An edited text of James "Duke" Basile's June 1996 testimony in Washington, D.C. before a Senate judiciary committee. He hasn't been heard from publicly since.
I have lived a life of crime since 1958, two years after I was honorably discharged from the Marines.
I was 23 and in my second year of college when, by coincidence, I became connected with organized crime by signing on to work in the Owl Club in Calumet City as an operator for roulette, poker, blackjack and dice games. When the bosses moved their gambling operations to Las Vegas in 1962, I stayed in Chicago to do outfit work.
During my tenure, I worked under several bosses -- Sam Giancana and Joe Ferriola were a few. I knew them on a first-name basis.
I became a main soldier in about 1976 after I was discharged from prison after serving five years for bank robbery. My duties included taking care of loan sharking, lending and collecting, gambling, bookmakers, chop-shops, prostitutes, restaurants and other business collections -- collections which were all extortion to allow these operations to continue doing their business.
I averaged about $300,000 a month. I was allowed to keep $5,000 monthly for myself.
During this time in 1982, I was called before the federal grand jury and given immunity. I served 15 months for my refusal to testify and earned the added respect from the outfit, being that I had kept quiet.
I was told to lay low afterward because I became too popular and had bad press. I then temporarily returned to burglaries and because of my high living and constant need for more money, I continued.
Although I was a loyal member of the Chicago outfit for 38 years, in 1986, I began for the first time to have my doubts. I finally decided to do something because it seemed there was no way out. I began informing on the mob.
The rest of my story is all documented in FBI files. I have made approximately 186 taped conversations. I was told that I kept 15 agents busy for months working on all the information I provided. I was able to provide the FBI with detailed information on 40 murders together with other details of the entire mob and its activities. I also testified against other members.
I always pride myself as having never pulled the trigger on any hits, although I was part of setting up and assisting hits.
I remain relatively straight, but it's hard. I haven't been able to get any good jobs. I've been turned down, on my worst day, at McDonald's. I've been living hand-to-mouth with jobs whenever I can get one. I'm not here looking for sympathy. I don't even deserve it.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Romance of the Mob Shattered by Trial
Friends of ours: Vito Corleone, Tony Soprano, Nicholas Calabrese, Frank Calabrese, Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello, Paul Schiro, Anthony Doyle, Joey Aiuppa, Michael "Hambone" Albergo, Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, Louie "The Mooch" Eboli
Friends of mine: Robert "Bobby the Beak" Siegel, William Hanhardt, Michael Spilotro
They have described becoming "made guys" in the mob by holding burning holy pictures in cupped hands while promising a lifetime of silence.
They've spoken of the arcane arts of "peeling" safes and selling bogus stock certificates. And they've told stories that seem straight from the movies: bombing businesses, bloody hits on FBI informants, bodies stuffed in car trunks and an oil drum stuffed with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash. But Hollywood's romantic view has been mainly missing over the last month as witnesses — from a defendant's brother to old-time crooks with rap sheets as long as bed sheets — took the stand at Chicago's biggest mob trial in years.
Vito Corleone and Tony Soprano look like tame old duffers compared to what prosecution witnesses have been saying about the alleged dons of the Chicago Outfit, as the city's organized crime family has named itself. "They are not the romantic people who are often portrayed in the movies," says James Wagner, who fought the mob for decades as an FBI agent and now is president of the Chicago Crime Commission. "They are brutal."
Star witness Nicholas Calabrese told jurors he watched for decades as the bodies of his fellow mobsters piled up around him. He said he lived in dread that if he made just one misstep he would "end up in a car trunk."
His brother, Frank Calabrese, 69, is among the defendants along with Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, 78, James Marcello, 65, Paul Schiro, 70, and Anthony Doyle, 62. They are charged with taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included gambling, extortion, loan sharking and murders.
Lombardo was convicted in the early 1980s of conspiring to bribe then Sen. Howard Cannon, D-Nev. Calabrese and Marcello have both served time for mob-related activity. Schiro is a convicted jewel thief and Doyle — the only one not alleged to have killed anyone — is a retired police officer. All but Doyle could be sentenced to life in prison if convicted.
As prosecutors Mitchell A. Mars, John J. Scully and Markus Funk dredge up evidence going back to the 1970s, Chicago's police are not faring well.
Last week, old-time burglar Robert G. "Bobby the Beak" Siegel emerged from the witness protection program to accuse Chicago's former chief of detectives, William Hanhardt, of collecting $1,000 a week and a new car every two years in return for seeing to it that mobsters weren't caught. "Most of the police were on the payroll" in the old days, he recalled.
Hanhardt is now serving 16 years after pleading guilty to leading a band of thieves that stole some $5 million in jewelry and fine watches. Schiro pleaded guilty to serving as a member of Hanhardt's gang.
Nicholas Calabrese testified that onetime mob boss Joey Aiuppa personally presided over the ceremony at which he became a "made guy" in the Outfit, his finger cut in the ancient ceremonial manner and a burning holy picture placed in his hand while he recited the oath of silence. "If I ever give up my brothers may I burn in hell like this holy picture," he remembered promising. But DNA found on a bloody glove left at a murder scene was matched to his and he has agreed to testimony in return for a promise that he won't have to die in the execution chamber.
His testimony has been the most graphic of the trial. He told how his brother, Frank, allegedly strangled victims like loan shark Michael "Hambone" Albergo with a rope and then cut their throats to make sure that they were dead. Albergo had threatened to talk to the FBI.
Frank Calabrese's attorney, Joseph Lopez, who loves a good wisecrack and sometimes wears pink socks to court, said before the trial that Nicholas Calabrese was lying about his brother. Since then U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel has clamped a gag order on the attorneys.
Best known on the list of 18 murder victims in the indictment is Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, the Outfit's onetime man in Las Vegas who was found in a shallow grave in an Indiana cornfield along with his brother Michael. Tony Spilotro inspired the Joe Pesci character in the movie Casino.
Nicholas Calabrese testified that mobsters were mad at Spilotro because he was "bringing too much heat" on them and having a romance with the wife of a casino executive. "That's a no-no," he quoted brother Frank as saying.
He testified that in June 1986 the Spilotros were lured to the basement of a Bensenville home where they were told Tony would be dubbed a "capo," or mob captain, and Michael a "made guy."
Instead, they were beaten and strangled.
Calabrese said he pulled one end of a rope around Michael Spilotro's neck while a mobster known as Louie the Mooche tugged away on the other.
With Nicholas in tow, FBI agents drove up and down Bensenville's streets searching for the house where the Spilotros died — to no avail. Such missing elements have been fodder for defense attorneys.
Marcello attorney Thomas M. Breen pounced on a claim that the Spilotro killers all wore gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints, claiming that the story simply didn't sound realistic. "Did Mike Spilotro, say, 'Hey, guys, how come everybody's wearing gloves? This looks like a hit,"' Breen asked during Nicholas Calabrese's days on the witness stand.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Friends of mine: Robert "Bobby the Beak" Siegel, William Hanhardt, Michael Spilotro
They have described becoming "made guys" in the mob by holding burning holy pictures in cupped hands while promising a lifetime of silence.
They've spoken of the arcane arts of "peeling" safes and selling bogus stock certificates. And they've told stories that seem straight from the movies: bombing businesses, bloody hits on FBI informants, bodies stuffed in car trunks and an oil drum stuffed with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash. But Hollywood's romantic view has been mainly missing over the last month as witnesses — from a defendant's brother to old-time crooks with rap sheets as long as bed sheets — took the stand at Chicago's biggest mob trial in years.
