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

2. If I were in command of an organization of which Capt. Parker was a member (and I have been) and I assigned Capt. Parker to perform some minor and mediocre detail of non-essential work, I would be doing so with the full knowledge that insofar as Capt. Parker was concerned that task would be the most important in the world to him for the time being, and he would do it better than anyone else I know….

Hohmann concluded by obliquely alluding to Parker’s prickly personality:

This unusual admixture of fine service quality when found in one personality is very likely to be misunderstood; and, I have observed that sometimes the expression of these qualities by Capt. Parker on occasion of public address, in staff meetings, and in private conversations, has in the past oftentimes caused his motives and objectives to be misinterpreted, misconstrued, and misquoted.

However, Hohmann continued, these faults have “improved to a marked degree, and I now feel that it would be greatly in the interest of the United States if Capt. Parker were a part of its military establishment in some governmental administrative capacity.”

While waiting for a response from the Army, Parker made one last effort to advance by taking the examination for deputy chief. He placed first on the eligibility list but was not granted an interview before the Police Commission. Irate, Parker wrote to the Board of the Civil Service Commissioners to protest what he saw as a blatant violation of civil service principles. His protest was ignored. The following spring, almost one year after he had put in his application, Parker received his commission as an Army officer. The thrill he and Helen experienced as they opened the letter from the adjutant general quickly turned to disappointment. Despite assurances that he would be commissioned as a high-ranking officer, Parker was offered a commission as a mere first lieutenant. After consulting with Helen and receiving assurances that promotion would be prompt, Parker decided to accept the commission anyway. After sixteen years of service in the department, Parker was eager to be free.

His mood improved considerably when he learned that, after a month of basic training at Fort Custer, Michigan, he would be transferred to either Yale University or Harvard for three months of coursework in the Army’s civil affairs training school. Parker moved east in late June, first to Michigan, and then to Cambridge, Massachusetts. Helen came west from California to be with him. Parker’s time at Harvard was blissful, but in early August, classes were cut short. Lieutenant Parker was assigned to the 2675th Regiment, Allied Control Commission, North African Theater of Operations. On August 27, 1943, he shipped off to Algiers. Helen returned to Los Angeles. Parker’s old patron, former chief James Davis, now the head of security at Douglas Aircraft, had arranged a job for her as an auxiliary policewoman at a Douglas aircraft assembly plant in Santa Monica.

Bill Parker wasn’t the only person who saw an “out” in the war. So did Mickey Cohen.

It didn’t take a middle school education to recognize that Bugsy Siegel’s efforts to monopolize the wire business were damned dangerous. According to the LAPD, nearly a dozen people had died in the first few years of what it dubbed “the wire wars.” At some point after the onset of the war, it appears to have dawned on Mickey that he might too. So Cohen decided to enlist.

Mickey wasn’t exactly a model candidate (though there was no denying his efficiency as a killer). So he decided to grease the skids. It just so happened that his old “Big Brother,” fight referee Abe Roth, was a former Army officer with considerable pull in high places. Cohen asked the silver-tongued Siegel (who, somewhat surprisingly, supported Mickey’s decision to enlist) to give Roth, as Mickey put it, “all that anti-Nazi shit and stuff.” Roth was amenable to Mickey’s request. Even better, he had a connection who could ensure that Mickey’s criminal background didn’t raise any alarms. Mickey was delighted. Assured that “the fix was in,” he headed to Boyle Heights to report to the neighborhood draft board.

“Lookit,” he told the ladies manning the draft desk. “I want to get into the Army.”

“What’s your draft status?” he was asked in reply.

“I ain’t been home for some time,” Mickey replied evasively. (In fact, he had recently been on the lam.) “What’s the big fuss about?” he continued, still confident in his fix. “I want to get in the Army. I’m ready to get in right now. What do I gotta do?”