Arnold Rothstein, unlike many of the underworld
figures who would make a name for themselves in America during the
1920s, was actually born in the United States. In a brownstone on
East 47th Street in Manhattan, Arnold was born in 1882, the second
of five children. Shortly after his birth the family moved to a
larger home on East 79th Street.
Arnold, whose parents Abraham and Esther were
brought together in an arranged marriage, was considered different
from his siblings at an early age. He was not a happy child or
outgoing like the others. Arnold spent many hours alone in cellars
and closets choosing dark places in which to play. At the age of
three he had already taken a disliking to his older brother Harry.
One night Abraham entered the boy’s bedroom to find Arnold
standing over Harry with a knife in his hand. When the father
pleaded for an explanation. Arnold simply replied, “I hate
Harry.”
Years later Rothstein told a psychologist that
when he was six years old his mother took Harry and his younger
sister, Ethel, on an extended trip to San Francisco to visit her
relatives. The first night she was gone Abraham found Arnold hidden
away in a closet weeping uncontrollably.
“You hate me,” cried Arnold. “She hates
me and you hate me, but you all love Harry. Nobody loves me.”
It was the only time Rothstein had shown any
deep emotion during his childhood.
Arnold continued to live in Harry’s shadow
lacking an identity of his own. He fell two years behind in grade
school and found himself a classmate of his younger brother Edgar.
This didn’t seem to bother Arnold who from this point kept up with
his classes. Edgar would later recall, “I’d do all the homework
and Arnold would copy it and remember it. Except in arithmetic.
Arnold did all the arithmetic. He loved to play with numbers.”
When Harry Rothstein was thirteen he informed
his parents that he wanted to study to become a rabbi. This decision
delighted Abraham. Arnold, who had shunned his religious studies
even more than his regular schooling, was chided by his father,
“You should be proud of being a Jew.”
A defiant Arnold responded, “Who cares about
that stuff? This is America, not Jerusalem. I’m an American. Let
Harry be a Jew.”
After completion of two years at Boy’s High
School, Arnold quit school for good in 1898 at the age of sixteen.
He had found his calling in the streets. He began shooting dice for
nickels and pennies and kept a record of his winnings. Arnold
frequented pool halls, which in the early days of their existence
were places where bets were placed and lotteries played. As gamblers
waited around for the results there was usually a billiards table to
occupy their time. Rothstein earned a reputation at the billiards
table and his pocket money began to grow.
Rothstein became a regular at Hammerstein’s
Victoria Theatre where a craps game was always in action every
Monday. The popular game drew the likes of Monk Eastman and Herman
“Beansie” Rosenthal. Rothstein’s success at the game and his
growing bankroll made him a popular figure at the game and at other
gambling spots. He soon began lending money to several of the
players. For every four dollars he lent he collected five in return.
If any problems arose in collecting the loans, Rothstein would turn
to his newly found friend Monk Eastman. The bullet-headed thug, with
a broken nose and cauliflower ears, met little resistance when
trying to retrieve payments due Rothstein.
While building a reputation as a gambler and
money loaner, while still only sixteen, Rothstein began to cultivate
a friendship with Timothy D. Sullivan, Tammany Hall’s East Side
political boss. Sullivan, known as “Big Tim,” gained his
powerful political standing by delivering the democratic vote on
Election Day. In return, Sullivan looked out for the people in his
district, delivering coal and food for the needy, and helping others
get jobs or legal assistance when necessary.
Rothstein became a regular at Sullivan’s
headquarters. He ran errands for “Big Tim” and served as a
translator for Sullivan’s Jewish constituents. Sullivan soon
realized that Rothstein was a young man with a future. Meanwhile,
Rothstein found in Sullivan the father figure he was desperately
searching for.
As conflict continued in the Rothstein
household, Arnold, now 17, took a job as a travelling salesman
peddling headwear. He informed his not-too-disappointed father that
he would be moving out. Rothstein’s work took him to upstate New
York, Pennsylvania and West Virginia. Two years into the job he
received a telegram while he was in Erie, Pennsylvania informing him
that Harry had died of pneumonia.
Years later Rothstein would tell his wife
Carolyn, “Somehow, I had the feeling that I was responsible for
Harry being dead. I remembered all the times that I wished he were
dead, all the times I had dreamed of killing him. I got to thinking
that maybe my wishing had finally killed him.”
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