Vito Corleone and Tony Soprano look like tame old duffers compared to what prosecution witnesses have been saying about the alleged dons of the Chicago Outfit, as the city's organized crime family has named itself. "They are not the romantic people who are often portrayed in the movies," says James Wagner, who fought the mob for decades as an FBI agent and now is president of the Chicago Crime Commission. "They are brutal."
Star witness Nicholas Calabrese told jurors he watched for decades as the bodies of his fellow mobsters piled up around him. He said he lived in dread that if he made just one misstep he would "end up in a car trunk."
His brother, Frank Calabrese, 69, is among the defendants along with Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, 78, James Marcello, 65, Paul Schiro, 70, and Anthony Doyle, 62. They are charged with taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included gambling, extortion, loan sharking and murders.
Lombardo was convicted in the early 1980s of conspiring to bribe then Sen. Howard Cannon, D-Nev. Calabrese and Marcello have both served time for mob-related activity. Schiro is a convicted jewel thief and Doyle — the only one not alleged to have killed anyone — is a retired police officer. All but Doyle could be sentenced to life in prison if convicted.
As prosecutors Mitchell A. Mars, John J. Scully and Markus Funk dredge up evidence going back to the 1970s, Chicago's police are not faring well.
Last week, old-time burglar Robert G. "Bobby the Beak" Siegel emerged from the witness protection program to accuse Chicago's former chief of detectives, William Hanhardt, of collecting $1,000 a week and a new car every two years in return for seeing to it that mobsters weren't caught. "Most of the police were on the payroll" in the old days, he recalled.
Hanhardt is now serving 16 years after pleading guilty to leading a band of thieves that stole some $5 million in jewelry and fine watches. Schiro pleaded guilty to serving as a member of Hanhardt's gang.
Nicholas Calabrese testified that onetime mob boss Joey Aiuppa personally presided over the ceremony at which he became a "made guy" in the Outfit, his finger cut in the ancient ceremonial manner and a burning holy picture placed in his hand while he recited the oath of silence. "If I ever give up my brothers may I burn in hell like this holy picture," he remembered promising. But DNA found on a bloody glove left at a murder scene was matched to his and he has agreed to testimony in return for a promise that he won't have to die in the execution chamber.
His testimony has been the most graphic of the trial. He told how his brother, Frank, allegedly strangled victims like loan shark Michael "Hambone" Albergo with a rope and then cut their throats to make sure that they were dead. Albergo had threatened to talk to the FBI.
Frank Calabrese's attorney, Joseph Lopez, who loves a good wisecrack and sometimes wears pink socks to court, said before the trial that Nicholas Calabrese was lying about his brother. Since then U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel has clamped a gag order on the attorneys.
Best known on the list of 18 murder victims in the indictment is Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, the Outfit's onetime man in Las Vegas who was found in a shallow grave in an Indiana cornfield along with his brother Michael. Tony Spilotro inspired the Joe Pesci character in the movie Casino.
Nicholas Calabrese testified that mobsters were mad at Spilotro because he was "bringing too much heat" on them and having a romance with the wife of a casino executive. "That's a no-no," he quoted brother Frank as saying.
He testified that in June 1986 the Spilotros were lured to the basement of a Bensenville home where they were told Tony would be dubbed a "capo," or mob captain, and Michael a "made guy."
Instead, they were beaten and strangled.
Calabrese said he pulled one end of a rope around Michael Spilotro's neck while a mobster known as Louie the Mooche tugged away on the other.
With Nicholas in tow, FBI agents drove up and down Bensenville's streets searching for the house where the Spilotros died — to no avail. Such missing elements have been fodder for defense attorneys.
Marcello attorney Thomas M. Breen pounced on a claim that the Spilotro killers all wore gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints, claiming that the story simply didn't sound realistic. "Did Mike Spilotro, say, 'Hey, guys, how come everybody's wearing gloves? This looks like a hit,"' Breen asked during Nicholas Calabrese's days on the witness stand.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
A Prison "Cap" to Petey's Life of Gambling
Friends of ours: Genovese Crime Family
Friends of mine: Peter "Petey Cap" Caporino
"Petey Cap" could have cashed in his chips and gone home, but he just couldn't give up his illegal gambling racket in Hudson County . And now it's going to land the 70-year-old back in prison for up to seven years.
"He just doesn't know how to do anything else," attorney Sam DeLuca said of his client, Peter Caporino, who pleaded guilty before Superior Court Judge Peter Vazquez yesterday.
Caporino ran illegal gambling for more 40 years and was an FBI informant for two decades. He operated out of his social club, the Character Club, on Monroe Street in Hoboken . A portion of his take was passed up the chain of Genovese crime family bosses.
In 2002, Caporino pleaded guilty to money laundering involving illegal gambling proceeds and was sentenced to five years in prison, Hudson County Prosecutor Edward DeFazio said. That sentence was suspended when he agreed to wear a wire for the FBI and help prosecute 15 reputed Genovese crime family associates. During that federal prosecution last year he testified that he continued to run his illegal gambling business even though the feds told him to stop.
After those prosecutions Caporino could have walked away and never looked back. Instead, things quickly fell apart.
Last month, he was arrested at his Hasbrouck Heights home and charged with leading an organized crime network, promoting gambling and possession of gambling records, officials said.
On Aug. 16 last year, he was arrested in Hoboken by Jersey City police and charged with promoting gambling and possession of gambling records, officials said.
The plea deal struck yesterday includes reinstatement of the five-year suspended sentence. Yesterday, he pleaded guilty to leading an organized crime network and prosecutors are asking that he be sentenced to seven years for that crime. He also pleaded guilty to promoting gambling, and prosecutors are seeking a five-year term for that. The prison terms are to run concurrently.
The sweep that netted Caporino in June also resulted in the arrest of his wife, Ann Caporino, 68, on the charge of possession of gambling records; and Andy Rush, 70, of Liberty Avenue in North Bergen , on the charge of conspiracy to promote gambling, officials said. The charge against Ann Caporino was dropped as part of her husband's plea deal. The charge against Rush stands.
Caporino was in prison from June 21, 1996 to April 21, 1997, corrections officials said. He is scheduled to be sentenced on Dec. 7.
Thanks to Michaelangelo Conte
Friends of mine: Peter "Petey Cap" Caporino
"Petey Cap" could have cashed in his chips and gone home, but he just couldn't give up his illegal gambling racket in Hudson County . And now it's going to land the 70-year-old back in prison for up to seven years.
"He just doesn't know how to do anything else," attorney Sam DeLuca said of his client, Peter Caporino, who pleaded guilty before Superior Court Judge Peter Vazquez yesterday.
Caporino ran illegal gambling for more 40 years and was an FBI informant for two decades. He operated out of his social club, the Character Club, on Monroe Street in Hoboken . A portion of his take was passed up the chain of Genovese crime family bosses.
In 2002, Caporino pleaded guilty to money laundering involving illegal gambling proceeds and was sentenced to five years in prison, Hudson County Prosecutor Edward DeFazio said. That sentence was suspended when he agreed to wear a wire for the FBI and help prosecute 15 reputed Genovese crime family associates. During that federal prosecution last year he testified that he continued to run his illegal gambling business even though the feds told him to stop.
After those prosecutions Caporino could have walked away and never looked back. Instead, things quickly fell apart.
Last month, he was arrested at his Hasbrouck Heights home and charged with leading an organized crime network, promoting gambling and possession of gambling records, officials said.
On Aug. 16 last year, he was arrested in Hoboken by Jersey City police and charged with promoting gambling and possession of gambling records, officials said.
