Hollywood Celebrity P.I. Prime Topic at Mob Trial

A top Hollywood private investigator, Anthony Pellicano, now in jail battling charges he illegally wiretapped enemies of the rich and famous, worked under reputed top mobster Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo three decades ago when Pellicano lived in Chicago, according to court testimony Wednesday.

Pellicano allegedly had a mob henchman, Alva Johnson Rodgers, blow up a Mount Prospect home and was upset when the man wouldn't torch a restaurant, according to Rodgers' testimony in the historic Family Secrets mob trial in Chicago.

Pellicano allegedly had a mob henchman, Alva Johnson Rodgers, blow up a Mount Prospect home and was upset when the man wouldn't torch a restaurant, according to Rodgers' testimony in the historic Family Secrets mob trial in Chicago.

Pellicano's mob past in Chicago has long been hinted at, but the trial on Wednesday offered the first public, detailed testimony on what Pellicano allegedly did when he was in Chicago.

Pellicano's mob past in Chicago has long been hinted at, but the trial on Wednesday offered the first public, detailed testimony on what Pellicano allegedly did when he was in Chicago.

Pellicano's attorney, Steven Gruel, could not be reached Wednesday but has rejected claims that his client was mobbed up.

Rodgers, 78, testified with a Texas twang as he described to jurors how he went from a petty car thief to hanging out with Outfit members after he befriended Chicago mobster Marshall Caifano when they were both in prison in the early 1970s.

Rodgers said he saw Pellicano with Lombardo several times.

Rodgers burned down a Mount Prospect home that no one was living in at the time after Pellicano paid him $5,000.

Another time, Rodgers said Pellicano wanted him to close down a Chicago restaurant after a woman who had invested in the place wasn't getting any return.

Rodgers hired some kids to knock out the windows but said he balked when Pellicano wanted him to burn it down because the place was open 24 hours a day.

Rodgers, who mainly stole cars, came under a withering grilling by Lombardo's attorney, Rick Halprin, who mocked his testimony.

"You were, if you pardon the expression, just a bust-out loser?" Halprin asked.

"Probably, yeah," Rodgers conceded. But Rodgers added that he did do 11 years in prison for a bank robbery. "Is that heavy enough?"

"I'm glad you're not modest," Halprin said. "The bank robbery is probably the highlight of your career?"

"Well, sort of," Rodgers said.

Through his questions, Halprin mocked Rodgers' plan in the 1970s to take over the porn industry in Chicago.

Halprin asked how Rodgers could get the loans to buy millions of dollars of pornography.

"Based on your good credit, right?"

Thanks to Steve Warmbir

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Bust-out Loser Testifies Against Joey the Clown

Friends of ours: Marshall Caifano, Joey "the Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: Alva Johnson Rodgers, Anthony Pellicano

Alva Johnson Rodgers walked slowly into the Family Secrets trial Wednesday with a criminal record as long as his Texas drawl.

As Rodgers swore to tell the truth, he raised his left hand before quickly catching his mistake and thrusting his right hand into the air.

He's been in prison almost of third of his 78 years, Rodgers said with a hint of pride. There were auto thefts in Arkansas, Arizona and California; a bank robbery in New Jersey; the counterfeiting case in New Orleans; fake stock certificates in Florida; and a plan to bring "a boatload" of marijuana from South America. But he had never met a Chicago mobster until he helped free one from federal prison in Georgia. Rodgers, a jailhouse lawyer, said his legal research found a flaw in the sentence of his cellmate, reputed Outfit hit man Marshall Caifano.

"The Appellate Court believed us and turned him loose," Rodgers, testifying under immunity from prosecution, told a federal jury. Caifano didn't forget the favor, paying for the lawyer who was able to get Rodgers out too. It was 1973, and Rodgers was soon on his way to Chicago to start working for Caifano and his friends, including reputed mob boss Joey "the Clown" Lombardo, he said.

