Joe Bruno on the Mob – Big Paul Castellano

He was one of the most disliked mob bosses of all time, with a superiority complex second to none. However, if Paul Castellano had been street-smart like any Mafia boss should be, he might not have been executed so easily and so publicly.

Paul Castellano was born Constantino Paul Castellano on June 26, 1915, in Brooklyn, New York. Castellano did not like his given first name, so he insisted that everyone call him Paul instead. Castellano’s parents were both born in Sicily, and his father was a butcher, with a little illegal numbers business on the side. Castellano’s father was also a early member of the Mangano Crime Family, which was created by Salvatore Maranzano after the killing of Joe “The Boss” Masseria, and the ending of the Castellamarese War.

Castellano dropped out of the school after the eighth grade and went to work in both of his father’s businesses. In 1934, when Castellano was only 19-years-old, Castellano and two of his buddies decided to commit an armed robbery of a local business. However, things went awry, and when the police arrived on the scene, his two friends escaped, but Big Paul, as he was called (Castellano was six-foot-three, and in his prime weighed over 275 pounds), was caught by the police. Castellano refused to rat on his colleagues and was hit with a three-month bit in the slammer. When he returned to the mean streets of Brooklyn, Castellano’s reputation was enhanced by his refusal to cooperate with the police.

In 1937, at the age of 22, Castellano married his childhood sweetheart Nina Manno, who was the sister-in-law of Carlo Gambino. They eventually had three sons — Paul, Philip, Joseph, and a daughter Connie.

In 1940, Castellano was inducted as a made member of the Mangano Crime Family, the same crime family his first cousin Carlo Gambino was already a captain in. In fact, Castellano and Gambino were so close, Gambino even married Castellano’s sister Catherine (marrying first cousins was not uncommon amongst the Sicilians). After Mangano was knocked off in 1951 by his underboss Albert Anastasia, Anastasia took control of the Mangano Family and changed the name to the Anastasia Family. Anastasia also bumped up Big Paul to the ranked of captain. In 1957, when Anastasia was killed by rival Vito Genovese, Gambino took over the Anastasia Family, changed the name to the Gambino Family, and inserted his cousin Paul Castellano as one of his right-hand men.

November 17, 1957, Genovese called for a huge summit of all the Mafia men in America to take place in Appalachian, New York, at the home of Mafia member Joseph Barbara. There were several items on Genovese’s agenda, but the most important one was to declare himself “Capo Di Tutti Capi,” or “Boss of All Bosses.” However, the wily Gambino knew that the local state police would be tipped off to the meeting, so he stayed away, and instead sent his cousin Paul to take the heat. When the state police raided the Barbara residence, dozens of mobsters tried to escape by jumping out of windows and running through the woods in their expensive suits and patent leather shoes. But not Castellano. Big Paul surrendered without a fight, and was sentenced to a year in prison for refusing to tell the police the purpose of the meeting.

After his marriage to Nina, Paul prospered in the family meat businesses, and by the 1950’s, he owned several businesses, including Blue Ribbon Meats, Ranbar Packing Inc., and The Pride Wholesale Meat and Poultry Corporation. According to Jonathan Kwitney’s book Vicious Circles, “The Castellanos owned many meat stores and distributorships in Brooklyn and in Manhattan. They had a long record of welching on debts; of suffering suspicious hijackings, which can lead to insurance claims; of selling goods that were later found to have been stolen off docks or trucks, and of cheating other firms by receiving the assets of companies about to go into bankruptcy proceedings.”

Whereas Castellano gave the airs of a successful businessman, issuing a death warrant was certainly not beneath his character. Castellano once ordered the death of an underling, because the man had the audacity to say Castellano looked like chicken magnate Frank Purdue (Perdue was famous for his chicken-like face splashed across the screen in his TV commercials, where he pronounced, “It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken.”). In the mid 70’s, Perdue was having trouble getting his chickens in the New York City weekly supermarket advertisement circulars. Someone whispered in Perdue’s ear, and soon he signed a distribution deal with Dial Poultry, owned by two of Castellano’s sons. From that point on, Perdue had no trouble advertising and selling his chickens in the New York market.

To show he would not allow anyone in his blood family to be abused in any way, Castellano’s son-in-law Frank Amato disappeared from the face of the earth after Castellano discovered Amato was beating Castellano’s pregnant daughter Connie, and cheating on her on the side. As a display of familial compassion, Castellano did wait for his daughter’s divorce to become final before he gave the order to vaporize Amato.

Castellano, with the blessing of his cousin Carlo Gambino, was also heavy into the shylocking business. Unfortunately, in 1973, one of his street “lenders,” Arthur “Fat Artie” Berardelli, free on bail while appealing convictions for fraud and selling counterfeit securities, was pinched by the Feds — again for fraud. The FBI, led by field agents James Kallstrom and Frank Frattolillio, put the screws to Berardelli and convinced him if he didn’t cooperate with the feds, he would spend big time in prison. Berardelli, who was represented by a legal aid attorney, listen to his attorney’s advice and became a stool-pigeon.

After giving the feds a list of those in charge of the loansharking enterprise he was involved with, Berardelli finally agreed to wear a wire. He did so while speaking with “Little Paul” Castellano, the younger cousin of Big Paul, and one of the chief loansharking operators who answered to Big Paul. Even though Little Paul was fluently versed in “mob-speak” (a mob dialect when you speak vaguely about everything, and constantly refer to items called “that thing”), it was obvious from the taped conversations that Beradelli had borrowed large amounts of money from Little Paul, and that Little Paul was to continue to receive his “vig payments,” even after Beradelli went to prison. Little Paul also made in clear (in mob-speak) that his older cousin Big Paul was overseeing the entire operation.

In March 1975, Beradelli wore a wire while speaking with Big Paul Castellano. But Big Paul was a excellent in mob-speak himself, and even though everything that was captured on tape was consistent with the notion that Big Paul Castellano was indeed the big cheese in the loansharking operation, Big Paul said nothing on tape that could conclusively connect him to any wrong-doing – at least nothing the Feds could take Big Paul to court with.

Right about this time, Beradelli’s wife found out that her husband was speaking to the feds. Beradelli’s wife was a Gambino cousin (isn’t everyone?), and she immediately berated her husband — calling him a “rat.” This left Beradelli with no choice but to refuse to testify in court against any mob figures that may be indicted in the loansharking case.

Beradelli later said, “If I had gone against her, I would have lost her and the children forever.”

As a result of his failure to see the deal though till the end, instead of getting no prison time, Berardelli was sentence to two years in prison on the original fraud charges. Because he did garner some very important information on the tapes he did make, the second fraud charges against Beradelli were dropped.

