Joseph Bruno's Blog, page 57
June 19, 2012
Joe Bruno on the Mob – Whitey Bulger’s Moll Gets Eight Years in the Slammer – Was the Sentence Tough Enough?
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Score a small one for the prosecution. But the big fish is next on deck.
On Tuesday June 12, 2012, after a plea deal was reached by the prosecutors and her lawyer Kevin Reddington, Whitey Bulger’s longtime girlfriend Catherine Greig was sentenced to eight years in prison. Greig had been on the run with Bulger for 16 years; before they were caught last June in their love-nest condo in Santa Monica Cal. Bulger is facing about a thousand years in prison, as he awaits trial on charges that he was involved in as many as 19 murders.
Greig was also fined $15,000; a mere pittance, since when they were captured, the Feds found more than $800,000 in cash hidden in the walls of the condo. And if you think that was the last piece of change Bulger had left in this world, I’d like to sell you a condo on the moon. And if you think his girlfriend has no knowledge of where that money is, I’ll throw in another condo on Mars.
Worst of all, as part of the plea deal, Greig will not be called to testify against Bulger, which shows that a good lawyer can make suckers out of the government every time.
Greig’s attorney Reddington told the court a fairy tale that Greig had fallen hopelessly in love with a Robin Hood-type figure; hardly the description I would use to describe a mass murderer like Bulger.
In convincing the judge to go easy on Greig, Reddington wrote in a tear-jerking brief, “Why people fall in love has been debated since before Shakespeare’s sonnets. Many times people fall in love and their family or loved ones do not approve or condone the relationship. The truth of the matter is that she was and remained in love with Mr. Bulger.”
After Greig’s sentencing, Reddington told reporters, “She’s in love with the guy. If she could be with the guy right now, she’d be with him. And she doesn’t believe for one minute that he’s guilty or capable of these horrible crimes. She doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t believe it, and she absolutely stands by her man.”
Ugh! Makes me want to puke.
What’s even more disgusting – was that when Reddington was asked by the press if Greig had any regrets at all about the 16 years she spent with a fugitive on the run, Reddington simply said, “No.”
Before sentencing Greig, U.S. District Court Judge Douglas Woodlock said that Greig’s role in helping Bulger stay on the run for 16 years involved “more than mere harboring.”
“The defendant is capable of making her own choices and had a long time to make her own choices,” Judge Woodlock said, before handing down her sentence.
The prosecutors had asked for ten years for Greig, but Judge Woodlock cut that down by 20 per cent. Counting the year she has already spent in prison, the 61-year-old Greig could be out on the streets in a little over five years.
However, the prosecutors didn’t feel that the judge was too light on Greig.
“Eight years is a very significant sentence,” U.S. Attorney Carmen Ortiz told reporters.
“This was not a romantic saga. We believe the sentence imposed addressed the severity of the crimes. Now she’s paying the price for the choices that she made.”
Not surprisingly, the relatives of Bulger’s alleged victims did not feel the same way as did the judge and the prosecution.
In a statement to the judge before the sentencing, Steven Davis, the brother of alleged Bulger murder victim Debra Davis, wanted Greg to get the maximum penalty allowed by law.
Davis told the judge, “She never had the heart to look any of us in the eye. Catherine, you dirty b(expletive).”
Tim Connors, 37, whose father, Edward, was allegedly shot to death by Bulger, addressed a stone-faced Greig in court, saying, “You are as much a criminal as Whitey, and you ought to be handled as such. You are a cold-hearted criminal.”
I don’t know, but it seems to me that Greig got off a little easy. Only a moron, or a person from a different planet, could not know Bulger was ruthless head of a murderous mob. It was all over the newspapers, especially in the Boston area where Bulger ruled with an iron fist, and where Greig lived. So to say that Greig does not believe Bulger was “guilty or capable of these horrible crimes,” is just plain silly.
Since Greig is now 61, and say she gets out of prison in a little over five years, and considering the life expectancy of an America female is around 84-years, Greig will have close to 20 years, or more to be free in society, while Bulger’s alleged victims are all still dead.
Doesn’t sound like justice to me.
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June 17, 2012
Joe Bruno on the Mob – Mob Rat Henry Hill is Dead (It’s surprising he lasted so long)
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Whenever someone dies, the obituaries in the daily newspapers usually give a glowing account of what a wonderful guy the deceased person was; but not in the case of mob canary Henry Hill.
Quite frankly, Henry Hill, who was portrayed by handsome actor http://www.josephbrunowriter.com/joe-... the movie Goodfellas, was a creep, a thug, and a miserable miscreant, who ratted out his best buddies to save his own neck. The creepy-looking Hill – part Irish and part Italian – was such a bad guy, after five years in witness protection, the government booted his ass from the program because he was unable to stop living a life of crime; screwing whomever he came into contact with. In 1987, Hill was busted for drug charges, and he had been arrested several times since, for minor crimes, most of which could be categorized as “felonious feeble-mindedness.”
Hill often bragged he was a rags-to-riches, then back-to-rags legend. He once told a London newspaper, on the 20th Anniversary of the release of Goodfellas, “The government said a couple of hundred million dollars went through my hands. But I just blew it on slow horses, women, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”
He probably meant rock cocaine.
Hill was a down-and-out drug addict and a hopeless alcoholic. When he was too old to be a successful thief anymore, he desperately tried to make a living selling his own line of marinara sauce; like a sane person would buy a jar of “Italian Gravy” from a criminal who was only famous for being a rat.
Better Hill should have sold rat poison – then he could have done something positive for society – by taking the rat poison himself.
After Hill had the good grace to die, his unnamed girlfriend (smart girl not giving her name) told the website TMZ, “His heart just gave out.”
That’s presupposing Henry Hill had a heart to begin with.
