Friends of ours: Vito "Godfather of Montreal" Rizzuto, Bonanno Crime Family, Dominick "Big Trin" Trinchera, Philip "Philly Lucky" Giaccone and Alphonse "Sonny Red" Indelicato, Joseph Massino
A Canadian mobster who helped rub out three reputed New York Mafia captains in 1981 pleaded guilty Friday to racketeering under a deal calling for him to serve just 10 years in prison.
Vito Rizzuto, dubbed the "Godfather of Montreal" by the Canadian press, entered his plea at a federal court in Brooklyn a day before the 26th anniversary of the social-club slayings.
It took some coaxing from the judge to get the 61-year-old to break his long silence about one of the more spectacular gangland hits of the 1980s.
Prosecutors said Rizzuto came to New York at the behest of the Bonanno crime family to help execute three captains in the clan suspected of plotting a coup.
The plea bargain required Rizzuto to admit his guilt and describe his role in the crime. But in court on Friday, Rizzuto hesitated to get specific, initially admitting only that he had engaged in racketeering.
U.S. District Judge Nicholas G. Garaufis demanded more detail. "Why should I accept a specific sentence when I don't know what he did?" Garaufis said. "Was he the driver? Was he one of the shooters?"
Rizzuto held a hushed conference with his attorney, then finally stood before the judge. "My job was to say, 'It's a hold up!' So everybody would stand still," Rizzuto said. He said his accomplices then opened fire, killing Dominick "Big Trin" Trinchera, Philip "Philly Lucky" Giaccone and Alphonse "Sonny Red" Indelicato.
That was enough, barely, for the judge, who accepted the deal and the 10-year term.
The sentence is a light one by today's standards, but prosecutors said their options were limited. Rizzuto was charged as part of a racketeering case, and under federal law at the time of the killing, faced a maximum of only 20 years if he went to trial and was found guilty.
The law has subsequently been changed to permit a life sentence, but the change does not apply to old crimes.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Greg D. Andres said the age of the case, which would have complicated the prosecution, made the light term acceptable.
Rizzuto was one of about 100 alleged Bonanno family members snared in an investigation that crippled the organization and ultimately led its boss, Joseph Massino, to plead guilty to orchestrating a series of murders, including the 1981 slayings.
Massino got life in prison. Children discovered Indelicato's body shortly after the killings. Investigators acting on a tip returned to the vacant lot in 2004 and dug up Giaccone and Trinchera.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Crazy Joey Gallo's Widow Reflects on being Married to the Mob
Friends of ours: Joey "Crazy Joey" Gallo, Joe Profaci, Albert Anastasia, Jackie “Mad Dog” Nazarian, Joe Colombo, Bobby Bongiovi, Sam Wuyak
When gunfire erupted in Umberto’s Clam House, Sina Essary watched her husband of three weeks throw over the dinner table, absorb three bullets to his frail body and stumble out into Mulberry Street to die. It was April 7, 1972, in New York’s Little Italy, and Sina’s husband was no ordinary victim. He was Joey Gallo—“Crazy Joey,” they called him—an intellectual and charismatic kingpin of the New York rackets.
Today, largely unknown among her neighbors, Sina lives on a small farm in rural Leiper’s Fork, surrounded by a barn full of horses and rescued dogs and cats. Most people know her, she says, only as “that crazy woman from New York who keeps all those animals on her place.” Now 65, she has an elfin stature and a rich, resonant voice that carries just a trace of a New York accent. She is a commercial photographer by trade—trained at New York’s famed New School for Social Research—and she keeps her life very quiet and private. But in the early 1970s, at the height of gangster chic, the petite woman with the snapping dark eyes was at the center of a maelstrom. She was both a celebrity and a target. As the wife of one of New York’s most feared—and most glamorous—mob bosses, she lived among superstars and triggermen in a cosmopolitan jungle where wealth and power went hand in hand with bloody retribution. The tabloids took her picture when she became a bride. Less than a month later, they took her picture when she became a widow.
Now, safely sequestered among the peaceful hills of Williamson County, 35 years after her husband’s murder, Sina has decided for the first time to tell the story of her life with Joey Gallo. “I haven’t told it before,” Sina Essary laughs, firing up a Benson & Hedges and fending off her three-legged cat, “because I’ve been too busy wiping horses’ asses on the farm. But I’ve been writing my memoirs in my head while I’m shoveling manure!”
Sina began her adventurous life as a pregnant nun. No kidding. She attended Catholic schools and entered the convent of the Sisters of St. Joseph when she was only 18. “I was very, very religious as a youngster,” she says. While Joey Gallo was growing up to join the New York syndicate, Sina was preparing to take her final vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Outside the convent walls on a sick leave, however, she got together with an old boyfriend. “Before you knew it,” she says in her deep chuckle, “I wasn’t a virgin anymore.” She became pregnant from that single encounter and her short life in the convent was over.
Sina married the old boyfriend, had a child with him, divorced him and found herself a single mom working in a jewelry store. But her daughter, Lisa Essary, now a Hollywood casting director, was a theatrical prodigy. She soon became a child star on Broadway, changing Sina’s life for the better.
As Lisa’s career grew, Sina fell in love with Lisa’s music coach, a man who was destined to become a conductor of the New York City Opera and the Houston Grand Opera. She wanted desperately to marry him—she still calls him “the love of my life”—but she adds with a laugh, “What I didn’t know was he was gay!”
With a track record like that, it was perhaps inevitable that the nun would become a gangster’s moll.
Joey Gallo was a Brooklyn kid, the son of a loan shark and would-be rumrunner. A 1973 book by Harvey Aronson, The Killing of Joey Gallo, chronicles his violent rise through the ranks of the mob. He became a career criminal at a very early age, and though he was arrested many times as a youth, he was never sent to prison. He was convicted only once—for burglary in 1950—but when a court psychiatrist declared him paranoid-schizophrenic, Joey received a suspended sentence.
Joey had flair. In 1947, he saw Richard Widmark in the film Kiss of Death, and with his drowsy, heavy-lidded appearance Joey began to pattern himself after Widmark’s giggling psycho Tommy Udo. He began to dress and act like Udo and could recite long passages of the movie’s dialogue. But despite his theatrical posturing, Joey was still a violent and deadly man. Writing after Joey’s death, the legendary New York Post columnist Pete Hamill said of the young Joey:
In 1957, Joey became a “made” man in the Joe Profaci organization by (it was said) assassinating Albert Anastasia, one of Profaci’s enemies and boss of the notorious “Murder Incorporated.” According to witnesses, Anastasia was having his hair cut in a Sixth Avenue hotel when two disguised gunmen rushed through the hotel lobby. They shot Anastasia dead in his chair and escaped into the crowd. No one was ever charged with Anastasia’s killing, but the story on the street was that the shooters were Crazy Joey and an accomplice named Jackie “Mad Dog” Nazarian. Tommy Udo would have been proud.
Profaci’s business was run by coercion, and Joey was his top enforcer. Multiple beatings and murders were attributed to Joey during the late 1950s, and Time magazine claimed that he stabbed one target to death with an ice pick. But nothing against him was ever proven. The Mafia code of omerta—silence—protected Joey among his own.
In time, though, Joey became disenchanted with the way Profaci was dividing the family profits. So along with his two brothers and several other Profaci henchmen, he converted a Brooklyn warehouse into a fortress and launched a revolt. As the 1950s came to a close, a gang war raged between Joey and Profaci. It was an onslaught of killings, beatings and kidnappings. It was also successful. In the end, Joey succeeded in wresting away a significant part of Profaci’s holdings.
Joey built his winnings into a small empire based on violence and extortion. For years he evaded punishment. But finally, in 1961, he was taken down for threatening to kill a Brooklyn bar owner. He was convicted of extortion and sentenced to seven to 14 years in prison. The judge who sentenced him said that Joey “[has] an utter contempt for the law and is a menace to society.”
Joey’s time in prison was marked by the Attica riots, which he helped to settle, and at least two mob attempts on his life. But he spent most of his time profitably. He set out on a project of self-education, becoming a fine painter and reading history, art, politics and philosophy.
Then in 1971, after serving almost 10 years, Joey was released and began parlaying his newfound education and refinement into a fresh image around New York. Tommy Udo was gone. In his place—as far as the outside world could see—was a well-mannered and intelligent man.
That’s when he met Sina.
Even though she grew up in a large Italian American community, Sina knew very little about the Mafia. Born into a close-knit family in Ohio, she grew up in comfortable circumstances. She attended private Catholic schools. She lived a somewhat sheltered life.
Sina’s maternal grandfather had come to America from Bari, Italy, an old city on the Adriatic coast, and developed a thriving Italian grocery business. Her maternal grandmother became famous in America for hosting a popular radio show called The Italian Hour—all Italian opera and popular songs—every Sunday afternoon.
Her aunt Dorothy attended Juilliard and later sang with the San Francisco Opera. “I was raised listening to opera,” Sina says. “My earliest recollection as a baby was hearing my aunt sing ‘Un bel di’ to me in my high chair. Even today I keep Live From the Met and WPLN playing in the barn to keep the horses company.”
Sina’s only exposure to organized crime came from a family legend she heard from her grandparents. After her grandfather’s business began to prosper, she says, figures from a local syndicate came to him and demanded that he surrender part of his business as tribute. He refused. As a result, both he and Sina’s grandmother were beaten. Her grandfather stood firm, however, and eventually the gang gave up. He had a strong temperament, and Sina inherited it.
In due course, Sina and Lisa moved to New York and quickly became well known on Broadway. Lisa landed big parts in a number of plays, and the two of them became friends with some of the biggest names in show business. Soon Lisa was attending private schools, and they moved into the penthouse of an upscale apartment building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 15th Street.
Life was good. Sina never dreamed she was about to meet, and marry, a man like Joey Gallo.
While Joey was still languishing in prison, his old enemy Joe Profaci died. Control of the Profaci mob passed to Joe Colombo, one of the “new” Mafia dons who knew something about politics and public relations. He formed an organization he called the Italian American Civil Rights League and used it to rally support against the FBI’s claim that he was a mobster. With the league as his mouthpiece, Colombo maintained that there was no such thing as “the Mafia” and that he was “just an honest businessman.” The league was hugely successful and so powerful that Colombo was able to win concessions from the producers of The Godfather about the way Italian Americans were portrayed in the film.
The Profaci organization’s racketeering remained profitable too, but many of Colombo’s subordinates were bridling at the way he ran the business and divided the spoils. To his hardened street enforcers, Colombo was a lightweight and a publicity seeker. Dissension in his family was building.
Into this unsettled world, Joey arrived fresh from prison, bearing a 10-year grudge against the Profaci family. Joey might have been flashing his new cleaned-up image in public, but in secret he was re-energizing the Gallo gang. He planned to depose Colombo. Less than six weeks after his release from prison, Joey demanded a $100,000 tribute payment from Colombo as a condition for staying away from his business. Colombo refused to pay. Instead, he placed a contract on Joey’s life.
On June 28, 1971, just four months after Joey’s release from prison, Colombo held a rally of his Italian American Civil Rights League in Columbus Circle, just off Central Park. Thousands of people attended the noontime affair. But as Colombo began making his way to the dais to speak (along with the mayor and several other luminaries) he was shot and severely wounded by a black man later identified as Jerome Johnson.
No one ever discovered who Johnson was working for. As fate would have it, he was immediately shot and killed by yet another never-identified gunman. Colombo was left in a near-vegetative state and was off the board as far as the rackets were concerned. The event made the cover of Time magazine the following week.
Joey claimed that the FBI was behind the Colombo attack, but most reasonable minds concluded that Joey had engineered it himself. He had a clear motive, and he was certainly capable of pulling it off. While the police and FBI looked for clues, the heirs to Colombo’s power renewed the contract on Joey’s life. By July 1971, one month before he met Sina, Joey had less than a year to live.
The obvious question is why a respectable former nun like Sina Essary would fall for a mobster with a price on his head. Sina chuckles and says, “The story is kind of complicated.”
Sina first saw Joey on her apartment building’s elevator. She lived in the penthouse and Joey happened to live in an apartment downstairs. Joey was smitten by Sina, but she was not immediately attracted to him. The first few times she encountered him, with his retinue of bodyguards, she says he appeared “extremely frail and pale. He looked like an old man. He was a bag of bones.” What Sina didn’t know was that Joey still bore the marks of 10 years in prison.
Still, Sina says, Joey had an attractive aspect. “You could see the remnants of what had been a strikingly handsome man in his youth,” she remembers. “He had beautiful features—beautiful nose, beautiful mouth and piercing blue eyes.”
Joey also had a special charisma, she adds. “People were mesmerized by him,” she says. “He had that quality that attracted people to him, no matter who they were. He was extremely intelligent and he could talk about anything. He could talk about art, theater, politics, philosophy—all the things he had been reading about in prison.”
Joey launched an immediate pursuit of Sina, even though he had recently remarried his former wife, Jeffie. “She looked like a movie star,” Sina says. But nothing stopped Joey, and during the following weeks he began to win Sina over with gifts and plates of Italian food. Before long, their children were playing together and Sina was having dinner at Joey’s apartment. Because Joey was married, Sina felt safe from a more complicated relationship.
Sina gradually learned of Joey’s past, but he told her he wasn’t in the rackets anymore. He still carried bodyguards out of necessity, he said, but he was no longer strong-arming anybody. “It didn’t bother me much that he had been in the Mafia,” Sina recalls. “He told me he was through with the mob. I thought, so what, this is New York, so he’s in the mob, big deal. I didn’t realize who he actually was until I married him and had my picture in the newspaper!”
What Joey really wanted, Sina says, was to get into show business. Several years earlier, Jimmy Breslin had written a comic send-up of the Mafia called The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight, supposedly based on Joey and his gangland pals. The book spawned an equally popular movie starring Jerry Orbach—that’s right, the same Jerry Orbach who played Lenny Briscoe on Law & Order—as a Joey-like character named “Kid Sally Palumbo.” Joey didn’t like the way the film portrayed him, but he liked Orbach and wanted a meeting. They quickly became friends, as did Sina and Orbach’s wife Marta.
From that point forward Joey was hooked on celebrities, and before long they were hooked on him too. There was an aspect of danger about Joey that appealed to show business people. Being with Joey gave them a vicarious sense of living the romantic life depicted in The Godfather, which had just opened to acclaim and unprecedented box office. The movie ushered in an intense new public fascination with the underworld. Joey exuded excitement, and people loved it. “He loved walking into Sardi’s,” Sina recalls. “You could hear a pin drop when he came in.”
In addition, many people knew about the Colombo hit and the possibility that Colombo’s soldiers might try to kill Joey. That gave his relationships with friends an unusual intensity. Orbach told Time magazine, “Joey compressed time with us because he knew…he might not have much time, that he could go at any minute…. [A] minute talking to Joey was like an hour spent with someone else…. It was startling to talk with him.” Women were particularly drawn to Joey’s fatal aura. “Joey was a terribly sexy person,” Marta Orbach admitted to Time. Even highbrow critic Susan Sontag wanted to meet him.
Pretty soon the former nun and the gangster became lovers. Sina was a beautiful 29-year-old, and Joey had just spent 10 celibate years behind bars. For Sina’s part, she says, “Part of me was craving that sexual thing which I hadn’t had for 10 years. I’d been divorced for 10 years and all the men I ever hung around with were gay!”
Joey soon began insisting that they get married and, after Joey sent Jeffie packing, they did. The wedding was held in the Orbachs’ apartment in March 1972. “The ceremony was performed by the same pastor who had married Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky on the Johnny Carson show,” Sina says, laughing. Joey’s best man was the comedian David Steinberg, and the small ceremony was reported the next day in the pages of the New York Post and the New York Daily News. But in three weeks Joey would be dead.
Not long after the ceremony, Sina began to realize that Joey was not entirely free of his past. On April 5, 1972, three weeks after the wedding and two days before Joey died, the apartment building’s doorman buzzed Sina to say that a deliveryman was in the lobby with a package for her. Sina told the doorman to send the man up, but when Joey overheard her he got angry. At his instruction, two of his bodyguards intercepted the deliveryman at the elevator and attacked him, pulling a gun and choking him. “Joey feared that the package contained a bomb,” Sina says, “but it turned out to be a Tiffany ice bucket for me from the producer Bruce Jay Friedman.”
Joey blew up at Sina, throwing her into a chair and raging at her. He screamed at her never to do something like that again, with a ferocity that Joey’s associates in the mob knew well. For Sina, it was an abrupt and terrifying wake-up call. “I didn’t know this was part of the deal,” Sina says. “I realized there was something I didn’t know about going on, there was something bigger than me. That was the day I knew it was over, that I couldn’t live like that.” So she threw Joey out of her apartment. “If this is what my life with you is going to be,” she told him, “you have to leave.”
The following day, however—April 6, 1972—was Joey’s 43rd birthday, and there was a celebration planned at the Copacabana with the Orbachs, Steinberg, comedian Don Rickles and Joey’s usual crowd of celebrities and hangers-on. Still intending to leave Joey, Sina nevertheless relented and agreed to go to the party with him.
Late on the evening of the 6th, Joey’s group picked Lisa up from her performance in Voices at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre (she had third billing behind Julie Harris and Richard Kiley), and they drove to the Copa. It was a great night. Rickles introduced Lisa from the stage, and everyone sat and drank champagne until almost 4 a.m. Then the Copa closed and they all went in search of breakfast.
The party now consisted of Joey, Sina and Lisa, along with Joey’s sister and a single bodyguard, Pete “The Greek” Diapoulos. Another bodyguard, Robert “Bobby Darrow” Bongiovi, had left earlier in the evening with a woman from the Copa. By then, it was early morning, April 7, 1972.
