Lucky guys? Not quite. The fix was in. Galante’s own men had turned against him.
After the hit, the New York Post ran a gruesome photo of the slain Galante under the headline “GREED.”
I told you I’d get you. Greed got you killed.
—Chicago hit man Sam DeStefano to Leo Foreman before killing him
Galante’s leadership had been lacking in a number of areas, but the Post pinpointed the major source of discontent among Galante’s fellow mobsters.
When Galante was murdered, the Bonannos were the only New York family that allowed their members to openly traffic in drugs. The other families also did it, but secretly. At the time of his death, Galante was attempting to shake down the Zips, or Sicilian-American mobsters, by demanding a street tax from the heroin market they controlled.
Galante’s attempt to lord it over the Zips was dangerous. Even more dangerous than pissing off the Zips, Galante wasn’t willing to split the take with the other New York families. An alliance with the other families might have given Galante the power he needed to control the Zips.
The Commission was convened, the order passed, and the execution carried out. Galante died biting down on a fat cigar, appropriate for a man who bit off more than he could chew.
[Paul Castellano] is a greedy cocksucker. He wants the lion share of everything . . . the guy’s never happy.
—Anthony “Gaspipe” Casso
In the Mob, greed is prevalent at every level. Criminals are greedy by nature, so the share-out is usually a problem. The street guy with enough brains to overcome greed and distribute profits will rise quickly and safely.
The most successful mobsters aren’t greedy. An old-timer once told me he’d been collecting fifty bucks a week from the same person for twenty years.
“To date,” he said, “I’ve collected over fifty grand from the guy, and he never felt one payment. On top of that, he considers me his friend.”
In business, resisting greed can benefit you in countless ways, including knowing when to get out of a stock, cash in your bonds, or avoid deals that are too good to be true.
Many of Bernie Madoff’s investors were victims, blind to his bullshit. Some just covered their eyes. That’s also greed. Beware of it in any form.
For a long time, the Mob ran the U.S. meat packing industry. Through Mafia suppliers, meat was trucked to major supermarket chains; one such supplier was a company named Merkel Meat.
The law caught the head of Merkel on tape, giving his recipe:
“On the patties, we got eighty pounds of cow meat and twenty pounds of filler. On the frankfurters, about 75 percent meat . . .”
We’ve all heard stories about franks being made from low-grade beef, but in Merkel’s case, the filler was horse meat. It’s not good when your grandmother pulls a meatloaf out of the oven that once ran in the Kentucky Derby.
Fortunately, we’re not a starving nation; this was sheer greed.
But if you think mobsters are greedier than corporate execs, you’re dead wrong. The Mob may have duped the American people with a little horse meat, but legit businessmen have the potential to do far more harm than the Mob.
During the Holocaust, German businesses competed for contracts to build equipment to murder and dispose of an entire segment of Europe’s population.
One firm engineered a hot-tank to make soap. The instructions for best results called for “twelve pounds of human fat, ten quarts of water, and a pound of caustic soda . . . all boiled for two or three hours then cooled.”
That makes Merkel look like a bunch of nuns.
Another German firm that acquired a contract wrote:
“For putting bodies into the furnace, we suggest simply a metal fork moving on cylinders. For transporting the corpses from the storage points to the furnaces we suggest using light carts on wheels, and we enclose diagrams of these drawn to scale.”
The above-mentioned firms were staffed not by ideological Nazis but by greedy business execs.
As part of a major corporation or business, keep in mind you have the ability to do far more good in one day than the Mafia can ever do. And far more evil.
The future is in your hands. Beware of greed.
LESSON 9
It’s Good to Go to a Funeral as Long as It’s Not Yours: The Power of Networking
IN the early nineties, I was approached by Fritzi, a legit guy who heard I loaned out cash on the street. Fritzi wanted to open a gourmet deli in a hot spot near a university. Fritzi had found a good lease on a storefront, then arranged to get the snack racks and coolers on the arm from companies who supplied meat, soda, chips, and the like.
What Fritzi needed from me was cash; three months’ security for the lease and money for renovations. In return, he offered me an equal partnership in the deli. I accepted.
I gave Fritzi the cash for the lease and introduced him to a carpenter I knew. The carpenter was a part-time thief who robbed materials from job sites, so he only charged us for his labor. Fritzi secured the lease with the landlord and began renovations.
While the deli was under construction, I stopped by to visit the carpenter. He told me that Fritzi was a major ball buster, adding that the only reason he hadn’t already split his head open with the claw of a hammer was me.
I told the carpenter I’d talk to Fritzi. Before I left the deli, he asked me if the basement was part of our lease. I assumed it was and said so.
“It would make a great casino,” he told me. “It’s got a back entrance with a parking lot.”
I checked out the basement. It was spacious, with high ceilings. It just needed a coat of paint, carpeting, and a dehumidifier. Behind the deli, there was a narrow driveway leading from the street to a parking lot that could hold a dozen cars.
I realized the carpenter was right—the place would make a great casino. I’d operate from ten P.M. till four A.M. when the rest of the stores on the block were closed. I left the deli feeling like Steve Wynn, the developer who made Las Vegas what it is today.