On June 30, 1975, nine people were indicted on loansharking by the government. These men included Big Paul Castellano, Little Paul Castellano, and another cousin Joseph Castellano. Before the trial began, Little Paul Castellano pleaded guilty. Because he was a relatively small fish in a big pond, Little Paul only got four months in the slammer and a $5,000 fine. The government tried to force Berardelli to testify at the trial, which included their intended target – the Big Fish himself — Big Paul Castellano, but Berardelli refused. Judge Bartels then ordered Berardelli to testify, gicving him immunity from prosecution. Berardelli still refused, and as a result of Berardelli’s non-cooperation, all the defendants walked scot-free, including Big Paul Castellano. Judge Bartels then threw the book at Berardelli, sentencing him to five years in prison for contempt-of-court.

By 1975, Carlo Gambino was obviously very ill from a severe heart condition. If Gambino died, the favorite on the streets to take over the Gambino Family was Aniello Dellacroce, a hardened criminal and Gambino’s second-in-command. Dellacroce was a respected man, who had allegedly taken part in several “pieces of work,” or murders, and according to Mafia rules, was, in fact, supposed to be promoted to boss instead of Castellano. Dellacroce had the backing of all the major Gambino street crews, including Carmine Fatico’s men at the Bergin Hunt and Fish Club in Queens.

However, Gambino wanted to keep things in the family, and to the consternation of many, he anointed Paul Castellano to be his successor as the head of the Gambino Family. As a result, there was outrage from the street soldiers, who saw Castellano as nothing more than a greedy snob, who thought he was stratospherically above the common street soldiers who were kicking up all the money to the bosses up top. Whereas most captains demanded 10% of the street soldier’s take, Castellano wanted 15% of any scheme his men were involved with.

Things came to a head, when on October 15, 1976, Carlo Gambino finally died and Castellano was officially inducted as the Gambino boss. Street men, like tough John Gotti, bristled at the choice, and were hardly placated when Dellacroce, as a consolation prize, was given control of all of the lucrative Manhattan Gambino street rackets. Dellacroce, an old school Mafioso, who went by the credo that a bosses’ word should never be challenged, was he only person who was keeping his crew from a devastating and bloody mutiny against Castellano and his allies.

Whereby Gambino had lived in an inconspicuous house in Brooklyn, Castellano build himself a mansion on trendy Todt Hill in Staten Island. Todt Hill, which meant in Dutch “Death Hill,” was the highest track of land in the entire borough of Staten Island. The 17-room house was build with stone and stucco, and was painted entirely white, with two white columns majestically standing out front, looking suspiciously like the White House in Washington, D.C (The Gambino street crews snidely referred to Castellano’s home as “The White House.”). The house was completely surrounded by tall wrought-iron fences, and armed with the most sophisticated of burglar alarms. If this wasn’t enough to discourage intruders, Castellano had ferocious Dobermans patrolling inside the perimeter, viciously leaping at the fences if anyone, including the mailman, came near the house.

In late 1978, Castellano further infuriated the men who were loyal to Dellacroce when he set up a meeting between himself, his top captains, and the two boss members of the violent Irish “Westies” gang from Manhattan’s Hells Kitchen: Jimmy Coonan and Mickey Featherstone. The intermediary who arranged the meeting was Roy Demeo, the most proficient killer under the flag of Gambino captain Anthony “Nino” Gaggi.

The meeting took place at Tommaso’s, a Bay Ridge eatery frequented by a veritable who’s-who of the mob. When Coonan and Featherstone were escorted by Demeo into the private back room of Tommaso’s, they could hardly believe their eyes. Seated at a horseshoe-shaped table were Gaggi, Carmine Lambardozzi, Joseph N. Gallo, Anniello Dellacroce, and Funzi Tieri. Seated at the head of the table was the sire of the Staten Island “White House”: Big Paul Castellano himself.

At this point, Coonan and Featherstone thought they had a very big problem, and were going to leave the restaurant in some sort of a body bag. It seem that just a few weeks earlier, Coonan had taken part in the murder of Castellano’s top bookie/shylock Ruby Stein. Coonan had owned Stein $70,000 in gambling debts, and Coonan figured it made more economic sense to kill Stein rather than pay Stein. So that he did, in a Hell’s Kitchen bar, along with a few of his accomplices, all of whom Coonan made shoot Stein, as a sign of solidarity, after Stein was already dead. After the deed was done, they cut Stein up into little pieces and deposited Stein’s body parts in several garbage bags in the waters near Ward’s Island. The only problem was, Coonan forgot to slit open Stein’s torso to let out all the gases, and Stein’s torso was soon found floating in the waters near Rockaway Beach in Queens.

After Castellano made a few inquiries, he found out the last man Stein had been seen with alive was Jimmy Coonan.

In addition, there was the slight problem of Ruby Stein’s little black book, which contained the names and the exact figures of the money out on the streets owed to Stein, and thereby owed to Castellano and his captains. Coonan had taken that book off Stein’s dead body, but at this particular time he didn’t know exactly what to do with the black book, since if he commenced making collections, Castellano would have known for sure who killed his very valuable asset – Ruby Stein.

According to T.J. English’s book – The Westies, Coonan, as a sign of good will, presented Castellano with a box of the finest Cuban cigars. After Castellano passed the box around the table so his captains could seen the value of the present, the men began eating with a vengeance. First the salads, then the dishes of seafood with pasta, then some of the best lasagna known to man. After the last morsel had been devoured, and the men were waiting for their espresso with Sambuca, Tieri whispered something into Castellano’s ear. Big Paul cleared his throat, then said directly to Coonan, “Jimmy,” then he hesitated and said, “You don’t mind if I call you Jimmy?”

Coonan had a huge frog in his throat. “No, of course not.”

Castellano then went into a dissertation as to why Ruby Stein was such a valuable member of his organization, and why his death was such a terrible blow to all the men seated at this table. Then Castellano looked right into Coonan’s eyes and said, “Jimmy, did you or any of your people have anything to do with this terrible thing; this murder of our good friend Ruby Stein?”

Coonan tried to look sincere. “No,” he quickly said. “We didn’t have nuthin’ to do with that.”

“Are you sure?” Castellano said.

“Yes sir, without a doubt.”

Castellano then got to the meat of the conversation. He asked Coonan if he knew the whereabouts of Stein’s little black book.

Coonan said, “I don’t even know what youse are talking about.”

Castellano raised his voice just a bit. He said, “That book has millions of dollars worth of loans in it; shylock loans. There are people here who need that book.”