The search for breakfast took them to Umberto’s Clam House at the corner of Hester and Mulberry streets in Little Italy. No one in the party had been to Umberto’s before, but it was the only place open at that hour. “We were all sitting around a big heavy table, with Joey facing the door and Lisa and I sitting next to the wall,” Sina remembers. “Joey thought the food was excellent and ordered seconds for everybody.”
Without warning, several gunmen burst through the door and began firing. Accounts vary as to how many shooters were involved, but Sina swears there were five. Colombo’s wiseguys had apparently seen Joey going into the restaurant and had rounded up some of Colombo’s soldiers to put him away.
When the shooting started, Joey turned the table over to protect the others while Sina dragged Lisa to the floor and covered her with her coat. In a matter of seconds, more than 20 shots were fired. Joey was struck three times—in his arm, his spine and finally in his carotid artery. He staggered out the door, followed by his assailants’ fire, and collapsed on the pavement. When the shooting stopped, there were 17 bullet holes in the wall behind Sina’s and Lisa’s chairs. Joey lay dying in the street.
“Joey had an intense sense of destiny,” Marta Orbach says. “If he was truly marked for dying, this old-fashioned way—in style—would have been a point of honor with him. Joey’s death would have appealed to his sense of drama.” Pete Hamill called it “a supreme New York moment.” But for Sina, huddled with her daughter on the floor of a restaurant filled with shells and screams and blood, it was anything but supreme.
“I thought I was observing all this through the eyes of death,” Sina says today. “In fact, I thought I was dead.” Her next thought was an irony that struck her in light of their earlier fight. “Fancy that,” she thought, “somebody was trying to kill him. My God, he wasn’t kidding!”
Today Sina tells her stories in the living room of her modest farmhouse, surrounded by photographs of her family and friends. These include a prominently placed picture of Joey. At 65, she still retains her classic Italian beauty and charm. She lives alone and maintains only a few close friendships. Hearing her relate her stories in the quiet of her living room or outside her sunny barn is a surreal but wholly believable experience.
Sina came to Tennessee in 1991 to get away from her notoriety. She says she had become almost a novelty in New York. “I wasn’t introduced to people as Sina Essary anymore,” she says. “I was ‘Joey Gallo’s widow.’ I had become like a stop on a sightseeing bus, like the Statue of Liberty or something.” She was besieged with requests for interviews in New York, all of which she declined. She even turned down an invitation to appear on The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson.
But she had good reasons to keep quiet. One, she says, was the possibility that she herself might be marked for murder. She had been a witness to Joey’s shooting, after all, and might have identified the killers. For a long time afterward, she was followed by FBI agents, the NYPD and members of the Gallo gang in what she calls “an unholy alliance” to protect her from the Colombo crew. After a while, it all became too much for her.
For Sina, the attraction of Tennessee was its entertainment business. “I felt I could practice my photography in Nashville,” she says. “I had been in the business of photographing celebrities in New York, so I figured I could do it in Tennessee too.” She is presently planning a retrospective show at the Nashville Design Center in Melrose, where she intends to represent the large portfolio of pictures she has amassed over the years. In perhaps the richest irony of all, she photographed a young actress who would play the most famous Mafia wife of all: Edie Falco, who stars as Carmela on The Sopranos.
Sina admits that her move to Tennessee was also an act of “menopausal madness” which in some respects she still regrets. “I had always planned to go back to New York,” she says. “I had my box at the Metropolitan Opera, my rooftop rose garden and, of course, all my friends. For three years after I moved here I kept my apartment on Fifth Avenue, thinking I might go back. But when I bought my first pregnant mare, I fell so in love with her baby foal that I knew I could never leave. I still love New York, and I cry when I think about it, but I love my horses more.”
Sina has no fear from the Mafia today. Those days have passed, and the principal actors have died. She still speaks and corresponds every month with the only remaining member of the Gallo gang she knows, Bobby Bongiovi, the bodyguard who left early on the night Joey was killed. Bobby, movie-star handsome in his youth, is old, sick and now serving a life sentence in Dannemora for the murder of another mobster, Sam Wuyak, the year after Joey died. Bongiovi denies killing Wuyak, but he told Sina, “There is plenty of other stuff they could have sent me up for.” According to press accounts, when Bongiovi received his sentence at the hearing, Sina Essary was there, brushing away tears.
Joey’s life has been written about a number of times, but the accounts have not always been consistent. Some facts are hard to come by, and arguments about Joey still simmer among scholars of the Mafia life. Perhaps the most comprehensive treatment of Joey’s career is the Aronson book, though Sina says that it too contains errors. But Joey’s death only hastened his passing into myth. In 1974, Italian director Carlo Lizzani made a biopic called Crazy Joe starring the young Peter Boyle as Joey, with Eli Wallach, Paula Prentiss and even Henry Winkler in supporting roles. It was a spaghetti-Western take on gangland life, but critic Jerry Renshaw called it a gem—“a rawer Scorsese without the polish or panache, relying instead on pungent dialogue and gritty performances.”
By 1976, the fallen mobster had been rehabilitated as the romantic hero of “Joey,” from Bob Dylan’s 1976 album Desire—a combination Tom Joad and Pretty Boy Floyd whose “closest friends were black men ’cause they seemed to understand / What it’s like to be in society with a shackle on your hand.” In 1993, soon after Sina’s move to Nashville, Dylan even paid a visit to her home. They spent an afternoon discussing life in New York, shared acquaintances—and, of course, Joey.
More measured accounts of Joey’s life have revised the romantic image he carried while he was alive. He was a man capable of ruthless, and remorseless, brutality. His war with the Colombo family continued for a long time after he died, and several more killings took place, including those of two innocent people. The ferocity of the gang war caused Jimmy Breslin to change his thoughts about the rackets, writing that he considered The Godfather “hardcore pornography” and his own The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight “the product of demented thinking.”
Still, Sina has no regrets about marrying Joey. “It’s part of life,” she shrugs.
Joey’s funeral was huge, front-page news in all the papers. Pictures showed Sina and Lisa, grieving, standing on the steps of the church. The local parish priest refused to bury Joey—whether for doctrinal reasons or fear of Colombo mob reprisals was never made clear. So Sina arranged for a substitute priest to fly in from Cleveland to conduct the service.
Along the route to the cemetery, the sidewalks were jammed with people paying their respects to Joey Gallo. They strained to catch just a glimpse of his gleaming copper casket. Because of the attendance of so many gangland figures, police lined the streets and the rooftops to head off further violence.
Looking back, in the faraway seclusion of her Williamson County farm—a lifetime ago from the vendettas and tangled allegiances of Little Italy—Sina Essary says the procession would have appealed to Joey’s sense of show business. Tommy Udo was dead, and Sina says, “You would have thought the Pope was passing by.”
A former nun should know.
Thanks to Wayne Christeson
When gunfire erupted in Umberto’s Clam House, Sina Essary watched her husband of three weeks throw over the dinner table, absorb three bullets to his frail body and stumble out into Mulberry Street to die. It was April 7, 1972, in New York’s Little Italy, and Sina’s husband was no ordinary victim. He was Joey Gallo—“Crazy Joey,” they called him—an intellectual and charismatic kingpin of the New York rackets.
Today, largely unknown among her neighbors, Sina lives on a small farm in rural Leiper’s Fork, surrounded by a barn full of horses and rescued dogs and cats. Most people know her, she says, only as “that crazy woman from New York who keeps all those animals on her place.” Now 65, she has an elfin stature and a rich, resonant voice that carries just a trace of a New York accent. She is a commercial photographer by trade—trained at New York’s famed New School for Social Research—and she keeps her life very quiet and private. But in the early 1970s, at the height of gangster chic, the petite woman with the snapping dark eyes was at the center of a maelstrom. She was both a celebrity and a target. As the wife of one of New York’s most feared—and most glamorous—mob bosses, she lived among superstars and triggermen in a cosmopolitan jungle where wealth and power went hand in hand with bloody retribution. The tabloids took her picture when she became a bride. Less than a month later, they took her picture when she became a widow.
Now, safely sequestered among the peaceful hills of Williamson County, 35 years after her husband’s murder, Sina has decided for the first time to tell the story of her life with Joey Gallo. “I haven’t told it before,” Sina Essary laughs, firing up a Benson & Hedges and fending off her three-legged cat, “because I’ve been too busy wiping horses’ asses on the farm. But I’ve been writing my memoirs in my head while I’m shoveling manure!”
Sina began her adventurous life as a pregnant nun. No kidding. She attended Catholic schools and entered the convent of the Sisters of St. Joseph when she was only 18. “I was very, very religious as a youngster,” she says. While Joey Gallo was growing up to join the New York syndicate, Sina was preparing to take her final vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Outside the convent walls on a sick leave, however, she got together with an old boyfriend. “Before you knew it,” she says in her deep chuckle, “I wasn’t a virgin anymore.” She became pregnant from that single encounter and her short life in the convent was over.
Sina married the old boyfriend, had a child with him, divorced him and found herself a single mom working in a jewelry store. But her daughter, Lisa Essary, now a Hollywood casting director, was a theatrical prodigy. She soon became a child star on Broadway, changing Sina’s life for the better.
As Lisa’s career grew, Sina fell in love with Lisa’s music coach, a man who was destined to become a conductor of the New York City Opera and the Houston Grand Opera. She wanted desperately to marry him—she still calls him “the love of my life”—but she adds with a laugh, “What I didn’t know was he was gay!”
With a track record like that, it was perhaps inevitable that the nun would become a gangster’s moll.
Joey Gallo was a Brooklyn kid, the son of a loan shark and would-be rumrunner. A 1973 book by Harvey Aronson, The Killing of Joey Gallo, chronicles his violent rise through the ranks of the mob. He became a career criminal at a very early age, and though he was arrested many times as a youth, he was never sent to prison. He was convicted only once—for burglary in 1950—but when a court psychiatrist declared him paranoid-schizophrenic, Joey received a suspended sentence.
Joey had flair. In 1947, he saw Richard Widmark in the film Kiss of Death, and with his drowsy, heavy-lidded appearance Joey began to pattern himself after Widmark’s giggling psycho Tommy Udo. He began to dress and act like Udo and could recite long passages of the movie’s dialogue. But despite his theatrical posturing, Joey was still a violent and deadly man. Writing after Joey’s death, the legendary New York Post columnist Pete Hamill said of the young Joey:
“He might have been a fresh twenty-one-year-old kid dressed in a zoot suit, but the eyes were ancient…eyes devoid of time or any conventional sense of pity or remorse…. [H]e would joke with the cops and smile for the reporters, but the eyes never changed…tormented eyes.”
In 1957, Joey became a “made” man in the Joe Profaci organization by (it was said) assassinating Albert Anastasia, one of Profaci’s enemies and boss of the notorious “Murder Incorporated.” According to witnesses, Anastasia was having his hair cut in a Sixth Avenue hotel when two disguised gunmen rushed through the hotel lobby. They shot Anastasia dead in his chair and escaped into the crowd. No one was ever charged with Anastasia’s killing, but the story on the street was that the shooters were Crazy Joey and an accomplice named Jackie “Mad Dog” Nazarian. Tommy Udo would have been proud.
Profaci’s business was run by coercion, and Joey was his top enforcer. Multiple beatings and murders were attributed to Joey during the late 1950s, and Time magazine claimed that he stabbed one target to death with an ice pick. But nothing against him was ever proven. The Mafia code of omerta—silence—protected Joey among his own.
In time, though, Joey became disenchanted with the way Profaci was dividing the family profits. So along with his two brothers and several other Profaci henchmen, he converted a Brooklyn warehouse into a fortress and launched a revolt. As the 1950s came to a close, a gang war raged between Joey and Profaci. It was an onslaught of killings, beatings and kidnappings. It was also successful. In the end, Joey succeeded in wresting away a significant part of Profaci’s holdings.
Joey built his winnings into a small empire based on violence and extortion. For years he evaded punishment. But finally, in 1961, he was taken down for threatening to kill a Brooklyn bar owner. He was convicted of extortion and sentenced to seven to 14 years in prison. The judge who sentenced him said that Joey “[has] an utter contempt for the law and is a menace to society.”
Joey’s time in prison was marked by the Attica riots, which he helped to settle, and at least two mob attempts on his life. But he spent most of his time profitably. He set out on a project of self-education, becoming a fine painter and reading history, art, politics and philosophy.
Then in 1971, after serving almost 10 years, Joey was released and began parlaying his newfound education and refinement into a fresh image around New York. Tommy Udo was gone. In his place—as far as the outside world could see—was a well-mannered and intelligent man.
That’s when he met Sina.
Even though she grew up in a large Italian American community, Sina knew very little about the Mafia. Born into a close-knit family in Ohio, she grew up in comfortable circumstances. She attended private Catholic schools. She lived a somewhat sheltered life.
Sina’s maternal grandfather had come to America from Bari, Italy, an old city on the Adriatic coast, and developed a thriving Italian grocery business. Her maternal grandmother became famous in America for hosting a popular radio show called The Italian Hour—all Italian opera and popular songs—every Sunday afternoon.
Her aunt Dorothy attended Juilliard and later sang with the San Francisco Opera. “I was raised listening to opera,” Sina says. “My earliest recollection as a baby was hearing my aunt sing ‘Un bel di’ to me in my high chair. Even today I keep Live From the Met and WPLN playing in the barn to keep the horses company.”
Sina’s only exposure to organized crime came from a family legend she heard from her grandparents. After her grandfather’s business began to prosper, she says, figures from a local syndicate came to him and demanded that he surrender part of his business as tribute. He refused. As a result, both he and Sina’s grandmother were beaten. Her grandfather stood firm, however, and eventually the gang gave up. He had a strong temperament, and Sina inherited it.
In due course, Sina and Lisa moved to New York and quickly became well known on Broadway. Lisa landed big parts in a number of plays, and the two of them became friends with some of the biggest names in show business. Soon Lisa was attending private schools, and they moved into the penthouse of an upscale apartment building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 15th Street.
Life was good. Sina never dreamed she was about to meet, and marry, a man like Joey Gallo.
While Joey was still languishing in prison, his old enemy Joe Profaci died. Control of the Profaci mob passed to Joe Colombo, one of the “new” Mafia dons who knew something about politics and public relations. He formed an organization he called the Italian American Civil Rights League and used it to rally support against the FBI’s claim that he was a mobster. With the league as his mouthpiece, Colombo maintained that there was no such thing as “the Mafia” and that he was “just an honest businessman.” The league was hugely successful and so powerful that Colombo was able to win concessions from the producers of The Godfather about the way Italian Americans were portrayed in the film.
The Profaci organization’s racketeering remained profitable too, but many of Colombo’s subordinates were bridling at the way he ran the business and divided the spoils. To his hardened street enforcers, Colombo was a lightweight and a publicity seeker. Dissension in his family was building.
Into this unsettled world, Joey arrived fresh from prison, bearing a 10-year grudge against the Profaci family. Joey might have been flashing his new cleaned-up image in public, but in secret he was re-energizing the Gallo gang. He planned to depose Colombo. Less than six weeks after his release from prison, Joey demanded a $100,000 tribute payment from Colombo as a condition for staying away from his business. Colombo refused to pay. Instead, he placed a contract on Joey’s life.
On June 28, 1971, just four months after Joey’s release from prison, Colombo held a rally of his Italian American Civil Rights League in Columbus Circle, just off Central Park. Thousands of people attended the noontime affair. But as Colombo began making his way to the dais to speak (along with the mayor and several other luminaries) he was shot and severely wounded by a black man later identified as Jerome Johnson.
No one ever discovered who Johnson was working for. As fate would have it, he was immediately shot and killed by yet another never-identified gunman. Colombo was left in a near-vegetative state and was off the board as far as the rackets were concerned. The event made the cover of Time magazine the following week.
Joey claimed that the FBI was behind the Colombo attack, but most reasonable minds concluded that Joey had engineered it himself. He had a clear motive, and he was certainly capable of pulling it off. While the police and FBI looked for clues, the heirs to Colombo’s power renewed the contract on Joey’s life. By July 1971, one month before he met Sina, Joey had less than a year to live.
The obvious question is why a respectable former nun like Sina Essary would fall for a mobster with a price on his head. Sina chuckles and says, “The story is kind of complicated.”
Sina first saw Joey on her apartment building’s elevator. She lived in the penthouse and Joey happened to live in an apartment downstairs. Joey was smitten by Sina, but she was not immediately attracted to him. The first few times she encountered him, with his retinue of bodyguards, she says he appeared “extremely frail and pale. He looked like an old man. He was a bag of bones.” What Sina didn’t know was that Joey still bore the marks of 10 years in prison.
Still, Sina says, Joey had an attractive aspect. “You could see the remnants of what had been a strikingly handsome man in his youth,” she remembers. “He had beautiful features—beautiful nose, beautiful mouth and piercing blue eyes.”
Joey also had a special charisma, she adds. “People were mesmerized by him,” she says. “He had that quality that attracted people to him, no matter who they were. He was extremely intelligent and he could talk about anything. He could talk about art, theater, politics, philosophy—all the things he had been reading about in prison.”
Joey launched an immediate pursuit of Sina, even though he had recently remarried his former wife, Jeffie. “She looked like a movie star,” Sina says. But nothing stopped Joey, and during the following weeks he began to win Sina over with gifts and plates of Italian food. Before long, their children were playing together and Sina was having dinner at Joey’s apartment. Because Joey was married, Sina felt safe from a more complicated relationship.
