; the Palace is at the block’s far end

1924-1932

The story of the estate of a long-ago Nevada gambler after his passing is strange and unfortunate.

John Quinn was a man who’d lost and made large fortunes in gambling and mining stock deals throughout The Silver State and other parts of the West.

He’d opened the first saloon-gambling house in the mining town of Taylor in the 1870s, for one. He’d been a partner in Nolan, May & Quinn, “which conducted the most liberally patronized gambling institution that ever graced Reno’s palmiest days” — the Palace casino at Commercial Row and Center Street between 1906 and the year the state had outlawed gambling, 1910 (Nevada State Journal, June 8, 1924).

“The Palace was one of the last of the celebrated western gambling halls, elaborately fitted and equipped with gorgeous chandeliers, mirrors, a mahogany bar, and an excellent assortment of money makers in the form of roulette wheels, faro banks, craps and card tables,” recalled the Nevada State Journal (Dec. 2, 1926).

Question Of Heirs

1924

John died of pneumonia at 85 years old in June in Needles, California, where he’d lived the previous 14 years. He left behind substantial assets —about $100,000 worth in California ($1.4 million today) and $33,000 worth in Nevada ($470,500 today).

John wasn’t thought to have any relatives, but a San Francisco-based attorney, Charles L. McEnerney, through an heir-hunting firm, found at least a son and five grandchildren residing in The Golden State. Although the gambler always had represented himself as unmarried, he’d abandoned his wife and children in Illinois decades earlier. In October of that year, McEnerney was appointed the administrator of John’s estate.

Suspicious Behaviors

1926

McEnerney failed to appear at a subsequent routine hearing concerning the California estate. Soon after, it was discovered that all but $437 of the $100,000 had disappeared. All parties involved suspected the administrator had misappropriated it.

An investigation revealed that McEnerney, in his past, had served time at San Quentin State Prison for burglary and previously in the 1890s, had pocketed $600 from the Vallejo post office where he’d worked.

When faced with fraud charges over the missing Quinn money, McEnerney pleaded insanity and was hospitalized at Agnews State Mental Hospital in California for an indefinite period. One of John’s grandsons, Eugene Quinn, was granted control of John’s estate.

A probe of John’s Nevada holdings began as well after Eugene learned 20,000 shares of the Palace property had been sold but no transaction record filed. That query brought to light that the $33,000 also had been depleted, by about $23,000. The theory was McEnerney had stolen those monies, too.

Taking Responsibility?

1928

In March 1928, McEnerney was released from the institution and immediately arrested on grand theft charges in California.

1930

In late spring, the since-disbarred attorney asked the court to return him to sane status; it was granted. Five months later, his trial for embezzlement of John’s California estate began in the City by the Bay. 

He was convicted only of stealing $8,000 from the Quinn estate and sentenced to 1 to 10 years at Folsom State Prison for grand theft.

Recouping Where Possible

1932

After several legal maneuvers, Eugene, with the court’s approval, sued the United States Fidelity Company for $23,000 misappropriated from John’s Nevada estate because the insurer had provided $35,000 of surety for McEnerney during his stint as its administrator.

The bond company argued the court-appointed attorney-investigator’s accounting was faulty and the Nevada court had lacked jurisdiction in ordering the financial reconstruction.

Eventually, the two parties agreed to a compromise. United States Fidelity would pay $12,500 ($222,500 today) — roughly the difference between the bond figure and the stolen amount — to John’s estate.

With that amount being all, the Quinn heirs received only 10 percent of John’s wealth; the other 90 percent was gone, with no explanation.

Sources

Photo from the University of Nevada, Reno Library’s Special Collections

1940-1943

The Barn Club casino’s existence during World War II was rocky and, therefore, cut short.

It began in December 1940, when Jack Fugitt, an entertainment machine business owner, and Walter Oswald, assumed the lease of the Northern Club in Reno and remodeled and reopened the place as the Barn Club. It was located at 207 N. Center Street.* “The club had a bar, gaming tables, pinball machines, and numerous other amusements,” described Dwayne Kling in The Rise of the Biggest Little City.

