by Bruno, Joe
While Genovese was in Sicily he was a very busy man. Having reportedly taken $750,000 in cash with him, Genovese put this money to work for him on the streets.
Of course this was impossible to do without the friendship and cooperation of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, who was intimately involved in World War II as an enemy of the United States. Genovese paid for the construction of a power plant for Mussolini in Nola, located in Southern Italy. Then Genovese contributed $250,000 for the construction of a municipal building that Mussolini wanted to build. Whenever Genovese got a little short of cash, he contacted his wife Anna in America, who was handling Genovese's business operations while he was in his self-imposed exile. During this time, Anna Genovese made frequent trips to Italy to replenish her husband coffers.
To show his gratitude for Genovese's largesse, Mussolini awarded Genovese the Order of the Crown of Italy, a high civilian honor. And because one good turn deserves another, in 1943 Genovese arranged for the murder in New York City of Mussolini's chief nemeses, Italian newspaper editor Carlo Tresa, who was stirring up the pot against Mussolini in his radical Italian newspaper IL Martello which was sold in Italian communities throughout America. The hit was done by up-and-coming mobster Carmine Galante, who shot Tresa in the back of the head as Tresa strolled down Fifth Avenue near 13th Street.
In 1944, Mussolini's empire started crumbling. Genovese, seeing the handwriting on the wall, switched sides and began working for the United States Army. Genovese was basically an informer, who led the Army to a slew of black market operators, with whom Genovese had been doing business. Soon, the Army got wise as to why Genovese was working with them so readily. It seemed that every time the Army shut down a black-market operation that Genovese had led them to, Don Vitone took over that operation himself.
With the war over and all of the witnesses against Genovese either dead or disappeared, Genovese made his way back into the United States. With no evidence against Genovese, the prosecutors simply dropped the Boccia murder case against him.
Genovese immediately tried to regain control of the Luciano family, but Costello, with the help of Lansky and Anastasia, was too firmly entrenched. So Genovese bided his time.
Genovese moved with his wife to a luxurious house in Atlantic Highland in New Jersey, and he took the guise of a civic-minded businessman who gave heavily to numerous charities, including the Boy Scouts of America. But in fact, Genovese was heavily involved in the narcotics business, raking in millions and building up his war chest to fight his way back to the top.
Genovese had a major setback in 1953, when Anna Genovese, claiming physical and emotional distress, sued Genovese for divorce. During the divorce trial, which was reported daily in the press, Anna Genovese said that her husband had stashed millions of dollars in European accounts, and that he grossed $20,000-$30,000 a week from the Italian lottery games. This caused Genovese much dishonor amongst his Mafia cohorts, and he delayed his planned coup d'état for control of the Mafia families.
Genovese waited until 1957 to make his attack. Since his return from Italy, it was estimated that Genovese, through drug dealing, Italian lotteries, and his activities with corrupt labor unions, had accumulated about $30 million of “play money” to invest in treachery. His three main obstacles to achieve his mission of Mafia control were Frank Costello, Albert Anastasia, and Meyer Lansky. Since Lansky was Jewish and therefore not eligible to be in the Mafia, Genovese figured if he took out Costello and Anastasia, Lansky would have no other choice but to fall into line.
Genovese tried to take the first bite of the apple in 1957, when he sent hulking ex-boxer Vincent “The Chin” Gigante to ambush Costello in the lobby of Costello’s Park Avenue apartment building. As soon as Costello entered the building, Gigante emerged from the shadows, pointed his gun and said, “This is for you, Frank!”
However, not being the best shot in the world, the bullet Gigante fired simply grazed Costello's head. A quick rush to the hospital emergency room, and Costello was back in his own bed that same night. True to the code of omerta, after Gigante was captured and brought to trial, Costello refused to identify Gigante as his attempted assassin.
Genovese's second upwardly-mobile move was more successful.