Sina gradually learned of Joey’s past, but he told her he wasn’t in the rackets anymore. He still carried bodyguards out of necessity, he said, but he was no longer strong-arming anybody. “It didn’t bother me much that he had been in the Mafia,” Sina recalls. “He told me he was through with the mob. I thought, so what, this is New York, so he’s in the mob, big deal. I didn’t realize who he actually was until I married him and had my picture in the newspaper!”
What Joey really wanted, Sina says, was to get into show business. Several years earlier, Jimmy Breslin had written a comic send-up of the Mafia called The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight, supposedly based on Joey and his gangland pals. The book spawned an equally popular movie starring Jerry Orbach—that’s right, the same Jerry Orbach who played Lenny Briscoe on Law & Order—as a Joey-like character named “Kid Sally Palumbo.” Joey didn’t like the way the film portrayed him, but he liked Orbach and wanted a meeting. They quickly became friends, as did Sina and Orbach’s wife Marta.
From that point forward Joey was hooked on celebrities, and before long they were hooked on him too. There was an aspect of danger about Joey that appealed to show business people. Being with Joey gave them a vicarious sense of living the romantic life depicted in The Godfather, which had just opened to acclaim and unprecedented box office. The movie ushered in an intense new public fascination with the underworld. Joey exuded excitement, and people loved it. “He loved walking into Sardi’s,” Sina recalls. “You could hear a pin drop when he came in.”
In addition, many people knew about the Colombo hit and the possibility that Colombo’s soldiers might try to kill Joey. That gave his relationships with friends an unusual intensity. Orbach told Time magazine, “Joey compressed time with us because he knew…he might not have much time, that he could go at any minute…. [A] minute talking to Joey was like an hour spent with someone else…. It was startling to talk with him.” Women were particularly drawn to Joey’s fatal aura. “Joey was a terribly sexy person,” Marta Orbach admitted to Time. Even highbrow critic Susan Sontag wanted to meet him.
Pretty soon the former nun and the gangster became lovers. Sina was a beautiful 29-year-old, and Joey had just spent 10 celibate years behind bars. For Sina’s part, she says, “Part of me was craving that sexual thing which I hadn’t had for 10 years. I’d been divorced for 10 years and all the men I ever hung around with were gay!”
Joey soon began insisting that they get married and, after Joey sent Jeffie packing, they did. The wedding was held in the Orbachs’ apartment in March 1972. “The ceremony was performed by the same pastor who had married Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky on the Johnny Carson show,” Sina says, laughing. Joey’s best man was the comedian David Steinberg, and the small ceremony was reported the next day in the pages of the New York Post and the New York Daily News. But in three weeks Joey would be dead.
Not long after the ceremony, Sina began to realize that Joey was not entirely free of his past. On April 5, 1972, three weeks after the wedding and two days before Joey died, the apartment building’s doorman buzzed Sina to say that a deliveryman was in the lobby with a package for her. Sina told the doorman to send the man up, but when Joey overheard her he got angry. At his instruction, two of his bodyguards intercepted the deliveryman at the elevator and attacked him, pulling a gun and choking him. “Joey feared that the package contained a bomb,” Sina says, “but it turned out to be a Tiffany ice bucket for me from the producer Bruce Jay Friedman.”
Joey blew up at Sina, throwing her into a chair and raging at her. He screamed at her never to do something like that again, with a ferocity that Joey’s associates in the mob knew well. For Sina, it was an abrupt and terrifying wake-up call. “I didn’t know this was part of the deal,” Sina says. “I realized there was something I didn’t know about going on, there was something bigger than me. That was the day I knew it was over, that I couldn’t live like that.” So she threw Joey out of her apartment. “If this is what my life with you is going to be,” she told him, “you have to leave.”
The following day, however—April 6, 1972—was Joey’s 43rd birthday, and there was a celebration planned at the Copacabana with the Orbachs, Steinberg, comedian Don Rickles and Joey’s usual crowd of celebrities and hangers-on. Still intending to leave Joey, Sina nevertheless relented and agreed to go to the party with him.
Late on the evening of the 6th, Joey’s group picked Lisa up from her performance in Voices at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre (she had third billing behind Julie Harris and Richard Kiley), and they drove to the Copa. It was a great night. Rickles introduced Lisa from the stage, and everyone sat and drank champagne until almost 4 a.m. Then the Copa closed and they all went in search of breakfast.
The party now consisted of Joey, Sina and Lisa, along with Joey’s sister and a single bodyguard, Pete “The Greek” Diapoulos. Another bodyguard, Robert “Bobby Darrow” Bongiovi, had left earlier in the evening with a woman from the Copa. By then, it was early morning, April 7, 1972.
The search for breakfast took them to Umberto’s Clam House at the corner of Hester and Mulberry streets in Little Italy. No one in the party had been to Umberto’s before, but it was the only place open at that hour. “We were all sitting around a big heavy table, with Joey facing the door and Lisa and I sitting next to the wall,” Sina remembers. “Joey thought the food was excellent and ordered seconds for everybody.”
Without warning, several gunmen burst through the door and began firing. Accounts vary as to how many shooters were involved, but Sina swears there were five. Colombo’s wiseguys had apparently seen Joey going into the restaurant and had rounded up some of Colombo’s soldiers to put him away.
When the shooting started, Joey turned the table over to protect the others while Sina dragged Lisa to the floor and covered her with her coat. In a matter of seconds, more than 20 shots were fired. Joey was struck three times—in his arm, his spine and finally in his carotid artery. He staggered out the door, followed by his assailants’ fire, and collapsed on the pavement. When the shooting stopped, there were 17 bullet holes in the wall behind Sina’s and Lisa’s chairs. Joey lay dying in the street.
“Joey had an intense sense of destiny,” Marta Orbach says. “If he was truly marked for dying, this old-fashioned way—in style—would have been a point of honor with him. Joey’s death would have appealed to his sense of drama.” Pete Hamill called it “a supreme New York moment.” But for Sina, huddled with her daughter on the floor of a restaurant filled with shells and screams and blood, it was anything but supreme.
“I thought I was observing all this through the eyes of death,” Sina says today. “In fact, I thought I was dead.” Her next thought was an irony that struck her in light of their earlier fight. “Fancy that,” she thought, “somebody was trying to kill him. My God, he wasn’t kidding!”
Today Sina tells her stories in the living room of her modest farmhouse, surrounded by photographs of her family and friends. These include a prominently placed picture of Joey. At 65, she still retains her classic Italian beauty and charm. She lives alone and maintains only a few close friendships. Hearing her relate her stories in the quiet of her living room or outside her sunny barn is a surreal but wholly believable experience.
Sina came to Tennessee in 1991 to get away from her notoriety. She says she had become almost a novelty in New York. “I wasn’t introduced to people as Sina Essary anymore,” she says. “I was ‘Joey Gallo’s widow.’ I had become like a stop on a sightseeing bus, like the Statue of Liberty or something.” She was besieged with requests for interviews in New York, all of which she declined. She even turned down an invitation to appear on The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson.
But she had good reasons to keep quiet. One, she says, was the possibility that she herself might be marked for murder. She had been a witness to Joey’s shooting, after all, and might have identified the killers. For a long time afterward, she was followed by FBI agents, the NYPD and members of the Gallo gang in what she calls “an unholy alliance” to protect her from the Colombo crew. After a while, it all became too much for her.
For Sina, the attraction of Tennessee was its entertainment business. “I felt I could practice my photography in Nashville,” she says. “I had been in the business of photographing celebrities in New York, so I figured I could do it in Tennessee too.” She is presently planning a retrospective show at the Nashville Design Center in Melrose, where she intends to represent the large portfolio of pictures she has amassed over the years. In perhaps the richest irony of all, she photographed a young actress who would play the most famous Mafia wife of all: Edie Falco, who stars as Carmela on The Sopranos.
Sina admits that her move to Tennessee was also an act of “menopausal madness” which in some respects she still regrets. “I had always planned to go back to New York,” she says. “I had my box at the Metropolitan Opera, my rooftop rose garden and, of course, all my friends. For three years after I moved here I kept my apartment on Fifth Avenue, thinking I might go back. But when I bought my first pregnant mare, I fell so in love with her baby foal that I knew I could never leave. I still love New York, and I cry when I think about it, but I love my horses more.”
Sina has no fear from the Mafia today. Those days have passed, and the principal actors have died. She still speaks and corresponds every month with the only remaining member of the Gallo gang she knows, Bobby Bongiovi, the bodyguard who left early on the night Joey was killed. Bobby, movie-star handsome in his youth, is old, sick and now serving a life sentence in Dannemora for the murder of another mobster, Sam Wuyak, the year after Joey died. Bongiovi denies killing Wuyak, but he told Sina, “There is plenty of other stuff they could have sent me up for.” According to press accounts, when Bongiovi received his sentence at the hearing, Sina Essary was there, brushing away tears.
Joey’s life has been written about a number of times, but the accounts have not always been consistent. Some facts are hard to come by, and arguments about Joey still simmer among scholars of the Mafia life. Perhaps the most comprehensive treatment of Joey’s career is the Aronson book, though Sina says that it too contains errors. But Joey’s death only hastened his passing into myth. In 1974, Italian director Carlo Lizzani made a biopic called Crazy Joe starring the young Peter Boyle as Joey, with Eli Wallach, Paula Prentiss and even Henry Winkler in supporting roles. It was a spaghetti-Western take on gangland life, but critic Jerry Renshaw called it a gem—“a rawer Scorsese without the polish or panache, relying instead on pungent dialogue and gritty performances.”
By 1976, the fallen mobster had been rehabilitated as the romantic hero of “Joey,” from Bob Dylan’s 1976 album Desire—a combination Tom Joad and Pretty Boy Floyd whose “closest friends were black men ’cause they seemed to understand / What it’s like to be in society with a shackle on your hand.” In 1993, soon after Sina’s move to Nashville, Dylan even paid a visit to her home. They spent an afternoon discussing life in New York, shared acquaintances—and, of course, Joey.
More measured accounts of Joey’s life have revised the romantic image he carried while he was alive. He was a man capable of ruthless, and remorseless, brutality. His war with the Colombo family continued for a long time after he died, and several more killings took place, including those of two innocent people. The ferocity of the gang war caused Jimmy Breslin to change his thoughts about the rackets, writing that he considered The Godfather “hardcore pornography” and his own The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight “the product of demented thinking.”
Still, Sina has no regrets about marrying Joey. “It’s part of life,” she shrugs.
Joey’s funeral was huge, front-page news in all the papers. Pictures showed Sina and Lisa, grieving, standing on the steps of the church. The local parish priest refused to bury Joey—whether for doctrinal reasons or fear of Colombo mob reprisals was never made clear. So Sina arranged for a substitute priest to fly in from Cleveland to conduct the service.
Along the route to the cemetery, the sidewalks were jammed with people paying their respects to Joey Gallo. They strained to catch just a glimpse of his gleaming copper casket. Because of the attendance of so many gangland figures, police lined the streets and the rooftops to head off further violence.
Looking back, in the faraway seclusion of her Williamson County farm—a lifetime ago from the vendettas and tangled allegiances of Little Italy—Sina Essary says the procession would have appealed to Joey’s sense of show business. Tommy Udo was dead, and Sina says, “You would have thought the Pope was passing by.”
A former nun should know.
Thanks to Wayne Christeson
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Presidential Candidate Target of Mob Hitman Plot
Cleveland Democratic Congressman Dennis Kucinich, 
who is drafting legislation to ban civilian ownership of handguns, kept a pistol in his house after police learned of a Mafia plot to kill him during his tumultous stint as Cleveland's mayor during the 1970s.
Kucinich spokesman Andy Juniewicz said the congressman kept a pistol at home long ago, after police learned that a Mafia hitman had planned to shoot Kucinich as he marched in an October 1978 parade. Kucinich ended up missing the parade because he was hospitalized with an ulcer, but police feared subsequent murder attempts so they recommended that he keep a gun in the house, Juniewicz said.
Details of that plot were publicized during a 1984 Senate inquiry into organized crime activities. News accounts at that time suggested that Cleveland organized crime figures were frustrated that some of Kucinich's mayoral initiatives were thwarting their money-making plans.
Earlier in his career, Kucinich owned a starter's pistol that he kept to scare potential muggers, said his congressional spokeswoman, Natalie Laber.
He no longer owns either weapon.
Thanks to Sabrina Eaton
who is drafting legislation to ban civilian ownership of handguns, kept a pistol in his house after police learned of a Mafia plot to kill him during his tumultous stint as Cleveland's mayor during the 1970s.Kucinich spokesman Andy Juniewicz said the congressman kept a pistol at home long ago, after police learned that a Mafia hitman had planned to shoot Kucinich as he marched in an October 1978 parade. Kucinich ended up missing the parade because he was hospitalized with an ulcer, but police feared subsequent murder attempts so they recommended that he keep a gun in the house, Juniewicz said.
Details of that plot were publicized during a 1984 Senate inquiry into organized crime activities. News accounts at that time suggested that Cleveland organized crime figures were frustrated that some of Kucinich's mayoral initiatives were thwarting their money-making plans.
Earlier in his career, Kucinich owned a starter's pistol that he kept to scare potential muggers, said his congressional spokeswoman, Natalie Laber.
He no longer owns either weapon.
Thanks to Sabrina Eaton
Friday, April 27, 2007
Beef from Mobster Who Says He is No Beefer
Friends of ours: Mario Rainone, Nick Calabrese, Gerald Scarpelli, Lenny Patrick, Gus Alex
It's so nice to talk to loyal readers, even an angry reader who's spent the last 15 years in federal prison for being a notorious juice loan collector for the Chicago Outfit. But I'd prefer not being hectored on an empty stomach. All those blunt Paulie Walnuts vowels make me hungry.
"I think you want to talk to this guy right away," said the young fellow who answers the phone around here. "He wants a correction. He keeps talking about beef."
Beef?
"He insists that he's not a beefer and that you wrote in the column the other day that he's a beefer. 'Tell John I'm not a beefer,' he said. So I'm telling you."
What's his name? "Mario Rainone."
So I called him, out of respect for his ability to remain alive.
"I'm no beefer!" said Rainone, the Outfit tough guy who plead guilty to racketeering and extortion in 1992. "You keep saying I'm a beefer, and it's not true. You're ruining my life."
Ruining his life? What about mine? I was starving for the classic Chicago sammich, Italian beef with hot peppers on crusty bread. But he was using Chicago slang, employing the words "beef" and "beefer" to refer to a guy who complains about, then informs on, his associates.
"Enough is enough already!" he pleaded. "I got released 90 days ago. I don't know nothing."
Here's what Rainone was upset about. This week, I wrote a column about the upcoming "Operation Family Secrets" trial, involving top Chicago Outfit bosses and their hit men and 18 previously unsolved Mafia assassinations.
The case is largely built on the testimony of mobster Nick Calabrese, who beefed on his brother to the feds. But other mobsters have spilled their gravy on what they know, in other unrelated cases. And all these stories, cobbled together, have helped federal authorities develop extensive dossiers on the mob. Naturally, guys like Rainone are nervous.
"It's ridiculous," Rainone said. "I don't know nothing about 'Family Secrets.'
"
I never said you did.
"It's in the paper," he said.
Read it again. But he didn't, because he was upset, for good reason.
A few years ago, Outfit soldier Gerald Scarpelli told what he knew to the FBI. Later, Scarpelli strangled himself with plastic bags. In prison. So who wouldn't understand a man suffering from agita after beef?
Rainone's former supervisor, Lenny Patrick, another gangster, also beefed on his boss, Gus Alex, who years ago, according to news reports, put out a hit on my new friend Mario, who beefed on Patrick, which led to Alex.
It's confusing, but symmetrical, like that song, "Circle of Life," only think of it sung by Frank Sinatra instead of Elton John.
"I was locked up since 1990. I never testified," Rainone said. "Then you want to put my name in the papers with this. I never cooperated with the FBI. I have never been a witness. You know like I know, if a guy is going to beef, he is going to beef. But I didn't beef."
Yet according to news accounts, federal testimony, court documents and the FBI supervisor who worked on the Rainone case, Mario was a deluxe beefer with extra juice and peppers. "He's trying to rewrite history, and that's fascinating," said Jim Wagner, the FBI supervisor who interviewed Rainone and is now president of the Chicago Crime Commission. "He cooperated. Now he's putting out the word he never beefed? Obviously, he's feeling pressure."
After living a life collecting gambling debts the hard way, Rainone had an epiphany and decided to call the FBI. But instead of angels, he spotted two associates tailing him in another car. Outfit guys don't believe in coincidence. Rainone figured they weren't going to ask him for coffee and cake, not even poppy seed. He figured they were going to kill him.
So he flipped and told the FBI many things, and they put him on the phone with Lenny Patrick, and Patrick flipped on Alex. Then Rainone had another change of heart and tried to flip back again. He refused to testify in court. Yet by then, his beef was overcooked, and he did 15 years.
"In max penitentiaries," he said, "not those [easy] joints."
I asked about the two guys in the tail car, if their names were Rudy and Willie, and how he felt phoning Patrick with the FBI listening. "I've got no knowledge of that. It was all lies. I paid for my crimes, and I am not going to pay no more. I don't know those guys. I don't know none of them. This is ridiculous."
He also mentioned that it might have been a mistake to beef me on a column when I was hungry. "I shouldn't have called you. That's my mistake. Listen, I know that Friday's paper will be worse than Wednesday's," he said.
These days, Rainone said he's looking for a job, perhaps as a truck driver: "I'll take anything." But if he can't get a job driving trucks, perhaps he could ask a builder for meaningful, fulfilling work. Or you readers might know of something appropriate.
