Red Foley

Red Foley


I walked out of jail after a short two year stretch. My expensive blue suit with candy striped lining was so loose I had to hold the pants up until I could get my hands on a belt or my trademark suspenders. Two years is not that big of a deal to a seasoned criminal, but when you’re twenty-four, it’s long enough.

Finding a woman was paramount on my mind, but finding a place to bring one would have to come first. I went to see my close friend, Charles Henry the bail bondsman. He knew a lot of people in San Francisco in the sixties. If anyone could help me find an apartment it was Charlie, plus I had left a few grand and a diamond watch in his safe before surrendering to the courts to start my term.

Charlie was a good looking black man, tall with a bit of a beer belly which, for some reason, didn’t look as bad on him as I knew it would on me. Charlie gave me a warm welcome when I walked into his office, located in an alley across from the court house on Bryant Street. “Joe, baby,” he said with a big smile on his face, “finally got outta there huh?” “Yea, Charlie. I’m gonna have to find an apartment, got any ideas”? “As matter of fact, I was talking to Big Mary the other day and she told me to look out for someone cool for an opening over at Red Foley’s building on Fell Street. Only thing is, you’re white. You’re a player, and that’s all they rent to is pimps, players and thieves like you, but they’re all black as me. I’ll call her and ask anyway if you want me to”.

“Are they nice apartments?” “Fillmore Slim lives there, he wouldn’t live in a place that wasn’t. Plus they’re furnished, something you probably need.” “Yea, give her a call.” I listened as Charlie gave me a stellar recommendation. She said to come on down and talk to her. I was moved in within two hours. The first time I took the elevator was the first and only time I considered that this might be a mistake. A little black boy had gotten on with me. He looked up and asked me, “You movin’ in here”? “Yep.” “The last white boy who lived here I found dead, right here,” he said, pointing at the floor of the elevator. The young boy seemed to be pleased to be the one telling me. But my name in town as a straight shooting criminal, along with Big Mary, who ran the place, telling all the other tenants that Charles Henry, who all criminals knew, had given me an endorsement, would keep me safe from my new neighbors.

My good friend Ricky who lived for his harmonica music, came to see me as soon as he found out from Henry that I was out and living in Red Foley’s building. He knew that Fillmore Slim lived there and was not only coming to see me, but hoped to meet Slim. Slim, at that time in San Francisco criminal history, was known as a notorious pimp but his second interest was music, he played the guitar fairly well and sang fairly well. He was tall and slim and very good looking, with a commanding presents He managed to cut a record but a lot of black mothers didn’t want their daughters buying a famous pimp’s record so it wasn’t much of a success. As for the other residents of this three floor building which you had to take the elevator because the lobby stairwell was filled in with a wall. This was to make it hard on the police, not us, they were all very interesting people, the only people who lived there who weren’t crooks was a black bus driver and his beautiful black 22 yr old girlfriend from Texas. One afternoon she climbed up the fire escape to my back glass sliding door which led out to my fire escape, and knocked on it, I was surprised to see here out there, but I figured she had to live in the building, plus she was thin and sexy, I did not hesitate opening the sliding door,

Hi, I’m Betsy Lou Ann, I live in the apartment right below you, I’ve seen you around the building and figured I would come up and visit with you.
Come on in Betsy Ann. Have a seat on the couch, you want a drink?
Sure, Scotch and milk if you have it. It so happened I did, but I didn’t keep the milk to add to my scotch. We talked and drank for about an hour, I was easy to figure she had no respect for her bus driver boyfriend, but she made it clear he was crazy about her. I told him I was going to come visit you today, he begged me not to, but that weak punk doesn’t tell me what to do and he never will, don’t worry about him saying anything to you, he’s scared of you, people told him you were a dangerous ex-con, you don’t look dangerous, I’m not, well he’s afraid of you, he’s afraid of everyone in the building including Big Mary. Well, I'm a little afraid of her, besides being big; those scars on her face didn’t come from shaving. The guy above you is a pimp, you mean filmier Slim? No Nugent, he also sells drugs, he’s real good looking but I don’t like pimps, don’t want anything to do with them. She finally jumped up and said see you tomorrow, and went down the fire escape.

