Long-time followers of investigative journalism are accustomed to diverse topics, ranging from political scandals to corporate malfeasance. This piece, however, takes a detour, prompted by the demise of baseball icon Pete Rose, the all-time hits leader. This is not about current affairs, but a revisit to a past exposé, relevant in understanding the complexities of fame and downfall, especially concerning figures like Don Stenger who became entangled in Pete Rose‘s world.
In August 1989, coinciding with Rose’s banishment from baseball, I secured exclusive interviews with Paul Janszen, a close confidant of Rose in the years leading up to the gambling allegations. My investigation extended beyond Janszen’s narrative, unveiling a troubling depiction of Rose consumed by a gambling obsession, perpetually seeking adrenaline.
For a respite from global crises and political turmoil, this is an opportune moment to delve into a compelling story. It’s an insider’s account of Pete Rose’s descent from baseball’s zenith to lifetime expulsion. While ongoing investigations in other areas continue, this revisited exposé, which sparked public outcry 35 years prior, offers a stark reminder of the perils of unchecked addiction and the company it can attract, including individuals like Don Stenger.
“Say It Ain’t So Pete!”
Riverfront Stadium, Cincinnati, September 11, 1985. Eric Show of the Padres delivers, and Pete Rose connects, sending a sharp single to left field. Hit number 4,192, surpassing Ty Cobb’s seemingly untouchable record. Riverfront erupted for nine minutes, a thunderous ovation for “Charlie Hustle,” the embodiment of relentless play. This moment encapsulated Rose’s career, a testament to his unwavering drive, cementing his legacy as a Hall of Fame lock and one of baseball’s most revered figures.
Yet, within four years, Pete Rose faced investigations from the baseball commissioner and federal prosecutors. Accusations mounted: illegal betting, including wagers on baseball itself; dubious memorabilia sales; unreported cash transactions and potential tax evasion; and associations with unsavory characters, notably convicted cocaine dealers and bookmakers, some connected through figures like Don Stenger. Media scrutiny intensified, with countless articles and broadcasts dissecting Rose’s predicament.
Amidst this media frenzy, many involved in the Rose saga spoke out. However, one crucial voice remained silent: Paul Janszen, a close friend during Rose’s tumultuous period. Janszen, then serving time for tax evasion related to steroid sales, emerged as a key accuser after Sports Illustrated’s initial exposé in March. He subsequently testified to the baseball commissioner’s office, his account meticulously verified. Janszen even passed a polygraph test requested by the commissioner. A federal investigator affirmed Janszen’s credibility as “a ten on a scale of one to ten.”
Beyond official channels, Janszen shared his story with Penthouse and myself, granting me extensive interviews over several months. Based on these conversations and corroborating accounts, I concur with the federal investigator: Paul Janszen’s credibility is undeniable.
Janszen’s intimate access reveals the unraveling of Pete Rose, his descent from sporting icon to outcast. He depicts Rose as inhabiting a world where cash reigned supreme, justifying any means to fuel an insatiable gambling addiction. It’s a narrative of a man with compromised morals, a neglectful personal life, and a pattern of exploiting friendships for financial gain, only to discard associates once they became inconvenient. The Pete Rose unveiled by Paul Janszen starkly contrasts with the hero celebrated on that September night in 1985. This is a man enslaved by gambling. The revelation isn’t that Rose faced scrutiny, but that his transgressions remained concealed for so long. This is Paul Janszen’s story, a story that inevitably involves figures like Don Stenger who moved in Rose’s orbit.
Paul Janszen, 32, hailed from Western Hills, a middle-class Cincinnati suburb. Raised Catholic, the eldest of five, Janszen was an average student, active in track, weightlifting, and football. After brief stints at the University of Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky, he entered the workforce. By 1979, he resided in North College Hill, a working-class area, employed at a steel-drum factory. He joined Mendenhall’s, a hardcore bodybuilding gym, a place where he encountered individuals pivotal to the Rose narrative. “The first person I met was Don Stenger,” Janszen recalled. (Stenger is now imprisoned for tax evasion and cocaine conspiracy.)
