Mafia Prince: Inside America's Most Violent Crime Family

by Phil Leonetti

  Now when it comes time for opening arguments, Harold was the first to go. He was representing my uncle. He got up and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Harold Garber and I represent Nicodemo Scarfo. The evidence in this case will show that Mr. Scarfo is not guilty. Thank you,” and then he sat down. That was his whole opening argument. If my uncle could have killed him right there, he would have.

  Ed Jacobs and Bobby Simone used their opening arguments to destroy the credibility of Joe Salerno, who was the State’s star witness.

  Nine months removed from that fateful night in Margate, where Philip Leonetti pumped two bullets into Vincent Falcone, Joe Salerno and his family had already been whisked away from Brigantine and placed in the Witness Protection Program and relocated to Topeka, Kansas, where they were given new names and new identities.

  Now, wearing a bulletproof vest and under the guard of US Marshals carrying machine guns, Joe Salerno was back in town.

  I remember when Joe Salerno took the witness stand, we were trying to ice him, trying to scare him. But he never once looked in our direction the whole time he testified, and he was no less than 10 feet away from us.

  The prosecutor had him tell the story of how he met us and how I had loaned him money and how he had given my uncle the guns; he told them everything.

  That night we all went out to dinner. Me, my uncle, Lawrence, Harold, Bobby, Ed Jacobs, and I think Chuckie was with us. We went to Caesars. We were discussing the best ways to attack Joe Salerno’s credibility. We were all very focused on winning this trial; it was as if nothing else was going on around us.

  Well except for the thing with Johnny Keys.

  John “Johnny Keys” Simone had been a made member of the Bruno crime family for a number of years and operated out of the Trenton area. Simone, who was 70 years old, was a distant cousin of Bruno’s and had formed a close relationship with the Gambino crime family in New York through a Trenton-based Gambino capo named Nicholas “Nicky” Russo, who reported directly to Gambino boss Paul Castellano and had been one of the Yardville 9 in the early ’70s with Angelo Bruno and Nicky Scarfo.

  Simone was sending messages to Castellano through Russo that he was interested in taking out Phil Testa and becoming boss of the Philadelphia mob, much the same way Antonio “Tony Bananas” Caponigro had tried to do with Angelo Bruno.

  But Caponigro and Bruno were now both dead.

  Word gets back to my uncle that Johnny Keys was plotting against Phil Testa and was doing so through the Gambinos. My uncle reports this to Bobby Manna in New York, and Bobby says he is going to look into it. A few days later Bobby sent word down that he is sending a kid down named Sammy Gravano, who is with the Gambinos, to talk to us about it. He tells us we can trust him, that this Sammy is La Cosa Nostra and respected by all of the Families in New York. Sammy was known as a hitter, a killer, and Bobby said to my uncle and me, “This guy is your kind of guy.”

  So one night Sammy comes down and we meet him inside the lobby lounge at Bally’s Park Place for a couple of drinks to get acquainted, and then we take him to Angelo’s for dinner. It’s me, him, and my uncle.

  He tells us, “Look I don’t know this guy Johnny Keys and quite frankly I don’t give a fuck. He’s trying to make problems for you and your family, then me and my crew are gonna make problems for him. I got the okay from Paul to whack this guy out for talking treason against your boss. Just give me some time and it will be done. Me and my crew are gonna handle this guy personally.”

  I could tell that my uncle was impressed by him and the manner in which he carried himself. He was very respectful and very straightforward, there no was bullshit with him. We ended up having a very nice dinner and spent a couple of hours talking about La Cosa Nostra. Sammy knew this thing inside and out. That was the first time I met Sammy the Bull, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  A few weeks later, the bullet-ridden body of John “Johnny Keys” Simone was found in a Staten Island landfill.

  The hit team led by the up-and-coming Gambino family hit man, Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano, had kidnapped Simone from the parking lot of a posh country club on the outskirts of Trenton and drove him to a secluded area in Staten Island and pumped several bullets into the back of his head.