On October 25, 1957, Genovese arranged for the murder of Anastasia, who was filled with lead by two men as he sat in the barber chair at the Park Sheridan Hotel. Genovese originally gave the murder contract to his ally Joe Profaci, the head of one of the Mafia five families, and Profaci allegedly subcontracted the hit to Crazy Joe Gallo's Red Hook Brooklyn crew. Anastasia's murder was never solved and over the years several men privately took credit for the hit, including Gallo.
With Genovese still angling for his Mafia takeover, Costello and Lansky, with the approval of Luciano, who was now exiled in Italy, devised a scheme whereby they could put Genovese out of commission for good without killing him. They enlisted the aid of an ambitious mobster named Carlo Gambino, who was looking for a rise to the top himself. Gambino approached Genovese about a proposed multimillion international drug deal that would supposedly net them tons of money. Even though Genovese had outlawed drug dealing in his own crew, Don Vitone didn't figure this ban extended to him, so he greedily approved. Then Gambino, through his crooked connections in law enforcement, arranged for Genovese to be arrested on a drug conspiracy charge. However, the Feds needed proof before they could try and convict Genovese.
The wily Gambino knew a convicted minor drug dealer rotting in Sing Sing Prison named Nelson Cantellops. He approached Cantellops through an intermediary, and he suggested if Cantellops would testify in court that he had witnessed Genovese being involved in several big-money drug deals, Gambino would arrange for Cantellops to be paid the whopping sum of $100,000, a suspended sentence and a release from prison. To accomplish this, Costello, Lansky, and Luciano would contribute $50,000, and Gambino would kick in the other $50,000.
Luciano later said about the sting, “We had to pay him (Cantellops) pretty good.”
Cantellops thought about the proposition for about two seconds before he agreed to take the bribe.
Then, an anonymous tip was called into the New York Narcotics Bureau saying that Cantellops would be willing to trade information on Genovese for his freedom. With Genovese being such a big fish and Cantellops hardly a minnow, the government readily agreed.
In 1958, Genovese and 24 members of his crew were arrested for violating the new Narcotics Control Act.
In 1959, at Genovese's trial, Cantellops was the star witness for a full four weeks. Cantellops said under oath that he had personally witnessed Genovese and his underlings over the years making numerous drug buys. He also said that for two years he had acted as a courier for Genovese, carrying heroin from New York City to other cities around the country. Cantellops testified that on one occasion he had accompanied Genovese to a meeting in the Bronx, where it was discussed how to divvy up the heroin-selling territories.
Based almost exclusively on the testimony of Nelson Cantellops, Genovese and all 24 of his cohorts were found guilty. Genovese was sentenced to 15 years in prison, to be served at the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta, Georgia.
While in prison, Genovese continued to run his crime family through intermediaries. Mobster Joe Valachi later testified before the John L. McClellan's Subcommittee, that while in jail Genovese, because he knew he had been framed, became extremely paranoid. Genovese trusted no one, and he even ordered the execution of his top aide, Tony Bender, because he wrongfully suspected Bender of being involved in the set-up.
In prison, Genovese developed nervous symptoms and severe heart problems. Vito Genovese died of a heart attack on February 14, 1969, while still in prison. He is buried at Saint John's Cemetery in Queens.
In the 1972 movie The Valachi Papers, starring Charles Bronson, Genovese was portrayed by actor Lino Ventura. And in the 2001 TV movie Boss of Bosses, Genovese's part was played by actor Steven Bauer.
Great Rocking Cha
ir Scandal
Nothing incites the general public more than someone trying to charge for something that previously cost nothing. Yet, that's exactly what entrepreneur Oscar F. Spate tried to do in the New York City public parks in the blistering summer of 1901.
It all started in Central Park on June 22, 1901, when a group of people spotted rows of bright green rocking chairs along the park mall near the casino. Usually in this same spot stood rows of uncomfortable, hard, wooden benches, so it was a pleasure indeed for the park-goers to sit and rock and enjoy the wondrous summer day.
