There were two other significant issues that defense counsel Chakos wanted the court to acknowledge on Galvan’s behalf. For the record, Chakos made it clear: “Mr. Galvan has, in this case, then, not pleaded guilty where there was an overwhelming case (against him) ... What he has done is confessed. He’s provided the officers with details, and says he’s committed them ...”
Later Chakos added, “A further submission must be taken in account and which detracts somewhat or mitigates somehow in these circumstances, is that on no occasion was anyone ever injured. And while firearms were brandished and pointed, and threats were made, at no point was a gun ever discharged ...”
After six hours the proceedings drew to a close when the judge pronounced his sentence. Although Galvan was well aware he would be sent away for twenty years, it still jarred him when he heard his sentence spoken out loud. He tried to keep his composure but he was badly shaken. As soon as he was removed to the holding cell to await his return to Millhaven, he lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag.
The first person to visit him after his court case was Ed Arnold from the Examiner. Galvan seemed more than willing to talk to him. The two discussed the possibility of a book. Galvan seemed to be interested.
Down the corridor from the courtroom Lyle MacCharles was on the phone to his supervisor at OPP Headquarters in Toronto. He reported that everything had gone smoothly.
“The job’s over,” he said, “we got our man.”
While he was talking on the phone, George Snider and Shawn Smith were saying goodbye on the courthouse steps, an OPP cruiser was following Tommy Craig and Pete Bond out of town, and Gilbert Galvan was on his way back to Millhaven.
Another long, harsh chapter in his troubled life was about to begin.
CHAPTER 18
Epilogue
Project CAFE officially came to an end on February 4, 1988. The safe house was cleaned and closed and its furniture and equipment returned to their original police detachments. Besides taking down the Flying Bandit, CAFE arrested eighty-four other persons on a total of 402 charges. Stolen property worth $397,595 was recovered from a reported loss of $2,798,467. This included video and stereo equipment, firearms, restricted weapons, alcohol, cigarettes and furs.
The project was terminated due to financial constraints but the results were so good that it clearly established a need for similar efforts in the future.
Its biggest prize, Gilbert Galvan, is at this writing imprisoned in the maximum security confines of the Oxford Correctional Institution near Oxford, Wisconsin, forty miles north of Madison. Galvan was transferred there in June, 1994 to serve the remaining fifty-one months of his sentence for crimes in the United States. He received a three- to five-year sentence for his last crime in Michigan but that sentence is running concurrently with his other sentence so, in effect, he received no time at all for that Michigan offence. He also received no time for his 1984 escape from the Michigan jail. Galvan will be a free man in June of 1998. He will be forty-one years old at that time.
When Gilbert Galvan was sentenced to twenty years in Canada in 1988, based on the sheer number of crimes he had committed he would have been eligible for mandatory release only after serving two-thirds of his time, or thirteen years. Thus, he normally would not have been let out of the Canadian penitentiary system until the year 2001. After completing that sentence, he would have been deported to the U.S. to finish his fifty-one months owing. On this sentencing scheme he would have been released from prison in 2005 at age forty-eight.
Galvan outside the “love hut” at Collins Bay Penitentiary, 1991
Tommy Craig visiting Gilbert Galvan at Collins Bay Penitentiary, 1990
However, that is not the way things worked out. Galvan claims he wrote a letter to Sergio Marchi, the Minister of Immigration, and advised him he was eligible for parole and deportation to prison in th U.S. after completing one third of his Canadian sentence. Because Marchi was extremely sensitive about ridding the country of aliens who had deportation orders hanging over their heads he signed an order to deport Galvan at the end of one third his sentence. Thus, Galvan boasts, he saved himself an extra six years in the Canadian penal system and reduced his time to serve by that same number of years.
After Galvan was sentenced in Pembroke in March 1988 he was sent to the reception section of Millhaven Penitentiary for a period of months. Once he cleared reception, he was transferred to Collins Bay Penitentiary in Kingston to serve his time.
