Surviving the Mob

by Dennis Griffin

“Within a day or so, I was out of reception and into general population. I hit the main yard and was immediately greeted by Joey Urgitano, whose father was a wiseguy with the Harlem crew of the Lucchese crime family. He said he’d spoken to Teddy Persico’s girlfriend on the phone. She told him I was coming, so he was there to extend the olive branch. He told me I missed Teddy by a week. He was serving twenty years for a drug-related offense and had been transferred to Elmira [Correctional Facility] for disciplinary reasons. Joey was a great kid with a heart as big as any I ever saw. He was kind and had courage and we soon became the best of friends. Within days we both got permission to correspond with Teddy.

  “After about a month in Coxsackie, I learned the politics of the place—who was who, where I was welcome, and where I wasn’t. Joey, another guy from our neighborhood named Phil ‘Fat Philly’ Stasio, and me soon became inseparable. On the weekend we had jobs in the school building working for a sergeant who was also from the neighborhood. He was related to the Randazzo family that ran a very popular restaurant in Sheepshead Bay. Almost immediately, me and the sergeant became very good friends. On my birthday in November, he brought me a cake from outside. He even let us cook pasta and other Italian dishes. This was obviously a great arrangement for us. But it caused jealousy among the other white inmates who resented us for our connection.”

  As Andrew got acclimated to prison life, he learned many valuable lessons about how the system worked. They included not only what he needed to do to make his life easier, but also the pitfalls he had to avoid.

  EXTORTION, CORRUPTION,

  AND HOMOSEXUALITY

  In society in general and prison in particular, the strong prey upon the weak. If an inmate is gullible or doesn’t have the physical skills or lacks the will to defend himself, he becomes a target for the predators lurking all around him. He can be taken advantage of through violence or the threat of violence, or in more subtle ways. Andrew saw both methods in action.

  “When I was at Coxsackie, the Hispanic inmates represented the majority, probably around fifty percent. Blacks were a bit behind, say forty percent or so. White inmates were the distinct minority at about ten percent. That disadvantage made it critical that we stuck together and let it be known there were no soft touches among us. But some inmates just weren’t cut out to be in the prison environment. And they weren’t just whites. They came in all colors. Those that didn’t measure up were destined to become victims. That’s just the way it was.

  “When a new inmate arrived, he was watched closely by the other cons. They learned who he hung out with, whether he had any connections, if he was willing to stick up for himself. Then they found out if he had any money, how much was in his commissary account. If the guy had some buying power and was short on balls, he was targeted.

  “One way to get to him would be to befriend him. The guy making the move would start talking with him. He’d ask, ‘Where you from? Whatcha in for? How long?’ All nice and friendly, just like he really gave a fuck. And then he’d get around to talking about commissary day—when it is, how much you can spend, what’s good to purchase that can be used as prison money. Things like tuna, cigarettes, cookies, and coffee. After that comes the hook. He says that since you’re new and won’t be able to go to commissary for a few days, as your new friend he’ll front you some stuff until you can shop for yourself. Here are some cookies. Here’s a pack of smokes. And when you go to the store next week, you can pay me back three packs of cigarettes and two boxes of cookies. Once the mark agrees to that, the door is wide open.

  “The old protection racket probably comes next. See those guys over there? They’re looking to hurt you. For a carton of smokes I can protect you.

  “And there’s the more direct way to get the new guy’s stuff. The real wild bunch will just wait for him to leave commissary and attack him on the way back to his unit. If he doesn’t put up a fight, they’ll rob him every time he goes to the store. Those things happen all the time in prison.”

  Andrew believes corruption is inherent in the criminal-justice system. Below he explains the reasons for his feelings.

  “As far as local jails, such as the Brooklyn House of Detention before it was closed and Riker’s Island, corruption was in the everyday fabric of the institution. For instance, many of the correction officers are African-American and some live in the same housing developments where a lot of the prisoners they’re in charge of come from. The gangs these inmates are associated with make it pretty simple, ‘We know you and we know your family. You do what we want, like bring in drugs and money or arrange sexual visits, or we’ll hurt your family.’ I know that some guards have actually been initiated into the gangs.

