by Dellacroce » Thu Dec 24, 2015 8:22 am
December 24, 2015 This Week in Gang Land
By Jerry Capeci
Sonny Franzese's Christmas Stocking Emptied By A Grinch In A Robe
Legendary Colombo wiseguy John (Sonny) Franzese has spent enough Christmases behind bars to know that Santa won't be stopping at his federal prison hospital in Massachusetts tonight. But last week the 98-year-old perennial inmate got a pre-Yuletide missive from Federal Judge Brian (The Grinch) Cogan that was worse than any lump of coal.
Egged on by a request earlier this month from Brooklyn U.S. Attorney Robert (Scrooge) Capers, the Grinch Judge ordered Sonny to forfeit all but $250 of the $10,089 that he had in his commissary account to help pay his bill for extorting the Hustler Club back in 2006. What made the pre-Christmas account looting even more painful was that Franzese didn't collect any cash from the shakedown, according to court papers filed by the feds.
Still, the stocking swipe has been a long time coming. Franzese and a cohort were convicted of extortion in 2010, and ordered to forfeit $116,500. The funds were "payable immediately at $25 a quarter while in custody and at 10% gross income" after release, according to court papers. But Capers and Cogan opted to garnish ten large from the aging inmate's commissary during this Christmas season while he remains behind bars. At $25 a quarter, the total for both defendants, at $100 a year for five years, adds up to $1000, not $10K. No one at the U.S. Attorney's office really wanted to discuss their Scrooge-like conduct.
But yesterday, a Capers spokeswoman insisted that "Christmas had nothing to do with the timing" of his request two weeks ago for a final order from the judge. It was made then, she said, because Franzese had not responded to a September notice about the government's intentions.
But Franzese's son Michael, the reformed capo who preaches the word of God now, but who's watched the feds target his old man for more than 50 years, told Gang Land that the timing, and the seizure of his father's commissary, were "no surpise" to him.
"He's broke, he's elderly, he's sick, he doesn't have much time left, but it's the same old same old with my dad," said the onetime Yuppie Don. Michael Franzese, 64, concedes that his father is a long time criminal, but like many others, including Gang Land, he believes Sonny was framed for the 1950s bank robbery conspiracy conviction that earned him his original 50-year prison term back in 1967.
"They don't do it to everyone who has a fine and restitution; but they can be selective, and they chose him," said Michael. "I'm really not surprised. My father was no angel. I fault him for a lot. But enough is enough."
Along with a brother and sister Michael described as "legitimate people," he plans to contest Cogan's forfeiture order "because almost all of the money in the commissary was sent in by family and friends" to ease the pain and drudgery of prison life. The cash gifts were for "things like, Cup-A-Soup, eye drops, stamps," said Franzese. Since he has only 60 days to appeal the order, Franzese expects to retain an attorney in the immediate future.
"Believe me, it really hurts him," said Michael, noting that his father, who was convicted of being the Colombo underboss in 2006 when he was a spry 89-year-old, is a "shell of himself" today. "He's 98 years old, going on 99 (in February,)" he said.
His dad is in a wheelchair and recently had gall bladder surgery, said Franzese. "They just don't want to leave him alone," he said. The only thing his father had gotten out of the extortion rap, he added, was "just a wasted eight years of his life. It's terrible."
The feds have their own assessment of the senior Franzese's earnings. In a government filing, assistant U.S. attorney Laura Mantell wrote that "trial evidence amply demonstrated" that Franzese "profited" greatly while he was the family's "official underboss," and that he "attained that high-ranking position by long devoting his life to violent crime" and "ultimately committed so many murders that he even struggled to keep track of them all."
"I killed a lot of guys," Sonny told a wired-up cooperating witness he was grooming to be a "made man" back on December 6, 2006, according to a government transcript of the taped talk. "You're not talking about four, five, six, ten," said Franzese, noting that he "used to wear nail polish" when he killed people back in the day so as not to leave tell-tale fingerprints.
There were no murder charges in his indictment and the tapes in which Sonny discussed them were not played at his trial. Convicted of racketeering and extortion, Franzese was sentenced to eight years. His official release date is June 25, 2017, but he will be eligible for placement in a halfway house next June.