I didn’t bother locking the sliding door, and the surprise I got the next morning made me glade I didn’t. I was lying in bed; just as I rolled over to where I could see the open bedroom door there appeared Betsy, in a full leanth black fur coat. Morning she said, she was holding a plate, I brought you breakfast, steak and eggs, she sat it down on the bed and opened her coat with both hands, she was completely nude, I brought you this too.

The next night Paul Vogel and Jake Sullivan, came and got me, I went with them in there van Fred Faready was in the back, they told me we were going to a house in the sunset to rob some hippie drug dealers, all three of these guys were heron addicts, I personally stayed away from it, but if you followed there incredible drive to make money for there habits, then you couldn’t help but make fast money, mine going for the good life there’s was banked by shooting it all into there arms.

We parked outside and down a few houses; it was about 11 at night. We knocked on the door, Jake knew someone who knew them and used his name when a guy asked who is it from behind the closed front door, it was a surprise to me when the name worked, and the door was opened we all 4 rushed in guns in hand knocking a young sandy haired tall hippy of about 25 to the floor, Jake yelled at me watch that one as he and the others starting searching the house. I had helped the kid up and pushed him up against a wall face first, I had the gun in his back and told him to just be cool, and he wouldn’t be hurt, that we were just there for money and drugs. I reached in his back pocket and pulled out a big hand made leather wallet I opened it with one hand and saw no money, but I stuck it in my pocket anyway. The rest of them found nothing this was the only guy in the house at the time, and after a very thural toss of the whole house nothing was found. One big waist of time. We got out of there they dropped me off about 2 in the morning. When I got upstairs I took a closer look at the wallet, I had thrown it to Fred who looked threw it and found it, so I didn’t expect to either, but when I turned it around I discovered it had a secret way to open, there was 1600 dollars in it. I thought about calling these junkies, but figured no, these guys wouldn’t call me to split it up, and there was no question of that in my mind, so I kept it all.
A few nights later, I took Betsy to a club on Third Street. She told me her boyfriend knew but would not do anything about it; she petty much had that poor bus driver whipped.

We got back about 12, I left the lights out just lighting a few candles in the living room, we had got curled up on the rug and started kissing when we heard noises coming from the front balcony, which also had sliding glass doors and came out on a fire escape. I grabbed my gun, and Betsy sat wait, if you go in the bedroom you can see whose out there from that window, I did, she was right, I could see out there it was my good buddies Paul Vogel, pulling himself onto my fire escape, he had stood on Jakes shoulders to reach it. I told Betsy, I know who that is, but I don’t know why he has decided to visit me via the fire escape, you had better head on back to your apartment, this is a rough bunch of boys, are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? yea I’m sure ,hurry off now Betsy. Ok, Ill see you tomorrow morning wont I, yea, go on now. After the door shut I went over and pulled the drapes back, Paul was on his knees with his cigarette lighter lit, he was inspecting the board I had double locking the sliding door with, He looked up shocked, Joe man, we came to see you but didn’t want to disturb that woman Mary.

