Joseph Bruno's Blog, page 46

The Biggest Rat: Whitey Bulger’s Decades of Deceit – Part – Whitey on LSD

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009CGA74M

Whitey began his stretch as an inmate at the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta. Right off the bat, Whitey started doing everything right, so that he could be paroled at the earliest possible date; which estimated to be in mid-1963.

In 1961, his younger brother Billy graduated from Boston College Law School, and using some of this Southie pull, William “Billy” Bulger was elected to the Massachusetts House of Representative. Billy nudged some of his friends in Congress; hoping to get his brother Whitey preferential treatment in prison, and if possible, moved to a federal lockup closer to the family home in Boston. But the wheels of Boston’s local politics had little bearing on federal procedure, so Whitey stewed in prison. Whitey made sure not to break any prison rules, so the good time he had accumulated  would culminate in an earlier released date than the 20 years Judge Sweeney had nailed him with.

While still in the Atlanta lockup, Whitey Bulger got a buggy idea.

            After being assigned to the prison hospital, Whitey heard from prison scuttlebutt that inmates who agreed to be part of a program geared to studying schizophrenia would receive a few bucks a month extra in their prison account, and be given extra good time; enabling them to cut short their sentence. The only hitch was these inmates would have to be injected with the psychedelic drug LSD, which was virtually unknown to the public at the time.

The stated purpose of the program was a lie, since it was later revealed that the Central Intelligence Agency was behind this program, and real the reason was mind control; which the C. I. A. could put to great use in many ways.  

Imagine if – injecting LSD into people allowed the C. I. A. to order men to do things they normally would not do without the aid of the drug. Or even better, consider the possibilities if LSD forced a man to tell the truth when telling a lie would be in his best interest. This would be of great use to the C. I. A. in enhanced interrogations of the enemy, or of Americans whom the C. I. A.  believed to be spies.

            Regardless of the fact he was being used as a human lab rat, Whitey signed up for the program, which resulted in him being injected with LSD once a month for fifteen months. For his contribution to the cause, Whitey received a paltry three bucks a month and a mere fifty-four days knocked off his sentence; hardly proper payment for having one’s brains rewired.

            Richard Sunday was a fellow inmate of Whitey’s at Atlanta, and Sunday has remained in contract with Whitey throughout the years; even after Bulger’s 2011 arrest. Sunday had been convicted of rape, and was given a life sentence; which was later reduced to 25 years.

Sunday witnessed first-hand the effects of LSD on Whitey. Sunday said after Whitey had been injected with the drug, Whitey screamed like a mad man; wilding waving his hands like he was striking out at an invisible object. Sunday also said Whitey’s conversations rambled without any obvious intent, or meaning.

            “He was one crazy individual when he was on those drugs,” Sunday said. “He was a lunatic.”

In the mid-1980’s, while Whitey ran Boston with an iron fist, he told his chief underling, Kevin Weeks, that the LSD injections haunted him for the rest of his life.

            After turning state’s evidence to reduce his prison term, Weeks wrote in his book Brutal, “Jimmy told me that for eighteen months he was either injected with LSD or given it as a liquid (Editor’s note: Whitey exaggerated to Weeks, since he was only injected with LSD for 15 months). Jimmy said it made him crazy and unable to stand the thought of a needle ever again piercing his skin. It was also the reason he never got a good night’s sleep. He still woke up screaming in the middle of the night and frequently suffered hallucinations.”

            It later was discovered that 18 prisoners took part in the Atlanta Federal Prison LSD Program. Some of them lost their minds completely, and some even committed suicide. As for Whitey, he was screwed up mentally before he went to prison, and he continued stalking the streets of Boston with the same mindset after he was released from prison. So except for a few sleepless nights and occasionally seeing few pink elephants; it’s uncertain if the drug had any effect on Whitey whatsoever.

Despite efforts by his brother Billy to get Whitey transferred to a prison closer to home, on Nov. 2, 1959, Whitey Bulger was transferred to the Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary, located on a rocky island in San Francisco Bay, affectionate called “The Rock.”

 

My book “Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks, and Other Creeps” been selected as a finalist for the eFestival Awards Indie 2013 Book of the Year in the category “Nonfiction.”