In her court papers, Mantell conceded that codefendant Joseph DiGorga extorted the Hustler funds and that "there is evidence that DiGorga never shared the proceeds from the Hustler Club with defendant Franzese." But she argued that each defendant was liable for the money because both gangsters were found guilty of being part of the shakedown scheme. And Cogan agreed.
Mantell also states that neither DiGorga, who has completed his sentence and whose commissary funds were not forfeited, nor Franzese, have any money or other assets that can be siezed except for Sonny's commissary funds. Her papers do not say why the government did not forfeit DiGorga's commissary while he was in prison, or why the feds did not move immediately to seize $25 a quarter from the still incarcerated gangster, as is mentioned in the original forfeiture order.
In a statement, the Capers spokeswoman, Nellin McIntosh, stated that the forfeiture order also "permitted us to seize substitute assets to collect on the judgment, without any time restriction." That is what they opted to do, and their motion was approved by the court, she said.
At Holiday Bash, Many Merried to the Mob
Some of the most gala parties of this past (1988) holiday season went virtually unnoticed — except by law enforcement authorities.
The best and the biggest was the be-there-or-else Christmas bash thrown by John Gotti for about 1,000 mobsters, associates, wives, children, and other guests.
Like most business organizations, the city's mafia families celebrated the season of good feelings with such events.
And just like the parties of legitimate concerns — coincidentally, the Brooklyn U.S. Attorney's party was the same night as Gotti's — mafia soirees often reflect an organization's success and the taste of its leaders.
Take Gotti's.
As the bosses of four New York families spent the holidays in federal prisons, things couldn't have been better for the swashbuckling don, who took over the country's largest crime family three years ago, beat a racketeering charge, and has been riding high ever since.
After nondescript affairs the last two years at the refurbished, but cozy, Ravenite Social Club on Mulberry Street in Little Italy, Gotti went in style this Christmas.
From about 7 P.M. to 2 A.M. on December 20, (1988), his guests danced to continuous music from two bands and consumed an estimated $200,000 worth of food and drink at the spacious El Caribe Beach Club.
"For the most part," said one source, "wives, children, and other guests came in the early part of the evening and the wiseguys stayed on into the early morning."
5-Foot Teddy Bears
Many of the revelers received 5-foot teddy bears and other stuffed animals as favors from the host, who arrived with a flourish about halfway through the affair.
Gotti was driven to the Mill Basin, Brooklyn, club in a white limo, attended by three capos who escorted him in a second car.
Underboss Frank (Frankie Loc) Locascio, 56, of the Bronx, and consigliere Salvatore (Sammy Bull) Gravano, 43, of Staten Island, came with their own crews.
Detectives from the Organized Crime Control Bureau, who videotaped the comings and goings, saw mobsters from the Colombo and Bonanno families, including Bonanno acting boss Anthony Spero, 59, of Brooklyn.
Neither Spero, nor Genovese crime boss Vincent (Chin) Gigante, 59, hosted Christmas parties, at least any the cops could find.
It's unlikely that Gigante, whose rackets closely rival Gotti's, would allow an ostentatious affair. Gigante, who occasionally walks through the streets in his bathrobe, reputedly feigning insanity, has a low-key, cautious style.
But cops found parties thrown by the Luchese and Colombo clans.
The Lucheses had an affair in Brooklyn on December 16 attended by about 200, although acting boss Victor Amuso, 54, of Queens, was not spotted.
The party was at the Glen Terrace, where late Luchese capo Paul Vario used to meet former Brooklyn Democratic boss Meade Esposito during the 1970s, according to Henry Hill, central figure of Nick Pileggi's book Wiseguy.
The Colombo family, long based in Brooklyn, moved its party to Queens — to the Trophy Club, a Middle Village storefront that is the domain of acting boss Benedetto (Benny) Aloi, 53, of Floral Park.
(Editor's note: The account of John Gotti's 1988 Christmas party was first printed in the New York Daily News newspaper on January 8, 1989.)