In 2008, Hill appeared as a guest on the Howard Stern radio show, which proves Stern (another no-class guy) would interview anyone for ratings; even the Devil himself.
Hill told Stern, with something resembling a straight face, “I’m going straight. I’m doing the right thing now.”
Hill is doing “the right thing now” – by pushing up daises.
Better late than never.
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June 11, 2012
Joe Bruno on the Mob – Big Ang’s Son Gets His Bail Reduced
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Just two days after Judge Mark Dwyer gave Big Ang Railoa’s son Anthony (AJ) D’Onofrio a whopping $200,000 bail after his arrest for selling narcotics, the judge had a change of heart. Your honor reduced the bail to a paltry $15,000 ($1,500 in cash required); pocket change for Big Ang, who recently bought jewelry for herself and her son, and paid for it with a cash roll almost as big as Big Ang herself.
It seems that the Judge Dwyer had never heard of the show Mob Wives, and didn’t realize the prosecutors had asked for such a high bail because of the notoriety of the show, and its participants.
“Oh, that’s the case everyone is talking about,” Judge Dwyer told the New York Post. “I’m the only person who doesn’t know anything about this.”
The show Mob Wives is so shamelessly bad, the judge should be thankful for small favors.
As was written previously in this blog, D’Onofrio and four other men were indicted on 50 felony counts; including the sale of cocaine, and for steering undercover officers to associates who could sell them the prescription drug oxycodone. After the original bail was set, D’Onofrio’s lawyer Lance Lazarro had a spit fit; claiming the bail was ridiculously high because of Big Ang’s notoriety on Mob Wives, and because of D’Onofrio had also appeared several times on the program. Apparently, in light of present circumstances, the bail requested by prosecutor Timothy Gearon and originally agreed to by the judge, was excessively high, and reserved for the most egregious of criminals.
The strange thing about this whole spectacle is that both times her son appeared before the judge, Big Ang, who pleaded guilty in 2003 to drug charges herself, was conspicuous by her absence.
Maybe Big Ang was afraid she’d get flashbacks about her own past legal problems if she showed her face anywhere near a courtroom.
Or maybe Big Ang is just pissed at her son for being so stupid as to follow in his mother’s footsteps.
The latter sounds more likely.
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June 9, 2012
Chapter Five – The Wrong Man – Who Ordered the Murder of Gambler Herman Rosenthal and Why
ROSENTHAL BECOMES A RAT
June 8, 2012
Joe Bruno on the Mob – Big Ang’s son Arrested For Selling Drugs
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Well, I guess it’s like mother – like son. And in this case, that is not a very good thing.
Big Ang Raiola, a star in VH1’s TV show Mob Wives and soon to be the star of her own show called The Big Ang Show, pleaded guilty in 2003 to drug charges: selling cocaine to undercover officers. She got three years’ probation and four months house arrest.
Now it’s her son – A. J. Donofrio – who’s in a pickle; and it’s the same pickle his mother was in.
On Monday June 4, police barged into Big Ang’s bar “The Drunken Monkey” in Staten Island looking to arrest D’Onofrio for also selling cocaine to an undercover agent. D’Onofrio was not on the premises at the time, but the following day he turned himself into the police. D’Onofrio and four other men were indicted on 50 felony counts; including selling drugs to undercover officers and telling these same officers where they could illegally buy the prescription drug oxycodone.
“This was a long-term investigation,” assistant district attorney Timothy Gearon told the New York Post. “Over 700 oxycodone pills were sold and the price of that was close to $14,000.”
Talk about dumb. You’d think the son would learn from his mother’s mistakes, but there seems to be very little brain power lurking around “The Drunken Monkey” on any given night.
To add to his problems, D’Onofrio is not a one-timer when it comes to breaking the law. In 2011, D’Onofrio was arrested for beating up a pal with a lead pipe. He also has a DUI on his record. Taking all this into consideration, a Brooklyn judge came down on D’Onofrio with a lead pipe of his own; making A. J.’s bail a whopping $200,000. D’Onofrio’s attorney Lance Lazzaro thought the bail was a tad excessive, especially for a man who claims he’s innocent.
“He says he didn’t do it,” defense lawyer Lance Lazzaro said after D’Onofrio’s arraignment. “He’s denying it. I think we should wait to see what type of proof they’ve got before we rush to judgment.”
Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. But in cases concerning undercover cops buying drugs, there are usually taped conversations, and maybe even a picture, or moving picture or two to back up the arrest. So I find it hard to believe D’Onofrio will walk away from this case unscathed.
In a Season 2 episode of Mob Wives, Big Ang was shown taking her son to a jewelry store to buy him a few birthday presents. While the camera rolled, Big Ang bought her son a huge white gold crucifix and a whopping rope chain to go with it. She also bought herself a few baubles that would choke the proverbial horse. The amazing thing was the transaction was made entirely in cash, and there had to be thousands, or maybe even ten thousands of dollars involved.
While I watching this I said to myself, “Where does Big Ang get all this cash? And why not pay with a credit card, like any other normal human being would do?”
If the police are to be believed about D’Onofrio’s alleged cocaine indesgressions, I guess the answer is self-evident. People don’t usually buy cocaine, or sell cocaine using credits cards, now do they? This is a cash-only business.
Or maybe Big Ang and son won the money betting fast horses at the track.
Anyone who believes that; I have a condo in Iraq to sell them.
PS – You have to wonder if Hector “Junior” Pagan blew the whistle on his former Mob Wives co-star: Big Ang’s son A.J. D’Onofrio. When someone goes over to Team America they are required to tell the Feds everything they know about anyone they know who may have committed crimes. This is all conjecture, but it is interesting that Pagan became and rat and now someone connected to the show Mob Wives is under arrest.