Coonan shrugged, “Wish I could help you, Mr. Castellano. But I don’t know nuthin’ about Ruby’s death, or no black book.”

Coonan then heard from Castellano’s lips what he had dreamed about for years. “Alright Jimmy this is our position. From now on, you boys are going to be with us. Which means you got to stop acting like cowboys; like wild men. If anybody is to be removed, you have to clear it with us. Capisch? Everything goes through Nino or Roy. You have our permission to use our family name in your business dealings on the West Side. But whatever moneys you make, you will cut us in 10 percent.”

After dinner, Castellano and his crew took Coonan and Featherstone to the nearby Vets and Friends Social Club. There Castellano told them the real reason he wanted their alliance. “If you are ever called to Brooklyn, you come, no questions asked,” Castellano told them.

Coonan and Featherstone correctly understood this to mean that them and their Irish crew from Hell’s Kitchen would be a secret hit-squad for Castellano, especially when non-Italian shooters were needed. Again, this did not go over so well with Dellacroce, who was old-school enough to know that Italian Mafiosi do not associate themselves with the Irish criminals, whom they felt were overly violent and not trustworthy. The man Dellacroce was grooming for further advancement in his crew, John Gotti, did not like this Irish liaison too much either.

In 1979, 35-year-old Columbian Gloria Olarte went to work for the Castellanos as a housemaid. At the time Paul Castellano was 64-years-old, and his wife Nina — a very attractive 60-years-old. But that didn’t stop Paul Castellano from having a roving eye. Soon he started an affair with Olarte right under his wife’s eyes, and also in front of his daughter Connie, who was living nearby. Whenever his wife and Connie went out shopping, Castellano made sure they had enough cash to spend, so that they wouldn’t return home anytime soon.

At first, Castellano’s advances where just petting and simple kissing, and soon Olarte began to wonder why Big Paul had not consummated their relationship. It seemed that at the time Olarte made her way into the Castellano household, due to a diabetes condition, Castellano had not had an erection in four years. That problem was taken care of when Castellano has “the operation”: a penile implant that would make him able to have intercourse with his young housemaid.

His affections for Olarte were obvious to the crew members who visited Castellano for business meetings, and were also obvious to his wife. Gambino family members began talking amongst themselves about Castellano behind his back; about how he was disgracing his wife, by prancing his young housemaid in front of them at their “White House” meetings.

The FBI had been wanting to plant a bug in Castellano’s house for many years. Through conversations they overhead from bugs planted in other mob hangouts, the FBI had ascertained that when men came to visit Castellano to discuss family business, these meeting always took place in a little dining nook in the kitchen. There is some dispute as to whether Olarte herself, realizing that Castellano’s affections for her were waning, told the FBI where to plant the bug or not. But on March 17, 1983, while Castellano was on a Florida vacation with Olarte and his trusted aide Tommy Billoti, the FBI decided the time was ripe to plant the bug. The only problem was, Castellano’s wife was still on the premises.

When Nina Castellano finally left the house at around 5pm that afternoon, a team of FBI agents disguised as gardeners, sanitation workers, and telephone installers went to work. The “gardeners” drugged the Dobermans who were standing guard inside the fence, by throwing drugs-infested steaks over the fence for the dogs to consume. Then FBI “techies” disabled the burglar alarm, allowing three more “techies” to pick the door locks, then enter the Castellano residence. Two Sanitation trucks blocked the entrance to the street, and the FBI agents in the trucks disguised as sanitation workers were under orders to stop Nina Castellano, by any means necessary, from returning to the house until the bug was planted and the FBI agents safely out of the house.

Once inside the house, the agents went directly to the kitchen nook. By the table sat a chrome lamp near Castellano’s high backed chair, which he always sat in during mob meetings. The agents removed the base of the lamp, and replaced it with an identical base that contained a microphone, and a power pack. They placed the lamp back in is original position and quickly exited the house. Their stay inside the Castellano resident lasted only 12 ½ minutes. Once safely outside, the outside FBI “techies” re-activated the burglar alarm, so that when she returned to her home, Nina Castellano would be none the wiser.

These bugs became a treasure trove of information for the FBI. The FBI was, under law, supposed to stop listening when the conversations being recorded involved inane personal matters. But that was not always the case.

Within a few days, they heard Castellano boasting to one of his associates, “No one comes to Staten Island unless I say so.”

For many years, the FBI suspected that the Gambino Crime Family had their greedy tentacles deep into labor racketeering, especially in the construction business. Castellano confirmed this fact when he was recorded saying to one of his captains, “Our job is to run the unions.”

However, the most incriminating conversation was recorded when Castellano was at a sit-down with his chauffeur and right-hand man Tommy Bilotti, and Gambino “collection agent” Alphonse “Funzi” Mosca. Gloria Olarte could be heard hovering in the background, certainly listening, and sometimes interjecting innocent remarks into the conversation. According to the book Mafia Dynasty, by John H. Davis, the conversation went like this:

Castellano: He gotta pay. And he gotta be clued in. Over two, forget about it. He sits out. That’s club. Under a deuce, we talk. Maybe he gets some. But he pays the two points. First. None of this “you’ll have it in a few days” bullshit.

Mosca: You want I should talk to the fat guy? (Genovese Family Boss Fat Tony Salerno)

Castellano: Talk to the fucking president for all I care. Just get me my money.

Bilotti: I don’t see where this fuckin’ guy should get nothing. We set it up. We did all the work.

Castellano: If you’re calling the fat guy, call the Chin (Salerno’s underboss Vincent “The Chin” Gigante).

Gloria: Mister Tommy. You finish all the cookies?

Mosca: So he takes it for six-million-nine. Cody says take it for six-seven-fifty. Something like that. Plus some jobs.

Castellano: Twelve men. Fifteen days.

Bilotti: Yeah, twelve. Fifteen.

Castellano: And the money comes up thirty percent. We do things on our own. We gotta think of our own. Tell it to the fat guy. Tell Chin.

Mosca: It might get a little raw.

Castellano: It does, it does. What are they going to do, sue me?

The FBI was able to decipher exactly what this conversation meant. The subject of discussion was the construction of a midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Castellano was instructing his men to approach Salerno and Gigante to make sure Castellano got his proper cut of the money being skimmed off the top, and to confirm the number and duration of the no-show jobs his men would get.

The bug in the Castellano residence lasted 4 ½ months. During this time Castellano was heard discussing how he was controlling the construction business, the meat packing business, and the labor unions; specifically the Teamsters, the painters union, and various unions related to the restaurant business. Castellano let the feds know he was also involved in the pornography business, as well as stock frauds, and insurance frauds.

