The Italian government called in the army on Tuesday to clean up the mounting piles of waste in the city of Naples. Residents blame the authorities for not doing more to stop the Camorra, the region's Mafia group, which controls garbage collection and has caused the city's constant waste problem for more than a decade. Organized crime appears to have a hand in trash collection all over the world, from Naples to Tony Soprano's northern New Jersey. Why are gangsters always hauling garbage?
It's Mob Economics 101: Find a business that's easy to enter and lucrative to control. Criminal organizations make lots of money from drugs, human trafficking, and counterfeit goods, but creating a monopoly on garbage collection is attractive because the business itself is legal, and public contracts return big profits. Compared with something like running a casino or grocery store, the logistics of taking trash from Point A to Point B are a no-brainer. Anyone with a truck and a couple of strong guys can make good money, and there's always a demand for the service.
Here's how it works: The mob organizes the trash-hauling businesses in a given city to prevent competition from driving down prices. They fix prices, rig bids, and allocate territories in such a way that customers can't choose who picks up their garbage. The Camorra, a larger and older group than the Sicilian Mafia, have controlled the industry in Naples for about 25 years. The mob harasses non-Camorra garbage collectors and extorts money from them; meanwhile, its own companies do a shoddy job. The country's Mafia groups have also illegally dumped toxic, industrial waste in Naples and other parts of the country.
Criminal organizations elsewhere in the world also find profit in trash schemes. In parts of Taiwan, gangs dig into the riverbank for gravel and sell it to construction companies. Then, they fill up the holes with waste they've collected. Georgian crime bosses swooped in when the city of Tbilisi privatized waste transport. In New York City, La Cosa Nostra more or less dominated trash collection from the 1950s until Rudy Giuliani seized control of the industry as mayor in the 1990s. It all started when members worked their way into the Teamsters union, which included garbage truck drivers; this allowed the mob to dictate which companies the drivers would work for, effectively pushing out non-Mafia operations. (The Mafia also controlled the construction sector through unions.)
For a large crime organization, the garbage racket provides relatively little in the way of revenue compared with traditional criminal enterprises like gambling, loan-sharking, and narcotics. This is especially true in Italy, where the mob operates in many industries. The Camorra is thought to make $70 billion a year, much of it from drugs, contraband cigarettes, and DVDs, as well as public sector contracts in construction and cleaning. Another Italian group, the 'Ndrangheta, traffics 80 percent of Europe's cocaine. The Mafia is so pervasive in Italy that, according to a large trade association, it controls one out of every five businesses in the country.
Thanks to Michelle Tsai
Showing posts with label Teamsters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teamsters. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Friday, August 17, 2007
Lombardo Just Pretends He's A Gangster
In the world of Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo presented at the Family Secrets trial Wednesday, he isn't a Chicago Outfit captain.
He's a mob gofer.
When he threatens a man with tough mob talk, he isn't a gangster. He is just acting like one.
When he says in a secretly recorded conversation about a massage parlor, "we'll flatten the joint," the word "we" doesn't really mean "we."
Lombardo gave those explanations Wednesday as he defended himself from the witness stand and took a verbal beating as a federal prosecutor grilled him over his account of his life, from his finances to his criminal career to the murder he is accused of committing in 1974.
Lombardo and members of his crew allegedly were trying to handcuff Bensenville businessman Daniel Seifert and take him away when Seifert got free and ran off.
"Then you had your crew chase him down and shoot him down, isn't that true, sir?" asked Assistant U.S. Attorney Mitchell Mars, his voice rising. "That's not true, sir," Lombardo said.
The 78-year-old reputed top mobster denied knowing that Seifert was going to be a witness against him in a federal criminal trial involving allegations Lombardo and others embezzled from a Teamsters pension fund.
Mars suggested that if Seifert had testified, and Lombardo and a co-defendant, businessman Allen Dorfman, were convicted, it would have meant the end of "the golden goose" of access to those funds.
Dorfman provided profitable real estate deals for Lombardo, Lombardo acknowledged, including one in which his family invested $43,000 that turned into more than $2 million. Mars suggested a mob flunky wouldn't be handed such a sweetheart deal.
To show Lombardo collected street tax and extorted people, Mars referred to two secretly recorded conversations, both from 1979.
In one, Lombardo appears to be threatening a St. Louis lawyer with death unless he pays what he owes the mob.
Lombardo contended he was only acting like a mobster to get the attorney to pay up.
"That was a good role for you, wasn't it Mr. Lombardo?" Mars asked.
"Yeah, like James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson . . ." Lombardo said.
"And Joe Lombardo," Mars cut in.
"Member of the Outfit," Mars added.
"No," Lombardo said.
"Capo of the Grand Avenue crew," Mars said.
"No," Lombardo said.
In another conversation, Lombardo and an alleged crew member, Louis "The Mooch" Eboli, allegedly discuss taking retribution against a massage parlor that's not paying a street tax. Lombardo acknowledged using the word "we" in the conversation but said he misspoke and didn't mean he was involved in the matter, only Eboli.
"Just like the president said, he doesn't always choose the right words," Lombardo explained.
"Well, the president didn't have a crew, did he?" Mars replied.
At times, Lombardo needled the prosecutor.
"No, no, can't you read?" Lombardo said, when questioned about one transcript.
And later, Lombardo added: "Sir, sir, sir. Let's read it together."
"Sir," Lombardo asked the prosecutor, "are you having trouble understanding me?"
"At times, I am, Mr. Lombardo, I must admit," Mars said.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
He's a mob gofer.
When he threatens a man with tough mob talk, he isn't a gangster. He is just acting like one.
When he says in a secretly recorded conversation about a massage parlor, "we'll flatten the joint," the word "we" doesn't really mean "we."
Lombardo gave those explanations Wednesday as he defended himself from the witness stand and took a verbal beating as a federal prosecutor grilled him over his account of his life, from his finances to his criminal career to the murder he is accused of committing in 1974.
Lombardo and members of his crew allegedly were trying to handcuff Bensenville businessman Daniel Seifert and take him away when Seifert got free and ran off.
"Then you had your crew chase him down and shoot him down, isn't that true, sir?" asked Assistant U.S. Attorney Mitchell Mars, his voice rising. "That's not true, sir," Lombardo said.
The 78-year-old reputed top mobster denied knowing that Seifert was going to be a witness against him in a federal criminal trial involving allegations Lombardo and others embezzled from a Teamsters pension fund.
Mars suggested that if Seifert had testified, and Lombardo and a co-defendant, businessman Allen Dorfman, were convicted, it would have meant the end of "the golden goose" of access to those funds.
Dorfman provided profitable real estate deals for Lombardo, Lombardo acknowledged, including one in which his family invested $43,000 that turned into more than $2 million. Mars suggested a mob flunky wouldn't be handed such a sweetheart deal.
To show Lombardo collected street tax and extorted people, Mars referred to two secretly recorded conversations, both from 1979.
In one, Lombardo appears to be threatening a St. Louis lawyer with death unless he pays what he owes the mob.
Lombardo contended he was only acting like a mobster to get the attorney to pay up.
"That was a good role for you, wasn't it Mr. Lombardo?" Mars asked.
"Yeah, like James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson . . ." Lombardo said.
"And Joe Lombardo," Mars cut in.
"Member of the Outfit," Mars added.
"No," Lombardo said.
"Capo of the Grand Avenue crew," Mars said.
"No," Lombardo said.
In another conversation, Lombardo and an alleged crew member, Louis "The Mooch" Eboli, allegedly discuss taking retribution against a massage parlor that's not paying a street tax. Lombardo acknowledged using the word "we" in the conversation but said he misspoke and didn't mean he was involved in the matter, only Eboli.
"Just like the president said, he doesn't always choose the right words," Lombardo explained.
"Well, the president didn't have a crew, did he?" Mars replied.
At times, Lombardo needled the prosecutor.
"No, no, can't you read?" Lombardo said, when questioned about one transcript.
And later, Lombardo added: "Sir, sir, sir. Let's read it together."
"Sir," Lombardo asked the prosecutor, "are you having trouble understanding me?"
"At times, I am, Mr. Lombardo, I must admit," Mars said.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Lombardo Claims Alibi for Murder
Friends of ours: Joey "the Clown" Lombardo
Reputed mob boss Joey “The Clown" Lombardo told a packed courtroom Wednesday that he had an alibi for the morning a federal witness was executed by ski-masked gunmen: He was in a Chicago police station miles away complaining that someone had stolen his wallet.
Curiosity seekers jammed U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel's court for a second day, eager to see the now-frail, gravel-voiced 78-year-old who has been tied for years to the top echelons of the mob. Also Wednesday, a juror was dismissed for personal reasons.
Delivered to the witness stand in a wheel chair by a federal marshal, Lombardo gripped his cane as he testified, and at times seemed slightly absent minded as he was questioned by chief defense attorney Rick Halprin.
As CBS 2’s John “Bulldog” Drummond reports, most significant charges against Lombardo stem from the September 1974 of Daniel Seifert, a government witness. Seifert was gunned down outside of his Bensenville factory.
Seifert's widow, Emma, testified earlier in the trial that she believes Lombardo was one of the gunmen.
Lombardo, however, testified that he got up early on that September morning and went out to buy an electric garage door opener. He said the store was closed and he stopped at a pancake house for some breakfast. Returning to his car, he found that his glove compartment had been opened and his wallet taken from it, Lombardo testified.
Lombardo said he returned to the restaurant and told his story to two police officers who were having breakfast there. He said they took him to the Shakespeare Avenue stationhouse on Chicago's North Side, where he filled out a complaint about his stolen wallet.
Emerging from the station afterward, he was surprised, he said. "Then I got the news about Danny Seifert," he testified.
Immediately on taking the stand Tuesday, Lombardo denied that he had anything to do with the Seifert murder.
Sources say the district commander at Shakespeare was later convicted of masterminding a stolen jewelry ring.
On Tuesday Lombardo denied killing Seifert and Wednesday his lawyer asked Lombardo, “What was your relationship with Daniel Seifert?” Lombardo replied, “Very friendly.”
Lombardo explained to the court why he was in the famous “last supper” picture where a number of mob heavyweights had gathered in 1976 to pay tribute to a dying colleague. Lombardo said he had just happened to stop at the restaurant for ice cream when, by chance, he joined the group.
The topic of his 1986 conviction was skimming money from Las Vegas casinos. When Halprin asked Lombardo if he’d ever received any skim money he answered, ”I have to tell the truth. I’m under oath. Not a red penny.”
“The Clown” became a fugitive in April 2005 when he was indicted in the Family Secrets case, but he testified that when he was on the lam for 9 months, he never left Illinois.
Halprin asked him if he believed he committed a federal crime, to which Lombardo replied “Absolutely not.”
Lombardo has admitted that he was a "hustler" who ran a floating crap game and associated with numerous members of the Chicago Outfit, as the city's organized crime family calls itself. But he denies that he has ever been a full-fledged mobster.
Lombardo is one of five alleged mob members on trial, charged with a racketeering conspiracy that included gambling, extortion, loan sharking and 18 murders. Prosecutors say he is responsible for the shooting of Seifert, who was a witness against him in a federal investigation.
After his 1992 release from prison, Lombardo took out an ad in the Chicago Tribune, denying that he had ever taken part in the secret ceremonies by which mob members are initiated as "made guys." The ad invited anyone hearing of criminal activity on his part to call the FBI. But Lombardo did acknowledge on the witness stand Wednesday that he once posed as a mobster to pressure a St. Louis lawyer to pay old debts he owed to Allen Dorfman, the Chicago insurance man who ran the mammoth Teamsters Central States Pension Fund.
The fund was riddled with corruption in the era when it was operated by Dorfman, who himself was gunned down in gangland fashion shortly after he and Lombardo were convicted in the 1986 bribery conspiracy case.
Thanks to John Drummond
Reputed mob boss Joey “The Clown" Lombardo told a packed courtroom Wednesday that he had an alibi for the morning a federal witness was executed by ski-masked gunmen: He was in a Chicago police station miles away complaining that someone had stolen his wallet.
Curiosity seekers jammed U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel's court for a second day, eager to see the now-frail, gravel-voiced 78-year-old who has been tied for years to the top echelons of the mob. Also Wednesday, a juror was dismissed for personal reasons.
Delivered to the witness stand in a wheel chair by a federal marshal, Lombardo gripped his cane as he testified, and at times seemed slightly absent minded as he was questioned by chief defense attorney Rick Halprin.
As CBS 2’s John “Bulldog” Drummond reports, most significant charges against Lombardo stem from the September 1974 of Daniel Seifert, a government witness. Seifert was gunned down outside of his Bensenville factory.
Seifert's widow, Emma, testified earlier in the trial that she believes Lombardo was one of the gunmen.
Lombardo, however, testified that he got up early on that September morning and went out to buy an electric garage door opener. He said the store was closed and he stopped at a pancake house for some breakfast. Returning to his car, he found that his glove compartment had been opened and his wallet taken from it, Lombardo testified.
Lombardo said he returned to the restaurant and told his story to two police officers who were having breakfast there. He said they took him to the Shakespeare Avenue stationhouse on Chicago's North Side, where he filled out a complaint about his stolen wallet.
Emerging from the station afterward, he was surprised, he said. "Then I got the news about Danny Seifert," he testified.
Immediately on taking the stand Tuesday, Lombardo denied that he had anything to do with the Seifert murder.
Sources say the district commander at Shakespeare was later convicted of masterminding a stolen jewelry ring.
On Tuesday Lombardo denied killing Seifert and Wednesday his lawyer asked Lombardo, “What was your relationship with Daniel Seifert?” Lombardo replied, “Very friendly.”
Lombardo explained to the court why he was in the famous “last supper” picture where a number of mob heavyweights had gathered in 1976 to pay tribute to a dying colleague. Lombardo said he had just happened to stop at the restaurant for ice cream when, by chance, he joined the group.
The topic of his 1986 conviction was skimming money from Las Vegas casinos. When Halprin asked Lombardo if he’d ever received any skim money he answered, ”I have to tell the truth. I’m under oath. Not a red penny.”
“The Clown” became a fugitive in April 2005 when he was indicted in the Family Secrets case, but he testified that when he was on the lam for 9 months, he never left Illinois.
Halprin asked him if he believed he committed a federal crime, to which Lombardo replied “Absolutely not.”
Lombardo has admitted that he was a "hustler" who ran a floating crap game and associated with numerous members of the Chicago Outfit, as the city's organized crime family calls itself. But he denies that he has ever been a full-fledged mobster.
Lombardo is one of five alleged mob members on trial, charged with a racketeering conspiracy that included gambling, extortion, loan sharking and 18 murders. Prosecutors say he is responsible for the shooting of Seifert, who was a witness against him in a federal investigation.
After his 1992 release from prison, Lombardo took out an ad in the Chicago Tribune, denying that he had ever taken part in the secret ceremonies by which mob members are initiated as "made guys." The ad invited anyone hearing of criminal activity on his part to call the FBI. But Lombardo did acknowledge on the witness stand Wednesday that he once posed as a mobster to pressure a St. Louis lawyer to pay old debts he owed to Allen Dorfman, the Chicago insurance man who ran the mammoth Teamsters Central States Pension Fund.
The fund was riddled with corruption in the era when it was operated by Dorfman, who himself was gunned down in gangland fashion shortly after he and Lombardo were convicted in the 1986 bribery conspiracy case.
Thanks to John Drummond
Joey the Clown Becomes Court Ringmaster
Friends of ours: Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, Felix "Milwaukee Phil" Alderisio, Anthony Spilotro
Friends of mine: Irwin Weiner, Allen Dorfman
After stopping momentarily to flirt with the blond court reporter and swearing to tell the truth with a raspy "I do," Joey "the Clown" Lombardo lowered himself onto the witness stand with the help of a cane.
The 78-year-old with a Caesar haircut leaned toward the microphone Tuesday afternoon and took off his rounded eyeglasses, settling in to answer his lawyer's questions at the landmark Family Secrets trial.
With the revelation last week that one of the city's quirkiest reputed mob figures would take the stand in his own defense, his testimony became one of the most anticipated moments in a trial that already has earned a place in Chicago mob lore.
A long line of spectators waited for a seat in the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse's largest courtroom, filled to capacity with federal judges, FBI supervisors, veteran federal prosecutors, a flock of reporters and dozens of the simply curious.
Defense attorney Rick Halprin wasted no time in getting to the heart of the charges, asking Lombardo whether he took part in killing federal witness Daniel Seifert in 1974 and whether he was a "capo" in the Chicago Outfit.
"Positively no," Lombardo responded to both questions.
Lombardo is a reputed organized-crime figure with a flair for humor and theatrics, known for once leaving a court date with a mask made of newspaper to hide his face from cameramen. Another time he took out advertisements disavowing any mob ties.
When the Family Secrets indictment came down two years ago, he vanished, writing the judge letters asking for his own trial before he was apprehended in the suburbs sporting a beard that resembled the one Saddam Hussein grew while hiding in his spider hole. Brought to court for the first time in the case, Lombardo announced he simply had been "unavailable."
On Tuesday, he was at center stage again, telling jurors how he worked the streets as a youngster, shining shoes of police officers in his Grand Avenue neighborhood. They paid him only a nickel a shoe, he said.
"Very cheap people," said Lombardo, sending a wave of laughter through the courtroom.
"Let's not press our luck," shot back Halprin, trying to keep his client focused.
"You told me to tell the truth," countered Lombardo, drawing more laughter.
The guffaws, some from other defense lawyers in the case, brought a stern warning from U.S. District Judge James Zagel, who said he didn't see anything funny about a sweeping conspiracy case that includes the murders of 18 individuals.
