Read Boardwalk Gangster Online
Authors: Tim Newark
Boardwalk Gangster (6 page)
That was how he got his scars. After the ferry trip, the car stopped and Luciano was pushed out onto some rough ground. The police ripped the tape off his mouth and one of them held a gun against his head.
“The guy who did all the talkin’ says I better tell now where they can find Legs [Diamond] or they’re gonna blow my damned
brains out. I tell him he’d better get to it then because I got no goddamned idea where he is.”
brains out. I tell him he’d better get to it then because I got no goddamned idea where he is.”
Knowing the men weren’t mobsters, Luciano gambled they weren’t going to kill him. He said nothing and the police tired of the beating, leaving him in the muddy field. As he staggered away from the field, he was picked up by the local police and ended up in hospital surrounded by reporters. “The upshot is that the papers had all the garbage about how lucky I was to get away,” Luciano told Vizzini. “I guess that’s how it got to be Lucky Luciano. I still don’t like it.”
In the wake of Luciano’s 1929 testimony at Richmond County Court, this last statement is unconvincing—as he volunteered the name “Charles Lucky”—but the rest of the story seems the best account there is of the incident. The beating was nothing to do with the Castellammarese at all, but the encounter did leave Luciano with the scars that made him look like a gangster.
It also brought him into the public eye—and that was a big mistake as far he was concerned. As soon as he entered the public arena, he became an irritant to the authorities and that meant they’d never give up on him until he was behind bars.
Curiously, it may have been Luciano’s own fault that he was grabbed by the police searching for Diamond. Just seven months before the ride, he was in Ardonia on Good Friday enjoying some hunting with friends. They were shooting pheasants, but it was closed season for the birds and he was in violation of the local conservation laws. When state game protector Ed Nolan came to arrest Luciano at his upstate home, he was accompanied by the state trooper in charge of the district, who noted that Jack Diamond was staying at the house with Luciano.
That Diamond regularly stayed with him in the country was indicated by a story later told by Luciano in which Diamond tested out a machine gun on one his prized fig trees, shooting it to pieces. Luciano was furious with the trigger-happy mobster and
told him to practice shooting at the brick wall behind the house. That the police would come calling on Luciano while hunting down the murderer Diamond was not exactly surprising.
told him to practice shooting at the brick wall behind the house. That the police would come calling on Luciano while hunting down the murderer Diamond was not exactly surprising.
Luciano, incidentally, was fined $50 on March 31, 1929, for shooting a pheasant out of season—the only killing he was ever successfully prosecuted for.
WAR OF THE SICILIAN BOSSES
T
he Castellammarese War began at a low level with rival Sicilian gangsters hijacking each other’s convoys of illicit booze. Castellammarese gunmen shot it out with Joe “the Boss” Masseria’s soldiers. “We carried pistols, shotguns, machine guns and enough ammunition to fight the Battle of Bull Run all over again,” said Bonanno.
he Castellammarese War began at a low level with rival Sicilian gangsters hijacking each other’s convoys of illicit booze. Castellammarese gunmen shot it out with Joe “the Boss” Masseria’s soldiers. “We carried pistols, shotguns, machine guns and enough ammunition to fight the Battle of Bull Run all over again,” said Bonanno.
Sicilian-born New York mafioso Nick Gentile blamed the war on “Joe the Boss.” “The actions of the administration of Masseria were imposed in dictatorial and exasperating commands which did not allow reply,” said Gentile in his typically elaborate Italian. “They used to govern through fear.”
Masseria had links with Al Capone in Chicago and encouraged him to make a move against Joe Aiello, one of the leading Castellammaresi in that city. Elsewhere, Masseria tried to split away Detroit gang leader Gaspare Milazzo, another key Castellammarese figure. The plan was to drain Maranzano of his network of support throughout the United States and isolate him
so Masseria could finish him off on the streets of New York. In May 1930, this culminated in Milazzo being shot dead in a Detroit fish market. In response, Maranzano called a war council of his followers in Brooklyn.
so Masseria could finish him off on the streets of New York. In May 1930, this culminated in Milazzo being shot dead in a Detroit fish market. In response, Maranzano called a war council of his followers in Brooklyn.