  “In the state and federal facilities, the corruption runs a little different. At Sing Sing during the eighties, if you had two hundred dollars and the right connection, you could have a steak dinner and get laid. As for Coxsackie, that one sergeant was looking out for me and my friends. He gave us the best jobs and arranged special assignments, like going to the school building on Sundays, so we could cook pasta dinners. And he brought me that birthday cake from a pastry shop in my old neighborhood.

  “When Nicky and Lenny were in the MDC [the federal Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn], they had a guard on the payroll for five hundred a week. He brought them food and alcohol from the outside and arranged for them to have extra visits. He even looked into guys’ cases to see who was cooperating against them or the crew. He was one of about ten officers ultimately arrested at the MDC after an investigation into corruption at that facility. Nicky and Lenny were put in the hole until they were transferred to a federal prison.”

  The general perception among the public is that most prison inmates are gang raped or engage in homosexual activity at some point. However, Andrew didn’t find that kind of activity to be as prevalent as one might think.

  “I can only tell you what I saw over the years I was incarcerated. But before I get into that, let me say this: The first rules of thumb in prison are don’t gamble, don’t fuck around with drugs, and don’t mess with the homos. It’s best for the new inmate if he knows that coming in or learns it damn quick. If he does, he’ll avoid about eighty-five percent of the prison problems. And people need to understand that a lot of the homos in prison aren’t the weak sissy-types you might find on the streets. They’re some very dangerous individuals who will kill in a heartbeat. If the new inmate starts playing their game, he’s taking a big chance.

  “That said, my take on homosexuality in prison is that there are two types of homos. You have your flaming type, the kind who flaunts his sexual orientation. This is the guy who alters his prison uniform and personal appearance to be what he thinks is sexier and more appealing. He wears lipstick, has his hair in a ponytail, the whole bit. The other type is the tough guy who’s doing a very long sentence. His attitude about his acts is, ‘Hey, I’m just livin’ in the moment. I have to get my ass any way I can, but I’m not really gay.’ These guys live in denial. They figure that if they’re the dominant partner in the relationship, they’ve kept their manhood. I find it ridiculous, but that’s the way a lot of them think.

  “For the most part, I’ve never seen the gang rapes that movies and television show so much. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. But in my years away, I noticed that most of the guys who got turned out were curious to begin with—making friends with individuals they knew from first sight were homos. A lot of very young kids who come through the system think if they can dominate a homosexual relationship, they’ll prove their prowess. So they start hanging out with the homos, looking for someone they can control. But in the end, they become the victims.

  “I’ve seen many so-called tough guys doing long stretches get hurt trying to take another tough guy’s homo partner. Lifers will kill to get or keep a steady partner. Anyone who threatens those kinds of relationships is dealt with violently. I’d say that about ninety percent of the submissive partners come into the system already gay or
with gay tendencies. The rest get turned out after they get inside.”

  JEALOUSY AND VIOLENCE

  The animosity some of the other inmates felt toward Andrew and his friends over their perceived special treatment by the sergeant festered for several weeks. Tensions boiled over in early December, a time Andrew remembers vividly.

  “I knew trouble was brewing when Patty O’Keefe approached me. He said our school jobs had to stop, that correction officers were the enemy and our cozy relationship with the sergeant didn’t look good. And then a guy was caught trying to smuggle drugs into the facility. The apprehending officer was our sergeant friend. Almost immediately, rumors began to circulate that Fat Philly had given him the information about the drugs. In reality, that was bullshit. It was all about jealousy. Some of the other white inmates just couldn’t stand the idea that me and my friends had a good deal going.