 

 

There are hundreds of thousands of Indie nonfiction books published. To be one of the seven finalists is extremely satisfying.

http://www.efestivalofwords.com/vote-here-for-best-non-fiction-t399.html

The Biggest Rat: Whitey Bulger’s Decades of Deceit – Part 2 – Whitey’s Formative Years

http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Gangs-Crooks-Creeps-ebook/dp/B0058J44QO/ref=zg_bs_11010_1

 

James Joseph Bulger Jr. was born on Sept. 3, 1929 in the town of Everett, Mass., an industrial hamlet just north of Boston. Before Bulger was born, his father, James Sr., had lost his left arm at the elbow after getting it caught between two freight cars while working in the local rail yards. Bulger Sr., who had had an unsuccessful marriage while he was in this twenties, became smitten with Jean McCarthy, who was 22 years his junior. They married and had a daughter, also named Jean, the year before the junior Bulger was born. James Jr. had piercing blue eyes and a light complexion, as well as straw colored hair. Because of his striking looks, his childhood friends called him “Whitey”: a nickname Bulger never took a shine to. Whitey preferred to be called “Jimmy.”

When he was six years old, the Bulger family moved from Everett to Dorchester in Boston, and they settled in the parish of St. Mark’s Church. Whitey didn’t distinguish himself in the St. Mark’s classrooms; he was too fidgety and he could barely sit still in class. The following year the Bulgers moved into a triple-decker house on Crescent Avenue, which was in St. Margaret’s’ parish.

The locale changed, but Whitey’s attitude in the classroom remained the same.

Whitey’s younger brother, William “Billy” Bulger, who is notorious is his own way, wrote in his self-serving autobiography While the Music Lasts: My Life in Politics, “My brother Jimmy found school boring. His teachers, like my mother, often discovered that Jimmy was suddenly missing.”

In 1938, after one year at St. Margaret’s, the Bulger family moved again; this time to the newly-built Old Harbor Village projects, a government-funded housing development with 1016 apartments. Through a lottery, the Bulgers were able to obtain a three-bedroom apartment, on the top (third) floor, at 41 Logan Way, which was part of a three-section Boston neighborhood called Southie. Southie was predominantly Irish; with a few Italians sprinkled in for flavor. The new digs came in handy, since by this time the Bulger brood had grown to five children. Besides, Jean, James, and William Bulger, there was also Carol, and an infant named John, whom everyone called Jack.

While some things change; other things remain the same. Whitey was no better a student at Thomas N. Hart Public Grammar School then he had been at St. Mark’s and St. Margaret’s. Whitey was ostensibly a student at Thomas N. Hart from the fifth to the eighth grade, but his marks were an embarrassment to the Bulger family. A federal probation officer wrote in a 1956 presentencing report concerning Whitey, “His scholastic record was poor. He failed in all of his subjects, receiving poor marks in conduct and effort. The school report shows that he was surly, lazy, and had no interest in school work.”

When he was 13-years-old, Whitey was arrested for the first time; on a charge of school delinquency and larceny. He joined a local gang called the Shamrocks, and his early life of crime continued; unabated. Whitey spent some time in a juvenile reformatory; which only increased Whitey’s knowledge of how to operate successfully in the underworld. In the next three years, Whitey was arrested six more times, and his crimes became more violent; including charges for assault and battery. However, due to the political influences present throughout Southie, particularly favoring the Irish, Whitey never spent a night in the big boy’s jail.

When he was seventeen, Whitey enlisted as a roustabout, or circus laborer, in the traveling Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus.

In an interview with the Boston Globe, Whitey’s brother Bill explained Whitey’s actions as such: “I think Jimmy had a more adventuresome spirit than some. It didn’t always involve doing something wrong. The circus came to town; he went off with the circus. Something like that looked like adventures, so off he went.”

Because the work was hard and the pay was not so great, Whitey lasted only a year busting his hump putting circus tents up and tearing them down; plus shoveling dung left behind by the circus animals, most of them huge creatures known to eat hardily. Predictably, shoveling shit was not what James “Whitey” Bulger had in mind as a vocation.

Free from the circus constraints, Whitey went back running the street of Southie, without a high school diploma and without any visible means of support. Still, Whitey was able to drive a fairly new car, which piqued the interest of the local police. Police intelligence pegged Whitey as a “tailgater,” or a thief who made his living selling goods that fell off the tailgates of parked trucks making deliveries in the neighborhood. In this line of work, an arrest was usually imminent. But Whitey was quick and efficient, and the law was always two steps behind.

Whitey’s brother Billy said he saw his brother’s outlook on life change when Whitey was still a teenager.

“I saw Jim change from a blithe spirit to a rebel whose cause I could never discern,” Billy said. “He was in a constant state of revolt against – I’m not sure what. He was as restless as a claustrophobic in a dark closet.”

When he was eighteen, Whitey was arrested; not for tailgating, but yet again for assault and battery. Southie’s Irish political contacts once again pulled some strings for the neighborhood Irish lad, and Whitey escaped jail time; after paying a measly fifty bucks fine.

Yet, his brother Billy did not think what Whitey was doing as a teenager was that far out of line.

