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In late June, the feuding became more vicious still. Another organizer who also favored Hoffa was beaten unmercifully in the parking lot of a suburban restaurant. President Johnson ruled that union officials should not go out alone. Then, on July 10, Dick Fitzsimmons was having a drink with friends at Nemo's Bar on Michigan Avenue, not far from the local's headquarters, when his Lincoln Continental was blown to smithereens outside in the street.
The next incident was the disappearance of Hoffa himself. Police prepared to question one of his old friends, Anthony ("Tony Jack") Giacalone, 56, who has been identified as a top henchman of Joseph Zerilli, the godfather of the Detroit Mafia. Hoffa had reportedly gone to Machus Red Fox Restaurant last Wednesday to have lunch with Giacalone, although Giacalone denied any such plan. In Hoffa's heyday, the Teamsters were so often linked to the Mob that a Senate committee once concluded that a criminal record was a "prerequisite" for "advancement in the Teamsters firmament." Police were also interested in Giacalone because he was close not only to Hoffa but to Frank Fitzsimmons.
While the police hunted for clues, Hoffa's family said they felt he had been kidnaped, but federal investigators feared that he might have been killed. Officials were proceeding on the assumption that Hoffa had gone off with someone he considered to be a friend. There were no signs of any struggle in the car or in the parking lot, and Hoffa was no man to give in to anyone without a fight. Even at 62, he worked out with heavy weights and did 75 pushups a day.
Gain Revenge. Indeed, until his sudden disappearance last week, Hoffa had seemed indestructible—the same man of incredibly concentrated will power and vitality who had expanded the union during his presidency from 1.4 million to 2.2 million members and in 1964 won the first nationwide trucking contract, which covered 400,000 Teamsters and 16,000 companies.
In a series of memorable court actions, Hoffa fought duels with the forces of Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, whose will matched his own and who finally succeeded in jailing him. "A ruthless little monster," Hoffa called his pursuer, while Kennedy denounced the Teamsters as "hoodlum-controlled."
When Hoffa emerged from jail in 1971, his eyes were as fiercely intent as ever and his voice still had its cold, flat, intimidating rasp. He got a $1.7 million pension settlement from the generous Teamsters, but he wanted much more than that. Everyone who knew Jimmy Hoffa well felt that he was bitterly determined to gain his revenge on Frank Fitzsimmons.
After Richard Fitzsimmons' car was blown up, Hoffa told WWJ-TV in Detroit that no one in the local had had anything to do with the incident. "I'll bet my life on it," he declared. It was a chilling remark. Last week, while Local 299 posted a $25,000 reward for information leading to his return, the family of Jimmy Hoffa waited to see if he had lost his bet.