Top Hoodlum Read online

  ALSO BY ANTHONY M. DESTEFANO

  Top Hoodlum:

  Frank Costello, Prime Minister of the Mafia

  The Big Heist:

  The Real Story of the Lufthansa Heist, the Mafia, and Murder

  Mob Killer:

  The Bloody Rampage of Charles Carneglia, Mafia Hit Man

  The King of the Godfathers:

  Joseph Massino and the Fall of the Bonanno Crime Family

  TOP HOODLUM

  FRANK COSTELLO Prime Minister of the Mafia

  ANTHONY M. DESTEFANO

  CITADEL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  CITADEL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 Anthony M. DeStefano

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-0-8065-3869-3

  Library of Congress CIP data is available.

  First electronic edition: July 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-0-8065-3871-6

  ISBN-10: 0-8065-3871-6

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE - “COME TO AMERICA”

  CHAPTER TWO - NO MORE GUNS, THANK YOU

  CHAPTER THREE - THE BOOM OF PROHIBITION

  CHAPTER FOUR - WHISKEY ROYALTY

  CHAPTER FIVE - A WOMAN SCORNED

  CHAPTER SIX - “THE GREATEST ROUNDUP”

  CHAPTER SEVEN - “KING OF THE BOOTLEGGERS”

  CHAPTER EIGHT - “PERSONALLY, I GOT DRUNK”

  CHAPTER NINE - THE GREAT BLOODLETTING

  CHAPTER TEN - “THE MOST MENACING EVIL”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - “YOU’RE A HELL OF AN ITALIAN”

  CHAPTER TWELVE - “I KNOW EVERYBODY”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - “PUNKS, TIN HORNS, GANGSTERS AND PIMPS”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - “I NEVER STOLE A NICKEL IN MY LIFE”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FELLOWS DOING HERE?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - GO WEST, YOUNG MAN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - CUBA LIBRE

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - TAMMANY TALES

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - “I’M A NEIGHBOR OF YOURS”

  CHAPTER TWENTY - THE BALLET OF THE HANDS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - “GET FRANK COSTELLO”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - “DEAR FRANK”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - “SOMEONE TRIED TO GET TO ME”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - “THIS MEANS I’M NEXT”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - “HE’S GONE”

  EPILOGUE

  NOTES

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Life can only be understood backwards;

  but it must be lived forwards

  —SØREN KIERKEGAARD

  PROLOGUE

  THE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF DRIVERS who travel each day along the Grand Central Parkway in the Borough of Queens in New York City likely never give much notice to the small urban cemetery of St. Michael’s. Crammed into less than 100 acres, the burial ground sits back off the highway and is partially obscured by roadway abutments, fences, and trees. Started by an Episcopal church in Manhattan in 1852, St. Michael’s is non-denominational. Its burials reflect the history of the city’s migration stream: many of the older graves are for Polish, German, and Italian families, the newer ones are for interments of Greeks, Eastern Europeans, and Asians.

  On an unseasonably warm and sunny day recently, I pulled onto Astoria Boulevard and made my way to the cemetery’s front gate. St. Michael’s doesn’t have many notable burials, certainly nothing like the more historically significant cemeteries of Green-Wood in Brooklyn and Woodlawn in the Bronx. But one mausoleum right by the entrance is of great importance in the history of the American Mafia, and I was going to find it for the simple reason that I believe cemeteries are often the best place to begin and end stories. I felt this was certainly the case in writing a book about Francisco Castiglia, more popularly known as Frank Costello, the man anointed forever in crime lore as the “Prime Minister of The Underworld.”

  Costello may not have left a legacy of a crime family bearing his name such as happened with his main nemesis and rival Vito Genovese. But in the annals of organized crime, Costello was in a class by himself. From a dirt-poor background in the southern Italian province of Calabria and only a sixth-grade education in American schools, he rose with a mix of shrewdness, business acumen, and plain luck to amass a fortune that sustained his advance as a power in the mob after emigrating in the early twentieth century as a child with his family to New York. Costello’s parents settled in the East Harlem section of Manhattan at a time when it bore the label of Little Italy. It was a community living under the sway of powerful criminal padrones and crime bosses as well as in constant fear of the mythic Black Hand, the extortion racket that preyed on the new Italian immigrants. This was the environment in which as a young man Costello learned the ways of the streets of New York.

  If truth be told, Costello got his hands dirty with violence as a young man since the gun and the knife were facts of life for a young immigrant man. But bloodshed was not something he became known for. For Frank Costello, his power came from the way he astutely identified ways of making money—be it in Prohibition, slot machines, and other gambling operations—and parlaying his fortune to a position of influence in Democratic party politics through the old and corrupt Tammany Hall organization.

  In the 1930s and 1940s, Costello built a reservoir of political influence in New York unlike anything we have ever seen in the history of the Mafia. How else could you think of a man who in 1932, after being part of the cabal that deposed the old Mafia leaders in bloody revolt a year earlier, was sitting among politicians in Chicago and helping the Democratic Party pick its presidential candidate? It seems that he did so through money, which politicians always need, and the value of his reputation as a crime boss, which helped him be—shall we say—persuasive. While later gangsters like John Gotti might be able to emulate the kind of celebrity that Costello enjoyed, they couldn’t hold a candle to the power Costello had amassed. Certainly, Gotti and other Mafiosi of his era could kill and grab millions of dollars from their crime family rackets. But Costello didn’t have to resort to the gun to get what he wanted.