“Jim’s scrapes were small in those growing up years,” Billy said. “But in time they were enough of them to make him known to the police. That was a dangerous situation. Some policemen used their billy clubs more than their brains. And Jim was defiant and wouldn’t give an inch. His speech was bold. He was often beaten; sometimes savagely. For a while I thought that all police were vicious.”

Probably figuring he was destined for the clink if he remained running the streets of Southie, Whitey Bulger finally did the smart thing – the patriotic thing – he enlisted in the United States Air Force while the war was raging in Korea. After enduring basic training, Whitey was stationed at the Smokey Hill Air Force base in Salina, Kansas, and then at the Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho. Yet, Whitey’s pent up anger repeatedly got the best of him. Whitey was locked in the stockade several times for assault, and as a result, he was not considered by his superiors a prime candidate to fight the war in Korea. This suited Whitey just fine, and he made a military career stateside, frequently going absent without leave.

His brother Billy wrote, “It was clear he was enjoying himself. The Air Force apparently had more rules than planes, and he delighted in breaking, or circumventing great number of them. It appeared from his letters that he contrived a new system each week for being absent without leave, and he did so with impunity. His conduct was not from lack of patriotism. He was just being Jim. I believed then, and I believe now that he would have performed well in combat.”

Younger brother Billy may have been right, but the odds were certainly against it. It’s hard to envision Whitey Bulger could have prevented himself from stealing whatever he could get his hands on, and then selling it on the Korean black market. Creeps like Whitey talk patriotism, but in their mental makeup patriotism falls to a poor second behind capitalism. The truth is – most criminals would rather make an illegal dime than a legal dollar. It’s just the way they’re wired.

Despite the fact Whitey, by any measure, was a dreadful United States Airman, he somehow managed to get an honorable discharge from the military. I guess the “Luck of the Irish” extended to Whitey in the Armed Forces too; either that or he had a military Southie connection.

Although there is no proof, the latter is more likely.

Convicted Murderer Don King Inducted into Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame

This is a sick joke. What is the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame anyway? One of those places where you pay to get in?

Don King, a convicted murderer, is inducted into this Mickey-Mouse boxing Hall of Fame.

But then again, they also inducted Mike Tyson, who is a convicted rapist.

I’m surprised they didn’t induct Charles Manson too while they were at it.

This is why boxing is a dying sport.

http://www.tsn.ca/boxing/story/?id=411980

LAS VEGAS — Mike Tyson, Sugar Ray Leonard, Oscar De La Hoya, Larry Holmes and Julio Cesar Chavez head the inaugural class of the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame.

Promoters Bob Arum and Don King and referee Mills Lane were among the other total of 18 inductees announced at a news conference Wednesday in North Las Vegas.

Mike McCallum and Diego Corrales round out the field of seven boxers along with two trainers, Eddie Futch and Freddie Roach.

Broadcaster Al Bernstein and long-time Las Vegas Review-Journal writer Royce Feour join the first class, with former Nevada Athletic Commission executive director Marc Ratner and longtime commissioner James Nave.

Former commissioner Sig Rogich and billionaire investor Kirk Kerkorian of MGM fame enter as special contributors.

An induction ceremony and dinner is planned sometime next year.

The Biggest Rat: Whitey Bulger’s Decades of Deceit – Part 1 – Whitey’s Capture

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009CGA74M

The first time aspiring musician Joshua Bond met “America’s Most Wanted Fugitive,  Whitey Bulger, Bond knew the spry 77-year-old retiree as plain old Charlie Gasko.

            In 2007, the 26-year old Bond had just moved to Santa Monica, California with plans of getting involved in the Hollywood scene; either cinematically, or in the music business.  Bond played guitar in a band called the “Kings.” But work was sparse, and he needed a way to pay the rent and keep food on the table while he pursued his dreams. As a result, Bond took a job as co- manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments in Santa Monica, California. As part of his perks, Bond was given free living quarters in apartment 304.  His next door neighbor, living in apartment 303, was Charlie Gasko and his wife Carol (real name Catherine Greig).

            Bond like to play the guitar in his apartment; sometimes loud enough to be heard clearly through the walls into apartment 303. One day, after a particularly stirring rift on his guitar, Bond heard a knock on his apartment door. This was the first time this phenomenon had occurred, and Bond figured he was about to get a neighborly complaint about the noise. Instead, when Bond opened the door, he came face to face with the man he knew as “Charlie” from next door. Bond recoiled, waiting for a sting of obscenities, but he got a present instead.

            While Bond stood there quivering, Whitey told Bond he was found of his music, which was a cross between country western and the blues. That said; Whitey handed Bond a black wool Stetson hat, with a leather band sprinkled with silver buttons.

            “I don’t wear this hat anymore,” Whitey told Bond. “I think maybe you could use it.”

            Bond, tickled pick at the lack of a reprimand, eagerly accepted the hat, and he bid Whitey goodbye.