Lombardo, one of five men on trial, took the stand as the best way to flesh out his defense that he was essentially an errand boy for powerful mob-connected businessmen such as Irwin Weiner and labor racketeer Allen Dorfman, who ran an insurance agency that did business with the Teamsters. He contended he has always held legitimate jobs and got caught up in criminal conduct through friends.
The jury knows about Lombardo's celebrated convictions from the 1980s for attempting to bribe U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon (D-Nev.) and for skimming millions of dollars from the Stardust casino in Las Vegas.
Lombardo set about to describe his work history, starting with shoe shining and detouring briefly to his dice game. Lombardo acknowledged he ran one, blessed by city aldermen, from 1976 until the bribery indictment. "I didn't have time to play dice because I was on trial," he said matter of factly.
Lombardo, dressed in a conservative gray jacket and silver tie, sometimes rubbed his hands in front of him as he testified and sometimes played with his glasses. He often gave brief answers in a sing-song tone and looked toward the jury as he talked.
Lombardo said he worked a dumbwaiter at a hotel, drove trucks, built two six-flats in a small construction business and worked at a salvage warehouse.
Through his relationships with Weiner and Dorfman, Lombardo said, he met Outfit figures such as Felix "Milwaukee Phil" Alderisio and Anthony Spilotro.
Lombardo testified that Weiner also led him to International Fiberglass, where he worked with Seifert. Prosecutors contend Lombardo had Seifert killed before he could testify against Lombardo in a pension fraud case.
The business was failing when he got there, Lombardo said, telling jurors he agreed to round up out-of-work "kids" in the Grand Avenue area to help make sinks and other company products. He helped Seifert pay bills and manage the business, Lombardo said.
A host of nicknames used for Lombardo have surfaced during the trial, including "Lumpy," "Lumbo" and "Pagliacci," the Italian word for clowns. On Tuesday, Lombardo acknowledged he used another name for himself in some of his business dealings in the 1970s: Joseph Cuneo. "Because my name, Lombardo, was always in the paper for different things," he said.
Halprin tried to take on evidence that prosecutors say points to Lombardo's involvement in Seifert's killing. But Lombardo appeared confused on one critical issue and Halprin moved to another topic.
Lombardo's fingerprint was found on the title application for a car used by the gunmen to flee from the scene of Seifert's shooting at his Bensenville business. In addition, Lombardo was identified as having often bought police scanners like the one found in the getaway vehicle.
Lombardo acknowledged buying police scanners from a local store but said he was running errands for Weiner and his bail-bonding business. But Lombardo said he was puzzled about the fingerprint. Halprin asked how it could have been left on the title document.
"What are my prints on? On what?" he asked. "Is that document in Irv Weiner's office?"
Halprin promised to come back to the subject.
Lombardo also denied that he had attempted to bribe Sen. Cannon. He said he was recorded in Dorfman's office discussing his idea to have the senator buy a Las Vegas property that was being purchased by someone else with a large loan from a Teamsters pension fund. He got nothing out of the deal, Lombardo said, except "15 years and 5 years probation."
Earlier Tuesday, Lombardo's lawyers called a series of witnesses who testified that they saw Lombardo at work at legitimate jobs, including International Fiberglass.
Among those testifying was Johnny Lira, 56, a Golden Gloves boxing champion and a one-time lightweight title contender. Lira said he renewed a relationship with the reputed mobster when Lombardo left prison in the early 1990s. Lombardo worked every day at a business that dealt with concrete-cutting machines, he said.
He described Lombardo as "a grease monkey" who worked on equipment in the business' warehouse on Racine Avenue until his arrest in early 2006. Assistant U.S. Atty. Markus Funk asked whether Lira knew Lombardo was a fugitive in his final months on the job. "He didn't act like a fugitive," Lira said. "He came there every day."
In his testimony, Lombardo tried to portray himself as a normal working guy who liked sports. He can "ice skate, roller skate, Rollerblade and bowl," Lombardo testified.
Prosecutors are likely to go hard after that image during their expected cross-examination on Wednesday, and there will be no chance for "the Clown" to disappear.
Thanks to Jeff Coen
Friends of mine: Irwin Weiner, Allen Dorfman
After stopping momentarily to flirt with the blond court reporter and swearing to tell the truth with a raspy "I do," Joey "the Clown" Lombardo lowered himself onto the witness stand with the help of a cane.
The 78-year-old with a Caesar haircut leaned toward the microphone Tuesday afternoon and took off his rounded eyeglasses, settling in to answer his lawyer's questions at the landmark Family Secrets trial.
With the revelation last week that one of the city's quirkiest reputed mob figures would take the stand in his own defense, his testimony became one of the most anticipated moments in a trial that already has earned a place in Chicago mob lore.A long line of spectators waited for a seat in the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse's largest courtroom, filled to capacity with federal judges, FBI supervisors, veteran federal prosecutors, a flock of reporters and dozens of the simply curious.
Defense attorney Rick Halprin wasted no time in getting to the heart of the charges, asking Lombardo whether he took part in killing federal witness Daniel Seifert in 1974 and whether he was a "capo" in the Chicago Outfit.
"Positively no," Lombardo responded to both questions.
Lombardo is a reputed organized-crime figure with a flair for humor and theatrics, known for once leaving a court date with a mask made of newspaper to hide his face from cameramen. Another time he took out advertisements disavowing any mob ties.
When the Family Secrets indictment came down two years ago, he vanished, writing the judge letters asking for his own trial before he was apprehended in the suburbs sporting a beard that resembled the one Saddam Hussein grew while hiding in his spider hole. Brought to court for the first time in the case, Lombardo announced he simply had been "unavailable."
On Tuesday, he was at center stage again, telling jurors how he worked the streets as a youngster, shining shoes of police officers in his Grand Avenue neighborhood. They paid him only a nickel a shoe, he said.
"Very cheap people," said Lombardo, sending a wave of laughter through the courtroom.
"Let's not press our luck," shot back Halprin, trying to keep his client focused.
"You told me to tell the truth," countered Lombardo, drawing more laughter.
The guffaws, some from other defense lawyers in the case, brought a stern warning from U.S. District Judge James Zagel, who said he didn't see anything funny about a sweeping conspiracy case that includes the murders of 18 individuals.
Lombardo, one of five men on trial, took the stand as the best way to flesh out his defense that he was essentially an errand boy for powerful mob-connected businessmen such as Irwin Weiner and labor racketeer Allen Dorfman, who ran an insurance agency that did business with the Teamsters. He contended he has always held legitimate jobs and got caught up in criminal conduct through friends.
The jury knows about Lombardo's celebrated convictions from the 1980s for attempting to bribe U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon (D-Nev.) and for skimming millions of dollars from the Stardust casino in Las Vegas.Lombardo set about to describe his work history, starting with shoe shining and detouring briefly to his dice game. Lombardo acknowledged he ran one, blessed by city aldermen, from 1976 until the bribery indictment. "I didn't have time to play dice because I was on trial," he said matter of factly.
Lombardo, dressed in a conservative gray jacket and silver tie, sometimes rubbed his hands in front of him as he testified and sometimes played with his glasses. He often gave brief answers in a sing-song tone and looked toward the jury as he talked.
Lombardo said he worked a dumbwaiter at a hotel, drove trucks, built two six-flats in a small construction business and worked at a salvage warehouse.
Through his relationships with Weiner and Dorfman, Lombardo said, he met Outfit figures such as Felix "Milwaukee Phil" Alderisio and Anthony Spilotro.
Lombardo testified that Weiner also led him to International Fiberglass, where he worked with Seifert. Prosecutors contend Lombardo had Seifert killed before he could testify against Lombardo in a pension fraud case.
The business was failing when he got there, Lombardo said, telling jurors he agreed to round up out-of-work "kids" in the Grand Avenue area to help make sinks and other company products. He helped Seifert pay bills and manage the business, Lombardo said.
A host of nicknames used for Lombardo have surfaced during the trial, including "Lumpy," "Lumbo" and "Pagliacci," the Italian word for clowns. On Tuesday, Lombardo acknowledged he used another name for himself in some of his business dealings in the 1970s: Joseph Cuneo. "Because my name, Lombardo, was always in the paper for different things," he said.
Halprin tried to take on evidence that prosecutors say points to Lombardo's involvement in Seifert's killing. But Lombardo appeared confused on one critical issue and Halprin moved to another topic.
Lombardo's fingerprint was found on the title application for a car used by the gunmen to flee from the scene of Seifert's shooting at his Bensenville business. In addition, Lombardo was identified as having often bought police scanners like the one found in the getaway vehicle.
Lombardo acknowledged buying police scanners from a local store but said he was running errands for Weiner and his bail-bonding business. But Lombardo said he was puzzled about the fingerprint. Halprin asked how it could have been left on the title document.
"What are my prints on? On what?" he asked. "Is that document in Irv Weiner's office?"
Halprin promised to come back to the subject.
Lombardo also denied that he had attempted to bribe Sen. Cannon. He said he was recorded in Dorfman's office discussing his idea to have the senator buy a Las Vegas property that was being purchased by someone else with a large loan from a Teamsters pension fund. He got nothing out of the deal, Lombardo said, except "15 years and 5 years probation."
Earlier Tuesday, Lombardo's lawyers called a series of witnesses who testified that they saw Lombardo at work at legitimate jobs, including International Fiberglass.
Among those testifying was Johnny Lira, 56, a Golden Gloves boxing champion and a one-time lightweight title contender. Lira said he renewed a relationship with the reputed mobster when Lombardo left prison in the early 1990s. Lombardo worked every day at a business that dealt with concrete-cutting machines, he said.
He described Lombardo as "a grease monkey" who worked on equipment in the business' warehouse on Racine Avenue until his arrest in early 2006. Assistant U.S. Atty. Markus Funk asked whether Lira knew Lombardo was a fugitive in his final months on the job. "He didn't act like a fugitive," Lira said. "He came there every day."
In his testimony, Lombardo tried to portray himself as a normal working guy who liked sports. He can "ice skate, roller skate, Rollerblade and bowl," Lombardo testified.
Prosecutors are likely to go hard after that image during their expected cross-examination on Wednesday, and there will be no chance for "the Clown" to disappear.
Thanks to Jeff Coen
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Widow Testifies that Mobster Killed Her Husband
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: Irwin Weiner
Emma Seifert had just gotten her sick 4-year-old son settled in the office she shared with her husband and was preparing to make her morning coffee when two gunmen burst through the door.
"I believe they said, 'This is a robbery and where is ...' I don't know if they called him my husband or 'that SOB,' " Seifert told jurors Thursday as she described how mobsters gunned down her husband, Daniel, on the morning of Sept. 27, 1974. "I screamed but obviously not loud enough, because Daniel didn't hear me," Seifert said.
She gave perhaps the most powerful testimony yet in the federal trial in Chicago of five alleged organized crime figures, including two prominent mob bosses.
Daniel Seifert was to be a key government witness against Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, who had been charged with ripping off a Teamsters Union pension fund. When Seifert was killed, the case against Lombardo evaporated. Lombardo is one of the five men on trial as federal prosecutors seek to pin 18 murders, including Seifert's, on the mob.
Emma Seifert testified that she couldn't be definite but believed one of the three gunmen she saw that day was Lombardo -- based on his height, build and lightness on his feet. "Joey was a boxer and very light on his feet," she said.
She acknowledged under questioning by one of Lombardo's defense attorneys that she did not initially tell police about her suspicion. She said she feared for her family's safety but did tell her brother-in-law that day of her belief, according to court testimony.
Her son, Joseph, was there the day his father was killed and also was in court Thursday to hear her testimony, as was his half-brother, Nick. "We felt that she was very courageous," Joseph said of his mom's testimony, speaking for himself and Nick.
He praised the prosecution, saying, "for us, it was an incredibly enlightening day of testimony, of hearing different details and different sides."
Testimony on Thursday revealed that Daniel Seifert became a business associate of mobsters after he did some carpentry work with a mobbed-up businessman, Irwin Weiner.
Weiner helped bankroll the fiberglass factory that Seifert operated. Weiner was friends with Lombardo, and soon Lombardo was hired at the factory, but Emma Seifert testified she never saw him do any work.
Lombardo and Seifert were close, so close that Seifert named his son, Joseph, after him. But relations soured, and Seifert left to start his own business, his widow testified. When the mob later learned that Seifert was cooperating with the feds, the threats began, culminating in his slaying, she told jurors.
Emma Seifert testified that her son had gone into the fiberglass factory first that morning, with her husband trailing behind. Two gunmen burst through a back door, pushed her to the floor and jumped Daniel Seifert in the entryway, hitting him in the head with a gun.
With her husband down, Emma tried to get into her office desk where there was a gun, but the drawer was locked and one of the gunmen herded her and her son into a bathroom, she told the jury.
She heard a gunshot and then heard nothing for a few seconds, told her son to stay put and went back to her desk, Emma said. She saw her husband running for his life across the factory parking lot -- the last time she would see him alive, she testified. Emma said she locked the office door and called police. Emma told jurors that her husband ran through another building, and one of the gunmen shot him. As he lay on the grass, a gunman came up to him and delivered a point-blank shot to his head, according to her testimony.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Friends of mine: Irwin Weiner
Emma Seifert had just gotten her sick 4-year-old son settled in the office she shared with her husband and was preparing to make her morning coffee when two gunmen burst through the door.
"I believe they said, 'This is a robbery and where is ...' I don't know if they called him my husband or 'that SOB,' " Seifert told jurors Thursday as she described how mobsters gunned down her husband, Daniel, on the morning of Sept. 27, 1974. "I screamed but obviously not loud enough, because Daniel didn't hear me," Seifert said.
She gave perhaps the most powerful testimony yet in the federal trial in Chicago of five alleged organized crime figures, including two prominent mob bosses.
Daniel Seifert was to be a key government witness against Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, who had been charged with ripping off a Teamsters Union pension fund. When Seifert was killed, the case against Lombardo evaporated. Lombardo is one of the five men on trial as federal prosecutors seek to pin 18 murders, including Seifert's, on the mob.
Emma Seifert testified that she couldn't be definite but believed one of the three gunmen she saw that day was Lombardo -- based on his height, build and lightness on his feet. "Joey was a boxer and very light on his feet," she said.
She acknowledged under questioning by one of Lombardo's defense attorneys that she did not initially tell police about her suspicion. She said she feared for her family's safety but did tell her brother-in-law that day of her belief, according to court testimony.
Her son, Joseph, was there the day his father was killed and also was in court Thursday to hear her testimony, as was his half-brother, Nick. "We felt that she was very courageous," Joseph said of his mom's testimony, speaking for himself and Nick.
He praised the prosecution, saying, "for us, it was an incredibly enlightening day of testimony, of hearing different details and different sides."
Testimony on Thursday revealed that Daniel Seifert became a business associate of mobsters after he did some carpentry work with a mobbed-up businessman, Irwin Weiner.
Weiner helped bankroll the fiberglass factory that Seifert operated. Weiner was friends with Lombardo, and soon Lombardo was hired at the factory, but Emma Seifert testified she never saw him do any work.
Lombardo and Seifert were close, so close that Seifert named his son, Joseph, after him. But relations soured, and Seifert left to start his own business, his widow testified. When the mob later learned that Seifert was cooperating with the feds, the threats began, culminating in his slaying, she told jurors.
Emma Seifert testified that her son had gone into the fiberglass factory first that morning, with her husband trailing behind. Two gunmen burst through a back door, pushed her to the floor and jumped Daniel Seifert in the entryway, hitting him in the head with a gun.
With her husband down, Emma tried to get into her office desk where there was a gun, but the drawer was locked and one of the gunmen herded her and her son into a bathroom, she told the jury.
She heard a gunshot and then heard nothing for a few seconds, told her son to stay put and went back to her desk, Emma said. She saw her husband running for his life across the factory parking lot -- the last time she would see him alive, she testified. Emma said she locked the office door and called police. Emma told jurors that her husband ran through another building, and one of the gunmen shot him. As he lay on the grass, a gunman came up to him and delivered a point-blank shot to his head, according to her testimony.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Prosecution Portraying Lombardo as Top Level Mobster
Friends of ours: Joseph Aiuppa, Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: Alan Dorfman
Chicago’s top mob boss Joseph Aiuppa wasn’t happy.
He was at a meeting in a suburban restaurant in April 1979 with another reputed top mobster, Joseph “Joey the Clown” Lombardo, and Alan Dorfman, an insurance executive who was the middleman between the mob and the Teamsters pension fund.
Aiuppa was jamming his finger and hands into the table to accentuate his points, according to retired FBI Agent Art Pfizenmayer, who testified today on the meeting he did surveillance on. “Dorfman kind of sat there with his hands in his lap,” Pfizenmayer said.
Pfizenmayer was sitting at the bar and could only hear a few snatches of conversation over the tinkle of glasses as the bartender cleaned up from the lunch crowd and the piped-in music.
Pfizenmayer’s testimony was part of the prosecution’s effort to establish that Lombardo was a mobster involved in the very top level of mob communications. Lombardo is charged with four other men as part of the historic Family Secrets mob case in federal court in Chicago.
Dorfman would later be killed in 1983 after he was convicted with Lombardo of conspiring to bribe U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon. Federal authorities have said Aiuppa approved Dorfman’s murder.
Earlier in the day at trial, former Old Town porn shop owner William “Red” Wemette underwent vigorous questioning by Lombardo’s attorney, Rick Halprin.
Wemette had earlier testified that he paid street tax payments to men he believed were Lombardo’s underlings. But under questioning by Halprin, Wemette testified he had never personally given Lombardo a dime.