Janice moved to Kingston to be near him and continued to visit him, often accompanied by the children, for the next two years. Then, in 1990, she obtained a divorce and moved back to Pembroke. Neither Galvan nor Janice will comment on their reason for the divorce, but it must be assumed that, as a relatively young woman, Janice wanted to get on with the rest of her life. In any case, their rocky relationship officially ended at that time.
Not long after his divorce from Janice, Galvan married a waitress he had known at Pepe’s, a bar on Bank Street in Ottawa. This second marriage took place in the prison and ended two years later in divorce.
In 1992, Galvan made an abortive attempt to escape from Collins Bay by clinging to the undercarriage of a garbage truck and trying to ride it out of the prison. Caught in the act, he was sent back to the more secure confines of Millhaven, a prison with one of the most dangerous inmate populations of all the penitentiaries in Canada. In 1994, after his letter to Sergio Marchi, Galvan was deported to the federal prison in Wisconsin. There he will remain until his release in 1998.
Whether Gilbert Galvan will ever rob again is an open question. Galvan himself has sworn to Ed Arnold that his life of crime is over and he will lead the straight life when he gets out. George Snider says that Galvan promised him he would be back to rob again: “Galvan told me he’s coming back to Canada to rob another bank, and when he does, he’s going to leave his fingerprints on the window of the bank as a calling card, to prove that he’s returned.”
Neil McLaren thinks he’ll be back to rob again. He says, “For Robert, it’s easy pickins here in Canada.” Neil insists that what the Flying Bandit likes best about Canada are the easy banks and the decent prisons. McLaren says that Galvan was reluctant to commit any armed robberies in the United States because the penalties there were so much more severe.
Tommy Craig, too, thinks he’ll come back to Canada. He says Galvan loves it here and he can’t imagine the Bandit giving up what he knows best.
“He was very good. He had everything down pat but he went wrong with drugs. I can see to steal to live, to survive ... but not to hurt people or to do drugs. Drugs makes them fall apart.” Then Tommy waxes philosophical. “I respect a good thief, as long as nobody gets hurt and he doesn’t ask anybody for anything. Insurance rakes the people for enough money, let them pay out a little bit.”
George Snider agrees with Tommy on Galvan’s talent. George says, “Gilbert Galvan is the best I’ve ever seen. He may well be the best bank robber in the history of the country ... and that includes Paddy Mitchell and his Stop Watch Gang from Ottawa.”
Paddy Mitchell’s career was the reverse of Gilbert Galvan’s. Mitchell is a Canadian from Ottawa who, with his gang, went to the States and robbed American banks.
No one can predict what Galvan will do when he gets out of jail, but U.S. authorities have described him as a stone criminal, meaning he is so entrenched in criminal activity, he’s like a rock, he can never be changed.
One of Galvan’s claims is that, in the commission of his armed robberies, he never hurt anyone, never fired a gun. Both MacCharles and Snider respond to this assertion by saying that, in their opinion, Galvan never shot anyone because he was never cornered and had no reason to shoot anyone.
“Make no mistake,” MacCharles insists, “If he had to, he would have shot his way out of being captured. I don’t think he’d go back to jail without a fight.”
Galvan wasn’t the only one of the 5th Avenue Gang to go to jail. In November 1991 Tommy Craig was i
nterviewed by Victor Malarek on CBC’s Fifth Estate. On the program, Tommy, who had been drinking heavily, admitted that the police had often accused him of being a major fence in Ottawa but said they had never been able to make their accusations stick. Tommy also applauded Robert for not bartering for a lesser sentence by naming Tommy as an accomplice in his jewellery robberies.
“What do I call a man like this? A friend!”
Tommy’s cavalier performance in front of the television camera infuriated the brass of the Ottawa Police. Tommy says he never intended to belittle them or upset them.
“The reason why I went on the Fifth Estate was because Robert asked me to go on to explain to the public and the parole board that there was no money left. I told Robert that me going on TV was crazy – it would bring heat like a forest fire. But he said, `That’s OK, go ahead, tell them there’s no cash left.’ So I did. I was only trying to help Robert. I thought he was solid. Little did I know how much trouble it would bring me.”
