Gang Land 10/5/17

[gohnjotti]

This Week in Gang Land
By Jerry Capeci

Judge Gives 'Kid' In Huge Mob Case Five-Plus Years, And A Lecture

At 25 years old, Anthony (The Kid) Camisa is the youngest defendant in the huge five family Manhattan Federal Court mob case that boasts more than 40 defendants. But on Monday, The Kid got one of the stiffest sentences — five and a half years in prison. He also got a stern lecture from the judge that he was lucky he didn't get more time for the kidnapping at gunpoint of a gambler who tried to beat him out of $10,000.

Judge Richard Sullivan chastised Camisa for becoming a "gun toting thug on the street" for the mob despite a good upbringing. The judge went on to warn the young man that next time anyone flashed a gun around him he should "jump out a window" to get away. "If you show up before me again," the judge said, "you can count on the fact that I will give you the most time I can."

But Sullivan also gave a 15-minute tongue-lashing to assistant U.S. attorney Abigail Kurland for asking the judge to impose a more severe prison term than the 64-to-70 months called for in the plea agreement that the government reached with the defendant in May. Probation officials recommended 62 months. The Kid had asked for five years, the mandatory minimum.

Camisa went on the lam when a cohort was nabbed for a 2014 kidnapping of a victim who was terrorized during a harrowing two hour ride that included a high-speed police chase through two residential Queens neighborhoods. He has been behind bars since his arrest in December.

Thus far, Camisa is the only defendant among the dozen or so who have been sentenced, including the number one mobster in the case, Genovese capo Pasquale (Patsy) Parrello, for whom the government has sought a prison term longer than the one that is recommended in the plea agreement. On his own, though, Sullivan added six months to the top of Parrello's guidelines numbers, and gave him seven years.

In her sentencing memo, Kurland argued that The Kid deserved more time for having committed "an incredibly serious offense" of threatening "innocent" friends of the deadbeat gambler and also for putting "countless lives in danger" including persons "who were simply going about their daily lives and the police officers who tried to stop Camisa" during the kidnapping.

"Indeed," wrote Kurland, "the gunpoint extortion ended with a police chase and a crash that also could have injured (the kidnapped victim), bystanders and law enforcement. It is sheer luck that no one was shot, killed or seriously injured."

"But you knew that when you offered him the plea deal," said Sullivan, who had presided over Camisa's guilty plea to illegal gambling and possessing a weapon during a crime of violence, and peppered the prosecutor with several questions about the government's actions in that regard.

"He was originally charged with brandishing a weapon, which carries a mandatory seven year sentence, and you took the plea to carrying a weapon during the crime," said Sullivan. "You lowered it to five years. Why did you do that? And then turn around and basically ask me to give him seven years?"

"We exercised our discretion," said Kurland, noting that the government "considered a number of factors" during plea negotiations.

"So you used your discretion to downgrade the charge, and then you dumped it in my lap and want me to exercise my discretion, and upwardly depart and give him seven years," said the judge, who also asked Kurland a couple of defense oriented questions that were greeted by affirmative nods by Camisa's mother, brother, and dozens of other supporters in the courtroom.

"He is one of the youngest, if not the youngest defendant in the case?" asked Sullivan.
"Yes he is," said Kurland.
"And he has no criminal record, whereas virtually all of the other defendants have a criminal record?"
"Yes, that's correct."

Camisa's attorney Gerald McMahon, who accused Kurland of acting in "bad faith" by filing a surprise upward departure letter before the judge took the bench, got a chance to repeat that charge in court when Sullivan asked the lawyer if he had known of her intentions in advance.

"I was completely shocked when the letter was filed," said McMahon. "And that's describing it charitably. If I was to describe it uncharitably, I would say that this was an act of bad faith."

Sullivan told Kurland that the government had several ways back in May to alert the defendant and the Court that it wanted a longer prison term, rather than filing a sentencing memo a week before he was due to be sentenced.

In addition to not dropping the charge of "brandishing" a weapon, the government could have charged Camisa with the more serious crime of extortion instead of gambling, the judge said. That would have added three or so more years to the defendant's exposure.

"You had all those options available to you and this is the deal you offered him, and now you want me to give him more," said the judge.