  “A few days later, we were out in the yard. It was snowing that day with about six inches of snow on the ground. Patty asked Joey Urgitano to take a walk with him to talk about the drug thing. I watched them as they walked across the yard. I could tell there was a heated exchange of words and then Patty hit Joey. Joey fell to the ground and Patty jumped on top of him. I ran through the snow toward them as fast as I could and pulled Patty off Joey. Patty started swinging at me and we exchanged blows. Joey got to his feet and tried to go after Patty with an ice pick he’d had concealed in his clothes. But in the melee he wasn’t able to get close enough to use it. And then one of Patty’s friends joined the fight.

  “As we were scuffling, someone grabbed me from behind in a bear hug. I reached behind me, grabbed the guy’s hair, and flipped him over my neck. When he hit the ground in front of me, I saw it was a goddamn correction officer. He was screaming in pain and I saw his arm was bent in two directions. Then the response team swarmed us. Me and Joey were handcuffed and taken to the prison assembly area, then to the nurse’s office where we were stripped down and photographed. And then my troubles really began.

  “I was taken to the bathroom and placed in one of the stalls with my hands cuffed above my head. The goon squad then went to work on me with fists and nightsticks for hurting one of their own. They beat me until I was a bloody mess and unable to stand. After what seemed like an eternity, they carried me to the Special Housing Unit, otherwise known as the Hole. When we got there, they put me down and told me I had to walk the rest of the way and carry my property that they’d taken from my cell. I was in tremendous pain and as I walked, I called the officers everything I could think of. That brought on an additional beating. Here I was after only a couple of months in the facility, facing charges for assaulting an officer and a shitload of time in Special Housing.

  “At my hearing a few days later, I was sentenced to eighteen months in the Hole. Eighteen fuckin’ months! I intentionally shot a guy in the goddamn head and got a short end of five years. They gave me almost a third as much for something that was an accident. It was ridiculous. I told the hearing officer what I thought of his decision, that I intended to file an appeal and that I’d win.

  “Four months later it was determined that my civil rights had been violated and an order issued that I be released from the Hole immediately. They had to let me out, but they weren’t real happy about it. They wanted to give me another tuning up before I left the unit. I told them that if another officer raised his hand to me, I’d arrange to have him shot after he got off work. I said if they didn’t believe I had the connections to make that happen, all they had to do was read my file. After that, staff left me alone like I had the plague.

  “So I got back into population and Joey wasn’t charged for possession of the ice pick he tried to use on Patty. In fact, the weapon was never found that I know of. I can’t prove it, but I’ll always believe our buddy the sergeant made that ice pick disappear.”

  RESOLUTION

  Upon Andrew’s return to general population, he was reunited with his friends Joey Urgitano and Fat Philly. But as the euphoria of being out of the Hole wore off, Andrew realized that the root cause of the December incident was still smoldering under the surface.

  That feeling was confirmed by Joey Urgitano, who told Andrew that the animosity from December was rising out of control. Any day things were going to pop between them and Patty O’Keefe’s small group, who seemed to be Italian haters. So they made preparations to protect themselves and got ready for what was sure to come. It didn’t take long.

  “The following Sunday, we were in the school building where church services were held. As we waited for Patty’s unit to arrive, Joey positioned himself on one side of the hallway and Philly was on the other. I was in the middle of the corridor. When Patty came in and saw me standing in front of him, it was on. Like a shot out of a gun, Patty came at me. Joey blindsided him and stabbed him twice with an ice pick. Then Philly—all three hundred pounds of him—came crashing down on him. The Irishman had no chance. I was just joining in when the response team was on us. Patty was rushed to the infirmary. Joey, Philly, and me were put in lockdown pending a full investigation. Within two days of the incident, Joey was transferred to Elmira and Philly was sent to the maximum-security Southport Correctional Facility. Mysteriously, again Joey’s ice pick was never found. I stayed at Coxsackie in lockdown. Patty stayed in the infirmary for two or three days and was released back into population.