Wemette also admitted he signed a false affidavit in the 1970s with IRS agents in which he described payments he made to an alleged Lombardo associate as being part of a business deal, rather than street tax payments.
Wemette, though, testified he had a separate, secret source relationship with the FBI, to whom he told the truth about the street tax payments.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Friends of mine: Alan Dorfman
Chicago’s top mob boss Joseph Aiuppa wasn’t happy.
He was at a meeting in a suburban restaurant in April 1979 with another reputed top mobster, Joseph “Joey the Clown” Lombardo, and Alan Dorfman, an insurance executive who was the middleman between the mob and the Teamsters pension fund.
Aiuppa was jamming his finger and hands into the table to accentuate his points, according to retired FBI Agent Art Pfizenmayer, who testified today on the meeting he did surveillance on. “Dorfman kind of sat there with his hands in his lap,” Pfizenmayer said.
Pfizenmayer was sitting at the bar and could only hear a few snatches of conversation over the tinkle of glasses as the bartender cleaned up from the lunch crowd and the piped-in music.
Pfizenmayer’s testimony was part of the prosecution’s effort to establish that Lombardo was a mobster involved in the very top level of mob communications. Lombardo is charged with four other men as part of the historic Family Secrets mob case in federal court in Chicago.
Dorfman would later be killed in 1983 after he was convicted with Lombardo of conspiring to bribe U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon. Federal authorities have said Aiuppa approved Dorfman’s murder.
Earlier in the day at trial, former Old Town porn shop owner William “Red” Wemette underwent vigorous questioning by Lombardo’s attorney, Rick Halprin.
Wemette had earlier testified that he paid street tax payments to men he believed were Lombardo’s underlings. But under questioning by Halprin, Wemette testified he had never personally given Lombardo a dime.
Wemette also admitted he signed a false affidavit in the 1970s with IRS agents in which he described payments he made to an alleged Lombardo associate as being part of a business deal, rather than street tax payments.
Wemette, though, testified he had a separate, secret source relationship with the FBI, to whom he told the truth about the street tax payments.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Family Secrets Mob Trial Has Bomb Scare
Friends of ours: Frank Calabrese Sr., Ernest Rocco Infelice, Junior Gotti, Anthony Doyle, Nicholas Ferriola, 32, Joseph Venezia, 71, Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello, Paul "the Indian" Schiro
A fake explosive device was found outside a suburban home owned by a son of a defendant in the Family Secrets mob conspiracy trial hours after jury selection began Tuesday, prompting a federal investigation, authorities said.
Investigators said a "hoax device" was left on the back porch of a house in Kenilworth and was discovered about 1 p.m.
A defense lawyer in the case, Joseph Lopez, said the object was found at the home of a son of his client, reputed mob boss Frank Calabrese Sr., on trial for racketeering conspiracy in connection with more than a dozen mob slayings. Public records show the home belongs to one of Calabrese's sons, Kurt, but not the son who is expected to testify when a jury starts hearing evidence in the case. The son who recorded conversations with his father and is expected to take the witness stand is Frank Calabrese Jr.
Investigators said the device was not a working explosive. It was too early to know whether it was a prank or a message, but the authorities are concerned because of its timing as jury selection began in the landmark trial.
Lopez said he was worried that opening statements, which could begin as soon as Thursday, might have to be delayed. "It's shocking, and it shouldn't have happened," Lopez said. "My client loves his children."
Earlier Tuesday, at least eight people had been chosen so far as potential anonymous jurors as the trial began in the much-anticipated mob conspiracy case. U.S. District Judge James Zagel, sorting through a large pool called for jury duty, dismissed some, and lawyers used peremptory challenges to remove others.
Zagel asked potential jurors general questions about their occupations, whether they have any connections to law enforcement and if they think they could be fair. He didn't ask their names, ages or other identifying information—such as where they live.
In a rare move, Zagel decided weeks ago to seat an anonymous jury. Although the jurors will not be shielded visually by a partition, the five men accused of racketeering conspiracy for their alleged roles in controlling the Chicago Outfit will know who is deciding their fates only by court-assigned numbers.
Today, 24 possible jurors were questioned in sessions lasting more than three hours. Several were removed for cause, including a medical physicist who performs cancer treatments and a man who said he has difficulty with English. The process will continue with possible jurors led into the courtroom for questioning in groups of about 25 until 18 are picked. Twelve will be permanent jurors, the rest alternates.
Zagel agreed an anonymous jury was the best course after the prosecution filed a sealed motion citing the safety of jurors for keeping their identities secret, even from defense lawyers in the case, lawyers said.
Experts say seating an anonymous jury is a controversial practice. Judges must weigh juror safety against a defendant's right to an impartial panel. The risk is that the need for their anonymity could leave jurors thinking the defendants must be dangerous. Lawyers in the Family Secrets case said they strongly objected for just that reason.
"Now, of course, the jury can infer that these must be pretty nefarious people," said Ralph Meczyk, the lawyer for Anthony Doyle, a defendant in the case. "That puts in their mind the belief that we're dealing with very, very dangerous defendants."
In seeking to seat anonymous juries, prosecutors typically argue that panel members could be at risk, or at least that the nature of a case could leave jurors apprehensive if the defendants know who they are and where they live.
This is believed to be the first use of an anonymous jury in Chicago's federal court in 15 years, but there is precedent for the move here and across the country, particularly in organized-crime prosecutions.
The last time it was used here was at the trial of mobster Ernest Rocco Infelice, who was convicted in 1992 of racketeering and murder conspiracy.
Recently, an anonymous jury heard a Ku Klux Klan trial in Mississippi, and another decided the fate of reputed mobster John Gotti Jr. last year in New York.
Meanwhile, two more defendants from an original group of 14 pleaded guilty Monday in the Family Secrets case. Nicholas Ferriola, 32, admitted he was part of the criminal conspiracy, while Joseph Venezia, 71, pleaded guilty to being part of an illegal gambling operation. Left to stand trial in the conspiracy that allegedly included 18 slayings are reputed mob bosses Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello and Frank Calabrese Sr. as well as Paul "the Indian" Schiro and Doyle, a former Chicago police officer.
The 6th Amendment guarantees all defendants the right to "a speedy and public trial." But as some organized-crime and terrorism defendants have learned, that doesn't necessarily include the right to know who is sitting in judgment on the jury.
Judges can seat anonymous juries for safety reasons and to prevent juror tampering, though the move usually draws cries of unfairness from the defense.
"From the defense side, you worry that the signal it sends is: We've got to be really careful here. These are dangerous individuals," said Andrew Leipold, a law professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. "That's not the mind-set you want jurors to start a case with."
But the judge could have taken into account, Leipold said, that Lombardo, for example, is accused of killing a government witness—an allegation that, if true, shows a willingness to use violence to subvert the justice system. He is blamed for the 1974 killing of Bensenville businessman Daniel Seifert, who was scheduled to testify against Lombardo in a Teamsters pension-fraud trial.
For judges, Leipold said, "it's difficult in that so much of this is predictions. What's the likelihood the jury will be tampered with? How likely is it that jury will be biased against the defense?"
Judges also must factor in the right of the public and media to an open proceeding, Leipold said. In the George Ryan corruption trial last year, for example, reporters at the Tribune used publicly available juror information to discover that two jurors had misled the court about their criminal backgrounds. A federal judge dismissed the jurors as a result.
In the Family Secrets case, it's unclear exactly what evidence persuaded Zagel to keep the jury anonymous. Prosecutors made their arguments in a Feb. 16 motion that was filed under seal. But anonymous juries are more common when defendants are allegedly part of a large criminal organization, with members outside the courtroom who have a strong interest in the trial's outcome.
The process to select the Family Secrets jury began earlier this year when prospective jurors in a special pool had their backgrounds checked and were sent questionnaires that asked for in-depth personal information. In addition to personal data, the jurors were asked dozens of questions about their opinions and perceptions of the justice system, the FBI and organized crime.
Jurors were asked what they read and listen to as well as what TV shows they might watch that touch on the mob. One prospective juror listed "The Simpsons," apparently a tongue-in-cheek reference to the character "Fat Tony" and his band of hoodlums from fictional Springfield's underworld.
Also among the questions was whether the prospective juror had ever written to the editor of a newspaper, and on what topic.
Some of the defense attorneys in the case said because of the detailed questionnaire, they may wind up knowing a bit more about each juror than they would have otherwise. Still, it's a handicap not to know such basics as a person's name or where they live.
Marcello's lawyer, Marc Martin, said he, too, objected to the anonymous panel. He noted he has practiced law for 20 years and has never heard of a case of jury tampering in Chicago's federal court.
Openness in government is important, and jury tampering—in real life, as opposed to Hollywood films—is exceedingly rare, agreed Shari Seidman Diamond, law professor at Northwestern University. "I'm not persuaded that [anonymous juries] are required or that they're useful or that they contribute to justice," Diamond said. "We prefer to have the jury be a source of light, not shadow."
But Lombardo's lawyer, Rick Halprin, said he's sure the judge has plenty of reasons to want the jurors' identities withheld in such a high-profile case. "Frankly, I think the gravest danger the judge perceives are crank phone calls and media scrutiny," Halprin said. "He doesn't want the same kind of fiasco they had in the Ryan trial."
Thanks to Jeff Coen and Michael Higgins
A fake explosive device was found outside a suburban home owned by a son of a defendant in the Family Secrets mob conspiracy trial hours after jury selection began Tuesday, prompting a federal investigation, authorities said.
Investigators said a "hoax device" was left on the back porch of a house in Kenilworth and was discovered about 1 p.m.
A defense lawyer in the case, Joseph Lopez, said the object was found at the home of a son of his client, reputed mob boss Frank Calabrese Sr., on trial for racketeering conspiracy in connection with more than a dozen mob slayings. Public records show the home belongs to one of Calabrese's sons, Kurt, but not the son who is expected to testify when a jury starts hearing evidence in the case. The son who recorded conversations with his father and is expected to take the witness stand is Frank Calabrese Jr.
Investigators said the device was not a working explosive. It was too early to know whether it was a prank or a message, but the authorities are concerned because of its timing as jury selection began in the landmark trial.
Lopez said he was worried that opening statements, which could begin as soon as Thursday, might have to be delayed. "It's shocking, and it shouldn't have happened," Lopez said. "My client loves his children."
Earlier Tuesday, at least eight people had been chosen so far as potential anonymous jurors as the trial began in the much-anticipated mob conspiracy case. U.S. District Judge James Zagel, sorting through a large pool called for jury duty, dismissed some, and lawyers used peremptory challenges to remove others.
Zagel asked potential jurors general questions about their occupations, whether they have any connections to law enforcement and if they think they could be fair. He didn't ask their names, ages or other identifying information—such as where they live.
In a rare move, Zagel decided weeks ago to seat an anonymous jury. Although the jurors will not be shielded visually by a partition, the five men accused of racketeering conspiracy for their alleged roles in controlling the Chicago Outfit will know who is deciding their fates only by court-assigned numbers.
Today, 24 possible jurors were questioned in sessions lasting more than three hours. Several were removed for cause, including a medical physicist who performs cancer treatments and a man who said he has difficulty with English. The process will continue with possible jurors led into the courtroom for questioning in groups of about 25 until 18 are picked. Twelve will be permanent jurors, the rest alternates.
Zagel agreed an anonymous jury was the best course after the prosecution filed a sealed motion citing the safety of jurors for keeping their identities secret, even from defense lawyers in the case, lawyers said.
Experts say seating an anonymous jury is a controversial practice. Judges must weigh juror safety against a defendant's right to an impartial panel. The risk is that the need for their anonymity could leave jurors thinking the defendants must be dangerous. Lawyers in the Family Secrets case said they strongly objected for just that reason.
"Now, of course, the jury can infer that these must be pretty nefarious people," said Ralph Meczyk, the lawyer for Anthony Doyle, a defendant in the case. "That puts in their mind the belief that we're dealing with very, very dangerous defendants."
In seeking to seat anonymous juries, prosecutors typically argue that panel members could be at risk, or at least that the nature of a case could leave jurors apprehensive if the defendants know who they are and where they live.
This is believed to be the first use of an anonymous jury in Chicago's federal court in 15 years, but there is precedent for the move here and across the country, particularly in organized-crime prosecutions.
The last time it was used here was at the trial of mobster Ernest Rocco Infelice, who was convicted in 1992 of racketeering and murder conspiracy.
Recently, an anonymous jury heard a Ku Klux Klan trial in Mississippi, and another decided the fate of reputed mobster John Gotti Jr. last year in New York.
Meanwhile, two more defendants from an original group of 14 pleaded guilty Monday in the Family Secrets case. Nicholas Ferriola, 32, admitted he was part of the criminal conspiracy, while Joseph Venezia, 71, pleaded guilty to being part of an illegal gambling operation. Left to stand trial in the conspiracy that allegedly included 18 slayings are reputed mob bosses Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello and Frank Calabrese Sr. as well as Paul "the Indian" Schiro and Doyle, a former Chicago police officer.
The 6th Amendment guarantees all defendants the right to "a speedy and public trial." But as some organized-crime and terrorism defendants have learned, that doesn't necessarily include the right to know who is sitting in judgment on the jury.
Judges can seat anonymous juries for safety reasons and to prevent juror tampering, though the move usually draws cries of unfairness from the defense.
"From the defense side, you worry that the signal it sends is: We've got to be really careful here. These are dangerous individuals," said Andrew Leipold, a law professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. "That's not the mind-set you want jurors to start a case with."
But the judge could have taken into account, Leipold said, that Lombardo, for example, is accused of killing a government witness—an allegation that, if true, shows a willingness to use violence to subvert the justice system. He is blamed for the 1974 killing of Bensenville businessman Daniel Seifert, who was scheduled to testify against Lombardo in a Teamsters pension-fraud trial.
For judges, Leipold said, "it's difficult in that so much of this is predictions. What's the likelihood the jury will be tampered with? How likely is it that jury will be biased against the defense?"
Judges also must factor in the right of the public and media to an open proceeding, Leipold said. In the George Ryan corruption trial last year, for example, reporters at the Tribune used publicly available juror information to discover that two jurors had misled the court about their criminal backgrounds. A federal judge dismissed the jurors as a result.
In the Family Secrets case, it's unclear exactly what evidence persuaded Zagel to keep the jury anonymous. Prosecutors made their arguments in a Feb. 16 motion that was filed under seal. But anonymous juries are more common when defendants are allegedly part of a large criminal organization, with members outside the courtroom who have a strong interest in the trial's outcome.
The process to select the Family Secrets jury began earlier this year when prospective jurors in a special pool had their backgrounds checked and were sent questionnaires that asked for in-depth personal information. In addition to personal data, the jurors were asked dozens of questions about their opinions and perceptions of the justice system, the FBI and organized crime.
Jurors were asked what they read and listen to as well as what TV shows they might watch that touch on the mob. One prospective juror listed "The Simpsons," apparently a tongue-in-cheek reference to the character "Fat Tony" and his band of hoodlums from fictional Springfield's underworld.
Also among the questions was whether the prospective juror had ever written to the editor of a newspaper, and on what topic.
Some of the defense attorneys in the case said because of the detailed questionnaire, they may wind up knowing a bit more about each juror than they would have otherwise. Still, it's a handicap not to know such basics as a person's name or where they live.
Marcello's lawyer, Marc Martin, said he, too, objected to the anonymous panel. He noted he has practiced law for 20 years and has never heard of a case of jury tampering in Chicago's federal court.
Openness in government is important, and jury tampering—in real life, as opposed to Hollywood films—is exceedingly rare, agreed Shari Seidman Diamond, law professor at Northwestern University. "I'm not persuaded that [anonymous juries] are required or that they're useful or that they contribute to justice," Diamond said. "We prefer to have the jury be a source of light, not shadow."
But Lombardo's lawyer, Rick Halprin, said he's sure the judge has plenty of reasons to want the jurors' identities withheld in such a high-profile case. "Frankly, I think the gravest danger the judge perceives are crank phone calls and media scrutiny," Halprin said. "He doesn't want the same kind of fiasco they had in the Ryan trial."
Thanks to Jeff Coen and Michael Higgins
Family Secrets Trial Kicks Off
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello, Frank Calabrese Sr., Paul Schiro, Anthony Doyle, Nicholas Calabrese, Tony "the Ant" Spilotro, Michael Marcello, Frank "The German" Schweihs, Joseph Venezia, Nicholas Ferriola,
Friends of mine: William Hanhardt, John Ambrose
It's a homecoming of sorts for reputed mob boss Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.
Lombardo was convicted in Chicago's skyscraper federal courthouse in 1982 of conspiring with then International Brotherhood of Teamsters President Roy Lee Williams to bribe then Sen. Howard Cannon, D-Nev.
After emerging from a decade in prison, Lombardo took out a newspaper ad declaring he was not a "made guy" and vowing to steer clear of the mob. But the 78-year-old Lombardo was back at the courthouse Tuesday as jury selection was to get under way in a trial experts say will take a bite out of the city's entrenched organized crime family -- The Chicago Outfit.
"This will hurt the mob," says Gus Russo, author of "The Outfit," and other books about organized crime. "But it won't end it."
"They always find a way to redefine themselves and bounce back," says Russo. "It probably won't be as strong in the short run."
Charged with a racketeering conspiracy that included at least 18 murders are Lombardo, James Marcello, 65; Frank Calabrese Sr., 70; Paul Schiro, 69; and Anthony Doyle, 62.
