he cop, the jock, the bets
"Jimmy Dimples," they called him at the south Philadelphia watering hole. At least the women did. Bartender James Harney had a bodybuilder's physique, a model's face, designer clothes and a goal.
BY THE GAZETTE (MONTREAL)FEBRUARY 13, 2006
"Jimmy Dimples," they called him at the south Philadelphia watering hole. At least the women did. Bartender James Harney had a bodybuilder's physique, a model's face, designer clothes and a goal.
He wanted to be a New Jersey state trooper.
Richard Tocchet had a nickname, too. To legions of pro hockey fans and players around the continent, he was simply "Toc," a fitting one-syllable moniker for an athlete known for his endurance and grit.
At first glance, the two men shared little in common. But the sports star and the cop crossed paths at least five years ago, when their careers were heading in different directions.
Last week, their fates became irrevocably entwined.
The state police accused Harney and Tocchet of being partners in a sports betting ring that took millions of dollars worth of wagers from professional athletes and celebrities. They said the ring had ties to organized crime figures in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. And they said the gamblers included National Hockey League players and the wife of its most revered star, Wayne Gretzky.
"Nobody bet on their own games," state police Superintendent Rick Fuentes said in announcing the charges.
But investigators were sparse with other details, saying they were still identifying and questioning bettors. The probe took investigators to at least four states and showed signs it could blossom into the largest gambling scandal to hit professional sports in years.
The NHL hired a former federal prosecutor to conduct an internal probe. Gretzky, now the coach of the Phoenix Coyotes, denied any knowledge of the gambling ring.
Gretzky's denial was supported by new information yesterday that a police wiretap of him discussing the case with Tocchet and asking how his wife's involvement could be covered up was made last Monday, after the investigation came to light.
By week's end, Harney, Tocchet and the third defendant in the case, James Ulmer, hired attorneys who came out swinging. They portrayed the operation as harmless wagers among friends.
Police were pursuing the theory that Tocchet financed the operation, recruited the gamblers among wealthy athletes and made his own bets. Ulmer is believed to have collected and funnelled the cash to Harney, and the trooper allegedly placed the bets with an established bookie.
In one six-week span, police said, the ring processed more than 1,000 wagers worth a total of $1.7 million.
The state police dubbed their case "Operation Slap Shot," although few would argue it needed a slick nickname to get attention. It already had all the ingredients necessary for a media frenzy.
Millionaire athletes in a league struggling to rebound. The beautiful wife of hockey's greatest player allegedly throwing down five-figure bets like a grandmother dropping change into the nickel slots. A bar tender-turned-trooper-turned-Rolex-wearing-bookie. And, of course, the mob.
By the time the ring allegedly started, Harney appeared to be living out his dream. He had joined the state police in 1997, when he was 32, and his first posting was in Bridgeton, deep in south Jersey.
Four years later he won a transfer to the Moorestown barracks, a 15-minute drive from the Marlton, N.J. home where he lived with his wife.
Court records show Tocchet lived in Voorhees, N.J., where the Philadelphia Flyers have their practice facility.
Philadelphia was the club that drafted him in 1983 and the team where he built his reputation as a winger who could score as easily as drop his gloves. Tocchet ranks among only four NHL players to record 300 goals and 2,000 penalty minutes in their careers.
But the game he had played so well for so long was starting to slip away by the time Tocchet returned to Philadelphia, after stints with five other teams, in 2000. He spent much of the next season battling injuries. It was his longest absence from the ice in his career. He retired the following year at 38 and returned to Arizona to work with his friend Gretzky.
When he met Harney is unclear, though State Police have said their friendship started at Legends, a well-known south Philadelphia sports bar. The bar, which has since been renamed, sits in a Holiday Inn just outside the gates of the sprawling stadium complex where the city's four professional sports teams play.
Harney worked there for about three years in the mid-1990s, when Legends was a convenient and regular destination for Philly athletes. He was so popular, especially among the women, that his co workers gave him a nickname - "Jimmy Dimples."
