reading

Introduction

‘You live by the gun and the knife and you die by the gun and the knife.’

–Mob informant Joe Valachi to the McClellan Committee, 1963

The Mafia, or Cosa Nostra, first appeared in North America in the late nineteenth century, when gang members arriving from Italy, especially Sicily, settled in New York, Chicago and other urban centres, bringing their criminal ways with them. Loansharking, extortion, kidnapping, racketeering – they did it all and their reach grew quickly. It wasn’t long before these gangs were clashing with each other and with existing Jewish and Irish mobs as the newcomers gained a firm foothold in the New World.The 1920s brought Prohibition and with it an unexpected windfall for the mobs. There was money – lots of it – to be made from the illegal transportation and sale of liquor in the United States. America was dry and the mobs were eager to provide. Crime was bigger business than ever before and even the authorities were prepared to turn a blind eye in order to get their take. Criminals such as Jack ‘Legs’ Diamond and Al Capone seemed to call the shots, but it was Lucky Luciano who became the pre-eminent mob boss and who created the Commission, the ruling body that to this day oversees all mob activity and disputes, thereby reducing in-fighting. It was also Luciano who divided the New York Mafia into five families and was shrewd enough to work with the Jewish and Irish mobs, making crime more efficient and truly organized.

It took a while for law enforcement officials to move effectively against the Mafia, some apparently not even realizing – or not admitting publicly – that the organization existed. It wasn’t until 1957, when police broke in on a high-level mob meeting taking place in Apalachin, New York, that the existence of the Mafia was unquestionably verified, with further confirmation provided by mobster Joe Valachi in 1963 during his testimony to the US Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations while on trial for murdering a fellow inmate in prison. His testimony was broadcast on radio and television, giving the American public their first real and often chilling view of this shadowy organization.

In 1970, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act provided for extended criminal penalties for acts performed as part of an ongoing criminal enterprise, such as the Mafia. Significantly, it became possible to prosecute Mafia bosses who had ordered an offence, as well as those who had actually committed it.

Under RICO, any member of the mob – a popular name for the Mafia – could be sentenced to 20 years’ imprisonment and fined $25,000 if they had committed any two of 27 federal and eight state crimes, which included murder, gambling, extortion, kidnapping, bribery, robbery, drug trafficking, counterfeiting, fraud, embezzlement, money laundering and arson. Convictions for these crimes served as evidence for a new crime – racketeering to benefit an illegal enterprise.

Individuals harmed by these criminal enterprises could collect triple damages and those charged under RICO laws could be placed under a restraining order to seize their assets to prevent their dispersal.

Since then a whole raft of other strong initiatives have been put in place to curb the power of the Mafia. Despite this, it remains a powerful force today, controlling organized crime operations in New York, Chicago and Montreal, in particular. But the success of the Mafia would not have been possible without the ruthless methods that the crime bosses employed. Albert ‘Mad Hatter’ Anastasia, Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel, ‘Big Paul’ Castellano – the list of Mafia victims seems endless. Included in this book are the most important Mafia killings – the executions of the rival bosses, the informers, the feuds, even some of the hitmen implicated in the assassination of President Kennedy. They’re top of the lists of the ‘made men’, the associates and freelancers who paid the ultimate price.

These harsh new laws have put many of the old-style Mafia bosses away for good and have done much to impoverish the mob. However, there are always young mobsters waiting to fill the shoes of the older generation and there are always fresh rackets they can get into. As retired FBI agent David W. Breen says: ‘They’re like the Chinese army – you kill one and there are ten others to take his place.’

***

In Italy, significant inroads were made into the power of the Mafia by the Maxi-Trial of 1986, which saw hundreds of gangsters in the dock. More were tried in absentia and simply went underground. Mafia wars also thinned out the ranks.

