Mob Rules

by Louis Ferrante

  I had a great desire for learning.

  —Meyer Lansky

  Siegel, on the other hand, had no time for books. He liked fast money and fast cars, and wheeled and dealed recklessly. His major deal was turning a small town in the Mojave Desert into a playground for joy seekers. Using investors’ funds, he built his dream hotel and casino, the Flamingo, in Las Vegas.

  When Siegel’s hotel wasn’t finished on time and construction went way over budget, his Mafia investors concluded that he was embezzling the dough. They also ridiculed Siegel for falling in love with a former prostitute, Virginia Hill. The Mob believed that Hill was manipulating Siegel and squirreling away a small fortune, derived from their investments.

  Had Siegel, like Lansky, studied history, he’d have known of Pericles, the famous Athenian statesman and city planner, who had been involved in a large construction project called the Parthenon. Pericles also used investors’ dough to build the Parthenon. When construction went way over budget, his Athenian investors concluded that Pericles was embezzling the dough. They also ridiculed Pericles for falling in love with a former prostitute, Aspasia. Aspasia, like Hill, used Pericles’ power and connections to squirrel away a fortune.

  Aspasia . . . what great art of power this woman had, that she managed as she pleased the foremost men of the state.

  —Plutarch, Life of Pericles

  Virginia Hill also managed as she pleased the foremost men of the Mafia, including Frank Costello, Frank Nitti, Joe Adonis, Tony Accardo, and Murray “The Camel” Humphreys.

  Here lies the wisdom of history: Pericles and Siegel. Identical circumstances. Two thousand years apart.

  Had Siegel read history, as did Lansky, Gambino, Bonanno, and Trafficante, he might have avoided the same pitfalls as Pericles, and died in bed of natural causes, like the Mob bosses just mentioned above. Instead, Siegel’s angry investors had him whacked.

  Siegel was lounging on a couch at Hill’s house on the night he was riddled with bullets. His right eye was blown out of his head and landed fifteen feet from his body. It’s said that one of the bullets fired at Siegel “shattered a small marble figure of Bacchus that stood on Virginia Hill’s piano.”

  Bacchus, the ancient god of wine and intoxication, is commonly associated with nightlife. His statue was gunned down alongside Siegel. The ancients would have adopted this curious coincidence as the perfect storyline for a cautionary tale.

  Though Siegel’s death could have been avoided, he paid a posthumous tribute to Pericles. Today there is a Parthenon Convention Center in Las Vegas, the nightlife mecca of the world.

  The achievements of two dreamers who made the same mistakes are fused forever in the Mojave Desert.

  LESSON 58

  Time to Go: How to Leave the Organization

  WHEN I decided to leave the Mob, I approached each of the bosses I was in prison with at the time and told them I wanted to take up a new path. I was careful not to insult The Life, I just told them the truth: that it was no longer for me. Aside from the obvious moral reasons one would walk away from crime, it was fair to say that with all the snitches leading us to jail, the Mob wasn’t offering much room for advancement.

  Each boss I spoke with knew I never snitched on anyone, had no outstanding debts, and had upheld the integrity of the organization. They wished me luck. Some bosses continued to seek my advice with regard to problems in their families, immediate and extended. I offered my opinions, careful not to entangle myself in any new conspiracies.

  Today, I bump into a mobster from the old days every now and then; I keep it friendly and encounter no animosity or bitterness.

  There may come a time when you’ll face a similar situation. You’ve been leading people for a while. You’ve acquired enough knowledge and wisdom to run the company on your own and may indeed be doing just that, but without the benefits. Are you content to stay where you are, or is it time to move on?

  First, you have to assess your possibilities for advancement inside the company. If it looks grim and you plan to walk, do it with tact. Don’t make enemies.

  If you’ve adhered to the advice I’ve given thus far, then you’ve earned for the company, haven’t snitched on anyone, never embarrassed anyone in public, and mentored employees in private. You’ve tempered your firmness with mercy, and allowed people a chance to be imperfect, or human. If you’ve handled yourself with integrity, you shouldn’t have a problem moving on.

