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Observations of An Ex-Cop in La La Land |
 ANDY MURCIA |
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Crime Wave of Sitamore & Rinehart |
 Two Ambitious Criminals: Harry Sitamore, left, and Ted Rinehart |
Best plans of men & mugs
oft get messed up by law
of TheColumnists.com
In 1956, Miami Beach, Florida had it all: Beautiful
palm-lined beaches, great hotels, each with its own showroom
with headliners like Sammy Davis, Jr., Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra,
Bobby Darin and any other big name that was hot back then. Each
winter season all the snowbirds came down to enjoy the best weather
on the planet from January to March. All the long money people
were there, living it up in expensive slacks and sport shirts
or snazzy swimsuit cabana sets. I know because I grew up just
across the causeway in North Miami.
After school and on weekends I worked all the best hotels. Like, if I wasn’t the pool boy putting your chaise mats out and fixing your towels just right, I was parking your new Caddy as a “runner” at the front door concession. When the evening shows broke everyone wanted their car at the same time. A fast runner could bring up more cars and make more money. I ran my butt off! In between, I opened limo doors for big shots, or I doubled as a bellboy,slipping party invitations under guest room doors. I even worked for a time as a doorman at the classy Surf Club.
I worked mostly North Beach because back then the now trendy South Beach (anything below 21 street) was where the wealthy people housed their elderly parents in second rate, resident hotels. The old people would play pinochle on the hotel porch until bedtime. From 21st street to 96th Street on Collins Avenue was where the big money boys stayed. The Fontainebleau, Eden Roc, Americana and Rony Plaza were just some of the top hotels.
My story actually starts in the Town of Surfside, Florida, located at the north end of Miami Beach. It’s a small oceanside community that runs from about 87th Terrace to 96th street on Collins Avenue, from the Bay on the west to the Atlantic Ocean on the east. Back in 1956, Surfside was a jewel of a place to live, but only the affluent could afford it. They had a small police department consisting of one chief, two detectives and about 17 uniformed men. The Chief was a recently retired NYPD lieutenant who had moved his family to Florida while still a young man of 43.
Each day The Chief walked several blocks to the drug store, where he would sit at the counter and have his lunch. As The Chief was entering the store one day, two men were on their way out. Being a good public servant, he held the door and let the two citizens exit. The Chief got a good look at them. He thought he recognized one of them as a mug from his NYPD days, so quickly called headquarters and had two of his detectives tail them.
As the two suspects window-shopped, The Chief soon spotted his detectives taking up their positions and knew they had the surveillance going.
As The Chief ate his lunch, he tried to recall where he'd seen the one man before. Just then a lady came into the store. The Chief noticed she was wearing lots of jewelry, not uncommon since it was the winter season and the “money” tourists were starting to arrive in town.
One more bite of his sandwich and--click!–The Chief remembered where he had seen that man before. It was back in his NYPD days. Detectives who worked for him back then had arrested a guy for a jewel heist of an upper east side apartment. As was the custom in the 1940’s, the detectives put their prisoner in the lineup for all the squad's coffee-drinking detectives to view. Every rank attended these lineups, mostly because the cop who acted as the invisible M.C. in moving the prisoners around the brightly lit stage, was full of funny asides and was just too comical to miss out on.
But every time The Chief tried to remember the guy’s name, the word “bakery” kept coming to mind. It seemed to block out the man's name. Bakery? What the hell has this got to do with those two mugs he had just seen?
The Chief quickly walked back to his office. The desk officer advised him that the dicks had tailed the two men to a small motel several blocks outside the city limits of Surfside, into the Miami Beach city limits. Chief ordered the dicks to sit on them until further orders.
Chief closed his door,
put his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and took himself
back to that lineup in N.Y.C. He could hear the cop M.C.’s
voice in his head: “Next! Step forward No. 3 and tell us
your name please.” Number 3 says, “Harry Muffin.”
M.C. Cop: “Oh, yeah, boys, we got a funny one; he wants
MY job! Tell us Mr. Muffin, do you work at a BAKERY? (much laughter).