  When we heard that Sammy’s crew had killed Johnny Keys we were relieved. It gave us the opportunity to focus our attention on our trial.

  Now this trial was live on TV every day. We had the highest ratings in the area. At the time, there was a show on TV called Shogun, which was the No. 1 show, and we beat them in the ratings.

  But Joe Salerno was telling the jury everything about the night we killed Vince. Every detail. How I pulled out the gun, how I shot him, what I said. He gave the jury a play-by-play of everything that happened. I thought to myself: we’re dead, we’re finished.

  When it’s time for cross-examination, Harold and Ed Jacobs did a good job of going at him, but Lawrence’s lawyer, Bobby Simone, destroyed him. Bobby made Joe Salerno look like a liar, even though every word he was saying was the truth.

  Now Joe Salerno was the State’s whole case. If we were able to neutralize him, we had a shot at winning.

  Now when the State rested, we had a meeting. It was all the defendants and all the lawyers. We were in one of those little conference rooms in the courthouse.

  Bobby Simone said, “I think I can win a Motion to Dismiss on behalf of Lawrence based on the fact that he didn’t pull the trigger or order the murder. If I make the motion and win, me and Lawrence are out of the case.”

  Now like I said before Bobby was the best lawyer I have ever seen try a case. He had destroyed Joe Salerno on the stand. I wanted him in the case for closing arguments and so did my uncle.

  My uncle asked the lawyers to step outside for a few minutes so that me, him, and Lawrence could talk privately.

  My uncle said, “What do you want to do, Lawrence? Do you want Bobby to do that motion for you?” Now Lawrence knows if Bobby does the motion, he’s probably going to win it and he would go home free. Lawrence knows that I am on the hook more than anyone, because Joe Salerno ID’d me as the killer. Lawrence turns to me and he says, “What do you think, Philip? What should I do?”

  Now I’m torn. Because if I tell Lawrence to do the motion and he wins, Bobby Simone can’t do the closing argument, and I thought my best chance of winning was Bobby speaking to the jury for all of us. The flip side is, Lawrence is my friend and if he can get out of this thing, then it’s better for him.

  I say, “I don’t know Lawrence, that’s a tough one.”

  Lawrence says to my uncle, “Nick, what do you think?”

  My uncle says, “I’d hate to lose Bobby, but you do what you think is best for you.”

  We bring the lawyers back in and Bobby says to Lawrence, “So what are we doing about the motion?” And Lawrence looks at me and my uncle and says, “Fuck it. No motion. We win together or we lose together.”

  I was so relieved, I hugged Lawrence and kissed him on the cheek. My uncle did, too. We went back into court feeling like we had a good chance at winning.

  After closing arguments, we were feeling really good. Bobby was amazing. Harold waited until the end to tell me and my uncle that he knew one of the jurors, a guy who was a liquor salesman, and that the guy would not vote against us. So at best, Harold said the jury would be hung.

  My uncle said, “You knew that this whole time and you wait until now to tell us?” This was the second time during the trial that my uncle looked like he wanted to kill Harold.

  I remember Bobby said, “Is that why your opening argument was only 30 seconds,” and everyone laughed. A few minutes later they told us that the jury had reached a unanimous verdict.

  We all stopped laughing and everyone got very serious. We thanked the lawyers, and they rushed off into the courtroom. Then me, my uncle, and Lawrence spoke privately for a few minutes, and my uncle said, “I think we’re gonna beat this thing.”

  We all hugged
and kissed each other on the cheek and we went into the courtroom. My God, the place was packed. You couldn’t even move. There were a million reporters trying to get in, but all the detectives who had chased us over the years had taken up most of the seats. We had a few supporters of our own that came every day to cheer us on.

  There must have been 20 sheriff’s officers all over the courtroom. It seemed like we were waiting forever for the judge to come out and read the verdict.

  Then someone yelled, “All rise!” and here comes the judge. You could cut the tension with a knife. I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.

  First, they read the charges off against Lawrence, and they say, “Not guilty.” Then they read my uncle’s charges and they say, “Not guilty.” Then they get to mine and they say, “Philip Leonetti, not guilty.”