But it was not goodbye for long.

Whitey had the habit of knocking on Bond’s door at least twice a week; supposedly to make small talk. But, in fact, Bulger, after being on the run for 16 years, didn’t trust anybody, and he wanted to know all he could about everything connected to the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Being pals with the co-manager seemed like a good business acumen.

Whitey being Whitey, he found it difficult to intrude on his young friend without bearing gifts: whether Bond wanted them, or needed them. In short order, Whitey gave Bond a beard trimmer; a subtle hint that maybe Bond was looking  a little too scruffy; and Whitey didn’t like scruffy.

Whitey was a fitness buff, and he thought maybe Bond was a little out of shape for a man fifty years Whitey’s junior. So Whitey dipped into his retirement savings, and bought Bond a weight set, complete with a bench and a stomach-crunching thingamajig.

Over the years, Whitey was precise about taking care of the assistant manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments in a proper manner. During the Christmas holidays, instead of cash, Whitey bequeathed Bond a spiffy decorative plate, and one year he gave Bond an Elvis Presley coffee table (Whitey figured no musician should ever be without one).

However, Whitey was a bit gruff, and he insisted on proper decorum when it came to Bond recognizing Whitey’s largess. One holiday, Whitey left a bag full of Christmas presents at Bond’s door. But when Whitey’s and Bond’s paths crossed in the underground garage, Bond mentioned nary a word about the presents. This pissed Whitey more than a little bit, and he reprimanded Bond for his lack of respect; even going as far as to “suggest” Bond pen him and Carol a sincere thank-you note. Bond complied, and wrote it off as nothing more than an old man asking for his due, which was only proper.

During the period from 2007- 2011 Bond and Whitey maintained a friendly relationship; sort of an uncle/nephew accord, where Whitey dispensed advice, and Bond made believe he took Whitey’s advice. There was no reason to get Charlie all riled up about anything.

Whitey seemed like a nice old man, but Bond was only interested in his music career, and putting up with Whitey was part of the job of being co-manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Bond basically humored Whitey, and Whitey ate up what seemed to be the young man’s acquiescence to Whiitey’s superior intellect and life-long experiences.

Bond knew of only one instance where old Charlie Gasko indicated he was capable of any violence; and this was because Whitey told Bond about the incident himself.

The Ocean View Manor, a state-licensed residential facility for the mentally disabled, was located a few doors down from Princess Eugenia Apartments. Mentally ill people sometimes do strange things, and one resident in particular got his jollies by hiding in the bushes near the facility; then springing out at an unsuspecting passersby; scaring them out of their skins.

One night, as was his wont, Whitey took his moll, Catherine Greig, on a late-night fitness stroll. Suddenly, the crank bounded from the bushes; intending to scare Whitey and Greig.

However, Whitey Bulger doesn’t scare too easily.

Whitey told Bond when the lunatic rushed at him and Carol, Whitey, who always kept a big knife strapped to his ankle, grabbed the man by the neck. Bulger pulled out his knife, waved it in the man’s face, and told him, “If you ever do that to me again, I will cut you to pieces.”

Fast-forward to June 22, 2011.

Bond intended to go to a concert in Hollywood that evening with his pal, Neal Marsh, to see the band, “My Morning Jacket.” The other co-manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments, Birgitta Farinelli, had gone on vacation. And Bond told his assistant, Thea, to take over the manager’s desk for him, located in the hotel across the street from Princess Eugenia Apartments, while Bond sawed a few afternoon Z’s on his apartment couch.

It was about 3:30 pm, when Bond’s phone rang, rousing him from a deep sleep. Thea was on the other line, and she told Bond F.B.I. agents were in the office, and they said they  needed to speak to Bond immediately about one of the tenants.

This did not please Bond too much. He was ready to motor off to Hollywood in a few hours, and he didn’t need any unnecessary distractions.

Thea handed the phone to F.B.I. agent, Scott Garriola, and he told Bond that it was imperative Bond come to the office immediately.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Bond said.

“No, it can’t,” Garriola said. “I need you here now!”

Knowing you don’t argue with the feds, Bond dragged himself off his couch, splashed a little water on his face, and then exited his apartment. When he reached his office, he met Garriola and another agent. The agents showed Bond a cycle of photos of the people Bond knew as Charlie and Carol Gasko, and they asked Bond if he could confirm their identities.

“Yes, I know them,” Bond told Garriola. “That’s Charlie and Carol from apartment 303.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Garriola said.

“Definitely, that’s them,” Bond said.

Garriola told Bond who his neighbors really were, and he included the information that Whitey was alleged to be a mass murderer. Garriola asked Bond if he would be so kind as to go to apartment 303, and knock on the door.