When I met with Fritzi that night, I asked him to ease up on the carpenter, particularly because the guy was prone to hammering objects other than nails. Fritzi got the picture immediately. Then I offered him an equal partnership in the basement casino. This was only fair since we were partners on the lease.
“I’ll finish the basement, buy tables, hire dealers, and attract gamblers, but we’ll split the profits down the middle, fifty-fifty.”
As I said this, I could see the dollar signs flash in Fritzi’s eyes like a cartoon cash register. Of course, he agreed. In no time at all, the renovations were completed.
About a week before the grand opening of our deli and casino, Fritzi phoned me.
“Meet me by the deli!” he told me. “We gotta talk!” Told me. Not asked me.
I figured this was a power move. Fritzi wanted to assert himself before we opened, figuring that a lot of cash would flow through the place and worried I might take advantage of him. Pretty sure this was the case, I planned to put his mind at ease, assuring him I’d never shortchange him, squeeze him out of the casino—or kill him.
I arrived at our little MGM Grand, parked my car, and went inside. Fritzi was standing in front of the deli counter with his head high and his arms folded across his chest, like a tough guy. But a fake tough guy. I laughed to myself, now certain he was afraid. Why else would he put up a front?
Fritzi surprised me. “I’m giving your money back. Thanks for lending it to me.”
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“I borrowed the money, now I’m paying you back. End of story.”
“Whose voice is that?” I asked, assuming somebody gassed him up, looking to move in on the casino.
“Nobody,” he said. “I speak for myself.”
Normally, if involved in a beef on the street, it’s mandatory for the guy you’re beefing with to tell you who he answers to so you can arrange a sit and settle it diplomatically. Since Fritzi didn’t defer
to a higher power, I had a free hand to deal with him as I saw fit. If someone was pumping him up, there’s one sure way to lure the puppet master out from behind the curtain: crush his puppet. I hit Fritzi with a right to the jaw and proceeded to beat his brains in.
We were about to open for business when this moron, blinded by dollar signs, decided he wanted everything for himself. Greed ruins everything.
When I left the deli, I put the incident “on record” with my own guy in the event someone emerged to defend Fritzi and the beef went to a sit. Later that evening, when I approached my house, I spotted an unmarked cop car parked across the street. I whipped a turn and sped away unnoticed. Apparently, Mr. Tough Guy had gone to the police.
I took it on the lam. From a cabin in the Poconos, I started to reach out to people. I needed to find someone Fritzi not only knew, but would listen to, in order to get the cops off my back.
Through the Mafia’s large network of relations, my crew located that someone.
Jimmy lived in a ritzy apartment in midtown. In his office, he had a big oak desk. In the top drawer was a sheet of paper taped to a piece of cardboard and covered in cellophane. It was a list of nicknames, across from each was a phone number. Every load I brought Jimmy went to someone on this list.
—Louis Ferrante, Unlocked
Fritzi’s father-in-law was a degenerate gambler—probably would’ve been a regular at our casino—and the father-in-law’s bookie was a connected guy. My crew approached the bookie and asked him to do us a favor. The bookie told the father-in-law to have Fritzi call off the bulls or become olive loaf.
Fritzi came to his senses and dropped the charges. He sold the deli and paid me back my money with interest. And that was that.
The Mob has several thousand members and associates, and every one of them has his own network of crooked and legit friends. Every day, I used the Mafia’s extensive network to earn money and, sometimes, as you’ve just seen, to save my freedom.
OC [organized crime] has become a series of networks, a set of alliances, often across national boundaries.
—Mike La Sorte, “Defining Organized Crime”
The Mafia was a MySpace community long before social networks sprang up all over the Web, but even the most impressive Mafia network is meager compared with Facebook and Twitter. To put today’s networking possibilities in Mafia terms, you simply log on and you’re a “made member” of the largest communities in the world. You can even consider yourself a “button man,” the term used for a Mafia soldier, because you simply press a button and you’re “connected.”
Realize the extraordinary significance of networking, one of the most important elements of the Mafia’s success.
LESSON 10
Ole Blue Eyes: Why Mobsters Love Sinatra
SICILY has always been clannish. Frank Sinatra’s family came from the same Sicilian village as “Lucky” Luciano’s family. This automatically qualified Frank as a goombah.
The fact of having a common origin strengthens their bond, it makes them a tighter group.
—Salvatore Lupo, La Storia della Mafia
Luciano booked a lot of singing gigs for Frank, and the Mob’s control of nightclubs, jukeboxes, and music distribution also helped Frank early in his career.
In 1947, when the Mafia held a conference in Havana, Cuba, they took Frank along as a showpiece, for public relations. When later questioned by the FBI about the conference, Frank was tight-lipped. Being a stand-up guy further qualified Frank as a goombah in the Mafia’s eyes. All told, Frank was loved by mobsters.
Today, Frank is dead, but the love affair continues. In part, mobsters are proud of Frank’s Italian heritage; it boosts their pride. But more important, Frank’s hard-luck lyrics touch their hearts. Quitting is our only true enemy in life, and Frank sang about never giving in.