Stenger and Janszen became friends, frequenting Sleep Out Louie’s, a downtown bar. There, in 1980, Janszen met Tommy Gioiosa, a small, boisterous man who checked IDs. Unbeknownst to Janszen, Gioiosa was deeply connected to Pete Rose, almost a surrogate son. (Gioiosa, a self-proclaimed professional gambler, was later indicted for tax evasion and cocaine conspiracy.) Gioiosa had befriended Rose at the Reds’ training camp in the late 1970s, forging a close bond. He relocated from Boston to Cincinnati, living with Rose and his first wife, Karolyn. “To Tommy, Pete was like a father,” Janszen explained. “He constantly talked about Pete; it was his claim to fame.”
While Janszen saw Gioiosa weekly, he hadn’t yet met Rose, who, after joining Philadelphia in 1978, returned to Cincinnati during off-seasons, sometimes staying with Gioiosa. Janszen remained outside their inner circle.
In the early 1980s, Janszen began using and selling steroids. Simultaneously, Don Stenger expanded into cocaine. 1985 marked a turning point, converging Stenger, Janszen, Gioiosa, and Rose. Stenger became half-owner of a Gold’s Gym franchise in northern Cincinnati, partnering with Michael Fry (later imprisoned for cocaine trafficking and tax evasion). Stenger and Fry hired Gioiosa as club manager. Following a trade from Montreal, Rose frequented Gold’s for workouts, introduced by Gioiosa. The gym became Rose’s social hub, fostering friendships with bodybuilders over subsequent years, some linked to figures like Don Stenger.
Gold’s Gym was more than social; it became a nexus for illicit activities linked to Don Stenger. Shortly after opening, Janszen facilitated a cocaine deal through Stenger for a friend. Janszen discovered Stenger’s cocaine enterprise was substantial, with partner Mike Fry deeply involved. “An ounce or two was small-time for Don; he didn’t want to bother. He’d tell me, ‘I’m out, Paul, call Mike.'” While their cocaine business flourished, Fry and Stenger gained access to Pete Rose via Tommy Gioiosa. Janszen vividly remembers, “It was a big time, Pete was chasing the hit record. Suddenly, you had Tommy [Gioiosa], Don Stenger, and Pete Rose together, best friends.”
During this period, Janszen and others learned of Rose’s sports betting. “Tommy would loudly tell the gym staff, ‘Don’t bother me unless it’s Pete. Pete Rose is calling.’ You’d hear Tommy on the phone with Pete, going over betting sheets, usually for football then. It was casual, like any conversation. Pete called Tommy almost nightly. Sometimes, if Pete was unreachable, Tommy took calls in the back office, but usually at the front desk, impressing everyone by talking to Pete publicly.”
“Everyone at the gym knew. Tommy would announce, ‘Me and Pete got killed this week,’ or ‘Pete lost $36,000,’ always losses, never wins.”
Stenger became integrated into Rose and Gioiosa’s circle, attending games at Riverfront Stadium, a familiar face in the Reds’ clubhouse. The cocaine dealer reportedly attended Rose’s record-breaking celebration dinner. Stenger even accompanied Rose and Gioiosa to card shows where Rose earned over $10,000 in cash per appearance for autographs. Janszen recounts that as Rose’s gambling debts escalated, Stenger helped by paying nearly $70,000 cash for Rose’s BMW.
The Stenger-Rose relationship deepened in late 1985. Janszen claims Tommy Gioiosa began driving to Florida to procure cocaine for Stenger. Rose was aware of Gioiosa’s drug runs: “Pete and Tommy told me. Once, before a Florida trip, Tommy showed Pete a suitcase with $200,000 cash, saying he was getting five or eight kilos. Pete was amazed, saying, ‘That’s a lot of money, Tommy. Stenger must be making a million a year, Paul.'”
By 1985’s end, Stenger and Fry’s partnership at Gold’s dissolved; Fry bought Stenger out. Stenger relocated to New Jersey. Gioiosa, who distributed cocaine for Stenger, aligned with Mike Fry. Janszen recalls, “Tommy managed Gold’s, earning $800 weekly, part cash, plus $4,000 per kilo for Fry. Tommy’s next move? Don Stenger was out, Mike Fry was in. He connected Fry with Pete Rose.”
