In May 1962, Barboza and Frizzi walked into Alphonso’s Clam House to check out a new lounge act when they encountered a red-headed gangster believed to be a bookie on the rise in the Boston suburb of Malden. Barboza and Frizzi took a table with their friend Skinny Spindale. Guy Frizzi gave the Malden bookie the once over and was not impressed.
“Fuck him,” Frizzi said to Barboza.
The red-headed shylock must have overheard the slight, because at that moment one of his companions walked over to Barboza’s table and ordered Skinny Spindale to put out his cigarette.
“We don’t wanna start no fire,” the man said.
The Animal sensed a problem and stepped in to try to defuse the situation. Barboza was on parole, after all.
“Look, we don’t want no trouble,” Joe told the man. “You want trouble, bother somebody else.”27
But the guy wanted trouble, and at that point so did Guy Frizzi. The two men began launching haymakers at each other in the middle of the club as patrons began to clear out. Barboza remained close by while the pair continued to slug it out. His eyes narrowed and his anger grew. Ferocity soon replaced his fear of violating parole and going back to prison. The Animal wrapped his thick hand around a beer bottle and smashed it on a table. He then lunged forward with the shank and stabbed the man in the back; the bottle’s broken edges lacerated the man’s skin under his coat. Much to Barboza’s disbelief, the man barely flinched and kept swinging at Frizzi, connecting with his nose and sending Guy’s eyeglasses flying through the air. Joe knew that his friend was blind without his glasses, so he decided to end the battle once and for all. The Animal stared over to the red-headed bookie, who seemed to be taking great pleasure in the violence.
“Fuck you and fuck Malden,” Barboza shouted.
The Animal then stepped in between Frizzi and the bookie’s henchman and knocked the man cold with two crushing blows.
Barboza was arrested and booked for assault and battery with a dangerous weapon. Surprisingly, he was not kept behind bars because of the parole violation. Instead, he was allowed back on the streets while the case against him was pending.
A few months later, one of Barboza’s bosses at Scooterland secured him a job at Duffy’s Tavern in the shadow of Paragon Park along Nantasket Beach in Hull, Massachusetts. Joe worked part-time as a bouncer during the busy summer season. The area was a breeding ground for fights, especially on those hot summer nights when temperatures rose and tempers flared. Joe kept a close watch on Duffy’s and the surrounding businesses. Young men looking to make names for themselves quickly learned to stay clear of Nantasket Beach on the nights Barboza was on duty. One group of young trouble makers did not get the message, however. Barboza spotted the gang huddled near the go-cart track, harassing the ride operator. Joe could have simply told the group to move along, but the Animal was not in a talking mood on that particular evening. Instead, he launched himself at all seven men, knocking down the two biggest guys he could find. A friend of Joe’s also joined in the melee. Barboza looked over to his buddy and was caught off guard by the gang’s biggest guy, who managed to wrap him in a tight bear hug. Joe’s powerful arms were now pinned against his sides as the thug continued to squeeze. What Joe’s opponent did not realize, however, was the fact that Barboza had learned during his many years in prison to use every part of his body as a weapon. Joe broke one arm free and grabbed the guy’s head and pulled it toward him. The Animal opened his mouth wide and chomped down on his opponent’s face, tearing away a part of his cheek. Barboza easily broke free as the young thug covered the gaping wound on the side of his face. Police sirens wailed and the Animal fled into the darkness with the metallic taste of fresh blood on his lips.
Barboza’s reputation as a wild thing spread like wildfire across the South Shore. It was the kind of attention that he could ill afford, especially with the assault and battery case still pending against him in Boston. Police in Hull began taking an interest in the fierce young man who had been hired to keep the peace at Duffy’s Tavern. Joe did not help his situation when he ran afoul of a high-ranking cop in town. Barboza had broken the jaw of the officer’s son during a scuffle outside the bar. When word reached the Hull police station, the officer threatened to send Joe back to prison unless he was paid $2,000. Barboza’s boxing manager offered the cop $1,000, and the deal was sealed. The cop would keep quiet if Joe left Nantasket Beach for good.