These tapes decisively revealed to the feds that there were two factions within the Gambino Family, each of which had no use for the other. Castellano had the support of Bilotti and his cousin Tommy Gambino, who controlled the garment center in Manhattan. While the other faction was led by Dellacroce, and Dellacroce’s “favorite son” — John Gotti.

One of Gotti’s underling was Angelo “Quack Quack” Ruggiero, a rotund, boisterous man who got his nickname because he couldn’t stop talking; on the phone, or in places that were most likely bugged by the FBI. When Ruggiero was arrested in a big heroin deal, Castellano was incensed that any of his men would dare to sell “babania,” which was forbidden in the Gambino Family, and supposedly all thoughout the American Mafia. Castellano immediately called Gotti on the carpet and reamed Gotti a new one, saying, “Listen Johnny, you got to prove you weren’t involved.”

Gotti knew that this meant if Ruggiero was indeed guilty of selling dope, and if Gotti knew about Ruggiero’s involvement, it was a death sentence for both men.

Soon, Castellano discovered from lawyers involved in the case that Ruggiero had been caught on secret recordings bragging about several drug deals. Castellano demanded that Ruggiero turn over the tapes to him, and when Ruggiero refused, Castellano (on tape) went berserk, threatening to do bad things to both Ruggiero and Gotti. This is when the FBI decided to lower the boom on “Big Paul.”

On March 25, 1985, FBI agents Andris Kurins and Joseph O’Brien made a trip to the Castellano’s “White House,” and told Castellano his was being arrested on RICO charges (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act). Castellano seemed quite confused when he heard the charges, because he fully didn’t understand the implications of RICO.

Under the RICO Act, a person who is a member of an enterprise that has committed any two of 35 crimes—27 federal crimes and 8 state crimes—within a 10-year period, can be charged with racketeering. The RICO Act “allows for the leaders of a crime syndicate (family) to be tried for the crimes which they ordered others to do or assisted them to do, closing a perceived loophole that allowed someone who told a man to, for example, commit murder, to be exempt from the trial because they did not actually do it.” Those found guilty under the RICO Act can be fined up to $25,000 and sentenced to 20 years in prison per racketeering count.

So Castellano, at the moment of his arrest, oblivious to the fact that his house had been bugged for more than four months, did not realize the scope of the indictment he was about to face. According to Kurins and O’Brien, Castellano first heard of the taped conversations recorded in his house on the federal car radio, while the two feds were transporting Castellano from the “White House” to the “Big House.” After hearing the news on the radio, Castellano told the two feds he suddenly felt ill, and would they please stop the car at a drug store to buy him some Tums, and a candy bar for his diabetes, which was suddenly making his head swim.

However, Castellano was not the only mob bigwig arrested that day. Under the direction of Rudolph Giuliani, the US Attorney for the Southern District of New York, as the cuffs were being put on Castellano, they were simultaneously being put on Gambino underboss Aniello Dellacroce, Fat Tony Salerno, the head of the Genovese Crime family, Lucchese boss Tony “Ducks” Corallo, Columbo boss Carmine Persico, and Rusty Rastelli, the acting boss of the Bonanno Crime Family. Giuliani went so far as to arrest eighty-two-year-old Bonanno Family patriarch Joseph Bonanno in his home in Tuscon, Arizona. It seemed that Giuliani was astounded and overjoyed after reading Bonanno’s recent autobiography “Man of Honor,”where Bonanno admitted things about the “Sacred Society” that no made man ever dared utter.

In addition to the RICO charges, Giuliani hit Castellano with an additional 51 charges stemming from the murders and stolen car ring perpetrated by Roy Demeo’s crew. (Rumors were that before Castellano was arrested on RICO charges, he heard from his law enforcement moles about the impending Demeo-related indictments. Feeling that Demeo, facing life in prison, was not the type of man to do his time quietly, Castellano ordered the murder of his most proficient murderer. Demeo’s own crew did the honors; stuffing his frozen body into the trunk of a car for the police to find.)

Though an FBI informant close to Johny Gotti (code name Wahoo – later discovered to be longtime Gotti pal Willie Boy Johnson)), the feds found out that Castellano, because of the internal strife in the Gambino Family, was planning to whack Gotti and his entire crew. Gotti, cognizant of this sober fact, started tomake plans to do away with Castellano first. The only person that was stopping Gotti from doing what he wanted to do was Gotti’s boss Dellacroce, again an old-schooler, who would never sanction a hit on his own boss. This obstacle was removed on December 2, 1985, when Dellacroce finally succumbed to the ravages of cancer.

With the coast now clear for Gotti, Gotti sought permission from the other mob bosses to whack Castellano, before Castellano whacked him. Vincent “The Chin” Gigante issued a firm no to Gotti, but the other mob bosses, not liking Castellano too much, shrugged their shoulder and basically said, “Do what you got to do.”

On December 16, 1985, after finishing a 2:30 p.m. appointment in Manhattan with his lawyer James LaRosa, Castellano decided to kill a little time Christmas shopping with his chauffeur Tommy Bilotti, before they went to their 5 p.m. appointment at Sparks Steakhouse at 210 East Forty-Fifth Street. At Sparks, Castellano and Bilotti were supposed to meet with Gotti and three other men. A table for six had already been reserved for 5 p.m. under the name “Mr. Boll.”

According to several published reports, what Castellano didn’t know was that Gotti had no plans to show up inside Sparks Steakhouse, but was in fact at this time in the passengers seat of a Mercedes driven by Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano. Gravano parked the car at the corner of Forty-Sixth Street and Third Avenue, where he and Gotti had one eye trained on the entrance to Sparks, and the other eye trained on Third Avenue, waiting for Castellano’s black Lincoln to make its appearance. On the street surrounding Sparks were anywhere from eight to ten of Gotti’s men, armed with guns and walkie-talkies, ready to take action.

At approximately 5:30 p.m., with Castellano now fashionably late, Castellano’s Lincoln made the turn from Third Avenue onto Forty-Sixth Street, and parked in front of Sparks. As soon as Bilotti exited the driver’s side, he was met by a hail of bullets, allegedly fired by Gotti henchman Tony “Roach” Rampino, rendering Bilotti quite dead. As Castellano was exiting on the passenger side, he turned toward the street to see what all the commotion was about. Before Castellano knew what was happening, another Gotti shooter, allegedly John Carneglia, pumped six bullets into Big Paul, thus ending the reign of Paul Castellano as the head of the Gambino Crime Family.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Joseph P. Ryan – President of the International Longshoremen Association – Port of New York

In 1892, the International Longshoremen Association (ILA) started out as a legitimate labor union in the Great Lakes area, to help the dockworkers get a fair shake from their employers. The ILA expanded to the east coast, and by 1914, ILA’s New York District Council was created. Almost immediately, the ILA became a mob stronghold, manipulated by the most vicious Irish mobsters of that era. The most prominent of whom was Joseph P. Ryan. But we’ll get to Ryan later.

