George H. Pape was the jury foreman for the 1987 trial. On February 24, 1992, after years of rumor and speculation that Gotti had inside help in his string of victories over government prosecutors, Mr. Pape was indicted for selling his vote and exerting influence on the other jurors to vote in Gotti’s favor. He’d collected $60,000 for his services.
In Pape’s subsequent trial, Mob turncoat Sammy Gravano provided crucial testimony on behalf of the government regarding the Mob’s arrangement with Pape to assure there would not be a conviction. Pape was convicted and sentenced to three years in prison. But although the acquittal may have been tainted, it was an acquittal nonetheless.
ALLIANCES
Over time, Andrew had his share of problems with members of crews from other crime families, particularly the Gaspipe Casso faction of the Luccheses. However, he also developed friendships or at least working relationships with others. And contrary to what some may believe, associating or committing crimes with members of other families didn’t violate Mob protocol. There was one caveat, though, as Andrew explains.
“If you wanted to commit crimes with guys from another family it was okay. But you had to remember one thing. At the end of the day, your loyalty had to be with your own crew and family. When I was out there earning with these guys, I had to make sure I kicked some of the money up to Nicky. And if trouble ever broke out between crews or factions, my loyalty was to Nicky and nobody else.”
Andrew conducted his various business ventures according to that rule. Nicky received financial benefits from all of Andrew’s endeavors. And if push ever came to shove, Andrew’s gun would be on Nicky’s side.
Because it was all about making money, Andrew sometimes did business with individuals he didn’t like. One example was his involvement with Robert, a drug dealer associated with the Teddy Persico crew of the Colombo family.
“This Robert was kind of an asshole. I didn’t like him and neither did Mike Yannotti. But he had connections at Kennedy Airport for drugs to be flown in—I believe they originated in Arizona. When the drugs got to Kennedy, Robert’s people set them aside for him to pick up. They were making a fortune and I made a deal with Robert to get in on the action. It was a good marriage, but it only lasted a few months.
“In June I got a phone call in the middle of the night saying that Mike Yannotti had been involved in a shooting at a club called the Player’s Lounge. It was a Colombo hangout and some of the Gambinos went there, including Sammy Gravano’s Bensonhurst crew.
“I don’t know exactly what caused it, but on this particular night, there was an altercation between Mike and Robert. Later that night, they found Robert in his car in a parking lot at Caesar’s Bay Bazaar on Shore Parkway. He was bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. He was in bad shape for a while, but he survived.
“The next day Mike Yannotti called me. We still had that rivalry thing going in our personal relationship. When it came to business, though, we were a team. Mike admitted that he’d shot Robert. And then he told me that I was spending all my time at the horse room or with the other guys I’d become involved with in the drug operation. He said he could use my help and I needed to spend more time with him and my own crew. He asked me to keep away from the Colombos until the dust cleared over Robert’s shooting. That would happen after Teddy Persico and Nicky had a sit-down [a personal meeting] to resolve the matter. I said okay.
“Next we talked about what we’d do if there were any repercussions over the shooting before Teddy and Nicky got together. We were particularly concerned about this kid Frank Smith who worked for Teddy. He was a stone-cold shooter. He’d kill you in a minute. So in case Frank or anybody came after Mike, we made plans for how we’d dispose of them.
“My loyalty was to Mike and helping him was the right thing to do. It cost me big, though. I went from making up to eight thousand a week, split between me and two associates, to making nothing. Those things happened. I know that I put a lot of pressure on my friends at times too. I asked them to do things that probably hurt them financially. But that’s the way it was.
“Eventually, Teddy and Nicky had their sit-down and everything was squashed. But you don’t just come back from being shot and forget about it. Robert didn’t; he held a grudge. We’d see each other from time to time. When we did, we’d talk. But I was always aware of my surroundings and knew that I’d never be able to get careless around Robert or his friends.”
In an interesting coincidence, two other men were shot and killed the same night Mike Yannotti shot Robert. Their names were Eddie and Vincent Carini. The Carini brothers were also associated with the Colombos. They were notorious killers and hung around with the equally dangerous Frank Smith. Andrew explains the story behind their murders.
“In 1986 Carmine Persico was convicted on federal racketeering charges and sentenced to life plus thirty-nine years in prison. The following March he sent word to his crew that he wanted a federal prosecutor named William Aronwald killed. The order to set up the hit went to Joel Cacace, who was also known as Joe Waverly. Cacace assigned the Carini brothers and Frank Smith to handle it.
“Supposedly, Cacace wrote the name Aronwald on a slip of paper and gave it to the Carinis and Smith. But they made a mistake and killed the guy’s father instead. He was an administrative law judge who handled parking tickets. He had nothing to do with prosecuting organized crime. As punishment for botching the hit, Cacace had the Carini brothers murdered three months later. They were found dead in separate cars on a block in Sheepshead Bay the same night Mike Yannotti did Robert. It was a bad night for the Colombos.”
For unknown reasons, Frank Smith didn’t make Cacace’s hit list. But apparently fearing for his life and having fallen out of favor with the Colombos, Smith later became a government witness. Andrew believes he knows exactly why the killer turned on his colleagues.