  “He was not ‘soft,’ by any means,” George Wolf, Costello’s trusted lawyer and friend for years, would remember after his death. “On many occasions, I found him frightening. But he was ‘human,’ he was civilized, he spurned the bloody violence in which previous bosses had reveled.”

  Costello’s friends and peers in the Mafia were men like Charles “Lucky” Luciano, Joseph Adonis and Albert Anastasia, leaders who bloodied their hands in the great Mob power struggles of the 1930s and became legends in their own right. But Costello wisely saw the usefulness of corrupting and influencing politicians and police as a way of assuring that what would become La Cosa Nostra could operate in New York with little interference. Costello built alliances with Jewish gangsters like Meyer Lansky and had no trouble working with Irishmen like bootlegger William V. Dwyer and gambler Frank Erickson. For decades, with his political connections, Costello and the mob held sway, at least until reformist politicians like Fiorello La Guardia conducted their own vendettas in an effort to trim Costello’s sails.

  But to understand the real significance of Fra
nk Costello is to acknowledge that he was a man who was also on a quest to be seen as legitimate, a criminal who could be accepted by society as a man of taste and culture. Costello was like the fictional bootlegger Jay Gatsby, striving to attain entry to the social upper crust and status. To do that, Costello and his wife Loretta bought the house in Sands Point, which in The Great Gatsby was located in the more exclusive fictional area of East Egg, the place where Gatsby himself could only aspire to be part of. In the novel, Gatsby’s mansion was set in the somewhat socially inferior West Egg section, analogous to the current day Great Neck. So in a sense, Costello got where Gatsby never could and made an effort—sometimes successfully—to hob nob with his wealthy North Shore neighbors like NY Newsday publisher Alicia Patterson.

  “He came the closest of anybody could ever come to total legitimacy,” Mafia journalist and screenwriter Nicholas Pileggi once said about Costello. “When all of these guys are out there shooting each other and acting like idiots, he was at the 1932 Democratic Presidential Convention with the leader of Tammany [nominating] Franklin Delano Roosevelt as President in the Drake Hotel in Chicago.”

  Still, as hard as he tried, Costello was never able to break through to the legitimate world the way he wanted. He survived mob wars, as well as a bungled attempt by Genovese to assassinate him and a few efforts by the federal government early in life to put him in prison. But then La Guardia and his allies, including the legendary Manhattan District Attorney Frank Hogan, started to nibble away at Costello’s power, either using heavy-handed tactics to go after his slot machine empire or by embarrassing politicians, judges, and police officials who were friendly—or financially indebted to him. To La Guardia, Costello was a prime example of the crooks, thugs, bums, and chiselers whom he wanted to chase from New York City. It was a mission of La Guardia, driven by his childhood memories of the way his family had been victimized by criminals, as well as a political rivalry his reform group had with Costello’s friends in Tammany Hall.

  However, the real major public damage was done to Costello in 1951 when he decided to testify before the U.S. Senate committee investigating organized crime. He thought it would be an opportunity to show the world his legitimate side. But in the end, it was from a public-relations standpoint a tactical and strategic defeat. It was then that the American public saw Costello, mostly through television close ups of his fidgeting hands and the sound of his gravelly voice, as the personification of the mob. He would protest his innocence and claim to be nothing more than a respectable businessman dancing around questions by senators about his unsavory friends. But even children who watched the televised spectacle thought Costello was guilty of something. It turned out he would face another problem when his testimony soon after would lead to a conviction for contempt of Congress.

  Costello’s conviction for contempt of Congress led to an eighteen-month prison sentence. The publicity and undeniable evidence that organized crime existed in the country forced FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, who had known Costello from his days at the racetrack and socializing at the Stork Club, to initiate something known as the “Top Hoodlum Program.” For years, Hoover wouldn’t acknowledge that the Mafia existed. (After his death in 1972, stories arose that Costello and other mobsters passed along racing tips to Hoover that paid off handsomely.) Instead, he labeled people like Costello, not surprisingly, with the designation “Top Hoodlum,” and their files were noted accordingly. That was Hoover’s way of keeping the gangsters on law enforcement’s radar without having to surrender to the notion that there was indeed a phenomenon known as the Mafia. The result was that Costello was eventually tried, convicted, and sent to prison for five years in 1954 for income tax evasion. Old enemies in the government also worked feverishly to get his U.S. citizenship revoked in 1961 and even tried to get him deported, a fate that befell Costello friends Luciano and Adonis.

  But Costello still had some charms left in his life. In 1963 the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a decision to deport him. Retired from the Mafia life since the 1957 assassination attempt on him had been bungled by Vincent Gigante, Costello lived out his remaining days growing orchids in Sands Point and spending his time living the life of the country squire he had strived to be. Many of Costello’s old friends and associates found themselves in prison or murdered, and his legal issues depleted his wealth so much so that later in life he would have to ask for loans from the few friends who remained. But in the end, he kept his freedom, dying from a sudden bout of heart trouble in 1973 at the age of eighty-two.