It could all be a co-incidence, but…
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June 7, 2012
June 6, 2012
Chapter 3 -The Wrong Man – Who Ordered the Murder of Gambler Herman Rosenthal and Why
THE SECRET (STRONG ARM) SQUAD
In 1911, Police Commissioner Rhinelander Waldo appointed Becker to head an elite group of police strongmen which Waldo proudly called “The Special Squad,” but christened in the press as “The Strong Arm Squad.”
In a New York Times article dated Aug. 13, 1911, the headline read:
THE STRONG ARM SQUAD – A TERROR TO THE GANGS
“Lieut. Charles Becker was picked to be in command of the Strong Arm Squad. He looks the part, standing over six feet in his socks, tipping the scale over 200 pounds, broad-shouldered, with eyes, jaw, and fists of a fighter.”
The Strong Arm Squad was right up Becker’s alley, because it gave him and his boys carte blanche to crack heads whenever they deemed it necessary, and that was often. The Strong Arm Squad was comprised of, according to the Times, “twenty huskies whose sole duty is to travel around the city and hand out generous doses of strong-arm medicine to any and all who showed unmistakable signs of being in need of it.”
The Strong Arm Squad wore no police uniforms, nor did they dress like police detectives. The Strong Arm Squad wore the attire of the times associated with ruffians, longshoremen, and the rabble in the streets who were committing mayhem on the general public. In other words, the Strong Arm Squad dressed to blend in with the crowd they were looking to beat up, then arrest; in either order, as they saw fit. These 20 men were plucked from various precincts because “they had earned the reputation for their fighting capacity, for their judgment in making arrests, and for their ability to back up their arrests.”
In fact, the last two criteria had nothing to do with the selection of the Strong Arm Squad. The first criteria was all that was required to be given the opportunity to legally crack heads.
According to the Times article,
“The Strong Arm Squad consisted of such thugs as Alex Whitman, the ‘strong man’ of the Police Department, and his brother Nathan Whitman, who has been dubbed the ‘Yiddish Irishman.’ Then there was Conlon, the ‘strong arm dude.’ ‘Old Sleuth’ Faubel, Joe McLaughlin, known as ‘Eat ‘Em Up Alive,’ and finally ‘Boots Trojan,’ who knows all the gangs and whom Becker described as ‘good as four ordinary men to go into a muss with.’”
Becker’s squad of thugs knew what Waldo wanted and they provided it in spades. Waldo was interested in arrests all right, but that was secondary to beating the crap out of whomever Becker deemed worthy of such actions. Waldo’s thinking was: strike fear in the hearts of the underworld element and they will stop doing whatever they are doing. Of course, this tactic never works and only makes the hard men harder when they finally get released from prison.
Whenever arrests were made, the New York City’s Magistrates were regaled by the prisoner’s tales of “cruel and abusive” treatment by Becker and his gang. However, Becker always denied these claims, and thanks to the interference of Police Commissioner Waldo, no charges were ever brought against Becker and his thugs.
With his ruthless reputation flaunted frequently in the press, Becker was in an even better position than he was before to do what he did best: shake down prostitutes and known New York City gamblers; especially in the Tenderloin. In fact, Becker was such a commanding presence in the Tenderloin – he was christened “The Czar of the Tenderloin.”
With his squad of goons behind him, Becker went on a rampage, closing down 100 gambling joints in the period of nine months. Of course, Becker took care of those who took care of him. If the proprietor of a gambling house came across with the proper amount of cash, Becker would ignore the gambling house’s existence. And if that were not possible – if Waldo came down with a direct order to close down that particular dive – Becker would tip off the gambling house owner in advance, so that when Becker finally did axe down the front door of the gambling den, all of the establishment’s best gambling paraphernalia had been secreted away, and only decrepit tables and gambling wheels would be axed, or confiscated. Big-shot gamblers were also tipped off, so when Becker’s men made their arrests in their favored gambling houses, the arrestees were nonentities, with no bucks to back up their play with Becker.
According to Mike Dash’s fine tome Satan’s Circus, Becker was raking in so much cash that he personally banked, between Oct. 1911 and July 1912, an average of $10,000 a month. Becker had 15 bank accounts dotted throughout the five boroughs of New York City. Some were solely in his name; some in joint accounts with his wife, and others under fictitious names. Becker also had safety deposit boxes in several banks filed with cold, hard cash; sometimes as much as $2,000 in one such box.
This brings us back to Herman Rosenthal.
June 3, 2012
Chapter 2 – The Wrong Man: Who Ordered the Murder of Gambler Herman Rosenthal and Why
CHARLES BECKER
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Charles Becker was born to a German/American family in 1870, in the tiny town of Calicoon Center, in the Catskill region of upstate New York. Becker’s father died when he was seven and he was raised by his widowed mother. In 1890, when Becker was just 20 years old, he hopped on a train and headed for New York City, where he hoped to gain fame and more than his fair share of fortune.
After working at several meaningless jobs, the tall and broad-shouldered Becker took a gig as a bouncer in a German “Biergarten” (beer garden) just off the Bowery. German Biergartens were jovial joints where sometimes an unruly customer, who had one too many brews, needed to get pitched out on his ear. Becker was especially good at this sort of thing, and he got the reputation of someone who could “punch with the kick of a horse.” Becker’s status as a ruffian grew and soon he caught the eye of several customers who were politically connected and were in the position to get someone like Becker an appointment in the New York City police department; after he paid them handsomely, of course.
Becker’s rabbi was the Republican Police Commissioner John McClave, who had been appointed by Mayor Franklin Edson in 1884 and re-appointed in 1890 by Mayor Hugh Grant. McClave, as was the practice in those days, took the whopping sum of $300 off Becker (nearly a half a year of a New York City policeman’s pay) and in early 1894, Becker became a full-fledged New York City policeman. Soon after he secured Becker his “appointment,” McClave was summoned before the Lexow Committee, which was investigating police corruption in New York City. The charge against McClave was “banking the proceeds of bribery,” and with his son-in-law Gideon Granger testifying against him, McClave was forced to resign.
