ITALIAN AMERICAN GANGSTERS ARE AGING AND GRAYING

For a long time the federal government, the police, magistrates, prosecutors and journalists tried to remove from the streets of New York Albert Anastasia; by many considered a murderer and one of the big bosses of the local Mafia. What they failed to do—legally—for years, someone from his same line of business managed to accomplish in a couple of minutes—someone who presumably wanted to take his position or sought vengeance for something Anastasia had done in his position.

The morning of October 25, 1957, at 10:30 a.m., Umberto (also known as Alberto) Anastasia was relaxing in the reclining chair of his favorite barber shop in the Park Sheraton Hotel. It was the same hotel where Arnold Rohestein,[1] also a mafia boss, had been killed twenty years earlier. Before lying back, Anastasia chatted and joked with the owner, Arturo Grosso. Suddenly, two men entered the establishment wearing black gloves and with faces partially covered by bandanas. They pulled revolvers from their pockets; pistol-whipped the owner and started firing at Anastasia who, from his position, had not seen them entering. For some strange coincidence, Antonio Coppola, a fishmonger considered to be Anastasia’s body guard, was not with him. Each killer shot five bullets two of which lethal: one to the back and one to the head. Two more bullets went through the right hand that the victim had raised to protect himself. Wrapped in a bathrobe with tissue paper around his neck, Anastasia spun around and fell between two barber chairs. Death was instantaneous. The lights overhead shone on a large diamond ring on his left hand. In the shop, besides the owner, were two other clients, a manicure lady, two barbers and a shoe shine. Screaming in horror and fear, they ran out of the shop bumping into the killers as they were fleeing, thus making it impossible for witnesses to discern who was who and identify the shooters. The descriptions given to the police turned out to be so vague that an officer on the scene commented that he had never seen such a large assembly of blind people in his lifetime. Thusly ended the life of an individual who had carved a niche and found a role for himself in New York’s society; owner of a hundred thousand dollar Spanish-style villa where he lived with his brother Tony (nicknamed Tough Tony), surrounded by a 10-feet high metal fence topped with barbed wire and with a great view of the Hudson River. The grounds were guarded by three great Danes and, at night, illuminated by search lights. His was an exemplary family—so to speak—at least so far as the history of Italian crime families in America goes. One of the seven Anastasia brothers actually turned out right and became a priest and revered pastor in the Bronx.

At some point in the past I did some research and reconstructed part of their life history. The seven brothers were born in Calabria to a railroad worker that operated a railroad crossing in the countryside. One can imagine what kind of life they lived: the noise of the sea on one side; the monotonous passing of trains; school and church far away in town. One can also understand why those seven brothers who decided they would make it to America at all cost were exceptional people. For sure they did not bring with them from Italy a criminal organization or criminal experience. Some of them could not obtain passports, so they entered the country illegally. In New York they started working in the worst and most corrupt environment, the same piers that the movie ­On the Waterfront[2] has popularized all over the globe, exposing the tragic violence that dominates that world. Step by step they climbed the ladder and became the toughest, most tyrannical, most violent and thuggish mobsters of the whole place. Their leadership style was legendary: in the world of trade unions, the brothers Antonio, Alberto and Geraldo were respected but, most of all, feared. Their lives were a sequence of arrests, trials, and acquittals (thank to the deaths of potential witnesses) that can only be explained with the liberal procedures of American justice that gives the accused the presumption of innocence and easily releases them on bail. Antonio, who, on one occasion, was facing charges that could lead to a death sentence, was able to get away unscathed because four witnesses that were scheduled to testify against him disappeared before the trial began. In one occasion Antonio was accused of beating a longshoreman who refused to obey his orders. His version was that the poor man had fallen down and that he had simply dusted off his coat. The judge accepted his explanation.

As a way to explain the conditions in which they operated, we must consider that this empire-building and leadership style were similar in brutality to the regime of slavery in the American south. The only mitigating factor appears to be the fact that, ostensibly, the longshoremen themselves, or at least a majority of them, accepted it. After long political fights; investigations and, most of all, the work of a Jesuit father[3] who fought long and hard for the rehabilitation of longshoremen; finally the union agreed to regular elections supervised by observers from other independent labor organizations. It was quite a surprise for all, Jesuit father included, when the results showed that the majority of the workers opted to continue with the same leadership and the slavery-like system.

In the neighborhood where they lived, Anastasia and his family enjoyed a good reputation and even the police officers who kept an eye on their house declared to the press that they were model citizens and were even involved in public charities. In fact, I remember that in one occasion the longshoremen’s marching band, led by Tony Anastasia[4] [sic], opened the procession of the Madonna del Carmelo[5] with great satisfaction of the local priest and his flock.

As Albert Anastasia was having his last shave, miles away his wife was leaving the villa to run some errands. A reporter who went to the villa managed to approach a groundkeeper who was working in the garden. The dialogue he reported is worthy of the best Hemingway.

“Is Mrs. Anastasia in?”
“Why?”
“Cumpà,[6] Anastasia was gunned down.”

“Which one?”

“Albert.”

