‘A different era’ ends with Paddy

‘A different era’ ends with Paddy
The Ottawa Citizen
Friday, January 26, 2007
Page: F3
Section: City
Byline: Ron Corbett
Column: Ron Corbett
Source: The Ottawa Citizen (reprinted with permission)

The parking lot behind St. Anthony’s Soccer Club was crowded with cars yesterday, so many people had come to say goodbye to Paddy Mitchell.

There was a memorial service for the notorious bank robber at Pinecrest Cemetery at noon, then a reception at St. Anthony’s on Preston Street, where the Mitchell clan was raised in the 1940s and ’50s — seven brothers and sisters — with Paddy the youngest.

Anyway, you couldn’t find a parking spot at St. Anthony’s. That’s right, for a convicted bank robber who died in Leavenworth Prison 10 days ago, you couldn’t find a parking spot.

It’s almost a certainty someone will find this offensive and write a letter stating that Mr. Mitchell was a bank robber, a criminal, why in the world would so many people come to pay their last respects to such a man?

And those facts will be true. But come through the doors of St. Anthony’s for a moment (aren’t you curious?) and walk around with me a bit. That guy over there, that’s Jay Roberts, a tight end with the Ottawa Rough Riders between 1964 and 1970 (which gives him three Grey Cup rings.)

He met Paddy “in the day” when Ottawa was more a town than a city, and to know what was happening anywhere you only had to go to a few places. Top of the list was the Belle Claire Hotel on Queen Street.

“We had a table that Sam (Koffmann) kept for us,” remembers Mr. Roberts. “Paddy was one of the regulars at the table. What can I tell you? — he was a fun guy. I know what he did wasn’t right, but it wasn’t that odd in those days to know someone like Paddy.”

Sitting with Mr. Roberts is writer Brian Doyle. They trade Mitchell stories. Mr. Roberts continues to talk about the Belle Claire, telling me several times: “You have to remember, that was a different era.”

Go to the other side of the room and there’s Pinky Mitchell, one of Paddy’s older brothers, and according to many, the person all the news stories should have been written about. Toughest s.o.b. in the city. The undisputed middle-weight champion of the Canadian Forces for many years (which so annoyed the army [Mr. Mitchell was air force] that the army convinced Yvon Durelle to enlist for three months in 1957 just so he could fight Mr. Mitchell. The Fighting Fisherman won by a decision after the five-round fight, but only after being knocked from the ring in the last round.)

Pinky is 77, a grandfather, and you still don’t want to take a punch from him.

“It’s a good turnout for my brother,” he says, looking around the room at St. Anthony’s. “You know, Paddy was basically a good person. He just messed up his life.”

With those words, you have the dilemma of Paddy Mitchell. Is there really such a thing as a “Gentleman Robber?” How can you reconcile what Paddy Mitchell did with the man everyone says they knew?

Msgr. Len Lunney, who presided over the memorial service, seemed best at wrestling that question to the ground. When death approaches, he told the crowded room, human judgment starts to lose its power.

“In a given moment, human judgment will lose its power entirely,” said Msgr. Lunney. “It was never intended for us to be the judge. A life can become worthwhile, conversion can happen, in a second.

Come on, let’s go back to St. Anthony’s. You’re never going to see a crowd like this again.

See the guy over there — yeah him — he’s the one they say owned the cocaine that led to Paddy Mitchell’s first arrest, but Paddy never rolled on him. Paddy was sentenced to 20 years on a conspiracy charge, but he never rolled. The guy will tell you today that Paddy was a “stand-up guy.”

Over here is the son of a bankrobber Paddy once knew, and when the son was arrested for robbing a corner store in Ottawa, he received a letter from Leavenworth, telling him to stop being such an idiot. That guy over there, he was on the ‘48 Olympic hockey team, the one that won a gold medal at St. Moritz.

See, it’s all muddy as hell, what you’re supposed to think about Paddy Mitchell. Throw in what seems like half the Ottawa Rough Riders from 1967, some retired journalists, some lawyers, firefighters, police officers — all saying what a great guy he was — and it gets worse.

Funniest thing, though, may be this: there was a time when we probably wouldn’t have thought about it so much. What to think of someone else. A time when there was a place like the Belle Claire and we didn’t live to pass judgment on people.

Let’s give the last word to his son:

“My dad never wanted people to lead the life he led,” says Kevin Mitchell, sitting with his two young sons at the back of the room. “He encouraged people to stay away from it. He died of cancer in Leavenworth, let’s not forget.