There is no record of McClave ever having returned Becker’s $300.
After making his bones in several precincts, Becker was given a most enviable post as a vice-stomping unformed policeman in the Tenderloin, sometimes known as “Satan’s Circus.” Becker soon learned he could expand his policeman’s pay considerably by sticking out his hand when he encountered someone breaking the gambling, or prostitution laws; both of which abounded in the Tenderloin. Of course, because he was not arresting people who came across with the cash, Becker sometimes had to make a legitimate arrest, just to show he was doing his job.
On Sept. 16, 1896, 24-year-old novelist/journalist Stephen Crane was hobnobbing in the Tenderloin, doing research for an article on which he was working. Crane had just received worldwide acclaim for his Civil War novel Red Badge of Courage and was looking to add to his reputation by writing a piece about the Tenderloin.
Around 10 p.m., Crane ambled into the Broadway Garden, which was located in the southern tip of the Tenderloin, at the corner of Broadway and Thirty-First Street. There Crane made the acquaintance of three young ladies who called themselves “dancers,” which they may have been, but they were more often prostitutes. Crane had finished interviewing these women for his proposed story and escorted the three lovelies outside where they intended to go their separate ways.
After Crane had escorted one lady to a cable car, he turned back to the other two, just in time to see Patrolman Becker, in his sparkling blue uniform with its shining brass buttons, came out of nowhere and grab both ladies by the wrists. Becker announced he was arresting them for prostitution.
Thinking quickly, one of the ladies pointed at Crane and told Becker, “I’m no prostitute. He’s my husband!”
Becker turned to Crane and asked him if the lady’s contention was true.
Crane said, “Yes, I am. I’m her husband.”
Becker let go of the young lady’s wrist, but still held tightly onto the other young lady’s wrist. “Well, what about this one?” Becker asked Crane.
Crane replied, “I know nothing about her.”
Becker smiled. “Well, she’s nothing but a common prostitute and I’m arresting her for soliciting prostitution.”
Becker took the girl, real name Ruby Young, but known on the streets as Dora Clark, to the 19th Precinct and locked her up for the night. Crane tagged along and found out that first thing in the morning Clark would be arraigned at the Jefferson Court Market, at Tenth Street and Sixth Avenue. Crane decided to show up at her arraignment.
Magistrate Cornell was in charge of the proceedings and after listening to Becker’s charges, Magistrate Cornell turned to Clark and asked what she had to say for herself.
Clark responded with a conspiracy theory she said had started three weeks earlier. She stated that her arrest was unwarranted and she was being persecuted by the police of the 19th Precinct, because she had inadvertently insulted one of them.
Clark told the Magistrate, “I was accosted by a man on Broadway, who because of the poor lighting on the street, I perceived to be a Negro. I told him to go about his business and that I wanted nothing to do with a Negro.”
The only problem was, this man was not a Negro, but a policeman with a swarthy complexion named Rosenberg. Patrolman Rosenberg arrested Clark on the spot, and when she gave her explanation the next day in court, Patrolman Rosenberg was insulted and quite upset. Patrolman Rosenberg got word to Clark that she would be arrested by a 19th Precinct cop every time she set foot in the Tenderloin, whether she had committed a crime or not. Clark told Magistrate Cornell, that since then she has been unjustly arrested several times in the Tenderloin, and the incident last night was just one of her many bogus arrests.
Magistrate Cornell turned to Becker and asked if there was any doubt in his mind that Clark was engaged in the solicitation of prostitution on the previous night.
Becker stuck out his chin and puffed out his chest.
“None whatsoever, “Becker said. “She is an old hand at this and she always lies about it.”
Magistrate Cornell asked Clark if it were true that she frequented the streets of the Tenderloin.
Clark, knowing that denying something so provable would do her no good, told the judge that yes, she indeed frequented the Tenderloin, adding, “Why not? This is America. It’s a free country.”
This cemented in Magistrate Cornell’s mind that Clark was indeed a prostitute, since no respectable woman would travel alone in the Tenderloin, especially at midnight. But before he could proclaim his decision, Stephen Crane jumped to his feet near the back of the courtroom.
As was reported in the New York Sun, Crane said, “Just a word, Your Honor. I know this girl to be innocent. I only know that while with me she acted respectably and that the policeman’s charge was false.”
Crane went on to delineate the reasons why Becker had made an improper arrest of Clark. Then he added, “If the girl will have the officer prosecuted for perjury, I will gladly support her.”
Since Magistrate Cornell was aware of Crane’s fame and could not imagine such an illustrious writer lying in court, he dismissed the charges against Clark. This did not please Becker too much. He was even more irritated, when Clark, three weeks later, marched into Police Headquarters at 300 Mulberry Street, and pressed charges against Becker and against Patrolman Rosenberg, for “continued harassment.”
Clark’s chief witness was Stephen Crane, which caused Becker more than a few bouts of agita. So much so, a few days after Clark brought charges against Becker, he accosted her on the street at three in the morning and beat her unmercifully in front of witnesses; none of whom would come to her aid because of their fear of Becker and his methods. When Becker was finished pummeling Clark, a husky hooker named “Chicago May,” who was alleged to be one of Becker’s paramours, landed a few kicks and punches of her own on the fallen Clark.
Because of Crane’s fame, for the next several weeks the Becker/Crane/Clark case made national news. It was spread across the front page of newspapers in big cities like Philadelphia and Boston. It even made headlines as far west as Chicago, where the Chicago Dispatch made the snide observation that “Stephen Crane is respectfully informed that association with women in scarlet is not necessarily a ‘Red Badge of Courage.’ ”
While Becker was waiting for his police trial to take place, he ordered his pals in the department to do everything possible to make Crane’s life miserable. First, they raided Crane’s apartment, looking for anything that might discredit Crane. Then they interviewed Crane’s friends and acquaintances, digging for more dirt. By pounding the pavement and knocking on doors, Becker’s pals discovered that Crane frequented brothels and that he had more than a causal relationship with opium dens. Future United States President Theodore Roosevelt, who was the New York City Police Commissioner at the time and casually acquainted with Crane, advised Crane not to testify at Becker’s trial, or suffer ruin to his reputation. Crane decided to testify anyway.
