Some crimes are so heartbreaking or shocking that they change laws, change society or even earn the label Crime of the Century. But the stories that made headlines in decades past aren't necessarily remembered today.

I'm Amber Hunt, a journalist and author,

and in each episode of this show,

I'll examine a case that's maybe lesser known today

but was huge when it happened. This is crimes of the centuries. It's said that there was a time Jimmy Hoffa was bigger than Elvis. Then as if that weren't enough, in the next decade, he was better known than the Beatles,

in any business that's a high bar to climb over. But Hoffa, the longtime president of the largest and most powerful labor union ever, was a working stiff, not very not very entertaining not very smooth but very busy he was for a time somebody most everyone in this country had heard of. Some loved him, some loathed him, some feared him, and somebody killed him.

But nobody was ever found to take the blame for his disappearance and likely murder, at least not legally speaking.

The fingers have pointed at one time or another at Mob guys from New Jersey, Mob Guys from Florida, Mob Guys

from Chicago, Mob Guys from Detroit, Mob Guys from Philly, the Kennedy's

though both John and Bobby were dead by the time he disappeared the CIA the FBI his union enemies his union friends and one man who Hoffa treated like a son and another who said he was Hoffa's closest friend. Let's just say he ran with a tough

crowd. But Hoffa was a heart-hewn self-made man who reshaped the relationship of unions to those who employed them and thus had an almost

incalculable impact on how America worked and how the working class prospered, how it found power and used it for its own purposes in the middle years of

America's 20th century. You'd be hard-pressed to find agreement on how July 30th, 1975 unfolded for one perpetually prompt James Riddle Hoffa by then 62 years old.

FBI interviews subsequent to his disappearance would show that Jimmy spent the morning talking on the

phone to various associates.

Several of those men would say he was out of character that day, that something felt very wrong.

But no one could pinpoint what.

Jimmy left his house at around 115 p.m.

He arrived early for a prearranged meeting with two mob bosses at the parking lot of the

moccas red fox in Bloomfield Township. The township is just outside of Detroit on Telegraph Road,

a somewhat busy thoroughfare.

The men were ostensibly in town for a big Italian wedding.

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