Lombardo, Marcello and Calabrese are alleged to be members of the Outfit's hierarchy and are in federal custody. Schiro was convicted five years ago of taking part in a jewel theft ring run by the Chicago police department's former chief of detectives, William Hanhardt. Doyle is a former Chicago police officer.
All five men have pleaded not guilty.
By midmorning Tuesday, jury selection had not yet started as attorneys consulted with Judge James B. Zagel. Zagel has ordered an anonymous jury with lawyers having only limited information about its members.
Defense attorneys had objected, arguing it could make jurors think the defendants must be dangerous. "Traditionally, the public has a right to know. So in the interest of the public, we believe the public had a right to know who the jurors were," Joseph Lopez, an attorney for Frank Calabrese Sr., said as he entered the federal courthouse Tuesday morning. "It would be nice if they did all juries anonymous, then maybe we wouldn't have this situation," he said.
The star witness is expected to be Calabrese's brother, Nicholas Calabrese, who has pleaded guilty to the charges and is being closely guarded by federal lawmen to prevent mobsters from getting anywhere near him.
Nicholas Calabrese says he has been a "made guy" in the Outfit for decades and knows who is responsible for many of the mob murders.
Among those killed was Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, once the Chicago mob's man in Las Vegas and the inspiration for Joe Pesci's character in the movie "Casino."
Spilotro and his brother Michael were found beaten to death and buried in an Indiana cornfield, victims of an internecine feud inside the mob.
Plainly someone is worried about what Nicholas Calabrese might say.
A federal marshal, John T. Ambrose, is charged with leaking information about Nicholas Calabrese's whereabouts while in Chicago to testify before a federal grand jury. Ambrose has pleaded not guilty.
The number of defendants in the case has dwindled steadily since the first day the indictment was unsealed and one of those charged was found dead of natural causes in his suburban hotel room.
Last week, Marcello's brother, Michael, pleaded guilty along with two other men. And Zagel severed alleged mob extortionist Frank "The German" Schweihs from the trial for health reasons.
On Monday, two other defendants, Joseph Venezia and Nicholas Ferriola, pleaded guilty to gambling and other charges, bringing the number of those due to go on trial to five.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Friends of mine: William Hanhardt, John Ambrose
It's a homecoming of sorts for reputed mob boss Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.
Lombardo was convicted in Chicago's skyscraper federal courthouse in 1982 of conspiring with then International Brotherhood of Teamsters President Roy Lee Williams to bribe then Sen. Howard Cannon, D-Nev.After emerging from a decade in prison, Lombardo took out a newspaper ad declaring he was not a "made guy" and vowing to steer clear of the mob. But the 78-year-old Lombardo was back at the courthouse Tuesday as jury selection was to get under way in a trial experts say will take a bite out of the city's entrenched organized crime family -- The Chicago Outfit.
"This will hurt the mob," says Gus Russo, author of "The Outfit," and other books about organized crime. "But it won't end it."
"They always find a way to redefine themselves and bounce back," says Russo. "It probably won't be as strong in the short run."
Charged with a racketeering conspiracy that included at least 18 murders are Lombardo, James Marcello, 65; Frank Calabrese Sr., 70; Paul Schiro, 69; and Anthony Doyle, 62.
Lombardo, Marcello and Calabrese are alleged to be members of the Outfit's hierarchy and are in federal custody. Schiro was convicted five years ago of taking part in a jewel theft ring run by the Chicago police department's former chief of detectives, William Hanhardt. Doyle is a former Chicago police officer.
All five men have pleaded not guilty.
By midmorning Tuesday, jury selection had not yet started as attorneys consulted with Judge James B. Zagel. Zagel has ordered an anonymous jury with lawyers having only limited information about its members.
Defense attorneys had objected, arguing it could make jurors think the defendants must be dangerous. "Traditionally, the public has a right to know. So in the interest of the public, we believe the public had a right to know who the jurors were," Joseph Lopez, an attorney for Frank Calabrese Sr., said as he entered the federal courthouse Tuesday morning. "It would be nice if they did all juries anonymous, then maybe we wouldn't have this situation," he said.
The star witness is expected to be Calabrese's brother, Nicholas Calabrese, who has pleaded guilty to the charges and is being closely guarded by federal lawmen to prevent mobsters from getting anywhere near him.
Nicholas Calabrese says he has been a "made guy" in the Outfit for decades and knows who is responsible for many of the mob murders.
Among those killed was Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, once the Chicago mob's man in Las Vegas and the inspiration for Joe Pesci's character in the movie "Casino."
Spilotro and his brother Michael were found beaten to death and buried in an Indiana cornfield, victims of an internecine feud inside the mob.
Plainly someone is worried about what Nicholas Calabrese might say.
A federal marshal, John T. Ambrose, is charged with leaking information about Nicholas Calabrese's whereabouts while in Chicago to testify before a federal grand jury. Ambrose has pleaded not guilty.
The number of defendants in the case has dwindled steadily since the first day the indictment was unsealed and one of those charged was found dead of natural causes in his suburban hotel room.
Last week, Marcello's brother, Michael, pleaded guilty along with two other men. And Zagel severed alleged mob extortionist Frank "The German" Schweihs from the trial for health reasons.
On Monday, two other defendants, Joseph Venezia and Nicholas Ferriola, pleaded guilty to gambling and other charges, bringing the number of those due to go on trial to five.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Monday, June 18, 2007
Long Unsolved Murders Focus of Chicago Mob Trial
Friends of ours: Tony Accardo, James Marcello, Frank Calabrese Sr. Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, Anthony Doyle, Frank "The German" Schweihs, Nicholas Calabrese, Tony "The Ant" Spilotro
It seemed like a good idea at the time. A gang of burglars decided in December 1977 to break into the home of Tony Accardo, one of the most powerful men in organized crime history, and rob his basement vault. Accardo was not amused.
Six men Accardo blamed for the heist were swiftly hunted down and murdered, according to papers filed by federal prosecutors in preparation for Chicago's biggest mob trial in years, scheduled to begin Tuesday. And that's only one of the grisly tales jurors are likely to hear at the trial stemming from the FBI's "Operation Family Secrets" investigation of 18 long-unsolved mob murders allegedly tied the Outfit, Chicago's organized crime family.
"This unprecedented indictment puts a hit on the mob," U.S. Attorney Patrick J. Fitzgerald said in announcing the charges in April 2005. "It is remarkable for both the breadth of the murders charged and for naming the entire Chicago Outfit as a criminal enterprise under the anti-racketeering law."
Reputed top mob bosses head the list of defendants -- James Marcello, Frank Calabrese Sr. and wisecracking Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo. Four co-defendants include a retired Chicago police officer, Anthony Doyle. All have pleaded not guilty.
Another defendant, alleged extortionist Frank "The German" Schweihs, has been tentatively dropped from the trial for health reasons.
Accardo, the notorious mob boss whose home was hit by the burglars, died in 1992 at age 86. He boasted that he never spent a night in jail.
The case has already made the kind of headlines that might seem the stuff of novels and movies. A federal marshal assigned to guard a star witness was charged with leaking information about his whereabouts to organized crime. The marshal has pleaded not guilty. That witness -- Nicholas Calabrese, brother of Frank Calabrese Sr. -- knows four decades of mob history from the inside and really does have a link to the movies. He is expected to testify against his brother.
Nicholas Calabrese pleaded guilty to several counts in May and admitted that he took part in 14 mob murders including that of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, known as the Chicago Outfit's man in Las Vegas. Spilotro, who inspired the character played by Joe Pesci in the movie "Casino (Widescreen 10th Anniversary Edition)
," and his brother were beaten to death and buried in an Indiana cornfield in 1986.
Lombardo, 78, and Schweihs disappeared after the indictment was unsealed in 2005, setting off an intense FBI manhunt.
Crime buffs speculated that Lombardo was hiding out in the hills of Sicily or enjoying a life of ease in the Caribbean. In fact, after nine months on the run, FBI agents nabbed him in a suburban alley one frosty night in January 2006. Schweihs was captured deep in the Kentucky hill country in December 2005.
The Clown lived up to his nickname later when he appeared before U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel, who inquired about the aging man's health and asked why he hadn't seen a doctor lately.
"I was supposed to see him nine months ago, but I was -- what do they call it? -- I was unavailable," Lombardo rasped.
In the 1980s, Lombardo was convicted in the same federal courthouse, along with then-International Brotherhood of Teamsters President Roy Lee Williams, of attempting to bribe Sen. Howard Cannon of Nevada.
When Lombardo got out of prison he took out a newspaper ad denying that he was a "made guy" in the mob and disavowing any role in future organized crime activities. Lombardo defense attorney Rick Halprin scoffs at prosecutors' claims his client is a powerful organized crime leader. "Those things just aren't true," he said.
Experts say the Chicago crime syndicate is so deeply entrenched that it won't be decapitated even if the government gets a clean sweep of convictions.
Gus Russo, who describes the Chicago mob in his book "The Outfit," noted that the federal Racketeer Influenced Corrupt Organizations Act has helped crime-busting prosecutors make progress against the mob. "But, regretfully, greed is such a part of our culture that you're always going to have a criminal element and it will organize," Russo said. "This will hurt the mob but it won't end it."
The trial is expected to take four months. Among the security precautions, jurors' names are being kept secret and prosecutors say they have nine potential witnesses whose names have been kept secret out of concern for their safety.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
It seemed like a good idea at the time. A gang of burglars decided in December 1977 to break into the home of Tony Accardo, one of the most powerful men in organized crime history, and rob his basement vault. Accardo was not amused.
Six men Accardo blamed for the heist were swiftly hunted down and murdered, according to papers filed by federal prosecutors in preparation for Chicago's biggest mob trial in years, scheduled to begin Tuesday. And that's only one of the grisly tales jurors are likely to hear at the trial stemming from the FBI's "Operation Family Secrets" investigation of 18 long-unsolved mob murders allegedly tied the Outfit, Chicago's organized crime family.
"This unprecedented indictment puts a hit on the mob," U.S. Attorney Patrick J. Fitzgerald said in announcing the charges in April 2005. "It is remarkable for both the breadth of the murders charged and for naming the entire Chicago Outfit as a criminal enterprise under the anti-racketeering law."
Reputed top mob bosses head the list of defendants -- James Marcello, Frank Calabrese Sr. and wisecracking Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo. Four co-defendants include a retired Chicago police officer, Anthony Doyle. All have pleaded not guilty.
Another defendant, alleged extortionist Frank "The German" Schweihs, has been tentatively dropped from the trial for health reasons.
Accardo, the notorious mob boss whose home was hit by the burglars, died in 1992 at age 86. He boasted that he never spent a night in jail.
The case has already made the kind of headlines that might seem the stuff of novels and movies. A federal marshal assigned to guard a star witness was charged with leaking information about his whereabouts to organized crime. The marshal has pleaded not guilty. That witness -- Nicholas Calabrese, brother of Frank Calabrese Sr. -- knows four decades of mob history from the inside and really does have a link to the movies. He is expected to testify against his brother.
Nicholas Calabrese pleaded guilty to several counts in May and admitted that he took part in 14 mob murders including that of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, known as the Chicago Outfit's man in Las Vegas. Spilotro, who inspired the character played by Joe Pesci in the movie "Casino (Widescreen 10th Anniversary Edition)
," and his brother were beaten to death and buried in an Indiana cornfield in 1986.Lombardo, 78, and Schweihs disappeared after the indictment was unsealed in 2005, setting off an intense FBI manhunt.
Crime buffs speculated that Lombardo was hiding out in the hills of Sicily or enjoying a life of ease in the Caribbean. In fact, after nine months on the run, FBI agents nabbed him in a suburban alley one frosty night in January 2006. Schweihs was captured deep in the Kentucky hill country in December 2005.
The Clown lived up to his nickname later when he appeared before U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel, who inquired about the aging man's health and asked why he hadn't seen a doctor lately.
"I was supposed to see him nine months ago, but I was -- what do they call it? -- I was unavailable," Lombardo rasped.
In the 1980s, Lombardo was convicted in the same federal courthouse, along with then-International Brotherhood of Teamsters President Roy Lee Williams, of attempting to bribe Sen. Howard Cannon of Nevada.
When Lombardo got out of prison he took out a newspaper ad denying that he was a "made guy" in the mob and disavowing any role in future organized crime activities. Lombardo defense attorney Rick Halprin scoffs at prosecutors' claims his client is a powerful organized crime leader. "Those things just aren't true," he said.
Experts say the Chicago crime syndicate is so deeply entrenched that it won't be decapitated even if the government gets a clean sweep of convictions.
Gus Russo, who describes the Chicago mob in his book "The Outfit," noted that the federal Racketeer Influenced Corrupt Organizations Act has helped crime-busting prosecutors make progress against the mob. "But, regretfully, greed is such a part of our culture that you're always going to have a criminal element and it will organize," Russo said. "This will hurt the mob but it won't end it."
The trial is expected to take four months. Among the security precautions, jurors' names are being kept secret and prosecutors say they have nine potential witnesses whose names have been kept secret out of concern for their safety.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Monday, June 11, 2007
The Ruthless Rise of Mobster Joey "The Clown" Lombardo
To neighbors, Joseph Lombardo was a beloved family man and respected boys baseball coach in his West Side neighborhood -- "more liked than the priest" in the community, according to one friend.
To the feds, Lombardo is the man who had a factory owner slain in front of the man's wife and 4-year-old son.
To investigators, he's the man who knows no loyalty, signing off on the murders of three close friends.
When he appears in federal court these days, for updates on the trial starting June 19 that could put him in prison until his dying days, he's the wisecracking senior citizen. At 78, he's the oldest of a mostly geriatric bunch of mobsters in what likely will be the last great Outfit trial in Chicago history -- the Family Secrets case.
He's "the Clown," known for his quick wit. When the cops stopped him once in the 1980s, after he fled a gambling raid, he had $12,000 in cash on him and a book filled with jokes. But the wisecracks, investigators say, only mask the brutality of one of the last of the old-time Chicago mobsters.
Interviews with people who have known and investigated Lombardo, as well as a review of thousands of pages of court records and law enforcement documents, reveal the story of the ruthless rise of Lombardo in the Chicago Outfit.
"He was vicious and a killer," said retired FBI Agent Jack O'Rourke. "He was their prime enforcer."
Lombardo has denied hurting anyone. Now behind bars at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Chicago, he declined an interview request.
In court in 1983, Lombardo said: "I never ordered a killing, I never OKd a killing, and I never killed a man in my life."
His attorney, Rick Halprin, says his client has never been a mob leader. But investigators say Lombardo was a top mobster for years, thanks to his criminal versatility.
He allegedly went from busting heads and two-bit burglaries to orchestrating a bribe attempt of U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon. He was convicted in that case in the 1980s, as well as another one for skimming millions from Las Vegas casinos for the mob. He allegedly controlled millions of dollars in Teamster pension funds through his friend, insurance magnate Allen Dorfman, and was responsible for getting the skim from Las Vegas casinos to Chicago mob bosses.
As a child, Lombardo never knew such wealth, growing up poor in Depression-era Chicago, one of 11 children, the son of a printer. A graduate of Wells High School, he worked as a paperboy, plucked chickens, shined shoes, loaded boxcars at Union Station for 69 cents an hour and handled room service at the Blackstone Hotel.
He was also quite the athlete, playing on wrestling, basketball, fencing and swimming teams and even taking square-dancing lessons. He found a passion for golf and caddied for top Chicago gangster Jackie Cerone. He was also quite the gin rummy cardshark. But he didn't have to rely on cards for cash. His criminal work was apparently quite profitable, authorities said. In recent years, while Lombardo pleads poverty, his family trust benefitting his ex-wife, son and daughter has sold real estate for millions. Authorities believe the trust was set up to keep the feds from seizing assets.
Lombardo's success was punctuated by violence. He has been a suspect in numerous murders but never convicted. What's more, authorities say, he had control over the most allegedly vicious hit man around, Frank "The German" Schweihs. Schweihs is charged in the Family Secrets case with Lombardo. Schweihs would talk about doing an Outfit killing like he was taking out the garbage, court records show.
Even before Lombardo was a somebody in the Chicago Outfit, he was "the Clown."
It was 1964, and Lombardo was on trial in Chicago with other alleged loan sharks for beating a man who owed the mob money. The case was making headlines, and so was Lombardo. When police took his mug shot, he opened his mouth into a cavernous yawn to stop the cops from getting a good photo of him.
Even then, Lombardo -- then going by a variation of his birth name, Joseph Lombardi -- was referred to in the press as the Clown.
The other notable twist: Lombardo was innocent of the charge. But he was part of a clever plot to scotch the case, authorities said. When police rounded up the loan sharks, they arrested the wrong Joseph Lombardi. At the time, two Chicago gangsters had that name and looked similar. Defense attorneys for the men realized the error but kept silent to spring a trap on prosecutors, authorities said. It worked. When the victim took the stand, he could identify all the defendants as his attackers, all except the Clown.
"Talk about having your jaw drop and your case collapse," said attorney Louis B. Garippo, who prosecuted the case. Lombardo walked out a free man. His fellow mobsters walked too, after a jury acquitted them.
Lombardo's antics would be only his first of many public displays.
After he was arrested in 1980 for leading police on a chase, he left the courthouse one day, past the press corps, hidden behind a newspaper with a peephole cut out for his eyes. He was tripped up, though, as he went through the revolving door.
When Lombardo got out of prison in 1992, the FBI in Chicago began getting strange phone calls from a man identifying himself as Long John Silver. The caller would let agents know when he was going to call through newspaper ads.
