10 Years Later, Murder of Howie Steindler Still Unsolved, Not Forgotten

On the afternoon of March 9, 1977, police Sgt. Marvin Engquist and his partner climbed the rickety steps of the old Main Street Gym, intending to visit the proprietor, Howie Steindler, a friend of Engquist.

Peeking into his cubbyhole office at the top of the stairs, the detectives could see that Steindler was busy, as usual, so they merely waved “hello,” watched a few boxers work out and left.

Before that day had ended, Sgt. Engquist

--assigned to the Los Angeles Police Department’s Major Crimes Section of the Robbery-Homicide Division--was called to investigate an apparent murder. The victim: Howie Steindler.

His 1976 Cadillac had been discovered that night parked on the shoulder of the Ventura Freeway, near the Laurel Canyon Boulevard offramp in Studio City. On the floor, in the back seat, was Steindler’s battered body.

An autopsy revealed that the 72-year-old manager of World Boxing Council featherweight champion Danny Lopez had been brutally beaten, then smothered by having his face pushed into the seat cushion of the car.

Today, one day shy of a decade, the case remains unsolved, but not forgotten by Engquist, and, of course, Steindler’s family--his widow Ann of Encino and daughters, Carol Steindler of Westlake Village and Bobbie Beatty of Oxnard.

“Has it really been 10 years?” Engquist said on the phone the other day when asked about the status of the case. “I’m looking at the drawer containing the file right now. It will always be an open case until it is cleared by an arrest.

“I review it a couple of times a year myself. It’s not a forgotten case. It’s not in the back of a warehouse someplace; it’s right here. But as time goes on . . .”

There was a tone of hopelessness in his voice, but his words expressed a determination to keep searching for the answers that so far have eluded him.

A 21-year LAPD veteran and avid boxing fan, Engquist places the Steindler case at the top of his list of unsolved crimes.

“Howie was a personal friend,” he said. “It’s the most frustrating case I ever worked on. I’ve had other detectives review it, thinking maybe I’ve missed something.”

Theories of what triggered the murder of the feisty little boxing figure--perhaps the last of the sport’s colorful Runyonesque characters--were numerous, Engquist said, “depending on who you talk to.”

“Carol and Bobbie thought the case could be solved through the gym, from boxing somewhere.” That was just one theory that was investigated, Engquist said.

Only four months earlier, the hard-punching Lopez, known as Little Red, had scored a surprising 15-round decision over David Kotey in Kotey’s hometown of Accra, Ghana, to win the 126-pound title.

For more than half a century, Steindler had longed to manage a world champion, and when he finally achieved his ambition, not everyone shared his happiness. In certain respects, Steindler became “difficult” to deal with, and, as a result, there was talk of a contract hit.

Adding fuel to such speculation was the fact the manager had attempted to contact state Sen. Alex P. Garcia (D-Los Angeles) the day before his death to discuss problems he was having with the State Athletic Commission.

Theories sprouted like weeds, probably because of Steindler’s personality.

He was a fiery, hot-tempered man who ruled the Main Street Gym with supreme authority, yet, in reality, was a soft touch for anyone he liked. He usually carried a large bankroll, wore a custom-made diamond ring and couldn’t have been more proud of the flashy Cadillac he had just bought with his share of the championship fight purse.

He was in poor health and carried oxygen with him, Engquist noted, yet those who knew Steindler will tell you he never backed away from a potential fight because of his diminutive build, advanced age or any physical ailments.

In 1979, when boxing manager Vic Weiss--head of Gateway Ford, a Van Nuys automotive agency--was gunned down gangland style (also unsolved), the Steindler killing immediately was recalled. Engquist, however, doubted at the time there was a connection and hasn’t changed his opinion.

“There were not many parallels,” he said, “except that both were found in vehicles.”

In investigating Steindler’s death, the detective focused on information provided by the only eyewitness to come forward--a woman who had seen Steindler and two other men standing near the rear of Steindler’s car, just off the freeway, a block from the victim’s Encino residence.

The Cadillac, it later was discovered, showed evidence of having been run into--cut rubber on the bumper and a dent in the rear.

According to Engquist, the woman observed one of the men punch Steindler a few times, then saw the Cadillac and another vehicle leave the scene.

She got the license number of only one car--Steindler’s--but provided descriptions of the second vehicle and the two suspects. Composite drawings and police bulletins were circulated, and Engquist even checked out three men in custody in a Northern California penitentiary who matched the witness’s descriptions, all to no avail.

Nine months after Steindler’s body was discovered, his widow received her husband’s stolen wallet in the mail. Personal papers, credit cards and a car key were inside, but there was no money--and no prints.

“Somewhere, somebody knows something,” Engquist said a few days ago. “I don’t know where to develop more information.”

Ann Steindler, leading a quiet life in the same home she had shared with her husband, still can’t bear talking about the tragedy, at least not to a reporter. Asked to comment, she became deeply emotional, her memories too painful to recall.

But her daughters--Carol and Bobbie--welcomed the opportunity.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him,” said Carol Steindler, 48. “Ten years doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t take it out of my mind. I loved my father very much. I respected him very much.

“I always feel there’s hope (of finding the killers). I’m a very positive person. I think something will come out.”

A lifetime boxing fan, she assumed control of the Main Street Gym after her father’s death, managing it until 1984, when it was demolished because of inadequate earthquake standards.

She then managed a second Main Street Gym (located not on Main Street, but behind the Olympic Auditorium at 18th Street and Grand Avenue) until that, too, was torn down. Now she is seeking another.

“One of the main reasons I took the gym over,” she said, “was to keep daddy’s name alive. A lot of things I heard I would call Marv (Engquist) . . . I definitely will not let his name die.

“It was a business he loved dearly. He did a lot for me, and that’s the least I can do for him.”

Bobbie Beatty, 41, hasn’t spoken to her sister in years because of a family quarrel that neither will talk about publicly. But when it comes to their father, they are united--at least, from a distance.

“From time to time, I write to sportscasters and writers, asking if they can do something,” Beatty said. “It’s been two years (she reminds them), five years and now 10 years.

“I’m never going to give up hope until the person or persons are brought to justice and daddy will rest in peace. I don’t think he is resting in peace now.”