At Becker’s Oct. 16 trial, every police officer in the 19th Precinct who was not on duty at the time showed up in court to support Becker. Before the four judges, who were comprised of the city’s four deputy police commissioners, Becker’s lawyer, Louis Grant, was relentless in trying to discredit Crane’s testimony.
Grant painted Crane as a man who not only frequently smoked in opium dens and took solace in the company of prostitutes, but also as a man who lived off the ill-gotten gains of those poor girl’s debaucheries.
On the witness stand, with Grant in Crane’s face, Crane meekly denied Grant’s accusations, saying his presence in opium dens and brothels were solely for the purpose of doing research for his writings. At one point, Grant was so venomous is his conduct toward Crane that one newspaperman wrote, “Crane appeared to not know where he was at. At one time the questions were so severe as to cause the young author to place his hands to his face with the apparent desire to shut out the questions from his mind.”
Things got so sticky for Crane on the witness stand, he refused to answer several of Grant’s questions on the grounds that “they would tend to degrade and incriminate him.”
After the humiliation of Crane was complete, the four deputy police commissioners, led by Fredrick Grant – the son of United States President Ulysses Grant – found Charles Becker innocent of all charges. Stephen Crane skulked from New York City, his reputation in ruins
Crane would never again garner acclaim as a writer; either of fiction, or of non-fiction. Disgraced in the Northeast, Crane absconded to Key West; then to Jacksonville, Florida, where he met his true love, Cora Taylor, the owner of a house of ill-repute named Hotel De Dream. Unable to make a decent living off his writings, Crane took a war assignment from Blackwood’s Magazine, which sent Crane to Cuba to report on the Spanish-American War. In Cuba, Crane contracted yellow fever and malaria, further worsening his already tenuous health. In late 1899, his work in Cuba complete, Crane journeyed to England where he continued his love affair Cora Taylor, whom he finally married.
In England, Crane’s health continued to deteriorate and after he suffered a severe hemorrhage of his lungs, he decided to enter a health resort in Badenweiler, Germany. Crane lingered in ill health for several months before he passed away on June 5, 1900, at the age of 28.
Charles Becker didn’t kill Stephen Crane, but he was certainly instrumental in quickening the young writer’s demise.
With the Crane/Clark matter behind him, Becker became more resolute in working the Tenderloin for his personal profit. Becker made a career out of shaking down prostitutes and gambling houses, making the occasional sensational arrest, so that his name would be firmly entrenched on the front page of the New York City daily newspapers.
After his first wife, Mary, died from tuberculosis, he married a second time to a Canadian lass named Letitia Stensen, with whom he had a son, Howard Paul. This marriage lasted less than a year, mostly because Becker had been unfaithful to his wife; fooling with a string of Tenderloin hookers, from whom he accepted sexual favors, in addition to the shakedown money they paid Becker to keep operating without fear of arrest. Letitia sued for divorce on the grounds of infidelity, won her divorce, then scurried off to Reno, Nev., where she married Becker’s older brother Paul. Go figure.
In 1902 Becker met his third and final wife – Helen Lynch, a teacher in the New York City Public School System. This marriage lasted as long as Becker did, and Helen would play a major part in the melodrama that followed the death of Herman Rosenthal.
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June 1, 2012
The Wrong Man: Who Ordered the Murder of Gambler Herman Rosenthal and Why.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Wrong-Man-R...
Introduction
2012 is the 100-year anniversary of the murder of small-time gambler Herman Rosenthal – the most celebrated murder of its time. Make no mistake, there are no good guys here, no innocent victims. The fact is an offensive and offensive-looking well-known criminal framed a crooked New York City police lieutenant for the killing of an odious stool pigeon. People in the underworld cheered the death of Herman Rosenthal; he was that much disliked. But that doesn’t negate the fact that the wrong man sat in Sing Sing’s electric chair for ordering Rosenthal’s murder, while the man who framed him – and actually ordered the murder of Herman Rosenthal – walked away scot free, content in the knowledge that he was able to fool so many prominent law enforcement officials so easily.
This is how it all happened.
HERMAN ROSENTHAL
He was thoroughly unlikeable; mean and snarky, and he would swindle his own mother if it would earn him a few bucks. Yet the murder of small-time gambler Herman Rosenthal ignited a firestorm in the New York City press, which resulted in New York City Police Lieut. Charles Becker being unjustly fried in Sing Sing’s electric chair.
Herman Rosenthal was a runt of a man who was born in Russia and immigrated to the United States with his parents when he was 5 years old. They settled in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, which, in the late 1800s, was a conglomeration of hard-working immigrants, featuring the lowest common denominator of thieves, crooks, cheats, gamblers, and murderers. Rosenthal’s parents were Jewish, but there is no evidence that Rosenthal ever set foot in a Jewish temple after his tumultuous teenage years began. At the age of 14, Rosenthal eschewed school, and began running with one of the many local street gangs. He stole from pushcarts and picked the pockets of drunks, and performed whatever schemes corruptible kids from that era did to amuse themselves.
Despite his size (he was 5-foot-3-inches), Rosenthal was a competent street fighter, and gained a reputation as someone who could handle himself in a pinch. (A friend once said of Rosenthal, “He was mighty fast on his feet and he could hit hard.”)