The Northern Nevada gambling house got expanded recognition through the owners’ sponsorship of the local baseball team in the Sierra Nevada league, as it, too, was called the Barn Club, formerly the Reno Club.

New Games Operator

It’s unclear why, but in August 1941, Otell Micheletti, who went by “Mike” and was from San Francisco, California took over running the gambling component. Soon after, he purchased the gaming concession from Fugitt for $23,000 (about a $386,000 value today), and offered poker, pan, 21, craps and slots. Prior to this endeavor, Micheletti had managed circulation of The Examiner (San Francisco), the San Francisco Chronicle and several other Bay Area newspapers.

Uncooperative With Authorities

The Barn Club immediately got into trouble with the Washoe County licensing board, which had given it 15 days to hang curtains on its street-facing windows and move back its gaming tables from the front of the business or face losing its gambling licenses. This mandate, applicable to other casinos as well, was to counter the perceived effect of the gambling houses making the streets look like a ‘Hollywood carnival’” (Nevada State Journal, Sept. 21, 1941).

The owners didn’t comply. The board — comprised of the county commissioners, sheriff and district attorney — rescinded the casino’s gaming permits, and deputy sheriffs closed the gambling there.

Three days later, a Barn Club representative, George Green, requested restoration of the licenses. The board members agreed to it, provided the management alter the front as requested and have its employees fingerprinted. To try to purge and keep ex-convicts and other “undesirable persons” out of the local gambling operations, the licensing authorities, the next day, made official the directive for fingerprinting of all industry workers in the county.

The Barn Club met both stipulations; fingerprints were taken of 70 staff members.

Money, Money, Money

In October, Micheletti stopped paying Fugitt the monthly rent for the space. (Fugitt would sue the Barn Club owners in June 1943 for 10 months’ worth of unpaid rent.)

In February 1942, two different lawsuits involving Fugitt and Micheletti came to light. Since purchasing the gambling concession from Fugitt, Micheletti had tried to withdraw from the bank the $23,000 he’d deposited for the acquisition. When he couldn’t, he sued Fugitt to recover the money, on unknown grounds. Fugitt counter-sued and won that battle; the judge ordered Micheletti to pay Fugitt the full amount.

Four months later, 16 slot machines were stolen from the Barn Club. Did Micheletti steal them to make up for some of the $23,000 he paid Fugitt? Or did Fugitt swipe them to recoup some of the $23,000 that Micheletti never paid him? Or was the thief an entirely different party?

The Doomed Relaunch

On August 14, Micheletti, along with two co-owners, “Larry” Brady and Irving Cowan, held a grand opening for the Barn Club. (By this time, the original co-owners Fugitt and Oswald had sold their ownership interests, which Cowan eventually had assumed.)

Brady, who sometimes went by William Lawrence Brady but whose real name was William Lawrence Hunger, had gotten paroled in 1937 from Folsom State Prison on felony charges and, previously, had served a term at the Preston School of Industry, a California youth reform institution.

Irving Cowan may have been the Irving Cowan who had a long rap sheet and was associated with Los Angeles mobster, Mickey Cohen, but this remains unverified.

If the requisite county-required fingerprinting was being done, how did Brady, and possibly Cowan, end up as co-proprietors of a gambling house?

In November, Cowan was arrested at the Barn Club for assault and battery. Ten days later, federal officers arrested Brady after he brandished a gun in the Barn Club during an altercation. He was charged with carrying a firearm across state lines (between California and Nevada).

Subsequently, Brady and Cowan sold their ownership interests, to Larry Tripp (who was associated with Chesterfield Syndicate member Louis “Lou” Wertheimer) and Joseph Scrivani, respectively.

By late 1943 and perhaps earlier, the Barn Club was shuttered.

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* The former Barn Club location now is part of Harrah’s Reno Hotel and Casino.

Sources