Lombardo and four others are on trial in an alleged conspiracy to carry out Outfit business that included 18 gangland slayings decades ago. Rodgers was called by the prosecution to tell what he knows about Lombardo's control over the mob.

Dressed in a dark suit, peach shirt and dark teal tie, the gray-haired Rodgers sometimes had to lean forward on the witness stand to hear questions. He was asked if he saw Lombardo in court Wednesday. "Yeah, I see him. He just stood up," Rodgers said. Lombardo then sat back down, leaned forward and rested his chin on one hand, appearing to pay close attention.

Under questioning by Assistant U.S. Atty. John Scully, Rodgers said his first memory of Lombardo was when Lombardo was promoted within the Outfit ahead of his friend Caifano. Soon he and Caifano were taking orders from Lombardo, Rodgers said. Rodgers said he sometimes drove Lombardo around town when Lombardo had a police scanner in his car. Once, he said, they realized they were listening to their police tail. "Apparently, they considered him to be 'the Clown,' and me 'the Rabbit,' " Rodgers said. "We heard every word."

Within a year, Rodgers said, Lombardo allowed him and Caifano to try to take over the porn industry in Chicago. Rodgers said he opened a fictitious business to make peep-show booths and among the visitors were Lombardo and Lombardo's friend Anthony Pellicano, who went on to become a Hollywood private investigator who is awaiting trial in a highly publicized wiretapping case.

The peep-show business was located just a few blocks from a Catholic church, Rodgers said. "When Lombardo found out about it, he came around and told me not to put the store there," Rodgers told jurors. He said he eventually was sent to to take a cut of the profits from a business being opened on North Wells Street by William "Red" Wemette who also testified against Lombardo this week.

Rodgers said he went on to give Lombardo the idea of setting fire to a rival's giant warehouse of pornography as part of the bid to take over the distribution in Chicago. Rodgers also said he set a house fire for Pellicano and delivered cryptic messages to movie production companies to "join the association." A lawyer for Pellicano did not immediately return a call seeking comment on the allegations.

On cross-examination, Lombardo's lawyer, Rick Halprin, mocked Rodgers and his alleged connection to the reputed mob heavyweight. Rodgers again leaned forward to try to hear. "I know I'm not the government, so maybe you should lean back," said Halprin, who then asked whether Rodgers was involved only in minor crimes.

"You were just a bust-out loser?" asked Halprin, quickly saying he meant no insult.

"I did 11 years in prison for that bank robbery," Rodgers said.

"I'm glad you're not modest," the lawyer shot back.

Halprin asked Rodgers where he was planning to get $2 million to replace the pornography he planned to destroy in the warehouse.

"Your good credit?" said Halprin, who feigned a talk Rodgers might have with a loan officer. "Oh, 'And I met Joey Lombardo in a sandwich shop?' "

Halprin scoffed at Rodgers' claim that his dealings with Wemette were on behalf of the mob. He suggested the two were just close friends and noted that Rodgers had once driven Wemette's car to California. Even some jurors smiled as Rodgers said that had been a stolen car -- with Wemette's plates on it.

Also Wednesday, prosecutors played for jurors undercover audio recordings of Lombardo from a 1979 investigation into labor racketeer Allen Dorfman. Lombardo could be heard threatening the life of a casino owner who failed to repay a loan.

And defense lawyers cross-examined Wemette, who had testified about paying street tax to the Outfit from his adult bookstore. Halprin asked Wemette when he had given the FBI information on the sensational 1955 murders of young brothers John and Anton Schuessler and their friend Robert Peterson. In a bid to undercut Wemette's credibility, the defense brought out that Wemette claimed that Kenneth Hansen had confessed to the triple murder in 1968 and that he tipped off the FBI in 1971. Yet Hansen wasn't charged and convicted until the 1990s.

"The people I did speak to about it were really not interested in what I had to say." Wemette said.

Prosecutors repeatedly objected, and Halprin was forced to drop the matter.