  Your coworkers will be sad to see you go, but will respect your decision and wish you well. Some employees may follow you wherever you go. Your old bosses, like mine, may even continue to seek your advice.

  Whether you become the don of your own company or the don of the company you now work for, apply what you’ve learned, and you’ll prosper.

  Lots of luck, whatever you decide.

  PART III

  LESSONS FOR A DON (BOSS)

  [A don] must possess a rare combination of traits. Like the CEO of a large corporation, or the commanding general of an army, he must be courageous, aggressive, energetic, shrewd, resourceful, intelligent, and have the ability to inspire unquestioning loyalty in his subordinates. . . . He must be an administrator, a judge, a politician, a diplomat, a general, [and] a businessman.

  —John H. Davis, Mafia Dynasty

  LESSON 59

  You Gotta Know When to Fold ’em: Controlling Your Ambition

  CARLO Gambino was arguably the most successful American Mafia don ever. In 1957, he succeeded Albert “The Mad Hatter” Anastasia as boss of a vicious family dubbed Murder, Inc., and molded it into Money, Inc., the most lucrative family in the country during his lifetime.

  Gambino introduced a number of new rackets. He secured the docks, took over the longshoremen’s union, supplied construction materials for skyscrapers, and provided poultry for restaurants and supermarkets. These new rackets lined the pockets of nearly everyone in the family.

  Like old world royalty, Gambino arranged the marriage of his son to the daughter of another Mafia don, creating an alliance that allowed his crime family entry into the Garment District, various labor unions, and the trucking industry. Gambino built an army of more than a thousand soldiers, and expanded the family’s network across the country.

  These revolutionary initiatives suggest that Gambino was a man ruled by unbridled ambition. But if you study his life carefully, you’ll find that he was able to regulate his ambition according to circumstances.

  (This is no easy task. Ask Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling, the makers and breakers of Enron, how hard it is to control one’s ambitions.)

  Human strength is not in extremes, but in avoiding extremes.

  —Ralph Waldo Emerson

  After a lifetime of progress, Gambino noticed that times had changed. Newer wiseguys disregarded rules and destroyed families by selling drugs. Many were flashy and loud, instead of low-key and respectful. Gambino grew wary of expansion and warned future Mafia leaders to exercise moderation. He ultimately “closed the books” to his family (i.e., no new employees), and then withdrew to his Long Island home, where he died peacefully while watching a Yankees game at the age of seventy-four.

  [Don Angelo] Bruno wielded power, but also recognized that with that power came responsibility . . . he knew his limits. He knew when to push and when to pull back.

  —George Anastasia, Blood and Honor

  A mere ten years after Gambino died, his nightmare vision of the family’s future was realized in a thuggish, glitzy, drug-dealing don named John Gotti, the polar opposite of Gambino. In many ways, Gotti was just as sharp as Gambino, but cut from a very different cloth.

  How was Gambino able to predict the future? By looking back at the past.

  Gambino was a student of Italian history. He often quoted Machiavelli and emulated the leadership qualities of the better Roman emperors.

  I’ll have to hand it to Napoleon as the world’s greatest racketeer. But I could have wised him up on some things . . . he overplayed his hand . . .
he was just like the rest of us. He didn’t know when to quit and had to get back in the racket.

  —Al Capone comments after reading Emil Ludwig’s Napoleon

  Augustus Caesar was arguably the most successful of all Roman emperors. Augustus succeeded Julius Caesar after he was brutally murdered—just as Gambino succeeded Albert Anastasia after he was murdered.

  Augustus was driven by ambition, hell-bent on expansion. He built road networks that enlarged the empire’s boundaries, and started a police force, a fire department, and a courier system similar to our post office. He also orchestrated marriage alliances for economic and political purposes, as did Gambino.

