Barnum, Bail and Show Biz

Trust me when I tell you that Giuseppe Mariano Roselli, ex-pugilist and self-proclaimed bail bondsman to the stars, is about to become more popular than linguine and clams.

You will see him one of these days on the Johnny Carson show, his diamond-and-golden-glove necklace gleaming in the stage lights, and you will hear him on the Michael Jackson show, telling about the time he dressed in drag to nail a guy who owed him money.

You know him as Joey Barnum, a lightweight contender in the 1940s who, after his retirement, came back to beat the fighter he was managing.

A television series based on Joey is in the works, and a book is in its final stages. The kid from Chicago’s Little Sicily is gonna be a star.

I learned this first-hand from Joey himself, and from his partner, Joe Seide, ex-client, ex-con and ex-press agent. I had seen Joey’s picture in the paper with Milton Berle at a restaurant opening and wanted to know more about him.

We met in his office across the street from the courthouse in El Monte. Joey is resplendent in tailor-made clothes, $800 snakeskin boots and $3,500 Rolex watch.

He looks at the world through rose-tinted glasses and, because his designer shirt is open half-way to his stomach, the glove-and-diamond necklace gleams like a logo of his life.

If everything goes right, the TV series will be like the old “Barney Miller” show, but centered on the bail bond business, which Joey has been involved in for 27 years.

Mickey Cohen’s bail bondsman taught Joey the business in which he now prevails. His license plate used to say “EX PUG.” Now it says “MR BAIL.”

Joey is no shrinking violet.

An entire wall of his office is filled with pictures of himself with celebrities you’ll probably never meet, even if they were still alive.

Marilyn Monroe, for instance, was a good friend, William Devane is a fan and Joey dines occasionally with Jackie Stallone at Matteo’s.

In fact, her son Sly phoned when I was in the office, but Joey was in no hurry to answer. By the time he did, Stallone had hung up.

Joey doubled for John Garfield in the movie “Body and Soul,” and a television film, “The Killer Instinct,” was based on the kid’s life.

He got to know people in show biz through his peripheral involvement, and later as he “serviced” them. Big Names have called upon Joey to bail them out of the slammer.

One of those Big Names got in trouble once by failing to pay a loan shark. Three “collectors” came to call. Joey, who is as hard and lean as he was 40 years ago, stepped between the Big Name and the collectors. They recognized him and backed off. The man must have finally paid because he’s still alive.

“Joey’s a real colorful character,” Joe Seide says, shaking his head. Seide did 18 months in federal prison for income tax evasion. A big man, he dominates the conversation.

“The business,” Joey manages to say, “is not all dark. One time. . . .”

“Oh, yeah,” Seide says, anticipating the story. “A client stiffs Joey and. . . .”

“Wait,” Joey says in a commanding voice. “I’ll tell.”

It’s a terrific story. Joey dressed up in women’s clothing to catch a guy who had jumped bail. A tipster said the guy had a gun, so going in drag was a way for Joey to disguise himself.

“I find him at a bar,” Joey says, “and sidle up to him. I must look pretty good, because he buys me a drink. I spill the drink on his lap, and when he’s bending over to wipe it up, I hit him with a left hook and a right cross and he goes down like a tree.

“The bartender stares and says, ‘Man, can that broad hit!’ ”

Joey’s got a lot of stories, some of which will never be told in explicit detail in what is known as a Family Newspaper; like the nut who was cursing the pay phone outside Joey’s office for stealing his quarter.

Joey was watching and dialed the number of the pay phone. When the nut answered, Joey cursed him back in his own terms, and the guy was so startled he took off like the devil himself was in pursuit.

Barnum’s office glows with memorabilia of his boxing career, from an oil painting to an old poster. He had a clock that rang a boxing bell every 30 minutes, and tells about the punchy ex-fighter who dropped by, heard the bell, slumped back in a chair and asked for water.

“What worried me,” Joey says, “is that the guy was so punchy he could hardly talk, but I understood him.”

Joe Seide laughs like crazy and says, “What a colorful guy.”

Mr. Bail, about to become famous, smiles.