Barboza moved back to East Boston and back in with his wife, Fay, although their relationship was anything but Ozzie and Harriet. The couple barely spent time together, as Joe had no interest in domestication. The relationship was also strained by the fact that Fay had suffered a miscarriage early in the marriage. The news devastated Joe, and he began spending more time alone or on the streets, where the environment heightened his senses as well as his instinct for survival. Fay was looking for a tabby cat that would stay close to her home and her kids, but Joe was a tiger that yearned to be on the prowl both day and night.
Barboza was now working tirelessly on his pursuit of two dreams. He was growing a lucrative shylock business in hopes of building enough underworld equity to get him noticed by local leaders of La Cosa Nostra. With his money working for him on the street, Barboza could dedicate the rest of his time to training to become a legitimate light heavyweight contender. The world champion at the time was a Philadelphia slugging machine named Harold “Hercules” Johnson. Johnson, although highly skilled, had weathered a series of grueling bouts against boxing legends Archie Moore and Jersey Joe Walcott. Barboza and many others believed that the champ was on the downside of his career and that the field was open to any man with a concrete chin, thunderous punch, and a willingness to win at any cost.
Barboza had his first big fight and his first major setback at the fabled Boston Garden on September 23, 1961, just three days after his twenty-ninth birthday. The Animal, who had chosen the ring moniker the Baron, was matched against a block of granite from Boise, Idaho, named Don Bale. The two were fighting on the undercard of a televised bout between Paolo Rossi and Jackie Donnelly. Bale had been fighting professionally since 1959 and had collected ten wins against eight losses before facing Barboza. Bale was coming off two straight losses and had something to prove. Barboza hadn’t fought competitively in nearly two years, and the rust showed when he stepped into the ring against a much more seasoned opponent. The two men appeared to be evenly matched during the early rounds, as each offered the other a taste of his overwhelming power. At the fight’s midway point, however, Barboza’s ring rust began to show, and Bale seized upon Joe’s flaws to pin him against the ropes. Bale caught Barboza with a vicious shot to his lantern chin, causing Joe’s knees to buckle. The Animal hit the canvas, an unfamiliar place for him, and was counted out before he could get back to his feet. The stunning defeat before the hometown crowd could have been a crushing blow to Barboza, but instead he rebounded with six straight wins, four that came by knockout. Don Bale, on the other hand, could not parlay his win over Barboza into much future success. In his next fight, which also took place at the Boston Garden, Bale was cut badly during a loss against another Boston area slugger, Joe DeNucci, who would go on to become the longest serving state auditor in Massachusetts history.
Barboza sparred more than a hundred rounds with DeNucci inside the dilapidated New Gardens Gym on Friend Street. Although the Animal had great affection for DeNucci, the two were rivals in the gym. DeNucci was a more polished boxer than Barboza and toyed with him in the ring. Angry and frustrated, Barboza would curse DeNucci incessantly, which would only open himself up to more punishing blows. But the Animal respected DeNucci and did not let his anger flow outside the ropes. That wasn’t the case when he faced off against another rising pugilist named Cardell Farmos. Farmos was taller, stronger, and quicker than Barboza, and it seemed that his gloved right hand was conjoined to Joe’s chin over much of their three sparring rounds. Finally, Barboza had had enough. He jumped out of the ring before the final bell sounded and
headed for the locker room. Moments later, the Animal returned waving a pistol. Joe chased Farmos around the gym until the boxer sought refuge behind the heavy bag. As other fighters also ducked for cover, Joe DeNucci stepped forward and successfully calmed Barboza down.
Joe Barboza’s penchant for violence outside the ring certainly curtailed any possible success inside the ring. While celebrating a recent boxing win with friends at Boston’s Peppermint Lounge, pals Guy and Connie Frizzi got into a scuffle with another man that spilled outside onto the curb. One of the Frizzi brothers stabbed the man, who immediately pulled out a gun and began firing. Barboza’s crew escaped unscathed but became wanted men the next day when it was learned that the victim was a decorated Boston police officer and war hero. The newspapers milked the story for all it was worth. One reporter wrote that the officer was stabbed while investigating loansharks. The article was accompanied by a photo of the officer’s wife waiting bravely by his side at the hospital.