What Tommy didn’t know is that after the program the police set up a special project called SMOKER which was specifically established to bring down Tommy Craig. Two of the primary operatives in SMOKER were detectives George Snider and Ralph Heyerhoff. Now, more than ever, the two detectives were determined to convict the indomitable Fat Man who had been so elusive down through the years.
This time Tommy Craig didn’t have a chance. Snider and Heyerhoff had Pete Bond and Angelo Garlatti plus a host of others who were prepared to give statements against Tommy on a series of twenty-nine offences ranging from conspiracy to commit murder, to possession of stolen goods, to conspiracy to commit arson.
Tommy was taken into custody on July 29, 1992, and did two months’ dead time in the county jail waiting for his trial. Tommy’s lawyer, Don Bayne, after considering the case the police had against him, recommended he plead guilty in the hope of receiving a lighter sentence. Bayne’s strongest argument against fighting the charges was it would cost Tommy $100,000 for lawyers’ fees alone. Also, while awaiting his trial, Tommy would be held in the county bucket for over two years doing dead time.
Craig reluctantly agreed to plead guilty. He is still bitter about his friends turning against him and he is unhappy with the injustice of his treatment by the authorities.
“I’m not saying that I was not guilty of any charges,” he complains, “but I was charged and convicted of crimes that I did not commit.”
Among the charges, Tommy was accused of putting a $10,000 murder contract out on Ang Garlatti for ratting on Galvan. Tommy steadfastly maintains that he never did such a thing.
“That is just a fucking figment of Pete Bond’s imagination. I know him (Bond). He gets rolling and starts exaggerating and before you know it, everything’s blown way out of proportion. Yeah, I will admit for a while I thought it was Garlatti who ratted on Robert and I was very upset about that. But I never put no killing contract out on him ... or anybody. And I shouldn’t have gone to jail for that.”
But go to jail he did. Tommy pleaded guilty to all charges against him and on October 6, 1992, at forty-five years of age, was sentenced to eight years in prison. Eight days later he was shipped to Millhaven where he spent the next five months in reception, being assessed prior to his penitentiary placement.
By then Galvan had attempted his abortive escape from Collins Bay and had been shipped back to Millhaven. During their time together at Millhaven, Galvan and Craig never spoke to each other because inmates in reception are not allowed to mix with inmates in population. They saw each other in the visiting area once but didn’t speak. That suited Tommy fine because, by this time, he was very unhappy with Galvan for reasons that cannot be pursued in this book.
After reception at Millhaven, Tommy was transferred to Collins Bay, where he spent the next twenty months. In May 1994 he was sent to work at the minimum security Pittsburg Institution which serves as a slaughterhouse and meat supplier for the prisons of Correctional Services Canada. In December he was transferred to a half-way house in Hull and then finally released on parole.
Wherever he was sent Tommy was well-liked by his fellow inmates. That is entirely understandable because Tommy is always honest with people and usually jovial. He’s an interesting person and the other prisoners liked to hang around with him.
“I know what I am, who I am,” Tommy explains. “I can look them in the eyes.”
The one constant companion of Tommy Craig’s life is his wife, Linda. She has stuck with him through thick and thin.
Tommy Craig down to a svelte 220 pounds after his release from the half-way house in 1995
(Knuckle)
“We’ve had our ups and downs,” Linda says, “but he’s got such a good heart. He’s had to get rough with some people, but he’s never ever hurt an innocent bystander or a person for no reason.”
“It was his idea to adopt a family every Christmas and feed them and give them a few gifts. That’s not a bad person that does something like that. And look at all the money he helped raise in Collins Bay for the handicapped kids. Tommy’s not a bad guy. He just grew up on the streets and that’s all he knew to survive.”
Tommy finds life after prison a difficult adjustment.
“It’s very hard for anybody coming out of jail,” he says, “because society doesn’t believe that people can change. People still think I’m into the fast lane ... and I’m not.”
