30/04/2021
OUR NOTORIOUS PAST.....
Phil ‘The Jew’ Jeffs (1896-1945)
Phil ‘The Jew’ Jeffs started life about as far down the ladder as one could get. Born in Riga, Latvia, in 1896, his family emigrated to London where they abandoned him on the streets. He survived by stealing clothes from drunks and eating out of garbage cans, before signing on as a cook’s assistant on a tramp steamer heading for South Africa. He worked his way from there to Sydney, arriving in 1912. Phil Jeffs was not much to look at: thin and unprepossessing, with the large bulbous nose which earned him his nickname. Nevertheless, he was determined to amount to something and his chosen area of expertise was crime.
He started out in the Darlinghurst push, working as a cockatoo for two-up joints and mugging drunks. He soon moved to drug-running and the easy life of a bludger, which he spiced up with a bit of gingering and playing the ‘badger game’, in which he would break in upon his accomplice pr******te and her client, pretending to be the outraged husband: the victim would usually pay their way out of an imminent beating from Jeffs, who could summon a savage potentiality when required.
He dressed as a flashy spiv and carried a pistol and a knife with him at all times. He spent a lot of time toadying to crime figures more powerful than himself and was always quick to look for potential opportunities. He was also more than willing to enter a fight and his reputation for being completely careless of his or anyone else’s safety in these matters made others very wary of him. He started up sly grog shops throughout Razorhurst and peddled vice and co***ne like it was going out of style: all the while he took note of his customers – especially those whom he felt could be of value to his career – and consolidated his earnings. He was in and out of police custody throughout the 1920s, a known ra**st, standover man, drug runner and all-round thug. His criminal dreams were becoming a reality – until he was shot in his home in 1929.
Jeffs’ wounds were serious. He was forced to retire from his activities and moved north of Sydney to the town of Woy Woy, where he lived as a recluse. His operations in Sydney were run by proxies and the cash kept rolling in. While he lay low, Jeffs had time to reconsider his approach and underwent a complete transformation: when he returned to the Sydney scene in 1932, he had turned from a razor-gang thug, into a suave, worldly-wise entrepreneur, in finely-tailored suits and with dazzling society women hanging from his arms. He had finished with the streets and had moved things to another level...
With his connexions and cash he opened up his own night spot – the Fifty-Fifty Club in the Chard Building on the corner of William and Forbes Streets. He paid bent cops to keep the raids to a minimum and to let him know when those they couldn’t prevent were about to happen; Frank Green and other gunmen were on his payroll as enforcers and his clientele included the bright stars of every social strata, from politics to crime. The Fifty-Fifty Club throbbed every night with jazz and dancing, fuelled by illegal alcohol and drugs; all of the windows were fitted with loops of twine so that champagne bottles could be hung outside during police raids and the staff were skilled in switching booze for ginger beer and instantly setting up bogus bridge hands to hide co***ne-sprinkled tables.
In time, Jeffs moved to larger digs in his new Ziegfield Club on George Street. This was an even larger affair with a greater degree of legitimacy. Even so, it was the scene of ‘Chow’ Hayes’ attack on a hated foe which saw him gaoled for life. Eventually, Jeffs sold off his string of night clubs, the last one – the 400 Club – closing its doors in 1942. Thereafter, he retired to Ettalong in Sydney’s north to enjoy his fabulous wealth. In 1945, the unremoved bullets still lodged in his body turned septic and he died of the poison at the age of 49.