Bond was not brave, but he also was not stupid. Bond didn’t mind knocking on apartment 303 to talk to old Charlie. But getting in the face of a lunatic like Whitey Bulger was not on Bond’s list of things to do.

So, Garriola came up with a plan which did not put Bond in any unnecessary danger. Garriola wanted to arrest Whitey outside his apartment, because Whitey’s M.O. indicated he kept an arsenal of guns nearby at all times. First, Garriola ran down to Whitey’s storage locker, located in the garage of the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Using a pair of bolt cutters, Garriola chopped Whitey’s lock to pieces; giving the impression petty thieves had stolen Whitey’s goods.

Rushing back to the Princess Eugenia Apartments’ office, Garriola told the quivering Bond to phone apartment 303, and tell Whitey that his locker had been broken into. By this time Bond had done a little googling of Whitey on the office computer, and what he discovered did not calm down his nerves.

Bond later told CBS News, “I went to his (Whitey’s) Wikipedia page, and I’m kinda, like, scrolling through, and it’s like, murder and extortion and all this stuff.”

Bond finally summoned up the courage, and he phoned apartment 303.

No answer.

Then he tried the cell phone number Carol (Catherine Greig) had given him as a backup.

Still no answer.

After Garriola confirmed with a fellow agent their surveillance showed there was definitely a man and a woman presently in apartment 303, Garriola tried again to convince Bond to knock on the door of apartment 303.

Bond again refused, and who could blame him? He wasn’t getting paid by the Princess Eugenia Apartments to put his life on the line.

Before Garriola decided what to do, the phone rang in the manager’s office. It was Catherine Greig inquiring if Bond had just called her cell phone. Bond admitted he had, and he told Greig Garriola’s malarkey about the Gasko’s storage locker having been broken into.

Grieg hesitated, and then after conferring with Whitey, she said her husband would meet Bond in the garage.

In the underground garage, Whitey didn’t get close to his locker. Before he knew what was happening, Whitey was surrounded by more than 40 F.B.I. agents in full riot gear. Garriola ordered Whitey down onto his knees. Whitey was dressed in white clothes with a white summer hat, and was a noted Howard Hughes-type neat-freak, afraid of the slightest grime.

“Fuck you!” Whitey said. “There’s oil on the floor!”

Garriola told Whitey to move a few steps to his right, and then to get down on his knees.

Whitey cursed some more. He found a clean spot and got down on his knees, where the agents cuffed Whitey behind his back.

“Please identify yourself,” Garriola said.

“I’m Charlie Gasko,” Whitey said.

“You’re not Charlie Gasko,” Garriola said. “How about we go upstairs and ask your girlfriend to identify you as Charlie Gasko? She’s in enough trouble already.”

Whitey grunted.

“Okay. You know who I am,” Whitey said. “I’m Whitey Bulger.”

The 16-year manhunt for the “Most Wanted” criminal in America was finally over.

The Biggest Rat: Whitey Bulger’s Decades of Deceit – Part 1

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009CGA74M

The first time aspiring musician Joshua Bond met “America’s Most Wanted Fugitive,  Whitey Bulger, Bond knew the spry 77-year-old retiree as plain old Charlie Gasko.

            In 2007, the 26-year old Bond had just moved to Santa Monica, California with plans of getting involved in the Hollywood scene; either cinematically, or in the music business.  Bond played guitar in a band called the “Kings.” But work was sparse, and he needed a way to pay the rent and keep food on the table while he pursued his dreams. As a result, Bond took a job as co- manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments in Santa Monica, California. As part of his perks, Bond was given free living quarters in apartment 304.  His next door neighbor, living in apartment 303, was Charlie Gasko and his wife Carol (real name Catherine Greig).

            Bond like to play the guitar in his apartment; sometimes loud enough to be heard clearly through the walls into apartment 303. One day, after a particularly stirring rift on his guitar, Bond heard a knock on his apartment door. This was the first time this phenomenon had occurred, and Bond figured he was about to get a neighborly complaint about the noise. Instead, when Bond opened the door, he came face to face with the man he knew as “Charlie” from next door. Bond recoiled, waiting for a sting of obscenities, but he got a present instead.

            While Bond stood there quivering, Whitey told Bond he was found of his music, which was a cross between country western and the blues. That said; Whitey handed Bond a black wool Stetson hat, with a leather band sprinkled with silver buttons.

            “I don’t wear this hat anymore,” Whitey told Bond. “I think maybe you could use it.”

            Bond, tickled pick at the lack of a reprimand, eagerly accepted the hat, and he bid Whitey goodbye.

But it was not goodbye for long.