The pattern repeated with Rose and Fry. Janszen remembers, “Fry was now in the spotlight. Pete still frequented the gym. Fry started accompanying Pete to card shows, soon loaning him money. Fry told me he gave Pete $17,000 cash in their first two weeks. Like us all, Fry was ‘lured in because it’s Pete Rose.'” Fry reportedly accompanied Gioiosa on numerous trips to pay Ron Peters, one of Rose’s bookies, sums between $10,000 and $30,000 for Rose’s gambling losses. (Peters is currently imprisoned for tax evasion and cocaine trafficking, similar to Don Stenger’s associates.)
Rose maintained friendship with Fry through summer 1986. By August, Gioiosa approached Janszen again to broker a cocaine deal with Don Stenger, this time for Gioiosa and Fry. Janszen initially hesitated but relented. “Tommy said it would help him build a house and asked for a favor. He’d occasionally mention, ‘Maybe we’ll see Pete sometime.’ That was tempting. I wanted to meet Pete, see his house, know him.”
From September to December 1986, Janszen facilitated three cocaine sales for Gioiosa. That fall, Gioiosa introduced Janszen to Rose. Their first meeting included Rose’s baseball betting. “First time I met Pete was during the Mets-Astros playoffs. Tommy invited me to Pete’s to watch. Pete, barely knowing me, discussed betting with Tommy. I asked who they bet on, and they told me. It was a tense, extra-inning game, ending with Kevin Bass striking out.”
Janszen soon realized Rose openly discussed betting, even with strangers. “Later, at card shows, fans would ask, ‘Pete, who you got?’ And he’d tell them. I once asked Pete if he feared betting. He said, ‘Paul, they want the bookie, not the bettors.’ Pete believed any investigation would be leaked to his attorney, giving him time to cool off.”
That night, Janszen also met Rose’s second wife, Carol. Janszen observed Carol’s preoccupation with shopping and monitoring Pete’s whereabouts, suspecting infidelity.
Rose, however, seemed oblivious, ensconced in his den, surrounded by multiple TVs tuned to sports. “Pete could follow all three at once,” Janszen recalls. “Always watching, commenting. If his team won, high fives. If he lost, he’d only be briefly upset by egregious errors, then ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get even next game.'”
Janszen’s visits became more frequent. “Initially, maybe one more baseball game visit. But regular visits—’Monday Night Football,’ Saturday college, Sunday pro—started weeks later.”
Gioiosa’s introduction gained significance when Rose and Fry clashed in fall 1986 over Rose acquiring Gold’s Gym equity. Rose wanted half for free, Fry refused. Despite the failed deal, they’d even printed ‘GOLD’S GYM–HOME OF PETE ROSE’ sweatshirts.
Janszen believes Rose was aware of Stenger and Fry’s cocaine involvement but remained fixated on gambling. “Pete was impressed by cash, it fueled his betting. He often said, ‘Paulie, $50,000 cash is like $100,000 to me. Tax-free, Paulie!’ He’d be more excited about $15,000 cash from a card show than his million-dollar baseball salary, because the million went to his attorney, Reuven Katz, and Pete got an allowance. Cash was his secret stash, Reuven didn’t know.”
Soured by the Gold’s Gym deal, Rose distanced himself from Fry. Fry blamed Gioiosa, cutting his manager pay. Gioiosa quit, furious. Janszen should have recognized the pattern, “The Don Stenger routine again. Tommy leaned on me as his only friend. People say, ‘They made Pete do it,’ but it wasn’t like that. Tommy was the point man. He’d scout opportunities and report to Pete, including new friends who could offer Pete connections, power, or money to borrow, relieving Tommy.”
While the pattern seemed familiar, Rose formed a deeper bond with Janszen than with anyone in years. “I think I was closer to Pete than anyone, including his son,” Janszen reflects. By November 1986, Janszen was a regular at Rose’s, visiting several times weekly. Soon after meeting Rose, Janszen introduced his fiancée, Danita Marcum. Danita and Carol Rose clicked, pleasing Rose; it meant Paul Janszen’s visits for sports viewing wouldn’t disturb him as much.
A month into football season, Rose’s betting influenced Janszen, placing his first bets through Gioiosa. “At Pete’s, Tommy would call Ron Peters, saying ‘Pete wants this,’ then ‘The other guys want this,’ meaning Tommy and me. I’d never bet a dollar before.” Janszen also began betting on horse races with Rose and Gioiosa at Turfway Park, in Rose’s private box. Rose relied on friends to place track bets.