“It’s a dirty spot on the honor of Castellammare,” he told the assembled mobsters. “It was as if he were sounding our battle cry,” said Bonanno. Maranzano dominated the meeting and even though other senior members of the crime family wanted to quiet down the affair so they could carry on with their business, the well-groomed Sicilian took them to war against Masseria in New York. Even Stefano Magaddino in Buffalo, the elder statesman of the clan, granted him permission to become their warlord.
Maranzano had two Cadillacs fitted with armor plating and bulletproof windows and these formed the core of his convoy as he patrolled his fiefdom. “Maranzano would sit in the back seat of his car with a machine gun mounted on a swivel between his legs,” said Bonanno. “He also packed a Luger and a Colt, as well as his omnipresent dagger behind his back.”
On August 15, 1930, Maranzano struck back at the very top of Masseria’s organization. Peter “the Clutch” Morello was so called because of his maimed right hand, on which only the little finger remained. Born in Corleone, his brothers had grown rich out of muscling in on legitimate immigrant businesses. His half brother Ciro was known as the “Artichoke King,” because of his domination of the vegetable racket, and Peter controlled the Bronx building racket. With his droopy mustache, he was a classic old-style Sicilian, dubbed a “Mustache Pete,” and had become a valued adviser to Joe the Boss. At 3:50 P.M. on the fifteenth, the sixty-year-old Morello was sitting in a sparsely decorated office on the second floor above the Sassone Realty Company on East 116th Street. Across a table from him was twenty-six-year-old Joseph Perrano, who was looking forward to going back to Italy the next day, and a third associate called Gaspar Pollaro.
There was a loud rap on the office door, and Morello opened it a crack to see who it was. Two men armed with pistols pushed their way into the room. They aimed point-blank at the Clutch and nailed him with five bullets, one through the forehead. The other two men sat motionless before they realized the gunmen could not leave any witnesses and the gunmen turned on them. Two shots hit Perrano as he jumped through the second-floor window, crashing to his death on the sidewalk below. Pollaro was shot once and seriously wounded.
Twenty minutes later, farther along the same street in a building housing the Harlem Casino, there was another hit. Benjamin Prince, a gambler and narcotics dealer, was just about to enter a Hungarian restaurant when he was called to the telephone in the barbershop on the floor below. As he turned around, an assassin hidden in the corridor washroom stepped out and executed him with a shot to the forehead. It looked like a day for clearing up unfinished business.
As a crowd gathered outside the Morello headquarters, the police asked for witnesses, and a little boy handed them a black book he had picked up off the street. The book contained more than fifty names with large sums of money written next to each one. It seem likely that one of the two assassins had taken it from Morello but dropped it as he ran to the getaway car waiting for them.
The Morello killing was a very high-profile blow against Joe the Boss, and several rival mobsters later claimed responsibility for it. Bonanno says Maranzano was behind it, while the government informer Joseph Valachi, a minor Maranzano gang member at the time, says it was a fresh-faced gunman hired from Chicago known only as Buster. Buster had supposedly told Valachi the detail that Morello just wouldn’t go down when he shot him and he had to chase him around the office with four more shots before he finished the job. It has since been suggested that Valachi made up the killer “Buster from Chicago” to cover his own role in murders ascribed to him, although other sources
have identified Buster as the professional killer Sebastiano Domingo.
have identified Buster as the professional killer Sebastiano Domingo.