The caller provided good info about the Outfit's hierarchy but was anxious to steer agents away from one person -- Lombardo's son, Joseph Jr., whom agents were investigating but never charged. Agents traced the calls as coming from pay phones near Lombardo's home, sources said.
The phone calls never amounted to much, and the agents never proved they were coming from Lombardo. But there was a tantalizing clue. Flip the initials for Long John: you get J and L. Short for Joseph Lombardo? Lombardo could pull that stunt, agents figured.
To get into the Chicago Outfit as a made member -- to have the full rights of membership -- a candidate must murder for the mob. Lombardo's qualifying kill was allegedly the 1965 hit of mob associate and hotel owner Manny Skar, according to court records. Lombardo allegedly shadowed Skar for two days before Skar was killed as he exited his car to enter his apartment on Lake Shore Drive.
Throughout the 1970s and 1980s Lombardo was on the move, wearing multiple hats for the Outfit and allegedly signing off on the murders of three close friends.
The first was in 1974 -- the slaying of businessman Daniel Seifert. Seifert ran a fiberglass business in the suburbs and was an unwitting front for Lombardo. Lombardo and Seifert were so close that Lombardo baby-sat Seifert's kids. But when the feds came calling and Seifert decided to cooperate, Lombardo decided his friend had to go, authorities charge. On Sept. 27, 1974, Seifert was gunned down outside his Bensenville factory as his wife and 4-year-old son watched. With Seifert dead, the charges against Lombardo evaporated. Lombardo is charged in connection with Seifert's murder in the Family Secrets case along with racketeering.
The next to go was insurance magnate Allen Dorfman, who went on Hawaii golf vacations with Lombardo. Lombardo was close to Dorfman, a clout-heavy insurance broker. Lombardo and Dorfman allegedly schemed to control the Teamsters' pension funds, which loaned millions to build Vegas casinos. Lombardo would allegedly muscle people for Dorfman.
In one conversation, secretly tape-recorded by the feds, Lombardo spoke to mob lawyer and casino investor Morris Schenker, who wasn't coming up with the money Dorfman believed Schenker owed the Outfit.
"Now, it's getting to the point now where you either s - - - or get off the pot," Lombardo said to Schenker, who was 72 at the time of the 1979 conversation. "If they come back and tell me to give you a message and if you want to defy it, I assure you that you will never reach 73," Lombardo said.
Schenker died of natural causes. Dorfman did not, getting gunned down in 1983 in Lincolnwood after Outfit leaders worried he'd turn stool pigeon.
Three years later, another Lombardo friend, mob killer Anthony Spilotro, was beaten to death along with his brother, Michael Spilotro. Lombardo allegedly oversaw Spilotro, who was the Outfit's man in Las Vegas. The Spilotros and Lombardo were close. Their families came over on the same boat from Italy.
In the end, though, Anthony Spilotro had to die, Outfit leaders decided. He was causing too much heat in Vegas, including taking out a contract on an FBI agent.
The Spilotro brothers were lured to a Bensenville area home on the ruse they were getting promotions. Instead, when they went down to the basement, several mobsters surrounded them and beat them to death. They were buried in an Indiana cornfield.
In recent years, Lombardo has kept a low profile. He has been seen hanging out more at the Italian restaurant La Scarola than with other mobsters.
His defense -- unique but possibly workable -- is that he has moved away from the mob life.
In short, he's retired.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
To the feds, Lombardo is the man who had a factory owner slain in front of the man's wife and 4-year-old son.
To investigators, he's the man who knows no loyalty, signing off on the murders of three close friends.
When he appears in federal court these days, for updates on the trial starting June 19 that could put him in prison until his dying days, he's the wisecracking senior citizen. At 78, he's the oldest of a mostly geriatric bunch of mobsters in what likely will be the last great Outfit trial in Chicago history -- the Family Secrets case.
He's "the Clown," known for his quick wit. When the cops stopped him once in the 1980s, after he fled a gambling raid, he had $12,000 in cash on him and a book filled with jokes. But the wisecracks, investigators say, only mask the brutality of one of the last of the old-time Chicago mobsters.
Interviews with people who have known and investigated Lombardo, as well as a review of thousands of pages of court records and law enforcement documents, reveal the story of the ruthless rise of Lombardo in the Chicago Outfit.
"He was vicious and a killer," said retired FBI Agent Jack O'Rourke. "He was their prime enforcer."
Lombardo has denied hurting anyone. Now behind bars at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Chicago, he declined an interview request.
In court in 1983, Lombardo said: "I never ordered a killing, I never OKd a killing, and I never killed a man in my life."
His attorney, Rick Halprin, says his client has never been a mob leader. But investigators say Lombardo was a top mobster for years, thanks to his criminal versatility.
He allegedly went from busting heads and two-bit burglaries to orchestrating a bribe attempt of U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon. He was convicted in that case in the 1980s, as well as another one for skimming millions from Las Vegas casinos for the mob. He allegedly controlled millions of dollars in Teamster pension funds through his friend, insurance magnate Allen Dorfman, and was responsible for getting the skim from Las Vegas casinos to Chicago mob bosses.
As a child, Lombardo never knew such wealth, growing up poor in Depression-era Chicago, one of 11 children, the son of a printer. A graduate of Wells High School, he worked as a paperboy, plucked chickens, shined shoes, loaded boxcars at Union Station for 69 cents an hour and handled room service at the Blackstone Hotel.
He was also quite the athlete, playing on wrestling, basketball, fencing and swimming teams and even taking square-dancing lessons. He found a passion for golf and caddied for top Chicago gangster Jackie Cerone. He was also quite the gin rummy cardshark. But he didn't have to rely on cards for cash. His criminal work was apparently quite profitable, authorities said. In recent years, while Lombardo pleads poverty, his family trust benefitting his ex-wife, son and daughter has sold real estate for millions. Authorities believe the trust was set up to keep the feds from seizing assets.
Lombardo's success was punctuated by violence. He has been a suspect in numerous murders but never convicted. What's more, authorities say, he had control over the most allegedly vicious hit man around, Frank "The German" Schweihs. Schweihs is charged in the Family Secrets case with Lombardo. Schweihs would talk about doing an Outfit killing like he was taking out the garbage, court records show.
Even before Lombardo was a somebody in the Chicago Outfit, he was "the Clown."
It was 1964, and Lombardo was on trial in Chicago with other alleged loan sharks for beating a man who owed the mob money. The case was making headlines, and so was Lombardo. When police took his mug shot, he opened his mouth into a cavernous yawn to stop the cops from getting a good photo of him.
Even then, Lombardo -- then going by a variation of his birth name, Joseph Lombardi -- was referred to in the press as the Clown.
The other notable twist: Lombardo was innocent of the charge. But he was part of a clever plot to scotch the case, authorities said. When police rounded up the loan sharks, they arrested the wrong Joseph Lombardi. At the time, two Chicago gangsters had that name and looked similar. Defense attorneys for the men realized the error but kept silent to spring a trap on prosecutors, authorities said. It worked. When the victim took the stand, he could identify all the defendants as his attackers, all except the Clown.
"Talk about having your jaw drop and your case collapse," said attorney Louis B. Garippo, who prosecuted the case. Lombardo walked out a free man. His fellow mobsters walked too, after a jury acquitted them.
Lombardo's antics would be only his first of many public displays.
After he was arrested in 1980 for leading police on a chase, he left the courthouse one day, past the press corps, hidden behind a newspaper with a peephole cut out for his eyes. He was tripped up, though, as he went through the revolving door.
When Lombardo got out of prison in 1992, the FBI in Chicago began getting strange phone calls from a man identifying himself as Long John Silver. The caller would let agents know when he was going to call through newspaper ads.
The caller provided good info about the Outfit's hierarchy but was anxious to steer agents away from one person -- Lombardo's son, Joseph Jr., whom agents were investigating but never charged. Agents traced the calls as coming from pay phones near Lombardo's home, sources said.
The phone calls never amounted to much, and the agents never proved they were coming from Lombardo. But there was a tantalizing clue. Flip the initials for Long John: you get J and L. Short for Joseph Lombardo? Lombardo could pull that stunt, agents figured.
To get into the Chicago Outfit as a made member -- to have the full rights of membership -- a candidate must murder for the mob. Lombardo's qualifying kill was allegedly the 1965 hit of mob associate and hotel owner Manny Skar, according to court records. Lombardo allegedly shadowed Skar for two days before Skar was killed as he exited his car to enter his apartment on Lake Shore Drive.
Throughout the 1970s and 1980s Lombardo was on the move, wearing multiple hats for the Outfit and allegedly signing off on the murders of three close friends.
The first was in 1974 -- the slaying of businessman Daniel Seifert. Seifert ran a fiberglass business in the suburbs and was an unwitting front for Lombardo. Lombardo and Seifert were so close that Lombardo baby-sat Seifert's kids. But when the feds came calling and Seifert decided to cooperate, Lombardo decided his friend had to go, authorities charge. On Sept. 27, 1974, Seifert was gunned down outside his Bensenville factory as his wife and 4-year-old son watched. With Seifert dead, the charges against Lombardo evaporated. Lombardo is charged in connection with Seifert's murder in the Family Secrets case along with racketeering.
The next to go was insurance magnate Allen Dorfman, who went on Hawaii golf vacations with Lombardo. Lombardo was close to Dorfman, a clout-heavy insurance broker. Lombardo and Dorfman allegedly schemed to control the Teamsters' pension funds, which loaned millions to build Vegas casinos. Lombardo would allegedly muscle people for Dorfman.
In one conversation, secretly tape-recorded by the feds, Lombardo spoke to mob lawyer and casino investor Morris Schenker, who wasn't coming up with the money Dorfman believed Schenker owed the Outfit.
"Now, it's getting to the point now where you either s - - - or get off the pot," Lombardo said to Schenker, who was 72 at the time of the 1979 conversation. "If they come back and tell me to give you a message and if you want to defy it, I assure you that you will never reach 73," Lombardo said.
Schenker died of natural causes. Dorfman did not, getting gunned down in 1983 in Lincolnwood after Outfit leaders worried he'd turn stool pigeon.
Three years later, another Lombardo friend, mob killer Anthony Spilotro, was beaten to death along with his brother, Michael Spilotro. Lombardo allegedly oversaw Spilotro, who was the Outfit's man in Las Vegas. The Spilotros and Lombardo were close. Their families came over on the same boat from Italy.
In the end, though, Anthony Spilotro had to die, Outfit leaders decided. He was causing too much heat in Vegas, including taking out a contract on an FBI agent.
The Spilotro brothers were lured to a Bensenville area home on the ruse they were getting promotions. Instead, when they went down to the basement, several mobsters surrounded them and beat them to death. They were buried in an Indiana cornfield.
In recent years, Lombardo has kept a low profile. He has been seen hanging out more at the Italian restaurant La Scarola than with other mobsters.
His defense -- unique but possibly workable -- is that he has moved away from the mob life.
In short, he's retired.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Did Chicago and New York Mobsters Make a Move into Wisconsin?
Friends of ours: Meyer Lansky
Friends of mine: Morgan Murphy
Wisconsin State gaming officials raised serious questions over whether to grant Kenosha businessman Dennis Troha a gaming license so he could develop a proposed Indian casino at the old Dairyland dog-racing track in that city, according to documents released Friday.
The more than 1,000 pages of documents, which were part of a background investigation of Troha's now-defunct Kenesah Gaming Development LLC, show that state officials were aware of Troha's alleged links to organized crime and his past efforts to sway top state politicians into approving an earlier casino plan at the same dog track site. But a 46-page summary report on the documents stopped short of determining the accuracy of those allegations or recommending whether Troha should be granted the license.
Instead, as Gaming Administrator Robert Sloey noted in a cover letter releasing the report, Troha withdrew his request for the gaming license before the state could prepare a final report.
"Consequently, the report does not represent (any) conclusions drawn by the (Gaming) Division," Sloey wrote.
In a statement, Troha spokesman Jeff Fleming called the report "a compilation of every unsubstantiated innuendo and rumor. The contents of the report have not been verified or subjected to the routine review that the state would ordinarily conduct before making formal findings.
"Because of the circumstances, it is neither fair nor practical for Mr. Troha to respond to specific statements in the report," Fleming said.
Troha was indicted in March on federal fraud charges for allegedly funneling more than $200,000 in illegal campaign contributions to Gov. Jim Doyle through several family members. Federal prosecutors allege that he gave the money in an attempt to win Doyle's approval of the $800 million casino project. Troha has denied any wrongdoing.
The records show that Troha invested at least $13 million of his own money into the project, which was also being funded by the Menominee tribe of Wisconsin and the Mohegan tribe of Connecticut. The two tribes bought out Troha's share of the project shortly before he was indicted.
Evan Zeppos, a spokesman for the Menominee, said he believes the report will not affect federal or state action on the project, but it could be used by casino opponents to try to build political opposition.
While the report did not recommend whether to grant Troha and his Kenesah firm a gaming license, Division of Gaming investigator Patrick O'Hern questioned Troha's role in the project based on the following "issues":
* Troha's role in an earlier effort by Nii-Jii Entertainment Inc. in the 1990s to develop an Indian casino at the site.
Troha was a partner in the project, which was headed by former U.S. Rep. Morgan Murphy of Illinois and businessman Joseph Madrigano. Murphy later came under federal investigation and had to abandon the project because of his partners' alleged ties to the Chicago mob.
In an interview with state investigators, Troha described himself as an "insignificant participant" who "gave Morgan Murphy the benefit of the doubt" because Murphy "seemed to be a nice guy ... (who) didn't seem to be anybody that would be involved in anything improper."
O'Hern said that other records, including testimony in a civil trial by other casino investors against Murphy, indicated Troha's role was much more significant, but did not reach any conclusions as to how significant that role was.
* Troha's "history of having business partners with ties to organized crime."
In the late 1980s, Troha was a partner in another firm seeking to manage the Dairyland dog track. Other investors in that firm were alleged to have been close associates of New York mobster Meyer Lansky. The report also recounted Murphy's alleged ties to the Chicago mob.
* Troha's reputed involvement "in using improper methods to influence public officials in order to obtain approvals needed to operate a gaming enterprise."
In the first such case, Troha and other business partners allegedly retained veteran lobbyist M. William Gerrard in the 1980s in order to get then-Gov. Tommy Thompson's to approve their management of the Dairyland dog track.
Troha, according to the report, allegedly asked Gerrard to see whether Troha could hire a Racing Board member to act as an attorney for Troha's trucking company. Troha also met with Thompson's top aides, including then Administration Secretary Jim Klauser and Thompson aide Nick Hurtgen, before the Racing Board acted on Troha's request. The Racing Board ultimately rejected that proposal.
In the second case, the Nii-Jii project was shut down after it was reported that several of Thompson's closest confidants would have received shares of stock in the project worth more than $46 million. "Given Mr. Troha's significant level of activity in Nii-Jii matters, he could have known of this deal long before it hit the papers," the report stated.
The company also allegedly gave "gifts" of shares in Nii-Jii to Hurtgen's wife and other top officials in a manner "singularly characteristic of influence peddling."
* Troha's record of "bad business practices on several occasions." These endeavors included the failed Nii-Jii project in which other Kenosha investors lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. The investors ultimately filed a class-action lawsuit against Murphy and other project leaders.
The report found that Troha also had disputes with the Teamsters union over his Kenosha-based trucking company over union representation of his drivers. The Teamsters claimed that Troha sought to circumvent union contracts "by transferring work to non-Teamster companies in a kind of shell game.'" And the report also stated that Troha's "right-hand man in the company's Kentucky location" was alleged to have told a subordinate to commit perjury in a wrongful death lawsuit brought by one of the company's employees.
* A "lack of due diligence" by Troha in some of his business dealings. Those failings include claims that Troha failed to learn about efforts by other partners in the 1980s dog track racing venture to bribe a member of the Wisconsin Racing Board.
* A failure to disclose previous law-enforcement contacts relating to the Dairyland dog racing application and the Nii-Jii venture on his application for the Kenesah license.
Thanks to David Callender
Friends of mine: Morgan Murphy
Wisconsin State gaming officials raised serious questions over whether to grant Kenosha businessman Dennis Troha a gaming license so he could develop a proposed Indian casino at the old Dairyland dog-racing track in that city, according to documents released Friday.
The more than 1,000 pages of documents, which were part of a background investigation of Troha's now-defunct Kenesah Gaming Development LLC, show that state officials were aware of Troha's alleged links to organized crime and his past efforts to sway top state politicians into approving an earlier casino plan at the same dog track site. But a 46-page summary report on the documents stopped short of determining the accuracy of those allegations or recommending whether Troha should be granted the license.
Instead, as Gaming Administrator Robert Sloey noted in a cover letter releasing the report, Troha withdrew his request for the gaming license before the state could prepare a final report.
"Consequently, the report does not represent (any) conclusions drawn by the (Gaming) Division," Sloey wrote.
In a statement, Troha spokesman Jeff Fleming called the report "a compilation of every unsubstantiated innuendo and rumor. The contents of the report have not been verified or subjected to the routine review that the state would ordinarily conduct before making formal findings.
"Because of the circumstances, it is neither fair nor practical for Mr. Troha to respond to specific statements in the report," Fleming said.
Troha was indicted in March on federal fraud charges for allegedly funneling more than $200,000 in illegal campaign contributions to Gov. Jim Doyle through several family members. Federal prosecutors allege that he gave the money in an attempt to win Doyle's approval of the $800 million casino project. Troha has denied any wrongdoing.
The records show that Troha invested at least $13 million of his own money into the project, which was also being funded by the Menominee tribe of Wisconsin and the Mohegan tribe of Connecticut. The two tribes bought out Troha's share of the project shortly before he was indicted.
