You could say that one of the biggest crime bosses of all time met his end because of something many of us thought might kill us: renovating a home in West Orange.
When he moved to West Orange in 1946, Abner “Longy” (or "Longie") Zwillman was already one of the most successful mobsters in America. Many have argued he actually was the biggest, he was just better than his rivals were at flying under the radar. During Prohibition, he controlled as much as 40% of all the liquor bootlegging in the country.
This was a guy who was one of the “Big Six” (with Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano, Joey Adonis, and Frank Costello), a founder of Murder Incorporated, who dated Hollywood leading lady Jean Harlow and bankrolled the creation of Columbia Pictures (which then gave his girlfriend a big contract—what a coincidence!)—a man people called “the Al Capone of New Jersey.”
Growing up in Newark’s Jewish Third Ward, Zwillman earned his stripes standing up to Irish gangs and earned a nickname in the process—when Irish thugs came into the neighborhood, someone would call in Yiddish for “der Langer” (“the Tall One”), and the 6’2” Longie Zwillman and his Happy Ramblers gang would rush in to restore order. (His commitment to his people was always a key part of his business, both illegal and legitimate—he donated $250,000 to improve the slums of Newark and later sent arms to Israel in its fight for independence.)
Longie made his first small fortune in Newark selling lottery numbers from produce wagons, later expanding to slot machines and allying with the Italians to control prohibition bootlegging in New Jersey and beyond. (It wasn’t the smoothest arrangement at first; Zwillman and Ruggiero “Richie the Boot” Boiardo both tried to kill each other—a rivalry that Richie had eight gunshot wounds to always remind him of.)
Although often charged with crimes, Longie—with help from all the cops, judges and politicians that he had in his pocket—usually had the charges thrown out or, if they went to trial, managed to make sure the jury wouldn’t convict. One assault charge in 1930 was an exception, but apparently his 6-month stay in Essex County Penitentiary was so pleasant (complete with meal delivery and visitors whenever he wanted) that afterwards he gave his guards cash gifts and even gave one of them a new car.
In 1932, Zwillman offered a reward for information about the kidnapping of Charles Lindbergh’s baby. Not only was it smart publicity, but he knew there would be heightened police scrutiny of vehicles, including his illegal alcohol-carrying trucks. His control of local police was so strong that they didn’t just look the other way, they even escorted his trucks from the docks to the warehouses, where they also were paid to guard the liquor.
Although his relationship with Hollywood starlet Jean Harlow didn’t last, Longie did give her a bracelet and a red Cadillac—along with a two-picture deal at Columbia Pictures, thanks to his $500,000 loan to studio head Harry Cohn. (In a bit of foreshadowing, Harlow’s later husband Paul Berg would die in a strange and suspicious incident that would initially be ruled a suicide, but is now thought to have been murder).
But it was Zwillman’s move to West Orange that finally did him in—or, more accurately, his expensive home renovations. After moving into a 20-room mansion at 50 Beverly Road in 1946, the Zwillmans began a series of expensive renovations that were clearly well beyond the reach of his reported income on his tax returns. Finally busted for tax evasion, Longie couldn't escape the long arm of the IRS. He was forced to testify before the U.S. Senate's Kefauver Committee on organized crime in 1950 (there's footage of it in the trailer for a documentary about his life, Gentleman Gangster, that has never been released: http://rceditreel.com/work/gentlemangangster).
Zwillman successfully dodged testifying in front of the Senate in 1951 by simply sailing away on his yacht (a Coast Guard search to find him and compel him to testify famously came up empty), and he dodged repeated indictments through the early 1950s with trials that ended in dismissals or hung juries. But Longie's luck was running out. By 1959 he was subpoenaed to testify at the McClellan Senate Committee on organized crime, and with a slew of wiretap evidence against him, the rumor was that he was ready finally going talk about his business and associates.
Just before he was set to testify, on February 27, 1959, Abner Zwillman was found hanging by an electrical cord from a rafter in his basement. The coroner immediately ruled it a suicide, corroborated by his wife's dutiful statement that he had been battling depression after years of legal troubles. But police also reported that Zwillman had bruises on his wrists that were consistent with being tied up.
Rumors circled that Vito Genovese or Meyer Lansky had ordered Zwillman killed, suspecting that Longie had turned government informant. Years later, Charles "Lucky" Luciano allegedly told journalist Martin Gosch that it had been a hit, and that before hanging him, Zwillman's killers had trussed him up. Another story holds that, as a token of respect, at the end they offered Zwillman the dignity of hanging himself rather than being murdered.
Now for the cache: You are looking for a clear plastic micro container with a green lid. Since the quiet neighborhood is private, the cache is hidden outside the gate for the road — from here you can see the old Zwillman mansion down the private road on the uphill side. Respect the private neighborhood, watch out for muggles, and please be careful to rehide the cache well! Congrats to swampland'r and Ragtime Fan for the joint FTF!
NOTE: I had to move the cache slightly. It is now hidden at N 40° 46' 18.5", W 74° 15' 06.6"