"All I want is to live a legitimate life," he said. And all I wanted was a legitimate lunch.
Thanks to John Kass
It's so nice to talk to loyal readers, even an angry reader who's spent the last 15 years in federal prison for being a notorious juice loan collector for the Chicago Outfit. But I'd prefer not being hectored on an empty stomach. All those blunt Paulie Walnuts vowels make me hungry.
"I think you want to talk to this guy right away," said the young fellow who answers the phone around here. "He wants a correction. He keeps talking about beef."
Beef?"He insists that he's not a beefer and that you wrote in the column the other day that he's a beefer. 'Tell John I'm not a beefer,' he said. So I'm telling you."
What's his name? "Mario Rainone."
So I called him, out of respect for his ability to remain alive.
"I'm no beefer!" said Rainone, the Outfit tough guy who plead guilty to racketeering and extortion in 1992. "You keep saying I'm a beefer, and it's not true. You're ruining my life."
Ruining his life? What about mine? I was starving for the classic Chicago sammich, Italian beef with hot peppers on crusty bread. But he was using Chicago slang, employing the words "beef" and "beefer" to refer to a guy who complains about, then informs on, his associates.
"Enough is enough already!" he pleaded. "I got released 90 days ago. I don't know nothing."
Here's what Rainone was upset about. This week, I wrote a column about the upcoming "Operation Family Secrets" trial, involving top Chicago Outfit bosses and their hit men and 18 previously unsolved Mafia assassinations.
The case is largely built on the testimony of mobster Nick Calabrese, who beefed on his brother to the feds. But other mobsters have spilled their gravy on what they know, in other unrelated cases. And all these stories, cobbled together, have helped federal authorities develop extensive dossiers on the mob. Naturally, guys like Rainone are nervous.
"It's ridiculous," Rainone said. "I don't know nothing about 'Family Secrets.'
"
I never said you did.
"It's in the paper," he said.
Read it again. But he didn't, because he was upset, for good reason.
A few years ago, Outfit soldier Gerald Scarpelli told what he knew to the FBI. Later, Scarpelli strangled himself with plastic bags. In prison. So who wouldn't understand a man suffering from agita after beef?
Rainone's former supervisor, Lenny Patrick, another gangster, also beefed on his boss, Gus Alex, who years ago, according to news reports, put out a hit on my new friend Mario, who beefed on Patrick, which led to Alex.
It's confusing, but symmetrical, like that song, "Circle of Life," only think of it sung by Frank Sinatra instead of Elton John.
"I was locked up since 1990. I never testified," Rainone said. "Then you want to put my name in the papers with this. I never cooperated with the FBI. I have never been a witness. You know like I know, if a guy is going to beef, he is going to beef. But I didn't beef."
Yet according to news accounts, federal testimony, court documents and the FBI supervisor who worked on the Rainone case, Mario was a deluxe beefer with extra juice and peppers. "He's trying to rewrite history, and that's fascinating," said Jim Wagner, the FBI supervisor who interviewed Rainone and is now president of the Chicago Crime Commission. "He cooperated. Now he's putting out the word he never beefed? Obviously, he's feeling pressure."
After living a life collecting gambling debts the hard way, Rainone had an epiphany and decided to call the FBI. But instead of angels, he spotted two associates tailing him in another car. Outfit guys don't believe in coincidence. Rainone figured they weren't going to ask him for coffee and cake, not even poppy seed. He figured they were going to kill him.
So he flipped and told the FBI many things, and they put him on the phone with Lenny Patrick, and Patrick flipped on Alex. Then Rainone had another change of heart and tried to flip back again. He refused to testify in court. Yet by then, his beef was overcooked, and he did 15 years.
"In max penitentiaries," he said, "not those [easy] joints."
I asked about the two guys in the tail car, if their names were Rudy and Willie, and how he felt phoning Patrick with the FBI listening. "I've got no knowledge of that. It was all lies. I paid for my crimes, and I am not going to pay no more. I don't know those guys. I don't know none of them. This is ridiculous."
He also mentioned that it might have been a mistake to beef me on a column when I was hungry. "I shouldn't have called you. That's my mistake. Listen, I know that Friday's paper will be worse than Wednesday's," he said.
These days, Rainone said he's looking for a job, perhaps as a truck driver: "I'll take anything." But if he can't get a job driving trucks, perhaps he could ask a builder for meaningful, fulfilling work. Or you readers might know of something appropriate.
"All I want is to live a legitimate life," he said. And all I wanted was a legitimate lunch.
Thanks to John Kass
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Mob Enforcer Attends Stephens Funeral
Friends of ours: Sam "Momo" Giancana, Anthony "Jeeps" Daddino
Friends of mine: Don Stephens
The one and only mayor of suburban Rosemont, Don Stephens, was laid to rest Monday. The funeral attracted some of the state's top political figures. In this Intelligence Report: one mourner linked to the Chicago mob and the late mayor's fight to shed an unsavory image.
Since the day 45 years ago that Don Stephens did some business with Chicago's supreme outfit boss, Sam "Momo" Giancana, Stephens had been dogged by scurrilous suggestions that he was mobbed up.
To his death, Stephens denied connections to organized crime. But he never wavered in his personal commitment to one organized crime figure, a former outfit enforcer who Monday paid his respects to the friend who cut him a break.
As the flag-covered coffin of Rosemont's mayor was walked to a waiting hearse Monday, there in the crowd of onlookers was Anthony Daddino, a.k.a. "Jeeps." He was the only outfit-connected face recognized by mob-watchers.
In 1990, Daddino was sentenced to federal prison for collecting a mob street tax from porn shop operators on Chicago's North Side. At the time, Rosemont Mayor Don Stephens wrote to the judge asking for leniency for the outfit enforcer. "My connection with him -- I went to Leyden High School with him," said Stephens.
In Mayor Stephens' last interview the I-Team did with him in December, he remembered helping Daddino, despite knowing that people would be suspicious. When Daddino got out of prison, Mayor Stephens knew he would need a job. "I said, 'OK, I'll give you a job,' " Stephens told the I-Team. " 'A very low-level job,' where he inspected for building violations."
Monday at Stephens' funeral, Daddino remembered him. "That's what good friends do," Daddino said.
Despite decades of being dogged by innuendo, Stephens was never charged with any mob crimes, and in the early 1980s he was acquitted in the fraud and bribery cases that federal prosecutors did bring against him.
Governor Blagojevich Monday was joined by former Illinois governors Jim Edgar, Jim Thompson, Mayor Daley and House Speaker Mike Madigan. Absent was state attorney general Lisa Madigan who killed a casino license for Rosemont citing mob connections.
Thanks to Chuck Goudie
Friends of mine: Don Stephens
The one and only mayor of suburban Rosemont, Don Stephens, was laid to rest Monday. The funeral attracted some of the state's top political figures. In this Intelligence Report: one mourner linked to the Chicago mob and the late mayor's fight to shed an unsavory image.
Since the day 45 years ago that Don Stephens did some business with Chicago's supreme outfit boss, Sam "Momo" Giancana, Stephens had been dogged by scurrilous suggestions that he was mobbed up.
To his death, Stephens denied connections to organized crime. But he never wavered in his personal commitment to one organized crime figure, a former outfit enforcer who Monday paid his respects to the friend who cut him a break.
As the flag-covered coffin of Rosemont's mayor was walked to a waiting hearse Monday, there in the crowd of onlookers was Anthony Daddino, a.k.a. "Jeeps." He was the only outfit-connected face recognized by mob-watchers.
In 1990, Daddino was sentenced to federal prison for collecting a mob street tax from porn shop operators on Chicago's North Side. At the time, Rosemont Mayor Don Stephens wrote to the judge asking for leniency for the outfit enforcer. "My connection with him -- I went to Leyden High School with him," said Stephens.
In Mayor Stephens' last interview the I-Team did with him in December, he remembered helping Daddino, despite knowing that people would be suspicious. When Daddino got out of prison, Mayor Stephens knew he would need a job. "I said, 'OK, I'll give you a job,' " Stephens told the I-Team. " 'A very low-level job,' where he inspected for building violations."
Monday at Stephens' funeral, Daddino remembered him. "That's what good friends do," Daddino said.
Despite decades of being dogged by innuendo, Stephens was never charged with any mob crimes, and in the early 1980s he was acquitted in the fraud and bribery cases that federal prosecutors did bring against him.
Governor Blagojevich Monday was joined by former Illinois governors Jim Edgar, Jim Thompson, Mayor Daley and House Speaker Mike Madigan. Absent was state attorney general Lisa Madigan who killed a casino license for Rosemont citing mob connections.
Thanks to Chuck Goudie
2007 Summer Blockbuster to Feature the Chicago Mob
Friends of ours: Jimmy "The Man" Marcello, Frank "The German" Schweihs, Paul Schiro, Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, John Fecoratta, Tony Spilotro, Billy Dauber, Nick Calabrese., Mario Rainone, Gerald Scarpelli, Richard Cain
Friends of mine: William Hanhardt, Michael Spilotro
As president of the Chicago Crime Commission, former schoolteacher Jim Wagner naturally has an academic interest in the big upcoming "Family Secrets" trial of Outfit bosses and hit men accused of 18 previously unsolved murders.
Founded in 1919 by local business leaders to fight the Outfit's influence in local politics and law enforcement at the dawn of the Al Capone era, the Chicago Crime Commission continues that fight to this day. The commission, at chicagocrimecommission.org, is now developing two invaluable documents: a new organizational chart of the Chicago Outfit and an index, drawn from federal testimony, of Outfit-friendly Chicago businesses.
"Over the past several years, there has been an attempt to convince the public that the Chicago Outfit is passe, that it's dead," Wagner told me Tuesday in his office. "You've seen the same headlines that I've seen," he said. "But as 'Family Secrets' continues, the public will realize that the Outfit is very much alive, that they have incredible reach and power and that they're capable of unspeakable brutality, not only toward their own but to business associates."
There's more than academic interest at work here. Wagner, from a small Illinois farm outside of Newman, south of Urbana, became a teacher before he was recruited into the FBI, where he spent 30 years. He ran the FBI's Organized Crime section, which helped build cases against hit men like Harry Aleman.
Wagner also helped initiate the recent investigation of the Outfit's favorite cop, William Hanhardt, former chief of detectives for the Chicago Police Department. It was a secret investigation, run off-site because of Hanhardt's vast intelligence network, and it sent fear through City Hall and police headquarters when Hanhardt was charged. Hanhardt later pleaded guilty to running a nationwide jewelry theft ring, aided by intelligence from local law enforcement. By pleading guilty, he spared Chicago, and himself, a trial.
Wagner could not speak specifically about the federal case because he may be called as an expert witness. But he knows the history of the 11 reputed mobsters soon to go on trial. The list includes boss Jimmy "The Man" Marcello, mob enforcers Frank "The German" Schweihs and Paul Schiro, and overlord Joseph Lombardo, called Joey "The Clown," even though he stopped laughing awhile back.
Some of the killings include those of Michael and Anthony Spilotro, reproduced in graphic detail in the movie "Casino" with baseball bats in a ditch in an Indiana cornfield, though it turns out they weren't killed in the corn, but in a suburb after being lured to a meeting.
Also killed was John Fecoratta, who was in charge of hiding the Spilotro bodies that were found too soon. Later, he would go on a robbery of a bingo game where he must have felt like the guy at the crooked card game. He sat down, probably wondering which one of the losers at the table was the sucker, only to realize the sucker's identity, too late, in a brief moment of excruciating clarity.
And the Will County killing of hit man Billy Dauber and his mouthy wife, Charlotte, chopped to pieces on a farm road with automatic weapons fired from cars, including one presumably containing Calabrese. And so on.
One killing not on the list is that of Eugenia "Becca" Pappas, 18, shot to death around Christmas in 1962 after she had been dating Schweihs over the objections of her family. Missing for weeks, she was later found in the Chicago River by a tugboat captain.
Schweihs was brought in for questioning by Richard Cain, then the homicide chief of the Cook County Sheriff's Police, but Cain released him. Wonder why? Cain at the time was on the payroll of the late Outfit boss Sam "Momo" Giancana. Cain himself was assassinated at Rose's Sandwich shop on the West Side in 1973, and that killing also is touched on in the government's outline of the Family Secrets case.
Outfit killings haven't stopped.
Wagner says Family Secrets would not have been possible without Nick Calabrese. Others who have spilled include Mario Rainone, who then clammed up after a bomb damaged his mother's porch, and Gerald Scarpelli, who reportedly strangled himself with plastic bags in prison.
Their information, combined with Calabrese's statements, provides an inside look at the Chicago Outfit, which maintains itself through intimidation, vast political connections and supporters in local law enforcement.
"Obviously, Calabrese's cooperation was a significant development, a monumental development," Wagner said. "And you put his information together with what we've learned from other Outfit witnesses over the years, well, there's a treasure trove of information."
And you can read all about it, when the trial begins this summer.
Thanks to John Kass
Friends of mine: William Hanhardt, Michael Spilotro
As president of the Chicago Crime Commission, former schoolteacher Jim Wagner naturally has an academic interest in the big upcoming "Family Secrets" trial of Outfit bosses and hit men accused of 18 previously unsolved murders.
Founded in 1919 by local business leaders to fight the Outfit's influence in local politics and law enforcement at the dawn of the Al Capone era, the Chicago Crime Commission continues that fight to this day. The commission, at chicagocrimecommission.org, is now developing two invaluable documents: a new organizational chart of the Chicago Outfit and an index, drawn from federal testimony, of Outfit-friendly Chicago businesses.
"Over the past several years, there has been an attempt to convince the public that the Chicago Outfit is passe, that it's dead," Wagner told me Tuesday in his office. "You've seen the same headlines that I've seen," he said. "But as 'Family Secrets' continues, the public will realize that the Outfit is very much alive, that they have incredible reach and power and that they're capable of unspeakable brutality, not only toward their own but to business associates."
There's more than academic interest at work here. Wagner, from a small Illinois farm outside of Newman, south of Urbana, became a teacher before he was recruited into the FBI, where he spent 30 years. He ran the FBI's Organized Crime section, which helped build cases against hit men like Harry Aleman.
Wagner also helped initiate the recent investigation of the Outfit's favorite cop, William Hanhardt, former chief of detectives for the Chicago Police Department. It was a secret investigation, run off-site because of Hanhardt's vast intelligence network, and it sent fear through City Hall and police headquarters when Hanhardt was charged. Hanhardt later pleaded guilty to running a nationwide jewelry theft ring, aided by intelligence from local law enforcement. By pleading guilty, he spared Chicago, and himself, a trial.
Wagner could not speak specifically about the federal case because he may be called as an expert witness. But he knows the history of the 11 reputed mobsters soon to go on trial. The list includes boss Jimmy "The Man" Marcello, mob enforcers Frank "The German" Schweihs and Paul Schiro, and overlord Joseph Lombardo, called Joey "The Clown," even though he stopped laughing awhile back.
Some of the killings include those of Michael and Anthony Spilotro, reproduced in graphic detail in the movie "Casino" with baseball bats in a ditch in an Indiana cornfield, though it turns out they weren't killed in the corn, but in a suburb after being lured to a meeting.
Also killed was John Fecoratta, who was in charge of hiding the Spilotro bodies that were found too soon. Later, he would go on a robbery of a bingo game where he must have felt like the guy at the crooked card game. He sat down, probably wondering which one of the losers at the table was the sucker, only to realize the sucker's identity, too late, in a brief moment of excruciating clarity.
And the Will County killing of hit man Billy Dauber and his mouthy wife, Charlotte, chopped to pieces on a farm road with automatic weapons fired from cars, including one presumably containing Calabrese. And so on.
One killing not on the list is that of Eugenia "Becca" Pappas, 18, shot to death around Christmas in 1962 after she had been dating Schweihs over the objections of her family. Missing for weeks, she was later found in the Chicago River by a tugboat captain.
Schweihs was brought in for questioning by Richard Cain, then the homicide chief of the Cook County Sheriff's Police, but Cain released him. Wonder why? Cain at the time was on the payroll of the late Outfit boss Sam "Momo" Giancana. Cain himself was assassinated at Rose's Sandwich shop on the West Side in 1973, and that killing also is touched on in the government's outline of the Family Secrets case.
Outfit killings haven't stopped.
Wagner says Family Secrets would not have been possible without Nick Calabrese. Others who have spilled include Mario Rainone, who then clammed up after a bomb damaged his mother's porch, and Gerald Scarpelli, who reportedly strangled himself with plastic bags in prison.
Their information, combined with Calabrese's statements, provides an inside look at the Chicago Outfit, which maintains itself through intimidation, vast political connections and supporters in local law enforcement.
"Obviously, Calabrese's cooperation was a significant development, a monumental development," Wagner said. "And you put his information together with what we've learned from other Outfit witnesses over the years, well, there's a treasure trove of information."
And you can read all about it, when the trial begins this summer.
Thanks to John Kass
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Mafia Legends
Friends of ours: Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Bugsy Siegel
Biography Presents Mafia Legends is an iffy grab bag of Biography profiles on three of organized crime's most notorious gangsters: Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, and Bugsy Siegel. A bonus fourth disc, Mob Hitman comes from A&E's American Justice series. Quickly edited, with a nice selection of archival footage and stills, these glossy but essentially superficial bios certainly move well enough, and hit the highlights of these infamous mobsters. But there's a certain nagging sense of romanticism to two of the bios which makes this collection a questionable purchase.