“Frank did a lot of work [shootings] for the Colombos. He was loyal to them and even took a fifteen-year sentence for a crime he didn’t commit to protect somebody else. He served every day of it and kept his mouth shut. His thanks was that while he was away, his crew gave his family no support. When he asked them for help, they ignored him. And when he asked to be released from the Colombos to join a Lucchese family crew, they said no. Eventually, Frank learned the same lessons I did: that in organized crime, the bosses demand loyalty and respect from the bottom up. It’s a one-way street; it doesn’t come from the top down. They expect the street guys to take it on the chin for the team. But when a soldier needs their support, it’s not there. The bosses of today treat their people like shit and then they can’t understand it when somebody flips. I’ve got news for them. What goes around comes around.”
As for Joel Cacace, on August 13, 2004, he pleaded guilty to racketeering charges. He admitted his role in the Aronwald murder and was sentenced to 20 years in prison.
ANOTHER ROBERT
Not all of Andrew’s pals were criminals. Gilbert was one of his closest legitimate friends. In the late summer Gilbert was having problems with Robert Arena, a member of the Domenico “Danny” Cutaia crew of the Lucchese family. Gilbert had been summoned to meet with Arena. Fearing he might be in danger, he asked Andrew to accompany him.
Andrew knew Arena from the neighborhood. He was a couple of years younger than Andrew and stood well over six feet and weighed around 250 pounds. Not intimidated by Arena’s size or affiliations, Andrew agreed to go to the meeting with Gilbert.
When they arrived at the meeting location, Andrew waited in the car as Gilbert and Arena met on the street. Almost immediately, Arena started to punch Gilbert. Andrew left the car and walked toward the combatants. He describes what happened next.
“Robert noticed me approaching them. He turned toward me and smiled, then he gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He asked me how I’d been, what was going on, and what was the matter. I told him Gilbert was my friend and I couldn’t let this happen. I said I didn’t know what this thing was all about and I wasn’t sa
ying who was right or wrong. I just didn’t want my friend hurt.
“Robert said it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be worked out. He was just pissed off, because he thought Gilbert was acting like a punk. Robert and I took a walk and talked things over. When we passed his car, a couple of his friends were inside. The father of one of them was a captain in the Gambino family. We talked for a while and then went back to Gilbert and him and Robert talked. Things got worked out right then and there were no more problems between them. Robert and me became fast friends from that point forward.”
Around September or October, Andrew learned from Dina that he was going to be a father. The news was exciting at the time. But looking back at it now, Andrew questions whether people like him should want wives and children.
“It was selfish for a guy like me to want a family of my own. I couldn’t be there for them, because I was married to the crime family. I think the only reason guys like me want to get married or have kids is to be able to fit in with the normal society. But I wasn’t thinking like that back then.”
As Andrew prepared to start his third year as a member of Nicky’s crew, he began to think of where he wanted his career to take him. But he didn’t know then that his encounter with Ralph Burzo on East 2nd Street was only months away. And he hadn’t yet learned his lessons about Mob politics and loyalty. However, his education would soon begin when he got into trouble and Nicky Corozzo’s support wasn’t quite what he expected.
For Andrew, winds of change were on the way.
10
1988
At some point during their working years, most people take stock of where they are and where they want to go with their careers. Although he didn’t have what the majority of us would consider to be a normal job, Andrew was striving to be a professional in his chosen field, so he had work-related decisions to make. As he improved his criminal skills and became more valuable to his boss, he started thinking about a step up the career ladder. In his case, that meant becoming a made man.
Traditionally, to become a made member of the Mafia, the inductee had to be of full Italian or Sicilian descent. However, to become a made man in the Italian-American Mafia today, the candidate must only be of half-Italian descent on either his father’s or mother’s side, provided he has an Italian surname. A frequent example of a made member who wasn’t a full-blooded Italian is John A. “Junior” Gotti, whose mother was of Russian and Jewish descent. However, with a person as powerful as his father behind him, the traditional requirement was waived.
And the nominee should also have “made his bones” by committing a murder on behalf of his Mafia family or crew. Many Mafia families, especially the more violent factions, don’t consider a killing for personal reasons to meet this requirement.
If a man does get made, his elevated status entitles him to additional respect and financial rewards. In addition, he is not allowed to be killed without the permission of the Mob hierarchy—in essence, making him untouchable to his organized-crime rivals or enemies.
Andrew believed he had a legitimate shot at becoming a full member of the Gambinos in spite of his youth. He was qualified in regard to his ancestry. He’d demonstrated his loyalty and his ability as an earner who would do whatever it took to protect his turf. And even though he hadn’t yet committed murder for Nicky, it wasn’t for a lack of willingness to pull the trigger when necessary. He didn’t think he was someone special, but that he was as deserving as the others in his crew. Besides, as Andrew describes the made-man issue as he knows it, the rules and requirements of tradition weren’t always adhered to.