Thanks to Jeff Coen

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The Shark Attacks: Analysis of Family Secrets Mob Trial for 6/27

Attorney Joseph "The Shark" Lopez, who is representing Frank Calabrese Sr. in the Chicago Family Secrets Mob Trial, has agreed to provide us with updates on his observations and thoughts regarding the various court proceedings.

Today, Shark responds to the testimony of porn shop owner, William "Red" Wemette, Alva Rogers, and Jim Wagner

"What a day in court! Red Wemette as usual was a classic. Alva Rodgers, forgetaboutit! Lombardo's lawyer flattened him out. What a character. He used run the G&O at Grand and Ogden, I think it was on the southwest corner where Timo is now. There was a strip mall, it was kitty corner to the bike shop that is now a restaurant called Twisted Spoke. It was back in the day as they would say.

Rodgers is 78 and looks the part of grandpa with a mean streak. He went to the West Coast to tell someone to join the association. Not clear what that means, but he went by car. The jury is paying close attention to everything happening. The ex-FBI agent (James Wagner, now president of the Chicago Crime Commission) was kind of boring. It's clear he makes a lot more in the private sector than he did as government employee. Some people love the public service. He clearly did (as) he was on the force for a long time.

Back to Alva, get the transcript, Halprin was great as usual. He hammered away but in the end it was unclear why Alva was here. It had nothing to do with the charges.

Finally, Red (Wemette) admitted the IRS was on him. Alva said the same. Red admitted he lied under oath. Tomorrow is another day. At least we got Marcus Funk up there today, he added a new dimension to the prosecution team with his young blood and he is quite a sailor." - Shark

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Lombardo Feels Like Sadaam

Friends of ours: Joey "The Clown" Lombardo, James Marcello, John “No Nose” DiFronzo, Alphonse “Pizza Al” Tornabene

He has one of the most famous names in Chicago. It ranks right up there with Daley, Sandburg, Oprah and Susie Snowflake. I’m talking about Joe Padula. Some brave people call him “Lumpy.”

His real name is Joe Lombardo. You probably know him as “Joey the Clown,” currently standing trial in federal court in Chicago as the highest-ranking member of the Chicago Outfit.

For more than 50 years, Joey “the Clown” Lombardo has had the most prominent moniker in a fraternity where everybody knows your nickname.

As you know, most clowns don’t talk much. They’re more into pantomime, sight gags and slapstick.

Joe Lombardo’s actions have always spoken louder than his words. Like when the feds say he gave the nod to Outfit hit men to kill people, including witnesses set to testify against him. Or when, the feds say, he had a guy killed in front of his wife and 4-year-old son. Or when he bribed and extorted people, skimmed from Las Vegas casinos, and stole from labor unions.

He’s never really talked much. There was the newspaper he once used as a facemask, complete with cutaway eyeholes, to hide from reporters after a court appearance.

Lombardo’s favorite pose for police mug shots was with his mouth stretched wide open, as if at the dentist, disfiguring his facial features.

Now 78, Lombardo must be going soft on the pratfalls and practical jokes. As he sat in court last week, he wanted to talk about serious things. With me.

Our conversation took place during a break while the lawyers were out of the room. A few deputy U.S. Marshals stood nearby to make sure the Clown didn’t try to escape in his wheelchair or use his cane as a ball bat.

He was talking with a deputy about how people in all types of jobs are replaceable. Even his job, Lombardo said, whatever that may be. And then the Clown looked squarely at me and said, “If reporters are killed, they’re replaceable too.”

What a jokester.

He muttered something about cockroaches and mosquitoes.

“I watched you when you were reporting in Iraq,” he then told me, referring to TV stories I filed from the Middle East last year. He said he watched on a big screen TV.

That means he was watching TV news in his final days of freedom. After being a federal fugitive for nine months, Lombardo was nabbed on Jan. 13, 2006, in Elmwood Park, a few days after I left Baghdad. “I feel like Saddam sitting here,” he told me. “I know what he felt must’ve felt like.”