Whitey had the habit of knocking on Bond’s door at least twice a week; supposedly to make small talk. But, in fact, Bulger, after being on the run for 16 years, didn’t trust anybody, and he wanted to know all he could about everything connected to the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Being pals with the co-manager seemed like a good business acumen.

Whitey being Whitey, he found it difficult to intrude on his young friend without bearing gifts: whether Bond wanted them, or needed them. In short order, Whitey gave Bond a beard trimmer; a subtle hint that maybe Bond was looking  a little too scruffy; and Whitey didn’t like scruffy.

Whitey was a fitness buff, and he thought maybe Bond was a little out of shape for a man fifty years Whitey’s junior. So Whitey dipped into his retirement savings, and bought Bond a weight set, complete with a bench and a stomach-crunching thingamajig.

Over the years, Whitey was precise about taking care of the assistant manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments in a proper manner. During the Christmas holidays, instead of cash, Whitey bequeathed Bond a spiffy decorative plate, and one year he gave Bond an Elvis Presley coffee table (Whitey figured no musician should ever be without one).

However, Whitey was a bit gruff, and he insisted on proper decorum when it came to Bond recognizing Whitey’s largess. One holiday, Whitey left a bag full of Christmas presents at Bond’s door. But when Whitey’s and Bond’s paths crossed in the underground garage, Bond mentioned nary a word about the presents. This pissed Whitey more than a little bit, and he reprimanded Bond for his lack of respect; even going as far as to “suggest” Bond pen him and Carol a sincere thank-you note. Bond complied, and wrote it off as nothing more than an old man asking for his due, which was only proper.

During the period from 2007- 2011 Bond and Whitey maintained a friendly relationship; sort of an uncle/nephew accord, where Whitey dispensed advice, and Bond made believe he took Whitey’s advice. There was no reason to get Charlie all riled up about anything.

Whitey seemed like a nice old man, but Bond was only interested in his music career, and putting up with Whitey was part of the job of being co-manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Bond basically humored Whitey, and Whitey ate up what seemed to be the young man’s acquiescence to Whiitey’s superior intellect and life-long experiences.

Bond knew of only one instance where old Charlie Gasko indicated he was capable of any violence; and this was because Whitey told Bond about the incident himself.

The Ocean View Manor, a state-licensed residential facility for the mentally disabled, was located a few doors down from Princess Eugenia Apartments. Mentally ill people sometimes do strange things, and one resident in particular got his jollies by hiding in the bushes near the facility; then springing out at an unsuspecting passersby; scaring them out of their skins.

One night, as was his wont, Whitey took his moll, Catherine Greig, on a late-night fitness stroll. Suddenly, the crank bounded from the bushes; intending to scare Whitey and Greig.

However, Whitey Bulger doesn’t scare too easily.

Whitey told Bond when the lunatic rushed at him and Carol, Whitey, who always kept a big knife strapped to his ankle, grabbed the man by the neck. Bulger pulled out his knife, waved it in the man’s face, and told him, “If you ever do that to me again, I will cut you to pieces.”

Fast-forward to June 22, 2011.

Bond intended to go to a concert in Hollywood that evening with his pal, Neal Marsh, to see the band, “My Morning Jacket.” The other co-manager of the Princess Eugenia Apartments, Birgitta Farinelli, had gone on vacation. And Bond told his assistant, Thea, to take over the manager’s desk for him, located in the hotel across the street from Princess Eugenia Apartments, while Bond sawed a few afternoon Z’s on his apartment couch.

It was about 3:30 pm, when Bond’s phone rang, rousing him from a deep sleep. Thea was on the other line, and she told Bond F.B.I. agents were in the office, and they said they  needed to speak to Bond immediately about one of the tenants.

This did not please Bond too much. He was ready to motor off to Hollywood in a few hours, and he didn’t need any unnecessary distractions.

Thea handed the phone to F.B.I. agent, Scott Garriola, and he told Bond that it was imperative Bond come to the office immediately.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Bond said.

“No, it can’t,” Garriola said. “I need you here now!”

Knowing you don’t argue with the feds, Bond dragged himself off his couch, splashed a little water on his face, and then exited his apartment. When he reached his office, he met Garriola and another agent. The agents showed Bond a cycle of photos of the people Bond knew as Charlie and Carol Gasko, and they asked Bond if he could confirm their identities.

“Yes, I know them,” Bond told Garriola. “That’s Charlie and Carol from apartment 303.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Garriola said.

“Definitely, that’s them,” Bond said.

Garriola told Bond who his neighbors really were, and he included the information that Whitey was alleged to be a mass murderer. Garriola asked Bond if he would be so kind as to go to apartment 303, and knock on the door.

Bond was not brave, but he also was not stupid. Bond didn’t mind knocking on apartment 303 to talk to old Charlie. But getting in the face of a lunatic like Whitey Bulger was not on Bond’s list of things to do.