To earn a meager living, Rosenthal sold newspapers on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge. However, the money he earned selling newspapers was peanuts compared to what Rosenthal envisioned as proper remuneration for a man of his guile, and what he considered to be – his superior intellect. Invariably, Rosenthal gravitated to the money and in the Lower East Side of Manhattan at the turn of the century that usually led to a poolroom. That’s where Rosenthal met Big Tim Sullivan – the Political Prince of the Lower East Side, who had as many scruples as a bald-headed eagle has hair.
Because of his spunk and willingness to mix it up when necessary – and also because Sullivan knew that “smart Jew boys” like Rosenthal represented a huge voting block on the Lower East Side -Big Tim got Little Herman Rosenthal a job of sorts as a numbers runner for a downtown poolroom. Rosenthal soon graduated to working from a back room in the poolroom – taking bets, both in person, and by code over the phone.
In 1897, Rosenthal married the lovely Dora Gilbert and they became partners in the profession of Dora’s choice: the business of prostitution. Quite simply, Dora did her best work on her back in their West 40th Street apartment bedroom, while Rosenthal stood guard outside the bedroom door to make sure the visitors behaved themselves and didn’t quibble over the price, or the performance. In time, Dora, to give her customers a choice, employed two other girls and Rosenthal became their pimp, too.
Things were going quite well for Rosenthal in the early 1900s when Dora decided to give Rosenthal the gate. Dora divorced Herman, and she used the money she had saved from her sex business to open up a legitimate boardinghouse: no johns need apply. This, in effect, left Rosenthal without a job, and since unemployment insurance had not yet been invented, Rosenthal went back to Big Tim Sullivan with his hat in his hand.
Big Tim, still fond of Little Herman, got Rosenthal a job as the proprietor of a small Lower East Side craps game. Rosenthal did so well for Sullivan in the endeavor, Big Tim procured Rosenthal a prestigious gig as a bookmaker in a storefront in Far Rockaway, Queens, which was the last stop on the New York City subway transit system. Riding the subway daily gave Rosenthal plenty of time to think, and he thought about the day when he would become a big shot himself.
As a result of Rosenthal’s guile and Big Tim’s connections, Rosenthal moved up the underworld gambling ladder one step at a time. He eventually became the manager of the prestigious Hesper Club, located on 111 Second Avenue and owned by Big Tim Sullivan’s brother, Patrick. The private Hesper Club was famous for its full casino: roulette wheel and craps tables and also a back-room poker game which attracted some of the most illustrious gamblers in town. The gamblers included respected judges, assistant district attorneys and a few mid-to-high-level government employees. The Hesper Club was a club where you obtained membership only by the recommendation of other members. Big Tim was so intent on his brother Patrick’s private club thriving, Big Tim even penned a flowery letter, which was framed and placed inside the club next to the front door.
The letter, dated April 30, 1903, and addressed to then-Hesper president Sam Harris, read:
“Dear Sir: Regarding my election as a life member of the Hesper Club, I keenly appreciate the compliment you pay me, and should it be possible for me at any time to serve you, or any of the members, I would be glad to do so. A simple word from you will command me – Yours truly, TIMOTHY D. SULLIVAN.”
This framed letter said reams about the strong connection between the elected politicians of the time and the illegal gambling crowd. Everyone knew Big Tim Sullivan ran the Lower East Side with an iron fist, fitted with a velvet glove. They also knew that Big Tim could provide well-paying jobs, some of them “no-show” jobs, to anyone he desired. But the implication of the Hesper Club letter was even more sinister than that. Big Tim basically said in the letter that a simple word from the president of the Hesper Club, and Sullivan would pull whatever strings necessary to keep illegal gambling thriving in the Hesper Club; not to mention giving jobs to whomever the bigwigs at the Hesper Club said needed jobs; a classic case of one dirty hand washing the other.
Being the manager of the Hesper club catapulted Rosenthal into the big time. He was raking in so much cash, he was able to rent of suite of rooms at the illustrious Broadway Hotel, which set Rosenthal back more than $1,200 a month; a tidy sum in the first decade of the Twentieth Century. With his newfound celebrity, Rosenthal decided to take himself a second wife – a chubby bleach-bottled redhead named Lillian, who did not, like Rosenthal’s first wife, do business on her back. In fact, Herman was so flush with cash, Lillian had no need, nor any desire, to work at all.
The problem with Rosenthal was that he was not very good at making friends, but quite competent at making enemies; especially those in the New York City police department. While he was manager of the Hesper Club, Rosenthal opened his own gambling operation, with the blessing of Big Tim Sullivan, of course, at 123 Second Avenue, called The Red Raven Club. The Red Raven Club had formerly been a poolroom run by Rosenthal.
It was common knowledge at the time, if you wanted to run an illegal gambling establishment in New York City, you had to pay off the police and pay them off good. But giving graft to cops was adverse to Rosenthal’s nature. Instead of making his weekly contributions to the “Police Benevolent Association,” Rosenthal used that money instead to fortify his gambling houses from unwanted invasion. He installed extra-sturdy doors and employed the most competent doormen, who were experts at sniffing out an undercover cop, or someone from the city who might want to serve the club with a warrant. This made the New York City police department all the more eager to shut Rosenthal down.
In 1903, New York City Police Capt. Charles Kemp spent considerable time devising a way to put Rosenthal out of business. According to Rose Keefe’s book, The Starker, Kemp used a dubious “letter of instruction” to gain admittance for one of his operatives to 123 Second Avenue, when it was a tightly run Rosenthal poolroom/illegal gambling house. The letter read:
Herman Rosenthal Esq.
This is to introduce my friend, Mr. Ketcham. He is all right.
H. Morgan
The undercover cop gave the letter to the doorman, who in turn, gave the letter to Rosenthal. For some unknown reason, Rosenthal gave the thumbs-up for the visitor to enter. The undercover did so and in the course of an hour, he was able to place bets on several horse races.
