My Time with J. Edgar Hoover

I'll Die without Knowing the Details

How many people can claim they’ve been taught how to play Gin Rummy by the head of the FBI? My guess is more than one, because if he taught me, he must have taught people who were older and had more aptitude than a very young child. But I remember my loving our playing cards together.

For whatever reason, my grandfather, grandmother and J. Edgar Hoover were good friends. Unfortunately, I’ll never know why since everyone is long dead. And their friendship wasn’t important enough to document in any of the biographies that have subsequently been written about the head of the FBI.

I THINK my grandfather might have briefly worked in or for the Agency. He was a Russian immigrant and perhaps his language skills were of use. I do know my uncle (my father’s brother) worked there in spite of not being a lawyer nor an accountant, a requirement then.

I do know that my first cousin was named Jay-E, which must have been incredibly annoying to have to explain when growing up. My assumption is she changed her name to Jaye as soon as she could and who could blame her.

I do know Hoover was a frequent winter visitor to my grandparents’ house in Miami, if only because of one of Mother’s stories. Apparently, my brother Michael was in nursery school there and was escorted home by his teacher, who reported he was lying when he insisted he knew Hoover. That was clearly ridiculous - that is until the ultimate G-Man appeared at the front door. She was supposedly embarrassed but that was frequently the case when it came to Michael.

I do remember Mr. Hoover (I don’t remember calling him Uncle J. Edgar – which was standard etiquette for me when I was growing up) teaching me to play Gin Rummy. Clearly, I was too young to have any idea who my teacher was. It wasn’t until I was allowed to take friends for private tours of the FBI headquarters that I became incredibly impressed by him.

And after the FBI Story was released, he became one of my heroes because of his exciting work. Needless to say, I had zero idea of how he abused power by instituting a Black list and conducting unfettered surveillance and more.

All I knew was that I had carte blanche and could take friends to visit the headquarters. I simply had to do was call Hoover’s long-time and extremely faithful secretary, Helen Gandy and set a time. We’d go to her office, where we were met by a handsome FBI agent, who patiently took us to see exhibits. We’d always stop at the Ten Most Wanted List and learned about the FBI’s history and the gangsters it had apprehended.

We’d proceed to the shooting range in the building’s basement and were wowed by the agents shooting paper targets because they never missed. One of us took the target home, which was very exciting. Before leaving, we’d stop in the FBI cafeteria and have ice cream cones. It goes without saying that these field trips enhanced my reputation among my classmates at the National Cathedral School for Girls.

When it was my birthday, I’d always receive a signed letter each September, which I am embarrassed to say I tossed. Hoover also noted such things as my high school graduation, my marriage and the birth of my son. In retrospect, I know I should have kept the letters but what did I know then. Happily, Mother kept a couple of them.

But even stranger is that I received not one but two letters. The second one, always composed with script type, was from Clyde Tolson, second in command at the FBI. It’s (more than) rumored that he and Hoover were lovers but homosexuality wasn’t discussed way back when. And certainly, not when it was in reference to the FBI director who waged war on homosexuals, African Americans and communists.

When it came to the letters, Mother explained they were composed on the same IBM Selectric typewriter with interchangeable type balls so Tolson’s letters were always composed with script type. The message was always the same albeit different wording.

I’m assuming Mrs. Gandy typed them both; she obviously had a massive book with everyone’s information and was clearly one of the most powerful women anywhere. She never married and it’s been documented she destroyed Hoover’s personal papers just before and following his death.

More Hoover memories: He and my mother’s father were friends and once or twice, he came to the house for dinner when Hermie was in Washington. I recall I was allowed to come into the living room and say hello but was immediately excused for the evening. After I became aware of my father’s family alleging that Hermie was a gangster, I wondered what they were discussing. The fact that my grandfather sent a ham to Hoover every Christmas - I will never know why.

This will remain one of the many unsolved mysteries in my life.

Photo: Harry Viner, J. Edgar Hoover, Raye Viner