He turns his head and looks over the crowded room. More people are piling through the front doors and there is a traffic jam in the parking lot.

“I think a lot of these people just want to remember the old days,” says Mr. Mitchell. “We didn’t worry so much back then.”

Yes, it was a different era.

Eulogy for Paddy Mitchell

Eulogy for Patrick “Paddy” Mitchell
delivered by John Grant, January 25, 2007
at Pinecrest Memorial Gardens, Ottawa, Canada

Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen,

My name is John Grant. I identify myself as The Pinker’s son-in-law. I’ve been asked to speak about our friend Pat. I’ll be brief. So if anyone has a stopwatch, I’ll begin….

We all know that Pat was bigger than life. We’ve read the papers, watched the TV shows, and read the book.

But Pat was more than just a story. He was a loving and respectful son to Jean and Graham. A baby brother to Gerry, Pinky, Bobby, Bernice, Joan and Mary. An adoring husband to Joanne. An adoring husband to Imelda. A loving father to Kevin, and Richard. And a special grandfather to Joey and Jake. He was a magical uncle to his nieces and nephews.

Our family is filled with sorrow.

I’ve known Pat for over 35 years. First, when he lived in Ottawa, then when he lived in Kingston. I visited him on my motorcyle when he resided in Kansas.  Through all these years, with the exception of a few, we corresponded by letter and spoke frequently on the phone. I learned a lot about him.

In fact, Pat was also responsible for my brief moment of fame. A number of years ago, while Pat was on sabbatical, the TV program Unsolved Mysteries, had a segment about Pat’s exploits. At the conclusion of the program, the host, Robert Stack (a.ka. Elliot Ness, from the TV series The Untouchables) was seen walking across the lobby of a large financial institution. He was explaining that Pat was known to use many aliases, the latest of which was that of Johnny Grant. It was typical of Pat to jazz up my somewhat mundane name to suit his more flamboyant style.

Making friends came easy to Pat, as was apparent when I visited him in Kingston.  His drab prison garb had been transformed into a real fashion statement, and he sported the latest coiffure.

“Friends,” he said, “A talented Italian tailor, and the best Russian hairdresser from Toronto.”

People loved him because he was sincerely interested in them. He never failed to ask about my children. He wanted to know what they were doing; he took pleasure in their little successes.  My children knew this and loved him, and would leave secret messages for him should he show up at the cottage when we were not there.

When my wife Dawn had her first baby, Lee, in the old Catholic Montford Hospital, he knew Pinky and Ev were living in Moncton at the time, and Dawn missed them. In those days, visiting hours were strictly limited and strictly monitored by the Sisters. One afternoon, Dawn awoke from a nap to find Pat standing at the end of her bed. She knew it was not visiting hours and she asked him, “How did you get in here?”

Pat smiled and said, “I told them I was Father Mitchell, and they showed me right up.”

The bag he was holding contained a chocolate bar, cigarettes, and a few issues of True Confessions magazine.

Pat’s letters to us were always full of stories about friends he remembered and the new friends he made along the way, many of whom would like to be here today to pay their respects, but can’t.

Speaking of family and friends and loyalty, there are a couple of very special friends who proved their loyalty to Pat and he would want me to mention them today. Two men who did more than just talk the talk: two men who walked the walk. These two men gave Pat hope. They are Jimmy Allen and Tom Flannigan. Tom - excuse me,  Tom Flannigan, oh wow. Freudian slip there! Sorry Pinker! Tom Cavanaugh! *

He would also like me to thank two ladies who did so much work to support his Internet site and blog which he really enjoyed and took so much pleasure from. They are Lynda Warman and Susan Scruton. Thank you ladies.

As is evident from his work, Pat was filled with creativity. Despite a lack of formal training, through diligence and perseverance, he taught himself to write and to write well. He published a book and several articles. He was also an accomplished chef.

Somewhere along the way, physical fitness and healthy eating became an obsession for Pat. He quit smoking, gave up meat and started jogging. His passion knew no bounds, subjecting us all to lengthy lectures over and over and over again. I almost became a vegetarian myself as a result.

Much to the surprise of many, Pat spent the last twelve years serving as an altar boy and cleaning the chapel. He had a great faith and was a strong Roman Catholic. I’m sure his religion was a big comfort to him.