Those imprisoned were held under restrictions outlined in Article 41-bis of the Prison Administration Act. They could be held in solitary confinement, refused the use of the telephone, banned from sending or receiving money and denied visits from family members. This meant that it was impossible for them to go on running a criminal organization from prison. However, with the Mafia shackled, its rivals flourished, leading to the rise of the Camorra in Naples, the ‘Ndrangheta in Calabria and the Sacra Corona Unita in Puglia.

Among Italians and Italian-Americans there seems to be no shortage of young men who want to live ‘the life’. This means that you have pockets full of money when others are worried about paying their bills. It gives you standing in society. These days, it also means flash cars, flash suits, bling, beautiful women and fine champagne.

On the other hand, you must have no scruples. You must be able to turn your hand to any form of crime, no matter what the consequences are for others. You must be willing to kill friend, foe – and innocent bystander – without a qualm and be prepared to torture others to death if that is what you are told to do.

Equally you must accept that your closest associates are likely to do that to you, too. Few Mafiosi have died in their beds of natural causes. Those going into ‘the life’ must accept that they are going to die in a hail of bullets, or after prolonged torture at the hands of fellow mobsters, or at best will spend many years in jail. It is the price you pay. This book tells the stories of a number of characters who have accepted this pact with the devil.

Part One: The Origins of the Mafia

For over 2,000 years, most of Sicily’s rural population endured tyranny and suppression at the hands of feudal overlords and foreign conquerors. With no formal government to protect them, the people gathered together in what they called cosche (literally, the leaves of the artichoke) to protect themselves from rules imposed by the unwanted landowners. These small, local clans, made up of blood relatives and neighbours, created their own dialect to ensure a degree of secrecy and developed a culture based on a disregard for the law. It is said that these tight-knit alliances form the roots of the Mafia.

Chapter 1: The Death of Don Calogero Vizzini

On 4 July 1954, one of the most powerful Mafia bosses in Sicily, Don Calogero Vizzini (known as Don Calò) died. His body was laid in state in a church in his home town of Villalba, where he had been mayor. Politicians from his party, the Christian Democrats, and high Roman Catholic churchmen came to pay their respects, along with the heads of other Mafia families, newspapermen and large numbers of people from the surrounding countryside. On the church door, according to the writer Norman Lewis, was a notice of his death, which read in part: ‘Wise, dynamic, tireless, he was the benefactor of the workers on the land and in the sulphur mines. Constantly doing good, his reputation was widespread both in Italy and abroad.

‘Great in the face of persecution, greater still in adversity … he receives from friends and foes alike the grandest of all tributes: he was a gentleman.’

The notice was not wrong. Though the illiterate ex-farmer, who rarely wore anything more elaborate than baggy trousers and a grimy shirt and could hardly speak anything but his native dialect, may not have been a gentleman in any familiar sense of the word, he had certainly had his share of ‘persecution’ and ‘adversity’. He had spent 20 years in Mussolini’s Italy either in jail or on the run from Il Duce’s emissary to Sicily, the ‘Iron Prefect’, Cesare Mori, and he did indeed have ‘a reputation’ that was ‘widespread both in Italy and abroad’. More than anyone else, the slovenly Don Calò had been responsible for the fact that the American part of the invasion of Sicily had been successfully accomplished in a matter of days. Picked up by a special force, and made an honorary colonel in the US Army more or less on the spot, this down-at-heel mayor had ridden with the American spearhead and had become affectionately known as ‘General Mafia’.

After the war, Don Calò became a power in the land for the Christian Democrats and at the time of his death was both rich and immensely powerful. It was therefore not surprising that his flower-decked bier should have been attended by a guard of honour, one of them his successor, Giuseppe Genco Russo. Few people noticed at the time, though, that a cord ran between Russo and his ex-chief’s body, a cord down which flowed, by an article of Mafia faith, the ichor or essence of Don Calò’s power, preserved into the next generation. If nothing else, the cord signalled the presence of something in the church much older than Christianity, almost as old as the mountainous landscape of Sicily itself.