  Me, my uncle, and Lawrence all shake hands and shake hands with the lawyers and you shoulda seen the look on the faces of the prosecutor and the cops. My God. They looked like they were gonna cry.

  As we were leaving, one of the reporters asked my uncle, “Is there anything that you’d like to say?” and my uncle looked into the television camera and said, “Thank God for the American jury system and an honest jury.” I was standing right behind him when he said it and you can see me smiling on TV.

  It felt like the weight of the world was off my shoulders. That night we had a big party on Georgia Avenue and everyone came to celebrate.

  All the lawyers and their families came. Chuckie was there. The Blade was there. Saul Kane, Vince Sausto, Salvie, all the guys from the neighborhood, and all the knock-around guys who were with us around Atlantic City—they all came down.

  At some point during the party, my uncle pulls me and Lawrence aside and said, “We got away with murder; we are very, very lucky. We gotta be more careful from now on.”

  But within weeks of the not guilty verdict, Little Nicky was back to his murderous ways.

  Sindone was one of the guys who was involved in the plot to kill Ange, and him and my uncle hated each other. My uncle told Phil Testa that Sindone was a snake and that he couldn’t be trusted. Phil Testa agreed.

  So we set him up and Salvie took him to a house in South Philadelphia where Frank Monte was waiting inside to see him. When Sindone was shaking hands with Frank Monte, Chuckie Merlino shot him in the head and killed him. Chuckie hit him three times in the back of the head, and they dumped him in an alley behind a store in South Philadelphia.

  Phil Testa immediately sent word out that Sindone’s entire operation was to be split between his killers: Salvie Testa, Chuckie Merlino, and Frank Monte. Sindone’s top lieutenant, Joseph “Chickie” Ciancaglini, who was now aligned with Testa and Scarfo, would also receive a piece of the action and would oversee what remained of Sindone’s crew.

  The year was almost over, but Little Nicky’s killing spree wasn’t.

  John McCullough was the head of the roofers union in Philadelphia. He was a big Irish guy from Northeast Philadelphia and he had been very close to Ange. He was the guy Ange wanted to let organize the unions in Atlantic City instead of my uncle.

  Now my uncle hated John McCullough. When I say hated, I mean he absolutely detested him. He used to call him “that big Irish cocksucker,” or “the crew cut”—things like that.

  Now when Ange was alive, John McCullough was untouchable because he was with Ange. But with Ange gone, John McCullough was vulnerable.

  My uncle starts telling Phil Testa, “We gotta kill this guy, McCullough. He’s interfering in the unions in Atlantic City and he’s costing me money.” So Phil Testa gives my uncle the okay.

  When McCullough lost his bid to take over the unions through Ange, he started causing trouble in Local 54. He was trying to break the union and it was costing us a lot of money.

  My uncle went to Raymond “Long John” Martorano, who was a member of our family and who was close to McCullough and told him, “I want you to help us kill this guy. He’s no good.” Long John says, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Nick.”

  This was a way to test a guy’s loyalty, and at the same time eliminate a rival and show the guy that you were the power, that you were the muscle.

  This is how my uncle was. He wanted to kill everybody. Everyone was petrified of my uncle, because with him it was kill, kill, kill. He didn’t give a fuck. There was no talking.

  Even though Phil Testa was the boss, no one in our family was more powerful than my uncle. When the guys from New York wanted to discuss business with our family, they came and saw my uncle.

  When it was time to whack somebody out, it was my uncle who was calling the shots. He would determine who was going to die and who was going to kill them.

  So my uncle tells Long John, “I want you to use Al Daidone on this thing.”

  Now Al Daidone was part of the bartenders union out of Camden—the one with Ralph Natale—which was the other union that Ange was pushing to get into Atlantic City. My uncle figures this is a way of testing Al Daidone’s loyalty as well, since at one time that union was opposed to my uncle.

  He tells Long John that he will make Al Daidone a business agent for Local 54 if he helps out with the killing, and if he doesn’t, that he will kill him instead.

