Leland Nally, writing for Mother Jones, has just published an article about his efforts in calling everyone in Jeffrey Epstein’s “Little Black Book” – an effort that ended with nearly 2000 phone calls.
Given what has happened to Jeffrey Epstein and the inability for all the alleged victims to face him in a court of law, we are reproducing Leland’s entire article here under the Fair Use doctrine. It is already being republished across the Internet, helping to ensure that this information does not disappear.
But as long as it is still up at Mother Jones, please go read it there, and support this incredible piece of journalism from Leland Nally. Such journalistic masterpieces as this are truly rare these days….
WARNING: FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!
Jeffrey Epstein’s little black book is one of the most cursed documents ever compiled in this miserable, dying country.
Totaling 97 pages and containing the names, numbers, and addresses of a considerable cross section of the global elite, Epstein’s personal contact book first turned up in a courtroom in 2009 after his former butler, Alfredo Rodriguez, tried to sell it to lawyers representing Epstein’s victims for $50,000.
Rodriguez described the book, apparently assembled by Epstein’s employees, as the “Holy Grail.”
It is annotated with cryptic marginalia—stars next to certain entries, arrows pointing toward others–and the names of at least 38 people are circled for reasons that aren’t totally clear.
There are 1,571 names in all, with roughly 5,000 phone numbers and thousands of emails and home addresses.
There are celebrities, princes and princesses, high-profile scientists, artists from all over the world, all alongside some of the world’s most powerful oligarchs and political leaders—people like Prince Andrew (circled), Ehud Barak (circled), Donald Trump (circled).
Rodriguez was Epstein’s butler at his Palm Beach mansion for many years. He was intimately familiar with his boss’s sexual proclivities.
He claimed to have seen nude underage girls at Epstein’s pool, said that he would routinely wipe down and stow away sex toys in Epstein’s room after “massages,” and alleged that he saw child pornography on Epstein’s personal computer.
In 2011, Rodriguez was sentenced to 18 months in prison for having tried to sell the book to an undercover agent after failing to notify investigators about its existence.
Rodriguez said in court that the book was “insurance” against Epstein, who wanted him to “disappear.”
Rodriguez died of mesothelioma shortly after serving his sentence.
The public first became aware of the book in 2015, when the now-defunct website Gawker published a version of Rodriguez’s copy, revealing for the first time just how ludicrously connected Epstein was to the people who run the world.
Gawker’s file showed only names; attached phone numbers and emails were blacked out.
Shortly before Epstein’s mysterious death in August 2019 in his cell at the Manhattan Correctional Facility, an unredacted version of the book popped up on some dark corners of the internet, with almost every phone number, email, and home address entirely visible, and I got my hands on a copy.
Epstein’s little black book isn’t little at all—it’s gargantuan. Its defining feature is its size and thoroughness, and there are just as many boring numbers as exciting ones–for every Jordanian princess there are three reflexologists from Boca.
The listings are at times preposterously detailed, often containing additional names and numbers for people’s emergency contacts, their parents, their siblings, their friends, even their children, all alongside hundreds of car phones, yacht phones, guest houses, and private office lines.
Some individuals have dozens of numbers and addresses listed, while others list just a single number and first name.
Epstein collected people, and if you ever had any interaction with him or Ghislaine Maxwell, his onetime girlfriend and alleged accomplice, you more than likely ended up in this book, and then several years later you received a call from me.
I made close to 2,000 phone calls total. I spoke to billionaires, CEOs, bankers, models, celebrities, scientists, a Kennedy, and some of Epstein’s closest friends and confidants.
I sat on my couch and phoned up royalty, spoke to ambassadors, irritated a senior adviser at Blackstone, and left squeaky voicemails for what must constitute a considerable percentage of the world oligarchy.
At times the book felt like a dark palantir, giving me glimpses of dreadful, haunted dimensions that my soft, gentle, animal being was never supposed to encounter.
At other times it was nearly the opposite, almost grotesquely boring and routine. Seeing at close range the mundanity of Epstein and his fellow elites–how simple and childish they could be–was a sickening experience of its own.