  Toward the end of his life, Augustus noticed that times had changed and grew wary of expansion. He warned future Roman emperors to exercise moderation. And died peacefully at the age of seventy-six.

  Both Augustus and Gambino knew when to throttle down their ambitions.

  Running an empire, a Mafia family, or a business is like driving a car. You’ve got to know when to hit the gas, and when to brake.

  Sir, if there is one thing above all others a successful man should know, it is when to stop.

  —Coenus to Alexander the Great

  LESSON 60

  It’s Strictly Business: Friends or Enemies?

  SAYING no to a friend can be the hardest thing to do—but in the Mob, it’s almost always your best friend who kills you. Sometimes, he sets you up. Other times, he pulls the trigger.

  Vito [Genovese] told me that when [Gaetano] Reina saw him he started to smile and wave his hand. When he done that, Vito blew his head off with a shotgun.

  —“Lucky” Luciano

  There are times when a friend doesn’t intend to hurt you but his selfishness, stupidity, or negligence brings you down.

  In an earlier chapter, I spoke of wiseguy John Petrucelli, who was murdered for not only hiding his friend Gus Farace, but also refusing to kill Farace when the boss found out. Farace knew he broke Mob rules and therefore knew he was putting Petrucelli’s life in danger when he asked his friend for help. No matter how you look at it, Petrucelli died for Farace, who obviously cared little about him.

  In the pen, I knew a Boston wiseguy who was serving a life sentence for multiple murders. The wiseguy had some “friends” on the street who remained loyal to him. One day, while I was waiting to use the phone after him, he began to speak loosely with whoever was on the other end of the line. He talked about collecting loan shark debts and other rackets he was still running from the can.

  When he hung up the phone, a Jersey wiseguy who had also overheard his conversation while waiting for another phone said to him, “You should watch what you say, the phones are tapped.”

  The Boston wiseguy replied, “I don’t give a fuck, I’m already serving life.”

  “But your friend isn’t,” replied the Jersey wiser-guy.

  The Boston wiseguy looked like a deer caught in headlights. He was exposed for what he was: a guy who didn’t care much about his so-called friends.

  God deliver us from our friends. We can handle the enemy.

  —General George S. Patton

  How many times in your life has a friend asked you to do something you didn’t want to do, but you felt like you couldn’t say no? It’s usually that “friend” who brings you down.

  I don’t discourage you from standing by a friend in need; that’s what life is about. But a true friend will never intentionally endanger you. If so, it’s time to question that friendship.

  Sometimes, you must say no. It’s strictly business.

  LESSON 61

  The Mafia Spends Very Little on Office Supplies1: Cutting Overhead

  I was shaking down this guy, Larry, who owned a large auto parts distributorship. Larry made tons of bread and had no problem throwing a few crumbs my way. Then one day, the payments stopped. Larry claimed his business no longer made a profit.

  I was standing in Larry’s office when he cried poverty. He was wearing python-skin shoes, kicked up onto a Louis Whatever-the-King desk. He had a thirty-thousand-dollar Bulgari watch on his wrist, a fifty-dollar cigar was stinking up his office, and a giant TV hung on the wall. Outside his office, at least fifty people worked at their desks.

  “Bullshit!” I told him. “I want my fuckin’ money.”

  “I’ll show you my books.” Larry reached into a file cabinet.

  “I’m in a rush,” I said. “Have’em ready tomorrow. I’ll be back.”

  I wasn’t in a rush, but the fact was I wouldn’t have known his ass from his spreadsheet.

  The next day, I returned with an accountant, figuring Larry had cooked the books and that the accountant could prove it. I left the accountant in Larry’s office and told him to call me when he was done.

  I was so sure I was being jerked around that I set aside an hour that night just to kick Larry’s ass.

  My accountant called me a few hours later and said, “This guy’s legit.”

  “How can that be?” I was amazed.