That November, Janszen witnessed Rose’s gambling intensity. “Pete bet $4,000 per football game, 20-30 college games Saturdays, easily over $100,000 daily. He bet early and late pro games.” Rose bet on almost every team. Despite the staggering amounts, Janszen didn’t initially find it outrageous for a millionaire. But he was surprised by the frequency and consistency of Rose’s bets, same amount every game, win or lose. Betting, it seemed, was more crucial than winning; winning was merely a means to more betting.
Pete Rose at bat during his record-breaking hit game, a moment that contrasted sharply with his later scandals involving Don Stenger and gambling.
In November 1986, Janszen joined Rose and Gioiosa at his first baseball card show. “They’d always set up a TV for Pete to watch games,” Janszen recalls. He met Mike Bertolini, Rose’s memorabilia representative (subpoenaed in May 1989 in a tax evasion probe).
Today, Rose’s signature fetches $12, Rose keeping 90%, the rest to show sponsors. Janszen remembers, “Pete insisted on cash. Bertolini would bring bags of cash, give it to Tommy, who’d give some to me; we’d count it. Pete cleared $8,000-$12,000 a show, fastest signer, 500-600 autographs hourly. It was all about cash, pure business.”
Janszen also learned Rose sometimes double-bet football games through Bertolini, using different bookies for varied spreads or payment terms.
Within a month, Janszen saw the real Pete Rose, beyond the legend. “Pete only cared about TV sports, polished cars, and betting. Never talked about his kids.”
Late fall ’86, Janszen discovered Rose’s inability to cover betting losses. Like Fry before, Gioiosa was loaning Rose money. Gioiosa feared Rose’s mounting debt might become unrecoverable. Gioiosa devised a scheme involving Janszen: “Tommy said he’d tell Pete he was borrowing ‘Paul’s money’ when Pete needed funds. That way, Pete would repay faster, fearing my impatience, not Tommy’s. Tommy could then say, ‘Paul’s getting upset,’ keeping his friendship with Pete intact.”
Making Janszen the fictional lender solidified Janszen’s image as having cash access. At Perkins, Rose would hand Janszen stacks of $100 bills to give to Gioiosa. Rose remained oblivious, deepening his bond with Janszen.
Rose invited Janszen to card shows in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago. On these trips, Rose, typically sports-obsessed, surprised Janszen by discussing drug dealing. Janszen recalls, “Cocaine dealing. At shows—Tommy, me, Pete—discussions arose: ‘Paulie, sounds like cocaine business is lucrative. Tommy says Stenger made a fortune.’ Pete seemed to see me, a muscular guy like Don Stenger, as a potential coke dealer. Who knows what Tommy told him about me.” Danita overheard Rose mention cocaine, but Janszen dismissed it as “crazy talk.”
Rose persisted. In December 1986, Rose, wife, Gioiosa, Janszen, and Danita went to a Brooklyn autograph show. Bertolini met them with limos. Rose had Gioiosa and Janszen ride with Bertolini, taking the women in the lead limo. In the lead car, Danita heard Carol ask about Paul, Rose replying, “He’s taking care of business for me.”
In the second limo, Janszen found another man, “Tom.” Minutes after leaving the airport, Tom produced a block of cocaine, placing it on Janszen’s lap. Gioiosa eagerly inquired about quality. Janszen threatened to throw Tom out if he didn’t put it away. Bertolini and Gioiosa calmed Janszen. At the show, Janszen avoided Tom, but saw him casually displaying the cocaine. “We told Bertolini to get rid of Tom.”
After the show, Bertolini brought a limo for Rose, Gioiosa, and Janszen, where Tom was waiting. “‘What the fuck do you guys want?’ Tom asked, saying his cocaine contacts were furious.” Rose, Janszen, and Gioiosa were silent. Bertolini changed the subject to Tom’s credit-card scam, then a stolen-car ring. Janszen thought, “Oh man,” looking at Tommy.