The dicks who arrested you say your name is Harry Sitamore not
Muffin”
Bingo!!! The Chief could now put a name on the one man. He was Harry Sitamore, who in 1933 was sentenced to 40 years for a $242,000 burglary on Miami Beach. Sitamore was given a full pardon for that rap and paroled by then Gov. Fuller Warren in 1947. He continued to commit quality burglaries and in 1954 served a one-year sentence on a reduced burglary charge. He was currently out on bond for a burglary score in Atlantic City, N.J.
Checking into the mug books, the Chief identified the second man as Ted Rinehart, an expert locksmith by trade out, of Tampa. He was also a semi-quality burglar who no doubt was aspiring to greater heights by associating with the likes of Harry Sitamore. Rinehart had recently served eight years of a 15-year sentence for burglary and armed robbery, in Florida’s, Raiford Prison.
Within the hour the Chief met with Miami Beach police officers, explained what he had and a joint surveillance was set up between the two police departments. The tailing detectives had to be good. These crooks were quality and could spot a tail.
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dad as Surfside police chief. At right, the page one story about the capture of Sitamore & Rinehart. |
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Just across 96th Street on Collins Avenue, business mogul Lawrence Tisch had just built the then great Americana Hotel for $17 million, which in those days was big money. Tisch was supposed to have the only key to all its suites and rooms, or so he thought.
The tailing of Sitamore & Rinehart for three weeks indicated that they were casing the brand new Americana Hotel. After weeks of tailing them, the Chief was convinced that these two had at least burglary tools with them and with their previous record, a possession of burglary tools with intent should take them out of action and put them back in prison for a long time. The Chief no doubt subscribed to “the ounce of prevention, worth a pound of cure” thinking.
The Chief and his men arrested Sitamore & Rinehart as they were leaving the Americana. Found in their possession were three keys--and two fit every room in the American Hotel. The third key fit the executive suite of offices there. Seems the pair had stolen several door locks from the hotel while under construction and had made master keys with Rinehart’s expertise and machinery. Once the hotel opened for business that winter, Sitamore & Rinehart would have cased the hotel’s clientele, figured out who was loaded, and then rob their suite by entering with their master keys.
Because there would be no forced entry, the Chief wondered how many poor maids would have been fired when guests reported their valuables missing.
Once in police custody, the flippant Harry Sitamore, while being photographed, smiled smugly and remarked, "Listen, you guys ain’t nothing but small town, small time cops. It will still be a million dollar season for me.”
The Chief responded with, “But too bad you won’t be in the free world to enjoy it Mr. Muffin. Bet you work at a BAKERY.”
Harry Sitamore had his
memory jolted and quickly eyeballed the man he previously thought
was “just a small town cop.” Harry said nothing, but
seemed to have lost his
playfulness and he became a lot more concerned about his current
situation. Little did he know that the cop he thought was “small
time” was the same cop who officially brought an end to
the infamous “Murder Incorporated” gang of New York
by arresting Abe “Kid Twist” Reles. But that’s
another story I hope to write.
You may wonder how I know so much about this smart Chief of Police of the Town of Surfside Florida? Well, it’s easy. He was my Father, Andrew Murcia, Sr. His stories are imbedded in my brain forever. He was the reason I wanted to become a cop.
Pop Murcia was in law enforcement for over 40 years. From 1929 to 1949, he was with the NPYD. He retired at 43 and moved his family to south Florida, where he was the chief deputy in Dade County, Fla. (Miami, etc.) under Sheriff Kelly. He left there in 1954 to take the Chief’s position in Surfside. After Surfside in 1960, he joined the Sheriffs Department in Broward County (Fort Lauderdale, etc.), where he was in charge of their Special Squad. In 1969 he retired for good. Some years later, he started splitting his time between my home in California and my sister Cookie’s home in Florida. He also became the first President of the Ann Jillian fan club in 1980 because he loved her so.
Chief “Pop” Murcia went home to God a while back, and I still think of him every day of my life. Somehow I think Harry Sitamore and Ted Rinehart had reason to think about him, too, for a long, long time.
©2002 by Andy Murcia.
The photos are from the Murcia family collection. All rights
reserved.
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