Little Al's 'Mediterranean Fruit Buyers' Partied Hardy
In early December of 1990, the same week that the FBI ended the joys of Christmas forever for John Gotti, the fugitive leaders of the Luchese family, Vittorio (Vic) Amuso and Anthony (Gaspipe) Casso decided to boost morale of their loyal troops with a big Christmas bash, and sent for their acting boss Alfonso (Litte Al) D'Arco.
The message was relayed through Patty Testa, who owned a couple of Brooklyn car dealerships and had supplied Amuso and Casso with Jeeps they were using since they had gone on the lam six months earlier when they learned they were about to be hit with racketeering charges. Testa had taken on the role of messenger for Amuso, the boss-in-hiding.
They spent a couple of hours driving through Brooklyn in Testa's Cadillac. "We were dry-cleaning ourselves, making sure no one could tail us," recalled D'Arco, whose account is reported in greater detail in Mob Boss, The Life Of Little Al D'Arco, The Man Who Brought Down The Mafia by Tom Robbins and yours truly.
Testa finally parked on a street in Canarsie near an auto body shop on Farragut Road. The home belonged to Testa's elderly relatives. They were glad to have him and his friends enjoy their furnished basement. Testa told Al to wait in the car, then walked across the street to a small house. He reemerged about ten minutes later, beckoning D'Arco inside.
"Don't make any noise," Testa whispered. He led him down a hallway to an entrance to the basement. Amuso and Casso were waiting downstairs.
The bosses had grown full beards during their time in hiding. They did a run through of family business. Al, who had been meeting them and giving them cash for months, handed over another $60,000 . The money was still in Christmas wrapping paper, the same way it had been handed over by the construction executive who made regular payoffs to the family.
For a pair of men who had been in hiding for more than six months, the bosses seemed happy and upbeat. "They said they wanted me to throw a big Christmas party for the family. That I should spend what I had to, to make sure everyone knew we were doing good and still holding together," D'Arco recalled.
The Luchese Christmas party was an annual tradition. They were lavish, spare-no expense affairs, held at restaurants owned by members or friends. Tables loaded with lobster, shrimp, steak, and pasta were pushed together in the center of the room. It was too crowded for anything but buffet-style dining.
It was made members-only, a kind of meet and greet for the family's branches and crews. Everyone came, even the far flung members from Las Vegas and the West Coast. Two Christmases before, the festivities had been marred when the entire twenty-odd member New Jersey faction had boycotted the party over a still unresolved dispute. Amuso had been outraged, vowing to kill them all.
This year, everyone was supposed to be present. Everyone except the hosts, the two bosses.
"We couldn't have it at La Donna Rosa (Little Al's Little Italy restaurant across the street from Petrosino Park on Lafayette Street.) It wasn't big enough, and it was too hot, there were too many agents around."
But Al had a new restaurant he was helping to launch on Horatio Street on the far west side in Greenwich Village. It was being run by his son John, along with a Chinese chef he'd met. The idea was Al's. "Everyone loves Italian and Chinese food, so I said let's put them together in one place." It was called Pasquale & Wong's. A wealthy Greek contractor from Astoria named George Kalaitzis who worked closely with Casso was the up-front owner of the place and was investing most of the money.
"I had one of our guys, Fat Mikey, get these rolls of green sparkling paper and put it over the windows so you couldn't see who was inside the place. Then we put up a big sign saying, 'Welcome Mediterranean Fruit Buyers.' That was our cover in case anyone asked what the party was for," he said.
On the night of the event, Al had several associates serve as running valets. "Soon as guys would pull up in their cars, we'd drive them a few blocks away so no one could spot all the plate numbers."
Al cleared a special table for the family's old timers. "They said it was the first time they'd been treated like that in years. Everyone was hugging each other. We had champagne all over the place."
Al interrupted the festivities to make a toast. "We tapped the glasses. Bing, bing, bing. I said, 'Merry Christmas to everybody, and let's not forget our friends who couldn't attend, you know? We wish them and their families a very merry Christmas.'" The room rang with cheers and applause.
The party broke up not long after midnight. "It didn't go late. It was just holiday spirit, that was the idea," D'Arco recalled.