Some six years later, a book was published which was to become Italy’s first-ever international bestseller. It was called The Leopard, and the author was a Sicilian grandee: Giuseppe Tomasi, Prince of Lampedusa and Duke of Palma. It was centred on the figure of the prince’s great-grandfather – here called Don Fabrizio – and set at the time of another ‘liberation’: Major General Guiseppe Garibaldi’s arrival in Sicily in the early 1860s prior to the unification of Italy.

The plot of the ‘novel’, inasmuch as there is one, revolves around the prince’s nephew, Tancredi, an ardent Garibaldist, who falls in love with a beautiful 17-year-old, Angelica Sedàra, whose father is mayor of the area surrounding the prince’s summer palace. The mayor is another Don Calogero. He is slovenly, immensely rich and powerful and ‘is understood to have been very busy at the time of the liberation’. It is implicit that he is a Mafioso – his ‘greedy’ and ‘overbearing’ father-in-law was found dead, with 12 shotgun wounds in his back, two years after Don Calogero’s marriage. But he also has, the prince finds out, very great influence in politics: he has rigged the local vote on the question of unification on behalf of his party, so that the result in the area is a unanimous ‘yes’. Don Fabrizio, then, when he is invited to become a senator in a new all-Italian parliament, sees the face of the future and recommends Don Calogero Sedàra instead. The Mafia is on its way into politics at a national level as the book moves on.

The Leopard was made into a film by the aristocratic Italian director Luchino Visconti, with Burt Lancaster playing Don Fabrizio, and also starring Alain Delon and Claudia Cardinale as Tancredi and Angelica. It was set firmly in the nineteenth century. But is the book it was based on in part a portrait of the period immediately after the Second World War? And is Don Calogero Sedàra really Don Calò Vizzini? It is impossible to know. But the picture of the poverty and buried violence in the landscape that is portrayed in the book could be applied to virtually any time in the three or four hundred years before the beginning of the 1960s. Only the clothes, the carriages and the constant presence of the lupara, a type of sawn-off shotgun traditionally associated with the Mafia, prevent it from applying to any time in the past two thousand years.

A countryside well served, for example, ‘as a swimming pool, drinking trough, prison, cemetery. It … concealed the carcases of beasts and animals until they were reduced to smooth anonymous skeletons.’ Village women are seen ‘by the flicker of oil lamps … [examining] their children’s trachoma-inflamed eyelids. They were all of them dressed in mourning and quite a few had been the wives of those scarecrow corpses one stumbles over at the bends in the country tracks.’ The poverty in the book is absolute; the riches of the Prince, expressed mostly in vast estates and decaying palaces, are guarded and run by men whose shotguns were ‘not always innocuous’. The poverty and the violence in the book, the land, palaces, guards and politics – these could have come from virtually any time. And it was they who provided the mixture peculiar to the island that gave rise to the poisonous historical residue that is the Sicilian Mafia.

Chapter 2: Heartland of the Mafia

Sicily is not an ordinary island. For two thousand years before the discovery of America, it paid a steep price for being in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, and therefore, roughly speaking, at the strategic centre of the known world. Situated between the Italian mainland and North Africa, Sicily was vulnerable to raiders from the north of Italy and invaders from Phoenicia, Greece, Carthage and a whole host of European countries. It was a prize to be captured and held, and so it was – by the Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines, the Arabs, the Germans, the French and any other arrivistes. As for its social system, it was the Romans who set the pattern. They systematically deforested Sicily and turned it into a feudal colony whose job was to feed the mainland – and themselves – with wheat. Vast estates worked by slaves stretched all the way across the island; and although the wheat largely disappeared, the estates and the slavery didn’t. Long after the world’s attention had strayed elsewhere, Sicily remained feudal – peasants were only given the right to own land in the early nineteenth century. But vested interests and the legal chicanery of landlords ensured that very few did so until another century or more had passed.