Evan Zeppos, a spokesman for the Menominee, said he believes the report will not affect federal or state action on the project, but it could be used by casino opponents to try to build political opposition.
While the report did not recommend whether to grant Troha and his Kenesah firm a gaming license, Division of Gaming investigator Patrick O'Hern questioned Troha's role in the project based on the following "issues":
* Troha's role in an earlier effort by Nii-Jii Entertainment Inc. in the 1990s to develop an Indian casino at the site.
Troha was a partner in the project, which was headed by former U.S. Rep. Morgan Murphy of Illinois and businessman Joseph Madrigano. Murphy later came under federal investigation and had to abandon the project because of his partners' alleged ties to the Chicago mob.
In an interview with state investigators, Troha described himself as an "insignificant participant" who "gave Morgan Murphy the benefit of the doubt" because Murphy "seemed to be a nice guy ... (who) didn't seem to be anybody that would be involved in anything improper."
O'Hern said that other records, including testimony in a civil trial by other casino investors against Murphy, indicated Troha's role was much more significant, but did not reach any conclusions as to how significant that role was.
* Troha's "history of having business partners with ties to organized crime."
In the late 1980s, Troha was a partner in another firm seeking to manage the Dairyland dog track. Other investors in that firm were alleged to have been close associates of New York mobster Meyer Lansky. The report also recounted Murphy's alleged ties to the Chicago mob.
* Troha's reputed involvement "in using improper methods to influence public officials in order to obtain approvals needed to operate a gaming enterprise."
In the first such case, Troha and other business partners allegedly retained veteran lobbyist M. William Gerrard in the 1980s in order to get then-Gov. Tommy Thompson's to approve their management of the Dairyland dog track.
Troha, according to the report, allegedly asked Gerrard to see whether Troha could hire a Racing Board member to act as an attorney for Troha's trucking company. Troha also met with Thompson's top aides, including then Administration Secretary Jim Klauser and Thompson aide Nick Hurtgen, before the Racing Board acted on Troha's request. The Racing Board ultimately rejected that proposal.
In the second case, the Nii-Jii project was shut down after it was reported that several of Thompson's closest confidants would have received shares of stock in the project worth more than $46 million. "Given Mr. Troha's significant level of activity in Nii-Jii matters, he could have known of this deal long before it hit the papers," the report stated.
The company also allegedly gave "gifts" of shares in Nii-Jii to Hurtgen's wife and other top officials in a manner "singularly characteristic of influence peddling."
* Troha's record of "bad business practices on several occasions." These endeavors included the failed Nii-Jii project in which other Kenosha investors lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. The investors ultimately filed a class-action lawsuit against Murphy and other project leaders.
The report found that Troha also had disputes with the Teamsters union over his Kenosha-based trucking company over union representation of his drivers. The Teamsters claimed that Troha sought to circumvent union contracts "by transferring work to non-Teamster companies in a kind of shell game.'" And the report also stated that Troha's "right-hand man in the company's Kentucky location" was alleged to have told a subordinate to commit perjury in a wrongful death lawsuit brought by one of the company's employees.
* A "lack of due diligence" by Troha in some of his business dealings. Those failings include claims that Troha failed to learn about efforts by other partners in the 1980s dog track racing venture to bribe a member of the Wisconsin Racing Board.
* A failure to disclose previous law-enforcement contacts relating to the Dairyland dog racing application and the Nii-Jii venture on his application for the Kenesah license.
Thanks to David Callender
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Chicago Mafia Figures on Trial For Spilotro Murders
Friends of ours: Anthony "Tony the Ant" Spilotro, Joey "The Clown" Lombardo, Al Capone, Frank Cullotta
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro
Federal prosecutors are ready to drive what may be the final nail into the coffin of the country's most powerful Mafia family. It's the most significant prosecution of the Chicago outfit in history.
Fourteen suspected Mafia leaders are charged with numerous crimes, including the murders of suspected mobsters who controlled street rackets in Las Vegas.
This week marks what would have been Anthony "Tony the Ant" Spilotro's 69th birthday. He was a feared man in the '70s and '80s, but was murdered in 1986 along with his brother Michael. Murders that were made famous by the movie "Casino." The case was never solved but now federal prosecutors are going after some of the men they believe were involved, men whose criminal enterprises are inextricably linked to Las Vegas.
On the wall of defense attorney Rick Halprin's Chicago office is a newspaper cartoon, which pokes fun at how Joey "The Clown" Lombardo got his nickname. While in federal court one day, and to avoid being photographed, Lombardo made a mask out of a newspaper. People thought it was clownish.
In the big-shouldered city of Chicago, where organized crime has been a fact of life since before Al Capone, everyone knows Lombardo's name. For more than 30 years, the word "reputed" has been attached to it.
Rick Halprin, Lombardo's defense attorney, said, "Without question, when you walk down the street, if you ask a citizen about the case, the mob case, the only name they know is Joey Lombardo." Defense attorney Rick Halprin knows that overcoming Lombardo's longstanding reputation, as a top boss of Chicago's outfit will be his major challenge in the upcoming trial based on the FBI's "Operation Family Secrets."
Lombardo is one of fourteen Windy City Mafia figures charged with a vast assortment of serious crimes, including eighteen unsolved murders. More than 1,000 murders have been attributed to the Chicago outfit over the years. Fewer than twenty have been solved. This massive indictment represents the most serious assault on the mob since Capone was put away.
Rick Halprin continued, "The interest is intense, and the pressure -- it's very, very big 'cause you're talking about Chicago. You're talking about an indictment that goes back 63 years."
A document known as a Santiago Proffer outlines the government's case. It reads like a Mario Puzo novel. Much of the information is so sensitive, involving protected witnesses, which the government blacked it out. What's clear from the case is the symbiotic relationship between mob bosses in Chicago and their emissaries in Las Vegas.
Loans from the Mafia-controlled Teamsters pension fund built much of Las Vegas. The loans came with strings attached. The mob not only used Nevada casinos to launder money from illicit businesses, they skimmed tens of millions of dollars from the countrooms, money that found its way back to Chicago. In the 1980's, Joey Lombardo was one of several mobsters convicted in a federal skimming case. Those prosecutions spurred many of the murders that only now might be resolved.
John Flood, a former Chicago lawman, said, "Any outfit murder out of Chicago, Lombardo would have been involved in it."
John Flood spent more than 30 years chasing mobsters in Chicago. He says Lombardo once tried to kill him by running him down with a car. He and others believe that Lombardo would have had to okay all of the murders mentioned in the indictment, including those of brothers Tony and Michael Spilotro.
Tony was Chicago's main man in Las Vegas. He protected the skim and allegedly oversaw a criminal operation known as the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang. The murders of the Spilotro brothers were immortalized in the movie "Casino." One man who agrees that Lombardo played a role is Frank Cullotta, a Spilotro soldier who turned government witness and who is likely to be called in the Chicago trial. Cullotta gave the I-Team an exclusive interview earlier this year.
Chief Investigative Reporter George Knapp: "Joey Lombardo?"
Frank Cullotta: "He was Tony's boss and he was my boss."
George Knapp: "You guys reported directly to him."
Frank Cullotta: "Tony did. I reported to Tony, so Joe relayed messages to Tony. Do I think Joe Lombardo was involved in it? I think they would have to go to him for an okay."
Cullotta has written a book about his life with the mob. It's due out in a matter of weeks. Rick Halprin thinks Cullotta is a flawed witness. However, he admits the government has stronger witnesses, including two members of the Calabrese family, made members of the mob who agreed to testify.
They've already given tips that led to the search for buried remains of murder victims. But don't count the Cagey Lombardo out. He's ready to spring a unique strategy called the withdrawal defense. After his release from prison in the '90s, he took out an ad in a Chicago paper announcing his formal withdrawal from the mob. It's not a joke.
Rick Halprin said, "So, ultimately we have to let the jury decide whether: a) Lombardo was involved in a conspiracy at all, which we say he wasn't, and b) if he was, did he withdraw from the conspiracy? And the government would like to prove that he did not."
The trial was scheduled to begin Tuesday, May 15th but has been delayed for another two weeks. The notoriety of the Spilotro murders means those slayings will play a central part in the government's case. But the version we've all seen is not how the murders went down at all.
Thanks to George Knapp
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro
Federal prosecutors are ready to drive what may be the final nail into the coffin of the country's most powerful Mafia family. It's the most significant prosecution of the Chicago outfit in history.
Fourteen suspected Mafia leaders are charged with numerous crimes, including the murders of suspected mobsters who controlled street rackets in Las Vegas.
This week marks what would have been Anthony "Tony the Ant" Spilotro's 69th birthday. He was a feared man in the '70s and '80s, but was murdered in 1986 along with his brother Michael. Murders that were made famous by the movie "Casino." The case was never solved but now federal prosecutors are going after some of the men they believe were involved, men whose criminal enterprises are inextricably linked to Las Vegas.
On the wall of defense attorney Rick Halprin's Chicago office is a newspaper cartoon, which pokes fun at how Joey "The Clown" Lombardo got his nickname. While in federal court one day, and to avoid being photographed, Lombardo made a mask out of a newspaper. People thought it was clownish.
In the big-shouldered city of Chicago, where organized crime has been a fact of life since before Al Capone, everyone knows Lombardo's name. For more than 30 years, the word "reputed" has been attached to it.
Rick Halprin, Lombardo's defense attorney, said, "Without question, when you walk down the street, if you ask a citizen about the case, the mob case, the only name they know is Joey Lombardo." Defense attorney Rick Halprin knows that overcoming Lombardo's longstanding reputation, as a top boss of Chicago's outfit will be his major challenge in the upcoming trial based on the FBI's "Operation Family Secrets."
Lombardo is one of fourteen Windy City Mafia figures charged with a vast assortment of serious crimes, including eighteen unsolved murders. More than 1,000 murders have been attributed to the Chicago outfit over the years. Fewer than twenty have been solved. This massive indictment represents the most serious assault on the mob since Capone was put away.
Rick Halprin continued, "The interest is intense, and the pressure -- it's very, very big 'cause you're talking about Chicago. You're talking about an indictment that goes back 63 years."
A document known as a Santiago Proffer outlines the government's case. It reads like a Mario Puzo novel. Much of the information is so sensitive, involving protected witnesses, which the government blacked it out. What's clear from the case is the symbiotic relationship between mob bosses in Chicago and their emissaries in Las Vegas.
Loans from the Mafia-controlled Teamsters pension fund built much of Las Vegas. The loans came with strings attached. The mob not only used Nevada casinos to launder money from illicit businesses, they skimmed tens of millions of dollars from the countrooms, money that found its way back to Chicago. In the 1980's, Joey Lombardo was one of several mobsters convicted in a federal skimming case. Those prosecutions spurred many of the murders that only now might be resolved.
John Flood, a former Chicago lawman, said, "Any outfit murder out of Chicago, Lombardo would have been involved in it."
John Flood spent more than 30 years chasing mobsters in Chicago. He says Lombardo once tried to kill him by running him down with a car. He and others believe that Lombardo would have had to okay all of the murders mentioned in the indictment, including those of brothers Tony and Michael Spilotro.
Tony was Chicago's main man in Las Vegas. He protected the skim and allegedly oversaw a criminal operation known as the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang. The murders of the Spilotro brothers were immortalized in the movie "Casino." One man who agrees that Lombardo played a role is Frank Cullotta, a Spilotro soldier who turned government witness and who is likely to be called in the Chicago trial. Cullotta gave the I-Team an exclusive interview earlier this year.
Chief Investigative Reporter George Knapp: "Joey Lombardo?"
Frank Cullotta: "He was Tony's boss and he was my boss."
George Knapp: "You guys reported directly to him."
Frank Cullotta: "Tony did. I reported to Tony, so Joe relayed messages to Tony. Do I think Joe Lombardo was involved in it? I think they would have to go to him for an okay."
Cullotta has written a book about his life with the mob. It's due out in a matter of weeks. Rick Halprin thinks Cullotta is a flawed witness. However, he admits the government has stronger witnesses, including two members of the Calabrese family, made members of the mob who agreed to testify.
They've already given tips that led to the search for buried remains of murder victims. But don't count the Cagey Lombardo out. He's ready to spring a unique strategy called the withdrawal defense. After his release from prison in the '90s, he took out an ad in a Chicago paper announcing his formal withdrawal from the mob. It's not a joke.
Rick Halprin said, "So, ultimately we have to let the jury decide whether: a) Lombardo was involved in a conspiracy at all, which we say he wasn't, and b) if he was, did he withdraw from the conspiracy? And the government would like to prove that he did not."
The trial was scheduled to begin Tuesday, May 15th but has been delayed for another two weeks. The notoriety of the Spilotro murders means those slayings will play a central part in the government's case. But the version we've all seen is not how the murders went down at all.
Thanks to George Knapp
Friday, March 30, 2007
Mob Bones Belong to Cousin of Hit Man Harry Aleman
Friends of ours: Harry Aleman
Friends of mine: Robert Charles Cruz
Just days after his cousin, reputed mob hit man Harry Aleman, was sentenced for a murder, Robert Charles Cruz disappeared from his Kildeer home.
For nearly 10 years, authorities suspected Cruz had purposely vanished, but his credit cards and bank accounts never were touched. Last week, construction crews digging new sewers for a townhouse development in unincorporated DuPage County came across the body of a man wrapped in tarpaulin and carpet, buried 8 1/2 feet down. On Wednesday, the DuPage County coroner's office publicly identified that the man as Robert Charles Cruz, 50. He had been reported missing on Dec. 4, 1997.
Cruz's body was found just 50 yards from where two other organized crime-connected bodies were found in 1988. An informant had told the FBI there was a mob burial ground in DuPage County near the home of former mob syndicate member Joseph Jerome Scalise.
At the time, an FBI task force descended on the area near Bluff Road and Illinois Highway 83 for five months and found the remains of Robert Anthony Hatridge, a minor associate of Gerald Scarpelli, a crime syndicate killer-turned-informant; and Mark Oliver, another minor organized crime figure.
Now, the FBI and DuPage County authorities are investigating Cruz's murder. Law enforcement sources said it appeared Cruz had been shot.
Cruz's body was identified through fingerprints and through tattoos on his arm, said Tom Simon, special agent and spokesman for the FBI. Family members have been notified, he said.
In addition to his familial relationship to Aleman, who remains in prison, Cruz had his own brushes with trouble. He spent 14 years on Death Row in Arizona before his conviction for hiring three men to kill a Phoenix businessman and his mother-in-law on New Year's Eve in 1980 was overturned and a new trial ordered. .
Prosecutors at the time said Cruz hired the men, including two from Chicago, to murder Patrick Redmond because the man refused to sell an interest in his Phoenix printing shop to Cruz, who wanted to use it to launder money from Las Vegas connections. Redmond's 70-year-old mother-in-law was visiting and died after her throat was cut.
Cruz was tried four more times. He was acquitted in 1995 after the jury decided the state's primary witness, a participant in the killings, was unreliable.
Cruz later moved to Kildeer and was a fixture at Harry Aleman's 1997 trial for the murder of a Teamsters' union official. Cruz sat every day in the courtroom where the attorney in his Arizona appeal, Kevin McNally, defended Aleman.
Cruz had been instrumental in Aleman's decision to change attorneys and hire McNally just before the trial. Days after Aleman was sentenced to 100 to 300 years in prison, Cruz disappeared. He had last been seen hanging Christmas lights from the gutters of his home.
Thanks to Angela Rozas and Maurice Possley
Friends of mine: Robert Charles Cruz
Just days after his cousin, reputed mob hit man Harry Aleman, was sentenced for a murder, Robert Charles Cruz disappeared from his Kildeer home.
For nearly 10 years, authorities suspected Cruz had purposely vanished, but his credit cards and bank accounts never were touched. Last week, construction crews digging new sewers for a townhouse development in unincorporated DuPage County came across the body of a man wrapped in tarpaulin and carpet, buried 8 1/2 feet down. On Wednesday, the DuPage County coroner's office publicly identified that the man as Robert Charles Cruz, 50. He had been reported missing on Dec. 4, 1997.
Cruz's body was found just 50 yards from where two other organized crime-connected bodies were found in 1988. An informant had told the FBI there was a mob burial ground in DuPage County near the home of former mob syndicate member Joseph Jerome Scalise.
At the time, an FBI task force descended on the area near Bluff Road and Illinois Highway 83 for five months and found the remains of Robert Anthony Hatridge, a minor associate of Gerald Scarpelli, a crime syndicate killer-turned-informant; and Mark Oliver, another minor organized crime figure.
Now, the FBI and DuPage County authorities are investigating Cruz's murder. Law enforcement sources said it appeared Cruz had been shot.
Cruz's body was identified through fingerprints and through tattoos on his arm, said Tom Simon, special agent and spokesman for the FBI. Family members have been notified, he said.
In addition to his familial relationship to Aleman, who remains in prison, Cruz had his own brushes with trouble. He spent 14 years on Death Row in Arizona before his conviction for hiring three men to kill a Phoenix businessman and his mother-in-law on New Year's Eve in 1980 was overturned and a new trial ordered. .
Prosecutors at the time said Cruz hired the men, including two from Chicago, to murder Patrick Redmond because the man refused to sell an interest in his Phoenix printing shop to Cruz, who wanted to use it to launder money from Las Vegas connections. Redmond's 70-year-old mother-in-law was visiting and died after her throat was cut.
Cruz was tried four more times. He was acquitted in 1995 after the jury decided the state's primary witness, a participant in the killings, was unreliable.