In
The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano,
it is claimed that Luciano ordered the killing of Morello and it was his gunmen, Albert Anastasia and Frank Scalise, who shot him. This contradicts Valachi’s testimony and doesn’t make sense. Why would Luciano bother doing this when the Castellammaresi were on a war footing anyway? In
Mogul of the Mob,
Lansky also claims it was Anastasia and Scalise, but this clashes with his own stated intention of letting the Sicilians shoot themselves to pieces without getting involved. Yet again, this casts doubt on certain aspects of
Mogul of the Mob,
first published in 1979, which tries too hard to accord with the
Last Testament,
which appeared four years earlier
The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano,
it is claimed that Luciano ordered the killing of Morello and it was his gunmen, Albert Anastasia and Frank Scalise, who shot him. This contradicts Valachi’s testimony and doesn’t make sense. Why would Luciano bother doing this when the Castellammaresi were on a war footing anyway? In
Mogul of the Mob,
Lansky also claims it was Anastasia and Scalise, but this clashes with his own stated intention of letting the Sicilians shoot themselves to pieces without getting involved. Yet again, this casts doubt on certain aspects of
Mogul of the Mob,
first published in 1979, which tries too hard to accord with the
Last Testament,
which appeared four years earlier
Regardless of who was behind it, Masseria was furious and blamed Maranzano. He put word through to Al Capone to shoot Joe Aiello, his major Castellammarese rival in Chicago. In October, Aiello was struck by fifty-nine slugs from two Thompson machine guns and a sawed-off shotgun. As the bodies stacked up on both sides, Luciano and Lansky stayed out of the war until the end of the conflict approached. In fact, Luciano was so keen to stay out of the firing line that it was in late August 1930 that he accompanied Jack Diamond on the transatlantic trip to Weimar Germany to set up their drug-importing business.
The high-profile deaths of gangsters and innocent citizens caught in the crossfire were attracting too much attention from the authorities and those not directly involved wanted an end to it. Nick Gentile, in his chronicle of the Castellammarese War, says he was visited by a lieutenant of Al Capone who asked him to exert his influence on Maranzano. Otherwise the Chicago Mob would wage their own war against him. “We will employ even airplanes!” he was warned.
Gentile took the suggestion and later had a meeting with the Castellammarese leader. “We were brought in the presence of Maranzano who appeared in all his majesty: with two pistols
stuck in his waist and encircled by about ninety boys, who were also armed to the teeth. I had the impression that I found myself in the presence of ‘Pancho Villa.’”
stuck in his waist and encircled by about ninety boys, who were also armed to the teeth. I had the impression that I found myself in the presence of ‘Pancho Villa.’”
Maranzano talked at length to Gentile and tried to convince him that Masseria was at fault. “Masseria has always been our enemy,” argued one of Gentile’s associates, “to end this war it is necessary that Mangano should kill Masseria being that he has unlimited trust in him.” He was referring to Vincent Mangano, who was part of the Brooklyn Al Mineo crime family, closely linked with Masseria, and including a young Albert Anastasia. Other members of Masseria’s army had to be convinced, however, and that included Luciano.
On February 2, 1931, Charles Luciano was arrested for felonious assault. Police file photographs were taken of him and on the reverse of one of them his name was given as Charles Lucania “Lucky,” with another Anglo-Saxon alias of “Charles Reed.” He gave his address as 265 East Tenth Street. His height was recorded as 5 feet 9¾ inches, his build Mediterranean, his eyes brown, his complexion dark, his hair “blond,” but presumably this is a mistake or some form of police humor, as his hair was clearly black. His occupation was logged as chauffeur. Shortly after he was released, Maranzano approached Luciano with an offer too good to ignore.
The Castellammarese War was bad for business and Maranzano let it be known that the best way to end the fighting was for someone to knock off Masseria. Once that had been completed, he vowed, he would not take vengeance on any of Masseria’s gang. It was a tempting solution and Luciano visited him in March 1931 to discuss it further. Joseph Bonanno was at the meeting and said it was his first opportunity to see the man he had heard so much about.
“He was a thin man with a full head of black hair and a scarred and pockmarked face,” he recalled. “He walked obliquely,
lurching slightly to the side. His Sicilian was scant, but what words he knew he spoke well. He usually expressed himself in American street slang. But he was not a big talker; he liked to get to the point without any flourishes.”
lurching slightly to the side. His Sicilian was scant, but what words he knew he spoke well. He usually expressed himself in American street slang. But he was not a big talker; he liked to get to the point without any flourishes.”
They met at a private house in Brooklyn and Luciano was accompanied by Vito Genovese. The two chief mobsters spoke briefly and without naming Masseria.
“Do you know why you are here?” asked Maranzano.
Luciano nodded.
“Then I don’t have to tell you what has to be done.”
Luciano said he would organize it over the next two weeks and would personally take charge of it.