This allowed Capt. Kemp to get a warrant and on August 15, 1903, Capt. Kemp, five detectives, and 20 policemen broke down the front door of 123 Second Avenue with axes. When they busted inside, they found Rosenthal frantically trying to destroy the day’s racing receipts inside a raging fireplace. Rosenthal was cuffed, and along with three of his employees, taken to the police station and charged with “keeping and maintaining a poolroom.” Why he was not charged in connection with taking illegal race bets is a testament to Rosenthal’s adroitness in pitching papers into the fire.
Rosenthal’s rabbi with the law, and his ace-in-the-hole, was always Big Tim Sullivan. However, by the elections of 1908 Sullivan’s stronghold on the German and Irish votes had been weakened by the huge influx of Italians below 14th Street and west of Broadway, and Jews east of Broadway. With Sullivan’s power waning, Rosenthal, who had an abrasive and defying attitude when dealing with the legal authorities, had a large target on his back as far as the New York City police department was concerned.
In 1909, New York City District Attorney William Travers Jerome, who had prosecuted Harry Thaw for the murder of famed architect Stanford White, set his sights on police corruption, illegal gambling in general, and on Herman Rosenthal in particular. Jerome had Rosenthal arrested and charged with “running a string of gambling houses.” However, as soon as Jerome closed down one of Rosenthal’s joints, little Herman just moved his equipment to a like-area nearby and opened again with impunity.
By 1910, the Hesper Club had lost its luster. Due to the decrease in his political power, Big Tim Sullivan and his brother Patrick resigned from the club, and left its future in the slippery hands of Herman Rosenthal. With Rosenthal now running the show, instead of the usual politicians and judges spinning the Hesper Club’s roulette wheel, shooting craps, and playing poker in the back, they were replaced by neighborhood hooligans, who didn’t gamble as much as the previous members and were inclined to cheat a bit on cards, which decreased the Hesper Club’s membership even more.
The first blow came on October 28, 1910, when, according to the New York Times:
“The Hesper Social and Political Club at 111 Second Avenue was invaded by the police yesterday under orders from Commissioner Cropsey and Police Commissioner Driscoll. The club, which is in Senator Christy Sullivan’s district, has long been regarded as one of the most influential East Side organizations, and the police raid caused considerable consternation in the neighborhood.”
Inside the Hesper Club, 250 men were rounded up and the police found “evidence of gambling” in the form of stuss tables, faro layouts, and blackboards, on which the partially erased words “Track Good” were still visible. The police let all but two of the men go, but as they were doing so, about 100, or so disappointed gamblers decided to bum-rush past the police officers standing guard at the front door and force their way inside. These men claimed they were members of the private Hesper Club and should not be denied admittance. Seven of those men were also arrested and the Hesper Club was temporarily closed down.
Rosenthal, who was not on the premises at the time of the raid, was furious. He immediately sent Matthias Radin, who introduced himself at Police Headquarters as “the lawyer for the Hesper Club,” to set the record straight. Radin yelled at Detective Cody, one of the officers involved in the raid, that “Tammany Hall would remember what the police had done and would remember those instrumental in it.”
Then Radin tried to push his way into the office of the Police Commissioner. When he was stopped by a phalanx of cops, Radin yelled at them, “You don’t know who you’re talking to! You’re talking in a swell way to a good Tammany man and you’ll pay for it, and don’t you forget it!”
Newspaper reporters surrounded Rosenthal’s mouthpiece and this was the stage Radin relished. He told the reporters, “It was an outrage to invade the quarters of the club. It is one of the oldest and respectable clubs on the East Side and had never been interfered with before in history. Those blackboards meant nothing. The police might have written those words ‘Track Good’ themselves. We hold lectures in the clubhouse regularly and the blackboards were used for illustrating points in these educational lectures. They were for the education and benefit of the members. So far as the stuss tables were concerned, any home might have such tables in it.”
The Oct. 27 raid showed how much pull Tammany Hall still had concerning the New York City police department. Due to pressure applied by the aforementioned Matthias Radin, Police Commissioner Driscoll, who had ordered the raid, was relieved of his job and transferred to a local Precinct where his powers were greatly diminished. Also, Detectives Cody and Murphy, who led the raid, were no longer detectives. They were assigned to plain patrol duty, in uniform, in the boondocks of the Bronx.
Through his considerable pull at Tammany Hall, Radin was able to get the Hesper Club reopened. So the police set their sights on another one of Rosenthal’s establishments: the Red Raven Club at 123 Second Ave, right down the street from the Hesper Club. This club was Rosenthal’s alone, and it didn’t have the protection Big Tim Sullivan had afforded the Hesper Club.
On Dec. 23, 1910, the Red Raven Club was raided by Capt. Kemp’s men. It was closed for a while as Rosenthal ordered his man Radin to get a court injunction to reopen the club. That Radin did, but on March 19, 1911, led by District Attorney Jerome himself, the police raided the Red Raven Club in a rousing midnight invasion. Seven men were arrested, but the big fish – Rosenthal – was not on the premises at the time. So Jerome sent his men to the Hesper Club, where there they found Rosenthal and arrested him on the spot. Rosenthal spent the night in Night Court, where his bail was set at $10,000; a tidy sum usually reserved for elite criminals. When the sun rose and the bail bond offices opened, Rosenthal posted bail and was none too happy about it.
He was even unhappier, when the police raided the Hesper Club for the final time on April 19, 1911.
The New York Times headlines and subsequent article read:
HESPER CLUB RAIDED BY FLYNN’S AXEMEN
Deputy Commissioner Takes the Sullivan Stronghold
By Storm as a Gambling Resort
IT MAY END GAMBLING HERE
Gamblers Thought This Club Immune From Police
Interference on Account of Political Influence.