The plea deal struck yesterday includes reinstatement of the five-year suspended sentence. Yesterday, he pleaded guilty to leading an organized crime network and prosecutors are asking that he be sentenced to seven years for that crime. He also pleaded guilty to promoting gambling, and prosecutors are seeking a five-year term for that. The prison terms are to run concurrently.
The sweep that netted Caporino in June also resulted in the arrest of his wife, Ann Caporino, 68, on the charge of possession of gambling records; and Andy Rush, 70, of Liberty Avenue in North Bergen , on the charge of conspiracy to promote gambling, officials said. The charge against Ann Caporino was dropped as part of her husband's plea deal. The charge against Rush stands.
Caporino was in prison from June 21, 1996 to April 21, 1997, corrections officials said. He is scheduled to be sentenced on Dec. 7.
Thanks to Michaelangelo Conte
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Bulldog Talks to Widow about Mob Hit on Her Husband
Friends of ours: Joey "The Clown" Lombardo
Danny Seifert was 29 years old when he was slain at his Bensenville plastics company 34 years ago. His widow, who testified at the Family Secrets mob trial, spoke only to CBS 2’s John “Bulldog” Drummond about his murder before he could testify against the mob.
Evidence indicates defendant Joey "The Clown" Lombardo was a hidden partner in the firm and frequently dropped in. Seifert, who confided that he would testify against Lombardo and others in a fraud trial, was murdered as his wife Emma and 4-year-old son looked on in horror.
Emma Seifert had been married to her husband for six years that September morning when her nightmare unfolded. Friday she shared her ordeal with CBS 2, although she remained reluctant to have her face shown on camera.
“Two men with masks and gloves and guns came through the factory door into the office, they asked I don’t remember where my husband was or where that S.O.B. is,” Emma Seifert said. "I felt that one of the two men was Mr. Lombardo,” she said.
When asked why, she responded, “By the way he was built. By the way he moved. He was very agile, he had a boxer's build and I was familiar enough with him."
Seifert said prior to the shooting Lombardo and another man cruised ominously past the Seifert residence. "That was Mr. Lombardo,” Seifert said. “I saw him in the driver's seat. And there was another person in the car I couldn't identify."
Wounded, Danny Seifert fled for his life, leaving his wife and son behind. "One of them came back and pushed me down. The other was struggling with my husband,” Seifert said. “He took Joseph and I to the bathroom, put a gun to my head and said 'be quiet.'"
She said she did not mention those details to the authorities back in 1974 out of fear for her children’s safety. “That if anything would happen to me I was afraid they didn't have anyone to raise them,” she said.
Lombardo's attorney Rick Halprin says his client has a solid alibi and was not at the Bensenville factory when the murder occurred.
The Family Secrets trial will resume Monday at the Dirksen Federal Building.
Thanks to John "Bulldog" Drummund
Danny Seifert was 29 years old when he was slain at his Bensenville plastics company 34 years ago. His widow, who testified at the Family Secrets mob trial, spoke only to CBS 2’s John “Bulldog” Drummond about his murder before he could testify against the mob.
Evidence indicates defendant Joey "The Clown" Lombardo was a hidden partner in the firm and frequently dropped in. Seifert, who confided that he would testify against Lombardo and others in a fraud trial, was murdered as his wife Emma and 4-year-old son looked on in horror.
Emma Seifert had been married to her husband for six years that September morning when her nightmare unfolded. Friday she shared her ordeal with CBS 2, although she remained reluctant to have her face shown on camera.
“Two men with masks and gloves and guns came through the factory door into the office, they asked I don’t remember where my husband was or where that S.O.B. is,” Emma Seifert said. "I felt that one of the two men was Mr. Lombardo,” she said.
When asked why, she responded, “By the way he was built. By the way he moved. He was very agile, he had a boxer's build and I was familiar enough with him."
Seifert said prior to the shooting Lombardo and another man cruised ominously past the Seifert residence. "That was Mr. Lombardo,” Seifert said. “I saw him in the driver's seat. And there was another person in the car I couldn't identify."
Wounded, Danny Seifert fled for his life, leaving his wife and son behind. "One of them came back and pushed me down. The other was struggling with my husband,” Seifert said. “He took Joseph and I to the bathroom, put a gun to my head and said 'be quiet.'"
She said she did not mention those details to the authorities back in 1974 out of fear for her children’s safety. “That if anything would happen to me I was afraid they didn't have anyone to raise them,” she said.
Lombardo's attorney Rick Halprin says his client has a solid alibi and was not at the Bensenville factory when the murder occurred.
The Family Secrets trial will resume Monday at the Dirksen Federal Building.
Thanks to John "Bulldog" Drummund
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Co-op Exec Said to Have Paid Mob to Avoid Union Trouble
Friends of ours: Tony Accardo, Frank Calabrese Sr., Nick Calabrese, Michael Spano, Rocky Infelice
Friends of mine: Michael Cagnoni
The head of a cooperative association specializing in shipping fruits and vegetables was also delivering a briefcase stuffed with cash to mob figures before his murder, a witness testified Thursday.
"Yes, I believe that was one of the gentlemen," security expert Fred Pavlich told the trial of five alleged mob members after studying an FBI surveillance photo of the late Chicago mob boss Tony Accardo.
Pavlich said he resigned as head of security for the shipping cooperative that Michael Cagnoni headed only weeks before a powerful bomb erupted under the driver's seat of Cagnoni's Mercedes on June 24, 1981. Pavlich said the night before he resigned, he got a threatening phone call that didn't mention Cagnoni by name but still persuaded him that it would be prudent to give up his post as the association's security director.
Federal prosecutors say convicted loan shark Frank Calabrese Sr. was responsible for the Cagnoni murder. Calabrese's brother, Nicholas, the government's star witness, described how a bomb was planted and detonated by an automatic radio-controlled device. An eyewitness, who was at one time a U.S. Marines explosives expert, testified Wednesday that the blast sent huge hunks of metal flying through the air, produced a giant cloud of smoke and tore Cagnoni's body in half.
Calabrese, 69, is among five men charged with taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included extortion of "street tax" from businesses as well as illegal gambling, loan sharking and 18 murders.
Pavlich testified Cagnoni was a brilliant shipping executive who figured out a way of setting up a cooperative association consisting of Chicago and New York grocers and California produce growers. He said thousands of trucks were going back and forth between Chicago and the West Coast every week aboard railroad cars with the association's shipments.
On arriving in the Chicago area, some trucks went to local grocers while others went on to New York to supply produce to supermarkets there. But every week Cagnoni also carried a briefcase stuffed with thousands of dollars in cash to Flash Trucking, a suburban Cicero company that made most of his Chicago-area deliveries, Pavlich testified.
Flash was owned by brothers, Michael and Paul Spano. Michael Spano is serving a 12-year prison sentence for his 2002 conviction for helping former Cicero town president Betty Loren-Maltese swindle the suburb -- long plagued by mob influence -- out of millions of dollars in insurance money.
Prosecutors say that when longtime Cicero mob boss Rocky Infelice was sent to prison in the early 1990s he dubbed Michael Spano his successor.
Pavlich said sometimes money was delivered to a meeting in a Rosemont hotel that Cagnoni and a number of other men attended.
"I of course kept my distance and went downstairs as I was told to do," Pavlich said. But he identified an FBI surveillance photograph of Accardo, who for decades was one of the most powerful mob bosses in the country, as that of one of the men on hand for at least one meeting. "I believe Rocky was there every time I was there," the former security director said, speaking of Infelice.
Calabrese attorney Joseph Lopez asked Pavlich whether he made the payments to avoid union problems. Pavlich said that as he understood it, that was one of the reasons.
