After Costello was finished, Chairman Kefauver countered him and said the charge that the controversial interim report was prepared before he testified was “absolutely untrue.” The report was only completed a week before its release and weeks after Costello had testified in secret executive session. The fact that a witness appeared to testify in a “forthright” manner didn’t exonerate him for any connection with “crime or contacts with other people who may have engaged in it,” said Kefauver.
Pressed by Wolf, the committee counsel Halley admitted that he had told the lawyer that the report had been completed before Costello had testified. Halley said nothing Costello had said in the secret session caused the committee to change the report, although moments later Kefauver admitted that the report had been changed about ten days to two weeks before its release.
After the fracas over what Costello said was a bushwhacking, his testimony began in earnest, picking up from the time he came to the U.S. and over the way his name had changed. The colloquy Costello had with Halley over whether he ever used the surname “Saverio” [or “Severio” as the transcript stated] showed how frustrating getting a straight answer out of Costello was going to be.
MR. HALLEY: Thank you very much. But can you tell us whether or not you know whether you ever used the
name Frank Severio?
MR. COSTELLO: I am willing to admit that I might have used it.
MR. HALLEY: You are not willing to admit that you know very well that you did use it?
MR. COSTELLO: Why should I? Isn’t that answer good enough?
Halley reminded Costello that he was convicted of a crime under the name Saverio over thirty-five years ago, something Costello acknowledged. But when asked again if that was the name he used, Costello said, “Well, I probably did.” The issue of what names Costello used over the years encompassed four or five pages of the hearing transcript. It had an added relevance when the questioning quickly turned to the names he used on his application for U.S. citizenship in 1925 and his activities during Prohibition. The answers Costello gave would get him into trouble later but suffice to say he appeared to lie or be wildly inaccurate on those points.
Halley asked Costello if at the time he filed his naturalization papers he was also involved in the “liquor business” to which he replied, “I don’t believe so.” When a skeptical Halley asked Costello again about liquor, he again replied he didn’t believe he was. Halley was also frustrated in trying to get Costello to be specific about when he was involved in bootlegging, asking him when it was he purchased liquor smuggled in from Canada.
“Well, I couldn’t tell you the exact time,” said Costello. “Approximately around 1927, 1928, 1929, I don’t know. The later years.”
“It could have been as early as 1922 or 1923, could it not?” asked Halley
“No, I doubt it,” replied Costello.
“You don’t think you ever testified to that?” said Halley.
“Well, I might have,” conceded Costello. “But not now. To my recollection, I don’t think it was earlier than 1927.”
Costello was either lying or had the most porous of memories because it was clear that he had engaged in bootlegging well before 1927. The Blackwell Mansion episode of 1922, his brother’s trucking business, and the 1926 federal criminal case, all showed how extensive Costello’s ties were to bootlegging. But what was going to prove troublesome to him was the fact that the two men he used as character witnesses on his naturalization application were also part of his liquor conspiracies and thus falsely attested to Costello’s good character at a time when he was violating the law, the committee believed.
Wolf and Costello were ready for the question of whether they had brought along a copy of a financial statement spelling out Costello’s net worth. Wolf believed that such a document would incriminate his client. Halley asked for it. Costello refused to give it to him.
“What is your net worth today?” Halley pressed.
“I refuse to answer that question,” Costello responded
“On what ground?” asked Halley.
“I am going to exercise my rights that it might incriminate me,” Costello told the counsel.
When he testified in executive session, Costello said he would provide a statement of his net worth. But after the scathing interim report came out, Costello and Wolf both agreed that it would be crazy to turn over such a document. In front of the cameras, Wolf and Halley sparred over the document, but in the end Costello wouldn’t budge.
As the testimony droned on, the TV cameras couldn’t show Costello’s face. But they were picking up the audio of Costello’s raspy voice and something else that would captivate viewers: what he was doing with his hands. Throughout the testimony, Costello would fidget, alternately rubbing his palms together, crumpling a handkerchief, picking up a glass of water, crumpling some paper or beating his digits on the table. It was a performance, as The New York Times television columnist Jack Gould called it “video’s first ballet of the hands.”
There were plenty of journalists crammed into the courtroom. One in particular was Helen Dudar of Newsday, the Long Island daily Costello had given a lengthy interview to a year earlier at his Sands Point country home. Newsday would always try to squeeze a nugget of Long Island-centric news from a story and Costello provided something important in his testimony about George M. Levy, a lawyer and golfing buddy of Costello’s
Among his various interests, Levy had the racing franchise at Roosevelt Raceway in Nassau County, one of several such harness-racing operations permitted by the state racing commission. Newsday had a continuing interest in Levy, given his relationship to Bill DeKonig, head of the pari-mutual racing clerks union. The Senate found among some of the tax returns Costello had turned over a payment of $15,000 he had received from Levy. As Costello explained it, Levy was worried about complaints that bookmakers were hanging out at his racetrack and the racing commission might pull his franchise.
“Maybe you can think of something,” Levy asked him, said Costello.