To understand how the mob manipulated the docks, and the ILA, you must grasp the manner in which dockworkers were hired daily. The method for hiring was not who was the most qualified, the strongest, or the most industrious person available. The only thing that mattered is that you paid tribute to the hiring boss, who ran the docks like the Gestapo ran Hitler’s Germany.

The way it worked was like this: twice a day, all able-bodied men, who were looking for work, would line up in front of the loading dock. Then a stevedore (hiring boss) stood smugly in front of the dock, and one-by-one he selected the men who he deemed lucky enough to get a day’s work. Of course, you had no chance of getting a job if you didn’t give the stevedore a percentage of your day’s pay. The stevedore would then kick up the cash to the head stevedore, who would in turn kick it up to the ILA bosses. With this money, the ILA bosses would then grease the palms of politicians and cops, and everyone else who needed to get paid, to keep the money rolling into the pockets of the big shots who ran the ILA. And if you were known as somebody who had given the ILA trouble in the past, you might as well have stayed home, because there was no way the stevedore would even look at your face.

Joseph P. Ryan first burst on the scene around 1917, when he organized the ILA “New York District Council,” a branch of the nationwide ILA. In 1918, Ryan became president of the ILA’s “Atlantic Coast District.” It was during this time that the power began shifting from the Great Lakes to the Port of New York, which was closer to Europe, where many of the ships that were unloaded on the docks originated. During this time, the ILA was facing strict competition from the west coast-based Industrial Workers of the World (IWW). The ILA was attempting to draw in the IWW into their organization, and in 1919 they succeeded.

In 1921, ILA President T.V. O’Conner resigned, and his place was taken by Anthony Chlopek, who turned out to be the last ILA President based in the Great Lakes. It’s not clear if he was appointed by Chlopek, or elected by the membership, but Joe Ryan served as the First Vice President of the ILA for all six years of Chlopek’s presidency.

In 1927, Ryan’s time had finally come. Ryan was elected President of the ILA, which power base was now firmly entrenched in the Port of New York.

Ryan’s journey from basically nobody to the President of the ILA had not been an easy one. Ryan was born on May, 11, 1884 in Babylon, Long Island. His parent were Irish immigrants, and Ryan suffered a severe blow at the age of nine when both of his parents died within a month of each other. Ryan was put in an orphanage, but he was eventually adopted by a woman who brought Ryan to live with her in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, a few blocks south of the lawless Hell’s Kitchen area.

Ryan did menial jobs in the neighborhood, before he got a job loading and unloading on the Chelsea Piers. In 1917, Ryan purchased his union book for the sum of two dollars and fifth cents. Within a few weeks, Ryan hurt his foot while unloading a freighter, and when he was released from the hospital, and not being able to work on the docks again, Ryan was somehow appointed to the job of secretary of ILA Local 791. From that point on, there was no stopping Joe Ryan’s meteoric rise.

“Boss Joe,” as Ryan came to be known, was a ruthless fighter, who elevated the shape/payback system on the docks to an art form. To enforced his vice-like grip on the ILA membership, Ryan hired the worst men imaginable, some of whom has lost their jobs as bootleggers when Prohibition ended in 1933, and some of whom had just recently been released from prison, where they had been sentenced for committing the most violent of crimes. These were the perfect men for Ryan to employ, since cracking a few heads, or legs, and maybe even killing a person once in a while, was certainly not adverse to these men’s nature.

Ryan’s power was so absolute, he organized fund raisers (his men were compelled to contribute, or else) for the politicians who were on Ryan’s pad; one of whom was Mayor Jimmy “Beau James” Walker. When Walker was forced to resign in 1932, Ryan, with tears dripping from his pen, issued a statement supporting the disgraced Walker. Ryan wrote, “The labor movement in the city of New York regrets that political expedience has deprived them of a Mayor whose every official act has been in conformity with the Americanistic (Ryan invented that word himself) policies of organized labor.

Ryan’s plan was to control all dockworkers in the United States, but in fact, his power hardly extended outside the boundaries of New York. When Franklin D. Roosevelt ascended to the Presidency in 1933, he enacted his New Deal, which solidified Ryan’s total control of the ILA. “The Norris-La Guardia Act,” which limited the use of injunctions to prevent strikes and picketing, helped Ryan assert his muscle on the docks. And the Wagner Act of 1935 guaranteed the rights of workers to vote for their own representation. And who controlled those votes? Why Joseph P. Ryan, of course.

Ryan’s biggest problem in uniting all ILA workers in America was the resistance he received from the west coast contingent, which was led by radical left-winger Harry Bridges. In 1934, Bridges organized a strike of the West Coast ILA, in rebellion over a contract Ryan had negotiated on their behalf. Ryan, incensed at the west coast insurrection, traveled extensively all over the west coast of America: to San Francisco, Portland, Tacoma, and Seattle. In each location, Ryan argued the main sticking point to the negotiations: the shape-up form of employment. Ryan and his New York pals were for it, everyone on the west coast was against it; saying it was unfair to the workers. The West Coast ILA wanted to implement a “hiring-hall” system, in which “time in the hold” and “seniority” were the main factors in men getting work. Of course the “hiring hall” system would put an end to the stevedore graft machine, and Ryan wanted no part of that.

Ryan’s west coast trip was a complete failure. In each ILA location he visited, his recommendations were shot down, emphatically. The president of the Tacoma ILA local announced to the press, “No body of men can be expected to agree to their own self destruction.”

Things were so bad for Ryan in San Francisco, there were physical confrontations in the streets, between the west coast strikers, the strikebreakers Ryan had brought in from the east coast, and the local police. The riots were so violent, the National Guard was called in to end the disturbances.

Chalk that up as another loss for Ryan.

When Ryan returned home to the Port of New York, he was not a happy camper. He denounced his west coast opponents as “malcontents” and “communists,”and he strove to become even more diligent in exercising his absolute power over the New York ILA. One of Ryan’s most effective tools in keeping his men in line was the fact that he was able to issue union charters to whomever he saw fit. The men who received these charters were then able to form their own Union Locals. After these Locals were created, the individual local bosses would kick back a substantial part of the member’s dues to the Joseph P. Ryan Retirement Fund, of which, of course, there were no written records.