Friends of mine: Michael Cagnoni
The head of a cooperative association specializing in shipping fruits and vegetables was also delivering a briefcase stuffed with cash to mob figures before his murder, a witness testified Thursday.
"Yes, I believe that was one of the gentlemen," security expert Fred Pavlich told the trial of five alleged mob members after studying an FBI surveillance photo of the late Chicago mob boss Tony Accardo.
Pavlich said he resigned as head of security for the shipping cooperative that Michael Cagnoni headed only weeks before a powerful bomb erupted under the driver's seat of Cagnoni's Mercedes on June 24, 1981. Pavlich said the night before he resigned, he got a threatening phone call that didn't mention Cagnoni by name but still persuaded him that it would be prudent to give up his post as the association's security director.
Federal prosecutors say convicted loan shark Frank Calabrese Sr. was responsible for the Cagnoni murder. Calabrese's brother, Nicholas, the government's star witness, described how a bomb was planted and detonated by an automatic radio-controlled device. An eyewitness, who was at one time a U.S. Marines explosives expert, testified Wednesday that the blast sent huge hunks of metal flying through the air, produced a giant cloud of smoke and tore Cagnoni's body in half.
Calabrese, 69, is among five men charged with taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included extortion of "street tax" from businesses as well as illegal gambling, loan sharking and 18 murders.
Pavlich testified Cagnoni was a brilliant shipping executive who figured out a way of setting up a cooperative association consisting of Chicago and New York grocers and California produce growers. He said thousands of trucks were going back and forth between Chicago and the West Coast every week aboard railroad cars with the association's shipments.
On arriving in the Chicago area, some trucks went to local grocers while others went on to New York to supply produce to supermarkets there. But every week Cagnoni also carried a briefcase stuffed with thousands of dollars in cash to Flash Trucking, a suburban Cicero company that made most of his Chicago-area deliveries, Pavlich testified.
Flash was owned by brothers, Michael and Paul Spano. Michael Spano is serving a 12-year prison sentence for his 2002 conviction for helping former Cicero town president Betty Loren-Maltese swindle the suburb -- long plagued by mob influence -- out of millions of dollars in insurance money.
Prosecutors say that when longtime Cicero mob boss Rocky Infelice was sent to prison in the early 1990s he dubbed Michael Spano his successor.
Pavlich said sometimes money was delivered to a meeting in a Rosemont hotel that Cagnoni and a number of other men attended.
"I of course kept my distance and went downstairs as I was told to do," Pavlich said. But he identified an FBI surveillance photograph of Accardo, who for decades was one of the most powerful mob bosses in the country, as that of one of the men on hand for at least one meeting. "I believe Rocky was there every time I was there," the former security director said, speaking of Infelice.
Calabrese attorney Joseph Lopez asked Pavlich whether he made the payments to avoid union problems. Pavlich said that as he understood it, that was one of the reasons.
Undertaker Testifies at Mob Trial
Friends of ours: William "Butchie" Petrocelli
As both a gun dealer and an undertaker, Ernie Severino was able to serve the Chicago mob in many ways. Now he's helping the feds.
The 60-year-old Severino testified in the Family Secrets trial of five alleged mobsters. They're accused of taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included illegal gambling, extortion, loan sharking and 18 murders. One of the murder victims was Butchie Petrocelli, the leader of the so-called "Wild Bunch."
Severino testified yesterday that back in 1980, he supplied Petrocelli with 100 guns. When other mobsters pressed Severino to hand over some items he'd been keeping for Petrocelli, Severino balked, fearing Petrocelli would come back and get him. On the stand yesterday, Severino said they answered: "He's not coming back." Petrocelli turned up dead.
As both a gun dealer and an undertaker, Ernie Severino was able to serve the Chicago mob in many ways. Now he's helping the feds.
The 60-year-old Severino testified in the Family Secrets trial of five alleged mobsters. They're accused of taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included illegal gambling, extortion, loan sharking and 18 murders. One of the murder victims was Butchie Petrocelli, the leader of the so-called "Wild Bunch."
Severino testified yesterday that back in 1980, he supplied Petrocelli with 100 guns. When other mobsters pressed Severino to hand over some items he'd been keeping for Petrocelli, Severino balked, fearing Petrocelli would come back and get him. On the stand yesterday, Severino said they answered: "He's not coming back." Petrocelli turned up dead.
Friday, July 27, 2007
America's Most Wanted on The Chicago Syndicate
Rebekah Johnson: In 2006, John Walsh named Rebekah Johnson one of the year’s most wanted fugitives. And last month, police finally picked her up. But despite cops finding an AK-47 and nearly 1000 rounds of ammo in her apartment, Johnson entered a not guilty plea to a New York judge a few weeks ago.
Jean-Marie Jean-Francois: To many of those who knew him, Jean-Marie Jean-Francois was a friendly, church going man. But cops say he had a dark side. According to them, Jean-Francois practiced voodoo and abused his long-time girlfriend, Fritz-Anna. Finally, a restraining order was filed against him, and that’s when police say he exploded—killing Fritz-Anna, and hitting the road.
Cornell & Story Killers: 17 years ago, Robin Cornell and Lisa Story were killed in Cape Coral , Fla. Now, police say all their leads have dried up and they need your help this week in re-opening this cold case.
Guillermo Ramirez: When Amber Fish wrote a letter to America ’s Most Wanted about the rape she suffered at the hands of Guillermo Ramirez, we were touched. In 1992, Ramirez was arrested, but cops say he got out on bond and made a break for it. Now, 15 years later, Amber is still looking for justice. Police say if Ramirez has left the U.S. east coast, then he’s probably in the Philippines . This week, you can help us finally put an end to his run.
Igor Koumlikov: Cops say rumors were swirling around Detroit that somebody killed Jan Jasinski and buried her in her own backyard. Now that police have found the body, they’ve narrowed their list of suspects down to one man—a man by the name of Igor Koumlikov. Koumlikov has been on the run for seven years, and by now could’ve made it out of the U.S. On AMW.COM, we not only have photos of Koumlikov but also of the hole where cops say Jan’s body was found.
Adamson Killer: The Colombia River Gorge that divides Oregon and Washington is a picturesque destination for many sightseers. But last September, the area became a grisly crime scene. Dismembered body, including the victim’s hand, began washing ashore. Police were able to identify the John Doe as Douglas Adamson. Now it’s our job to figure out who killed him, and why.
Goodfella, Henry Hill, Says NBA Ref Donaghy Just the Tip of Scandal
Friends of ours: Gambino Crime Family, Lucchese Crime Family, Jimmy "The Gent" Burke, Paul Vario
Friends of mine: Henry Hill
Tim Donaghy was born and raised in Pennsylvania. He was an All-American kid who played baseball and basketball in high school and then attended Villanova University. Following college Donaghy eventually would reach the pinnacle of his chosen profession -- a referee in the National Basketball Association.
Henry Hill grew up in the hardscrabble streets of East New York in Brooklyn. He was hardly a student, spending most of his days hanging out with the gangsters who held court across the street from his parents' home. Hill and his colleagues would would go on to commit some of the most notable crimes of the past 30 years.
Tim Donaghy
Once you cross the line like Tim Donaghy, you're just another criminal.
You can't avoid the name Tim Donaghy these days.
If you don't know who Henry Hill is, then stop what you're doing and go and rent "Goodfellas." It's the 1990 Martin Scorsese film based on Hill's life as a soldier in the Lucchese crime family in New York City.