There are quite a few genuine historians out there who have nothing but contempt for channels like The History Channel, A&E, and The Biography Channel – as I find out every time I praise one of their DVD box set releases. But I would imagine that most viewers of those channels and their programs understand that, as with all historical studies, interpretation of facts – and the crucial omission or inclusion of certain facts – largely determines the worth or value of such an exploration. Unlike the studied historians who may occasionally email me, chiding me for recommending series like Lost Worlds or Dogfights when even the tiniest factual errors are found, most viewers of Biography documentaries such as Biography Presents Mafia Legends understand that these are entertainments first, meant to gather an audience, and serious education second.
That being said, there still appears to be a slightly disingenuous slant to two of the docs presented here – Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel – that make them less-than-stellar inclusions for this themed box set. Not being a big fan of romanticized tales of real-life thugs, criminals and murderers, the tone of Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel left a somewhat bad taste in my mouth. It's not that the documentaries go out of their way to re-write history and say these psychotics were in reality good guys, but there's a persuasive feeling of almost grudging hero-worship, if you will, that illustrates a sloppy (and dishonest) approach to the filmmakers' (or the network who may have had final cut) vision.
While each documentary chronicles in full a wistful, almost fatalistic approach to these two vicious criminals, they spend almost no serious time chronicling their ugly crimes. Watching Lucky Luciano: Chairman of the Mob, one might get the notion that Lucky Luciano was really nothing more than a patriotic American businessman who helped keep the New York docks free of sabotage during WWII, and who gave the Army instructions on how to invade Italy safely – only to be "stabbed in the back" by the ungrateful U.S. government who deported him. Expert after expert testify to his brilliance and genius, while the documentary ends on a sad note, with Lucky's final, lonely days in exile in his fabulous Italian penthouse. The filmmakers even pull out a picture of Lucky with his dog to tug at your heartstrings – I guess if he was good to his dog, he was an okay guy, right? But almost no time is spent on the early part of his life, where he earned convictions for pimping, extortions, theft, and almost nothing is said about his role in numerous murders. As well, the dubious notion that Luciano "loved" this country above all else is put forth without any serious questions, such as perhaps, as some theorists believe, Luciano and the mob were behind the dock sabotages in the first place during WWII, and they used it as extortion against the government. As with almost any philanthropic endeavor that Luciano supported, it was usually to cover his illegal activities.
Watching Bugsy Siegel, the same kind of romanticized approach is used, with Siegel coming off as some kind of starry-eyed dreamer who should be remembered as the "inventor" of Las Vegas, and not for the psychotic killer who terrified those around him. Again, almost no time is spent documenting the actual crimes that Siegel committed, including murder, extortion, white slavery, and assault, that earned him his place in organized crime. But plenty of time is spent discussing his sartorial splendor, his charm, his good looks, his Hollywood connections, his "epic" love affair with Virginia Hill, and of course, his dream of the Flamingo Hotel out in the desert. For all purposes, Bugsy Siegel may as well be a documentary on a movie star, and not a real-life vicious thug and criminal.
The other two documentaries fare much better here in the Biography Presents Mafia Legends box set. Al Capone: Scarface is brought in straight down the middle. It's factual, and dispassionate in showing not only the fame that came to Capone, but also the unrelenting violence and murderous impulses that led to his downfall. It doesn't sugar coat his life, and it certainly doesn't glamorize or romanticize it. Capone is portrayed as he was: a well-organized criminal who murdered and extorted his way to the top of an empire, and who died insane from the aftereffects of syphilis, contracted from one of the many prostitutes he frequented. It's a sobering, insightful look at a criminal who's received far more "fame" than he deserves – and almost all of that fame for the wrong reasons (the final shots of a gift store in Chicago, which has an audiotronic Al Capone, speaking like one of the Presidents in Disneyland's Hall of Presidents, is pretty mind-blowing after seeing what the guy was all about).
Even more gritty and deglamorized, Mob Hitmen, the final bonus disc in the Biography Presents Mafia Legends box set, comes from the frequently compelling A&E series American Justice, hosted by Bill Kurtis. Featuring interviews with real mob killers, and using archival surveillance footage and audio samples, Mob Hitmen plays like a junior-league Donnie Brasco, and it's a welcome, if minor note contribution to this DVD box set. While it's an intriguing documentary, it's scope is somewhat narrow in conjunction with the oversized subjects of the previous three docs, so its inclusion is not the best fit here in Biography Presents Mafia Legends. If a bonus doc was needed with a more modern slant, perhaps one discussing a major mob figure from more recent days, such as John Giotti, would have been more appropriate. Still, the always professional, low-key, and most importantly serious delivery of host Bill Kurtis is a most welcome relief from the totally inappropriate, jovial, smiling smarminess of host Jack Perkins, who hosts the other three documentaries ("Bugsy, as he was known, liked to kill people!").
Here are the 4, one hour documentaries included in the four disc box set, Biography Presents Mafia Legends, as described on their hardshell cases:
Al Capone: Scarface
In the thrilling underworld of speakeasies, Tommy guns, and turf wars, Al Capone was the undisputed emperor of 1920s Chicago. "Scarface" -- a nickname born from the consequences of a violent encounter in his youth -- was many things to many people: a ruthless and vindictive murderer, a generous patron, and a glamorous impresario. Capone's legacy, however, will forever be marked by his role as the most notorious gangster in American history. In this in-depth biography, follow Capone's journey from the immigrant Brooklyn neighborhood of his youth to the glittering circles of Chicago's powerful elite, and finally to his years of imprisonment and his death at the age of 48. Al Capone: Scarface reveals rare photographs and exclusive interviews to paint an extraordinary portrait of the rise and fall of America's ultimate anti-hero.
Biography - Bugsy Siegel (A&E DVD Archives)
He was handsome. He was glamorous. And in a seedy underworld of ruthless murderers, he was the most vicious of them all. Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel first made his mark as a hitman on the gang-run streets of Brooklyn, New York. Yet, his fame was solidified amid the Hollywood hills where his unique gangster/playboy image made him a legend. In this fascinating portrait, see rare footage of the dapper mobster and witness exclusive interviews with acquaintances and enemies alike. Examine Siegel's greatest legacy as the founding father of glittering Las Vegas, Nevada, and listen as mob insiders reveal the details of Siegel's ultimate betrayal at the hands of his best friend.
Lucky Luciano
: Chairman of the Mob
He wrote his name in blood and made himself the Boss of Bosses. Arriving in America at the age of nine and embarking upon a life of crime at 14, Charles "Lucky" Luciano rose through the ranks of the New York Mafia like a shot. By 34, Lucky ran the Sicilian mob like a major corporation: diversifying rackets, organizing gangs, and running his own political candidates. Lucky Luciano: Chairman of the Mob investigates Lucky's 30-year career as the CEO of Murder, Inc. through rare interviews and extensive archival footage. Listen as mob insiders reminisce about meetings held in Luciano's Waldorf-Astoria headquarters and witness the top-secret war efforts that earned Lucky parole from a 50-year sentence.
Mob Hitmen
They are the most feared figures in the business of organized crime -- the triggermen whose job it is to eliminate contentious witnesses, rivals, and fellow mobsters in accordance with their bosses' orders. Today, the modern mob hitman – or woman -- is a different breed than the Tommy-gun-toting stereotype of popular Hollywood gangster films. He or she may wear several different hats in the organization, killing when ordered, but performing more mundane tasks in the interim. In this chilling expose, American Justice ventures inside the bloody mob wars that have scarred Philadelphia over the past decade. In addition to interviews with some of the mob's most notorious triggermen and women, Mob Hitman features footage and news accounts of the city's recent brutal mob hits, and introduces viewers to the police and prosecutors who have devoted their lives to catching these shadowy killers.
Thanks to Paul Mavis
Biography Presents Mafia Legends is an iffy grab bag of Biography profiles on three of organized crime's most notorious gangsters: Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, and Bugsy Siegel. A bonus fourth disc, Mob Hitman comes from A&E's American Justice series. Quickly edited, with a nice selection of archival footage and stills, these glossy but essentially superficial bios certainly move well enough, and hit the highlights of these infamous mobsters. But there's a certain nagging sense of romanticism to two of the bios which makes this collection a questionable purchase.
There are quite a few genuine historians out there who have nothing but contempt for channels like The History Channel, A&E, and The Biography Channel – as I find out every time I praise one of their DVD box set releases. But I would imagine that most viewers of those channels and their programs understand that, as with all historical studies, interpretation of facts – and the crucial omission or inclusion of certain facts – largely determines the worth or value of such an exploration. Unlike the studied historians who may occasionally email me, chiding me for recommending series like Lost Worlds or Dogfights when even the tiniest factual errors are found, most viewers of Biography documentaries such as Biography Presents Mafia Legends understand that these are entertainments first, meant to gather an audience, and serious education second.
That being said, there still appears to be a slightly disingenuous slant to two of the docs presented here – Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel – that make them less-than-stellar inclusions for this themed box set. Not being a big fan of romanticized tales of real-life thugs, criminals and murderers, the tone of Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel left a somewhat bad taste in my mouth. It's not that the documentaries go out of their way to re-write history and say these psychotics were in reality good guys, but there's a persuasive feeling of almost grudging hero-worship, if you will, that illustrates a sloppy (and dishonest) approach to the filmmakers' (or the network who may have had final cut) vision.
While each documentary chronicles in full a wistful, almost fatalistic approach to these two vicious criminals, they spend almost no serious time chronicling their ugly crimes. Watching Lucky Luciano: Chairman of the Mob, one might get the notion that Lucky Luciano was really nothing more than a patriotic American businessman who helped keep the New York docks free of sabotage during WWII, and who gave the Army instructions on how to invade Italy safely – only to be "stabbed in the back" by the ungrateful U.S. government who deported him. Expert after expert testify to his brilliance and genius, while the documentary ends on a sad note, with Lucky's final, lonely days in exile in his fabulous Italian penthouse. The filmmakers even pull out a picture of Lucky with his dog to tug at your heartstrings – I guess if he was good to his dog, he was an okay guy, right? But almost no time is spent on the early part of his life, where he earned convictions for pimping, extortions, theft, and almost nothing is said about his role in numerous murders. As well, the dubious notion that Luciano "loved" this country above all else is put forth without any serious questions, such as perhaps, as some theorists believe, Luciano and the mob were behind the dock sabotages in the first place during WWII, and they used it as extortion against the government. As with almost any philanthropic endeavor that Luciano supported, it was usually to cover his illegal activities.
Watching Bugsy Siegel, the same kind of romanticized approach is used, with Siegel coming off as some kind of starry-eyed dreamer who should be remembered as the "inventor" of Las Vegas, and not for the psychotic killer who terrified those around him. Again, almost no time is spent documenting the actual crimes that Siegel committed, including murder, extortion, white slavery, and assault, that earned him his place in organized crime. But plenty of time is spent discussing his sartorial splendor, his charm, his good looks, his Hollywood connections, his "epic" love affair with Virginia Hill, and of course, his dream of the Flamingo Hotel out in the desert. For all purposes, Bugsy Siegel may as well be a documentary on a movie star, and not a real-life vicious thug and criminal.
The other two documentaries fare much better here in the Biography Presents Mafia Legends box set. Al Capone: Scarface is brought in straight down the middle. It's factual, and dispassionate in showing not only the fame that came to Capone, but also the unrelenting violence and murderous impulses that led to his downfall. It doesn't sugar coat his life, and it certainly doesn't glamorize or romanticize it. Capone is portrayed as he was: a well-organized criminal who murdered and extorted his way to the top of an empire, and who died insane from the aftereffects of syphilis, contracted from one of the many prostitutes he frequented. It's a sobering, insightful look at a criminal who's received far more "fame" than he deserves – and almost all of that fame for the wrong reasons (the final shots of a gift store in Chicago, which has an audiotronic Al Capone, speaking like one of the Presidents in Disneyland's Hall of Presidents, is pretty mind-blowing after seeing what the guy was all about).
Even more gritty and deglamorized, Mob Hitmen, the final bonus disc in the Biography Presents Mafia Legends box set, comes from the frequently compelling A&E series American Justice, hosted by Bill Kurtis. Featuring interviews with real mob killers, and using archival surveillance footage and audio samples, Mob Hitmen plays like a junior-league Donnie Brasco, and it's a welcome, if minor note contribution to this DVD box set. While it's an intriguing documentary, it's scope is somewhat narrow in conjunction with the oversized subjects of the previous three docs, so its inclusion is not the best fit here in Biography Presents Mafia Legends. If a bonus doc was needed with a more modern slant, perhaps one discussing a major mob figure from more recent days, such as John Giotti, would have been more appropriate. Still, the always professional, low-key, and most importantly serious delivery of host Bill Kurtis is a most welcome relief from the totally inappropriate, jovial, smiling smarminess of host Jack Perkins, who hosts the other three documentaries ("Bugsy, as he was known, liked to kill people!").
Here are the 4, one hour documentaries included in the four disc box set, Biography Presents Mafia Legends, as described on their hardshell cases:
Al Capone: Scarface
In the thrilling underworld of speakeasies, Tommy guns, and turf wars, Al Capone was the undisputed emperor of 1920s Chicago. "Scarface" -- a nickname born from the consequences of a violent encounter in his youth -- was many things to many people: a ruthless and vindictive murderer, a generous patron, and a glamorous impresario. Capone's legacy, however, will forever be marked by his role as the most notorious gangster in American history. In this in-depth biography, follow Capone's journey from the immigrant Brooklyn neighborhood of his youth to the glittering circles of Chicago's powerful elite, and finally to his years of imprisonment and his death at the age of 48. Al Capone: Scarface reveals rare photographs and exclusive interviews to paint an extraordinary portrait of the rise and fall of America's ultimate anti-hero.
Biography - Bugsy Siegel (A&E DVD Archives)
He was handsome. He was glamorous. And in a seedy underworld of ruthless murderers, he was the most vicious of them all. Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel first made his mark as a hitman on the gang-run streets of Brooklyn, New York. Yet, his fame was solidified amid the Hollywood hills where his unique gangster/playboy image made him a legend. In this fascinating portrait, see rare footage of the dapper mobster and witness exclusive interviews with acquaintances and enemies alike. Examine Siegel's greatest legacy as the founding father of glittering Las Vegas, Nevada, and listen as mob insiders reveal the details of Siegel's ultimate betrayal at the hands of his best friend.
Lucky Luciano
: Chairman of the MobHe wrote his name in blood and made himself the Boss of Bosses. Arriving in America at the age of nine and embarking upon a life of crime at 14, Charles "Lucky" Luciano rose through the ranks of the New York Mafia like a shot. By 34, Lucky ran the Sicilian mob like a major corporation: diversifying rackets, organizing gangs, and running his own political candidates. Lucky Luciano: Chairman of the Mob investigates Lucky's 30-year career as the CEO of Murder, Inc. through rare interviews and extensive archival footage. Listen as mob insiders reminisce about meetings held in Luciano's Waldorf-Astoria headquarters and witness the top-secret war efforts that earned Lucky parole from a 50-year sentence.
Mob Hitmen
They are the most feared figures in the business of organized crime -- the triggermen whose job it is to eliminate contentious witnesses, rivals, and fellow mobsters in accordance with their bosses' orders. Today, the modern mob hitman – or woman -- is a different breed than the Tommy-gun-toting stereotype of popular Hollywood gangster films. He or she may wear several different hats in the organization, killing when ordered, but performing more mundane tasks in the interim. In this chilling expose, American Justice ventures inside the bloody mob wars that have scarred Philadelphia over the past decade. In addition to interviews with some of the mob's most notorious triggermen and women, Mob Hitman features footage and news accounts of the city's recent brutal mob hits, and introduces viewers to the police and prosecutors who have devoted their lives to catching these shadowy killers.
Thanks to Paul Mavis
Family Secrets Jury to be Anonymous
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, Tony "The Ant" Spilotro
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro
An anonymous jury will be seated in the upcoming trial of reputed Chicago mob leaders accused of taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included 18 murders, a federal judge said today.
"I do intend to empanel an anonymous jury," Judge James B. Zagel said at a hearing in the case of Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo and 10 other reputed members of The Outfit -- Chicago's organized crime family.
Zagel refrained from saying why he decided to seat an anonymous jury. But he may have acted to insulate the jurors from outside pressures.
Some of the defendants could spend the rest of their lives in prison if convicted of taking part in the racketeering conspiracy.
Eight of the 11 defendants are charged with participating in a long-running conspiracy involving 18 murders, including those of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, The Outfit's one-time man in Las Vegas, and his brother, Michael. The Spilotro brothers were beaten and buried in an Indiana corn field in June 1986.
Besides the eight charged with racketeering conspiracy, the indictment names three other defendants on gambling charges.
Originally, 14 people were charged in the case. One was found dead when FBI agents went to arrest him. Another has since died. A third isn't going on trial, but is expected to be the government's star witness.
The defendants have pleaded innocent and jury selection for their trial is scheduled to begin June 5. That could be postponed if pretrial skirmishing now before a federal appeals court is dragged out.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro
An anonymous jury will be seated in the upcoming trial of reputed Chicago mob leaders accused of taking part in a racketeering conspiracy that included 18 murders, a federal judge said today.
"I do intend to empanel an anonymous jury," Judge James B. Zagel said at a hearing in the case of Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo and 10 other reputed members of The Outfit -- Chicago's organized crime family.
Zagel refrained from saying why he decided to seat an anonymous jury. But he may have acted to insulate the jurors from outside pressures.
Some of the defendants could spend the rest of their lives in prison if convicted of taking part in the racketeering conspiracy.