Suddenly, two broad-shouldered men approached the rocking-chair sitters. They wore identical gray suits, and they carried black satchels with straps over their shoulders. The men in gray told the sitters that these private chairs were for rent, and that if they wanted to continue sitting they had to fork over five cents a day for the better seats and three cents a day for seats not in as preferential a position in the park.
Some people vacated their seats, but others paid. People who did neither were physically ejected from the seats.
When they asked why, the men in gray said, “Them's Mr. Spate's chairs.”
This new phenomenon was covered extensively and contentiously in the following day's New York City daily newspapers. And the man on the hot seat was the president of the Park Commission – one George C. Clausen.
It seemed that a few days earlier, Clausen had been visited in his official Park Commission office by a man named Oscar F. Spate. Spate seemed amiable enough, and he offered Clausen a proposition Clausen saw no difficulty in accepting. It seemed that Spate said he wanted to place comfortable rocking chairs in the parks throughout New York City. And for the privilege of doing so, Spate offered the city the tidy sum of $500 a year.
“They do this in London and Paris,” Spate told Clausen. “And it would undoubtedly be good for New York City, too.”
Clausen agreed with Spate's line of thinking, so he readily accepted Spate’s offer; albeit without first consulting with the other members of the Park Commission. As a result, Clausen graced Spate with a five-year contract, allowing Spate to place his rocking chairs in all the New York City public parks.
With the ink still not dry on his contract, Spate immediately ordered 6,000 chairs, costing around $1.50 each. If Spate's projections were correct, these chairs would earn him an estimated $250-$300 a day.
An associate of Spate’s, who asked a newspaper reporter for anonymity, said that Spate had already invested $30,000 in his new venture. The reporter did the math, and he figured the rocking chairs only cost Spate around $9,500, total. Pray tell, where did the other $20,500 go?
Spate's spokesman said nothing that enlightened the reporter.
“Well, there's always expenses in things like this, you know,” he told the scribe.
The New York City press knew a story when it hit them in the face, so they managed to track down Spate in his offices in the St. James Building on Broadway and 26th Street near Madison Square Park.
When questioned by the reporters, Spate became indignant.
“I'll put in as many chairs as they will allow,” Spate told the reporters. “The attendants who collect the charges are in my pay. They will wear gray uniforms, and each will look after about 50 chairs, from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. A five-cent ticket entitles the holder to sit in either a five-cent, or a three-cent chair, in any park at any time during that day. But the holder of a three-cent chair can only sit in a three-cent chair.”
Spate also told reporters he was doing the city a favor, since charging for the chairs would keep the undesirables (read - the poor) out of the parks, thereby keeping the parks sparkling clean and free of loiterers who leave a mess in their wake.
The outrage from the New York City press and from philanthropists came swiftly. Randolph Guggenheimer, the president of the Municipal Council, said he “saw no good reason for allowing private parties to occupy park grounds and make money through a scheme like this.” The New York City Central Federated Union sent a statement to the press denouncing both Spate and Clausen for their “hideous actions.” The New York Tribune wrote in an editorial, “This is only another instance of the hopeless stupidity of the present Park Commission.” The New York Journal also wrote an editorial defending the “rights of poor people to sit in a public park.” However, the New York Times saw no problem with what Spate was doing, as long as “the prices were regulated properly.”
Park Commissioner Clausen tried to defend his actions by telling the press there were always plenty of free benches for people to sit on, except, of course, on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays. The New York Tribune pointed out that those were the days with the biggest demand for seats in the parks.
As this issue became monumental, Spate became more resolute. He ordered that additional chairs be placed in Central Park and also in Madison Square Park, which was across the street from his office. Some people paid to sit, and those who didn't pay were unceremoniously thrown out of the chairs by Spate's thugs in gray suits.
Things quieted down for a few days, as few people protested paying for the seats.