However, his most outstanding characteristic and his legacy to his grandsons Joey and Jake was his courage. He was the toughest and bravest person I have ever known. He went through the hardest times of anybody I’ve ever known. And he did it all with grace, courage and dignity. Incredibly, never once - not a single time - did I ever hear Pat complain about the shitty hand that was dealt him. It’s hard to believe, but true.

Pat was a very smart man. He was handsome and charming, well-spoken and persuasive. Make no mistake - he could have succeeded in any profession had he not chosen banking.

In July, Pat will finally make it back to Blue Sea Lake. Back in the day, two blasts of the horn signalled Joanne, Pat and Kevin’s arrival at the cottage. All kids knew the fun had just begun. It meant Mrs. Moore’s eggs, and Mr. Shield’s bacon, and Richmond Bakery donuts, and of course all the Pure Spring soft drinks you could guzzle in an evening.

The sound of the trolling motor before the sun rose would not be heard again until dusk when Pat and The Pinker returned, sunburnt and loaded with fish. Of course Pat’s were always the biggest and tasted the best.

There are a million more stories to be told of Pat, and I’m sure that many of them will be told this afternoon. See you all there. God Bless.

——————————–

*Note: The crowd was roaring with laughter at this point. Tom Flannigan, of course, was Ottawa’s Chief of Police at the time of the Gold Heist, while Tom Cavanaugh was a very good friend of Paddy’s over the years.
 

Paddy’s memorial: Request for photos

We’ll be posting some photographs from Paddy’s reception over the next couple of days. If you have photos you’d like to share, please email them to soozoom@yahoo.com.  Thank you.

Paddy’s Memorial Service and Reception

We’ll be posting some photos here over the next few days, but in the meantime, here are a couple of stories from the media:

Final goodbye to notorious bank robber (Ottawa Sun, 26/01/07)

Leader of Stopwatch Gang remembered at wake (CBC, 26/01/07)

Paddy Mitchell’s wake brings out working class Ottawa (Canoe, 25/01/07)

Paddy’s Last Word Series #7: The truth about Christopher Clarkson

[Note: This is the seventh of Paddy Mitchell’s seven final blog entries, written shortly before his death on January 14, 2007, and mailed to Ottawa to be posted on his blog. The series is being published posthumously between January 21 and January 25th.] Howdy Folks, 

I received a letter from my son Kevin today, and he included an article from the newspaper about Christopher Clarkson which included a photo of him getting of an airplane at the Ottawa International Airport, in handcuffs, obviously not looking forward to the 20 year prison sentence.  He escaped this, by jumping bail, and living an honest existence, having married, and becoming a successful businessman over the past 30 years.  

My heart goes out to him and his family.   If he is made to do the 20 years – it wouldn’t be fair at this late stage.  He proved that he’s not a criminal by his exemplary behaviour over the past 30 years.  I didn’t know this back in 1975 when he and I met, and Tommy Harrigan, and Lionel Wright were arrested for conspiracy to import a narcotic (cocaine) into Canada.  I’d met him 2 or 3 times.   He was a highly intelligent , 25ish gentleman and Hollywood handsome.   And, other than meeting Lionel and I, those 2 or 3 times, had nothing to do with the so called “Stopwatch Gang”, and never robbed or stole anything in his life. 

The only thing I know about his “criminal career” is that he traveled to Curacao in 1975 or ’74 with Tommy Harrigan – I don’t believe he had anything to do with that 8 ½ pounds of cocaine – that came out of that trip.   I didn’t put up any money for those drugs.   I got involved in the “Conspiracy” because I knew someone at the airport who said he could get the suitcase out of customs without inspection.   As it turned out, he was an agent, provocator, working for the RCMP and he entrapped several people into joining conspiracies to import narcotics.   And, shame on me and about six others, we fell for it.   One friend of mine committed suicide, two jumped bail, two were acquitted, and three of us were convicted and sentenced to 17 years in prison.  If you want more information about this, ask me, I’ll be honest!   I believe it’s time (after 30 years) that the truth should be known about those conspiracies. 

P.S.  Somebody finally got it right!  My congratulations to reporters:  Andrew Seymour and Chris Lackner of the Ottawa Citizen for getting the facts about the “Stopwatch Gang”. Everything in their article rings true. 

Paddy’s Last Words Series #6: New Year’s Eve reflections

[Note: This is the sixth of Paddy Mitchell’s seven final blog entries, written shortly before his death on January 14, 2007, and mailed to Ottawa to be posted on his blog. The series is being published posthumously between January 21 and January 25th.] 