Eight of the 11 defendants are charged with participating in a long-running conspiracy involving 18 murders, including those of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, The Outfit's one-time man in Las Vegas, and his brother, Michael. The Spilotro brothers were beaten and buried in an Indiana corn field in June 1986.
Besides the eight charged with racketeering conspiracy, the indictment names three other defendants on gambling charges.
Originally, 14 people were charged in the case. One was found dead when FBI agents went to arrest him. Another has since died. A third isn't going on trial, but is expected to be the government's star witness.
The defendants have pleaded innocent and jury selection for their trial is scheduled to begin June 5. That could be postponed if pretrial skirmishing now before a federal appeals court is dragged out.
Thanks to Mike Robinson
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Santiago Proffer Released Against Chicago Mob
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo, Frank Cullotta, James "Litty Jimmy" Marcello, Frank "the German" Schweihs, Anthony "the Ant" Spilotro, Sam "Momo" Giancana, Sam Annerino, Richard Cain, Anthony Zizzo, Sam Carlisi, Tony Accardo, Nicholas Calabrese, Frank Calabrese Sr.,
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro, John Mendell, Frank Calabrese Jr.
Running an Outfit crew on Chicago's West Side in the 1970s, Joey "the Clown" Lombardo decided how everyday mob business would be handled -- and which of his organization's enemies would be hit, according to prosecution documents unsealed Thursday.
Lombardo was involved in everything from shaking down movie and pornography distributors to securing union payoffs and the killing of a former chief of the Cook County sheriff's police at a sandwich shop, the court filing states.
Former hit man Frank Cullotta, who has cooperated with the government, is expected to testify at the federal trial of Lombardo and 10 others that he once asked Lombardo for permission to kill a regular patron at his club who was causing problems by starting fights. "Lombardo told Cullotta that he could not kill the target, but he could break his legs and hands," the document states. "Lombardo added that if the target caused trouble after that warning, Cullotta could kill him."
With less than two months before the "Family Secrets" conspiracy case goes to trial, U.S. District Judge James Zagel ordered a redacted version of a legal document known as a Santiago proffer in the case released Thursday. The document, which provides a partial road map of the government's evidence of a conspiracy that led to at least 18 murders, had been filed under seal in March.
Among the men facing trial are reputed Outfit heavyweights James Marcello, Lombardo and Frank "the German" Schweihs.
The document is filled with the gritty business of the Chicago mob, describing how members and associates got permission from bosses to run gambling rings, make exorbitantly high-interest street loans and extort protection money from businesses. And it recounts how some connected men ran afoul of one another.
Lined heavily with deletions on some pages, the court filing does not offer many significant new details on some of the most high-profile murders charged in the landmark case, including the infamous slayings of Anthony "the Ant" Spilotro and his brother, Michael, whose bodies were found in an Indiana cornfield.
But it does include more specific allegations against Lombardo. The filing suggests he was behind the 1970 murder of Richard Cain, the onetime chief of the sheriff's police who also was a driver for mob boss Sam Giancana. And it alleges Lombardo targeted mobster Sam Annerino by placing him on his "hit parade." No charges have been filed in connection with the Cain murder. Annerino eventually was killed in 1977.
One unidentified witness apparently will testify that he knew Lombardo was in charge of a number of executions and often said his crew on the West Side "has all the firepower," according to the filing. Lombardo's lawyer, Rick Halprin, said Thursday night that when Cullotta testified against Lombardo in the early 1980s a federal judge didn't find him credible. "His main interest in testifying is to sell his book," said Halprin, who has repeatedly denied all the accusations prosecutors made against his client. "In my view, that book belongs in the fiction section."
Lawyers for the Tribune filed a motion for the filing's release, and Zagel ordered that the document be made public after giving prosecutors a chance to remove some witness names and other details. Assistant U.S. Atty. Mitchell Mars had told the judge the government's chief concern was for the safety of witnesses in the case.
One person mentioned in the filing has in fact disappeared in the past year, though sources said he was not expected to be a witness.
Anthony Zizzo, who was not charged, is identified as an underboss of Sam Carlisi. Zizzo was last seen leaving his Westmont home in August, and his Jeep was found days later in the parking lot of a restaurant in Melrose Park.
The 64-page filing details Lombardo's role in mob business, including its involvement in pornography. In one section, Lombardo is described as telling the owner of a pornography business not to use his home phone because it was probably tapped and to stay away from an adult bookstore owner named Robert Harder.
Harder was "number one on the hit list, and if you go around him you will get hit too," Lombardo allegedly said, and the document notes Harder was killed a few weeks later.
The filing also details an infamous burglary of Outfit boss Anthony Accardo's River Forest residence in 1978 while he vacationed out of state. The six suspected burglars were all killed in retaliation -- including John Mendell, whose murder was among the 18 gangland slayings charged in the unprecedented indictment.
According to the filing, Mendell and others earlier burglarized a jewelry store without realizing that Accardo had some possible involvement in the business. A few weeks later someone broke into Mendell's business, discovered the stolen jewelry hidden in the rafters and stole it.
Mendell, apparently believing Accardo was responsible, wanted to break into Accardo's residence to get the jewelry back, according to an undisclosed government witness.
A second government witness -- a career burglar who knew Mendell -- was so concerned about being wrongly linked to the burglary of Accardo's residence that he arranged to take a polygraph to show he had nothing to do with that offense or the burglary of the jewelry store. He passed the lie detector, and the Outfit "heat" on him ended, the witness told authorities.
Another Calabrese appears prepared to corroborate turncoat Nicholas Calabrese. Frank Calabrese Jr., a son of mob boss Frank Calabrese Sr., will testify about discussions with his father and uncle, Nicholas Calabrese, about a dozen of the gangland slayings, according to the filing.
Thanks to Jeff Coen and Matt O'Connor
Friends of mine: Michael Spilotro, John Mendell, Frank Calabrese Jr.
Running an Outfit crew on Chicago's West Side in the 1970s, Joey "the Clown" Lombardo decided how everyday mob business would be handled -- and which of his organization's enemies would be hit, according to prosecution documents unsealed Thursday.
Lombardo was involved in everything from shaking down movie and pornography distributors to securing union payoffs and the killing of a former chief of the Cook County sheriff's police at a sandwich shop, the court filing states.
Former hit man Frank Cullotta, who has cooperated with the government, is expected to testify at the federal trial of Lombardo and 10 others that he once asked Lombardo for permission to kill a regular patron at his club who was causing problems by starting fights. "Lombardo told Cullotta that he could not kill the target, but he could break his legs and hands," the document states. "Lombardo added that if the target caused trouble after that warning, Cullotta could kill him."
With less than two months before the "Family Secrets" conspiracy case goes to trial, U.S. District Judge James Zagel ordered a redacted version of a legal document known as a Santiago proffer in the case released Thursday. The document, which provides a partial road map of the government's evidence of a conspiracy that led to at least 18 murders, had been filed under seal in March.
Among the men facing trial are reputed Outfit heavyweights James Marcello, Lombardo and Frank "the German" Schweihs.
The document is filled with the gritty business of the Chicago mob, describing how members and associates got permission from bosses to run gambling rings, make exorbitantly high-interest street loans and extort protection money from businesses. And it recounts how some connected men ran afoul of one another.
Lined heavily with deletions on some pages, the court filing does not offer many significant new details on some of the most high-profile murders charged in the landmark case, including the infamous slayings of Anthony "the Ant" Spilotro and his brother, Michael, whose bodies were found in an Indiana cornfield.
But it does include more specific allegations against Lombardo. The filing suggests he was behind the 1970 murder of Richard Cain, the onetime chief of the sheriff's police who also was a driver for mob boss Sam Giancana. And it alleges Lombardo targeted mobster Sam Annerino by placing him on his "hit parade." No charges have been filed in connection with the Cain murder. Annerino eventually was killed in 1977.
One unidentified witness apparently will testify that he knew Lombardo was in charge of a number of executions and often said his crew on the West Side "has all the firepower," according to the filing. Lombardo's lawyer, Rick Halprin, said Thursday night that when Cullotta testified against Lombardo in the early 1980s a federal judge didn't find him credible. "His main interest in testifying is to sell his book," said Halprin, who has repeatedly denied all the accusations prosecutors made against his client. "In my view, that book belongs in the fiction section."
Lawyers for the Tribune filed a motion for the filing's release, and Zagel ordered that the document be made public after giving prosecutors a chance to remove some witness names and other details. Assistant U.S. Atty. Mitchell Mars had told the judge the government's chief concern was for the safety of witnesses in the case.
One person mentioned in the filing has in fact disappeared in the past year, though sources said he was not expected to be a witness.
Anthony Zizzo, who was not charged, is identified as an underboss of Sam Carlisi. Zizzo was last seen leaving his Westmont home in August, and his Jeep was found days later in the parking lot of a restaurant in Melrose Park.
The 64-page filing details Lombardo's role in mob business, including its involvement in pornography. In one section, Lombardo is described as telling the owner of a pornography business not to use his home phone because it was probably tapped and to stay away from an adult bookstore owner named Robert Harder.
Harder was "number one on the hit list, and if you go around him you will get hit too," Lombardo allegedly said, and the document notes Harder was killed a few weeks later.
The filing also details an infamous burglary of Outfit boss Anthony Accardo's River Forest residence in 1978 while he vacationed out of state. The six suspected burglars were all killed in retaliation -- including John Mendell, whose murder was among the 18 gangland slayings charged in the unprecedented indictment.
According to the filing, Mendell and others earlier burglarized a jewelry store without realizing that Accardo had some possible involvement in the business. A few weeks later someone broke into Mendell's business, discovered the stolen jewelry hidden in the rafters and stole it.
Mendell, apparently believing Accardo was responsible, wanted to break into Accardo's residence to get the jewelry back, according to an undisclosed government witness.
A second government witness -- a career burglar who knew Mendell -- was so concerned about being wrongly linked to the burglary of Accardo's residence that he arranged to take a polygraph to show he had nothing to do with that offense or the burglary of the jewelry store. He passed the lie detector, and the Outfit "heat" on him ended, the witness told authorities.
Another Calabrese appears prepared to corroborate turncoat Nicholas Calabrese. Frank Calabrese Jr., a son of mob boss Frank Calabrese Sr., will testify about discussions with his father and uncle, Nicholas Calabrese, about a dozen of the gangland slayings, according to the filing.
Thanks to Jeff Coen and Matt O'Connor
Hollywood P.I to the Stars tied to Chicago Mob
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: Anthony Pellicano, Alva Johnson Rodgers
Allegations of mob ties have long dogged Anthony Pellicano, once the private investigator of choice for Hollywood stars.
On Thursday, for the first time, the feds marked his place in Chicago mob history, saying he once belonged to the mob crew of Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.
The allegation came to light in a court document released Thursday that lays out much of the case against Lombardo and other top mobsters who are going on trial June 5. Pellicano's name is blacked out in the heavily redacted document, but based on other public court documents, the Sun-Times could determine that Pellicano was the individual being referenced.
A former associate of Lombardo, Alva Johnson Rodgers, is cooperating with the feds and is expected to testify at trial that Pellicano asked him to torch two buildings in the mid-1970s.
Pellicano grew up in Cicero and worked in Chicago for years before heading to California. The Sun-Times first reported last month that Pellicano did the investigative work to provide Lombardo with an alibi for the 1974 murder of a key federal witness against Lombardo.
Pellicano's attorney, Steven Gruel, has denied that Pellicano has any mob ties.
In one case, Pellicano allegedly paid Rodgers to shut down a restaurant. Rodgers got some neighborhood kids to break the restaurant's windows, which hurt business, but Pellicano allegedly was looking for something a little more permanent, like burning the place down. Rodgers allegedly declined and refused to give Pellicano his money back.
In another instance, previously reported by the Sun-Times, Pellicano allegedly asked Rodgers to burn down a building in the northwest suburbs, and Rodgers complied.
Lombardo allegedly chewed out Rodgers both times for not getting his permission for the crimes.
Pellicano is in jail in California awaiting trial on charges he illegally eavesdropped on the conversations of the enemies of his rich and powerful clients. The feds have alleged he contacted unnamed Chicago mobsters to put a hit on a witness against him.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Friends of mine: Anthony Pellicano, Alva Johnson Rodgers
Allegations of mob ties have long dogged Anthony Pellicano, once the private investigator of choice for Hollywood stars.
On Thursday, for the first time, the feds marked his place in Chicago mob history, saying he once belonged to the mob crew of Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.The allegation came to light in a court document released Thursday that lays out much of the case against Lombardo and other top mobsters who are going on trial June 5. Pellicano's name is blacked out in the heavily redacted document, but based on other public court documents, the Sun-Times could determine that Pellicano was the individual being referenced.
A former associate of Lombardo, Alva Johnson Rodgers, is cooperating with the feds and is expected to testify at trial that Pellicano asked him to torch two buildings in the mid-1970s.
Pellicano grew up in Cicero and worked in Chicago for years before heading to California. The Sun-Times first reported last month that Pellicano did the investigative work to provide Lombardo with an alibi for the 1974 murder of a key federal witness against Lombardo.
Pellicano's attorney, Steven Gruel, has denied that Pellicano has any mob ties.
In one case, Pellicano allegedly paid Rodgers to shut down a restaurant. Rodgers got some neighborhood kids to break the restaurant's windows, which hurt business, but Pellicano allegedly was looking for something a little more permanent, like burning the place down. Rodgers allegedly declined and refused to give Pellicano his money back.
In another instance, previously reported by the Sun-Times, Pellicano allegedly asked Rodgers to burn down a building in the northwest suburbs, and Rodgers complied.
Lombardo allegedly chewed out Rodgers both times for not getting his permission for the crimes.
Pellicano is in jail in California awaiting trial on charges he illegally eavesdropped on the conversations of the enemies of his rich and powerful clients. The feds have alleged he contacted unnamed Chicago mobsters to put a hit on a witness against him.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Who Robbed Joe Batters?
It's the stuff of Chicago mob lore, cloaked in mystery.
Thieves rob the home of ruthless Chicago mob boss Tony Accardo while he's away.
Then one by one, in brutal retribution, they are rubbed out.
One well-known career burglar, not involved in the Accardo job, got so nervous he'd be killed anyway that he took a lie detector test to prove his innocence and sent it to mob bosses.
Now, the mystery around the burglary in the late 1970s is clearing as the fullest account yet of the crime and the bloody consequences is being offered in a court document made public Thursday.
It's just one of the tales on tap as part of the Family Secrets federal trial, involving the top names in the Chicago Outfit, including reputed mob leaders James "Little Jimmy" Marcello and Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.
Those alleged mobsters and others have been charged in a case involving 18 unsolved Outfit murders.
The trial won't only be about those murders. It will reveal a secret 40-year history of the Outfit itself.
On the Accardo burglary, ace thief John Mendell was simply out to get back what he had already stolen, according to the document.
Mendell had led a burglary crew that stole hundreds of thousands of dollars of jewelry from Levinson's Jewelry. The only problem was that Accardo was a friend of the owner.
Mendell went into hiding as he learned top mobsters were angry with him and looking for revenge. He hid the loot in the rafters of his business. But it wasn't safe there for long -- another group of burglars broke in and stole the items.
Mendell wanted his loot back and led his crew to break in to Accardo's home, where the jewelry was stashed in a walk-in vault.
The feds believe this because one of their witnesses -- whose name is blacked out in the court document -- allegedly went on the jewelry store burglary with Mendell but balked at pulling the heist at Accardo's home.
Mendell was lured to his death by a fellow burglar he knew and trusted, Ronald Jarrett, according to the new document. Jarrett worked for reputed hit man Frank Calabrese Sr. Jarrett died in 2000, shot in a mob hit outside his Bridgeport home.
Participating in Mendell's murder were Calabrese Sr., his brother Nick Calabrese, Jarrett and mob hit man Frank Saladino, the court filing alleges. Nick Calabrese is cooperating with the feds and expected to tell jurors in detail how Mendell was killed. He was beaten without mercy, his body punctured by an ice pick. Five other burglars met a similar fate.
The government filing also sheds more light on the slayings of Anthony Spilotro, the mob's man in Las Vegas, and his brother Michael in 1986. The brothers were lured to a Bensenville area home, on the promise of promotions within the mob, but they were beaten to death by several mobsters, authorities say.
In 1986, federal investigators had secretly wired phones at Flash Trucking in Cicero, allegedly the headquarters for years of the Cicero mob, as well as the home phone of Cicero mob boss Rocco Infelise. Investigators heard Infelise, James Marcello and top mob boss Joseph Ferriola exchange calls to set up a meeting with Outfit leader Sam Carlisi at a McDonald's in Oak Brook on June 13. The next day, the Spilotros were slain.
All of the witness names are blacked out in the heavily redacted court document, but the Sun-Times has reported the names of several witnesses, including reputed Outfit hit man and career burglar Robert "Bobby the Beak" Siegel, failed mob assassin Daniel Bounds, mob leg breaker James LaValley and burglar and mob killer Frank Cullotta, a close associate of Anthony Spilotro.
Cullotta is expected to be a key witness against Lombardo but will likely undergo a vigorous cross by Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin. "From what I've been told, Cullotta, in Sicilian, means mendacious," Halprin said.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Thieves rob the home of ruthless Chicago mob boss Tony Accardo while he's away.
Then one by one, in brutal retribution, they are rubbed out.
One well-known career burglar, not involved in the Accardo job, got so nervous he'd be killed anyway that he took a lie detector test to prove his innocence and sent it to mob bosses.
Now, the mystery around the burglary in the late 1970s is clearing as the fullest account yet of the crime and the bloody consequences is being offered in a court document made public Thursday.