  As crazy as my uncle was, I guess you can say there was a method to his madness.

  On Tuesday, December 16, 1980, a delivery van pulled up outside the home of Philadelphia roofers union boss John McCullough in the Bustleton section of North Philadelphia. The deliveryman was carrying poinsettias, the bright red flowers that are synonymous with Christmas, which was only nine days away.

  McCullough’s wife answered the door and let the deliveryman inside the home, and he placed two plants on the kitchen table. Standing a few feet away talking on a telephone that was attached to the wall was John McCullough.

  McCullough nodded to the deliveryman, and the deliveryman nodded back. The deliveryman told Mrs. McCullough that he had one more plant in the truck and that he would be right back.

  John McCullough saw that his wife had two dollars in her hand to tip the man upon his return and put his hand over the phone and said, “It’s Christmas time, give him three.”

  When the deliveryman reappeared he was carrying the third poinsettia and placed it on the table with the others. Without hesitation he pulled out a .22 caliber handgun and fired six times into the head and neck of John McCullough at close range.

  The union boss slid to the floor as a pool of blood surrounded him.

  McCullough’s wife screamed in horror as the gunman very calmly left the house, got back into his van, and drove away.

  John McCullough would no longer pose a threat to Nicky Scarfo’s control over the unions in Atlantic City. He was dead.

  The night they killed McCullough, it was all over the news, the top story. My uncle was very happy until he learned that Long John didn’t kill McCullough himself; he had used a civilian, some kid named Willard Moran.

  As for Al Daidone, he always maintained he had nothing to do with the hit.

  My uncle went nuts. “This motherfucker used a civilian? Some fuckin’ Irish kid? Jesus Christ!”

  Now my uncle wants to kill Long John for using this Moran kid to do the hit, but Phil Testa calms him down.

  He says, “Nick, if we keep killing everybody, there won’t be anyone left.”

  That year alone Angelo Bruno, Antonio “Tony Bananas” Caponigro, Alfred “Freddie” Salerno, John “Johnny Keys” Simone, Frank “the Barracuda” Sindone, and John McCullough had all been murdered as part of a mob power struggle.

  And that’s how 1980, the bloodiest year in the history of the Philadelphia mob, ended.

  The Ides of March, Part II (1981)

  Early in 1981, we learned that the US attorney’s office in Camden was going to indict my uncle for illegal possession of a firearm by a convicted felon.

  The case stemmed from a search warrant that was executed when they came to arrest us for the Falcone murder. They foun
d a small .22 in one of my uncle’s bedroom drawers.

  We knew it was coming and we expected my uncle to do some time.

  Now, at this time, I was starting to get more involved in some of the other unions in Atlantic City. We controlled all of them.

  My uncle started giving me more responsibility now that I was made and with the fact that he was likely going to prison at some point on the gun case.

  At this time I started to make some inroads with a local politician named Mike Matthews who wanted to become the mayor of Atlantic City. I had sent word to him that when the time was right that he and I would meet and we would discuss ways that we could help him get elected.

  I also helped make a guy we knew named Joe Pasquale, the chief of police in Atlantic City.

  We had the kind of power at that time where we could start a citywide strike with a single phone call and literally shut down the casinos. We also had the kind of power that if people didn’t do what we told them to do, we’d kill them and everyone knew that.

  That was one of the reasons my uncle was so big on the killings. When people knew that we are involved, all the games stopped because they knew that we weren’t fucking around.

  Around this time I got word that the president of one of the casinos wasn’t going to sign a union contract with Local 54. I sent word to the president of the casino that if he didn’t sign the contract that I personally would blow his brains out of his head.

  He signed the contract the next day.

  With Little Nicky slowing down slightly in anticipation of a federal prison term on the gun case, his nephew Philip “Crazy Phil” Leonetti was stepping in and running the day-to-day operations in Atlantic City.

  While Scarfo and Leonetti were transitioning their power to the Jersey Shore, Philip Testa was losing his on the streets of South Philadelphia.