The Fearless Four

The fires of revolt, which flared up in Athens, Tenn. a fortnight ago, broke out anew last week 865 miles away in tiny, shabby Central Falls, R.I. (pop. 26,000). Again it was Army & Navy veterans who set the blaze; this time, four rookie policemen. But there were differences: 1) the rookies had never meant to light the torch of civic reform in the first place; 2) they fired no shots, broke no laws in waking up the town.

What the Central Falls veterans had started out to get was a 20% pay raise they had been promised. When Chief of Police George Collette shrugged the whole thing off they went to see the city's political boss, old Uncle Andrew Sherry, in adjoining Pawtucket. Sherry suggested circulating a petition through the force. But as soon as they did they found themselves catching "punishment duty," guarding city dumps and traffic-free intersections.

Then a helpful reporter gave them the idea that started the sparks flying. Like everyone else in Central Falls they had known all along that illegal slot machines, bookies and back-room gamblers were doing a fat $1 million-a-year business. There were slot machines in half the city's mainstreet stores. Up until now they had obediently heeded unofficial warnings not to do anything about it. But a good lively raid might get them a better break.

Raid & Reform. Next day, off duty and in plain clothes, they burst into Alphee Lamarre's shoeshine parlor, carted two slot machines off to police headquarters. Within a week they were suspended by Mayor John Healey on the mysterious charge of "something they should have done, but failed to do."

At that the whole town took up the cry of angry protest. Six Providence lawyers volunteered legal help. Most of the town's veterans' organizations and the Good Government Club rallied around. There were mass meetings, hangings in effigy, furious speechmaking. A minor intramural row had turned into a major political fight. The biggest heroes in the city were handsome, hefty Patrolmen Frank Klich, Lucien Tessier, John Byrnes and John Gorman--now nicknamed the "Fearless Four."

Backtracking fast, Mayor Healey announced that the suspension hearings were canceled, that the rookies would be restored to duty. But it was too late. An independent, veteran-backed ticket was gunning for the whole city administration in the fall elections. Last week, atop the bandwagon and not at all embarrassed, the Fearless Four had everything but their raise.

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