  “He’s playing Mr. Big Shot. He’s got a ten-thousand-square-foot warehouse when he only needs five. Ten good salespeople can handle his accounts; he’s got fifty. He’s got four fancy cars leased through the business, one of which is yours.”

  I was silent. Although I wanted Larry to fix his business, I wasn’t willing to give up my car.

  “Louie, he blows money left and right. He could run his operation out of a two-car garage and cut his overhead in half.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Yeah, his employees are stealing toilet paper.”

  I paid the accountant and gave Larry three months to put his shop in order. He did, and my money started rolling in again.

  Scrutinize your expenses. Every nickel you cut from overhead is an extra nickel in your purse.

  By the way, as I mentioned, I didn’t give up my leased car. Shortly after, I was in a bad automobile accident. Extra lesson: you always get what you deserve, and with irony.

  LESSON 62

  Social Clubs Have Solid Steel Doors—That Are Always Open: An Open-Door Policy

  EVER see an Italian-American soccer club with a dozen hefties loitering outside? Either the team’s alumni really let themselves go, or it’s a Mafia social club.

  Every mobster has one primary hangout where he holds court. Sometimes, the boss is standing out front or taking a walk-talk around the block with a criminal associate. But he’s usually inside playing cards.

  Although most clubs have solid steel doors with a peephole, they’re totally accessible to members of the organization. It’s a place where every “employee” can visit the boss to discuss business.

  He plays politics every day and night in the year, and his headquarters bears the inscription, “Never Closed.”

  —William L. Riordan, Plunkitt of Tammany Hall

  If the boss is always so available, you might wonder how he gets anything accomplished.

  To start with, the boss weeds out people who waste his time. Wiseguys who come to him with every shit problem lose the privilege of visiting him any time they wish. They’re weeded out by those unathletic guys in front of the soccer club; in your case, a secretary. But any person who isn’t on your list of nuisances should be granted access to your office.

  A boss who closes his door to his employees ties his own hands. When someone controls the information that reaches you, that person controls you. Allowing, for example, only three people into your office is equal to placing yourself in the custody of those three people—something you should never do.

  An open-door policy gives you an open view of the office. Every last fart will find your ears, and that’s the best way to keep a handle on your employees at all times.

  LESSON 63

  Don’t Bother Me Now!: The Value of Interruptions

  ONCE your door is open, you’ll be exposed to plenty of interruptions.

  As I said in the last chapter, you’ve got to weed out those regular nuisances, but asi
de from them, welcome all other interruptions. I learned something in a dark place that shined new light on interruptions.

  In prison, I lent advice to literally hundreds of men who came to me with every kind of problem you can imagine: what should I tell my wife; how should I handle my son; should I kill my lawyer . . .

  After a while, the interruptions got to me.

  In certain prisons, the cells have heavy steel doors. At the center of each door is a rectangular window with reinforced glass. When cons need privacy, they tuck a piece of cardboard into the frame around the glass. This standard practice prevents other cons from gazing in while you’re on the can or jerking off. When you’re done, the cardboard is removed.

  I began to put that piece of cardboard on my glass and leave it there all day: Do Not Disturb! I was finally alone with my thoughts, and had chunks of uninterrupted time to read and write.

  One day, an Israeli gangster approached me on the tier as I was returning to my cell from chow. Just before I hung the cardboard up, he said to me, “You shouldn’t block people out. You’ve helped a lot of guys in here.”

  “They can be pains in the asses,” I said.

  “What if someone is thinking about suicide and needs to talk to you?”

  I’ve known men who have killed themselves in prison, so that caught my attention. The next day, I left my door wide open. Not only did I lend an ear and offer advice to men in need, but I benefited from the interruptions as well.

  Here’s how: If I was in the middle of writing something when a con poked his head in, I’d put my pen down to talk with him. When he left, I’d return to my paper and find that my mind was filled with fresh ideas. If I was struggling with a problem when interrupted, I found, after speaking to someone, that I’d return to that problem with a solution in mind. What happened?