"He was handsome and had this great personality," said Trish Fortuna, a bartender who worked with Harney. "When he passed the state trooper's test, we were really excited for him. That's all he had talked about for years."
Legends became legendary for attracting more than just athletes. Law-enforcement sources say it was also a regular hangout for members of the Philadelphia-south Jersey organized crime family and its then-underboss, Joseph "Skinny Joey" Merlino. That wasn't a surprise to organized-crime investigators. Most wiseguys like celebrities, and like to be seen with them, they say. And in the age of The Sopranos, the feeling is often reciprocal. Because of its clientele, Legends also drew its share of beautiful women.
The state police have not identified which mobsters were involved or how the mob fits into the case, except to say Tocchet and Harney oversaw "a highly organized sports betting system" and with "alleged ties to the Bruno-Scarfo crime family of La Costra Nostra."
But few illegal gambling operations can grow too large without drawing the scrutiny of organized-crime families, which tend to believe they have an unchallenged monopoly on sports betting.
Five years ago, Merlino and his associates were convicted of extorting payments from a betting ring started by a group of college students.
"Why pay the mob?" a prosecutor asked one of the operators at trial.
"Because you had to in order to do business," the witness replied.
How much Tocchet and Harney could have earned is unclear.
In a typical gambling operation, the betting agents charge a commission as high as 10 per cent of the bet, and keep up to 25 per cent of any losses, according to law-enforcement officials who have investigated such rings. The rest of the money goes back into the operations or to the ringleaders.
Police say Harney earned only $75,000 a year as a trooper, but amassed hundreds of thousands of dollars in bank accounts, plus two homes, a BMW and a Lincoln Navigator, and Rolex watches worth $250,000. They moved to seize his properties. The criminal complaints say the men processed 594 bets worth $1 million between Dec. 29, 2005 and Jan. 31. They allegedly handled another $700,000 worth of bets in the five days before Super Bowl XL, a frenzied week for gamblers.
A chunk of those allegedly came from the spouse of the NHL's greatest player. Law enforcement sources say Janet Jones, Gretzky's wife, was a regular gambler and placed $75,000 worth of bets on last Sunday's Super Bowl, including a winning bet on the coin toss.
Gretzky initially waffled on his knowledge of the operation. But by Thursday, after reports the wire taps caught him and Tocchet discussing his wife's gambling with the ring, he insisted he never placed a bet. Jones followed with her own press release, claiming she never placed wagers for Gretzky.
The wiretaps in the ongoing investigation also turned up several state troopers speaking to Harney, but two people close to the investigation say the conversations were not about gambling.
Tocchet was served with a summons at his home in Arizona. His neighbour there is Jeremy Roenick, another former Flyer, now with the Los Angeles Kings, who sources say placed bets through the ring. Investigators say players for the Boston Bruins and Minnesota Wild are also involved.
None of the alleged bettors has been charged. Police said the gamblers might not have broken any laws, unless, for instance, they failed to declare their winnings as income. The focus of the investigation, law-enforcement sources say, is on the operators.
Tocchet, Harney and Ulmer are scheduled to appear Feb. 21 at an arraignment in Superior Court in Burlington County, N.J. Each has been charged with conspiracy, promoting gambling and money-laundering. Harney faces an additional charge of official misconduct.
Harney's attorney, Craig Mitnick, issued a statement saying the trooper has no intention of resigning. "The allegations against him will be scrutinized and defended vigorously," Mitnick said.
Ulmer's attorney, A. Charles Peruto Jr., dismissed the accusations as "a bunch of friends betting with each other," although in a crowd where most of the friends are millionaires.
"If you take out the names of Gretzky and Tocchet, it's a run- of-the-mill, five-cent case where you go pay your fine and you leave," he said.
Despite his career, a wife and children, Harney - previously known as Jimmy Dimples - still returned from time to time to the sports bar where he once worked, his former colleagues said. As recently as a few months ago, Harney brought his twin daughters to the bar.
"If I saw him right now, I'd give him a big kiss and wish him all the luck in the world," Fortuna said. "And then I'd tell him, `I hope you didn't do the things they're saying you did. Because if you did, you blew it big time."'