“Good,” said Maranzano, “I’m looking forward to a peaceful Easter.”
In bright midday sunshine on April 15, 1931, Joe the Boss drove his steel-armored sedan with inch-thick bulletproof windows to Coney Island for lunch with Charlie Luciano and two associates known to both of them. They were meeting at Nuovo Villa Tammaro, a newly built two-story restaurant at 2715 West Fifteenth Street, where the owner’s mother-in-law, Anna Tammaro, cooked excellent Italian seafood. Masseria liked his food and was anticipating a friendly chat about business. He arrived shortly after 1:00 P.M. and ordered spaghetti with red clam sauce and lobster, all washed down with some Tuscan red wine. Luciano picked at his food and marveled at Masseria’s huge appetite; he touched little of the wine. After the meal, Luciano suggested all four men play some cards, but first he had to go to the restroom.
“At 2 o’clock the quiet of the little street near the bay was broken by the roar of gunfire,” said a newspaper report. “Two or three men walked out of the restaurant to an automobile parked at the curb and drove away. When the police got there they found Mrs. Tammaro bending over the body of Joe the Boss. He lay on his back. In his left hand was clutched a brand new ace of diamonds.”
The card was an invented embellishment, based on the fact that a deck of cards was scattered over the floor of the restaurant. On the table were several banknotes and a small amount of silver—about $35 in all. An autopsy showed that Masseria was shot three times in the back and twice in the neck and face, just above the eye, as he turned around to see his killers.
Legend has it that Luciano remained at the scene when the police arrived, looking bewildered. He’d gone for a “long leak” and the next thing he knew his lunch guest was sprawled across the floor dead. He’d seen nothing and neither had the restaurant owner who’d gone out for a long walk. Anna Tammaro had been in the kitchen and not surprisingly the dining room was empty of customers. In truth, none of the contemporary news reports mention Luciano being there, so most likely he left with the assassins.
Four hours later, the getaway car was found abandoned at West First Street in Brooklyn. Three pistols were recovered from the backseat, one fully loaded. Two more pistols were found in the alley alongside the restaurant. In total, four guns had been used. Three abandoned hats and coats were found in the restaurant, presumably belonging to the killers. They all came from Brooklyn shops.
The whole lunch had been a setup. When Luciano glanced at his watch and left the table—more likely 3:30 P.M. than the 2:00 P.M. reported—that was the signal for the gunmen parked across the road. Two of Luciano’s top hit men walked into the restaurant and let loose a storm of shots alongside two other mobsters already inside. The assassins are said to have been Bugsy Siegel, Vito Genovese, Albert Anastasia, and Joe Adonis. Five bullets entered Masseria’s body as he dragged the tablecloth with him to the ground. That four key gangsters had been chosen for this job meant that no one gunman could be hunted down. If any of Masseria’s crew wanted vengeance they’d have to come after all of them. It was a clear signal from Luciano to the underworld—this was an end to the fighting.
Luciano was happy to take personal responsibility for the killing of Joe the Boss because he was not merely carrying out a task for Maranzano. Nick Gentile was at Luciano’s home when he heard him make this declaration to a fellow mafioso.
“Tell your
compare,
Maranzano, we have killed Masseria, not to serve him but for our own personal reasons. Tell him besides that if he should touch even a hair of even a personal enemy of ours, we will wage war to the end.”
compare,
Maranzano, we have killed Masseria, not to serve him but for our own personal reasons. Tell him besides that if he should touch even a hair of even a personal enemy of ours, we will wage war to the end.”
It was a straight challenge to the wily old Sicilian, but for the moment he chose to ignore it and there were celebrations among the Castellammaresi. They had won the war. Maranzano marked his victory by calling a meeting of all his Mafia family henchmen—some five hundred in all—in a big hall in the Bronx. Such a public display violated everything Luciano had learned from Rothstein about keeping in the shadows and did not bode well for the reign of the Castellammarese clan. But Maranzano wanted everyone to know about his victory, and he strutted before his gangster minions like a politician. The room was hung with Christian icons and a massive crucifix hung over the end of the hall where Maranzano sat. If any unwelcome visitor entered, they were supposed to think it was a religious meeting.
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