Manhattan Mafia Guide (3 page)

One of the earliest threats to Italian immigrants in America was
La Mano Negra
, or the “Black Hand,” which was simply an extortion tactic believed to have originated in seventeenth- or eighteenth-century Spain. It was adopted by southern Italians and transferred to America by the end of the nineteenth century.

Black Hand illustration. Oelwein
[Iowa]
Daily Register,
June 7, 1909
.

“Black Hand Terror” illustration, September 16, 1909. Black & White,
March 19, 1910. Drawn by Will Owen
.

Black Hand criminal networks were well established in New York City by the turn of the century. It was perhaps the most rudimentary and transparent form of extortion possible, as simple as sending someone a threatening note requesting a certain amount of money by a specific date. The note was usually signed with a drawing of a black hand (hence the name) or another ominous symbol, like a noose, dagger or skull.

As a businessman, once you received that note, there was very little you could do. If you did not meet the demands of the request, then almost certain harm would come to you or your business by way of arson, assault, kidnapping or even murder. One retaliatory method of choice for many black handers in New York City at the time was bombing—if you did not or could not pay, the extortionist might simply blow up your store.

Bombings were not isolated incidents by any means. In 1907, fifty-two bombings in Manhattan’s Italian communities were attributed to the Black Hand.
¹
That is an average of one storefront blown to bits a week. Remember, these were tightly packed residential neighborhoods; casualties were of no concern. The more successful you were, the larger a target you became. For example, one of the most famous Italians in America at the time, star tenor Enrico Caruso, was famously black handed for $15,000.

Fast forward a generation and the Italian underworld began to take on a different image. First-generation Americans and those who arrived at an early age began to outnumber the traditionalist, right-off-the-boat patriarchs who controlled
La Cosa Nostra
for the first few decades. Those bred in the United States did not carry the same kind of prejudices toward non-Italians, nor did they care about Old World provincial rivalries among their own kind. By the end of Prohibition, what started as a “way of life” turned into a business, and like any business, public image was key to success.

Black Hand note: “Prepare for your death. Last & Final.” State Center Enterprise
[Iowa]
.

Outside Pati’s Bank, 238–40 Elizabeth Street, 1908. This photo was taken two months after a Black Hand bomb wrecked the counter on January 23, 1908. Five bombs were exploded on this single block over the course of that year.
Library of Congress
.

Charlie Luciano allegedly once said, “Arnold Rothstein taught me how to dress.” Gangsters discovered that a little class, tact and intelligence could get them further than pure street thuggery. By the early 1930s, rules had been established within the Mafia that curbed violence between members and outsiders. You couldn’t really just murder someone, move in on their territory or create your own rackets anymore—without permission. The days of shaking down neighborhood merchants for a few dollars were dwindling as gangsters focused their efforts on much more lucrative ventures, like narcotics, for example. A lot of die-hards do not want to admit it to this day, but drug trafficking made the Mafia possibly hundreds of millions of dollars between the 1930s and 1950s. Unless there was a truly massive conspiracy involving hundreds of international agencies and police departments spanning several decades, the records are pretty hard to dispute. Though most families swore off the
junk
by the end of the 1950s, a few renegades continued for a while after. The stories of Mafia members being killed or excommunicated for dealing or using drugs behind the backs of their bosses are probably accurate. It was too risky a business to be associated with.

There was an enormous difference between the Mafia of 1905 and the Mafia of 1935. Luciano stayed at the poshest hotels and drove the most expensive cars—a far cry from the man who founded the family that “Lucky” inherited, Giuseppe Morello, who slept in a filthy, cramped, one-room attic on Christie Street.

The public’s fascination with the Mafia dates back to at least the post-Prohibition era of the early 1930s when Al Capone was being hounded by paparazzi and George Raft was thrilling audiences on the big screen with his infectious swagger. The gangster—bank robbers, bandits and rumrunners who lived fast and rebelled against the system—had become a folk hero to many. But really, very little was known at the time about the inner workings of a Mafia crime family or their history. Even the U.S. government, as uncovered through released internal memos, was not fully privy to secrets of the
Fratelanza
.