That changed drastically on Wednesday, June 26, 1901, when the city's outside temperature rose above 90 degrees. By Saturday the temperature had risen to 94 degrees and 19 people had perished in New York City due to the insufferable conditions. The temperature reached 97 degrees on Sunday, making it the hottest day on record with the Weather Bureau since June of 1871. On Sunday, 15 more people died, and on Tuesday, with the temperature rising to 99 degrees, 200 deaths were reported. There were 317 heat-related deaths on Wednesday, which made, in the time period from June 28 to July 4, a total of 382 heat-related deaths in Manhattan alone, along with 521 hospitalizations for heat prostration. Altogether, in a seven-day period in the metropolitan district of New York City, which includes Manhatan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, and Richmond County, there were 797 deaths and 891 heat prostrations.
Things were so bad, that on July 2, the city's hospital ambulance drivers worked 24 hours straight with no time off.
With the city in a heat-related frenzy, harried people hurried to the city's parks, which were now ordered by the Park Commission to stay open all night. When people arrived at the parks, they discovered that many of the free benches were no longer there, and the ones that were still present in the parks had been moved into the sun, making them too hot to sit on.
However, Spate's green chairs were sitting nicely in the shade, making them more attractive to the people fighting the stifling heat.
On Saturday, July 6, the situation reached a boiling point.
A man sat in one of Spate's chairs in Madison Square Park, and he absolutely refused to pay the five cents that Spate's man, Thomas Tully, demanded. Finally, Tully pulled the chair out from under the man, and bedlam ensued.
An angry crowd surrounded Tully and began shouting, “Lynch him! He's Spate's man!”
Tully fought his way through the crowd and sped across the street to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he rushed upstairs and locked himself in a room. A crowd had gathered in the hotel lobby for about 30 minutes, when policemen arrived and escorted Tully from the hotel to wherever he called home.
Later that day, with the heat still beating down on the park-goers, another one of Spate's men evicted a boy who was sitting in one of Spate's chairs in Madison Square Park and had refused to pay the required five cents. An angry crowd attacked Spate's man, and when a policeman tried to intervene, he was dumped into the park's fountain. Spate’s man fled the park in fear, and after he did, delighted people began taking turns sitting in Spate's chairs (without paying, of course). When nightfall arrived, several people carried Spate's chairs home with them as trophies to grace their own living rooms.
The following day, Sunday, July 7, the uneasiness moved to Central Park, where a huge crowd gathered in defiance of Spate and his green rocking chairs. While two of Spate's men guarded Spate's precious chairs, the crowd marched perilously close to the chairs, cha
nting to the tune of Sweet Annie Moore:
We pay no more!
We pay no more!
No more we pay for park
Chairs anymore!
Clausen made a break
One summer's day.
And now he ain't
Commissioner no more!
As the crowd converged on the chairs, people, who had already paid for the right to sit, abandoned the chairs and fled from the park. One of Spate's men quit his job on the spot, and he also fled the park. However, another one of Spate's men continued to try to collect the chair fees. But he quit, too, after an angry old lady jabbed him in the back of the neck with a hairpin.
On Monday, July 8, Madison Square Park was the site of almost constant rioting. A dozen or so boys went from chair to chair, sitting for as long as they pleased, accompanied by an unruly crowd threatening to hang any of Spate's men who tried to collect any fees.
A brave and foolhardy Spate employee named Otto Berman slapped one boy in the face. The crowd surrounded Berman, and his life was saved by six policemen who bum-rushed Berman out of the park and into safety. Things had gotten so-out-of-control in Madison Square Park, police reinforcements were called in from the nearby West 30th Street police station.
In the late afternoon, two men occupied two of Spate's chairs and offered a thousand dollars to any of Spate's men who could evict them from the chairs.
Two of Spate's men jumped in and tried to collect the reward, but they were promptly beaten to a pulp by the two men, who turned out to the featherweight champion of the world Terry McGovern, and former fighter and then-boxing ring announcer Joe Humphreys.
The police stormed the park and arrested six rioters, whom they led in cuffs to the Thirtieth Street police station. The policemen and the arrestees were followed by a crowd estimated at 200 people, who were marching in lockstep and chanting:
