by Gene Mustain
A long silent ensued. “Not really, everything’s normal,” Peter finally said.
“That’s perfect,” Gotti answered, “that’s terrifying. Normal. Normal in this family is terrifying, that’s for sure. Normal in this family is terrifying.”
Later, with daughter Victoria back in the cubicle, Gotti turned to another topic obviously stuck in his gloomy craw: His family failed to send him a photograph of his kids and their kids for the Christmas just past. He blamed Victoria the most, but she protested she had. He kept insisting she hadn’t.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her. “I want to die before you have a toothache. But I got nothing! I got no group picture!”
Victoria remained silent as Gotti raised his voice and sarcastically fumed that he received group photographs from many other admiring families, just not his own. “I didn’t get none from mine! I got nothing! Nothing!”
Victoria then exited the cubicle again. Gotti turned to Peter: “What, am I wrong? I gotta beg them for a group picture of my grandchildren! When you come [the next time], come the fuck alone!”
His loss of power and freedom and the bleak terms of confinement—until he was hospitalized, he lived in a gray, closet-sized cell with only a 13-inch black-and-white television for company—were enough to put Gotti in a permanently agitated state, but his son Junior’s legal troubles contributed to his hair-trigger mood the days of the visit. Junior and others were indicted a week earlier in a case based partially on evidence hidden behind a basement wall in a building owned by a friend of Junior’s; the evidence included lists of “made men” in three Mafia Families and men who gave Junior cash when he got married—plus the cash itself, all $350,000 of it.
“These people here, if ever found guilty, they should never be sent to jail,” Gotti yelled at Peter. “They should all be sent to the insane asylum. From keeping the wedding money down in the basement, right down the line. I want to know what part of this was intelligent!”
At least with Junior, Gotti paused to say how it was impossible for him to love Junior more than he did. Then he compared Junior to his uncle, Gotti’s brother Gene, who went to prison for heroin dealing. “He’s a tough kid, he’s a smart kid, but he’s another (Gene). They think they know everything and they don’t. It’s heartbreaking.”
Gotti said he was sick of getting only bad news. He then took off after daughter Angela for failing to tell him about such good news as a new house. He complained he hadn’t received a letter from son Peter in two years.
“I wish one day you would bring me good news,” he told his brother. “I really wish one day you would bring me good news. You know more about Angela’s house than I do.”
Peter protested that he didn’t even know where the house is.
“You know more than me … I know absolutely nothing!”
His voice rising higher, Gotti growled that son Peter not only failed to write, he ignored his wishes. It hurt because men of “lesser ilk” had sons who do what their fathers say.
“If I tell him, ‘Go this way,’ he goes that way,” Gotti said. “If I tell him, ‘Go that way,’ he goes this way.
“I don’t know absolutely nothing about none of them. I don’t know if they’re home, who’s living together no more, who ain’t living together no more, who’s talking.
“And I don’t want to know. They choose that route, ahh, let them take that route.”
With Victoria back in the cubicle, he started up again, complaining that he is forced to extract information about some relatives, such as her husband.
“So what’s the story with Carmine?” he asked.
“Whaddya mean, what’s the story with him?” she replied.
“Is he feeling good? Is he not feeling good? Is his medication increased? Decreased? Is it up? Down? Does he get in the back seat of the car and think someone has stolen the steering wheel?”
“It’s the same,” she said, answering only the question about medication.
Gotti predicted that hot-tempered Carmine, who operated a car-salvage business between minor dustups with cops, would be the next member of the clan to get in serious trouble. “He’s gonna get in-dicted any day, this moron. He’s built himself a gallows. He’s bought the noose.”
Near the end of a visit saying much of what there is to say about John Gotti doing hard time, Gotti recalled for Peter that one of their early Mafia mentors had warned that it was best for mobsters if they never married.
“He was right. In this life, you can’t get married. You’re better off if you don’t have no fucking body, and this way, that’s the end of it.”
Author (and now New York newspaper columnist) Victoria Gotti wasn’t the only person to benefit from Gotti’s notoriety. We did. Besides the original Mob Star and this update, we wrote another book about him, and a third about some of his Gambino friends and enemies. We also did television documentaries, magazine pieces, and a thousand or so talk-show appearances. Our association with the story brought friendly newspaper and magazine interviews and profiles from New York to Hong Kong, and reasonable status at the Daily News, where we used to work. One of us, that’s Jerry, owns and operates a very popular website, ganglandnews.com; it gets 200,000 hits a month.
Others also did well on the Gotti beat. John Miller, first for local television, now ABC; Michael Daly, who wrote the first major Gotti profile, in New York; the late Mike McAlary, who wrote several great columns for Newsday, the Post and the Daily News, and virtually all the reporters chosen to cover the 1992 trial—with its bomb threats, its tapes, showdowns, and staredowns, it dominated the news in New York for three months.
It wasn’t just we reporters. Bruce Cutler, Gotti’s lawyer, benefited. So did Gerald Shargel, another Gotti lawyer. They got profiles in GQ and The New Yorker, and all the other media they could possibly want. They were good; now they’re big. John Gleeson, the lead prosecutor in the 1992 case, is now a federal judge in Brooklyn. Coprosecutor Laura Ward became a judge, too, on the state bench in Manhattan. Bruce Mouw, boss of the FBI’s Gambino squad, won a big Justice Department award. Gotti case agent George Gabriel now has his own squad. Remo Franceschini, a Queens detective on many Gotti cases, got what most cops don’t, a book about his career: A Matter of Honor: One Cop’s Lifelong Pursuit of John Gotti and the Mob.
Going out wider, many other institutions and individuals also benefited. HBO got a ratings record out of Gotti, which was based on our second book. Other networks and cable channels, publishers, distributors, and bookstores, they all got a bounce out of Gotti. All the publicity also helped create an audience for HBO’s The Sopranos series. Two members of the show’s cast, Tony Sirico and Vincent Pastore, were first in Gotti, the movie. They and all the other make-believe gangsters from Gotti shaped up at Elaine’s, a media hive on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It is a few blocks from where Gotti, when he was out and about, used to hoist glasses of Cristal Rose with the late Anthony Quinn, who—the circle keeps turning—portrayed Gotti’s gangland mentor in Gotti.
The Sirico-Pastore crew called themselves GAG, for Gangster Actors Guild. “Gotti started everything for me,” said Pastore; his character was killed off at the end of the second Sopranos season, but he has many other roles coming out or up. “Before that, I had bits and pieces. Gotti was the beginning of it all for me.”
Gotti was the beginning of this reporting and writing partnership, too. It was hard keeping up with him, so four hands were better than two. Our view of him kept evolving because the bigger he became, the more material we kept getting. He did not, of course, give formal interviews, although one of us, that’s Gene, spoke with him for 40 minutes once. Everything else, we got through records, tapes, sources on both sides of the law, and observing him in court.
The 40-minute talk was the serendipitous result of being a pool reporter on a pre-trial day in 1992 when the lawyers and judge stepped into chambers and left Gotti free to engage in banter with a writer who wasn’t about to encourage him to shut up by
asking a hostile question. At the outset, we gossiped about Bill Clinton, Gennifer Flowers, Mike Tyson, and other individuals and current events of the time. He was quick, funny, and cordial, much to the annoyance of the FBI agents and guards also in the room.
As we veered onto some issues in the case, he became theatrical. His voice rose, his shoulders shook, he wagged his fingers. He accused the FBI of crimes. He accused the judge of favoring prosecutors. He accused the lead prosecutor of a personal vendetta going back to the federal case Gotti won in 1987.
“This guy,” Gotti shouted, referring to lead prosecutor John Gleeson, “learned how to talk by listening to my voice! This guy, you know what he says to his wife when he gets up in the morning? ‘Hi ya, John!’”
It was a marvelous performance, and naturally the News and many more media front-paged it. By 1992, the Gotti story was far more about media than crime. He used the media to speak to his audience and the media used him to win one. Successful Mafia bosses would be men who die in their own beds and leave organizations that carry on under their names. Gotti gets neither. His organization is in ruin. No one wants to be boss. His social club is now a women’s boutique. What he achieved was a stage.
The show continues. Our other Gotti book still sells. The movie remains popular in stores. Salvatore Gravano, the ex-underboss who took the stand against Gotti, also got a book-and-movie deal. In the summer of 2001, nine years after Gotti went away, even a comedy program, Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, found material in Gotti. Its staff focused on him in three of the five half-hour shows they cooked up about the Mafia in a week-long ratings drive.
On one of the Gotti shows, the daughter of a man Gotti murdered was one of the guests. She wore a deep tan, black slacks, and a backless, satin top. In an only-in-modern-America few moments, Cindy DiBernardo recalled her father adoringly, then used the language of gangster movies to mythologize Gotti further.
She said Gotti was convicted because he was “given up” by a turncoat “who didn’t want to do his time.” Anyone who knows the facts of Gotti’s trial knows it isn’t true. Gotti convicted himself when he got caught on tape in his club. Salvatore Gravano, the “turncoat” DiBernardo was referring to, was just icing. But as far as she was concerned, Gravano was a bum and Gotti was … a man.
“Whatever John Gotti’s agenda was, he is doing his time like a man,” she said.
At least one of the show’s other guests, Bruce Mouw, retired boss of the FBI’s Gotti team, squirmed in his seat. Here was a woman whose father was murdered by Gotti, and only because—as Gotti said on tape played at his trial—of a rumor that he gossiped about Gotti’s leadership style behind Gotti’s back. But DiBernardo went on: “Whatever (Gotti) is condemned for, whatever he has done wrong, he is doing his time like a man.”
It was left to Mouw to try and provide the law enforcement view, that Gotti was just a thug who took power by murder, but DiBernardo and others on the show weren’t buying. They, like most people, vaguely sensed he was something more. It was just hard to put fingers on. But he was. For a while, he was what he wanted to be, which is only what we all want.
We are sitting here at our desk. Piles of Gotti paper and records strewn about. We leaf through the notes detailing his declining health, the controversies over whether he was getting adequate treatment, and how he was fighting cancer tooth and nail. We look at the transcripts of various trials, the secret accounts of his secrets. But we keep going back to the Marion prison tapes. We keep being amazed by the self-absorption, then finally see it’s how he survived six years alone in a hole and four more of merciless disease.
Here at the end, it’s impossible not to feel empathy and a little admiration. He was delusional, but he tried living an impossible life. He tried to live up to expectations. His words and the words of others were the proof he tried hard.
Heroic anti-hero carrying the flag of a dying tradition people outside it don’t want to let go. That’s a hard role.
“What did I tell you the other day?” he asked Victoria, as they discussed how his son and her husband were following him into prison. “I’m tired, I’m tired. But I’ll always be me. I’ll always be me until the day I die.”
THE CAST
Joseph Armone—former heroin dealer who became underboss of the Gambino Family in April 1986.
William Battista—former hijacker who became a bookmaker for John Gotti and others.
Thomas Bilotti—briefly the underboss of the Gambino Family; murdered in December 1985.
Dominick Borghese—burly bodyguard who belonged to crews headed by Junior Gotti and Jack D’Amico.
James Cardinali—confessed murderer and star witness against John Gotti.
John Carneglia—former hijacker, drug dealer, used-car parts dealer, and soldier in John Gotti’s crew.
Paul Castellano—boss of the Gambino Family from 1976 until his murder in December 1985.
Michael Coiro—former attorney for John Gotti and other members of the Bergin Hunt & Fish Club.
Bruce Cutler—former assistant district attorney in Brooklyn; later an outspoken attorney for John Gotti.
Jack D’Amico—longtime Gambino soldier who became part of John Gotti’s inner circle and a capo.
Raymond Dearie—former U.S. attorney in Brooklyn, now a federal judge.
Frank DeCicco—replaced Thomas Bilotti as underboss of Gambino Family; murdered in April 1986.
Aniello Dellacroce—mentor of John Gotti; underboss of Gambino Family from 1965 to his death in December 1985.
Victoria DiGiorgio Gotti—wife of John Gotti, mother of their five children.