Cruz later moved to Kildeer and was a fixture at Harry Aleman's 1997 trial for the murder of a Teamsters' union official. Cruz sat every day in the courtroom where the attorney in his Arizona appeal, Kevin McNally, defended Aleman.
Cruz had been instrumental in Aleman's decision to change attorneys and hire McNally just before the trial. Days after Aleman was sentenced to 100 to 300 years in prison, Cruz disappeared. He had last been seen hanging Christmas lights from the gutters of his home.
Thanks to Angela Rozas and Maurice Possley
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Mob Hit Man Harry Aleman's Cousin Found in Mafia Graveyard
Construction workers laying sewer pipe found the skeletal remains of a former death row inmate with mob ties at a suburban Chicago site about 50 yards from where the bodies of two other men connected to organized crime were found in 1988.
The DuPage County coroner's office identified the latest body
, found wrapped in a blue tarp, as Robert Charles Cruz. FBI spokesman Tom Simon said the body was identified through fingerprints and tattoos.
Cruz was 50 when he disappeared from his Kildeer home on Dec. 4, 1997. His cousin, reputed mob hit man Harry Aleman, had just been sentence to 100 to 300 years in prison for the 1972 murder of a Teamsters official. Cruz had been in the courtroom each day of Aleman's 1997 trial.
Cruz had also spent 14 years on death row in Arizona for allegedly hiring three men to kill a Phoenix businessman and his mother-in-law. That conviction was overturned in 1980 and a new trial was ordered. Cruz was tried four more times and acquitted in 1995.
The construction workers found Cruz's remains more than eight feet underground while laying sewer pipes for a new townhouse development.
Federal and county authorities are investigating Cruz's death as a homicide.
The other two bodies found in the area were located after an informant told the FBI there was a mob burial ground in DuPage County near the home of a former mob syndicate member. FBI agents found the remains of Robert Anthony Hatridge and Mark Oliver, both described as associates of organized crime figures.
The DuPage County coroner's office identified the latest body
, found wrapped in a blue tarp, as Robert Charles Cruz. FBI spokesman Tom Simon said the body was identified through fingerprints and tattoos.Cruz was 50 when he disappeared from his Kildeer home on Dec. 4, 1997. His cousin, reputed mob hit man Harry Aleman, had just been sentence to 100 to 300 years in prison for the 1972 murder of a Teamsters official. Cruz had been in the courtroom each day of Aleman's 1997 trial.
Cruz had also spent 14 years on death row in Arizona for allegedly hiring three men to kill a Phoenix businessman and his mother-in-law. That conviction was overturned in 1980 and a new trial was ordered. Cruz was tried four more times and acquitted in 1995.
The construction workers found Cruz's remains more than eight feet underground while laying sewer pipes for a new townhouse development.
Federal and county authorities are investigating Cruz's death as a homicide.
The other two bodies found in the area were located after an informant told the FBI there was a mob burial ground in DuPage County near the home of a former mob syndicate member. FBI agents found the remains of Robert Anthony Hatridge and Mark Oliver, both described as associates of organized crime figures.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Aleman Parole Vote Case Ends in Acquittal for Officials
Friends of ours: Harry Aleman, Joseph Ferriola
A former state parole board member was cleared Monday of charges that he voted to free mob hit man Harry Aleman in exchange for help in getting his son a gig as an entertainer in Las Vegas.
Sangamon County Circuit Judge Patrick Kelley found both Victor Brooks and former ranking prison official Ron Matrisciano not guilty of charges that included official misconduct and wire fraud in the case brought by the office of Atty. Gen. Lisa Madigan.
Kelley delivered a directed verdict for Brooks and Matrisciano, meaning the defendants did not even have to present their side before the judge ruled the attorney general's office had not proven its case, defense attorneys said. "We believe this case should never have been indicted in the first place, and this view has been borne out by the outcome today," said L. Lee Smith, a former federal prosecutor who represented Brooks.
Brooks, 56, formerly of Batavia but now living in Florissant, Mo., was the only member of the Prisoner Review Board who voted in 2002 in favor of parole for Aleman, who remains in prison serving 100 to 300 years for killing a Teamsters official. Matrisciano, 52, formerly a high-ranking prison official, testified on behalf of Aleman and eventually lost his job with the Illinois Department of Corrections as the case unfolded.
The indictment alleged Brooks agreed to vote for Aleman's release in exchange for Matrisciano's help in landing Brooks' son, a singer, a job in Las Vegas. Prison officials have said Matrisciano told them he is a family friend of Aleman's. But the judge ruled there was insufficient evidence of an alleged quid pro quo, Smith said.
"We presented all of the evidence to the court," said Robyn Ziegler, Madigan's spokeswoman. "The court considered that evidence and reached its decision, and we respect that decision."
Matrisciano and Brooks had been friends for more than 20 years.
Matrisciano, a frequent visitor to Las Vegas, merely had suggested a couple of people to call during a lunch in Nevada with Brooks' son, Smith said. "Ron said, `When I'm out there (in Las Vegas), maybe I can get him a couple of leads,'" said Terry Ekl, who represented Matrisciano.
The indictment also alleged Matrisciano knew he should have been speaking as a private citizen to the Prisoner Review Board and falsely portrayed his statement as a recommendation from the Illinois Department of Corrections, but the allegation was also tossed aside, Ekl said.
Evidence showed Matrisciano, who is seeking his job back, had brought the matter up beforehand to superiors and received approval and that he had not identified himself as representing the department, Ekl said.
The indictments were the latest twist in the long saga of Aleman, the nephew of reputed former rackets boss Joseph Ferriola.
His conviction in 1997 made American legal history as the first time a criminal defendant had been retried after an acquittal. A mob lawyer later admitted that he bribed the judge in the first trial, and Aleman was subsequently convicted of the 1972 murder.
The Tribune first reported that Matrisciano, while serving in his role as an assistant deputy director of the Illinois Department of Corrections in December 2002, testified before the Prisoner Review Board in favor of paroling Aleman.
After a parole hearing at Dixon Correctional Center, the parole board officer overseeing the matter recommended Aleman's bid for parole be denied. Such recommendations are usually upheld unanimously by the full board. But when the full board considered the matter, Brooks made the unusual request for a roll call vote and cast the only vote for Aleman's parole.
A former state parole board member was cleared Monday of charges that he voted to free mob hit man Harry Aleman in exchange for help in getting his son a gig as an entertainer in Las Vegas.
Sangamon County Circuit Judge Patrick Kelley found both Victor Brooks and former ranking prison official Ron Matrisciano not guilty of charges that included official misconduct and wire fraud in the case brought by the office of Atty. Gen. Lisa Madigan.
Kelley delivered a directed verdict for Brooks and Matrisciano, meaning the defendants did not even have to present their side before the judge ruled the attorney general's office had not proven its case, defense attorneys said. "We believe this case should never have been indicted in the first place, and this view has been borne out by the outcome today," said L. Lee Smith, a former federal prosecutor who represented Brooks.
Brooks, 56, formerly of Batavia but now living in Florissant, Mo., was the only member of the Prisoner Review Board who voted in 2002 in favor of parole for Aleman, who remains in prison serving 100 to 300 years for killing a Teamsters official. Matrisciano, 52, formerly a high-ranking prison official, testified on behalf of Aleman and eventually lost his job with the Illinois Department of Corrections as the case unfolded.
The indictment alleged Brooks agreed to vote for Aleman's release in exchange for Matrisciano's help in landing Brooks' son, a singer, a job in Las Vegas. Prison officials have said Matrisciano told them he is a family friend of Aleman's. But the judge ruled there was insufficient evidence of an alleged quid pro quo, Smith said.
"We presented all of the evidence to the court," said Robyn Ziegler, Madigan's spokeswoman. "The court considered that evidence and reached its decision, and we respect that decision."
Matrisciano and Brooks had been friends for more than 20 years.
Matrisciano, a frequent visitor to Las Vegas, merely had suggested a couple of people to call during a lunch in Nevada with Brooks' son, Smith said. "Ron said, `When I'm out there (in Las Vegas), maybe I can get him a couple of leads,'" said Terry Ekl, who represented Matrisciano.
The indictment also alleged Matrisciano knew he should have been speaking as a private citizen to the Prisoner Review Board and falsely portrayed his statement as a recommendation from the Illinois Department of Corrections, but the allegation was also tossed aside, Ekl said.
Evidence showed Matrisciano, who is seeking his job back, had brought the matter up beforehand to superiors and received approval and that he had not identified himself as representing the department, Ekl said.
The indictments were the latest twist in the long saga of Aleman, the nephew of reputed former rackets boss Joseph Ferriola.
His conviction in 1997 made American legal history as the first time a criminal defendant had been retried after an acquittal. A mob lawyer later admitted that he bribed the judge in the first trial, and Aleman was subsequently convicted of the 1972 murder.
The Tribune first reported that Matrisciano, while serving in his role as an assistant deputy director of the Illinois Department of Corrections in December 2002, testified before the Prisoner Review Board in favor of paroling Aleman.
After a parole hearing at Dixon Correctional Center, the parole board officer overseeing the matter recommended Aleman's bid for parole be denied. Such recommendations are usually upheld unanimously by the full board. But when the full board considered the matter, Brooks made the unusual request for a roll call vote and cast the only vote for Aleman's parole.
Correction Officials Found Not Guilty
Friends of ours: Harry Aleman
A Sangamon County judge Monday issued a directed verdict of not guilty in favor of a former state Department of Corrections official and a former state Prisoner Review Board member who had been accused of abusing their positions.
Both Ronald Matrisciano of Lockport, a former assistant deputy director of Corrections, and Victor E. Brooks of Batavia, a former prison warden and member of the Prisoner Review Board, were indicted by a Lee County grand jury in 2005 on charges of wire fraud and official misconduct in connection with a 2002 parole hearing for Harry Aleman.
Aleman is serving a 100- to 300-year sentence for the September 1972 shooting death of a union steward at a Chicago trucking company.
According to the indictment, Brooks agreed to vote in favor of paroling Aleman in exchange for help getting Brooks' son a job as an entertainer in Las Vegas. That help allegedly was going to come from Matrisciano, who testified during a parole hearing at Dixon Correctional Center in December 2002 that Aleman was "a model prisoner."
Matrisciano also was indicted on a charge of perjury in Sangamon County for allegedly lying during a February 2005 deposition. In that deposition, Matrisciano said he did not appear at the parole hearing in his official capacity as an assistant deputy director at Corrections. The attorney general's office alleged that he had represented his position as that of the department, and that Brooks and Matrisciano schemed to try and get Aleman paroled.
All the charges were consolidated in Sangamon County about six months ago, and Matrisciano and Brooks went on trial without a jury before Circuit Judge Patrick Kelley on Monday.
After hearing the attorney general's office's seven witnesses, Kelley allowed motions by attorneys for the defendants for directed verdicts of not guilty on all counts.
Matrisciano's attorney, Terry Ekl of Clarendon Hills, said that Kelley looked at the transcripts of Matrisciano's testimony before the Prisoner Review Board and found the evidence "fell far short of what the prosecution alleged."
Kelley also found the prosecution produced no proof of Matrisciano and Brooks conspiring to have Aleman paroled or that they used any electronic device to further any kind of scheme.
"There was no proof of any scheme, and the evidence fell short of establishing any illegal activity," Ekl said. "It wasn't even a close call."
Brooks was represented by Peoria attorney Lee Smith.
Ekl said his client, Matrisciano, "has gone through a living hell since this began."
"He's lost his job, and he lost his marriage as a direct result of losing his job," Ekl said. "He broke down in tears when the judge announced his ruling, and he is absolutely elated at the outcome," Ekl said. "He hopes to get his job back."
The Prisoner Review Board denied parole for Aleman, a reputed Chicago mob hit man, despite Matrisciano's testimony.
Aleman was charged in 1972 with murdering a Teamsters official. He was acquitted in 1977, but it later was determined that the judge in the case had been bribed. He was tried again, convicted in 1997 and is serving 100 to 300 years in prison.
A federal lawsuit filed by Matrisciano in 2003 claiming that Illinois corrections officials retaliated against him for testifying at Aleman's parole hearing was dismissed in U.S. District Court in Springfield last year.
U.S. Judge Richard Mills granted summary judgment to Corrections Director Roger Walker Jr. and former acting director Donald Snyder in the case.
Matrisciano had said in his lawsuit that he told Snyder and an associate director he was considering giving a statement to the Prisoner Review Board and that no objections were raised.
About a week after the hearing, Matrisciano was reassigned to a northern Illinois reception facility, which he claimed was a demotion in retaliation for his testimony.
When Gov. Rod Blagojevich took office in 2003, Matrisciano was laid off in a department reorganization unrelated to the controversy over his testimony. Under terms of the layoff, he became eligible to return to work in March 2004 but immediately was put on paid administrative leave while aspects of his testimony were investigated.
Springfield attorney Howard Feldman, who represents Matrisciano in the civil suit, said the dismissal has been appealed to the U.S. 7th Circuit Court of Appeals.
Thanks to Chris Dettro
A Sangamon County judge Monday issued a directed verdict of not guilty in favor of a former state Department of Corrections official and a former state Prisoner Review Board member who had been accused of abusing their positions.
Both Ronald Matrisciano of Lockport, a former assistant deputy director of Corrections, and Victor E. Brooks of Batavia, a former prison warden and member of the Prisoner Review Board, were indicted by a Lee County grand jury in 2005 on charges of wire fraud and official misconduct in connection with a 2002 parole hearing for Harry Aleman.
Aleman is serving a 100- to 300-year sentence for the September 1972 shooting death of a union steward at a Chicago trucking company.
According to the indictment, Brooks agreed to vote in favor of paroling Aleman in exchange for help getting Brooks' son a job as an entertainer in Las Vegas. That help allegedly was going to come from Matrisciano, who testified during a parole hearing at Dixon Correctional Center in December 2002 that Aleman was "a model prisoner."
Matrisciano also was indicted on a charge of perjury in Sangamon County for allegedly lying during a February 2005 deposition. In that deposition, Matrisciano said he did not appear at the parole hearing in his official capacity as an assistant deputy director at Corrections. The attorney general's office alleged that he had represented his position as that of the department, and that Brooks and Matrisciano schemed to try and get Aleman paroled.
All the charges were consolidated in Sangamon County about six months ago, and Matrisciano and Brooks went on trial without a jury before Circuit Judge Patrick Kelley on Monday.
After hearing the attorney general's office's seven witnesses, Kelley allowed motions by attorneys for the defendants for directed verdicts of not guilty on all counts.
Matrisciano's attorney, Terry Ekl of Clarendon Hills, said that Kelley looked at the transcripts of Matrisciano's testimony before the Prisoner Review Board and found the evidence "fell far short of what the prosecution alleged."
Kelley also found the prosecution produced no proof of Matrisciano and Brooks conspiring to have Aleman paroled or that they used any electronic device to further any kind of scheme.
"There was no proof of any scheme, and the evidence fell short of establishing any illegal activity," Ekl said. "It wasn't even a close call."
Brooks was represented by Peoria attorney Lee Smith.
Ekl said his client, Matrisciano, "has gone through a living hell since this began."
"He's lost his job, and he lost his marriage as a direct result of losing his job," Ekl said. "He broke down in tears when the judge announced his ruling, and he is absolutely elated at the outcome," Ekl said. "He hopes to get his job back."
The Prisoner Review Board denied parole for Aleman, a reputed Chicago mob hit man, despite Matrisciano's testimony.
Aleman was charged in 1972 with murdering a Teamsters official. He was acquitted in 1977, but it later was determined that the judge in the case had been bribed. He was tried again, convicted in 1997 and is serving 100 to 300 years in prison.
A federal lawsuit filed by Matrisciano in 2003 claiming that Illinois corrections officials retaliated against him for testifying at Aleman's parole hearing was dismissed in U.S. District Court in Springfield last year.
U.S. Judge Richard Mills granted summary judgment to Corrections Director Roger Walker Jr. and former acting director Donald Snyder in the case.
Matrisciano had said in his lawsuit that he told Snyder and an associate director he was considering giving a statement to the Prisoner Review Board and that no objections were raised.
About a week after the hearing, Matrisciano was reassigned to a northern Illinois reception facility, which he claimed was a demotion in retaliation for his testimony.
When Gov. Rod Blagojevich took office in 2003, Matrisciano was laid off in a department reorganization unrelated to the controversy over his testimony. Under terms of the layoff, he became eligible to return to work in March 2004 but immediately was put on paid administrative leave while aspects of his testimony were investigated.
Springfield attorney Howard Feldman, who represents Matrisciano in the civil suit, said the dismissal has been appealed to the U.S. 7th Circuit Court of Appeals.
Thanks to Chris Dettro
Former Prison Officials Aquitted of Criminal Support for Mob Hit Man
Friends of mine: Harry Aleman
A former state prison official and a former Illinois Prisoner Review Board member didn't commit any crimes when they supported a reputed mob hit man's bid to be paroled in 2002, a judge ruled Monday in Springfield.
Sangamon County Judge Patrick W. Kelley found both Ronald Matrisciano, 52, and Victor Brooks, 56, not guilty of several official misconduct and wire fraud charges. The ruling prompted tears from Matrisciano, a former assistant deputy director for the Illinois Department of Corrections.
"He's absolutely elated," said Terry Ekl, Matrisciano's attorney. "His life's been turned inside out. Now he can go forward."
The case stemmed from Matrisciano testifying on behalf of Harry Aleman during a Dec. 17, 2002, parole hearing, and Brooks being the lone Prisoner Review Board member to vote to parole Aleman.