Kurland's most forceful argument for an enhanced prison term — one that Sullivan gave some credence to — was that in the words and tone of the I'm Sorry letter Camisa wrote to the Court, he expressed no remorse for his violent actions, but instead had tried to "blame the victims" by writing that they had "blatantly, brazenly, and arrogantly" tried to cheat him.

Noting that Camisa had falsely stated that he "never acted in a forceful manner," the prosecutor argued that "despite his arrest, guilty plea and imminent sentencing," it was clear that The Kid still "does not appreciate the seriousness of his behavior and the fact that there are no circumstances under which it is acceptable."

"He knows it's a serious crime," McMahon countered in court. "That's why he took a plea early. He knows he's lucky no one was hurt or killed, which could easily have happened. The car could have hit people on the sidewalk, and there could have been dead bodies on the street. Then we wouldn't be here talking about five or six years, we would be talking about 25 or 30 years. So he knows how lucky he is. He knows how serious this is."

In brief remarks, Camisa apologized to his victims, and promised Sullivan he would never see him again.

"You could have been a little more considerate and thoughtful of the victims in your letter," said Sullivan, who gave Camisa 66 months in prison, five years of post prison supervised release, and ordered him to forfeit $20,000 he extorted from two victims.

Before letting Camisa return to his lockup at the Metropolitan Correctional Center to continue serving his sentence, the judge lashed out at The Kid for his "stupid" and reckless acts of violence unbefitting his upbringing, background and common sense.

"You became a thug," said Sullivan. "I have seen a lot of people who grew up in the life with their father and grandfather. That's what they were taught. You weren't taught any of that."

The judge also posed several embarrassing questions that the onetime wannabe wiseguy didn't have to address in court, questions that Camisa better hope the judge never has a chance to ask him again.

"How does a 19 year old kid from a good family walk into a gambling organization and become the trusted right hand man to someone, and become a gun toting thug on the street? How does somebody do that at the age of 19 with no criminal background? What turned you into a thug carrying a gun collecting gambling money? What were you thinking?"

Take Two In Gambino Wiseguy's 'No Show' Job Trial

No one would talk about the retrial later this month regarding Gambino soldier Frank Radice's alleged no show job, but both sides hope that jury deliberations don't last longer than the trial testimony. That's what happened in July in Brooklyn Federal Court. Jurors took five days to weigh two and a half days of testimony before deciding they were deadlocked and unable to reach a verdict.

Radice, a former Teamsters Union member who was bounced from the union because of his mob ties, isn't charged with any wrongdoing. It's his brother-in-law who's on the hot seat for swearing back in 2012 and 2013 that Radice was hard at work for Show Biz Trucking.

The company, which was formed in 2009, specializes in transporting and storing equipment for television studios and movie theatres. The feds say Show Biz is owned by Radice's cousin, Michael Mattarazzo, a fellow Gambino wiseguy who also isn't charged with any wrongdoing.

James (Jimmy) Norizsan, a Show Biz dispatcher, is charged with "knowingly and intentionally" making eight false statements about Radice's $180,000 a year job in company documents that all unions are required to maintain under the Employee Retirement Income Security Act (ERISA) of 1974.

The statements are signed so-called Captain's Reports and Remittance Reports in which Norizsan checked off boxes indicating that Radice was working at Show Biz when, prosecutors say, he knew that his brother-in-law was nowhere near the company's Brooklyn office, and wasn't even working.

At best, the government's allegations seem to make out a "victimless crime," since there are no allegations that any entity was cheated out of anything as a result. Show Biz has no complaints about Radice, and even though Radice is no longer a union member, the company paid the required percentage of his salary into the benefit funds of the Teamsters Local 817.

At the first trial, defense attorney Maurice Sercarz argued that no crime was committed. He asserted that company officials knew Radice was not in the office those days, but had instructed his client to fill out the forms as though he was, which is what Norizsan stated on the witness stand. After the first trial, which Sercarz said ended with the jury deadlocked 6-5-1 for acquittal, the lawyer said he looked forward to his client's "complete vindication the next time around."

In order to prove that Norizsan had indeed committed a crime, assistant U.S. attorney Penelope Brady sought permission from Judge Alynne Ross to introduce evidence that Radice — as well as Mattarazzo — were mobsters.

"The true nature of (Radice's) activities and with whom he was associating on the days at issue is highly probative on the question of whether (Norizsan's) statements made on the Captain's Reports and Remittance Reports were false or misrepresentations of fact," Brady wrote in her court papers.