It's just one of the tales on tap as part of the Family Secrets federal trial, involving the top names in the Chicago Outfit, including reputed mob leaders James "Little Jimmy" Marcello and Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo.
Those alleged mobsters and others have been charged in a case involving 18 unsolved Outfit murders.
The trial won't only be about those murders. It will reveal a secret 40-year history of the Outfit itself.
On the Accardo burglary, ace thief John Mendell was simply out to get back what he had already stolen, according to the document.
Mendell had led a burglary crew that stole hundreds of thousands of dollars of jewelry from Levinson's Jewelry. The only problem was that Accardo was a friend of the owner.
Mendell went into hiding as he learned top mobsters were angry with him and looking for revenge. He hid the loot in the rafters of his business. But it wasn't safe there for long -- another group of burglars broke in and stole the items.
Mendell wanted his loot back and led his crew to break in to Accardo's home, where the jewelry was stashed in a walk-in vault.
The feds believe this because one of their witnesses -- whose name is blacked out in the court document -- allegedly went on the jewelry store burglary with Mendell but balked at pulling the heist at Accardo's home.
Mendell was lured to his death by a fellow burglar he knew and trusted, Ronald Jarrett, according to the new document. Jarrett worked for reputed hit man Frank Calabrese Sr. Jarrett died in 2000, shot in a mob hit outside his Bridgeport home.
Participating in Mendell's murder were Calabrese Sr., his brother Nick Calabrese, Jarrett and mob hit man Frank Saladino, the court filing alleges. Nick Calabrese is cooperating with the feds and expected to tell jurors in detail how Mendell was killed. He was beaten without mercy, his body punctured by an ice pick. Five other burglars met a similar fate.
The government filing also sheds more light on the slayings of Anthony Spilotro, the mob's man in Las Vegas, and his brother Michael in 1986. The brothers were lured to a Bensenville area home, on the promise of promotions within the mob, but they were beaten to death by several mobsters, authorities say.
In 1986, federal investigators had secretly wired phones at Flash Trucking in Cicero, allegedly the headquarters for years of the Cicero mob, as well as the home phone of Cicero mob boss Rocco Infelise. Investigators heard Infelise, James Marcello and top mob boss Joseph Ferriola exchange calls to set up a meeting with Outfit leader Sam Carlisi at a McDonald's in Oak Brook on June 13. The next day, the Spilotros were slain.
All of the witness names are blacked out in the heavily redacted court document, but the Sun-Times has reported the names of several witnesses, including reputed Outfit hit man and career burglar Robert "Bobby the Beak" Siegel, failed mob assassin Daniel Bounds, mob leg breaker James LaValley and burglar and mob killer Frank Cullotta, a close associate of Anthony Spilotro.
Cullotta is expected to be a key witness against Lombardo but will likely undergo a vigorous cross by Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin. "From what I've been told, Cullotta, in Sicilian, means mendacious," Halprin said.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Dominic Chianese's Ungrateful Heart
Dominic Chianese's (The Sopranos' Uncle Junior) Ungrateful Heart CD
is the ultimate Italian song collection. Consisting of all Italian favorites from since the turn of the century, the CD features 16 tracks including the classic "O Solo Mio"; "Core 'n Grato," as performed on The Sopranos; and "Parla Piu Piano," the theme from The Godfather.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Chicago Outfit Hits from Four Decades Detailed in Court Papers
Friends of mine: Tony "The Big Tuna" Accardo, Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, Nick Calabrese
Friends of ours: John Ambrose
A newly released court document details four decades of alleged Chicago mob killings, including the slayings of six men accused of robbing the vault of the Mafia's biggest boss.
The 63-page document was submitted by federal prosecutors to U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel. He is to preside over the trial of 14 men accused in an indictment that blames the mafia for 18 long-unsolved murders. Jury selection is scheduled to begin June 1.
The trial is the result of the FBI's long-running Operation Family Secrets investigation.
In the robbery case, mob bosses wanted to send a message that they would not tolerate the theft of jewelry and other items from the basement vault of fellow boss Tony Accardo's house, according to the document unveiled Thursday.
"The Outfit wanted to find out which burglars were actually involved in the Accardo burglary so they could be killed to enforce the message," the document says.
Eventually, six men were blamed. The alleged organizer of the vault burglary, John Mendell, was last heard from January 16, 1978, the prosecutors said.
Among the list of 18 unsolved murders is the killing of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, the Chicago mob's longtime man in Las Vegas, who inspired the Joe Pesci character in the 1995 movie "Casino
." His body was buried in an Indiana cornfield.
The document seeks to convince Zagel that a conspiracy existed and that third-party testimony that would ordinarily be hearsay should be allowed.
Among those expected to testify is Nicholas Calabrese, a self-described "made guy" in the Chicago mob who now is helping the government. The document says Calabrese's account of mob bookmaking, loan sharking, extortion, arson and murder has resulted in an FBI report more than 100 pages long that points the finger at organized crime leaders.
The version of the document made public Thursday is heavily redacted with prosecutors saying their witnesses are afraid of mob reprisals and would be even more terrified if their names got out before trial.
Federal deputy marshal John Ambrose is charged with leaking information about Calabrese's whereabouts to the mob. He has pleaded not guilty and claims he was not read his Miranda warning when arrested.
Friends of ours: John Ambrose
A newly released court document details four decades of alleged Chicago mob killings, including the slayings of six men accused of robbing the vault of the Mafia's biggest boss.
The 63-page document was submitted by federal prosecutors to U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel. He is to preside over the trial of 14 men accused in an indictment that blames the mafia for 18 long-unsolved murders. Jury selection is scheduled to begin June 1.
The trial is the result of the FBI's long-running Operation Family Secrets investigation.
In the robbery case, mob bosses wanted to send a message that they would not tolerate the theft of jewelry and other items from the basement vault of fellow boss Tony Accardo's house, according to the document unveiled Thursday.
"The Outfit wanted to find out which burglars were actually involved in the Accardo burglary so they could be killed to enforce the message," the document says.
Eventually, six men were blamed. The alleged organizer of the vault burglary, John Mendell, was last heard from January 16, 1978, the prosecutors said.
Among the list of 18 unsolved murders is the killing of Tony "The Ant" Spilotro, the Chicago mob's longtime man in Las Vegas, who inspired the Joe Pesci character in the 1995 movie "Casino
." His body was buried in an Indiana cornfield.The document seeks to convince Zagel that a conspiracy existed and that third-party testimony that would ordinarily be hearsay should be allowed.
Among those expected to testify is Nicholas Calabrese, a self-described "made guy" in the Chicago mob who now is helping the government. The document says Calabrese's account of mob bookmaking, loan sharking, extortion, arson and murder has resulted in an FBI report more than 100 pages long that points the finger at organized crime leaders.
The version of the document made public Thursday is heavily redacted with prosecutors saying their witnesses are afraid of mob reprisals and would be even more terrified if their names got out before trial.
Federal deputy marshal John Ambrose is charged with leaking information about Calabrese's whereabouts to the mob. He has pleaded not guilty and claims he was not read his Miranda warning when arrested.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Will the Mafia Cops Replace Law and Order?
Friends of mine: Louis Eppolito, Stephen Caracappa
Producer Dick Wolf has made a television empire out of his Law and Order police procedural shows, and now another series may be in the works. Daily Variety reports Wolf and NBC Universal have acquired the rights to the book The Brotherhoods: The True Story of Two Cops who Murdered for the Mafia, by Guy Lawson and William Oldham.
The book tells the story of Stephen Caracappa and Louis Eppolito who were convicted of moonlighting as killers for the mafia. Author Oldham was once a cop working side by side with Eppolito, and when the story came to light—and the NYPD failed to actively investigate—Oldham became a special investigator for the U.S. Attorney’s Brooklyn office and broke the case.
It’s a good story, so good that three movies based on it are already in the works. And now Wolf is looking at it as a launching point for a series about the U.S. Attorney’s investigative team. Whether or not it takes on the Law and Order brand has yet to be decided. "We are very excited about this project," Wolf told Daily Variety. "It contains a unique franchise that could be taken in a multitude of directions."
Thanks to Dennis Michael
Producer Dick Wolf has made a television empire out of his Law and Order police procedural shows, and now another series may be in the works. Daily Variety reports Wolf and NBC Universal have acquired the rights to the book The Brotherhoods: The True Story of Two Cops who Murdered for the Mafia, by Guy Lawson and William Oldham.
The book tells the story of Stephen Caracappa and Louis Eppolito who were convicted of moonlighting as killers for the mafia. Author Oldham was once a cop working side by side with Eppolito, and when the story came to light—and the NYPD failed to actively investigate—Oldham became a special investigator for the U.S. Attorney’s Brooklyn office and broke the case.
It’s a good story, so good that three movies based on it are already in the works. And now Wolf is looking at it as a launching point for a series about the U.S. Attorney’s investigative team. Whether or not it takes on the Law and Order brand has yet to be decided. "We are very excited about this project," Wolf told Daily Variety. "It contains a unique franchise that could be taken in a multitude of directions."
Thanks to Dennis Michael
Donald Stephens Dies
Friends of mine: Donald Stephens
Donald Stephens, who saw this Chicago suburb develop into a commercial haven during his half-century as its only mayor, has died, a city spokesman said. He was 79.
Stephens had stomach cancer and died at his home on Wednesday, spokesman Gary Mack said.
The Rosemont mayor was the longest-serving incumbent mayor in U.S. history, according to the Chicago Sun-Times.
During his 51-year tenure, Stephens focused on large-scale projects — an entertainment center, a theater and a convention center that bears his name. His final years in office were colored by a casino bid that collapsed amid allegations of mob ties.
Stephens won his latest four-year term in 2005. It was not clear how his successor would be chosen, Mack said. Stephens' son Bradley, a village trustee, had served as mayor pro tem when his father was unable to attend city meetings, Mack said.
The tiny suburb near O'Hare International Airport had only 85 residents when Stephens was first elected mayor in 1956, the same year Rosemont was incorporated. Today, with about 4,200 people, its annual economic impact is estimated at $248 million.
"He took Rosemont from a tiny mud swamp to an incredible mecca of tourism in the hospitality industry," Mack said.
An effort to attract the Emerald Casino, consuming many years and millions of dollars, ended in December 2005 when the Illinois Gaming Board voted unanimously to revoke the casino's gambling license. The board said top company officials lied to regulators and took investments from people allegedly tied to organized crime.
In a summer 2005 hearing on the proposed casino's license, an FBI agent testified that Stephens had met with organized crime figures about mob control of construction and operations contracts at the planned gambling hall. Stephens repeatedly denied allegations about any mob connections.
Stephens was born in Chicago on March 13, 1928. Along with Bradley, he is survived by his wife, Katherine; a daughter, Gail; and two other sons, Donald and Mark.
Thanks to Fox News
Donald Stephens, who saw this Chicago suburb develop into a commercial haven during his half-century as its only mayor, has died, a city spokesman said. He was 79.
Stephens had stomach cancer and died at his home on Wednesday, spokesman Gary Mack said.The Rosemont mayor was the longest-serving incumbent mayor in U.S. history, according to the Chicago Sun-Times.
During his 51-year tenure, Stephens focused on large-scale projects — an entertainment center, a theater and a convention center that bears his name. His final years in office were colored by a casino bid that collapsed amid allegations of mob ties.
Stephens won his latest four-year term in 2005. It was not clear how his successor would be chosen, Mack said. Stephens' son Bradley, a village trustee, had served as mayor pro tem when his father was unable to attend city meetings, Mack said.
The tiny suburb near O'Hare International Airport had only 85 residents when Stephens was first elected mayor in 1956, the same year Rosemont was incorporated. Today, with about 4,200 people, its annual economic impact is estimated at $248 million.
"He took Rosemont from a tiny mud swamp to an incredible mecca of tourism in the hospitality industry," Mack said.
An effort to attract the Emerald Casino, consuming many years and millions of dollars, ended in December 2005 when the Illinois Gaming Board voted unanimously to revoke the casino's gambling license. The board said top company officials lied to regulators and took investments from people allegedly tied to organized crime.
In a summer 2005 hearing on the proposed casino's license, an FBI agent testified that Stephens had met with organized crime figures about mob control of construction and operations contracts at the planned gambling hall. Stephens repeatedly denied allegations about any mob connections.
Stephens was born in Chicago on March 13, 1928. Along with Bradley, he is survived by his wife, Katherine; a daughter, Gail; and two other sons, Donald and Mark.
Thanks to Fox News
Volz on "The Sopranos"
Friends of ours: Soprano Crime Family, Sam "The Plumber" DeCavalcante
OK, I was the only person in town who missed the opening of the new, and last, season of "The Sopranos."
I love the show but I don't have HBO.
I have been watching re-runs every Wednesday at 9 on A&E.
So, do me a favor. Honor the mob's code of silence. Don't tell me how it all ends. I will find out whether Tony goes out with a bang or a whimper a couple of years from now on A&E.
Surely, though, "The Sopranos" is the greatest show on the tube since the early days when classics like "Playhouse 90" used to run live.
I particularly like Tony and his crew because they are from my home state, New Jersey. I almost tear up when I see those opening credits, Tony tooling out of the Lincoln Tunnel and around that highway ramp, past the Weehawken town hall (my first beat as a reporter), on out to his home in the Caldwells.
New Jersey was a Mafia-dependent state. Our economy would have tanked without the mobsters. They made our pizzas, ran our four-star restaurants, built our highways, kept our politicians in pocket money and operated gambling before casinos became legal.
The Mafia was a full-service provider. And an equal opportunity employer who hired black hitmen once in a while.
If you lived in Jersey, you either had a relative in the mob or knew somebody who did. It was just a way of life. But you might ask: "Hey are "The Sopranos" for real? Did mobsters really do those terrible things?"
The answer is: "Yes."
Sure "The Sopranos" are a caricature. No self-respecting mobster would go to a shrink, for example, like Tony does. But mobsters actually talked, in real life, like they were characters in a Soprano episode. I wrote a book, "The Mafia Talks
," on the real New Jersey Mafia, the DeCavalcante family back in the 1960s and read hundreds of pages of wiretap transcripts provided by the FBI.
The boss, the late Sam "The Plumber" DeCavalcante, worried about the safety of a couple of hitmen he was sending out to kill someone. "Now be careful," he said. And an unrepentant young kid named Itchie, about to be gunned down, philosophized, "If you gotta do it, you gotta do it."
The transcript was replete with tales of rubouts, arson for the insurance money and bragging about who had the most powerful crime family.
One thing "The Sopranos" show does not do is glorify these thugs. They were murderous with absolutely no moral compass.
They were not men of honor, despite all of their mouthings about having a code to live by. Their code was greed and power and violence. There were no Boy Scouts in that group, no role models. For a year, I covered the Mafia full-time.
I must say one thing in the mob's defense. Its behavior towards reporters was impeccable. Nobody called up and threatened me despite the hundreds of stories I did chronicling their crimes. Nobody sued for libel, although one mobster wanted me to testify as a character witness. He definitely was a character but I turned down his request.
No Mafioso banned me from his restaurant like a Frederick politician threatened to do. And although a number of local pols are constantly moaning and threatening to have me fired for what I write in Frederick, no mobster tried that in New Jersey.
Mobsters realized that no publicity is the best publicity.
Of course, they didn't have to run for political office. They bought, or rented, the best politicians available. In New Jersey, there was an endless supply.
Thanks to Joe Volz
OK, I was the only person in town who missed the opening of the new, and last, season of "The Sopranos."
I love the show but I don't have HBO.I have been watching re-runs every Wednesday at 9 on A&E.
So, do me a favor. Honor the mob's code of silence. Don't tell me how it all ends. I will find out whether Tony goes out with a bang or a whimper a couple of years from now on A&E.
Surely, though, "The Sopranos" is the greatest show on the tube since the early days when classics like "Playhouse 90" used to run live.
I particularly like Tony and his crew because they are from my home state, New Jersey. I almost tear up when I see those opening credits, Tony tooling out of the Lincoln Tunnel and around that highway ramp, past the Weehawken town hall (my first beat as a reporter), on out to his home in the Caldwells.
New Jersey was a Mafia-dependent state. Our economy would have tanked without the mobsters. They made our pizzas, ran our four-star restaurants, built our highways, kept our politicians in pocket money and operated gambling before casinos became legal.
The Mafia was a full-service provider. And an equal opportunity employer who hired black hitmen once in a while.
If you lived in Jersey, you either had a relative in the mob or knew somebody who did. It was just a way of life. But you might ask: "Hey are "The Sopranos" for real? Did mobsters really do those terrible things?"
The answer is: "Yes."
Sure "The Sopranos" are a caricature. No self-respecting mobster would go to a shrink, for example, like Tony does. But mobsters actually talked, in real life, like they were characters in a Soprano episode. I wrote a book, "The Mafia Talks
," on the real New Jersey Mafia, the DeCavalcante family back in the 1960s and read hundreds of pages of wiretap transcripts provided by the FBI.The boss, the late Sam "The Plumber" DeCavalcante, worried about the safety of a couple of hitmen he was sending out to kill someone. "Now be careful," he said. And an unrepentant young kid named Itchie, about to be gunned down, philosophized, "If you gotta do it, you gotta do it."
The transcript was replete with tales of rubouts, arson for the insurance money and bragging about who had the most powerful crime family.
One thing "The Sopranos" show does not do is glorify these thugs. They were murderous with absolutely no moral compass.
They were not men of honor, despite all of their mouthings about having a code to live by. Their code was greed and power and violence. There were no Boy Scouts in that group, no role models. For a year, I covered the Mafia full-time.