“That isn’t the girl he was with at the Peppermint Lounge,” Joe muttered to himself as he gazed at the newspaper photo. Barboza could barely get the words out before Boston police officers were blocking his street and storming his front door. They brought him to the District 4 police station, where he was grilled through the night. The investigators told Barboza that several witnesses had placed him at the scene of the crime. Joe claimed that he didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Despite his refusal to offer any information, the cops treated him well. Most of the officers were boxing fans and had seen his name on the fight cards at the Garden. Still, one of their own had been stabbed, and Boston police were going to find the culprit no matter how long it took. They escorted Barboza to a waiting squad car and drove him over to City Hospital, where the officer was recovering from his stab wounds. A handcuffed Barboza was escorted past the officer’s scowling wife and into his hospital room. The officer’s mouth curled into a slight smile. He recognized the Animal immediately.
“Did you see me in the Peppermint Lounge?” he asked Barboza.28
“Yessir, but it wasn’t with the girl standing outside this door.”
The smile disappeared from the officer’s face.
“This isn’t one of the men,” the officer told investigators. “He’s too big.”
The cops escorted Barboza out of the hospital room and unlocked the handcuffs. The Animal was free to go.
The freedom and fortune of good luck did not last long, however. Barboza was sent back to prison in September 1962 for numerous parole violations. The Animal had another two years to serve on his original sentence, and serve them he did. He would not be released until April 30, 1964. During that time, the climate of Boston and the underworld began to shift dramatically.
8
War
And the wars go on with brainwashed pride
GUNS N’ ROSES
It all began with a trickle of blood dripping off a young thug’s face inside a quaint little cottage on Salisbury Beach at the northernmost tip of Massachusetts. Once it hit the ground, the trickle of blood formed a small stream that gained strength as it flowed southward, eventually growing into a raging river of red when it finally reached the streets Somerville and Charlestown. The war had been started over a woman. It is a story as old as time, as empires have been won and lost over the pursuit of softer flesh. There is nothing remotely romantic, however, about the incident that triggered the Irish mob war. It came down to two simple yet dangerous things—booze and broads. Amid the colorful backdrop of saltwater taffy shops, penny arcades, and waterfront pizza stands, a group of low-level Irish gangsters gathered to soak up the sun on their pale skin and drink into the wee hours of the morning. It was September 2, 1961, in the throes of the Labor Day weekend celebration, when twenty-two-year-old Georgie McLaughlin of Charlestown demonstrated his liquid courage by reaching out and grabbing the breast of the attractive wife of Bill Hickey, a Somerville Teamster and associate of the local Winter Hill Gang. The wife did not appreciate the unwanted advance, and neither did her husband.
Hickey and his Teamster buddy George “Red” Lloyd pounced on McLaughlin with flying fists, elbows, and knees. McLaughlin suffered a deep cut on his right cheek, but that was an overt sign that only hinted at more serious injuries. By the time the Teamsters were done with him, Georgie had also suffered a busted nose, broken jaw, and fractured elbow. He was unconscious, and neither Hickey nor Lloyd could find a pulse. The attackers feared McLaughlin was dead, and that was not good news. Georgie’s older brothers, Bernie and Punchy, ran the rackets in Charlestown and would no doubt seek revenge. Bernie McLaughlin was a loanshark and leg breaker for Jerry Angiulo, while his brother Punchy was a psychotic former boxer who was prone to violence to settle even the most minor dispute.
Hickey and Lloyd had to dispose of the body quickly, so they carried their victim out of the cottage and stuffed him in the backseat of a car. The men drove off in search of a quiet, out of the way spot to dump the body. They were driving along a desolate beach-side road with headlights dimmed when Georgie McLaughlin suddenly came back from the dead and popped his battered head up in the backseat. McLaughlin was dazed, confused, and mumbling to himself as he tried to gain his bearings. Hickey and Lloyd gave each other a concerned look as they jerked the car around and headed south. They drove to nearby Newburyport and pulled up to the entrance of Anna Jacques Hospital, where they spilled McLaughlin out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk near the entrance. The men then took off, hanging on to the faint hope that McLaughlin had been too drunk to remember what had happened and how he had ended up in the emergency room.