In addition, Brady argued, Radice's mob ties and his brother-in-law's "knowledge" of that "association with organized crime" would help establish Norizsan's "motive for committing the crime."

But Judge Ross agreed with the argument by Norizsan attorney Maurice Sercarz that Radice's organized crime ties would unfairly prejudice the jury against his client, against whom there are no alleged mob ties, save for the reputed status of his brother-in-law.

The lawyer also made Radice's whereabouts virtually irrelevant "on the days at issue" by conceding that Radice wasn't working in Brooklyn where the company documents stated he was.

At the first trial, the jury weighed two and a half days of testimony for five days without being able to reach a verdict. Whatever the outcome, here's hoping it comes quicker this time.

Ask Andy: Dumb and Dumber Too

A mention in the September 7 column of the bizarre 1987 murder of slight 78-year-old George Aronwald instead of his burly, 50-ish retired prosecutor son whom the Colombo crime family had marked for death, triggered a query about other bizarre mob murders. One involved the tiny San Jose family in 1977.

It happened after a guy named Peter Catelli was turned down for a job at the California Cheese Company owned by Mafioso Angelo Marino. Catelli went nuts and fired off an extortion letter, threatening the lives of Marino and his family if $100,000 was not forthcoming.

The normal expected response would have Marino whacking young Catelli. And that's what cops charged Marino, his son Salvatore and several associates with doing, along with the attempted murder of Catelli's father Orlando.

But the account that emerged over the next 14 years, at two trials and numerous other court proceedings, one that was put forth by the Marino crime family — and just might be true — has Peter Catelli tragically killed by Marino's son Salvatore when a plan concocted by their fathers to teach the young man a lesson in life fell apart when the mob boss didn't tell his mobster son about the plan.

According to Angelo Marino, the Catellis were grabbed and brought to the offices of the cheese plant and put into separate rooms. Suddenly, Peter heard a shot ring out in his father's room where a Marino henchmen fired his gun into a box of cheese carrying out a charade intended to scare young Catelli. No one is dead, or even wounded. Yet!

But upon hearing the shot from the other room, Salvatore assumed that Orlando Catelli had been killed, so he fired a shot into the head of Peter Catelli killing him instantly. This move stunned his father, and everyone else, and so did what happened next. Salvatore, once again, reacted with a gun rather than his brain and shot Orlando Catelli in the head to finish him off too.

The two Catellis were dumped into the trunk of their car, which was driven into San Francisco and abandoned. But the elder Catelli wasn't dead. Oops. His banging on the trunk of the car brought help, and after he told cops what had happened, the Marinos and their pals were arrested.

The Marinos finally went to trial in February of 1980. Orlando Catelli testified that he and his son were shot after the Marinos and two associates voted to kill them. Angelo was found guilty of second degree murder, but Salvatore Marino was severed from the case when his lawyer fell ill and was unable to continue.

Angelo won an appeal of his conviction, but before the second trial in the case began, Angelo suffered a heart attack and died, in February of 1983. He was only in his fifties.

Meanwhile, Salvatore's trial ended in a hung jury. Arguments went back and forth as what to do next. Finally, in June of 1986, a federal judge ordered Salvatore's release from prison when he wasn't brought to trial again. But things didn't go well for Salvatore. Later that year, despite his strong objections, his sisters sold the California Cheese Company, and he no longer had a source of legitimate income.

Things continued to go south for Salvatore. In May of 1989, the cops raided his home and seized several guns. Two years later, Salvatore was convicted of second degree murder and attempted murder in the Catelli shootings, along with weapons charges. He ended up being sentenced to nine years in prison for the father and son shootings, and four years for the guns.

The cost of this fiasco was tremendous. Salvatore spent countless thousands of dollars and 13 years in prison. His father's company, the one he hoped to own and run, was sold, and the San Jose crime family began a long slow decline into oblivion. Orlando Catelli lost his son; Salvatore Marino lost his father, whose death from a heart attack was brought on by the stress of the entire fiasco. The tragedy started with a dumb move and things went downhill from there.

[Stroccos]

Thanks for posting

[Teddy Persico]

The Feds fucked up so bad with the east coast enterprise indictment. Now they're trying to pull a fast one by offering plea deals so they won't go to trial then trying to hammer them with extra time right before sentencing. The judge is having none of it though.