It’s Sunday morning, 9:00 a.m. on New Year’s Eve and I’ve just turned off my Sony radio after listening to an hour of N.P.R. (National Public Radio).   The headlines were:  the death of ex-president Gerald Ford, Saddam Hussein and James Brown.   

This is the first time I’ve picked up pen and paper since going through a chemotherapy treatment on Thursday that kicked my butt.   It’s a product I haven’t been treated with before.   The initial treatments of chemo had worked fine, stopping the spread in its tracks, but then stopped working, thus the sudden change in product.   I’m just coming out of the “fog” (that’s what is is referred to here, “chemo fog”, you lose your strength and memory and appetite and balance… you walk around in a fog all day).   It’s called Gemcitabine (or Genzar). 

There’s still a few hours remaining in this waning year.  It hasn’t been a good one for me healthwise; but other than that, it hasn’t been a bad one for me either.  I got to see my 2 grandsons and my son  (grandsons for the very first time) (they are 13 and 15) and my son for only the third time since I escaped from prison in 1974.   So it has been a good year in that sense! 

I believe my first wife, Joanne, has forgiven me for all my peccadilloes, she wrote to me (after not doing so, and hanging up the telephone on me several months earlier, angry about embarrassing her with the publication of my book) a couple of times this year;  it’s been a good year in that sense! 

And, I’ve made some new friends through my website; and now a new “blog” (that has grabbed a lot of attention) set up by a wonderful new friend named Susan who volunteered to help me.    Of course, I still have Lynda who has helped me with all my typing through the years.   So, that’s all a blessing! 

I’m sorry, I’m just reminiscing, remembering good times that ’06 has given me:     I think that Dave Brown of the Ottawa Citizen and I have buried the hatchet after some heated words on paper last  year.  I wrote to apologize for my letter on my website where I let loose my anger at him over something he wrote about me in his newspaper column – but he was perfectly right!   He’s written back and if you think his columns are good, you’d love his personal letters.     He inspires me to write better.

Important: CHANGE OF VENUE for Paddy’s reception

Due to the growing number of people expected at Paddy’s reception on Thursday, and space limitations at the Prescott, we’ve had to move the reception to a larger venue:

The reception will be held from 2:00 to 5:00, Thursday January 25th, at:

THE ST. ANTHONY SOCCER CLUB

523 St. Anthony Street

CORNER OF PRESTON AND THE QUEENSWAY

(Walking distance from the PRESCOTT)

[Note: There are no changes to the venue of the  visitation (11:00 AM) and service (12:00 noon), which will still take place at Pinecrest tomorrow.]

Paddy’s Last Word Series #5: Christmas in Prison

[Note: This is the fifth of Paddy Mitchell’s seven final blog entries, written shortly before his death on January 14, 2007, and mailed to Ottawa to be posted on his blog. The series is being published posthumously between January 21 and January 25th.] 

My good friend Jimmy Allen also has been an inspiration to me this past year with the success of his book: “This Firefighter’s Life”.   What a book!   Jimmy and I have been friends forever.  He writes to me all the time…keeps me informed by sending newspaper articles, stuff off the internet, and just generally, what’s happening around my home town of Ottawa. 

My family, mostly in Ottawa, but spread across the entire country are still supportive of me and don’t condemn me for the things I’ve done (but certainly, do not approve of my actions over the years). 

On Christmas Day, they served us a pretty good meal:  Cornish game hens, sweet potatoe, cornbread, pecan pie and a full plate of fruits and vegetables.     And tomorrow, New Year’s Day, they’ll try to do the same with a steak dinner.  Most of the 1000 inhabitants here will be contented, me included, they try to treat us right on Christmas and New Years. 

One Christmas still stands out to me:  it was the most miserable one I can recall from all those I’ve spent in prison.  It was the one I spent incarcerated at the Maricopa County Jail in Phoenix, Arizona in 1983.  I had robbed a department store in that city in Dec. 1981, and, under false identification, was granted bail on the charges.  I skipped bail and wasn’t re-arrested until more than two years later.  It was like a slap in the face to the authorities in Arizona.   Here they had one of the countries most wanted fugitives in their custody and let him bail on them.   When they got me back in the county jail they treated me really bad.   They kept me in an all-steel cell, never letting me out – except for 20 minutes every Sunday for a phone call.  (I’ll explain what happened to me on one of those forays out in a future letter – suffice to say it wasn’t pleasant).    They didn’t feed me properly – I had to shower in cold water – they ignored all my requests and treated me like dirt.   Then on Christmas Day (evening actually) my big steel door was unlocked and in stepped a uniformed jail guard – the only one who had treated me decent throughout the months I’d been there – named “Frenchy”.  