When Georgie finally came around, his brothers were at his bedside seething with anger. Bernie and Punchy demanded to know who had not only beaten their brother in savage fashion but who had ultimately disrespected their crew. Georgie pointed the guilty finger at Hickey and Lloyd, who were both known associates of Winter Hill Gang leader James “Buddy” McLean. The McLaughlin brothers combed the streets of Somerville for several days looking for Lloyd and Hickey, who had both gone AWOL from the neighborhood. Finally they approached Buddy McLean, a strapping six footer with an impish grin, and asked him for a favor.
“I want you to help me set up these guys that beat up Georgie,” Bernie McLaughlin asked his Somerville counterpart.29
“Listen, I’m friends with you and I’m friends with those guys,” McLean tried to reason. “I don’t set up my friends.”
“You’re still friends with those motherfuckers after what they did to Georgie?” Bernie asked, getting angrier by the minute.
“From what I hear, Georgie was way outta line,” McLean countered. Buddy then told Bernie McLaughlin that he did not want to get involved. The cavalier statement made Buddy the enemy in Bernie McLaughlin’s eyes.
Several nights later, Buddy McLean’s wife was awakened by the sound of barking dogs out on the street. The wife got out of bed and opened the window and saw three men huddled around her husband’s car. She alerted Buddy, who jumped out of bed, grabbed his Luger, and crept out the back door. Still in his boxer shorts, McLean took position behind a large bush adjacent to his house. Buddy raised the Luger and fired in the direction of the intruders, who immediately fired back. McLean chased the three men down the road and caught a glimpse of one intruder under a bright street lamp. Buddy recognized the man immediately—it was Bernie McLaughlin. McLaughlin and his two accomplices jumped into a waiting car and took off. The stench of burned rubber was still fresh in Buddy’s nostrils as he made his way back to his house. He approached his automobile with the concerned look of a physician inspecting his patient. McLean immediately spotted the car’s malignant tumor, which took the form of five sticks of dynamite wired to the ignition switch. The booby trap had certainly been meant for him, but Buddy could not think of himself at that moment. Instead, he thought of his wife and their children, who most certainly would have been killed when they took the car to school the next morning.
The next day, wh
en the clock struck noon on Halloween, October 31, 1961, Buddy McLean stepped out of a black Oldsmobile in Charlestown’s City Square. He caught up with Bernie McLaughlin directly in front of the police station, pulled out a shotgun, and fired a shot into the back of his enemy’s head. Dozens of witnesses stood watching as McLean, wearing a Charlestown “Townie” football jacket, fled the scene in the Oldsmobile with its trunk open to conceal the license plate. Buddy McLean was arrested a short time later inside a Somerville donut shop along with his alleged accomplices, an off-duty Metropolitan police officer named Russ Nicholson and a young thug named Alex “Bobo” Petricone.
When it came time to empanel a grand jury to hear the case, no witness would identify McLean, Nicholson, and Petricone as the men who had gunned down Bernie McLaughlin, and the case went away. Nicholson, the former cop, was eventually gunned down himself, while Petricone traveled west to Hollywood and changed his name to Alex Rocco. Under the name Alex Rocco, Petricone would go on to land memorable roles as Las Vegas casino owner Moe Green in The Godfather and as Jimmy Scalise in the 1973 Boston-based gangster film The Friends of Eddie Coyle, opposite Robert Mitchum.
Punchy McLaughlin could not exact his pound of flesh from Buddy McLean himself, as Buddy was shipped off to prison for a two-year stint on a weapons charge unrelated to Bernie McLaughlin’s murder. Instead, the McLaughlin Gang went after Winter Hill member George “Ox” Joynt, a first-generation Irish-American whose parents had emigrated from Limerick. Ox was a well-known brawler who served as muscle for the Winter Hill crew. Joynt disappeared a short time after Bernie McLaughlin’s murder. His remains were discovered nearly a year later on a hot July day in 1962 when a work crew dug up his bones while building a new shopping center in Wellington Circle in Medford, Massachusetts.
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