December 24, 2015 This Week in Gang Land
By Jerry Capeci
Sonny Franzese's Christmas Stocking Emptied By A Grinch In A Robe
Legendary Colombo wiseguy John (Sonny) Franzese has spent enough Christmases behind bars to know that Santa won't be stopping at his federal prison hospital in Massachusetts tonight. But last week the 98-year-old perennial inmate got a pre-Yuletide missive from Federal Judge Brian (The Grinch) Cogan that was worse than any lump of coal.
Egged on by a request earlier this month from Brooklyn U.S. Attorney Robert (Scrooge) Capers, the Grinch Judge ordered Sonny to forfeit all but $250 of the $10,089 that he had in his commissary account to help pay his bill for extorting the Hustler Club back in 2006. What made the pre-Christmas account looting even more painful was that Franzese didn't collect any cash from the shakedown, according to court papers filed by the feds.
Still, the stocking swipe has been a long time coming. Franzese and a cohort were convicted of extortion in 2010, and ordered to forfeit $116,500. The funds were "payable immediately at $25 a quarter while in custody and at 10% gross income" after release, according to court papers. But Capers and Cogan opted to garnish ten large from the aging inmate's commissary during this Christmas season while he remains behind bars. At $25 a quarter, the total for both defendants, at $100 a year for five years, adds up to $1000, not $10K. No one at the U.S. Attorney's office really wanted to discuss their Scrooge-like conduct.
But yesterday, a Capers spokeswoman insisted that "Christmas had nothing to do with the timing" of his request two weeks ago for a final order from the judge. It was made then, she said, because Franzese had not responded to a September notice about the government's intentions.
But Franzese's son Michael, the reformed capo who preaches the word of God now, but who's watched the feds target his old man for more than 50 years, told Gang Land that the timing, and the seizure of his father's commissary, were "no surpise" to him.
"He's broke, he's elderly, he's sick, he doesn't have much time left, but it's the same old same old with my dad," said the onetime Yuppie Don. Michael Franzese, 64, concedes that his father is a long time criminal, but like many others, including Gang Land, he believes Sonny was framed for the 1950s bank robbery conspiracy conviction that earned him his original 50-year prison term back in 1967.
"They don't do it to everyone who has a fine and restitution; but they can be selective, and they chose him," said Michael. "I'm really not surprised. My father was no angel. I fault him for a lot. But enough is enough."
Along with a brother and sister Michael described as "legitimate people," he plans to contest Cogan's forfeiture order "because almost all of the money in the commissary was sent in by family and friends" to ease the pain and drudgery of prison life. The cash gifts were for "things like, Cup-A-Soup, eye drops, stamps," said Franzese. Since he has only 60 days to appeal the order, Franzese expects to retain an attorney in the immediate future.
"Believe me, it really hurts him," said Michael, noting that his father, who was convicted of being the Colombo underboss in 2006 when he was a spry 89-year-old, is a "shell of himself" today. "He's 98 years old, going on 99 (in February,)" he said.
His dad is in a wheelchair and recently had gall bladder surgery, said Franzese. "They just don't want to leave him alone," he said. The only thing his father had gotten out of the extortion rap, he added, was "just a wasted eight years of his life. It's terrible."
The feds have their own assessment of the senior Franzese's earnings. In a government filing, assistant U.S. attorney Laura Mantell wrote that "trial evidence amply demonstrated" that Franzese "profited" greatly while he was the family's "official underboss," and that he "attained that high-ranking position by long devoting his life to violent crime" and "ultimately committed so many murders that he even struggled to keep track of them all."
"I killed a lot of guys," Sonny told a wired-up cooperating witness he was grooming to be a "made man" back on December 6, 2006, according to a government transcript of the taped talk. "You're not talking about four, five, six, ten," said Franzese, noting that he "used to wear nail polish" when he killed people back in the day so as not to leave tell-tale fingerprints.
There were no murder charges in his indictment and the tapes in which Sonny discussed them were not played at his trial. Convicted of racketeering and extortion, Franzese was sentenced to eight years. His official release date is June 25, 2017, but he will be eligible for placement in a halfway house next June.
