Nearly 50 years after Lew Farrell’s death, Des Moines’ most memorable Mafia character has caught the attention of U.S. chamber of commerce historian Chris Mead. 

Mead is working on a sequel to his 2014 book, “The Magicians of Main Street, America and Its Chambers of Commerce, 1768-1945.” The new book brings the chamber story forward and will “have one small section on crime,” Mead told Greater Des Moines Partnership chief Jay Byers in a recent email.

He added that he had found an interesting Des Moines mention on the website AmericanMafia.com. The article by crime writer Allan May called Farrell “the original Teflon Don” for his ability to escape legal problems.  

Des Moines residents today are more likely to recognize Farrell’s son, stand-up comedian Willie Farrell, than the mob boss who died of cancer in 1967 at the age of 59. 

During the mid-20th century, though, Lew Farrell was mentioned regularly in articles by legendary Des Moines Register reporter Clark Mollenhoff.  

At the time of Farrell’s death, he was under indictment for a Chicago murder, but up until then, he had lived in Des Moines for more than 30 years without ever being convicted of a crime. 

Farrell was a chummy sort and had a charismatic personality that allowed him to make friends with politicians, police, judges and newspapermen, according to May.

“He was also active in the community and involved in several civic projects. The Des Moines Chamber of Commerce even granted him an honorary lifetime membership as well as a plaque for his outstanding service to the community,” May wrote.

That’s an amazing claim for a Mafia member, but it is difficult to verify today. 

An index of chamber records covering the years Farrell was in Des Moines makes no mention of honoring Farrell, although there are 49 boxes of chamber records in storage at the University of Iowa that could tell a different story.

Nor is there an easy way today to search newspaper records for that period, because The Des Moines Register threw out more than 80 percent of its alphabetized pre-1980 newspaper clippings when it moved to new offices two years ago. 

There’s no doubt, though, that Farrell was a character. 

May wrote that Chicago mob bosses were able to set Farrell up in Des Moines during the 1930s as a beer distributor, angering federal alcohol agents who had turned him down for a wholesaler license because of a criminal record in Chicago.  

May also wrote that in the late 1940s, Farrell faced gambling charges that “were dismissed by Judge C. Edwin Moore,” who later became chief justice of the Iowa Supreme Court.

May’s sources included newspaperman Mollenhoff, who wrote in a book that he had witnessed “the tentacles of (Farrell’s) reach into the Des Moines police department to promote his friends, into the Sheriff’s office for a gun permit, into the prosecutor’s office to kill a criminal indictment and into local courts to manipulate decisions on evidence, and into the local state political area.” 

What May does not say is that, while Mollenhoff was a dogged reporter, he could be myopic and had a penchant for hyperbolic writing that at times stretched facts. 

Farrell, who never denied his mob ties, appeared before three congressional crime committees. His most memorable performance was in 1958 before a committee that was investigating corrupt labor practices.

He was subpoenaed to appear with his personal financial records, which he brought in a locked briefcase. When Sen. John McClellan of Arkansas demanded to see the records, Farrell refused, claiming the senator “didn’t subpoena the key.” 

An infuriated McClellan threatened to cite Farrell with contempt, but Farrell invoked his Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination and walked out unharmed.