In an age where Vito Corleone and Tony Soprano are household names in even the farthest reaches of the planet, it is hard to imagine what the public’s perception of the Mafia was before October 1, 1963. That is the day Genovese family button man turned informer Joseph Valachi took the stand on national television and introduced the idea of La Cosa Nostra to the masses. Americans were glued to their television sets as the former street soldier told his version of Mafia history. It was one of the highest-rated programs that CBS had ever run and was called “exciting and frightening to watch.”
²

About the same time American Mafia turncoat Valachi was spinning his tale, a Sicilian Mafioso named Nicola Gentile spilled his guts with the 1963 book
Vita Di Capo Mafia
. Joe Valachi released his memoirs soon after, and another high-profile informer turned up in 1968 under the name “Jim Carra” (see Attardi, Alphonso).

By the time Jim Carra publicly corroborated the testimony of Valachi and Gentile, the public was still sorting out the assassination of John Kennedy, and the United States was neck deep in the Vietnam War. With speculation of secret societies and conspiracies abounding, the Mafia and pop culture were about to collide like never before.

Mario Puzzo’s
The Godfather
hit the shelves in March 1969, and just three years later (in March 1972), Francis Ford Coppola transformed it into the iconic motion picture. Also in 1972,
The Valachi Papers
was turned into a movie starring Charles Bronson, and
The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano
, allegedly written from the memoirs of the vice kingpin, made a huge splash in 1974 (see Luciano, Charlie).

In real life, the Colombos were at war with themselves, and the Bonannos were at war with almost everyone; the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act was established in 1970; Jimmy Hoffa disappeared in 1975; and the Mafia was making headlines on a daily basis. The public was hooked (from the safety of their living rooms). According to the Internet Movie Database (IMDB), on a list of the “Top 100 Movies of All Time,” the top two are
The Godfather
(#2) and
The Godfather II
(#1).

I have no personal connection to any of the subjects, but like many working-class, multigenerational New Yorkers over a certain age with Italian blood, I became a little familiar with the culture of La Cosa Nostra; it was practically unavoidable for many years in this city. There was a social club (or three) on almost every block in certain neighborhoods. They ran the street festivals and organized block parties. We went to church and school (or played hooky) with members’ sons and daughters, and their parents attended PTA meetings and Little League games like everyone else. One neighbor was a cop, one was a truck driver and one was a wise guy.

It was not uncommon to see the ailing Genovese boss, Frank “Funzi” Tieri, at the boccie ball courts in Brooklyn in the 1970s. Like many other Italian grandfathers of the day, he was always armed—with pockets full of hard candy for the kids. Vincent Gigante could regularly be seen walking home with a plastic shopping bag full of tomatoes that he grew at a local community garden on the Lower East Side, sharing his surplus with neighbors along the way. Mafioso blended into society in much the same way as the butcher, baker and candlestick maker.

That was “Old New York.” The days of blue-collar, ethnic-based neighborhoods are fading, and the “members only” clubs—once unmistakable—are long gone. As I always say in jest, where the rest of the world uses BC and AD to measure time, here in New York City we have “Before Giuliani” and “After Giuliani.”

It is a different city now. For better or for worse, the Mafia’s presence is virtually nonexistent. As presented in the “Social Clubs and Hangouts” chapter of this book, decades-old mob cafés have been transformed into Chinese wholesalers, chichi boutiques and trendy eateries. Most multigenerational Italian families have been uprooted from Manhattan since the 1970s. Natives now jokingly refer to the old neighborhood, which has been relegated to about two city blocks, as “
Very
Little Italy.”

This book was written in the hope that the reader has a basic understanding of the subject matter and is familiar with terms like “Mafia Commission” or “Five Families.” If you need a primer, I highly suggest starting off with David Critchley’s
The Origin of Organized Crime in America: The New York City Mafia, 1891–1931
and Selwyn Raab’s
Five Families: The Rise, Decline, and Resurgence of America’s Most Powerful Mafia Empires
. And be sure to pick up a copy of Arthur Nash’s
New York City Gangland
, which is chock full of unique, insightful stories and rare images you won’t find anywhere else.

I

PROFILES

A
TTARDI
, A
LPHONSO

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