Sicily was in a sense, and had always been, an island version of Russia, softened by citrus groves planted by the Arabs, but a Russia nonetheless. Until the beginning of the twentieth century, three-quarters of the island belonged to aristocratic landlords who shut themselves up in distant palaces or disported themselves in the Western European equivalents of Moscow and St Petersburg. There was no Renaissance or Reformation here, no Enlightenment, no merchants’ guilds, city-republics or law-making princes – simply back-breaking toil, a festering resentment of the state, in whatever form it took, and, of course, crime.

From the 18th century, banditry and racketeering have been a recognizable ingredient of Sicilian rural life

Crime in Sicily

Crime in Sicily has always been identified one way or another with island patriotism, with resistance to the occupier. Writers in the eighteenth century described a secret sign language in Sicily which they said dated back to the time of the Greek tyrants. Crime was also made possible by the sheer difficulty involved in travel into the interior over mountainous terrain. Until the twentieth century, roads were almost non-existent. Officers of the law were meagre in number and dispersed, so banditry was for a long time a sound career option for young men who remained protected from the law if it arrived by clan and family loyalties. These loyalties, particularly those of close kin, overrode everything else. Not for nothing is the basic unit of the Mafia called ‘the family’.

In a sense, however, crime was also built into the ancient feudal system. The absentee aristocracy needed managers for their estates, both to ensure and enforce the work of sharecropping peasants, and to protect the land, its buildings and its livestock not only from bandits, but also from the spread of liberal ideas. They needed strong-arm men with local power and influence, men capable of wielding the lupara and with not too much respect for the law. The distinction between bandit, ‘family’ man and estate security, in other words, was often in the end slight. The managers and the men they hired exacted a price from both sides of the divide for imposing order: a percentage from the peasants for looking after their interests, and a percentage from the masters for continuing to insure theirs. Meanwhile, of course, they could also freelance as the very bandits they were supposed to be providing security against. The protection racket was from very early times a particular Sicilian speciality. There was immense pressure on landlords to hire bands of brigands as their personal guardani, and co-operation with the forces of law was virtually unknown.

One reason for the lack of co-operation was that though the state was totalitarian, the laws which upheld it in Sicily were a mess of conflicting statutes produced by successive invaders. Court cases were interminable and it was in everyone’s interests – the peasants, the outlaws, the aristocracy and the officers of the court – that the law’s delay should be short. Many judges, after all, had to buy their posts; clerks of the court were paid little or nothing. It was therefore expected that a ‘man of influence’ would soon come calling or else would take care of the matter himself. One eighteenth-century traveller recorded the existence in Sicily of a secret justice society more effective than the courts, one in which all members were sworn to obey its judgments.

Banditry, the protection racket, anti-liberal politics, bribery, secret justice societies, families: everything that created the Sicilian Mafia, then, was already in place well before the nineteenth century – everything, that is, except perhaps its name.

Chapter 3: The Mafia Emerges

According to historian Denis Mack Smith, the word ‘Mafia’ first appeared in Sicily in 1863, when a dialect play was based on life in the island’s main prison was performed in Palermo. The play was called I Mafiosi della Vicaria and it popularized a word already used by criminals and by landlords looking for strong-arms. Its origins are still unclear. There have been suggestions it derives from the Arabic ma fia or ‘place of refuge’, a description used after the Norman invasion by Arabs who were enslaved on their new conquerors’ estates or from a combined Sicilian-Arab slang expression meaning ‘protector against the powerful’. Others have suggested it comes from a secret acronym used by Sicilians when they rose up against the Normans, or from mahjas, the Arabic word for boasting. But whatever the word’s origins, the people now identified by it had been at work long before it came into common usage.

Names of gangs such as the Beati Paoli and the Revengers were first recorded in the eighteenth century, as were the names of few bandits. Don Sferlazza, a seminarist and outlaw, was involved in a family vendetta but, as a priest, was immune from punishment. Kidnappings for ransom were frequent, according to the records, as were cattle rustling, food smuggling and illegal control of water sources. There was even a popular religious cult of the criminal called the Decollati, in which prayers were offered to executed wrongdoers in shrines full of bones.