“People hear a lot of things about being made that sound good, but just aren’t true in the real world. For example, made men aren’t supposed to be involved in drug dealing. You’ve gotta kill somebody to get made. Everybody who gets made has been there and done that. They won’t tell their men to do anything they haven’t done themselves. That’s all bullshit. The human element involved makes some of these so-called rules a joke.
“Does anyone really think organized crime doesn’t make a huge amount of money from the drug business? I was involved in dealing pot and shook down dealers of hard drugs. I kicked money to Nicky and he passed some of it on to the family boss. And one of the reasons John Gotti was at odds with Paul Castellano was because Gotti’s crew was into the drug business in a big way selling heroin and Castellano was pissed off about it. He didn’t mind collecting his envelope. But he was worried that if those guys got busted, it would be bad for the family’s image.
“I’ll tell you how this made-man thing really worked in New York City. In order for guys to get straightened out [become made], their names had to be submitted to the Commission [the heads of the five New York City crime families] when the books were open. Opening the books was like an enrollment period. And all the families opened the books at the same time. It didn’t happen that often, because with all the pressure the law was putting on, it was tough to get the five bosses together in the same place at the same time. It might happen once a year or it could be a couple of years between enrollments.
“When the books did open, the crew boss gave his list of candidates to the head of the family, who put the names in front of the Commission. Any of the five bosses could block anybody’s name regardless of what family the guy was associated with.
“Let’s say the nominee had robbed somebody from another family’s crew, then didn’t make it up. He might have borrowed money and didn’t pay it back. Or maybe he went into an establishment run by another family and acted like a cowboy, getting in fights and causing damage. Any of these things could be seen as meaning the guy wasn’t honorable or mature enough to become a member. He could get a no vote because one of the five thought he was too young and needed more seasoning.
“Contrary to popular belief, money and politics play a big part in whose names get submitted and who get their badge [are inducted]. I know of people who had lots of money and bought their way in. I’m talking about guys who never broke an egg, much less shot or killed anybody. You’d be surprised at how quick tradition goes out the window when a wannabe dangles a hundred thousand dollars under a boss’ nose. But these types want the prestige of being made. They don’t really want to work with or run a crew. So other than making a mockery of the eligibility requirements, they don’t really hurt anything.
“The same isn’t true in other cases, though. I said earlier that the Mob is rife with nepotism. When a boss sponsors a blood relative or close friend for membership who isn’t qualified, problems can result. I mean, how much credibility will a guy have when he orders somebody to do some work if he’s never pulled the trigger himself?
“When I was doing time in a federal prison in 1997, a Lucchese capo named Georgie Conte was inside with me. He was a trigger man with a solid reputation and was highly respected. He told me about how one guy tried to get around that requirement. Another Lucchese capo wanted to get his son made, but the kid had never committed an act of violence. So the son was assigned to participate in a murder. A few days before the hit, the kid went to Georgie’s home. He admitted that he couldn’t go through with the murder. He wanted Georgie to do the killing for him for fifty thousand and give him the credit for it. Georgie turned him down and the kid didn’t go on the hit. But his father had enough clout that he got made anyway.
“Some people aren’t capable of doing violence and I’m okay with that. But don’t put somebody like that in a position of power where he can order people to do what he doesn’t have the guts to do himself.
“And there are lots of guys who deserve to get in, but don’t. Maybe they don’t kiss the boss’ ass enough. Maybe they’re too good at their job and pose a threat to the boss. Those capos aren’t about to give more power to somebody who could end up replacing them.
“These things don’t sit well with some of the old-time made men or the younger guys waiting for their chance. But what can you do about it? Even John Gotti bent the rules to get his son ma
de. So in the modern-day Mafia, you can get your badge if you’ve got enough money, know the right people, or are a big enough earner.
“And the benefits of being a made man aren’t cast in stone, either. It all depends on who does what to whom. For instance, Gambino crewman Roy DeMeo [car thief and cold-blooded killer] could get away with about anything he wanted to, because everybody was afraid of him. He could take out a made man and nobody said shit. If somebody not as strong looked at a made man the wrong way, he could get the death sentence.
“But in 1988 I thought there was a good chance Nicky would put my name in when the books opened. I’ll never know whether he would have or not, because Ralph Burzo came along. And that deal blew me out of contention.”
RALPH BURSO
As described in the first chapter of this book, on April 8, 1988, Andrew shot a man named Ralph Burzo. In order to put that incident in context, it was necessary to review several years of his life immediately prior to the shooting. That accomplished, Andrew can tell his side of the story, explaining what happened that day and in the days that followed.
“At that time my relationship with Dina was strained. We weren’t living together. She was staying with her mother and I’d started dating another girl. Had she not been carrying my child, we probably wouldn’t have been in contact at all. But Dina said she wanted me to be at the hospital when the baby was born and asked me to attend Lamaze classes with her. She also told me she needed a car to get to the classes and doctor appointments. So I gave her a substantial amount of cash to buy a car. She said she had an uncle who ran a car lot and she’d get something from him. A day or two later, she came to the horse room on Stillwell Avenue driving a green Tnunderbird. She said she’d purchased the car from her uncle.
Surviving the Mob Page 8