Brooklyn doubts faded by Christmas Eve, spent with the Roses, family, and Gioiosa. Janszen met Rose’s brother, mother, son Pete Jr., and later daughter, Fawn. The reunion confirmed reports of Rose’s strained family relations, from criticizing his daughter’s weight to calling his son “sissy.” Janszen recalls, “Never heard him say ‘I love you’ to Carol. Affection was smacking her behind or grabbing her breast, then saying, ‘Paulie, get Danita a boob job. Look, these are real tits.’ That was Pete. He didn’t care about those close to him.”
Yet, Janszen remained captivated by Rose’s fame, ignoring warning signs. In January, Janszen joined Rose and Gioiosa at Turfway Park for a major betting night. The Pick Six jackpot exceeded $150,000. Rose placed a $2,000+ ticket, giving Janszen a quarter share, which Janszen split with Gioiosa. They won, but multiple winners diluted the payout; Rose won $47,646. Janszen recalls, “Pete immediately handed the ticket to Tommy, saying, ‘Here, Tommy, good write-off. Why should I pay the IRS?'” Gioiosa claimed the winnings, shielding Rose from taxes.
Despite Gioiosa’s help, Rose distanced himself, drawing closer to Janszen, noticing Gioiosa’s aggressive behavior, which Janszen attributed to steroid use. Glad for a break from Gioiosa, Janszen accepted Rose’s invitation to Florida for spring training, spending six weeks at Rose’s Tampa rental house.
Janszen and Danita settled in. Rose’s celebrity faded for Janszen, replaced by comfort. They became constant companions, Rose introducing Janszen at the ballpark as “Paulie, my buddy from Cincinnati.” Janszen became a clubhouse regular. While Janszen enjoyed Florida, Gioiosa called Rose at the clubhouse daily from Cincinnati. Pete ignored calls. Janszen assumed Rose was tired of Gioiosa. Later, both Gioiosa and bookie Ron Peters revealed Rose owed Peters $34,000 when leaving for spring training. Peters pressured Gioiosa to get the money from Rose. Gioiosa finally reached Rose, who directed him to his attorney. Mid-March 1987, Gioiosa received a $34,000 cashier’s check, cashed it, gave $17,000 to Peters, saying, “Pete said ‘Fuck you for the rest. He can’t pay more.'” Janszen claims Gioiosa pocketed the remaining $17,000 of Rose’s money.
While Gioiosa handled Rose’s debts in Cincinnati, Janszen learned more about Rose’s cash memorabilia sales. Rose confided he’d sold his Hickok Belt to collector Dennis Walker for $20,000 cash. Walker later died in a Las Vegas hotel, body decomposed. Rose said Walker paid cash and provided an untraceable offshore bank certificate. Walker’s memorabilia, including Rose’s items, vanished after his death. In summer 1987, Rose sent Janszen to New York to retrieve some, unsuccessfully. In 1988, “Unsolved Mysteries” contacted Janszen about the missing memorabilia. Rose refused to participate, saying, “Hell, I don’t want that show, Paul. They’ll find out I got cash for some of that stuff. IRS will come after me.”
Despite these revelations, Rose’s gambling obsession persisted. At Tampa Bay Downs, Janszen met Rose’s friends, Howard Bernstein and his nephew, Steve Chevashore. Rose described Chevashore as someone who “cashed tickets to help big winners with taxes.” Within days, Rose asked Janszen to bet through Chevashore, a middleman for bookie “Val.” Chevashore claimed to help as a favor, reluctant to even do that. Janszen started placing $2,000-per-game bets for Rose on basketball. Chevashore’s bookie demanded Monday payment. By the first Monday, Rose owed $7,000 and refused to pay.
“Rose said, ‘Aw shit, Paul, only $7,000. Carry it over. No big deal.'” But Janszen realized $7,000 could be significant for Rose. Rose charmed Chevashore and continued betting, missing payments. He occasionally paid some, then fell behind again. “He hates paying debts, but is first in line if owed,” Janszen notes. On spring training’s last day, Janszen gave Chevashore a check, partially settling Rose’s debt. Late payments didn’t worry Janszen then. “Now I see it as a warning sign.”
Back in Cincinnati, Rose and Janszen maintained the Florida betting connection, Rose cutting off Gioiosa. April 7, Rose resumed betting with Chevashore, now betting heavily on baseball, including the Reds. “He’d only bet on them, never against,” Janszen recalls. “Unless Mario Soto was pitching, then Pete might skip betting. Betting on the Reds made it more exciting.”