“I says, ‘Well, what can I do, George, I can spread the propaganda around that they’re hurting you there and you’re a nice fellow, and I can tell them that if there’s an arrest made, it’s going to be very severe,’” Costello explained to the committee. “ ‘I don’t know how much good it’ll do you, but I’ll talk about it.’”
In restaurants around Manhattan like Dinty Moore’s, in hotels such as the Waldorf-Astoria, in salons, nightclubs, or wherever he had the chance, Costello spread the word among bookmakers and anyone else within earshot about staying away from Roosevelt Raceway. It was all done for friendship with Levy, for which he got $60,000 for what Costello thought wasn’t much of anything. The Senators were incredulous with Costello’s explanation and the self-effacing way he described what meager effort he gave to Levy.
“Don’t you think the real reason that this bookmaking stopped out there is the magic of the name Costello, and when they heard Costello was against it, the rats all ran to cover?” said Senator Tobey.
“I don’t think so, Senator,” said Costello.
“Well, they went, didn’t they?” replied Tobey.
The committee also introduced a transcript of a wiretapped call between Levy and Costello in which the two, contrary to Costello’s vagueness about whether there were any bookies at the track, indicated that the gamblers were a problem. They were such a problem that Levy was planning to bring in the Pinkerton detective agency to keep out the gambling riffraff. If anything, the transcript showed how opaque Costello’s memory was, perhaps selectively.
* * *
Costello returned for a second day of testimony on March 14 and the discussion started off with questioning about his New Orleans slot machine venture with Philip Kastel. Eventually the questioning got to the issue of the $325,000 note Costello co-signed for Kastel’s attempt to purchase the Scottish distillery, something Costello said he did for friendship. Costello was questioned for a long period of time about th
e distillery deal and the note, something that got him testy.
“I answered about the note forty times, Mr. Halley,” Costello said to the committee counsel.
“Answer it once more,” replied Halley.
“All right, let it be the last one,” answered Costello.
Halley’s reply: “Well, we will decide that.”
The committee probed deeper in Costello’s relationship with Dudley Geigerman, the $27,000 Costello had left missing in the New York cab in 1944, and his relationship with Johnny Torrio. But by 2:00 P.M. the committee recessed. The uncovered ground that Costello needed to be questioned on included his net worth, his criminal friends, and his political influence, all things that had the potential for causing a big showdown. The committee also stoked the fires by saying that Costello might have even committed perjury in his testimony.
On March 15, any hope that the hearings would get off on the right footing quickly came to an end. As Costello took his seat, his attorney said that the entire spectacle in the courthouse—the lights, the sound of the film cameras, the hustle and bustle of reporters entering and leaving the room—made it impossible for his client to concentrate and talk in private with his lawyer. There was also the problem that Costello was suffering from a throat ailment and was having increasing trouble in speaking. Adding to the burden on Costello, who was called a “defendant” by Wolf, was the fact that the committee viewed him as an “arch criminal” who should be prosecuted for perjury.
“Now he has reached the end, and the limits of physical and mental endurance. He cannot go on,” said Wolf. “He desires to defend himself and wants the opportunity to do so. He asks that this examination be postponed to such time as he is physically and mentally able to continue, and in surroundings and under circumstances where he can testify properly and defend himself.”
Kefauver stepped in and tried to make things better for Costello, offering to have the TV lights turned off or positioned differently and telling both he and Wolf that they could cover their microphones with their hands to avoid having their private conversations picked up. But as far as an adjournment was concerned, Kefauver said no, the show must go on.
Costello had other ideas. He wasn’t going to put up with more testimony, not the way he was feeling.
“I am in no condition to testify,” Costello told Kefauver. “You heard my statement through Mr. Wolf and I stand by it and under no condition will I testify here until I am well enough.”
“You refuse to testify further?” a surprised Kefauver asked.
“Absolutely,” shot back Costello.
Kefauver still didn’t believe that Costello wouldn’t cooperate and asked Halley to start asking questions. But the moment of high drama for the hearings had arrived. Acting like some street-wise criminal, Costello called the committee’s bluff as if he were talking to some cop at the precinct.
“Mr. Halley, am I a defendant in this courtroom?” asked Costello.
“No,” admitted Halley.
“Am I under arrest?” Costello inquired.
“No,” said Halley.
“Then I am walking out,” Costello said.
Kefauver tried to get Costello to sit down and told him that the committee had no power to punish anyone except for contempt. The chairman also tried to appeal to Costello’s sense of civic duty, telling him he was a very important witness to the investigation. But Costello would have none of it and told Kefauver that while he respected him he was walking out all the same.
At the last moment, Wolf pulled out a doctor’s note, from physician Vincent Panettiere. The doctor said that earlier that day he had examined Costello and found him to be suffering from “acute Laryngotra-cheitia” and should stay in bed for “several days.” The note was a double-edged sword because Panettiere didn’t say that Costello would need “several weeks” to recuperate as Wolf had indicated. To Kefauver, Costello wasn’t in any danger and simply seemed to have a sore throat.
Halley tried to ask Costello more questions but it was a futile gesture. Costello said he wouldn’t answer any questions for the moment, and when pressed finally said, “I still refuse.”