One such Local that Ryan had in his back pocket was Local 824, which was run by Ryan crony Harold Bowers. Local 824 was particularly prestigious and quite profitable because it presided over the Hells Kitchen piers, where luxury liners like the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth were docked. Local 824 soon became known as the “Pistol Local” because it was almost completely comprised of Irish gangsters who had long criminal records. Local 824’s boss Bowers, an ex-con, had a criminal record as long as a giraffe’s neck. Bowers had been arrested for numerous crimes, including robbery, possession of a gun, grand larceny (twice), and congregating with known criminals. Bowers was also suspected in dozens of waterfront murders, but no murder charge could ever be pinned on him.

Harold’s cousin Mickey, as murderous a bloke as Harold, was also instrumental in running Local 824. Mickey was a suspect in the murder of Tommy Gleason, an insurgent in Local 824, who tried to wrest control of Local 824 from the Bowers family. Gleason was filled with lead while he was visiting a deceased pal in a Tenth Avenue funeral parlor. Mickey Bowers was suspected of Gleason’s murder, and he was brought in for questioning. However, with no concrete evidence, Mickey Bowers was released. There is no record of the Gleason murder having been solved, and it is not clear if Gleason was laid out in the same funeral parlor in which he had been shot.

In 1951, Ryan began losing control of the ILA, when his men did something they had never done before: they spat in the face of Ryan and his tyrannical leadership by going on strike. With over thirty thousand men involved (without pay of course), the strike lasted twenty five days. Due to the strike, 118 piers were shut down, and millions of dollars were lost by hundreds of companies, who needed their goods unloaded on the docks.

The leader of this strike was not a longshoreman, but a priest named Father John Corridan. The
son of a County Kerry-born policeman, Corridan was born in Manhattan’s Harlem. In 1928, Corridan graduated from Manhattan’s prestigious Regis High School. After completion of his seminary requirements and assignments in other parishes, in 1946, Corridan was assigned to the Xavier Institute of Industrial Relations, on West 16th Street. There Father Corridan met many longshoremen who told him of the woes they suffered at the hands of men like Ryan and the Bowers cousins.

Being a street kid himself, the chain-smoking, fast-talking priest decided to do something about the abominations that were transpiring on the waterfront. Corridan teamed up with New York Sun writer Malcolm Johnson to write a series of articles entitled “Crime on the Waterfront.” These articles spurred writer Bud Schulberg to write the screenplay for the Academy Award winning movie “On the Waterfront, which starred Marlon Brandon and Lee J. Cobb. Actor Karl Malden played the part of Father Corridan, whose name in the movie, for some reason, was changed to Father Barry.

Soon after the New York Sun articles were published, New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey announced that the state’s crime commission would open an investigation into criminal activities in the Port of New York. This investigation was called “The Waterfront Hearings.” During these hearings hundreds of men who worked on the waterfront were called in to testify (some were honest workers – others were ruthless “Dock Wallopers”). The workers mostly gave honest testimony, while the “Dock Wallopers,” mainly invoked their Fifth Amendment Rights not to incriminate themselves.

One of the men who was called in to testify at the Waterfront Hearings was a shady figure named William “Big Bill” McCormack. McCormack owned several businesses, including the U.S. Trucking Company, which worked extensively unloading on the Port of New York docks. McCormack was very close to Ryan, and it was alleged that Ryan and McCormack were, in fact, partners in several of McCormack’s businesses.

In 1950, as a result of pressure from the New York newspapers, Mayor Bill O’Dwyer, who was in the pocket of Ryan and other known gangsters, reluctantly called for a city investigation of the waterfront. The investigation became a sham, when Mayor O’Dwyer, at the urging of Joe Ryan, appointed McCormack as the chairman of a “blue-ribbon panel” to “investigate” waterfront activities. After month of a dubious investigations, funded by New York City taxpayer dollars, McCormack’s “blue-ribbon panel” concluded, “We have found that the labor situation on the waterfront of the Port of New York is generally satisfactory from the standpoint of the worker, the employer, the industry, and the government.”

That was obviously the “Big Lie.”

When McCormack was brought before the Waterfront Hearings, he was questioned about the previous testimony of the supervisor of employment for the division of parole. This supervisor had testified that although he had never met “Big Bill” McCormack, he had met with McCormack’s brother Harry many times. The purpose of these meetings was that on numerous occasions men, who were being released from prison on parole, would have the prison officials put in writing a note that said, “Mr. H.F. McCormack will make immediate arrangements for this inmate’s union membership upon his release.”

It was estimated that over 200 parolees were given “jobs” with McCormack’s Penn Stevedoring Company. Some of these jobs may have been legitimate dock work, but most ex-con’s employed by McCormack’s Penn Stevedoring Company were nothing more than thugs and leg breakers, and sometimes murderers for the union.

When “Big Bill” McCormack was asked at the Waterfront Hearings why he had employed so many men with dubious backgrounds, McCormack said, “It’s because I take a human view of employee problems. I’m human, and they’re human.”

Two of the “human” men employed by the McCormack Penn Stevedoring Company, after they were released from jail, were John “Cockeye” Dunn, and Andrew “Squint” Sheridan. Both men where eventually fried in the electric chair, after they were convicted of the murder of hiring stevedore Andy Hintz, while both killers were working for McCormack.

After McCormack’s testimony before the Waterfront Commission, the New York Herald Tribune wrote, “Mr. McCormack’s activities on behalf of the longshoreman’s union suggest that he has been pulling the strings for Joseph P. Ryan for many years, and may, in fact, be a more powerful figure on the waterfront than the Boss (Ryan) himself.”

Joseph P. Ryan was the 209th and final witness before the crime commission’s Waterfront Hearings. After one day of brutal cross examination, it was clear Ryan’s days were over as Joe “The Boss” of the Port of New York. Under grueling testimony, Ryan was forced to admit that he appointed many convicted felons like Harold Bowers to prominent positions in the ILA. Ryan claimed no knowledge of the fact that 30% of the union officials he personally appointed had criminal records. Ryan also testified he had no idea that more than 45 IRA Locals in the Port of New York kept no financial records, and that his hand-picked bosses had frequently given themselves raises, without these raises being ratified by the voting members of the Locals.

However, the final nail in Ryan’s coffin was inserted when it came to light that Ryan had misused more than $50,000 from the ILA’s Anti-Communist Fund for his own personal use. Instead of scouring the docks looking for communist activities, Ryan used this money for grand dinners for himself and his cronies at places like the Stork Club, repairs to his Cadillac, and to purchase the expensive clothes that Ryan wore. Ryan also had the gall to use Anti-Communist Funds to go on a cruise to Guatemala.