But the gangs only came out into the open collectively with the rebellion of 1848 against the island’s Bourbon rulers, when they swept into Palermo from the countryside to join the fighting. They were joined by a gang led by a ferocious woman goat-herd called Testa Di Lana, who had a vendetta against the police. By the time order was restored, the Sicilian state had virtually collapsed, and gangs like the Little Shepherds and the Cut-throats were, according to Mack Smith, ‘the one flourishing form of association in Sicily. The chief of police had to co-operate with some of them, so Scordato, the illiterate peasant boss of Bagheria, and Di Miceli of Monreale, were now employed as tax collectors and coastguards and became rich. Law enforcement in the hill town of Misilmeri was handed over to the famous bandit Chinnici, who found a common denominator between lucrative kidnapping and the suppression of liberalism.’

Beyond the Unification of Italy

Liberalism, though it was the enemy of their aristocratic sponsors, was in the end, however, to be the friend of the Mafiosi. When Garibaldi arrived in Sicily in April 1860 to start the unification of Italy, he found the gangs useful, if unreliable, allies. And when unification finally arrived, the Mafiosi – as they were later to do in Russia – found it all too easy to subvert the liberal institutions he founded. The first national election gave them a new tool: the manipulation and delivery of votes. Trial by jury guaranteed them virtual immunity, since few individuals were brave or rich enough to stand up to them publicly with a verdict of ‘guilty’. Charities and credit institutions became grist to their mill, and even the new Bank of Sicily was not immune. The Mafiosi used it to channel funds to their political allies. An early director of the bank was first kidnapped and then murdered after irregularities were found.

However, neither liberalism nor unification did anything to improve the ordinary peasant’s lot. Nor were they useful to Sicily as a going economic concern. Taxes went up and so did food prices. The local silk and textile industries collapsed. Hostility against the mainland, the national government and its institutions grew – among churchmen, aristocrats, lawyers, peasants. Everyone, whenever necessary, now used the good offices of the Mafia, even though its stocks-in-trade were violence and fear. In the 1860s, the British consul in Palermo wrote: ‘Secret societies are all-powerful. Camorre and maffie [sic], self-elected juntas, share the earnings of the workmen, keep up intercourse with outcasts and take malefactors under their wing and protection.’

A decade later, an Italian government report stated bluntly: ‘Violence is the only prosperous industry in Sicily.’

Guiseppe Garibaldi recognized and utilized the influence of local Sicilian gangs in his efforts to pacify unrest in Messina and Palermo in 1860. His victories there and in nearby Naples were the first in his quest for the unification of Italy.

Every Sicilian for Sicily and the Mafia

The degree to which even the church and the landowning aristocrats colluded with the Mafia at such an early date now seems extraordinary. Palaces were opened up to assassins, and the local Catholic Church hierarchy – which regarded the north and its government as godless – at best turned a very blind eye. At worst, in the words of a report written by a northern MP in the 1870s: ‘There is a story about a former priest who became the crime leader in a town near Palermo and administered the last rites to some of his own victims. After a certain number of these stories the perfume of orange and lemon blossoms starts to smell of corpses.’

Seventy years later, the Mafia bandit Salvatore Giuliano would attend tea parties at the archbishop’s palace in Palermo, even though he was at the time a prisoner in Ucciardone prison. Forty years after this, another archbishop declared that Tommaso Buscetta, the first and most important of the witnesses finally to give evidence against the Mafia, was one of the three greatest enemies of Sicily. This was just two years after the word ‘Mafia’ had entered the Italian criminal code for the very first time, even though the organization had been denounced as relying on official protection by an Italian minister ofjJustice over a hundred years earlier. The response at that time was to become a litany from then on, both in Sicily and later in America: ‘The Mafia is a fabrication: the invention of northern policemen.’