Wintry grave may be part of mob's legacy

Friends of ours: Frank "the German" Schweihs, Felix "Milwaukee Phil" Alderisio, William Hanhardt, Paul Schiro, Richard Cain, Sam "Momo" Gianacana

In a few days, U.S. marshals will drive the fugitive Chicago Outfit enforcer Frank "The German" Schweihs from Kentucky back to Chicago. Here, he will stand trial for two gangland murders that are part of the FBI's Family Secrets investigation of unsolved mob killings. But once in the Chicago area, on the way to the federal lockup, the marshals might think about taking a short detour to Elmwood Cemetery in suburban River Grove.

They should drive about a half-mile past the cemetery office and start looking for a giant Norwegian pine that throws shade on the gravestones in the afternoon. From the road, with that tree as a marker, it is only a few paces to Section 47-Lot 15-Grave 2.

After that long drive up from Kentucky, it might be good for Schweihs to stretch his legs a bit, to take a short walk on the snow and stand at the grave I have in mind, one of those graves in the shadow of the big pine tree. That's where Eugenia Pappas, also known as "Becca," is buried. She's been there a long time now. She wasn't a tough guy. She wasn't a jewel thief or an iceman, wasn't a burglar or extortionist. She wasn't a puppet master, giving politicians orders. She was young and beautiful, with big brown eyes, only 18 years old when she dated Schweihs, a bodyguard for mobster Felix "Milwaukee Phil" Alderisio.

Her father, Christopher, and her mother, Helen, didn't like it that one of Chicago's most fearsome and untouchable hoodlums had taken a fancy to their daughter. Christopher moved the family to Arizona, to start a new life, to give his daughter a chance away from Schweihs. Eventually, though, she returned to Chicago. A few weeks later, she stopped dating Schweihs. She stopped dating him about the time a bullet pierced her heart.

I spoke to Pappas family members, but they were too afraid to be quoted in this column and declined to be interviewed. I also spoke to a family friend who told me about Pappas on the condition her name was not used. I understand. Every so often, some writer announces that the Outfit is dead. But if it's so dead, why are people in Chicago still afraid?

"The whole family, they were so close, so loving," the family friend told me Tuesday. "When Becca was found, it was so horrible, devastating. It was like somebody scooped their insides out and left the shells. Her mother, Helen, was a strong woman, she was American, but she wore black from that day on. She died later, but she really died the day Becca was found."

Becca was last seen a week or so before Christmas of 1962. Her distraught father went to the newspapers for help in mid-January. An article in the Tribune, under the headline "Girl Sought" ran in the Jan. 12, 1963, editions. "Left behind in the apartment, Pappas said, were all her clothes, except those she was wearing," the story said.

On Feb. 9, a tugboat captain found her body floating in the Chicago River. She'd been in the water about two weeks. Authorities surmised she was killed while sitting in the passenger's seat of an automobile. She was buried on Feb. 15, 1963. "You've seen those wakes where people get emotional and loud," the family friend told me. "This wasn't like that. It was silent, completely silent. That was worse."

Schweihs was hauled in for questioning by a celebrated crime fighter, Richard Cain, the homicide chief of the Cook County sheriff's police. After much questioning and investigating--or simply the appearance of questioning and investigating--the case against Schweihs, if there ever was one, fizzled. He was let go and no charges regarding the Pappas murder were ever filed against him. Schweihs, the papers noted, had a long police record, but no convictions. That's not hard to figure, since he was usually being investigated by one of those celebrated crime fighters.

It's a Chicago thing. The relationship between mobsters and top local cops isn't new, and it isn't old. William Hanhardt, the former chief of detectives for the Chicago Police Department, was recently convicted of running the Outfit's interstate jewelry theft ring, using police information to set up the victims. One of Hanhardt's convicted accomplices in the jewel ring is Paul Schiro, an Outfit enforcer. Schiro and Schweihs have been charged by the feds with an Outfit killing in Arizona.

When the victim is another mobster, Chicago shrugs. But this victim was a girl, a civilian, whose family had no power. So the local law spit on her and the Outfit spit on her and the investigation was dropped.

I said that Richard Cain, the detective who cleared Schweihs of the Pappas killing, was a celebrated crime fighter. He was celebrated, sure, the way Hanhardt was celebrated, in gushing media accounts as some heroic tough guy, ready-made for Hollywood. Cain was a bodyguard for Outfit boss Sam "Momo" Giancana. On Dec. 20, 1973, Cain was in Rose's Sandwich Shop on the West Side when two men entered with shotguns. He took two blasts to the face. The second one was just to make sure.