If you've seen the movie, you know about the Lufthansa heist (where Hill's crew stole $5.8 million from a vault at JFK Airport), the cocaine dealing (this was the genesis of Hill's downfall, courtesy of the Nassau County narcotics task force), the violence, the murders … all of it. Sure, that all led to Hill's ending up in the FBI's witness protection program, but there's one story "Goodfellas" didn't tell you and it's this story that brings Hill together with Donaghy more than David Stern would ever like to think about.
Henry Hill was the mastermind behind the the Boston College point shaving scandal in the 1978-79 season. And Hill believes this latest scandal could be a lot bigger than just Donaghy.
"There's still a million ways to do it today," says Hill. "That's why [Donaghy] didn't get caught for so long." Plus, Hill adds, "the government works in strange ways. They'll let you go and go and go until they have a huge case against you, right when you think you won't get caught the feds reel you in and you're hanging from their fishing poles. Now, with this whole NBA thing? Forget it. Now that everyone is talking they have computer records, they have everything. It's going to get a whole lot bigger than this … you wait for the trial. This is going to be the tip of the iceberg. This guy Donaghy is in a lot of freakin' trouble."
Hill always was looking to make his next score. He was a good earner for Jimmy "The Gent" Burke (Jimmy Conway in the movie, played by Robert De Niro) and Paul Vario (Paul Cicero in the movie, played by Paul Sorvino) and when he had an idea about a scam or a robbery, it usually worked out. So when Hill approached them with his latest idea, everyone jumped at the chance to make a few bucks. The idea: Get a couple guys on the Boston College basketball team to shave points off the spread so Hill and his friends could lay bets all over town and clean up.
Why Boston College? For one reason -- Hill had an "in."
Back in 1978 one of Hill's associates was Paul Mazzei, a former inmate with Hill from Pittsburgh who helped set up a lucrative cocaine business after the two got out of prison. With this new powerful connection to one of the major organized crime families, Mazzei always was bragging to his friends back home.
"Paul would talk a big game to his friends about his organized crime connections, and how they could make the [B.C.] thing happen," says Ed McDonald, who at the time was the attorney in charge of the Organized Crime Strike Force in NYC. "One of Mazzei's friends from Pittsburgh was a guy named Tony Perla, who was a librarian at a junior high school. I know, you can't make this stuff up. His brother, Rocco, grew up with a guy named Rick Kuhn who at the time was on the B.C. basketball team."
One summer when Kuhn was back in Pittsburgh, Rocco asked his friend if he was interested, it went up the chain to Mazzei and then to Hill and his crew in New York and the fix was on.
Kuhn wasn't some 18-year-old babe in the woods who just got caught up with the wrong people. He had been a pitcher in the Cincinnati Reds organization before he blew his arm out, so he arrived on the B.C. campus as a 23-year-old with a few years of pro ball under his belt.
"I'll tell you, because Kuhn was older, he knew what was going on, he was definitely calling the shots," says Hill. "He brought in the captain of the team and the leading scorer because he had to -- he tried to shave points and he messed up a couple games. We are all losing money until those other guys came on board."
Today Henry Hill has turned in his titles of point shaver, witness and gangster for more benevolent ones. Hill sells his art on eBay, he's opening a restaurant in New Haven, Ct., called Henry Hill's Goodfellas and his tomato sauce, Henry Hill's Sunday Gravy, will be for sale at stores and on the Internet in August. "I'm surviving. I'm doing better than surviving, I'm existing," says Hill. "I have a bunch of irons in the fire and I shouldn't even be here."
Out of the nine games they attempted to fix, Hill and his associates won bets on only six. "That's right," adds McDonald. "I used to call them 'The Gang That Could Shoot Straight.' If it were left to Kuhn, they wouldn't have made a dime."
Kuhn, the team's starting center, soon recruited two other starters. Payment to the players was set at $2,500 to $3,500 per player, per game. At times, cocaine was used as payment for Kuhn, and he wasn't even good at that. "We found out that one time, when B.C. was on their way to a tournament in Hawaii, Kuhn lost a whole thing of coke in the airplane bathroom," says McDonald. All three players were on board and everyone was "winning." Hill adds, "It was great, there was a lot of sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll … and missed shots."
The questions swirling around Donaghy now include whether he made certain calls that affected games or point spreads and whether anyone should have noticed. "It's harder than you think if you're not looking for it," says Hill. "At B.C. we had three guys cooperating with us and even the coach didn't notice. Well, there was a little suspicion, but we made it through the season OK. We didn't think anything of it. I know I didn't."
As far as money, even though it's 2007, the Gambino crime family isn't making Donaghy fill out a W-2 -- organized crime is still a cash business.
"Here's how he probably did it," says Hill. "You get a nephew or a cousin or someone you trust. You meet them in a restaurant somewhere and you have them hand you the envelope. And it's cash. Always cash. Nothing on the Internet or with a bank. That stuff is too traceable. If it's more than that we get word to you to leave your keys on your tire, when you come back there's a bag of money in your trunk. Like I said, there's a million ways to do it."
But how did Henry Hill get caught? He didn't. He gave himself up.
After the Lufthansa heist in 1978, Jimmy Burke started eliminating everyone involved to avoid any possibility that someone would turn an informant -- and send him to jail for the rest of his life.
"Everyone in town knew who did it, they just couldn't prove it," says Hill. "First the feds would come to my house with B.S. warrants, then they started coming with pictures of the bodies. Everyone got whacked here. Eleven guys including two guys' wives got it. I started to see the writing on the wall, but wasn't sure until I heard the tape."
It was the tape that would end Hill's career in the mafia and begin a series of trials as a government witness. A record Hill is proud of: "Hey, we went 11 for 11. All convictions."
On that tape Hill heard Jimmy Burke talking to Paul Vario. "I hear Jimmy talking about me," says Hill. "Jimmy says 'we gotta whack him.' I couldn't believe it. That floored me. I thought I was immune to all that because of how tight I was with those two guys. In the end it didn't matter."
Almost immediately, Hill entered the witness protection program.
Hill explains that one part of the program includes signing a contract that basically states "you get caught in one lie, the whole deal was off. But I could confess to anything. I didn't commit any murders, but I was present many times when murder was committed. So when you sign that, you have to change your whole way of thinking. My life was on the line, my family's life was on the line.… They had everything I had done, even my terrible record as a kid. So, you have one choice: Be absolutely truthful."
During his debriefing, the FBI would ask Hill all sorts of questions based on the information they had -- phone records, surveillance, airplane receipts.
"They start coming at me with all these records. 'Henry, why were you talking to Jimmy right here? Why did you keep flying to Boston?' Compared to the other stuff I was doing, I didn't even think it was a crime. What was I doing in Boston? I was shaving points!"
Listening to this was McDonald, Hill's sponsor in the witness protection program.
"Man, when I told him about B.C., Ed McDonald went postal, he went ballistic," says Hill. "He couldn't believe what I was telling him."
McDonald admits they had no clue about the point shaving. "No, we wouldn't have even known about it," says McDonald. "That was totally out of the blue." Adding to McDonald's reaction was that he was a graduate of Boston College and even played on the freshman basketball team. Hill's testimony regarding the B.C. point shaving scandal resulted in multiple convictions, including Kuhn, Mazzei and Perla.
That closed the book on one of the biggest scandals sports has ever known. But what about Tim Donaghy and his partners?
Hearing reports that it wasn't until after a few days that Donaghy's name was made public that he requested police protection, Hills says, "That's a joke he doesn't have protection. He's probably under wraps with the feds. I bet he's going into the witness protection program."