Like Saddam, Lombardo was sporting a full, fluffy beard when he was arrested after hiding out. And like Saddam, who was hanged for the execution-murders of 148 people, Lombardo could effectively face a death sentence. At his age, if convicted, his sentence will ensure he will never again see freedom and will die in prison.

“You were right,” he told me. “When you were over there in Iraq. It’s all about the First Amendment. Freedom of Speech.”

“Do you know who should be here in this courtroom?” Lombardo asked me.

Without waiting for my answer, he provided his own. “Bush and Cheney,” he said.

“What would you charge them with?” I asked the man charged in a case that includes 18 gangland murders.

Lombardo thought for a moment and answered “murder.”

“Look at all those people who have been killed or injured,” he said, citing the thousands of Americans and Iraqis.

And then he said Bush and Cheney are like two bank robbers. If one shoots and kills a teller, the other is still liable for murder. Just like Bush and Cheney, he said.

Lombardo was about 15 feet away from me. He was sitting at the defense table, but another of the five defendants was seated between us. Jimmy Marcello, a Lombardo underboss, stared straight ahead as our words passed in front of him.

Marcello, or “Little Jimmy,” never said a word or acknowledged the conversation. Maybe Marcello, 65, was just deferring to his elder.

My tête-à-tête with Lombardo ended with a final shot from the Clown.

“They still don’t have the guy, do they?” he asked, implying that there was some mega-mobster out there still calling the shots.

“Who is the guy that they don’t have?” I asked Lombardo, thinking he was about to drop the name of John “No Nose” DiFronzo or Alphonse “Pizza Al” Tornabene. But Joe Lombardo was still thinking globally. “They still don’t have the guy, Osama bin Laden.”

But they have the Clown. And that’s no joke.

Thanks to Chuck Goudie

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Prosecution Portraying Lombardo as Top Level Mobster

Friends of ours: Joseph Aiuppa, Joseph "Joey the Clown" Lombardo
Friends of mine: Alan Dorfman

Chicago’s top mob boss Joseph Aiuppa wasn’t happy.

He was at a meeting in a suburban restaurant in April 1979 with another reputed top mobster, Joseph “Joey the Clown” Lombardo, and Alan Dorfman, an insurance executive who was the middleman between the mob and the Teamsters pension fund.

Aiuppa was jamming his finger and hands into the table to accentuate his points, according to retired FBI Agent Art Pfizenmayer, who testified today on the meeting he did surveillance on. “Dorfman kind of sat there with his hands in his lap,” Pfizenmayer said.

Pfizenmayer was sitting at the bar and could only hear a few snatches of conversation over the tinkle of glasses as the bartender cleaned up from the lunch crowd and the piped-in music.

Pfizenmayer’s testimony was part of the prosecution’s effort to establish that Lombardo was a mobster involved in the very top level of mob communications. Lombardo is charged with four other men as part of the historic Family Secrets mob case in federal court in Chicago.

Dorfman would later be killed in 1983 after he was convicted with Lombardo of conspiring to bribe U.S. Sen. Howard Cannon. Federal authorities have said Aiuppa approved Dorfman’s murder.

Earlier in the day at trial, former Old Town porn shop owner William “Red” Wemette underwent vigorous questioning by Lombardo’s attorney, Rick Halprin.

Wemette had earlier testified that he paid street tax payments to men he believed were Lombardo’s underlings. But under questioning by Halprin, Wemette testified he had never personally given Lombardo a dime.

Wemette also admitted he signed a false affidavit in the 1970s with IRS agents in which he described payments he made to an alleged Lombardo associate as being part of a business deal, rather than street tax payments.

Wemette, though, testified he had a separate, secret source relationship with the FBI, to whom he told the truth about the street tax payments.

Thanks to Steve Warmbir

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