So, Garriola came up with a plan which did not put Bond in any unnecessary danger. Garriola wanted to arrest Whitey outside his apartment, because Whitey’s M.O. indicated he kept an arsenal of guns nearby at all times. First, Garriola ran down to Whitey’s storage locker, located in the garage of the Princess Eugenia Apartments. Using a pair of bolt cutters, Garriola chopped Whitey’s lock to pieces; giving the impression petty thieves had stolen Whitey’s goods.

Rushing back to the Princess Eugenia Apartments’ office, Garriola told the quivering Bond to phone apartment 303, and tell Whitey that his locker had been broken into. By this time Bond had done a little googling of Whitey on the office computer, and what he discovered did not calm down his nerves.

Bond later told CBS News, “I went to his (Whitey’s) Wikipedia page, and I’m kinda, like, scrolling through, and it’s like, murder and extortion and all this stuff.”

Bond finally summoned up the courage, and he phoned apartment 303.

No answer.

Then he tried the cell phone number Carol (Catherine Greig) had given him as a backup.

Still no answer.

After Garriola confirmed with a fellow agent their surveillance showed there was definitely a man and a woman presently in apartment 303, Garriola tried again to convince Bond to knock on the door of apartment 303.

Bond again refused, and who could blame him? He wasn’t getting paid by the Princess Eugenia Apartments to put his life on the line.

Before Garriola decided what to do, the phone rang in the manager’s office. It was Catherine Greig inquiring if Bond had just called her cell phone. Bond admitted he had, and he told Greig Garriola’s malarkey about the Gasko’s storage locker having been broken into.

Grieg hesitated, and then after conferring with Whitey, she said her husband would meet Bond in the garage.

In the underground garage, Whitey didn’t get close to his locker. Before he knew what was happening, Whitey was surrounded by more than 40 F.B.I. agents in full riot gear. Garriola ordered Whitey down onto his knees. Whitey was dressed in white clothes with a white summer hat, and was a noted Howard Hughes-type neat-freak, afraid of the slightest grime.

“Fuck you!” Whitey said. “There’s oil on the floor!”

Garriola told Whitey to move a few steps to his right, and then to get down on his knees.

Whitey cursed some more. He found a clean spot and got down on his knees, where the agents cuffed Whitey behind his back.

“Please identify yourself,” Garriola said.

“I’m Charlie Gasko,” Whitey said.

“You’re not Charlie Gasko,” Garriola said. “How about we go upstairs and ask your girlfriend to identify you as Charlie Gasko? She’s in enough trouble already.”

Whitey grunted.

“Okay. You know who I am,” Whitey said. “I’m Whitey Bulger.”

The 16-year manhunt for the “Most Wanted” criminal in America was finally over.

Why Whitey Bulger Was Finally Captured

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009CGA74M

Whitey Bulger’s downfall transpired because Catherine Greig loved cats. Greig also became friends with a canary.

            Before their life on the run, Catherin Greig had been a dog lover. She still loved dogs, but because Whitey knew he had to be mobile at a moment’s notice, having a permanent pet was out of the question. But that didn’t mean Catherine couldn’t take care of a stray cat, or two, she had encountered near the Princess Eugenia complex in Santa Monica, California.

            Enter the former Miss Iceland, Anna Bjornsdottir.

            Bjornsdottir, 52, was an actress who had been selected Miss Iceland in 1974. Her acting credits included a stint on Remington Steele, and Diff’rent Strokes. Bjornsdottir also was famous as the lovely young thing with the immaculate skin in the Noxzema television commercials. Bjornsdottir and her husband, Halldor Gudmundson, split their time between living in Iceland, and also at the Princess Eugenia complex in Santa Monica. Bjornsdottir worked as a yoga instructor in America and as a graphic designer in Iceland.

            Bjornsdottir, like Greig, was also fond of cats. In fact, her and her husband had published a book about a stray cat they had adopted named Mosa. One day, Greig was fussing over a stray cat in front of the Princess Eugenia complex when she was joined by Bjornsdottir. The ladies formed a friendship of sorts, and Bjornsdottir became acquainted with Carol and Charlie Gasko: Whitey Bulger and Catherine Greig’s longtime aliases.

            For almost 19 years, the feds had been trying to track down Whitey; even going as far as featuring him in Fox’s TV program Americas Most Wanted. But they had always come up with bupkis. 

Suddenly, someone in the F.B.I. got a rare brainstorm. 

The feds thinking was: “We can’t get Whitey, because Whitey is probably in a shell somewhere, and, most likely, rarely ventures out where he can be seen and identified. But Catherine Greig is a different story.”