In her court papers, Mantell conceded that codefendant Joseph DiGorga extorted the Hustler funds and that "there is evidence that DiGorga never shared the proceeds from the Hustler Club with defendant Franzese." But she argued that each defendant was liable for the money because both gangsters were found guilty of being part of the shakedown scheme. And Cogan agreed.
Mantell also states that neither DiGorga, who has completed his sentence and whose commissary funds were not forfeited, nor Franzese, have any money or other assets that can be siezed except for Sonny's commissary funds. Her papers do not say why the government did not forfeit DiGorga's commissary while he was in prison, or why the feds did not move immediately to seize $25 a quarter from the still incarcerated gangster, as is mentioned in the original forfeiture order.
In a statement, the Capers spokeswoman, Nellin McIntosh, stated that the forfeiture order also "permitted us to seize substitute assets to collect on the judgment, without any time restriction." That is what they opted to do, and their motion was approved by the court, she said.
At Holiday Bash, Many Merried to the Mob
Some of the most gala parties of this past (1988) holiday season went virtually unnoticed — except by law enforcement authorities.
The best and the biggest was the be-there-or-else Christmas bash thrown by John Gotti for about 1,000 mobsters, associates, wives, children, and other guests.
Like most business organizations, the city's mafia families celebrated the season of good feelings with such events.
And just like the parties of legitimate concerns — coincidentally, the Brooklyn U.S. Attorney's party was the same night as Gotti's — mafia soirees often reflect an organization's success and the taste of its leaders.
Take Gotti's.
As the bosses of four New York families spent the holidays in federal prisons, things couldn't have been better for the swashbuckling don, who took over the country's largest crime family three years ago, beat a racketeering charge, and has been riding high ever since.
After nondescript affairs the last two years at the refurbished, but cozy, Ravenite Social Club on Mulberry Street in Little Italy, Gotti went in style this Christmas.
From about 7 P.M. to 2 A.M. on December 20, (1988), his guests danced to continuous music from two bands and consumed an estimated $200,000 worth of food and drink at the spacious El Caribe Beach Club.
"For the most part," said one source, "wives, children, and other guests came in the early part of the evening and the wiseguys stayed on into the early morning."
5-Foot Teddy Bears
Many of the revelers received 5-foot teddy bears and other stuffed animals as favors from the host, who arrived with a flourish about halfway through the affair.
Gotti was driven to the Mill Basin, Brooklyn, club in a white limo, attended by three capos who escorted him in a second car.
Underboss Frank (Frankie Loc) Locascio, 56, of the Bronx, and consigliere Salvatore (Sammy Bull) Gravano, 43, of Staten Island, came with their own crews.
Detectives from the Organized Crime Control Bureau, who videotaped the comings and goings, saw mobsters from the Colombo and Bonanno families, including Bonanno acting boss Anthony Spero, 59, of Brooklyn.
Neither Spero, nor Genovese crime boss Vincent (Chin) Gigante, 59, hosted Christmas parties, at least any the cops could find.
It's unlikely that Gigante, whose rackets closely rival Gotti's, would allow an ostentatious affair. Gigante, who occasionally walks through the streets in his bathrobe, reputedly feigning insanity, has a low-key, cautious style.
But cops found parties thrown by the Luchese and Colombo clans.
The Lucheses had an affair in Brooklyn on December 16 attended by about 200, although acting boss Victor Amuso, 54, of Queens, was not spotted.
The party was at the Glen Terrace, where late Luchese capo Paul Vario used to meet former Brooklyn Democratic boss Meade Esposito during the 1970s, according to Henry Hill, central figure of Nick Pileggi's book Wiseguy.
The Colombo family, long based in Brooklyn, moved its party to Queens — to the Trophy Club, a Middle Village storefront that is the domain of acting boss Benedetto (Benny) Aloi, 53, of Floral Park.
(Editor's note: The account of John Gotti's 1988 Christmas party was first printed in the New York Daily News newspaper on January 8, 1989.)