Being on parole is not an easy thing for a free spirit like Tommy Craig. He has to check in with his parole officer regularly and can be subjected to drug testing at their discretion. If he wants to go on a trip out of town he has to apply for permission.
Tommy is so well known to the police, he can’t go anywhere without being spotted. Since he’s forbidden to consort with known criminals, he has to be careful who he stops and talks to on the street. Because most of his aging cronies are rounders, he cannot spend any time with them, even at home.
Forbidden from entering bars and hotels, he is denied access to the only community he has ever known. Although he now makes his living selling legitimate gold jewellery which he buys from Toronto wholesalers, he can no longer sell it to the people in the bars where he spent his life.
“I miss going in the bars the most,” he says. “I been in the bars so long, there were years I never seen the sun go down.”
Tommy has a little black book which he has kept for the last thirty years. In it, he has kept notes on the significant incidents in his life, and has also maintained a record of most of his major business transactions. He says, “I’ve kept it to make sure my accounts are straight ... and to cover my ass. It’s going to be destroyed when I die.” Then he adds, “Now, everything I put in the book is legal.”
The Fat Man hopes to use his notebook as a basis for a future book on his life. However, producing such a book poses a problem for Tommy because, as he says, “I can’t write a book, and I don’t want to show my notebook to anybody else. So, who’s going to do it?”
Although he’s often bored with his present existence Tommy says he has no choice but to learn to like it.
“I’m done doing time. And I’m tired of the hustle and all the bullshit that goes with the street life. I’m tired of being on a pedestal for the rounders. `You want this, see Tommy! You want that, see Tommy!’ I’m supposed to have all the answers ... which I don’t. I want the name of Tommy Craig to die out.”
Craig lost a lot of weight in prison and for a while was down to a svelte 220 pounds. But the weight is slowly coming back and that’s a concern for him because he’s had a heart problem for a number of years. Although he doesn’t drink much anymore he has found it difficult to give up smoking cigarettes.
As always, Tommy still maintains a strong aversion to drugs and feels it was cocaine that was the downfall of both Robert Whiteman and his one-time protègé, Pete Bond.
“Drugs made them fall apart,” he says with sadness in his eyes.
“I wasn’t surprised that Robert got caught. He was more an
d more into the drugs. I watched him go downhill in the last two months. I didn’t like the idea of him hanging around with someone like Lee Baptiste who used a lot of cocaine.” The senselessness of it seems to distress him.
But he brightens when he remembers the exploits of his one-time friend.
“There was nobody as big as Robert Whiteman. He was a real pro. The best I’ve ever seen. Nobody was better at his job. I’ve never seen a more professional guy. He dressed well, talked well, he was always cool. He could back up what he said.”
“If he said he’d do something, he would. Sometimes he’d come into the bar and someone would ask him for a sawbuck, and it might be his last ten dollars but he’d give it to him, no questions asked. There was nobody better. He’s a legend in every bar in Ottawa. You mention his name and heads will still turn.”
Even after Gilbert Galvan was convicted and sent to Millhaven, no one in the underworld knew it was Pete Bond who had rolled over on him. Everyone still thought it was Angelo Garlatti who had ratted because Garlatti had left Ottawa so suddenly and disappeared into thin air.
The mystery of who did rat was cleared up two years later. In February 1989 Pete Bond was charged with assault, possession of stolen property, and 46 B & E s. He was convicted and received a total sentence of three and a half years in the penitentiary. About halfway through his sentence, Bond couldn’t take life on the inside and decided to inform on his old mentor, Tommy Craig.
The reason for the animosity between the two old friends is complicated and difficult to understand. Bond says that while he was in prison he heard that someone in Ottawa was telling people he was a rat who was squealing on people in Ottawa. Bond says, “That kind of information can get a guy killed in jail.”
Bond believed it was Tommy who was sending the information into the prison; Tommy vehemently denies that. Independent third parties say that Bond wanted out of jail badly and the only thing he could trade to get himself out was to give the police Tommy Craig.
The Flying Bandit Page 28