The feds knew Greig frequented beauty parlors to get her hair done and to get a manicure. Greig was also a proponent of plastic surgery, which she had performed on herself many times to please her man, Whitey. The feds also knew women sometimes saw things that didn’t register with men. As a result, the feds launched a worldwide ad campaign that featured 30-second ads during daytime television with Catherine Greig as the object of attention.

Bjornsdottir was sitting in her Iceland living room when she spotted a woman in a television ad on CNN identified as Catherine Greig, but who Bjornsdottir knew as Carol Gasko. The ad said there was a $2 million reward for the capture of Greig’s traveling companion: Whitey Bulger. Bjornsdottir took out her currency converter, and calculated 2 million clams was approximately 238,974,188 Icelandic Kronas; a nice haul in any language. She picked up the phone, and she dialed the phone number in the television ad.

Forty-eight hours later, both Whitey and Greig were safely in federal custody in a Santa Monica clink. And on June 29, 2011, Whitey arrived in a federal helicopter at Boston’s Logan’s airport; before his trip to the Boston federal court.

The fun was just starting.

 

Manager of Sarasota Oriental Restaurant Beaten to Death Over a $30 Check.

I ate at the New Dynasty about once a week. Mostly takeout. This poor man, who died last night, was a wonderful host. And he died for a $30 check three creeps refused to pay.

I wonder, if  Andrew Tian had a carry permit and had a gun on him, would he be dead now?

I have a carry permit, which was a pain to obtain. And I carry almost every time I leave my house. This is why.

There are too many human animals on the street who have no regard for human life, even here in sunny, supposedly-safe Sarasota, for people not to take their own self-protection seriously.

I wonder if Gov. Scott will appoint a special prosecutor, and provide additional law enforcement personnel to investigate this case like he did with the Martin-Zimmerman case.

Where is Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson on this one?

We all know the answers to both questions, and it’s a damn shame.

http://www.wfla.com/story/22847704/restaurant-manager-chases-men-severely-injured

Book Review “Florida versus Zimmerman” by Robert Zimmerman

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009CGA74M

Now that we know the verdict, it’s interesting to note there were two family tragedies here; not just one. Absolutely, the parents of Trayvon Martin suffered an enormous tragedy in having their son killed. But anyone without an ax to grind must surely now understand the government overcharged this case, which threw the family of George Zimmerman into turmoil too.

There are lot of bad guys and women fingered by Robert Zimmerman in his book. But to me, the two worst are Spike Lee and Florida Governor Rick Scott.

Spike Lee, who has a floundering movie-making career (does anyone remember his last movie?) had the audacity to put on his website the address of George Zimmerman’s parents; ostensibly to urge people not happy with their son George’s actions, to take action against totally innocent people: his parents. This forced Robert Zimmerman and his wife, along with his elderly mother-in-law to flee into hiding. The fact that Robert Zimmerman’s mother-in-law is a very sick woman makes this tragedy all the more severe.

Shame on Spike Lee, and he should be sued by the Zimmermans and ostracized by everyone else.

The second bad guy is the governor of the state I now live in – Florida Governor Rick Scott. The case against Zimmerman was flimsy from the beginning. We all know that now. There was no case for second degree murder, and manslaughter was a slight possibility. The local Sanford police thoroughly investigated the case, and they declined to file charges against George Zimmerman. It should have ended right there.

But no, after foolish statements by President Obama (“Trayvon Martin could have been my son”), and pressure from race-baiting charlatans like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, Governor Scott, a Republican who had an approval rating of 25%, decided to raise his approval rating among the liberals (who would never vote for him anyway), and appoint a special prosecutor to take a second look at the case. He chose Angela Corey, who made Torquemada look like Mary Poppins.

I know there are very few people on middle ground here. The chances are if you are white, you think the not-guilty verdict is just. And the chances are if you are black, you think the verdict was unjust. That’s totally understandable. It’s the divided country we now live in.

But after reading Robert Zimmerman’s book, “Florida versus Zimmerman,” I am surer than ever our government does not always look out for the best interests of its citizens. The recent IRS scandal and the snooping into the emails of journalists certainly emphasizes that point.

“Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks and Other Creeps” by Joe Bruno made it as a finalist in the eFestival of Words Virtual Book Fair in the category: Best Non-Fiction (General).

My ebook “Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks and Other Creeps” ( by Joe Bruno) made it as a finalist in the eFestival of Words Virtual Book Fair in the category: Best Non-Fiction (General).

That means of all the nonfiction ebooks on the Internet (and I’d hate to guess how many that is) that were Independently published, they have ranked mine in the top seven.

The last time I looked, I was in second place in the voting. Just 17 votes behind the leader.

So I would really appreciate any votes I get from my Facebook friends.

If you wish to vote, please click the link below.

http://www.efestivalofwords.com/2013-finalists-announced-t388.html