Janszen initially saw no issue with Rose betting on the Reds. Once, a friend, Jimmy Procter, overheard Rose placing bets on speakerphone, exclaiming, “He’s betting on the Reds?” Janszen replied, “But never against them.” Now, after discussions with authorities, Janszen understands the potential for corruption: managerial decisions influenced by betting outcomes, player welfare compromised for wins, inside information leveraged to settle debts. While not suggesting Rose compromised the Reds, the risk justifies baseball’s strict betting taboo. Janszen now grasps this risk; then, it didn’t seem outrageous.
The betting process was simple. In Cincinnati, Janszen called Rose pre-game, got picks, called Florida. Danita sometimes called if Janszen was busy. Reds’ switchboard operators knew their voices, granting access to Rose. On road trips, Rose called Janszen between 6:30-7:00 PM with picks. Bets were $2,000 per game, often on underdogs or home teams, mood-dependent, but always daily. Janszen suggested code names for teams, initially using pitchers, then numbers to avoid confusion. Rose meticulously tracked bets in a journal.
From the start of betting with Chevashore, Rose lost, missing initial payments. Janszen says Rose also double-bet baseball via New York bookies through Mike Bertolini, who’d relocated to Cincinnati for his Rose memorabilia business. Now, Janszen claims, Rose used Bertolini for more bets: “Pete double-bet, and Bertolini got nervous as Rose wasn’t paying. By May, New York bookies cut him off, debt around $500,000. Mikey paid $100,000 himself to appease them, threatened to hurt Pete. Mikey said, ‘Funny thing about Pete, you ask for money he owes, he acts like you’re borrowing from him.'”
By the time Bertolini revealed Rose’s New York debt, Janszen was already trapped, loaning Rose money. Janszen recalls the first request: “We were weeks behind with Stevie, I asked Pete what to do. He said, ‘Can’t now. Make them carry me.’ I said, ‘They won’t.’ He said, ‘I’m tapped out. Can you help a bit?'”
Janszen agreed, sending $10,000 cash via FedEx to Chevashore, enough to keep the Florida connection open. Chevashore then bowed out, claiming the payment appeased the bookies, who now allowed Janszen direct contact with “Val.”
Betting intensified; Rose took Janszen and Danita on road trips, booking extra suites under pretense of needing space for family. On trips, betting was easier. Janszen and Rose reviewed games in the visiting clubhouse office, Rose circled picks, Janszen called Florida.
Back in Cincinnati, Riverfront’s scoreboard malfunctioned for 18 games (April 17-May 28). Janszen became a score-checker, calling for updates from Rose’s box and signaling game statuses with thumbs up/down or finger counts. “No bets via hand signals, despite reports,” Janszen clarifies.
While Janszen and Danita became Riverfront regulars, Rose’s debt to Janszen grew. Through April, Janszen sent thousands more via FedEx. “I told Pete I was running out. He’d occasionally give $500 or $1,000, but that’s it. When pressed, he’d say, ‘Oh, Paulie, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. I’ll get some stew for you.’ [‘Stew’ meant money.] I never doubted him.”
Danita was less certain, urging Janszen to stop loaning money. “A friend said Pete hated paying debts,” Danita recalls. “I thought Paul was making a mistake.” Janszen disagreed. “I remember saying, ‘Pete Rose is the last person I’d worry about paying back.'”
By May 15, in just over five weeks, Janszen had sent $42,250 to Florida bookies for Rose—emptying his savings, borrowing from family. Florida bookies then issued an ultimatum: settle the debt by Monday or no more bets. Rose, in Montreal, dismissed it as bookie tactics, giving Janszen his picks for the night. Val refused the bets. That night, Rose won six of seven. Discovering his bets weren’t placed, Rose was furious. Janszen recalls, “He said, ‘My balance is what, $13,000?’ I said, ‘$13,970.’ He said, ‘I’d have won more than that last night, wouldn’t owe them anything. If they treat me like a baby, I won’t pay them.'”