“Father or son?”
“I believe it must be the father.”

The reporter tells that the gardener remained impassible and said he could not let him in because the lady of the house was out shopping. Then he turned around and kept to his work without a word.

The police believe that this is the sequel to the attempted murder of Frank Costello, the mob’s minister of finance. Nobody will ever find out who gave the killers their orders or who pulled the trigger. For sure these killers were more brazen and better shots than the one who tried to get rid of Costello. The murder took place in a central location in New York and the assassins, following a protocol that could have come directly from Edgar Allan Poe[7], disappeared in the crowd that, in that location, is always massive as it enters and exits the dark tunnels of the subway. The weapons were later found in a garbage can: foreign made, imported to the United States several years earlier and sold in other cities. Out of sheer curiosity, here are the names of the first people interrogated by the police: Mike Miranti, sixty years old, an old friend of Anastasia; Antonio Coppola, forty nine years old, one of Anastasia’s body guards; Ercole Anniello, a big shot of organized crime from Brooklyn, plus some other minor characters. All of them were Italian. Despite intense detective work, the police could not found the murderers, nor did they discover a motive for the killing. It certainly wasn’t the first time that the efforts of the police could not break through the power of the mob. This organization is based on fear: witnesses and people with information do not want to talk. Anastasia in particular was known to go after witnesses to get rid of them. Despite all the secrecy, however, a couple of days ago an extraordinary fact happened. The police learned that a special meeting of big mafia bosses was going to take place in a plush villa out of the way and far from busy roads.[8] The villa is owned by Joseph Barbara, fifty one years old, owner of a local tavern and believed to be one of the crime bosses of Upstate New York. The police operation worked to perfection. Fifty-seven notorious crime figures were stopped and questioned. None of them was carrying guns; none of them was out on parole and everybody told the same story: they were visiting their dear friend, Barbara, who had fallen ill. All the last names of the fifty seven were Italian, with the exception of a couple of Hispanic. It was interesting to see that the age of these individuals was between forty and sixty five, with an average of over fifty. There were no young people. All of them are people who have made it and, like all the other senior people involved in organized crime; in the last few years have adopted the strategy of having a legitimate business as a cover; anything from liquor stores to car garages to moving companies. The purpose is to hide the real activity that is responsible for their comfortable lifestyle: luxury cars, expensive night clubs, top notch restaurants, villas and second and third homes at the beach and in the mountains. At their age they feel the need for a peaceful existence. After all, they all are good family fathers, they send their children to private schools and colleges, and they help them set up legitimate businesses or pursue respectable careers. The nephew of one of them is a criminal lawyer in New York.

The police could not find out what the purpose of the meeting was. Some believe that the attempted murder of Frank Costello and the assassination of Albert Anastasia indicate some kind of revolt by the young gangsters against the old guard. Others believe the meeting was called to agree on a strategic plan and avoid the consequences of an investigation into the garbage hauling industry in New York. Practically every company in this business is owned by Italians and their connections to organized crime are well known. Let’s just say there is something that doesn't smell right, here. [The original footnote reads: “The Court of Appeal with a verdict on Nov. 28, 1960, stated that the charges of conspiracy were not proven and all the people indicted were acquitted. They all maintained that the only reason for the gathering was to visit their ailing friend.”]

Among the people who were interrogated we find the peculiar figure of Caspar [sic] Donald Modica,[9] who bragged about “having been in contact with some of the most illustrious figures in the country.” He looks much more dignified than the rest of the garbage collectors; with white hair contrasting with the dark southern complexion of his skin; big turtle-framed glasses; a thin mustache; a cigarette hanging from his lips and fluent and smooth English. He looks like what he is, a professor at New York University (a private institution), where he teaches philosophy of education and safety regulation in manufacturing. He is proud of his expertise in industrial psychology and in the relations between management and labor. He is thus qualified to practice public relations, a novelty management discipline invented in America that recently has become all the rage in Italy. Unfortunately, in addition to a résumé as a professor, he also has a rap sheet with two convictions, one for practicing medicine without a license and one for attempted robbery. The crime world holds him in high esteem, as signaled by the fact that his wife is the goddaughter of Albert Anastasia’s wife. Modica was also the private tutor of the children of Albert Anastasia, of Joe Adonis[10] and Willie Moretti,[11] three high ranking figures in organized crime. His lawyer claims that Modica has been rehabilitated. In 1952 he became director of the educational programs sponsored by a social club founded by Anastasia whose members are primarily longshoremen.

Meanwhile, all fifty-seven participants caught at Barbara’s house are now out free because the authorities could find nothing against them. Whatever they were discussing in that meeting remains a mystery. Moreover, if a few days from now the police should find the dead body of some Mafia veteran, killed with no witnesses, even if the assassination took place in broad daylight in a crowded place, it will still be a mystery.

It is important, however, to observe that Italian American youngsters give minimal contribution to organized crime. All the elderly are settled down, they live off their assets and are accepted in their communities under the guise of real estate agents, salesmen, soft drink distributors and other similar activities. Organized crime is already all grey-haired.

New York, December 8, 1957.