Still, Ryan would not give up his control of the New York Waterfront without a fight. In 1953, the American Federation of Labor decided to expel the ILA from it’s membership. AF of L President George Meany said, “We’ve given up all hope that the officers or members of that union will reform it. We’ve given up hope that the ILA will ever live up to the rules, standards, and ethics of a decent trade union.”

After hearing what Meany had to say, Ryan gritted his teeth and growled, “Then we’ll hold on to what we have.”

However, Ryan’s hubris lasted only for a short time. In order for Meany to allow the ILA to remain part of the American Federation of Labor, Meany insisted that Ryan step down from the post that Ryan had held for 26 years. Ryan had no choice but to comply.

Ryan’s travails were not over with yet. In 1954, after being convicted of violations of The Labor Management Relations Act (Taft-Hartly Act), Ryan was sentenced to 6 months in prison and a $2500 fine. Ryan appealed his conviction.

However, on July 1, 1955, the United States Court of Appeals Second Circuit denied Ryan’s appeal, saying, “Defendant-Appellant, Joseph P. Ryan, President of the International Longshoremen’s Association (hereafter called ILA) was indicted, on three counts, in that, on three separate occasions, he unlawfully, willfully and knowingly received sums in the aggregate of $2,500, from corporations employing members of the ILA. The judge, holding defendant guilty on all counts, sentenced him to imprisonment for six months on each count (the sentences to run concurrently) and fined him $2,500. As my view is not to prevail, I shall not discuss the other objections that the accused raises, except to say that I have considered them, and that they have not convinced me that any error was committed that would justify a reversal. I would affirm the conviction.”

Ryan did his six months in the can. Then he disappeared, never to be heard from on the waterfront again.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – The Gang Battle Over the Affections of Ida “The Goose.”

Ida “The Goose” Burger was a strikingly-beautiful dance hall girl and sometimes prostitute, who was the favorite of several members of the five hundred-strong Gophers gang, which controlled the New York Hell’s Kitchen area, that ran on the West Side of Manhattan, from Fourteenth Street to Fifty Seventh Street. The Gophers passed Ida the Goose around from boss to boss, and even down to the low-level members of their gang. But make no mistake, Ida belonged to the treacherous Gophers and anyone who thought otherwise would be dealt with in a severe manner.

Jack Tricker was a saloon keeper/gangster, who, after Monk Eastman was sent to prison for armed robbery, headed up one faction of the Eastman mob on the Lower East Side. Tricker owned a bar on Park Row in downtown Manhattan, but after it was closed down by authorities for basically being a den of iniquity, Tricker decided to branch out of the Lower East Side and into Hell’s Kitchen. He decided that maybe, because of the Gophers’ internal battles, they were not so tough anymore. In an act of defiance, he bought the Old Stag Bar on West 28^th Street, smack in the middle of Gopher territory, and renamed it the Maryland Cafe.

One of Tricker’s men somehow won the affections of Ida the Goose, and he spit in the Gophers’ face, by taking Ida away from an influential Gopher and bringing her to the Maryland Cafe, where they installed her as the main attraction; the “Belle of The Ball,” so to speak. The Gophers immediately sent an emissary to Tricker, demanding the return of Ida the Goose. Tricker told the emissary that he would not get involved, one way or another, and that it was their problem, not his. Immediately, threats spewed from the Gophers to Tricker’s gang, who armed themselves heavily in anticipation of war. But after weeks passed with nothing happening, Tricker’s gang relaxed a bit, thinking the Gophers were all talk and no action.

In October of 1910, four Gophers, one of whom was Ida’s former boyfriend, swaggered into the Maryland Cafe, approached the bar and ordered a four beers. Six Tricker gangsters, who were sitting at a large round table, were so surprised by the bold move, they sat transfixed and said not a word, let alone try to evict the invaders. Outraged, it was Ida the Goose who spoke first. She screamed at the Gophers, “Say!! Youse guys have some nerve!”

The Gophers calmly finished their beer, then one turned around slowly and said, “Well, let’s get at it.” They each drew two guns and began spraying the bar’s walls, mirrors and tables with gunshots. The two bartenders, who were not part of Tricker’s gang, dived behind the bar, and five of Tricker men’s were shot and disabled. The sixth, who was Ida’s newfound lover, dived under Ida’s flowing skirt, seeking protection. She stared down at him in disdain, then shrugged her shoulders and said, “Say, youse! Come on out and take it.”

Ida shoved him into the center of the floor and the Gophers pumped four bullets into his torso. Then Ida’s former boyfriend stepped forward and put on the final touches, by firing one shot into the fallen man’s brain.

The four Gophers strode out of the Maryland Cafe, followed closely by Ida the Goose, glowing in pride that such a battle was fought over her affections. She went back to the Gophers and never strayed from their side again.

http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Gangs-Crooks-Creeps-ebook/dp/B0058J44QO/ref=zg_bs_11010_1

Joe Bruno on the Mob – The Gophers – The Five Hundred-Member Gang That Ruled Hell’s Kitchen

The Gophers street gang was formed in the 1890’s from a conglomerate of other Irish street gangs that patrolled the west side of Manhattan. They were given their name, because after they performed one misdeed, or another, they hid themselves in the cavernous neighborhood cellars to avoid arrest. The Gophers first ruled the area from Seventh to Eleventh Avenues, from Fourteenth Street to Forty Second Street, but later moved as far north as Fifty Seventh Street. Their numbers swelled and eventually reached over five hundred thugs, all murderous hooligans of the worst kind.

Their first base of operations was a notorious saloon called Battle Row, also the name of the area on 39^th Street, between Tenth and Eleventh Avenue, where the Gophers committed most of their mayhem. Battle Row was owned by a thug named Mallet Murphy, who was given that nickname because he corrected drunks and other miscreants with a wooden mallet, instead of a bludgeon, which was the weapon of choice of that day.

Due to death, or imprisonment of their bosses, the Gophers went through several leaders. The most famous Gopher boss was Owney “The Killer” Madden, whose reign ended in 1913, when he was sent to the slammer for ten years, for killing Little Patsy Doyle, his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend, and a ambitious man intent on replacing Madden as the leader of the Gophers.

Another such boss was One Lung Curran, who originated a practice that determined the fashion wear of his gang. One day Curran, dismayed that his girlfriend did not have a proper winter coat, snuck up on a passing policeman, clubbed him over the head and stole his winter police coat. He gave the coat to his girlfriend, and after a few alterations, she produced a swell model, with a military cut. Other Gophers followed this trend, and soon there was an epidemic of police officers staggering back to their station house on West Forty Seventh Street, blood dripping from their heads and dressed only in their shirts, shoes and trousers. This prompted the police captain of that precinct to send groups of four and five cops into the Gophers’ domain, to bludgeon enough Gophers that the sartorial vogue was soon over.