Against my better judgment I opened the door, Fred had just joined him on the balcony, he was all smiles and acting strange, hey Joe he said in a phony voice, I knew something was wrong, but these were friends and I couldn’t continue holding a gun on them, so I put it on the coffee table, What the hell are you guys up to Paul I asked? I told you man, we just came over to see you. At one at night by the fire escape? Fred walked quickly to my front door, I’ll go let Jake in he said rushing out the door, I looked at Paul, he was staring at the floor, come on man tell me what’s going on Paul. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, nothing man, O shit, I cant do this to you, there here to get you, Jake heard from someone that that dope house we hit the other night got took for 6 thousand. I knew it wasn’t 6 thousand, only 16 hundred, the kid must have more than made up for his losses by taking the other dealers money that we had obviously missed, but I couldn’t very well say it was only 16 hundred without still being caught for holding out, I grabbed Paul by the arm well get outa here so I can lock the door I started heading him to the door as I passed the coffee table I noticed my gun was gone, Fred had to of taken it. We were almost to the door when Jake and Fred walked in. Hey Joe Jake said in a friendly voice, How you doin? You know that house we hit, word has it 6 grand was taken, And you think I did it don’t you, he looked at Fred, o he did man why would he say you think I did it right off like that? I said that because Paul told me about the six grand, and that you think it was me.
Fred had my gun in his hand, he walked up to me and said where’s the money Joe. Fuck you Fred, I didn’t get 6 grand from that house, the guy I was watching more than likely got it and blamed us. Fred haled off and hit me, sending me to the floor, I got up to fight him but he backed up and pointed the gun at me. I could whip Fred and he knew, I might have been able to whip Paul, but not Jake, way to tough for me I was finished. Jake told Fred to grab some of my neckties and tie me up. He did, after he had my hands tied behind my back he said, I’m going to pistol whip you until you tell me where that money is. Do what your going to do Fred but don’t expect me to snivel to you. He though for a minute then decided against it, Fred was a punk, he knew if Jake left me alive I would get him later so he just made me sit on the floor then tied my legs, then he went out and joined the search, ironically the money was still in the same trick wallet, and they missed it again, they settled for taking my stereo and TV Jake came to the door right as they were leaving. If you hadn’t been my friend for years Joe I would kill you. I believed him, and when I heard the front door close a feeling of great relief came over me.

I was able to stand up, and discovered I could hop, I hopped over to the front door backed up to it and was able to open it with my fingers, I carefully and slowly hopped down to Mary’s apartment and backed up to it and knocked on the door. She answered, when she saw me she laughed, think you could untie me Mary, she called to her two young female visitors, come her girls, you got to see this, didn’t I tell you this building was a constant hoot, they all three continued to laugh while Mary untied me.

The next day Paul showed up. Paul and I had done years together; all the way back to 12 years old in juvenile hall. Hey man I’m sorry. I came alone so I could keep Jake under control, I told him the whole way over not to hurt you and I reminded him that we have done the same thing. I talked them into selling me your stereo and speakers for 50 bucks, its in my garage, come on lets go get it, I bought it so I could give it back to you. I could tell Paul was telling the truth; I had never had a closer friend. The TV I took a loss on, but I had 16 hundred to buy a better one.

Betsy had stayed out off sight the rest of that night, but showed up with steak and eggs in her fur coat the next morning, what a body that woman had, no wonder the bus driver was whipped, she was a handful, she wanted to know all about the night before, I told her like it was nothing and that she should forget about it. That afternoon the bus driver showed up at the door. He asked could he come in and talk to me, his voice was shaky and he was obviously scared. He told me he loved her, and wanted to know if I would please not take her away from him. I couldn’t help but feel for this man, he truly was dead in love with this woman, and I wasn’t, I ended up telling him, look she’s not really my type, and I’m not the one woman type, so be patient, I won’t be around as long as you, and I can assure you I wont take her from you, He got up and shook my hand vigoursly, thank you man thank you I love her I cant help myself I just love her, I understand man good luck. I felt kind of good doing something besides robbing people, I mean I wasn’t going to turn down steak and eggs and what was under the fur coat, but I would keep my word about not taking her away from him.


It took two or three months for me to become a close enough friend of Slim’s to bring Ricky over to his apartment. They hit it off right away. Rick not only liked Slim because of their mutual love of music, but for his statements about women and his idea of their role in life, which in Slim’s mind was to make him money. Rick didn’t care one way or the other about pimping; he just thought Slim’s every word was funny. The wild colorful outfits and the pimp terminology, like “Ricky, you can’t be picking fruit off the pimping tree ‘less you advocating the Mac man,” was just as funny as hell to Ricky.

One day, Rick went to Slim’s place after visiting me and found Slim there, dressed like a cowboy with two six guns in western holsters, quick drawing at the TV. Rick found this to be hysterical. I didn’t, but I did find some of Slim’s viewpoints on life kind of funny, if somewhat sick, but who was I to judge anyone. I was a thief and he was a pimp and, all in all, pimp or not, Fillmore Slim was a very likeable man, as were most of the people in that building.