Schweihs is an old man, now, at 75, and Cain is dead. And Eugenia Pappas' grave was silent in the shadow of that pine tree in the snow. "Elusive in life," reads the inscription on her gravestone. "Elusive in death."

Thanks to John Kass

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Reputed Mobster Gets 30 Months

Friends of ours: Salvatore Locascio, Frank Locascio, John Gotti

Salvatore Locascio was indicted in February on multiple felonies alleging he received several million dollars from a massive, illegal phone cramming operation that scammed thousands of customers. With a sick wife and a felony charge to which he had already pleaded guilty, North Naples resident and reputed Mafia captain Salvatore Locascio entered a New York courtroom Monday hoping to avoid a prison term at his sentencing. Locascio, 45, didn't succeed, but he did persuade the judge to sentence him to well below the minimum under federal guidelines — 2½ years in prison. The sentencing took place in U.S. District Court in Brooklyn.

Locascio, pleaded guilty in February to money laundering. He was indicted on multiple felonies alleging he received several million dollars from a massive, illegal phone cramming operation that scammed thousands of customers by placing charges on their bills for unauthorized, unordered services. He faced up to 10 years in prison, with federal sentencing guidelines calling for between about five and seven years behind bars. So the 2½-year sentence was several years below the minimum.

"Now he hopes to return to his family and focus on them so they can cope with his absence for the next year and a half," one of Locascio's attorneys, Eric Franz, said after the hearing. Judge Carol Amon granted Locascio's request to begin his prison sentence June 1, 2006. He wanted to remain free to attend his son's high school graduation and care for his wife, who has multiple sclerosis.

The subject of the Mafia actually played little part in the sentence, even if prosecutors alleged it played a significant part in Locascio's past. Locascio's father, Frank, was the consigliere, or counselor, to Mafia crime boss John Gotti. The U.S. Attorney's Office has alleged Salvatore Locascio inherited his father's Bronx street crew in the mid-1990s. And the federal prosecutors argued the phone cramming operation was a Mafia-related business, with the payments to Locascio as tribute due to his position as a captain in the crime family.

The defense had signed a stipulation indicating they wouldn't oppose the characterization of Locascio as a mobster for purposes of the sentencing. One of the grounds under which the defense asked the judge to sentence below the minimum was for "extraordinary rehabilitation." So despite initial denials by Locascio and his attorneys that he was part of the organized crime world, they relied on that allegation to argue he had left the mob to start a clean life in Naples. He has a prior conviction and prison term in a tax evasion case.

Franz didn't want to comment on any mob-related allegations. But he said the business that conducted the illegal phone cramming, Creative Program Communications, was formed by Locascio and several other investors 20 years ago and had nothing to do with the Mafia.

Franz said Locascio moved from New York in 2000 or 2001 "to start a new life in Florida, free of organized crime, and the money he received was not a form of tribute." When asked Monday by Judge Amon whether the U.S. Attorney's Office had any evidence Locascio is currently involved in organized crime activities, the prosecutors said they didn't. So with there being no dispute over that issue, the judge didn't press for any argument or discussion on it during the sentencing. Locascio addressed the court and asked for any form of punishment that didn't involve incarceration. He spoke mostly of his family in North Naples and the need to care for his wife. Until he turns himself in to begin his sentence, he'll remain free on $10 million bond.

After his prison sentence, he must also serve three years of supervised release, which is similar to probation. He'll pay a $50,000 fine. And he must satisfy a $4.7 million asset forfeiture. Franz said Locascio may consider selling his Pelican Marsh home, valued at $2.1 million. And Robert Nardoza, a spokesman for the U.S. Attorney's Office, said Locascio has said he'll forfeit property on Indigo Bush Way in Grey Oaks. He'll sell commercial property he owns in the Bronx. And he presented the court with a check for more than $500,000 on Monday.

The phone cramming scheme generated $50,000 to $600,000 a day between 1997 and 2001. In total, the scheme is alleged to have produced about $200 million in gross revenues and $100 million in profits, prosecutors said. (From 1997 to 2001, assuming the full years for each is 5 years total. My calculator procudes a gross revenue range of $91, 250,000 to over a Billion dollars. The average take was probably a little over $100,000 day. It's good work if you can get it.)