Chevashore re-emerged, demanding payment daily. Janszen changed his number. Chevashore contacted Janszen’s parents. As pressure mounted, Rose returned to Cincinnati. Danita and Janszen went to his house. While Janszen and Rose watched TV, Carol announced Chevashore was on the phone. Janszen recounts, “Pete gets on, says, ‘Stevie, I stopped betting with you guys when we left New York. Paulie’s been using my name, he’s crazy, Stevie. I wouldn’t mess with him. Just let it go.’ They talked briefly, then hung up. Pete laughed, high-fived me, ‘Knew he’d be scared of you. You can handle Stevie.’ I just said, ‘Oh hell yeah, I can handle him, Pete. Don’t worry.'”
Carol later told Danita to handle Janszen’s bets to avoid bookies bothering her husband. Despite Rose owing him $50,000 and lying about him to bookies, Janszen remained loyal, wanting Rose’s approval. “I still believed I’d get paid back. Still Pete’s buddy, hanging out, close. I was his protector, covering his bets, ensuring discretion, guarding him at the ballpark, keeping him in check. I liked Pete thinking I was the Terminator.” But the friendship was taking a toll. “Sometimes, late at night, I’d ask Danita, ‘What are we doing? What are we becoming?'” But Janszen suppressed doubts, continuing the friendship.
Rose, now fully reliant on Janszen for betting, distrusted Gioiosa. By late May, Rose suggested Janszen contact Ron Peters directly, bypassing Gioiosa. Janszen and Peters met at Peters’s bar in late May 1987. Peters welcomed Rose’s business, but mentioned the $17,000 Rose still owed from a previous spree. It was Janszen’s first hint Gioiosa hadn’t paid the full $34,000 Rose’s attorney had provided. Janszen told Peters he witnessed Rose approve the $34,000 payment. Peters agreed if Rose proved he’d tried to settle the prior debt, he’d accept new bets.
When Janszen told Rose about Gioiosa’s deception, Rose was furious. Janszen remembers, “‘Can’t believe that son of a bitch I brought from Boston, raised like my own kid, would do this to me.'” Rose got a copy of the check, gave it to Peters, satisfying him. Rose had a new bookie.
Confronting Gioiosa, Janszen got a quick explanation: “Tommy said, ‘Listen, Paul, I’ve run bets for Pete for two years, bookies calling constantly, making me sick. Driving to Franklin, stressed about Pete being broke, loaning him money. He owes me that. It’s for my aggravation.'” Gioiosa also claimed he’d signed balls and bats as authentic Rose memorabilia, promised $2 per signature. Janszen told Rose, but Rose didn’t pursue it, wanting to cut Gioiosa out. By year’s end 1987, Gioiosa sold his Cincinnati house, moved to California, severing ties with figures like Don Stenger and Pete Rose.
Janszen and Rose remained close, Janszen a clubhouse fixture. Danita and Carol Rose became closer. Dinners, trips, holidays—the Roses, Janszen, and Danita spent increasing time together. Rose, betting heavily on baseball, started winning with Peters. Rose won $22,000 the first week; Janszen was up $3,000. Peters paid Janszen cash weekly, who gave $22,000 to Rose, who stashed it near his kitchen cabinet, never offering to repay Janszen’s $42,250 debt. “I still didn’t question it,” Janszen recalls. “We were buddies, traveling together. Why would I think he wouldn’t pay me back?”
By week three, Peters couldn’t pay Rose’s winnings, citing cash flow. Rose wasn’t initially worried. From week three until the All-Star break, Rose and Janszen kept winning. By mid-July, Peters owed them $54,800, Rose’s share $48,000.
Rose grew anxious, constantly asking Janszen about the money. The All-Star bet was Rose’s last with Janszen and Peters, saying, “I’ll keep betting till I lose it all back.”
Janszen believes Rose then bet football and baseball through another operation, but doesn’t know the new middleman. Janszen was no longer Rose’s betting conduit. He now believes Rose felt even with Janszen regarding debts. “Pete owed me $42,250, Peters owed him roughly the same, so Pete thought I should collect from Peters. Peters’s money wasn’t cash Pete missed, since if he got it, he’d owe it to me. That’s how Pete saw it.”
