Serving the Teamster’s Boss: Frank Fitzsimmons
Tony Snesko
The president of a national trucking magazine contacted me about serving the then Teamster’s boss Frank Fitzsimmons. They had been attempting unsuccessfully for several months to serve him but his security was so tight that getting near him was nearly impossible. I discovered that a golf tournament was being held in his honor at the La Costa Country Club in California and that he would be well guarded.
I’ve learned over the years that it’s easier to access secure areas if my clothes appeared official, so I dressed in my three-piece black suit and donned large gold-rimmed pilot sunglasses that I used to wear as a patrolman on the LAPD. The lobby of the La Costa Country Club was huge and I still wasn’t sure how I was going to pull this off. When a hotel employee walked by I intercepted him and said, “Can you take a message to Frank Fitzsimmons that Tony is in the Lobby.” The fellow stood at attention, said, “Yes sir!” and quickly departed. About five minutes later a black suited man, apparently one of Mr. Fitzsimmons guards, approached me.
“Are you Tony?” He asked.
“Yes!”
“You’re looking for Frank?”
“Yes!”
“OK!”
He left and then three minutes later Frank Fitzsimmons, wearing golf clothes, came trotting up the lobby’s circular staircase followed by two very large, black suited bodyguards. I met him as he reached the top of the stairs and said, “Mr. Fitzsimmons!”
“Yes,” he said, “are you Tony?”
It was my next move that saw my life flash before my eyes. I reached inside my coat to take out the summons and you would have thought that it was the reenactment of the “OK Corral” as his guards grabbed for their guns. I quickly flung open my coat to reveal that I was only reaching for papers. We all breathed a sigh of relief as they shoved their guns back in their shoulder holsters and I then informed Mr. Fitzsimmons that I was serving him with a Summons.
Not before or since have I ever seen anyone physically shudder as Frank did for the next few seconds. His face grew pale, and then he turned and ran away, through a curtain, into the club bar. I decided to follow him and, as I stepped through the curtain, a man resembling the Hulk, but much taller and wider, suddenly appeared in front of me. His massive hands grabbed me under my arms and lifted me as though I was a child. (I’m 6’3”, 235 lbs). While I hung suspended a couple of feet in the air, he asked what I wanted. As I started to explain, Frank’s attorney approached and “The Hulk” put me down. I told him that I had just served Frank but that he had run away without taking the papers. As the attorney took the papers from me, I quizzically mentioned that I had never seen a man physically shake as Frank did when I served him. His attorney then said something that I have worn like a badge of honor ever since. He said, “No one has ever personally served Frank Fitzsimmons until now.”