Hill thinks Donaghy will "probably get 10 years and they'll make him go to Gamblers Anonymous. Then they'll suspend the sentence probably. Hey, the guy has a disease, he's a degenerate gambler and he's a fool for what he did. Still, he'll try to cut the right deal and get immunity if he can for everything." But there's still the question of how Donaghy and his partners got caught.
Hill thinks it's because everyone got greedy. It would make sense not to go overboard and fix too many games … and of course never talk. You don't know who's listening.
"Sense isn't part of it, once [organized crime] got their hands on him, they were never going to let him go," says Hill. "They owned him and they were calling the shots, no question. They're too greedy because they're betting money everywhere now: the Internet, Vegas, every bookie they can find, and everyone wanted a piece. It can get out of hand real fast."
According to Hill, everyone from himself to Donaghy is subject to the failings of the human condition -- that's why you'll never see him bet on sports again.
"Maybe I'll make a pinky bet for 10 bucks with a guy if we're watching a game, but that's it," says Hill. "All these people are humans -- they're greedy, they use steroids, maybe they have a coke habit. Who knows? Look at the bike guys in the Tour. It's everywhere. There's too much money involved. And the guys that are helping them? Players, officials, whatever -- they know they're only in the game for a few years and that's if they stay healthy. They all want to put something in the cookie jar. They buy all sorts of stuff with cash only. Cars and art, all that B.S. Hey, art goes up in value. I know. That's my main source of income, my art. You can find it on eBay, by the way."
Hill doesn't think Donaghy is the only one out there, just the only one to get caught. "I'm pretty sure there are guys all over on the take," says Hill. "They're going to get these guys good, because like always, they're after the Gambinos. And I'll tell you, I wouldn't be surprised to see some players involved."
Of course, like Hill said, this is nothing new. "Back in the '70s I had a joint on Queens Boulevard right between Aquaduct and Belmont. Every jockey in town came in and bet there." Other athletes had places as well. "There were athletes and bookies everywhere back then."
Hill would run into a few of them -- they were hard to miss. "Joe Namath used to fool around with my girlfriend's roommate back then," says Hill. "I used to see Joe over at the apartment every couple days. Before he left for Super Bowl III though, he told me to 'bet the f------ farm' on the Jets. I went down there and took the money line. Man, did I clean up."
Hill didn't just run into athletes in his line of work. "I used to have a guy that reffed games in the Garden in the '70s," says Hill. "I don't want to use his name, but he was a degenerate gambler. He'd come to Belmont or Saratoga and tell one of us 'I want $4,000 on the seven horse' or whatever. And we'd send someone in front of him to make his bet. That guy would leave the tickets on the table and the ref comes up and bets a couple bucks on something else, then, when he walks away, he palms the ticket for the $4K bet. I mean, what the hell is a ref doing betting $4,000 on a race?"
As Hill learned, it all comes to an end. Money, friends, easy living … it all disappears.
"My father was strict as they come," says Hill. "He realized who I was involved with when I was a kid and he would say 'stay away from those bums across the street.' Well, I didn't listen. As my mom used to say, my eyes were bigger than my stomach, I got blinded by that life. I thought it was the good life. Good living, Cadillacs and diamond rings. In reality, it's just jails, institutions or death."
Welcome to the rest of your life, Mr. Donaghy.
Thanks to Mike Philbrick
Friends of mine: Henry Hill
Tim Donaghy was born and raised in Pennsylvania. He was an All-American kid who played baseball and basketball in high school and then attended Villanova University. Following college Donaghy eventually would reach the pinnacle of his chosen profession -- a referee in the National Basketball Association.
Henry Hill grew up in the hardscrabble streets of East New York in Brooklyn. He was hardly a student, spending most of his days hanging out with the gangsters who held court across the street from his parents' home. Hill and his colleagues would would go on to commit some of the most notable crimes of the past 30 years.
Tim Donaghy
Once you cross the line like Tim Donaghy, you're just another criminal.
You can't avoid the name Tim Donaghy these days.
If you don't know who Henry Hill is, then stop what you're doing and go and rent "Goodfellas." It's the 1990 Martin Scorsese film based on Hill's life as a soldier in the Lucchese crime family in New York City.
If you've seen the movie, you know about the Lufthansa heist (where Hill's crew stole $5.8 million from a vault at JFK Airport), the cocaine dealing (this was the genesis of Hill's downfall, courtesy of the Nassau County narcotics task force), the violence, the murders … all of it. Sure, that all led to Hill's ending up in the FBI's witness protection program, but there's one story "Goodfellas" didn't tell you and it's this story that brings Hill together with Donaghy more than David Stern would ever like to think about.
Henry Hill was the mastermind behind the the Boston College point shaving scandal in the 1978-79 season. And Hill believes this latest scandal could be a lot bigger than just Donaghy.
"There's still a million ways to do it today," says Hill. "That's why [Donaghy] didn't get caught for so long." Plus, Hill adds, "the government works in strange ways. They'll let you go and go and go until they have a huge case against you, right when you think you won't get caught the feds reel you in and you're hanging from their fishing poles. Now, with this whole NBA thing? Forget it. Now that everyone is talking they have computer records, they have everything. It's going to get a whole lot bigger than this … you wait for the trial. This is going to be the tip of the iceberg. This guy Donaghy is in a lot of freakin' trouble."
Hill always was looking to make his next score. He was a good earner for Jimmy "The Gent" Burke (Jimmy Conway in the movie, played by Robert De Niro) and Paul Vario (Paul Cicero in the movie, played by Paul Sorvino) and when he had an idea about a scam or a robbery, it usually worked out. So when Hill approached them with his latest idea, everyone jumped at the chance to make a few bucks. The idea: Get a couple guys on the Boston College basketball team to shave points off the spread so Hill and his friends could lay bets all over town and clean up.
Why Boston College? For one reason -- Hill had an "in."
Back in 1978 one of Hill's associates was Paul Mazzei, a former inmate with Hill from Pittsburgh who helped set up a lucrative cocaine business after the two got out of prison. With this new powerful connection to one of the major organized crime families, Mazzei always was bragging to his friends back home.
"Paul would talk a big game to his friends about his organized crime connections, and how they could make the [B.C.] thing happen," says Ed McDonald, who at the time was the attorney in charge of the Organized Crime Strike Force in NYC. "One of Mazzei's friends from Pittsburgh was a guy named Tony Perla, who was a librarian at a junior high school. I know, you can't make this stuff up. His brother, Rocco, grew up with a guy named Rick Kuhn who at the time was on the B.C. basketball team."
One summer when Kuhn was back in Pittsburgh, Rocco asked his friend if he was interested, it went up the chain to Mazzei and then to Hill and his crew in New York and the fix was on.
Kuhn wasn't some 18-year-old babe in the woods who just got caught up with the wrong people. He had been a pitcher in the Cincinnati Reds organization before he blew his arm out, so he arrived on the B.C. campus as a 23-year-old with a few years of pro ball under his belt.
"I'll tell you, because Kuhn was older, he knew what was going on, he was definitely calling the shots," says Hill. "He brought in the captain of the team and the leading scorer because he had to -- he tried to shave points and he messed up a couple games. We are all losing money until those other guys came on board."
Today Henry Hill has turned in his titles of point shaver, witness and gangster for more benevolent ones. Hill sells his art on eBay, he's opening a restaurant in New Haven, Ct., called Henry Hill's Goodfellas and his tomato sauce, Henry Hill's Sunday Gravy, will be for sale at stores and on the Internet in August. "I'm surviving. I'm doing better than surviving, I'm existing," says Hill. "I have a bunch of irons in the fire and I shouldn't even be here."