  “The night-shift watch commander tried to get me to cooperate by providing information against Joey and Philly. I told him to go fuck himself with his false promises. I said he didn’t even have the juice to get himself off the night shift, much less make deals for anybody else. They were unable to find a weapon or anybody to talk, so when the investigation was over, nobody got charged. Not me, not Joey, and not Philly.

  “Because I wasn’t charged in this case and my previous guilty finding had been reversed, I was automatically eligible for assignment to a medium-security prison. About two days after getting out of lockdown, I was transferred to the Hudson Correctional Facility. I never saw or heard of Patty O’Keefe again.”

  HUDSON

  The improvement in Andrew’s life after his transfer to Hudson Correctional Facility was dramatic. If a man had to do time in a state prison, he was convinced this was the place to do it.

  He realized almost immediately he was actually going to like the place. He was there only a few minutes before he was greeted by some friends he’d made in Coxsackie. After that, he was amazed how much more freedom the inmates had. Within a year he was made secretary of the inmate Italian-American organization. They held fundraisers and he used the money to have festivals during the summer. Each member of the organization could invite his family to attend. Everybody ate together, took photos, and listened to music.

  “I was with a tremendous bunch of guys in Hudson,” Andrew recalls. “One of them was a capo in the Genovese family named Danny Pagano. We hit it off really well. He was a gentleman and an all-around great guy. My family and Danny’s sent us hundred-pound packages of food once a month. That was enough for us and our little clique to have nice dinners every night.

  “Another one of the guys from Coxsackie named Joey Jacona became a great friend of mine. Once in a while Joey and a few of the other guys would make homemade wine for all of us. We had a lot of fun. It was still prison, but all things considered, it wasn’t that bad.”

  Andrew’s life behind bars was tolerable overall and sometimes even enjoyable. However, as the months passed and he got closer to eligibility for work release and then parole, he experienced some disappointments. He also had to start thinking about his other life, as an associate of the Gambino family and a member of Nicky Corozzo’s crew. It was a life he’d be rejoining at some point and all was far from rosy on that front.

  In 1992, Andrew became eligible for work release, but he was denied because of the violent nature of his crime. It was frustrating to watch everyone around him getting into the program or out on parole. Also, by this point his relationship with D
ina was distant at best. She hadn’t been to see him in months and he’d stopped calling her at all.

  In fact, around that time a couple of crew members came to visit and give him some advice. They said he needed to get a divorce the minute he got out of prison. It was their way of telling Andrew his wife was being unfaithful. Then word got back to him that Nicky had seen Dina outside Gambino capo John “Jackie the Nose” D’Amico’s social club. When he asked her what she was doing there, she turned white as a sheet and made up a story that she was waiting for a friend.

  “I didn’t really care about Dina anymore. My only concern was for my son. But I was livid about Nicky and Jackie getting involved in my personal life. And I felt the crew had betrayed me too. It seemed that when there was bad news from the street that my wife was fuckin’ around on me, they couldn’t get there fast enough to tell me. But what about the promise they made to me about Sammy Karkis? It was going on three years and he was still alive.

  “I sent a letter out with one of my visitors for Mike Yannotti. In it I expressed my anger that after all we’d been through together, they hadn’t fulfilled the promise they made to me before I was incarcerated. That letter apparently pissed Mike off. We didn’t communicate for the whole year and I didn’t speak to anybody else from the crew either. The only people I kept up with were my few friends from other crime families, such as Robert Arena, Teddy Persico, and Joey Urgitano. We wrote to each other once a week. As far as I was concerned, I wouldn’t ask Nicky or the crew for anything ever again.”

  While Andrew was in prison, two other things occurred that later impacted his life in major ways. First, gangland strife broke out in 1991 in what became known as the Colombo War. Second, on June 19, 1992, Guardian Angel founder Curtis Sliwa was shot in the back seat of a taxi while on the way to do his early-morning radio talk show at WABC-AM. According to a New York Times article the following day, Sliwa was the victim of a well-planned attack.