Little Al's 'Mediterranean Fruit Buyers' Partied Hardy
In early December of 1990, the same week that the FBI ended the joys of Christmas forever for John Gotti, the fugitive leaders of the Luchese family, Vittorio (Vic) Amuso and Anthony (Gaspipe) Casso decided to boost morale of their loyal troops with a big Christmas bash, and sent for their acting boss Alfonso (Litte Al) D'Arco.
The message was relayed through Patty Testa, who owned a couple of Brooklyn car dealerships and had supplied Amuso and Casso with Jeeps they were using since they had gone on the lam six months earlier when they learned they were about to be hit with racketeering charges. Testa had taken on the role of messenger for Amuso, the boss-in-hiding.
They spent a couple of hours driving through Brooklyn in Testa's Cadillac. "We were dry-cleaning ourselves, making sure no one could tail us," recalled D'Arco, whose account is reported in greater detail in Mob Boss, The Life Of Little Al D'Arco, The Man Who Brought Down The Mafia by Tom Robbins and yours truly.
Testa finally parked on a street in Canarsie near an auto body shop on Farragut Road. The home belonged to Testa's elderly relatives. They were glad to have him and his friends enjoy their furnished basement. Testa told Al to wait in the car, then walked across the street to a small house. He reemerged about ten minutes later, beckoning D'Arco inside.
"Don't make any noise," Testa whispered. He led him down a hallway to an entrance to the basement. Amuso and Casso were waiting downstairs.
The bosses had grown full beards during their time in hiding. They did a run through of family business. Al, who had been meeting them and giving them cash for months, handed over another $60,000 . The money was still in Christmas wrapping paper, the same way it had been handed over by the construction executive who made regular payoffs to the family.
For a pair of men who had been in hiding for more than six months, the bosses seemed happy and upbeat. "They said they wanted me to throw a big Christmas party for the family. That I should spend what I had to, to make sure everyone knew we were doing good and still holding together," D'Arco recalled.
The Luchese Christmas party was an annual tradition. They were lavish, spare-no expense affairs, held at restaurants owned by members or friends. Tables loaded with lobster, shrimp, steak, and pasta were pushed together in the center of the room. It was too crowded for anything but buffet-style dining.
It was made members-only, a kind of meet and greet for the family's branches and crews. Everyone came, even the far flung members from Las Vegas and the West Coast. Two Christmases before, the festivities had been marred when the entire twenty-odd member New Jersey faction had boycotted the party over a still unresolved dispute. Amuso had been outraged, vowing to kill them all.
This year, everyone was supposed to be present. Everyone except the hosts, the two bosses.
"We couldn't have it at La Donna Rosa (Little Al's Little Italy restaurant across the street from Petrosino Park on Lafayette Street.) It wasn't big enough, and it was too hot, there were too many agents around."
But Al had a new restaurant he was helping to launch on Horatio Street on the far west side in Greenwich Village. It was being run by his son John, along with a Chinese chef he'd met. The idea was Al's. "Everyone loves Italian and Chinese food, so I said let's put them together in one place." It was called Pasquale & Wong's. A wealthy Greek contractor from Astoria named George Kalaitzis who worked closely with Casso was the up-front owner of the place and was investing most of the money.
"I had one of our guys, Fat Mikey, get these rolls of green sparkling paper and put it over the windows so you couldn't see who was inside the place. Then we put up a big sign saying, 'Welcome Mediterranean Fruit Buyers.' That was our cover in case anyone asked what the party was for," he said.
On the night of the event, Al had several associates serve as running valets. "Soon as guys would pull up in their cars, we'd drive them a few blocks away so no one could spot all the plate numbers."
Al cleared a special table for the family's old timers. "They said it was the first time they'd been treated like that in years. Everyone was hugging each other. We had champagne all over the place."
Al interrupted the festivities to make a toast. "We tapped the glasses. Bing, bing, bing. I said, 'Merry Christmas to everybody, and let's not forget our friends who couldn't attend, you know? We wish them and their families a very merry Christmas.'" The room rang with cheers and applause.
The party broke up not long after midnight. "It didn't go late. It was just holiday spirit, that was the idea," D'Arco recalled.