Robert “Bobby Cabert” Bisaccia was a capo in the Gambino family who loved Frank Sinatra. Bobby had a murder conviction that would never get overturned due to incontestable evidence. He was serving a life sentence but slugged away at the law every day, trying to reverse his case.
One day, Bobby received a letter in the mail. It went something like this: “We are a prestigious law firm who has chosen to represent you pro bono. . . . We researched your case and are confident you will be a free man before Christmas.”
The letter went on in this same hopeful tone. Bobby read it aloud for his fellow cons to its conclusion: “Until you hear anything further from us, continue with your escape plans.”
Bobby let out a string of curses as the cons on his tier block, all in on the prank, burst out laughing. Bobby’s refusal to quit fighting amused his fellow cons, who’d arranged to have the letter sent to him.
I met Bobby in federal prison when he was pulled over from Jersey State Prison to answer more murder charges. At the time, I was facing 125 years. Every morning, Bobby would say, “Answer the bell, kid.”
It’s fight talk. A boxer, regardless of how badly he’s been beaten, must come out of his corner swinging when he hears the bell to start the next round.
Mobsters are natural-born sluggers, that’s why so many have tried their luck in the ring.
I’ve been in the late Vincent “The Chin” Gigante’s home office, where a painting of young Vincent as a boxer hung on the wall. He was a professional fighter before he dedicated himself to The Life and went on to become a don.
Even in that early painting, The Chin has a look of determination in his eyes. “I’m gonna be somebody,” he seems to say.
Tommy Eboli, Anthony “Ham” Delasco, and “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn were other mobsters who, like Gigante, tried their luck in the ring before throwing in with the Mob.
An old friend I’ll call Eddie has been linked to the Mob his whole career. Eddie told me a story that happened in the 1960s. While stationed down south in the army, he and his pals visited a local carnival. One of the carnival attractions offered a cash prize to any man who could slug it out with a baboon.
Eddie had the balls to get in the cage with the primate. He laughed as the cage door closed behind him, figuring the animal was only ninety pounds and winning the prize should be a cinch. He didn’t realize the baboon’s superhuman strength until the beast slapped the shit out of him and tried to mount him from behind.
With his face pressed against the cage, Eddie pleaded with his friends to shoot the beast. Fortunately for Eddie, the animal trainer was able to restrain the baboon before Eddie lost his virginity.
Eddie made it out of the cage, and the army. He went on to become a local boxing hero. In and out of the ring, Eddie has had more ups and downs than anyone around—but keeps fighting.
My life on the streets conditioned me to overcome failure. “Easy money” wasn’t always so easy. I cracked open three safes before I found one with cash. I hijacked empty trucks, and dumped them on the side of the road. But the next day, I hijacked another.
I eventually pulled off big heists, but in the end I went to prison. There’s no place in the world that can make you feel like a bigger failure than a prison cell. But I was conditioned not to quit.
How, though, can one succeed at anything in jail?
In prison, I picked up my first book, and was soon reading twenty hours a day. I taught myself the art of writing by studying how other authors wrote. I made prison, the asshole of the world, into my university—because every morning I answered the bell, like Bobby had told me. And I never gave in, like Sinatra sang.
That’s why mobsters love Sinatra: he sang from the heart, a heart that wouldn’t quit.
I thought of quitting baby, But my heart just ain’t gonna buy it.
—Frank Sinatra, “That’s Life”
LESSON 11
Turning Garbage into Gold: Sniffing Out Opportunity
IN the 1930s, following a string of organized crime convictions, New York prosecutor Thomas Dewey claimed the Mafia was dead. He was wrong. The Mob was alive and well, but Dewey thought the claim might help him g
et into the Oval Office. He was wrong about that, too.
In the 1990s, after convicting the heads of the New York crime families, prosecutor Rudolph Giuliani also claimed the Mafia was dead. Like Dewey, Giuliani was wrong. The Mafia was alive and well, but Giuliani thought the claim might get him into the Oval Office. Like Dewey, he was wrong about that, too.
Eradication of organized crime is pure fantasy.
—Frederick Martens, chief of organized crime intelligence, New Jersey State Police
To become president of the United States, a politician must convince the voters he will “give the people what they want.”
Apparently, neither Dewey nor Giuliani were able to convince the majority of American voters that they would give them what they wanted, while the Mafia has been doing just that since its inception: giving people what they want, and also what they need.
I am just a businessman, giving the people what they want.
—Al Capone
Fictional character Tony Soprano had a no-show job as a consultant for a waste management company; countless real-life mobsters have made billions of dollars disposing of trash.
On Long Island, New York, Lucchese capo Salvatore Avellino disposed of garbage so well that local governments allowed Sal and his friends to literally do their dirty work for decades, aware that they themselves could not have done it better.
By the time the feds put the squeeze on Avellino, he’d collected enough garbage to fill the Meteor Crater in Arizona.
Sir Isaac Newton, the great British scientist credited with discovering gravity, wasted a shitload of time trying to turn cheap metals into gold, a practice called alchemy. Although alchemy didn’t work, the Mob pays homage to Newton every day by turning garbage into gold.
Mob Rules Page 4