I must say one thing in the mob's defense. Its behavior towards reporters was impeccable. Nobody called up and threatened me despite the hundreds of stories I did chronicling their crimes. Nobody sued for libel, although one mobster wanted me to testify as a character witness. He definitely was a character but I turned down his request.
No Mafioso banned me from his restaurant like a Frederick politician threatened to do. And although a number of local pols are constantly moaning and threatening to have me fired for what I write in Frederick, no mobster tried that in New Jersey.
Mobsters realized that no publicity is the best publicity.
Of course, they didn't have to run for political office. They bought, or rented, the best politicians available. In New Jersey, there was an endless supply.
Thanks to Joe Volz
U.S. Marshal Coerced to Reveal Leaks Regarding Mob Informant?
Friends of ours: Nick Calabrese, John "No Nose" DiFronzo, Joey "The Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: John Ambrose
A deputy marshal accused of leaking sensitive information about a valuable mob informant is claiming that Chicago's U.S. attorney and FBI chief coerced statements from him.
John Ambrose is asking that a judge toss out statements he made last September to U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald and Chicago's FBI Special Agent in Charge Robert Grant. Ambrose claims he was pressured into talking and was never read his rights.
"I felt extreme pressure because of . . . the stature of the men who were confronting me and the intimidating nature of the confrontation," Ambrose wrote in a court-filed affidavit. "The pressure was so extreme that my body was shaking and my mind was racing."
Ambrose, 38, was charged in January with theft of information after the government said he leaked confidential material about protected mob witness Nick Calabrese to "Individual A." Calabrese will be a top government witness in this June's Operation Family Secrets mob trial. Ambrose watched Calabrese in a brief stint with witness protection. The feds say the information Ambrose leaked about Calabrese made its way to the mob.
Last September, Ambrose said he was told to come to the FBI to talk about white supremacists and fugitives. Once there, Grant and Fitzgerald allegedly accused him of compromising the government and pushed him to talk.
At one point, Ambrose claims Fitzgerald referenced his father, Thomas, who was convicted in the Marquette 10 cop corruption case. "I told Mr. Fitzgerald that they took a cheap shot bringing my father into this," Ambrose wrote.
Ambrose said Grant told him to "think of your family. Think of your job. You don't want to go to prison."
He alleged Fitzgerald told him: "You've got two choices, either fill in the blanks and cooperate, or possibly face charges and lose your job." Ambrose claims he talked because he felt he "had no choice."
The government has claimed that Ambrose gave conflicting statements. They say in one he admitted giving sensitive information to a third party, who knew reputed mobster John "No Nose" DiFronzo. Ambrose allegedly said he hoped DiFronzo's "good will" would help him capture onetime mob fugitive Joey "The Clown" Lombardo. In another interview, Ambrose allegedly denied intending to pass information to DiFronzo or mob members.
Spokesmen for the FBI and U.S. attorney's office declined to comment. Prosecutors are expected to respond in future court filings.
Thanks to Natasha Korecki
Friends of mine: John Ambrose
A deputy marshal accused of leaking sensitive information about a valuable mob informant is claiming that Chicago's U.S. attorney and FBI chief coerced statements from him.
John Ambrose is asking that a judge toss out statements he made last September to U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald and Chicago's FBI Special Agent in Charge Robert Grant. Ambrose claims he was pressured into talking and was never read his rights.
"I felt extreme pressure because of . . . the stature of the men who were confronting me and the intimidating nature of the confrontation," Ambrose wrote in a court-filed affidavit. "The pressure was so extreme that my body was shaking and my mind was racing."
Ambrose, 38, was charged in January with theft of information after the government said he leaked confidential material about protected mob witness Nick Calabrese to "Individual A." Calabrese will be a top government witness in this June's Operation Family Secrets mob trial. Ambrose watched Calabrese in a brief stint with witness protection. The feds say the information Ambrose leaked about Calabrese made its way to the mob.
Last September, Ambrose said he was told to come to the FBI to talk about white supremacists and fugitives. Once there, Grant and Fitzgerald allegedly accused him of compromising the government and pushed him to talk.
At one point, Ambrose claims Fitzgerald referenced his father, Thomas, who was convicted in the Marquette 10 cop corruption case. "I told Mr. Fitzgerald that they took a cheap shot bringing my father into this," Ambrose wrote.
Ambrose said Grant told him to "think of your family. Think of your job. You don't want to go to prison."
He alleged Fitzgerald told him: "You've got two choices, either fill in the blanks and cooperate, or possibly face charges and lose your job." Ambrose claims he talked because he felt he "had no choice."
The government has claimed that Ambrose gave conflicting statements. They say in one he admitted giving sensitive information to a third party, who knew reputed mobster John "No Nose" DiFronzo. Ambrose allegedly said he hoped DiFronzo's "good will" would help him capture onetime mob fugitive Joey "The Clown" Lombardo. In another interview, Ambrose allegedly denied intending to pass information to DiFronzo or mob members.
Spokesmen for the FBI and U.S. attorney's office declined to comment. Prosecutors are expected to respond in future court filings.
Thanks to Natasha Korecki
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Role Flip-Flop: Feds Serve as Loan Sharks for Lombardo
Friends of ours: Joseph "Joey The Clown" Lombardo
In a better late than never move, federal authorities are moving to collect nearly $500,000 in fines and judgments -- more than 20 years old -- against top Chicago mobster Joseph "Joey The Clown" Lombardo.
Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin, is crying foul -- over the timing of the request just as Lombardo is to go on trial, and at the interest rate the feds have charged on one fine -- 18 percent per year.
"Apparently, this is a federally approved involuntary juice loan," Halprin wrote in response to the feds' request.
With such a high interest rate, Lombardo "would have been much better off dealing with his co-defendants," Halprin cracked. Lombardo is charged with several other top mobsters in one of the most important mob trials in Chicago history.
The 18 percent per year was the interest rate allowed to be charged by law from the 1986 case. Lombardo paid $250 on an original judgment of $143,409.58 before the interest started accumulating.
The U.S. attorney's office had no comment on the timing of the motion. It comes about a year after a federal judge appointed Halprin to defend Lombardo at taxpayer expense. Lombardo said he didn't have the money to pay a lawyer, but the judge said the government could examine Lombardo's finances to see if he really did.
Halprin balks at the timing of the request, noting that the fines date from the 1980s and it comes as he is preparing Lombardo's defense in a complex case starting June 5. He also contends that Lombardo may no longer owe the money, in one instance possibly because of a settlement Lombardo made with the government in a civil case.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
In a better late than never move, federal authorities are moving to collect nearly $500,000 in fines and judgments -- more than 20 years old -- against top Chicago mobster Joseph "Joey The Clown" Lombardo.
Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin, is crying foul -- over the timing of the request just as Lombardo is to go on trial, and at the interest rate the feds have charged on one fine -- 18 percent per year.
"Apparently, this is a federally approved involuntary juice loan," Halprin wrote in response to the feds' request.
With such a high interest rate, Lombardo "would have been much better off dealing with his co-defendants," Halprin cracked. Lombardo is charged with several other top mobsters in one of the most important mob trials in Chicago history.
The 18 percent per year was the interest rate allowed to be charged by law from the 1986 case. Lombardo paid $250 on an original judgment of $143,409.58 before the interest started accumulating.
The U.S. attorney's office had no comment on the timing of the motion. It comes about a year after a federal judge appointed Halprin to defend Lombardo at taxpayer expense. Lombardo said he didn't have the money to pay a lawyer, but the judge said the government could examine Lombardo's finances to see if he really did.
Halprin balks at the timing of the request, noting that the fines date from the 1980s and it comes as he is preparing Lombardo's defense in a complex case starting June 5. He also contends that Lombardo may no longer owe the money, in one instance possibly because of a settlement Lombardo made with the government in a civil case.
Thanks to Steve Warmbir
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Smokin' Aces
Mob boss Primo Sparazza has taken out a hefty contract on Buddy "Aces" Israel--a sleazy magician who has agreed to turn state's evidence against the Vegas mob. The FBI, sensing a chance to use this small-time con to bring down big-target Sparazza, places Aces into protective custody-under the supervision of two agents dispatched to Aces' Lake Tahoe hideout. When word of the price on Aces' head spreads into the community of ex-cons and cons-to-be, it entices bounty hunters, thugs-for-hire, deadly vixens and double-crossing mobsters to join in the hunt. With all eyes on Tahoe, this rogues' gallery collides in a comic race to hit the jackpot and rub out Aces.
John Gotti: How the FBI Made the Charges Stick
Friends of ours: John "Teflon Don" Gotti, Gambino Crime Family, Paul Castellano, Aniello Dellacroce, Thomas Bilotti, Salvatore "Sammy the Bull" Gravano
He was slippery, yes, but even the “Teflon Don” couldn’t escape justice forever.
Despite the future nickname, John Gotti—a violent, ruthless mobster who’d grown up on the streets of New York—had been in and out of prison several times in his early career. In 1968, for example, we arrested him for his role in a plot to steal thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. Gotti was sent to prison, but was released in 1972.
And quickly made more trouble. Within two years, we’d arrested him again for murder. Same story: he went to prison and was out in a few years. Soon after, he became a “made man” for the Gambino family, one of the five most powerful syndicates in the Big Apple. Gambling, loansharking, and narcotics trafficking were his stocks in trade.
The heat was on. By the early 80s, using Title III wiretaps, mob informants, and undercover agents, we were beginning to get clear insights into the Gambino family’s hierarchy and activities (and into the other families as well) and were building strong cases against them as criminal enterprises. A break against Gotti came in late 1985, when mob violence spilled out on to the streets of Manhattan.
The scene of the crime? Sparks’ Steak House, a popular hangout for major criminals. On the evening of December 16, 1985, 70-year-old-mafioso Paul Castellano—the apparent successor of recently deceased Gambino boss Aniello Dellacroce—was gunned down along with his number two in command, Thomas Bilotti, in front of the restaurant. Gotti, who’d been watching from a car at a safe distance, had one of his men drive him by the scene to make sure his deadly orders had been carried out. [Thanks to several readers who pointed out that Dellacroce was actually not the boss. It was best put by pointing out that Dellacroce was the underboss, & had been under Carlo Gambino. Castellano had been the boss since 1976 (when Gambino died). In 1976, there was fear Dellacroce, as underboss, would resist Gambino's choice of Castellano as boss, since Dellacroce was above Castellano in the family. However, after being given almost complete autonomy over several crews, Dellacroce acquiesced to Castellano's appointment as boss. Murder Machine
(Capeci & Mustain) has more details of all this.]
Top hood. Having eliminated the competition, Gotti took over as head of the Gambino family. With his expensive suits, lavish parties, and illegal dealings, he quickly became something of a media celebrity, and the press dubbed him “The Dapper Don.” Following a string of highly-publicized acquittals—helped in large part by witness intimidation and jury tampering—Gotti also earned the “Teflon Don” nickname.
Our New York agents and their colleagues in the New York Police Department, though, refused to give up. With extensive court-authorized electronic surveillance, diligent detective work, and the eventual cooperation of Gotti’s henchman—“Sammy the Bull” Gravano—the Bureau and the NYPD built a strong case against him.
The end was near. In December 1990, our agents and NYPD detectives arrested Gotti, and he was charged with multiple counts of racketeering, extortion, jury tampering, and other crimes. This time, the judge ordered that the jurors remain anonymous, identified only by number, so no one could pressure them. And the case was airtight.
The combination worked. On April 2, 1992, 15 years ago Monday, Gotti was convicted on 13 counts, including for ordering the murders of Castellano and Bilotti. The head of our New York office famously remarked, “The don is covered with Velcro, and every charge stuck.”
Indeed. Gotti had evaded the law for the last time. He died in prison in June 2002.
Thanks to the FBI
He was slippery, yes, but even the “Teflon Don” couldn’t escape justice forever.
Despite the future nickname, John Gotti—a violent, ruthless mobster who’d grown up on the streets of New York—had been in and out of prison several times in his early career. In 1968, for example, we arrested him for his role in a plot to steal thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. Gotti was sent to prison, but was released in 1972.And quickly made more trouble. Within two years, we’d arrested him again for murder. Same story: he went to prison and was out in a few years. Soon after, he became a “made man” for the Gambino family, one of the five most powerful syndicates in the Big Apple. Gambling, loansharking, and narcotics trafficking were his stocks in trade.
The heat was on. By the early 80s, using Title III wiretaps, mob informants, and undercover agents, we were beginning to get clear insights into the Gambino family’s hierarchy and activities (and into the other families as well) and were building strong cases against them as criminal enterprises. A break against Gotti came in late 1985, when mob violence spilled out on to the streets of Manhattan.
The scene of the crime? Sparks’ Steak House, a popular hangout for major criminals. On the evening of December 16, 1985, 70-year-old-mafioso Paul Castellano—the apparent successor of recently deceased Gambino boss Aniello Dellacroce—was gunned down along with his number two in command, Thomas Bilotti, in front of the restaurant. Gotti, who’d been watching from a car at a safe distance, had one of his men drive him by the scene to make sure his deadly orders had been carried out. [Thanks to several readers who pointed out that Dellacroce was actually not the boss. It was best put by pointing out that Dellacroce was the underboss, & had been under Carlo Gambino. Castellano had been the boss since 1976 (when Gambino died). In 1976, there was fear Dellacroce, as underboss, would resist Gambino's choice of Castellano as boss, since Dellacroce was above Castellano in the family. However, after being given almost complete autonomy over several crews, Dellacroce acquiesced to Castellano's appointment as boss. Murder Machine
(Capeci & Mustain) has more details of all this.]Top hood. Having eliminated the competition, Gotti took over as head of the Gambino family. With his expensive suits, lavish parties, and illegal dealings, he quickly became something of a media celebrity, and the press dubbed him “The Dapper Don.” Following a string of highly-publicized acquittals—helped in large part by witness intimidation and jury tampering—Gotti also earned the “Teflon Don” nickname.
Our New York agents and their colleagues in the New York Police Department, though, refused to give up. With extensive court-authorized electronic surveillance, diligent detective work, and the eventual cooperation of Gotti’s henchman—“Sammy the Bull” Gravano—the Bureau and the NYPD built a strong case against him.
The end was near. In December 1990, our agents and NYPD detectives arrested Gotti, and he was charged with multiple counts of racketeering, extortion, jury tampering, and other crimes. This time, the judge ordered that the jurors remain anonymous, identified only by number, so no one could pressure them. And the case was airtight.
The combination worked. On April 2, 1992, 15 years ago Monday, Gotti was convicted on 13 counts, including for ordering the murders of Castellano and Bilotti. The head of our New York office famously remarked, “The don is covered with Velcro, and every charge stuck.”
Indeed. Gotti had evaded the law for the last time. He died in prison in June 2002.
Thanks to the FBI
Monday, April 16, 2007
Big City, Bad Blood
The private detective novel is constantly revitalized by authors with vision who take the conceit of the knight-errant and push it forward with a contemporary spin.
Authors such as Laura Lippman, Robert Crais, Steve Hamilton and S.J. Rozan continue to refresh this sub-genre. To that list, add Chicago author Sean Chercover, whose debut Big City, Bad Blood signals a true talent.
Like the best authors of private detective novels, Chercover doesn't just give a thrilling plot -- and it is indeed a story that starts strong and only accelerates -- but he also looks at his city, its past and present, movers and criminals, its beauty and its chaos.
Chercover's conflicted, complex hero perfectly matches his plot. A former newspaper reporter disillusioned with journalism, Ray Dudgeon has found another career as a private detective. Both jobs brought him in contact with some of Chicago's best and worst residents, especially in his latest job. Ray agrees to be the bodyguard for Bob Loniski, who's in Chicago to find sites for a movie shoot. Bob ventured into unknown territory and witnessed a crime. Bob needs protection from the "Chicago Outfit," the current term for the local mob. Soon the case extends to blackmail and corruption among city officials.
Chercover keeps the suspense high and also knows just how far to use violence as a plot device and when to pull back. Ray is a multilayered character; readers will look forward to exploring this new detective's personality and history.
Big City, Bad Blood will rank high on the list of the year's best debuts. Ironically, one of the other top debuts of 2007 is Chercover's fellow Chicagoan Marcus Sakey's The Blade Itself: A Novel
.
Thanks to Oline H. Cogdill
Authors such as Laura Lippman, Robert Crais, Steve Hamilton and S.J. Rozan continue to refresh this sub-genre. To that list, add Chicago author Sean Chercover, whose debut Big City, Bad Blood signals a true talent.
Like the best authors of private detective novels, Chercover doesn't just give a thrilling plot -- and it is indeed a story that starts strong and only accelerates -- but he also looks at his city, its past and present, movers and criminals, its beauty and its chaos.
Chercover's conflicted, complex hero perfectly matches his plot. A former newspaper reporter disillusioned with journalism, Ray Dudgeon has found another career as a private detective. Both jobs brought him in contact with some of Chicago's best and worst residents, especially in his latest job. Ray agrees to be the bodyguard for Bob Loniski, who's in Chicago to find sites for a movie shoot. Bob ventured into unknown territory and witnessed a crime. Bob needs protection from the "Chicago Outfit," the current term for the local mob. Soon the case extends to blackmail and corruption among city officials.
Chercover keeps the suspense high and also knows just how far to use violence as a plot device and when to pull back. Ray is a multilayered character; readers will look forward to exploring this new detective's personality and history.
Big City, Bad Blood will rank high on the list of the year's best debuts. Ironically, one of the other top debuts of 2007 is Chercover's fellow Chicagoan Marcus Sakey's The Blade Itself: A Novel
.Thanks to Oline H. Cogdill
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