Just before Costello and Wolf left the room, Kefauver said that Costello seemed to be using his throat as a ruse to get out of testifying and now risked being brought up on contempt charges. Further, the full Senate could order Costello’s arrest and compel him to come back and testify. In the meantime, with the marquee witness gone, Kefauver and the committee called other witnesses.
It took the better part of a week, until March 19, for Costello and the committee to sort things out. A physician appointed by the committee had examined him and believed his throat ailment wouldn’t prevent him from testifying for an hour or two. But when Costello did show up he seemed to be in better spirits and with a stronger voice. The questioning delved a great deal into his political ties and activities. The testimony rehashed the Aurelio case, which Costello said burned him and dissuaded him from supporting any more candidates. But Costello also admitted that he had friendly relations with the steering committee of Tammany Hall, yet at the same time saying, “I’m not a politician, I am a friend of politicians.” How did Costello explain his ability to persuade politicians? He had no explanation to give.
Asked at one point in the hearings what he had ever done for his country, Costello summed it up in a few words, which got laughs, “Paid my tax.”
As he had done earlier, Costello peppered his testimony with claims of “I just don’t remember” or complaints about being unable to recall dates and events because he didn’t carry a diary around. As things wound down, Senator Charles Tobey of New Hampshire told Costello that the committee was happy he had recovered his voice. “Mr. Costello is happy too,” replied George Wolf.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“GET FRANK COSTELLO”
AFTER THE SCHOOL DAY ENDED at Bedford Elementary School in Westport, Connecticut, thirteen-year-old Noel Castigilia would squeeze in some hours of part-time work at a local flower company. On weekends and holidays he also caddied at the Longshore Country Club. But in March 1951, Noel’s after-school routine changed dramatically as the Kefauver hearings got under way. Noel would rush home and turn on the television, catching what he could of the live sessions and then follow up with the film from the nightly news broadcasts. He had more than a passing interest in the work of the committee. Frank Costello just happened to be a blood relative, a first cousin twice removed.
The extended Castiglia family had settled in the Westport area around 1912 with the building of a fabled stone house at 50 Lyons Plain Road. Frank Costello’s family, also part of the Castiglia clan, opted to live in New York City. But as was true with any large Italian family, the New York Castiglias, including Frank Costello and his wife Loretta, would visit the farm on long weekends or during the week with business associates. Most of those visits took place in the 1920s through the mid-1930s, stopping before Noel was born in 1937.
“I only heard stories about ‘Uncle Frank’ and had only seen him once as a small child at a funeral in New York City from a distance,” Noel later remembered.
The family tales about Frank Costello that young Noel had heard growing up in Connecticut were not good ones. His father, Frank Castiglia, an electrical engineer who graduated from New York University in 1930, just didn’t like Costello or his crowd of bootleggers, gamblers, extortionists, and overall gangsters. At one point, Noel’s grandfather, Domenico, pulled a rifle on some of Costello’s friends as they drove up to the farm house and told them to leave. Costello was unlikely to have been in the car, and it remains unclear to this day what had happened to precipitate the showdown. So, when the Kefauver committee convened and called Costello, Noel had to see the man for himself and take his measure. After all, there had been some good stories about Costello: his helping people in need, his visits to the ancestral town of Lauropoli where he contributed to the building of a school. As Noel watched what he saw on the television screen of just Co
stello’s hands, he came to his own conclusions about Uncle Frank.
“It became clear soon to me that Uncle Frank was calm in appearance, but sweating bullets inside,” Noel recalled many years later. “He was evasive, curt, gave wise answers, including some humorous ones like ‘I paid my tax.’”
But what was especially telling to Noel were the things Costello didn’t say but showed through what little the television screen was allowed to show. The constant wringing of the hands, the need to use a handkerchief to soak up the sweat on his palms, it all made Noel think that the worst he had heard about Costello was true.
“This is where I stopped trying to give him the benefit of the doubt,” said Noel. “In my book, at the time he was a very intelligent gangster, political manipulator, excellent boss, police corrupter, pragmatic and generous when he needed to be.”
Noel’s view of his relative would mellow over time. He would see Costello as a survivor of a criminal jungle that was 108th Street in old Manhattan, a man who was his own power in New York City after starting with nothing. His friendships with Luciano and Lansky were special in the way it brought him to the pinnacle of wealth and political control, Noel said.
Noel was one of an estimated thirty million viewers nationwide who watched the hearings, with perhaps ten million in the New York metropolitan area alone. It was one of the nascent television industry’s singular moments of real drama, combined with public service. As New York Times television writer Jack Gould noted, the hearings provided a “morning, matinee and evening performance,” which became a mass preoccupation that “exceeded the annual Fall interest in the World Series.”
As Gould wrote: “Housewives skimped on their household chores and offered no guarantee that dinner would be ready on time. Television parties were commonplace in many homes. Public officials, judges, business executives and secretaries crowded around available TV receivers in clubs and offices. Bars and restaurants did a thriving trade. Everywhere there was the stillness of an attentive audience.”
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