L.A. Noir: The Struggle for the Soul of America's Most Seductive City

In early June 1961, Candy Barr was flown in from prison in Texas to testify. Barr told the jury that during the two months they had dated, Cohen had given $15,000 to her defense attorneys and lavished expensive presents on her, including jewelry, luggage, and a poodle. He had also picked up a $1,001.95 bill at a local clothing shop. At one point, he had even helped her flee to Mexico, arranging for her hair to be dyed black, providing phony documents, and giving her $1,700 in cash. (Barr got bored and eventually returned home.) Others put the figure even higher. Federal narcotics agent T. Jones put Cohen’s spending on Barr at roughly $60,000.

The next witness after this damaging testimony was Sandy Hagen, Mickey’s current fiancée. Per Judge George Boldt’s orders, the twenty-two-year-old ex-model/waitress/car hop arrived wearing the mink stole Mickey had given her. Hagen insisted that she’d bought the $600 mink with her own personal funds, despite the fact that she had no apparent income. The prosecution insisted that it was a gift from Cohen, paid for with unreported income. When prosecutors proceeded to quiz Hagen about other gifts Cohen had given her, she refused to answer. She was ultimately sentenced to a week in jail for contempt of court. Hagen still refused to testify. So the prosecution moved on to another target.

On June 14, two Treasury Department agents slipped into Los Angeles and tracked down stripper Beverly Hills, just before her performance. There they served her with a subpoena to appear before the federal grand jury investigating Mickey Cohen. After meeting Miss Hills, they decided to stay for the show. Afterward, the stripper asked them sweetly, “Now that you’ve seen everything I’ve got, do I still have to appear?”

The answer was yes. And so it went. For forty days, the jury listened to the parade of witnesses—194 in total—testify about Cohen’s lavish spending and unsecured personal “loans” of a sort that no sane person would voluntarily extend to a penniless ex-gangster with a small stake in an ice-cream parlor. On June 16, 1961, the United States summed up its case against Cohen. Prosecutors claimed that in 1956 Cohen had failed to report $2,500 in income from the greenhouse. For 1957, the government had documented taxable income that exceeded $46,000 (Cohen had reported $1,272). In 1958, Cohen had failed to report at least $13,000 in income. All told, for the years 1956-58, Cohen owed the government $34,799.70 in unpaid back taxes.

Cohen’s defense was simple: He insisted that these were simply loans against future income from a book and movie deal.

“I feel it’s now up to God’s will,” Cohen told the press, after the defense rested its case. “I know in my heart I’m innocent.”

The jury disagreed. After two days of deliberation, on Friday, June 30, 1961, Cohen was convicted on eight counts of income tax evasion. The next day spectators packed the 150-seat courtroom to witness Cohen’s sentencing.

Judge Boldt had been a genial presence during the trial. But this particular Saturday morning he was all business. He started by asking Cohen if he had any remarks for the court.

“I can only say to your Honor very respectfully… [that] I made every effort to live my life in the past six years correctly, and I thought I did so,” Cohen replied.

Judge Bolt thought otherwise.

“In my opinion, it is clear beyond doubt that defendant Cohen has little, if any, sense of truth, honesty, or responsibility either in his personal and financial affairs or in his obligations as a citizen of the United States,” the judge said sternly.

“Notwithstanding kind and humane efforts to help Mr. Cohen’s rehabilitation… there is no credible evidence that during the last six years he has ever engaged in any useful or commendable work or activity,” Judge Boldt continued. He noted that within a short time from his first release from prison, Cohen “was in full flight on a profligate style of living, financed by many fraudulent or extorted so-called loans in a very large amount.

“If there be substantial decadence in society, as sometimes charged, Mickey Cohen is an excellent specimen,” the judge continued. “The obstruction and impending weight of the collective Mickey Cohens in our national community could tip the balance to our doom in the struggle for the free way of life.”

The judge then handed down his verdict—a $30,000 fine and fifteen years in prison. Cohen himself, watching calmly, seemed not to understand what had happened.

“What is the sentence anyway?” he asked reporters minutes after the verdict had been announced. When informed, he replied simply, “Well, I ain’t going to say what I think until I ride with the punch a little.” Mickey’s reaction to the judge’s lecture was succinct: “He is entitled to his opinions,” Cohen said, simply.