He said:  “How are you doing, Mitchell?”  

I answered: “Fine.” 

I figured he’d been sent to search my cell or something. 

“I just want you to know that I don’t approve of the way you’re being treated around here, and I just wanted to wish you a Merry Xmas.  My wife asked me to bring these in for you”, and he handed me two packages wrapped in tinfoil and turned and left my cell.   The packages contained about a pound of sliced turkey and a piece of pecan pie!   

Just reminiscing; hope I didn’t bore you! God Bless!

Paddy’s Last Word Series # 4: Out of the frying pan, into the blizzard

[Note: This is the fourth of Paddy Mitchell’s seven final blog entries, written shortly before his death on January 14, 2007, and mailed to Ottawa to be posted on his blog. The series is being published posthumously between January 21 and January 25th.] 

I don’t know if the term “history repeats itself” is appropriate here, but I was just listening to my radio and heard a news broadcast about a  major blizzard passing through Denver, Colorado, closing highways and schools and the Denver Airport, and my memory flashed back “exactly” twenty five years ago (which is a wonder because my memory has not been working well of late) to an incident that happened to me:  I had attempted to rob “Diamond’s Department Store” at the Metro Center Mall in Phoenix, Arizona. 

It was the week before Christmas, 1981.  I was reasonably successful until I found myself in a shootout with an undercover policeman who just happened to be at the store.  After bouncing over the counter and scooping up the money that was awaiting an armoured-truck pickup ($165,000) I was confronted by the policeman, gun pointed at me, and ordered to “Stop or I’ll shoot”.  He shot!  Taking a layer of skin off my nose….  I write about this entire incident in my book:  my arrest, incarceration, release and my trip to Denver;  all within three days. 

Too long a story to describe on this blog…anyhow, I ended up on a flight out of Phoenix to Denver and all I had to wear for the flight was a pair of jogging shorts, a polo-shirt, a pair of ankle-socks and running shoes.   There  was some questions as to whether my plane would be able to land because of blizzard-like conditions.   Somehow, we landed and when the passengers were leaving the plane the female steward stood at the doorway saying goodbye to passengers.   She greeted me with: “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?   Don’t you know there’s a blizzard out there?”  “It would take too long to explain.” I answered and scurried on out onto the tarmac – no covered ramp on this flight – but I’d gotten away, which was an important thing! 

NOTE:   I hope you’ll forgive me if you think I write about robberies, prison escapes, and women in a flippant manner.   I don’t mean for things to come out that way, but that’s the way they happened to me.   These stories are not fiction… they all happened to me in the way I describe them.

Paddy’s Last Words Series #3: Times have changed

[Note: This is the third of Paddy Mitchell’s seven final blog entries, written shortly before his death on January 14, 2007, and mailed to Ottawa to be posted on his blog. The series is being published posthumously between January 21 and January 25th.] 

Did you get to read the piece about Samantha?   Because of the delay between my writing on this blog and my receiving it via snail-mail I have no way of knowing whether the woman who runs things for me in Ottawa felt the essays I send her are appropriate to print.    I’m completely out of touch after spending the past 12 years in maximum security prisons (Atlanta, Leavenworth, Lewisburg, Butner medical center) that I don’t know what’s acceptable in this day and age. 

 “Samantha” was a lady I met in my travels and I wrote about in my book, only to edit the piece out thinking it was too explicit, but since, regretted taking it and others out of my book.  I’m from an old school, anything you wouldn’t mention to your mother, you shouldn’t write about in a book.   Boy-oh-boy, have times changed in literature!  I just got finished reading “My Old Man” by Amy Sohn, a chick-lit author.  It was the most graffic, sexually explicit book I’ve ever read.   It gets the thumbs-up from all the critics.   And I worried that two words would offend my readers… “Pussy and Penis”.   I wouldn’t dare offend by using the words:  f..k, or c..t, or c..k.  There’s so much more to Samantha’s story and I’m wondering (and waiting to hear) if it would be appropriate to tell about it here.  I will let you know what the consensus is, soon.