Another Gopher leader was Happy Jack Mulraney, so called, because his face seemed to be set into a permanent smile. This smile was not intended, but in fact caused by a quirky paralysis of Mulraney’s face muscles. His cohorts enjoyed inciting the psychopathic killer Mulraney into a rage by telling him someone had made fun of his unintentional grin. One day, Paddy the Priest, a bar owner on Tenth Avenue and a close friend of Mulraney’s, made the horrible mistake of asking Mulraney why he didn’t smile out of the other side of his face. Mulraney shot Paddy the Priest in the head, killing him instantly, then robbed his cash register. For his temporary lapse in judgment, Mulraney was sentenced to life in prison.

One day, in August of 1908, several Gophers wandered out of their West Side domain and smack into the middle of a shootout on the Lower East Side between Monk Eastman’s gang and Paul Kelly’s Five Pointers. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, the Gophers opened fire, shooting at members of both waring gangs. One Gopher later said, “A lot of guys were poppin’ at each other, so why shouldn’t we do a little poppin’ ourselves?”

For years, the Gopher’s main source of income was plundering the freight cars and train depot of the New York Central Railroad, which ran along Eleventh Avenue. The New York City police was unable, and sometimes unwilling, to stop these shenanigans. So the railroad organized its own “police force,” which was comprised mostly of ex-cops, who had been brutalized by the Gophers in the past and were looking for revenge. The result was, the “special police” went into Hell’s Kitchen, beating the Gophers from one end of the neighborhood to the other, or as one of the cops said, “From hell to breakfast.” Sometimes they used clubs, and if needed, they fired guns. Being former policemen and well trained in firearms, they were the much better at gunplay than the Gophers.

In 1917, after the arrest of One Lung Curran, and with Madden still in jail and Mulraney in jail until his final breath, the Gophers gradually dissipated. By 1920, the Gophers street gang ceased to exist, only to be replaced in later years by another murderous group called “The Westies.”

Joe Bruno on the Mob — Owney Madden

Owney “The Killer” Madden was an anomaly in the world of New York City gangsters, mainly because he was not Italian, or even Jewish. Madden was British, the son of an relocated Irish dockworker; born and bred, and dedicated for life to his homeland — merry old England. In fact, even though Madden was an American criminal for six decades, he didn’t give up his English passport until 1950, after he was threatened with deportation.

Owen “Owney” Madden was born at 25 Somerset Street, in Leeds, England, on December 18, 1891. In need of work, his father moved the Madden family to Liverpool. In 1903, when young Madden was only 12, his father died and his mother re-located the family to America, settling on the west side of Manhattan, in a treacherous neighborhood called “Hells Kitchen.” Madden fell in with a rough-and-tumble gang known as the Gophers and he became proficient in the favored crimes of the era; robberies, muggings and labor racket beatings. Madden was adept at using a myriad of weapons, including a slingshot and brass knuckles, but his favorite weapon was a lead pipe wrapped in newspaper. His main source of income was the “insurance business,” where Madden sold “bomb insurance” to scores of local merchants, who were worried about having their businesses bombed, from none other than Madden himself. As a member of the Gophers, Madden was arrested forty-four times, but managed to stay out of prison every time.

When he was seventeen, Madden earned his nickname “The Killer,” because he shot to death an unarmed Italian in the street, for no reason, other than he could do it. After the killing, Madden stood over the dead body and announced to the assembled crowd, “I’m Owney Madden!” By the time he was twenty-three, Madden had at least five other murders to his credit.

One time, Madden’s braggadocio almost cost him his life. On November, 6, 1912, at the Arbor Dance Hall, which was in the heart of the territory controlled by the Gopher’s rivals – the Hudson Dusters, Madden strolled into the hall by himself during a dance given by the Dave Hyson Association. He was watching the proceedings from the balcony, when eleven Hudson Dusters surrounded him and filled his body with six pieces of lead. He was rushed to the hospital, where a detective asked Madden who shot him.

“Nothin’ doin,’” Madden said. “It’s no business but mine who put these slugs into me. My boys will get them.” By the time Madden was released from the hospital, six of his eleven assailants had already been shot dead.

While Madden was recuperating, one of his fellow Gophers, Little Patsy Doyle, thought he could use Madden’s weakened condition as a reason to take control of the gang. Yet the main cause of Doyle’s ire was that Madden had stolen Doyle’s girlfriend Freda Horner away from him. When word got back to Madden about Doyle’s intentions, he used Miss Horner to lure Doyle to a saloon on Eight Avenue and Forty-First Street, where Madden and two of his gunmen shot Doyle dead. Madden was arrested three days later, and at his trial, Miss Horner turned the tables and testified against Madden. He was sentenced to Sing Sing Prison for 10-20 years, but did only eight, being released in 1923.

When he hit the streets again, Madden found his Gophers gang had dissipated, so he threw himself head-first into the bootlegging business. There Madden moved up in class and was considered the equal of such mobsters as Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello, Louis Lepke, Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lansky. Madden also dabbled in the night club business, opening the legendary Cotton Club in Harlem, which he bought from former heavyweight champion Jack Johnson.

His relationship with Johnson, segued Madden into the boxing business, where he nurtured the career of Italian carnival freak, the six-foot-six-inch, 285-pound, Primo Canera Madden fed Canera so many stiffs and set-ups, the no-talent Canera was able to win the heavyweight championship of the world. He did so by landing an invisible punch against champion Jack Sharkey in the 6^th round at the Madison Square Garden Bowl, in Long Island City. Sharkey obviously took a dive and was reportedly paid handsomely to do so. The first time Madden put Canera in tough, against Jewish heavyweight sensation Max Baer, he was knocked down ten times, before the referee mercifully stopped the fight in the 11^th round. Of course, Madden made big money betting on Baer, who, because of Canera’s feared reputation, went into the fight as a slight underdog.

In 1932, Madden was arrested on a parole violation, and when he was released a few months later, he decided he had accumulated enough cash in a lifetime of crime to relocate to Hot Springs, Arkansas. There Madden opened several casino/hotels, which were used as hideouts for New York City mobsters on the lam, and he even married the Postmaster’s daughter. Madden was granted United States citizenship in 1943, and after being stricken with emphysema, Madden died in his bed in 1965, at the ripe old age of 74. He was said to have amassed a fortune of $3 million, but not surprisingly, none of that money was ever found after his death.