  It was a chilly day in February 1973 that a small crowd of mourners, which included Costello’s wife Loretta, had gathered at St. Michael’s to pay their final respects at the mausoleum. Costello’s remains were placed in a crypt on the upper level of the classically styled structure, adorned on the front by two Ionian columns. His parents Luigi and Marie also had their own places inside, having been disinterred years ago from a simpler grave elsewhere in St. Michaels. The closing of the bronze doors that day symbolized the end of an era for the Mafia, one that was never to be repeated. Sure, the Five Families of the New York Cosa Nostra would remain a force for decades. But their heyday was approaching its sunset, and time was running out. The FBI, unshackled after Hoover’s death in 1972, started to go after the crime families in a more concerted way using the new racketeering laws. Over the coming years, the Mafia in New York was pushed back on its heels, the bosses who remained, presiding over dwindling empires run by second- and third-string acolytes.

  Returning to the front of the mausoleum some forty-four years later, I peered through the grimy glass on the doors hoping to feel a sense of the importance of the man whose remains lay within. The interior, lit by sunlight passing through a stained-glass window at the rear, was bathed in a calming yellow light but held no hint of anything special. In addition to his wife and parents, the Costello mausoleum also contains the remains of Loretta’s mother and father, her brother Dudley who was a close associate of her husband, as well as two of Frank’s older sisters. Each crypt was emblazoned with a small brass plaque: Costello’s bearing his ascribed date of birth of January 26, 1891 and the day of his death February 18, 1973. A small broom lay in a corner. The rear window ledge held a vase with some yellow roses of uncertain age and three small books.

  Standing in front of the structure, emblazoned with the name “Costello,” the moment seemed very undramatic. This was the tomb of a Mafia king. Yet, I felt that there were no secret insights that were going to come rushing at me as I stood there. I didn’t even see any damage from the bomb that detonated in 1974, blowing off the mausoleum doors in what police to this day still think was a gesture by dope dealing mobster Carmine Galante as a sign of disrespect. Costello took his knowledge and version of the truth with him when he entered this final resting place. But in reality, that is a perfect metaphor for Frank Costello and the secretive way he projected his power in the underworld. Almost everybody who knew anything about Costello and the way he operated was either inside the crypts or some other graves. The last significant books about him—one by his attorney George Wolf and the other by the late New York newspaperman Leonard Katz—were written around the time of his death in 1973. When they were published, both tomes were state-of-the-art in terms of the information available. (Another book was published by author Henry A. Zeiger in 1974.) The challenge for me was to tell the story beyond the old legends, since many of those who knew Costello were no longer living.

  Before he died, Costello himself thought he would finally commit to telling his story to a writer. Beginning in December 1972 he met a number of times with author Peter Maas, who earned fame with crime books like The Valachi Papers and Serpico. Maas knew from his earlier works the institutional history of the Mafia and saw the unprecedented power of Costello and his uniqueness in American history. Both men met and talked for hours with an eye toward a blockbuster. Clearly, it would have been a ground-breaking book, rivaling even the book about Valachi. But just weeks after Costello b
egan unburdening himself to Maas, he suddenly died after suffering a heart attack. Then in 2001, Maas himself passed away, leaving no trace of any interview notes or recordings of what Costello may have told him—save for a three-page memo I found that sketched out a possible approach to the subject of Costello.

  Although death and the passage of time may make things harder for an author seeking to reconstruct a person’s life story, in the case of researching and writing Top Hoodlum the years actually worked to my benefit. Since the 1990s, the FBI has been releasing its previously secret but historically significant files on famous mobsters as well as a host of other notable Americans, whether they were criminals or not, who had drawn the curiosity of Hoover and his army of agents. Scholars, researchers, and authors can now see reams of materials kept by the agency on the likes of Meyer Lansky, Luciano, and countless other Mafia figures. In the case of Frank Costello, over 3,000 pages of material have been released. The documents sometimes bear heavy redactions, but the pages reveal the inside story of the extent to which the federal government went after Costello with a vengeance. Government agents dug deep in an effort to put him in jail over his income tax problems. In another case, a former Treasury official, who had failed miserably and was humiliated in an attempt to convict Costello in the 1920s for bootlegging, helped the government in the effort to revoke his citizenship.

  There were also files about a strange jewel heist in 1935, one never mentioned in the Wolf and Katz’s books, involving precious stones of socialite Margaret Hawksworth Bell. The case was a Runyonesque tale involving a shadowy private detective named Noel Scaffa and some hapless thieves working in Miami. The FBI tried to implicate Costello in the theft and in fact got him indicted in New York. But again, as the files showed, Costello eluded the prosecution when it became apparent that the FBI couldn’t make the charges stick. By the early 1960s, a retired Frank Costello was keeping out of trouble, watching his old mob associates wither away. A police report in the files noted that Costello wasn’t observed in any criminal activity.