Out of the nine games they attempted to fix, Hill and his associates won bets on only six. "That's right," adds McDonald. "I used to call them 'The Gang That Could Shoot Straight.' If it were left to Kuhn, they wouldn't have made a dime."
Kuhn, the team's starting center, soon recruited two other starters. Payment to the players was set at $2,500 to $3,500 per player, per game. At times, cocaine was used as payment for Kuhn, and he wasn't even good at that. "We found out that one time, when B.C. was on their way to a tournament in Hawaii, Kuhn lost a whole thing of coke in the airplane bathroom," says McDonald. All three players were on board and everyone was "winning." Hill adds, "It was great, there was a lot of sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll … and missed shots."
The questions swirling around Donaghy now include whether he made certain calls that affected games or point spreads and whether anyone should have noticed. "It's harder than you think if you're not looking for it," says Hill. "At B.C. we had three guys cooperating with us and even the coach didn't notice. Well, there was a little suspicion, but we made it through the season OK. We didn't think anything of it. I know I didn't."As far as money, even though it's 2007, the Gambino crime family isn't making Donaghy fill out a W-2 -- organized crime is still a cash business.
"Here's how he probably did it," says Hill. "You get a nephew or a cousin or someone you trust. You meet them in a restaurant somewhere and you have them hand you the envelope. And it's cash. Always cash. Nothing on the Internet or with a bank. That stuff is too traceable. If it's more than that we get word to you to leave your keys on your tire, when you come back there's a bag of money in your trunk. Like I said, there's a million ways to do it."
But how did Henry Hill get caught? He didn't. He gave himself up.
After the Lufthansa heist in 1978, Jimmy Burke started eliminating everyone involved to avoid any possibility that someone would turn an informant -- and send him to jail for the rest of his life.
"Everyone in town knew who did it, they just couldn't prove it," says Hill. "First the feds would come to my house with B.S. warrants, then they started coming with pictures of the bodies. Everyone got whacked here. Eleven guys including two guys' wives got it. I started to see the writing on the wall, but wasn't sure until I heard the tape."
It was the tape that would end Hill's career in the mafia and begin a series of trials as a government witness. A record Hill is proud of: "Hey, we went 11 for 11. All convictions."
On that tape Hill heard Jimmy Burke talking to Paul Vario. "I hear Jimmy talking about me," says Hill. "Jimmy says 'we gotta whack him.' I couldn't believe it. That floored me. I thought I was immune to all that because of how tight I was with those two guys. In the end it didn't matter."
Almost immediately, Hill entered the witness protection program.
Hill explains that one part of the program includes signing a contract that basically states "you get caught in one lie, the whole deal was off. But I could confess to anything. I didn't commit any murders, but I was present many times when murder was committed. So when you sign that, you have to change your whole way of thinking. My life was on the line, my family's life was on the line.… They had everything I had done, even my terrible record as a kid. So, you have one choice: Be absolutely truthful."
During his debriefing, the FBI would ask Hill all sorts of questions based on the information they had -- phone records, surveillance, airplane receipts.
"They start coming at me with all these records. 'Henry, why were you talking to Jimmy right here? Why did you keep flying to Boston?' Compared to the other stuff I was doing, I didn't even think it was a crime. What was I doing in Boston? I was shaving points!"
Listening to this was McDonald, Hill's sponsor in the witness protection program.
"Man, when I told him about B.C., Ed McDonald went postal, he went ballistic," says Hill. "He couldn't believe what I was telling him."
McDonald admits they had no clue about the point shaving. "No, we wouldn't have even known about it," says McDonald. "That was totally out of the blue." Adding to McDonald's reaction was that he was a graduate of Boston College and even played on the freshman basketball team. Hill's testimony regarding the B.C. point shaving scandal resulted in multiple convictions, including Kuhn, Mazzei and Perla.
That closed the book on one of the biggest scandals sports has ever known. But what about Tim Donaghy and his partners?
Hearing reports that it wasn't until after a few days that Donaghy's name was made public that he requested police protection, Hills says, "That's a joke he doesn't have protection. He's probably under wraps with the feds. I bet he's going into the witness protection program."
Hill thinks Donaghy will "probably get 10 years and they'll make him go to Gamblers Anonymous. Then they'll suspend the sentence probably. Hey, the guy has a disease, he's a degenerate gambler and he's a fool for what he did. Still, he'll try to cut the right deal and get immunity if he can for everything." But there's still the question of how Donaghy and his partners got caught.
Hill thinks it's because everyone got greedy. It would make sense not to go overboard and fix too many games … and of course never talk. You don't know who's listening.
"Sense isn't part of it, once [organized crime] got their hands on him, they were never going to let him go," says Hill. "They owned him and they were calling the shots, no question. They're too greedy because they're betting money everywhere now: the Internet, Vegas, every bookie they can find, and everyone wanted a piece. It can get out of hand real fast."
According to Hill, everyone from himself to Donaghy is subject to the failings of the human condition -- that's why you'll never see him bet on sports again.
"Maybe I'll make a pinky bet for 10 bucks with a guy if we're watching a game, but that's it," says Hill. "All these people are humans -- they're greedy, they use steroids, maybe they have a coke habit. Who knows? Look at the bike guys in the Tour. It's everywhere. There's too much money involved. And the guys that are helping them? Players, officials, whatever -- they know they're only in the game for a few years and that's if they stay healthy. They all want to put something in the cookie jar. They buy all sorts of stuff with cash only. Cars and art, all that B.S. Hey, art goes up in value. I know. That's my main source of income, my art. You can find it on eBay, by the way."
Hill doesn't think Donaghy is the only one out there, just the only one to get caught. "I'm pretty sure there are guys all over on the take," says Hill. "They're going to get these guys good, because like always, they're after the Gambinos. And I'll tell you, I wouldn't be surprised to see some players involved."
Of course, like Hill said, this is nothing new. "Back in the '70s I had a joint on Queens Boulevard right between Aquaduct and Belmont. Every jockey in town came in and bet there." Other athletes had places as well. "There were athletes and bookies everywhere back then."
Hill would run into a few of them -- they were hard to miss. "Joe Namath used to fool around with my girlfriend's roommate back then," says Hill. "I used to see Joe over at the apartment every couple days. Before he left for Super Bowl III though, he told me to 'bet the f------ farm' on the Jets. I went down there and took the money line. Man, did I clean up."
Hill didn't just run into athletes in his line of work. "I used to have a guy that reffed games in the Garden in the '70s," says Hill. "I don't want to use his name, but he was a degenerate gambler. He'd come to Belmont or Saratoga and tell one of us 'I want $4,000 on the seven horse' or whatever. And we'd send someone in front of him to make his bet. That guy would leave the tickets on the table and the ref comes up and bets a couple bucks on something else, then, when he walks away, he palms the ticket for the $4K bet. I mean, what the hell is a ref doing betting $4,000 on a race?"
As Hill learned, it all comes to an end. Money, friends, easy living … it all disappears.
"My father was strict as they come," says Hill. "He realized who I was involved with when I was a kid and he would say 'stay away from those bums across the street.' Well, I didn't listen. As my mom used to say, my eyes were bigger than my stomach, I got blinded by that life. I thought it was the good life. Good living, Cadillacs and diamond rings. In reality, it's just jails, institutions or death."
Welcome to the rest of your life, Mr. Donaghy.
Thanks to Mike Philbrick
News Reporters on Mob Payroll?
I am always amazed at how the media covers mob trials.
There are so many expert commentators. They all report on the mob like they have been covering them for years.