“The Hesper Club at 111 Second Avenue, generally believed to have the support of political interests allied to those of Big Tim and Christie Sullivan, and known as the gamblers’ own club, the principal citadel in the gambling fortifications throughout the city, was raided by Deputy Police Commissioner William J. Flynn. The raid, the gamblers themselves admitted when they heard of it, may prove to be the last blow necessary to suppress vice in this city.”
A known gambler who frequented the Hesper Club said, “It will be hard to keep on gambling when every time Flynn gets a man, he is put under a suspended sentence with orders to report to him. Flynn will have a regular roll book, and call roll every time he holds a meeting. It will be fine to hear the roll reading ‘Beansie Rosenfeld, Hymie Rosenthal, Bob Kennedy’ and so forth. And hear those fellows answer ‘Present and voting.’ That’s what it will come to at this rate, with everyone facing a two-year sentence and a $1,000 fine if he breaks parole.”
With both of his money-making gambling joints shut down by the law, Rosenthal was so broke he had to move out of the Broadway Hotel and abscond to a flea-bag tenement with his wife, Lillian. Desperate for a way to make a living, Rosenthal again turned to Big Tim Sullivan for help. Sullivan, whose political power had been seriously diminished and was in the early stages of syphilis dementia, fronted Rosenthal $35,000 to open a posh gambling house, not on the Lower East Side, but in the ritzy “Tenderloin District,” which ran from Thirtieth Street to Fiftieth Street, and from Sixth to Eight Avenues. Instead of dealing with Lower Manhattan mugs, the Tenderloin district was the gambling home of such elegant sporting characters as Richard Canfield, Lou Busteed, Charles Gates, Julius Fleischmann, Henry Sinclair, and Percival Hill.
On Nov. 17, 1911, Rosenthal’s gambling den had its grand opening at 104 West Forty-Fifth Street. This made Bridgey Webber, a former member of the Hesper Club, not too happy. In early 1911, Webber, who had been Rosenthal’s archenemy since they were teenagers, had opened his own sporting club at 117 West Forty-Fifth Street, down the block from Rosenthal’s new joint, and he sure didn’t like the competition being so close to his lucrative operation.
However, Rosenthal’s steadfast insistence not to pay off the local police came back to haunt him. After being open just a few days, Rosenthal was summoned to the offices of Police Inspector Cornelius Hayes, who demanded an immediate payment of $1,000; to be followed by payments of $1,000 a week. Rosenthal told Hayes to go spit in his hat, which was not such a smart thing do to, since a few days later, Hayes led a contingent of cops to Rosenthal’s new club. The police smashed down the doors, then took their axes to every piece of equipment in the joint.
Rosenthal borrowed money to purchase new equipment and took in a new partner in New York City Police Lieut. Charles Becker, who was reputed to have closed down more gambling joints in New York City than any other cop in town.
View this book at: http://www.amazon.com/The-Wrong-Man-R...
May 29, 2012
Joe Bruno on the Mob – Mob Wives Big Ang to Star in Her Own TV Show.
May 29, 2012
The simple fact is, Big Ang Raiola is the most likable character on the abominable television show Mob Wives. Due to this fact, the bad news is that the producers of Mob Wives, namely Jennifer Graziano – sister of Renee Graziano – has rewarded Big Ang with her own show. The good news is that Big Ang will be the only character from Mob Wives who will appear on this show.
Thank God for small favors.
Jeff Olde, EVP of original programming and production at VH1, was absolutely giddy when he said in a statement to the Huffington Post, “Ang is the definition of authentic. What you see is what you get, no apologies. She’s enjoying life on her own terms — and having had the pleasure of hanging out with Big Ang, her friends and family at The Drunken Monkey, I guarantee viewers are in for a real treat.”
Ok, so that we don’t get too confused here; “The Drunken Monkey” is not an indication of animal cruelty, but, in fact, Big Ang’s very own Staten Island bistro.
Jennifer Graziano, who was recently hoodwinked into allowing her former brother-in-law, Hector “Junior” Pagan (ex-husband of Renee), to play a major part on Season 2 of Mob Wives, is also producing The Big Ang Show. While on Mob Wives, Pagan was wired for sound by the FBI (the bug was in his wristwatch), and as a result, several alleged big name gangsters were arrested, including Pagan’s former father-in-law Anthony Graziano. So it’s plain to see Jennifer G isn’t exactly the cream of the crop of casting directors.
Nevertheless, Jennifer G recently said to the Huffington Post, “I’ve known Big Ang since I was a kid and can always remember thinking, ‘this woman is a star! It gives me great pleasure to be in the position to show the world what I have always seen in her. Big Ang was on my mind for ‘Mob Wives’ from the start — I believe she was a great addition for Season 2 and will be an even bigger force to reckon with on her own show! Watch out America … it’s Big Ang!”
OK, let’s not get carried away here. Big Ang is a big force to be reckoned with because she’s so darn big to start with. Her bra cup size is supposed to be a size “J” (I didn’t know they made bras that big), and her lips protrude so far from her teeth, you could put a billboard sign across them.
Example:
Top Lip – “The Monkey Bar.”
Bottom Lip – “Staten Island’s Best Watering Hole.” Then the full address.
On a recent show, Big Ang was asked why she had so much work done on her breasts and on her lips. In typical Big Ang-speak she said, “To attract da WICE-GUYS!”
As long as The Big Ang Show keeps it light and merry and doesn’t give us the annoying “Drama Queen” story-line of Mafia Wives, maybe this won’t be such a horrible show to watch. Big Ang is bright and breezy, and unlike the other ladies on Mob Wives, she goes through life with a smile on her lips and not a sneer. (Remember- Billboard Smile)
The Big Ang Show could be sort of a remake of the megahit “Cheers,” where The Drunken Monkey is a joint where everyone knows your name. However, the less names mentioned there the better; since the place might be bugged by the Feds
Things like this happen all the time.