Though law enforcement officials long have identified Aleman as a hit man, he's only been convicted of one murder, the 1972 slaying of Teamsters union steward William Logan. Aleman was acquitted in 1977, but authorities later learned the judge hearing his case was bribed. Aleman was found guilty during a second trial in 1997, and remains in prison.
Matrisciano identified himself as a corrections official and a friend of Aleman's family during the 2002 parole hearing, in which he called Aleman "a model inmate." Prosecutors alleged Matrisciano was leading people to believe he was speaking on behalf of the state's prison system, not as an individual citizen.
Authorities also accused Matrisciano of offering to help Brooks' son land a singing gig in Las Vegas in exchange for Brooks' vote to parole Aleman.
L. Lee Smith, Brooks' attorney, acknowledged that Matrisciano had had lunch with Brooks' son in Las Vegas and recommended names of a couple of people he could talk to in the city. But Matrisciano simply was trying to help the son of a longtime friend -- Brooks and Matrisciano have known each other for years and worked together for the state prison system -- and was not doing anything wrong, Smith said.
A spokeswoman for Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan, whose office prosecuted the case, did not indicate if an appeal was planned. "We presented all of the evidence to the court, the court considered that evidence and reached its decision," Madigan spokeswoman Robyn Ziegler said. "We respect the court's decision."
Matrisciano was fired in January 2006 after his indictment. Now that he has been acquitted, he plans to try to get his job back, plus back pay, Ekl said.
Thanks to Chris Fusco
A former state prison official and a former Illinois Prisoner Review Board member didn't commit any crimes when they supported a reputed mob hit man's bid to be paroled in 2002, a judge ruled Monday in Springfield.
Sangamon County Judge Patrick W. Kelley found both Ronald Matrisciano, 52, and Victor Brooks, 56, not guilty of several official misconduct and wire fraud charges. The ruling prompted tears from Matrisciano, a former assistant deputy director for the Illinois Department of Corrections.
"He's absolutely elated," said Terry Ekl, Matrisciano's attorney. "His life's been turned inside out. Now he can go forward."
The case stemmed from Matrisciano testifying on behalf of Harry Aleman during a Dec. 17, 2002, parole hearing, and Brooks being the lone Prisoner Review Board member to vote to parole Aleman.
Though law enforcement officials long have identified Aleman as a hit man, he's only been convicted of one murder, the 1972 slaying of Teamsters union steward William Logan. Aleman was acquitted in 1977, but authorities later learned the judge hearing his case was bribed. Aleman was found guilty during a second trial in 1997, and remains in prison.
Matrisciano identified himself as a corrections official and a friend of Aleman's family during the 2002 parole hearing, in which he called Aleman "a model inmate." Prosecutors alleged Matrisciano was leading people to believe he was speaking on behalf of the state's prison system, not as an individual citizen.
Authorities also accused Matrisciano of offering to help Brooks' son land a singing gig in Las Vegas in exchange for Brooks' vote to parole Aleman.
L. Lee Smith, Brooks' attorney, acknowledged that Matrisciano had had lunch with Brooks' son in Las Vegas and recommended names of a couple of people he could talk to in the city. But Matrisciano simply was trying to help the son of a longtime friend -- Brooks and Matrisciano have known each other for years and worked together for the state prison system -- and was not doing anything wrong, Smith said.
A spokeswoman for Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan, whose office prosecuted the case, did not indicate if an appeal was planned. "We presented all of the evidence to the court, the court considered that evidence and reached its decision," Madigan spokeswoman Robyn Ziegler said. "We respect the court's decision."
Matrisciano was fired in January 2006 after his indictment. Now that he has been acquitted, he plans to try to get his job back, plus back pay, Ekl said.
Thanks to Chris Fusco
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Goodbye Fellas
Friends of ours: Joseph Valachi, Bugsy Siegal, Frank Sinatra, Sam Giancana, Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello, Carlo Gambino, Paul Castellano, John Gotti
The perspective on organized crime that Thomas A. Reppetto developed from his career in law enforcement and more than 20 years as president of the Citizens Crime Commission of New York City, tempered by a Harvard Ph.D., paid off handsomely in his 2004 book, “American Mafia: A History of Its Rise to Power
,” which described the mob’s growth to its pinnacle in the mid-20th century. The writing was lucid, concise and devoid of sensationalism, rare qualities in the plethora of books by turncoat mobsters and their ex-wives, journalists, cops and aged Las Vegas insiders. This equally well-written sequel, “Bringing Down the Mob,” chronicles the Mafia’s near demise over the past 50 years. Following this specific thread of American history, general readers will benefit from Reppetto’s cogent examples of how changes in the culture at large affected both the mob itself and the tactics employed by law enforcement. Organized-crime buffs will be familiar with much of the material, but unaccustomed to seeing it assembled into so big and coherent a picture.
In 1950 and ’51, the Kefauver Senate committee’s televised hearings on the Mafia introduced mobsters into American living rooms, the lasting images being close-ups of Frank Costello’s manicured hands — he did not want his face on camera. The public outcry was short-lived and the Mafia cruised comfortably until 1957, when, in Apalachin, N.Y. (population 350), more than 60 Mafia notables attended a conference that was raided by the state police. As Reppetto says, the media have often presented the raid as “some hick cops stumbling on a mob conclave.” He debunks that interpretation and shows how the publicity moved the resistant J. Edgar Hoover to action, so that “from Apalachin on, the United States government was at war with the Mafia.”
As attorney general, Robert F. Kennedy led the next sustained attack on organized crime. He focused obsessively and successfully on Jimmy Hoffa, who was allied with the Mafia while serving as president of the two-million-member Teamsters union. Kennedy also brought before the TV cameras Joe Valachi, a low-level Mafia soldier who, with some coaching, provided extensive information “without revealing that much of it had been obtained through legally questionable electronic eavesdropping.” A new name for the Mafia emerged from the hearings — La Cosa Nostra — which allowed Hoover to say he had been right all along: there was no Mafia; there was a Cosa Nostra organization, exposed by the F.B.I.
In the 1960s and ’70s, Las Vegas provided a battlefield on which the F.B.I., armed with bugging equipment (and caught using it illegally in 1965), defeated the mob, which had been involved from the start of significant gambling in Nevada in the 1940s. Bugsy Siegel put up one of the first casinos on the Strip, the Flamingo. Las Vegas was designated an “open city,” in which any mob family could operate. As Reppetto writes, mobsters “secured Teamster loans to build casinos that they controlled through fronts, or ‘straw men.’ ” (Frank Sinatra lost his license as owner of a Nevada resort for allowing the Mafia boss Sam Giancana, reputedly his “hidden backer,” to frequent the hotel.) These casinos had overseers appointed by the controlling family to run “the skim,” cash siphoned off before the casino take was put on the books for tax purposes. The poorly chosen overseers played a large role in bringing down the mob in Las Vegas, generally being far too violent and unsophisticated to operate in a milieu that demanded a veneer of respectability. Reppetto points out the factual basis of much of Nicholas Pileggi and Martin Scorsese’s script for the film “Casino
,” including the chilling scene of Joe Pesci squeezing a victim’s head in a vise until an eye pops out (although that incident actually happened in Chicago). The mob’s management of Las Vegas turned out to be “a disaster,” Reppetto says. “Once it was the Mafia that was well run, while law enforcement plodded along. ... The situation was now reversed.” In the 1980s, corporations began to take control of the casinos.
One of the great hurdles the government had to clear at the start of its war on the Mafia, Reppetto says, was that the approach required to bring down a criminal organization ran “counter to general principles of American criminal justice”: “The usual practice, investigating a known crime in order to apprehend unknown culprits, was reversed. Now the government was investigating a known criminal to find crimes he might be charged with.” The most potent weapon was developed in 1970 — the RICO statute, to which Reppetto devotes a full chapter, pointing out that it took its creator, G. Robert Blakey, a decade of proselytizing before prosecutors would employ it.
A minor quibble: I think the book gives short shrift to the effect of the witness protection program, without which far fewer mobsters could have “flipped” over the years. As to Reppetto’s belief that the Mafia is in serious decline? At any time in the past, asking an average American to name major mob guys might well have elicited several of the following: Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello, Carlo Gambino, Paul Castellano, John Gotti. Who comes to mind today?
Thanks to Vincent Patrick whose novels include “The Pope of Greenwich Village
” and “Smoke Screen
.”
The perspective on organized crime that Thomas A. Reppetto developed from his career in law enforcement and more than 20 years as president of the Citizens Crime Commission of New York City, tempered by a Harvard Ph.D., paid off handsomely in his 2004 book, “American Mafia: A History of Its Rise to Power
,” which described the mob’s growth to its pinnacle in the mid-20th century. The writing was lucid, concise and devoid of sensationalism, rare qualities in the plethora of books by turncoat mobsters and their ex-wives, journalists, cops and aged Las Vegas insiders. This equally well-written sequel, “Bringing Down the Mob,” chronicles the Mafia’s near demise over the past 50 years. Following this specific thread of American history, general readers will benefit from Reppetto’s cogent examples of how changes in the culture at large affected both the mob itself and the tactics employed by law enforcement. Organized-crime buffs will be familiar with much of the material, but unaccustomed to seeing it assembled into so big and coherent a picture.In 1950 and ’51, the Kefauver Senate committee’s televised hearings on the Mafia introduced mobsters into American living rooms, the lasting images being close-ups of Frank Costello’s manicured hands — he did not want his face on camera. The public outcry was short-lived and the Mafia cruised comfortably until 1957, when, in Apalachin, N.Y. (population 350), more than 60 Mafia notables attended a conference that was raided by the state police. As Reppetto says, the media have often presented the raid as “some hick cops stumbling on a mob conclave.” He debunks that interpretation and shows how the publicity moved the resistant J. Edgar Hoover to action, so that “from Apalachin on, the United States government was at war with the Mafia.”
As attorney general, Robert F. Kennedy led the next sustained attack on organized crime. He focused obsessively and successfully on Jimmy Hoffa, who was allied with the Mafia while serving as president of the two-million-member Teamsters union. Kennedy also brought before the TV cameras Joe Valachi, a low-level Mafia soldier who, with some coaching, provided extensive information “without revealing that much of it had been obtained through legally questionable electronic eavesdropping.” A new name for the Mafia emerged from the hearings — La Cosa Nostra — which allowed Hoover to say he had been right all along: there was no Mafia; there was a Cosa Nostra organization, exposed by the F.B.I.
In the 1960s and ’70s, Las Vegas provided a battlefield on which the F.B.I., armed with bugging equipment (and caught using it illegally in 1965), defeated the mob, which had been involved from the start of significant gambling in Nevada in the 1940s. Bugsy Siegel put up one of the first casinos on the Strip, the Flamingo. Las Vegas was designated an “open city,” in which any mob family could operate. As Reppetto writes, mobsters “secured Teamster loans to build casinos that they controlled through fronts, or ‘straw men.’ ” (Frank Sinatra lost his license as owner of a Nevada resort for allowing the Mafia boss Sam Giancana, reputedly his “hidden backer,” to frequent the hotel.) These casinos had overseers appointed by the controlling family to run “the skim,” cash siphoned off before the casino take was put on the books for tax purposes. The poorly chosen overseers played a large role in bringing down the mob in Las Vegas, generally being far too violent and unsophisticated to operate in a milieu that demanded a veneer of respectability. Reppetto points out the factual basis of much of Nicholas Pileggi and Martin Scorsese’s script for the film “Casino
,” including the chilling scene of Joe Pesci squeezing a victim’s head in a vise until an eye pops out (although that incident actually happened in Chicago). The mob’s management of Las Vegas turned out to be “a disaster,” Reppetto says. “Once it was the Mafia that was well run, while law enforcement plodded along. ... The situation was now reversed.” In the 1980s, corporations began to take control of the casinos.One of the great hurdles the government had to clear at the start of its war on the Mafia, Reppetto says, was that the approach required to bring down a criminal organization ran “counter to general principles of American criminal justice”: “The usual practice, investigating a known crime in order to apprehend unknown culprits, was reversed. Now the government was investigating a known criminal to find crimes he might be charged with.” The most potent weapon was developed in 1970 — the RICO statute, to which Reppetto devotes a full chapter, pointing out that it took its creator, G. Robert Blakey, a decade of proselytizing before prosecutors would employ it.
A minor quibble: I think the book gives short shrift to the effect of the witness protection program, without which far fewer mobsters could have “flipped” over the years. As to Reppetto’s belief that the Mafia is in serious decline? At any time in the past, asking an average American to name major mob guys might well have elicited several of the following: Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello, Carlo Gambino, Paul Castellano, John Gotti. Who comes to mind today?
Thanks to Vincent Patrick whose novels include “The Pope of Greenwich Village
” and “Smoke Screen.”
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Chicago Crime Commission Subpoenaed by Clown
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, Frank "The German" Schweihs
Reputed Chicago mob boss Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo is looking to an unusual source for possible help in his defense at one of the most important mob trials in Chicago history: the Chicago Crime Commission.
Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin, had a subpoena served on the Outfit-fighting organization Tuesday for all the supporting documents the commission used to justify putting Lombardo on a mob hierarchy chart the group created in the 1980s. The chart shows Lombardo as a top Chicago mobster. "I can think of no privilege they have with those files," Halprin said. "If they do, I'm sure we'll hear about it in court."
The commission's general counsel, Jeannette Tamayo, called the subpoena for the documents "fairly unusual" and said officials are determining what documents the commission has that are responsive to the subpoena and what the commission is legally obligated to provide.
It's unclear whether the subpoena will spark a legal showdown in federal court in the Family Secrets case. Prosecutors have charged Lombardo and other reputed Outfit leaders in a wide-ranging racketeering case that aims to solve 18 slayings.
Halprin said the late, well-known, former FBI agent William Roemer worked as a consultant for the crime commission in putting together the chart outlining the hierarchy of the Chicago mob.
Halprin is particularly interested in any documentation relating to the prosecution of Lombardo and several others in a scheme to embezzle more than $1 million from a Teamsters pension fund.
In 2005, authorities charged Lombardo, alleged mob hit man Frank "the German" Schweihs and others with the September 1974 murder of Daniel Seifert, a Bensenville businessman who authorities say was to be the key witness against Lombardo at the embezzlement trial.
The Teamsters embezzlement case is more than 30 years old, and documentation from it is scarce. Halprin is curious to find out if the crime commission has any historic FBI documents from the case or other matters involving Lombardo.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Reputed Chicago mob boss Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo is looking to an unusual source for possible help in his defense at one of the most important mob trials in Chicago history: the Chicago Crime Commission.
Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin, had a subpoena served on the Outfit-fighting organization Tuesday for all the supporting documents the commission used to justify putting Lombardo on a mob hierarchy chart the group created in the 1980s. The chart shows Lombardo as a top Chicago mobster. "I can think of no privilege they have with those files," Halprin said. "If they do, I'm sure we'll hear about it in court."
The commission's general counsel, Jeannette Tamayo, called the subpoena for the documents "fairly unusual" and said officials are determining what documents the commission has that are responsive to the subpoena and what the commission is legally obligated to provide.
It's unclear whether the subpoena will spark a legal showdown in federal court in the Family Secrets case. Prosecutors have charged Lombardo and other reputed Outfit leaders in a wide-ranging racketeering case that aims to solve 18 slayings.
Halprin said the late, well-known, former FBI agent William Roemer worked as a consultant for the crime commission in putting together the chart outlining the hierarchy of the Chicago mob.
Halprin is particularly interested in any documentation relating to the prosecution of Lombardo and several others in a scheme to embezzle more than $1 million from a Teamsters pension fund.
In 2005, authorities charged Lombardo, alleged mob hit man Frank "the German" Schweihs and others with the September 1974 murder of Daniel Seifert, a Bensenville businessman who authorities say was to be the key witness against Lombardo at the embezzlement trial.
The Teamsters embezzlement case is more than 30 years old, and documentation from it is scarce. Halprin is curious to find out if the crime commission has any historic FBI documents from the case or other matters involving Lombardo.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Mobsters, Unions, and The Feds
NYU law professor Jacobs further burnishes his reputation for advancing the study of organized crime in America with his latest work of scholarship, billed by the publisher as "the only book to investigate how the mob has distorted American labor history."
This worthy successor to Gotham Unbound and Busting the Mob is an exhaustive, albeit sometimes repetitive, survey of the grip La Cosa Nostra has exerted on the country's most powerful unions. While many will be familiar with the broad outlines of the corruption that riddled the Teamsters, which is recounted by the author, his summary of some lesser-known examples of pervasive labor corruption help illustrate his thesis that the entire American union movement has suffered from the intimidation and fear the mob used to gain and maintain control of unions.
Especially valuable is Jacobs's examination of the relatively recent use of the RICO law to bring dirty unions under the control of a federally appointed independent trustee, and the book's posing of hard questions about the mixed success those monitorships have had.
Thanks to Publishers Weekly
This worthy successor to Gotham Unbound and Busting the Mob is an exhaustive, albeit sometimes repetitive, survey of the grip La Cosa Nostra has exerted on the country's most powerful unions. While many will be familiar with the broad outlines of the corruption that riddled the Teamsters, which is recounted by the author, his summary of some lesser-known examples of pervasive labor corruption help illustrate his thesis that the entire American union movement has suffered from the intimidation and fear the mob used to gain and maintain control of unions.
Especially valuable is Jacobs's examination of the relatively recent use of the RICO law to bring dirty unions under the control of a federally appointed independent trustee, and the book's posing of hard questions about the mixed success those monitorships have had.
Thanks to Publishers Weekly
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