John Favara—John Gotti neighbor involved in an accident that killed Gotti’s son Frank; later disappeared forever.
George Gabriel—FBI agent assigned to get-John Gotti case after Gotti was acquitted on March 13, 1987.
Joe N. Gallo—Garment Center executive and longtime consigliere of the Gambino Family.
Carlo Gambino—boss of the Gambino Family from 1957 until his death in 1976.
Thomas Gambino—eldest son of Carlo and, at one time, a candidate to replace Paul Castellano as boss.
Diane Giacalone—assistant U.S. attorney in Brooklyn and lead prosecutor at 1986-87 racketeering trial of John Gotti.
I. Leo Glasser—federal judge in Brooklyn who presided over the 1992 racketeering trial of John Gotti.
John Gleeson—assistant U.S. attorney in Brooklyn; coprosecutor in the 1986-87 and 1992 racketeering trials of John Gotti.
Gene Gotti—second-best known of the Gotti brothers, and a defendant in a major heroin case.
John Gotti—former hijacker who rose to top of large New York Mafia Family; became known as Teflon Don; made cover of Time.
John A. Gotti—son of John Gotti; inducted into the crime Family and groomed to follow in father’s footsteps.
Peter Gotti—older brother of John Gotti; former sanitation worker who became a capo for his brother, and later his acting boss.
Victoria Gotti—daughter of the don who became a novelist, columnist, and champion of her father.
Salvatore Gravano—former member of the white-collar wing of the Gambino Family who became John Gotti’s top aide and killer.
Willie Boy Johnson—longtime associate of John Gotti and the Bergin Hunt & Fish crew.
Lewis Kasman—Garment Center businessman and self-described “adopted son” and champion of John Gotti.
Frank LoCascio—Bronx-based capo who served Gotti as underboss and later as consigliere.
Dominick Lofaro—underworld informer whose information led to bugging of the Bergin crew.
Andrew Maloney—former U.S. attorney in Brooklyn and coprosecutor in the 1992 racketeering trial of John Gotti.
Edward Maloney—former kidnapper and career criminal who became government witness against Gotti.
Joseph Massino—longtime friend of the Gotti brothers and boss of the Bonanno Family.
James McBratney—small-time hood shot dead in Staten Island
bar in struggle with John Gotti and two others.
Robert Morgenthau—influential District Attorney in Manhattan investigating the murder of Paul Castellano.
Bruce Mouw—supervisor of FBI “Gambino squad” that began investigation of Gotti after 1986-87 racketeering trial.
Eugene Nickerson—federal judge in Brooklyn who presided over the 1986-87 racketeering trial of John Gotti.
Romual Piecyk—refrigerator mechanic who accused John Gotti of assault, then wanted to forget about it.
Salvatore Polisi—an underworld figure who became a government witness against Gotti.
Anthony Rampino—longtime associate of John Gotti who once described himself as “John’s man.”
Angelo Ruggiero—friend of John Gotti since childhood; codefendant of Gene Gotti in major heroin case.
Salvatore Ruggiero—brother of Angelo and a major New York heroin dealer while a fugitive from justice.
Gerald Shargel—attorney for many organized crime figures, including John Gotti and Salvatore Gravano.
Barry Slotnick—attorney for Aniello Dellacroce and other mobsters and former law partner of Bruce Cutler.
Matthew Traynor—bank robber and drug dealer who became star witness for defense at Gotti trial.
Carlo Vaccarezza—Upper East Side restaurateur who became a John Gotti pal and outspoken supporter.
Joseph Watts—loan shark and longtime crony of Gambino Family leaders; became part of John Gotti’s inner circle.
Agencies
Eastern District of New York—prosecutes violations of federal laws in Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Long Island.
Eastern District Organized Crime Strike Force—federal agency that investigates and prosecutes organized-crime figures. Its work was taken over by Eastern District U.S. Attorney in 1989.
Manhattan District Attorney’s Office—state agency that prosecutes violations of state laws in Manhattan.
New York State Organized Crime Task Force—state agency that investigates and prosecutes organized-crime figures in New York State.