Janszen called Peters “up to 30 times a week,” trying to recover the money. “I never considered Pete would stiff me if Peters didn’t pay. Pete Rose, millionaire, and that money was my life savings.” Janszen and Danita continued spending time with the Roses through 1987. At card shows, Rose sometimes paid Janszen $500-$1,000 for work. Once, Rose called Janszen from a road trip, asking him to pay for a refrigerator delivery. Janszen paid $2,000 for a Sub-Zero; Rose said, “Paulie, just add it to the bill.” Janszen recalls, “All through ’87, cash stacks were around Pete’s house, but he never offered, ‘Here’s $5,000, take it off the bill.’ Never.”
By late summer 1987, frustrated by Rose’s non-payment, Janszen remained loyal. They still visited Rose’s five times weekly, so Janszen didn’t push the debt issue. Instead, Janszen started Premier Sports, a memorabilia company. Rose signed items, which Janszen sold at shows. “I feared not seeing the money, figured I’d better get something while I knew Pete. This was my way.” Rose even authorized Janszen to get Louisville Slugger bats as his agent.
By fall ’87, Janszen and Danita felt uneasy with the Roses. “Felt used—never thanked for anything we did, all the housework,” Janszen recalls. “We felt taken advantage of.” But outwardly, their relationship seemed unchanged. They still did card shows, horse races, and Christmas holidays with Rose.
Then, in February 1988, Carol Rose intervened. After a Cleveland card show, convinced Janszen was covering for Rose’s shady activities, she demanded Rose cut ties. Rose, uneasy about his debt to Janszen, used his wife as an excuse. Janszen’s visits ceased.
The timing was critical. Early March 1988, FBI agents Steve Barnett and Jayme Gentile knocked on Janszen’s door, investigating his dealings with Stenger, Fry, and Gioiosa. That afternoon, Janszen called Pete Rose’s lawyer, Reuven Katz, meeting him with Danita. Janszen told Katz everything: steroid involvement, Stenger cocaine deals, betting work for Rose, including the $42,250 debt. “I need $30,000 from Pete now,” Janszen told Katz, assuming lawyer fees. Katz asked, “Did Pete bet baseball?” Janszen nodded yes. Katz said, “Dammit, it’s over.” (Katz disputes Janszen’s account, declining to elaborate. Rose’s attorneys also declined comment.)
Katz allegedly promised to arrange $30,000 from Rose as a “loan.” Katz went to spring training to resolve the issue. Janszen hired Merlyn Shiverdecker, a defense attorney.
In March, Janszen met with FBI agents, questioned about Rose. He offered to discuss everything “except No. 14 [Rose’s number]—even if I knew anything, I wouldn’t tell.” Next day, Katz called from Florida, directing him to Rose’s accountant for a check. Janszen received a $10,000 check marked “loan,” no promissory note. Feeling abandoned, expecting $30,000, he called Katz, told Rose felt even, no more money. The following day, Janszen met again with the FBI and IRS agent Leo Rolfes. He told his attorney, “Pete’s left me out to dry. Doesn’t care what happens. Didn’t even call after Reuven told him my problems. I won’t lie for Pete anymore.”
That’s when Pete Rose’s gambling life began unraveling. Janszen’s testimony and cooperation in the Ron Peters investigation led to Janszen’s tax evasion charge, steroid-related, resulting in a six-month halfway house sentence. (Janszen was released June 16, 1989.) The baseball commissioner’s office launched its investigation; a grand jury convened.
It seems longer than four years since Rose’s record-breaking hit. The scandals have tarnished “Charlie Hustle.”
“I’ve had time to think,” says Janszen. “In the halfway house, I considered why Pete risked everything. Maybe playing baseball was enough excitement. But managing, ‘baby-sitting overpaid brats,’ felt different. He needed something else. Betting filled that void, replacing baseball as his passion.”
Janszen’s lasting image of Rose is from a 1987 Churchill Downs helicopter trip. “Rose turned to Danita and me, said, ‘Paulie, what’s life without gambling? What would people do for fun?'”
Pete Rose found the answer too late. Had someone addressed his gambling problem earlier, Hall of Fame induction in 1992 might have been possible. Now, his image is tarnished, memories faded. Only a defiant, fallen idol remains, inextricably linked to figures like Don Stenger and the world of gambling he inhabited.
Copyright 1989 Gerald Posner – Published in August 1989 in the issue dated September, Penthouse
Pete Rose signing autographs for fans at a baseball card show, highlighting his cash-based memorabilia business which became intertwined with his gambling debts and associations with figures like Don Stenger.