Actually, some reporters have been covering for them for years. One reporter was on the payroll of a mobster for years. Every reporter knew but no one said his name, because the mobster was an alderman and committeeman.
No. I’m not talking about Fred Roti, the kindly alderman of the First Ward who was the City Hall representative for the Mob’s political enforcer, John D’Arco Sr.
When I first arrived at City Hall in 1976, as a freelance writer doing my first interview with the first Mayor Daley, “da Boss,” to the time I left in 1992, it was obvious that many reporters knew a lot more about the Chicago mob than they let on.
The only time we write about them is when one of them decides to squeal, or is brought before a court. And then the reporters, hypocritically, pontificate about the ills of the Chicago Outfit, the Mafia, la Cosa Nostra.
Hypocrites because all of the reporters, including me, knew which ones were the mobsters and which ones weren’t. We knew which powerful aldermen and committeemen were the lackeys of the Chicago mob, and who were their attorneys, too. Yet, we never exposed them. These mobsters walked into the Chicago City Hall Press Room all the time. They attended meetings of the Chicago Democratic Organization, all the time.
They buddied up to even the Republicans out in DuPage County and stood next to Cook County State’s Attorneys.
When I left newspapering for a brief sabbatical into the dark and seamy world of Chicago politics as a consultant, some of my clients were, in fact, mobsters. The most notorious were those in the Town of Cicero.
I was always amazed at how reporters called Betty Loren-Maltese asking for favors on one hand, and, maybe not getting them, sat back while their newspapers pummeled her in their coverage on the other.
I’m not defending the incarcerated mob heiress and vicious Town President who relished in destroying lives and careers and lying. She deserves her prison sentence and far more. But let’s not pretend that the news media in Chicago isn’t cozy with the mob or that just Mayor Richard M. Daley is afraid to talk about the topic.
The mobsters have been crawling around Chicago City Hall, and Democratic and Republican politics in Illinois, for generations and we only address it when it becomes the headline and can’t avoid writing about it.
I won’t spill any beans. Why should I be any different? The Chicago news media doesn’t care and I doubt that most Chicagoans really care either.
We know they are there. We voters elect them to office. And we elect their political pals, cronies, lackeys and funders to government office, too.
So, as we listen to the sordid and grisly tales offered by Nicholas Calabrese in the highly touted “Family Secrets” mob trial now taking place and filling our front page headlines and columns and the TV reports of overly tanned and hyped up TV reporters, remember, the mob is there because we all allow them to be there.
I wonder if Chicago politics depends on them being there.
Thanks to Ray Hanania
There are so many expert commentators. They all report on the mob like they have been covering them for years.
Actually, some reporters have been covering for them for years. One reporter was on the payroll of a mobster for years. Every reporter knew but no one said his name, because the mobster was an alderman and committeeman.
No. I’m not talking about Fred Roti, the kindly alderman of the First Ward who was the City Hall representative for the Mob’s political enforcer, John D’Arco Sr.
When I first arrived at City Hall in 1976, as a freelance writer doing my first interview with the first Mayor Daley, “da Boss,” to the time I left in 1992, it was obvious that many reporters knew a lot more about the Chicago mob than they let on.
The only time we write about them is when one of them decides to squeal, or is brought before a court. And then the reporters, hypocritically, pontificate about the ills of the Chicago Outfit, the Mafia, la Cosa Nostra.
Hypocrites because all of the reporters, including me, knew which ones were the mobsters and which ones weren’t. We knew which powerful aldermen and committeemen were the lackeys of the Chicago mob, and who were their attorneys, too. Yet, we never exposed them. These mobsters walked into the Chicago City Hall Press Room all the time. They attended meetings of the Chicago Democratic Organization, all the time.
They buddied up to even the Republicans out in DuPage County and stood next to Cook County State’s Attorneys.
When I left newspapering for a brief sabbatical into the dark and seamy world of Chicago politics as a consultant, some of my clients were, in fact, mobsters. The most notorious were those in the Town of Cicero.
I was always amazed at how reporters called Betty Loren-Maltese asking for favors on one hand, and, maybe not getting them, sat back while their newspapers pummeled her in their coverage on the other.
I’m not defending the incarcerated mob heiress and vicious Town President who relished in destroying lives and careers and lying. She deserves her prison sentence and far more. But let’s not pretend that the news media in Chicago isn’t cozy with the mob or that just Mayor Richard M. Daley is afraid to talk about the topic.
The mobsters have been crawling around Chicago City Hall, and Democratic and Republican politics in Illinois, for generations and we only address it when it becomes the headline and can’t avoid writing about it.
I won’t spill any beans. Why should I be any different? The Chicago news media doesn’t care and I doubt that most Chicagoans really care either.
We know they are there. We voters elect them to office. And we elect their political pals, cronies, lackeys and funders to government office, too.
So, as we listen to the sordid and grisly tales offered by Nicholas Calabrese in the highly touted “Family Secrets” mob trial now taking place and filling our front page headlines and columns and the TV reports of overly tanned and hyped up TV reporters, remember, the mob is there because we all allow them to be there.
I wonder if Chicago politics depends on them being there.
Thanks to Ray Hanania
Mafia Barber Avoids Jail
Friends of ours: Genovese Crime Family
It was a close shave yesterday for an East Harlem barber who nearly went to prison for lying to the FBI about his Mafia clientele.
Instead, a federal judge sentenced Claudio Caponigro to a year's probation for playing dumb when FBI agents asked him to identify photos of some of his mobster pals
"Your honor, I'm sorry to hurt anybody," Caponigro, 76, told Manhattan Judge Lewis Kaplan.
The Italian immigrant will go back to doing what he has done for more than 56 years - cutting hair in his tiny shop on E. 116th St.
Caponigro's lawyer, Michael Washor, said his client is "embarrassed and shamed" but has no plans to retire. "This is a man who has devoted his life to his family, to his neighborhood and, believe it or not, to his profession," Washor added.
Caponigro was indicted last year along with 45 others in a vast racketeering conspiracy that included charges that the acting boss of the Genovese crime family signed off on a hit from prison.
FBI agents visited Caponigro's shop in November 2004 and asked him if he could identify several Genovese crime family members. Later, he was caught on tape telling mob-lawyer-turned-informant Peter Peluso, "They ask me a couple of questions. I don't answer not one question. I says, 'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a barber.'"
Caponigro was sentenced with several other septuagenarian mobsters accused in the same case.
Thanks to Thomas Zambito
It was a close shave yesterday for an East Harlem barber who nearly went to prison for lying to the FBI about his Mafia clientele.
Instead, a federal judge sentenced Claudio Caponigro to a year's probation for playing dumb when FBI agents asked him to identify photos of some of his mobster pals
"Your honor, I'm sorry to hurt anybody," Caponigro, 76, told Manhattan Judge Lewis Kaplan.
The Italian immigrant will go back to doing what he has done for more than 56 years - cutting hair in his tiny shop on E. 116th St.
Caponigro's lawyer, Michael Washor, said his client is "embarrassed and shamed" but has no plans to retire. "This is a man who has devoted his life to his family, to his neighborhood and, believe it or not, to his profession," Washor added.
Caponigro was indicted last year along with 45 others in a vast racketeering conspiracy that included charges that the acting boss of the Genovese crime family signed off on a hit from prison.
FBI agents visited Caponigro's shop in November 2004 and asked him if he could identify several Genovese crime family members. Later, he was caught on tape telling mob-lawyer-turned-informant Peter Peluso, "They ask me a couple of questions. I don't answer not one question. I says, 'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a barber.'"
Caponigro was sentenced with several other septuagenarian mobsters accused in the same case.
Thanks to Thomas Zambito
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