If convicted of charges under his original indictments, Locascio could have faced up to 20 years in prison on the racketeering charge; 20 years in prison on the racketeering conspiracy charge; 20 years in prison on each wire fraud charge, five years in prison on the wire fraud conspiracy charge, and 20 years in prison on the money laundering conspiracy charge, federal prosecutors said. Instead, almost all those charges were dropped as part of the plea agreement.

Thanks to Chris Colby

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Gaming Board Pulls Casino License

In a unanimous decision, the Illinois Gaming Board today stripped the bankrupt Emerald Casino of its gambling license, saying its managers and owners lied to regulators and allowed people with ties to organized crime to become investors. Emerald officials, who wanted to open a gambling house in northwest suburban Rosemont, are expected to appeal the decision to the Illinois Appellate Court.

The regulatory saga began in 2001 when a board made up of entirely different members first said the casino's owners should turn over their license.

In announcing its opinion, the board agreed with retired federal Judge Abner Mikva, who oversaw nearly two months of testimony in which Emerald argued that the punishment of stripping its license was too severe. But Mikva said in an opinion last month that Emerald's officials lied to regulators and played "fast and loose" with the facts in their zeal to open a casino.

"Judge Mikva said it best," board Chairman Aaron Jaffe said, when he wrote "the people who operated Emerald and who did this deal operated on the premise of 'Catch me if you can.'

"My feeling is they were caught, they lost their game of 'Catch me if you can,'" Jaffe said. "They were caught, and they should lose their license."

State lawmakers passed legislation to allow casino operators to move their struggling operation to Rosemont in 1999 and former Gov. George Ryan signed it. At the time, it was considered a done deal. But the gaming board tripped up those plans when in 2000 and 2001 it raised questions about some investors in the project. Board staff accused the main owners of the Emerald, the Flynn family, of lying to them.

Although they did not technically play a role in the board's decision, questions also were raised about ties between municipal leaders in Rosemont, including longtime Mayor Donald Stephens, and organized crime figures. Illinois Atty. Gen. Lisa Madigan has also raised similar questions about links between Stephens and the mob. Stephens has repeatedly denied the accusations.

As part of the deal reached in 1999, legislators guaranteed that 20 percent of the owners of the casino would be minorities and women. Several of the so-called 23 "minority investors" were in attendance at the board meeting today and complained the board's decision means they will lose the money they put into the project. Collectively, the group invested nearly $33 million. "This investment has been wiped out today. It's been wiped out on this Christmas Eve. We have nothing," said one of the minority investors, Chaz Ebert, wife of Sun-Times movie critic Roger Ebert.

Emerald attorney Robert Clifford said the casino would appeal the board's decision to the 4th Appellate Court in Springfield. Clifford said any investors who lied or misled regulators or had other ties the board found objectionable were willing to drop out as investors, but the board never considered that offer. He said by not accepting the offer, the case will continue in legal circles for at least another two to possibly five years. "This hearing was all about preventing this casino from going to the Village of Rosemont," Clifford said.

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Chicago Mob, Vegas, Celebrities, Is there a movie here?

Friends of ours: Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, "Johnny Green" Faraci, Bonnano Crime Family, Tony "the ant" Spilotro
Friends of mine: Rick Rizzolo, Rocco Lombardo, Vincent Faraci, Joey Cusumano

Some should call Hollywood if they have not already and see what they can come up with regarding the Mobster-Celebrity Strip Club Probe . I can help with casting.

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Vincent "The Chin" Gigante Dies

Friends of ours: Vincent "The Chin" Gigante, Genovese Crime Family

US mob boss Vincent "The Chin" Gigante, who avoided jail for decades by wandering Manhattan streets in a ratty bathrobe and slippers as part of an elaborate feigned mental illness, has died in prison. He was 77.

Mafioso Gigante died at the US Medical Centre for federal prisoners in Springfield, Missouri, early today, said prison spokesman Al Quintero. "The cause of death is currently unknown. He had a history of coronary disease."

Dubbed the "Oddfather" for his bizarre behaviour, the former Genovese crime family head, an ex-boxer whose lengthy string of victories over prosecutors ended with a July 1997 racketeering conviction, finally admitted his insanity ruse at an April 2003 court hearing.

After nearly a quarter-century of public craziness, Gigante calmly pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice for his deception. He then chatted amiably with his son, shook hands with defence lawyers and even laughed at one point.

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