Big Mary’s apartment faced the street one floor up from the entrance. She constantly sat in a chair and guarded the front. If someone rang the bell she would open the window and yell down, “Who do you want to see?” When they told her she would call that person, who would come to the window, look down and tell her if they were ok, meaning not police. If they were ok or if she recognized them, she would drop down a key to the building’s fortified iron gate. The resident drug dealers loved this building, as did all of us. When the police wanted to raid the building they would bring a locksmith. This finally happened while I was there. I would witness a rare example of honor amongst thieves.

While the locksmith was working, Mary called everyone and told them the police were coming. Slim saw me in the hallway and told me, “You got anything illegal, get it quick and follow me.” All I had was a hot gun and a little weed, I grabbed them and followed Slim up the stairs to the roof. Slim was carrying a box full of guns and other items. There were several people in front of and behind us, carrying boxes, all heading for the roof. The building on Fell Street, like those on many streets in San Francisco, were adjoined, just a wall separated one building from another.

Once on the roof, I wondered what good is this going to do, won’t the police just look on the roof? My question was answered when I that noticed everyone was crossing over to the roof of the next building to the left. There was a box-like structure which had a door which let into the next building. The door was opened and everyone was putting their belongings down at the top of the stairs inside the door. People were already hurrying past me and heading back to their apartments, and Slim and I put down our stuff and did the same. The last tenant, a pimp named Nugent shut the door behind him. The idea here was that the search warrant which the police had, I was told, was only good for that property. They couldn’t ever go over to the roof of the other building. I am sure they would have if they were aware of what we were doing.

The thing that surprised me about the people in Red Foley’s building was that there were thousands of dollars worth of guns and drugs, and in some cases large amounts of cash, which the police would have surely taken, left in those boxes owned by a building full of crooks. When the police left, and everyone slowly went back to the roof to collect their property, nothing, not a dollar or a seed of weed, was ever stolen. This is certainly something you won’t find today. Even in the ‘50s and ‘60s there was very little honor amongst thieves; it was mostly just a saying, but in today’s climate, it is nonexistent. Things have really changed. I mentioned that when I first stepped out of jail, my suit pants where falling off of me. That’s because back then you lost weight in jail, but now you can gain it. Back then it was two meals a day. Breakfast was mush which, by the time it got to you, would stay in the bowl if you turned it upside down, two slices of bread and black coffee. That was it until beans and rice at night. Today convicts may riot if the choices of salad dressings are not good enough. I don’t know what is stopping crime today; jail life is better than street life for most criminals today.

I finally got a look at the famous Red Foley, not to be confused with the country singer. I was in the front lobby talking to Nugent when I noticed Mary talking to an old black man with grayish hair. He was a plain looking man wearing old gray coveralls; he looked to me like a pauper, like a man without a dime, until you spotted his Stacy Adams shoes. They were very expensive looking. “Who’s that?” I asked Nugent. “That’s Red Foley.” “Who’s Red Foley?” “He owns this building, and several others in town. They call him ‘the man’ in the heroin world. He’s got a whole lot of cops and people in city hall paid off.”

Like I said, other than the shoes, he just looked common. He was quiet spoken, almost meek. I would find out later that he loved heroin, not to use on him and not just to get rich on, but also to attract very young women. Young pretty heroin addicts were in and out of his apartment day and night. They knew Red always had plenty of the best heron and he would give it to them in exchange for sex.

I knew the money I had left in Henry’s safe would run out soon. It was time to go to work again. Work for me was figuring out how to avoid work. I could live fine simply by selling weed. In this building I wouldn’t even have to go outside, there were plenty of customers right there in my building and not much chance of one of them being a cop. But first I needed more money than I had left, to buy a decent amount of weed to resell. I asked my friend Ricky what was a good hustle these days. He told me robbing hippies right up the street was what he and our friend Doug had been doing, mostly selling them phony LSD. He told me “We buy 5000 empty gelatin capsules from the pharmacy. Then we get a piece of chalk. If pink acid is what is mostly on the streets then we got pink chalk. We scrape it into a bowl of flour until it matches the real ones, cap them up, and then head to Height Street. We’re going tonight if you want to go.”

It sounded good me to so I picked up the needed items and capped up 500 bogus acid caps. Ricky was the draw; he played the harmonica very well. He would sit in a doorway playing tunes he knew the hippies would like and eventually he drew a small crowd. Then Doug and I would start asking everyone if they wanted to buy some really good acid. I watched Doug with the first customer, a young boy with really long hair who had come from Bakersfield with three thousand dollars he had collected from several of his high school friends. Word had spread all across the U.S that you could buy real good acid right on the street among the flower children of Height Street. He probably would have found some really good acid, if he hadn’t run into us. Doug did this very cleverly. When he found out this guy wanted that much acid, he told him he would be right back. He went around the corner and filled a plastic baggie with three thousand dollars’ worth, I can’t remember how many hits that was. The next move was the clever one. When Doug returned, he reached into the bag, making sure the kid was paying attention. His hand came out of the bag with 7 or 8 caps, he held his open hand out to the long haired kid, and he said “Take one.” Then, he emptied the rest into the bag and handed the whole bag to the kid. He told him, “You hang on to the bag. If you get off and like it, then pay me and be on your way. I want to make sure you’re happy with it.” I’m sure you have figured out that Doug had already had real pink acid in his hand when he reached into the bag. The boy got off, paid up, and we went home early.

I was happy to find out that Doug and Ricky always split the money even no matter who sold what. I did this for the next week, and ended up with 6 grand. I used it to buy 25 kilos of weed, which I planed to sell at ten dollars a lid. It turned out like I thought; I hardly had to leave the building. Once word got out, neighbors were knocking on my door day and night. I had two doormen on Broadway Street who I dropped off several lids to once every three days. I was definitely in business.

Life went good for a few months. I had gotten to know Red but only on a hello how are you basis. His luck was starting to run bad. I saw red tape go up saying this property has been seized by the government. I asked around and finally was told by Henry that all of Red’s buildings and property in the bay area were being seized. Red had made a lot of friends over the years by paying them off, including people at city hall, but the sixties had brought about the start of realization of corruption in cities across the country. San Francisco wasn’t as bad as Chicago and New York but it was there, the hippie generation played a part in opening people’s eyes to government corruption which spilled over into state and local corruption. So Red’s day was about over, at least in the bay area. Some weeks later my luck took a turn for the worse. I sold a bunch of phony acid to a hippie who turned out to be an undercover cop.

I had been in city prison for about 4 months and had made trustee. I was bringing the shaving cart over to the D-block lock down where escapees and high profile prisoners were. I had just handed an electric razor to Black Panther Bobby Seale, who ignored my white ass like I was the blue eyed blond haired devil himself. As I started to pass the last cell I saw an old man in a wheelchair. Upon a closer look, I realized it was Red Foley. He looked terrible. He was about 65 when I first met him but in just a few short months he looked like a dying skinny man in his 90’s,

“Mr. Foley, is that you?” He didn’t answer, just looked at me with no recognition at all. “Got a cigarette?” he asked. I gave him one and he tore off the paper, emptied the tobacco into his hand and threw it in his mouth. “What in the world are you doing here Mr. Foley?” Still no answer, he just sat in that wheelchair, chewing. I gave up and moved on. A week or so later they moved him to a 12 man tank on the main line. One day I was almost in front of his tank when I saw him grab the bars, pull himself up and yell out “I’m Red Foley, damn it, I’m Red Foley, Get my lawyers!” He was ignored. I later learned that they, meaning people in city hall, had waited until all Red’s property and assets were tied up so he couldn’t borrow money before they indicted him, to make sure he couldn’t even make bail. Henry, who had come up to visit me, filled me in. He also told me people were scared of what Red might say or do. A few days later, Red was dead. He had been given someone else’s medication by a guard who claimed it was an accident, a mistake. The guard was never charged. Maybe Red lived a life that made this kind of death a thing he had coming. But I have to ask myself what about all the people who took his heron money, and in turn allowed all that heron to keep hitting the streets, all the people who died of overdoses, all the families who suffered because of this powerful drug, they didn’t get what they deserved, or maybe they did. most of them have gone to there maker, I wonder what he had to say about what they deserve. Red Foley was gone, in a short time he was completly forgotten, until now anyway