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One of the very important elements of my spiritual maturing was the fellowship I enjoyed with other inmates who were believers. There is an expression that is frequently used to describe inmates who become Christians while in prison: "Born-again until they're out again." The "knock" is that inmates look to Jesus to gain favor from the system while in prison. It is imagined that this helps them to receive a favorable nod from the parole board, a better prison job, or some favorable treatment from guards. But, as the theory goes, it's all a con, and once they get out, they'll go right back to their criminal ways. As a person who served time in prison, I consider this concept to be without merit. I cannot judge what's in a man's heart, but my experience has been that most inmates do not seek Christ for these reasons.
Anyone with any knowledge of the prison system would realize that parole boards couldn't care less about whether or not a prisoner is born-again, and neither does the prison administration. A prisoner's religious experience means nothing to them and is never a basis for favorable consideration. Since inmates know this better than anyone, why would they attempt to carry out such a charade?
Why is it so difficult for people to believe that inmates could find strength and comfort in Christ while enduring the trials of incarceration? Prisons are fertile ground for ministry because the men there are broken and humbled, and many of them are searching for some real meaning in their lives.
Many prisoners are ready to mend their ways, ready to repent of their sins, and isn't this the principal message of the Biblethat God awaits such sinners with open arms? I've personally witnessed many genuine conversions in prison and have known many sincere inmates. Christ can claim many successes among His convicted converts, men and women whose hearts have been changed and who now have the strength of character and conviction to stay straight and refrain from criminal activity.
One such success story is that of my dearest friend of some fifteen years now, Barry Minkow. Barry and I met in Terminal Island prison way back in 1987. He was in his early twenties when he came into the system convicted of fraud charges that landed him a twenty-five-year sentence. He was a young Christian back then, but, boy, did his faith grow and blossom during his period of incarceration. Not only did he "earn" an early parole due to his exemplary behavior and achievements after serving the minimum seven years, but he also received a degree from seminary along the way. Today, some seven years after his release, Barry is the pastor of Community Bible Church in San Diego, California. God has blessed his ministry, and he has seen the congregation grow steadily every year since he arrived. Our friendship also continues to grow in Christ. Barry is just one example of the fact that God can live in the heart of an ex-con.
This doesn't mean that their faith has made them perfect. Like all Christians, they will probably sin again. Hopefully, their sins will no longer include criminal behavior. However, we should not be surprised if believers who are ex-cons get into trouble again once released from prison. If they do, one should not automatically assume that their faith in Christ is not genuine. The best of us are not invulnerable to sin, and there is no guarantee that any Christian will never sin again-whether he has a criminal record or not.
While a man is in prison, he is obviously limited in his ability to engage in criminal activity. Once he gets out and the temptation is there, he may give in to it again and commit some crime. But it's no different for the free believer who continues to sin because he or she gives in to temptation.
For instance, some believers struggle with an addiction to pornography. That may not be criminal, but it's surely sinful. Does it mean that they are only born-again until they sin again? Of course not. The presence of sin does not automatically label a Christian a "phony." It only proves that God was right when He called us all "sinners" and extended to us His great love. Believers do sin, and believing prisoners may commit further crimes, but that doesn't change God or His love for us.
Oh, the wonder of His grace!
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During this final incarceration, I did time in FCI (Federal Correctional Institution) Englewood, Colorado; FCI Sheridan, Oregon; FCI Lompoc, California; and the L.A. County Jail. While I was in L.A. County, I was housed in a maximum-security area along with the Menendez brothers, who were convicted of killing their parents. It was the same cellblock in which O.J. Simpson was later housed. I was able to witness to the Menendez brothers, since my own faith had grown enough that I could now share it with others.
Even though the opportunity for me to witness to these men was a welcome diversion from the dreary jail routine, the time seemed to pass intolerably slow. Every second seemed like hours and every day like weeks. Cammy and I both struggled with the separation.
In the months prior to my release, I was particularly on edge, anxious for the big day and hoping against hope that nothing would be allowed to spoil it. I had been returned to FCI Lompoc in December of 1993, after having spent eleven months in the L.A. County Jail, and I was scheduled for release in November of 1994.
"Please, Lord, let it be," I prayed.
During this tense period, I was contacted by a newspaper reporter in Arizona saying that a former mob underling of mine, Tony "Tony Limo" Sarivola, had told law enforcement officials that I had paid a bribe of $250,000 to President George Bush Sr. in a New York hotel just prior to his election. The reporter wanted me to comment on the story.
Tony Limo was testifying for the prosecution in Phoenix in a murder trial in a matter unrelated to me. He was a star witness who claimed that a fellow inmate had confessed a murder to him. When news of his prior statements was released to the defense, they wanted to subpoena me to testify against him and say that his testimony regarding the Bush incident was not true. If I testified that Tony's statement was untrue, however, I was sure that the prosecutors would not be happy about it. And yet, I was obligated to tell the truth if I were called to the stand to testify. This was a dilemma I didn't need. When a person was as active and high profile as I was in the life of the mob, it never goes away. Something is always hanging out there, and ten, twenty, or even thirty years later, I could be faced with things from my past. I found it all to be gut-wrenching.
When this situation reared its ugly head, I spent a lot of time in prayer and Bible study, and I was somewhat encouraged.
Dary Matera, the co-author of my first book, also contacted me on behalf of the reporter, and Dary was upset that I hadn't told him this story while we were writing the book back in 1990. It would have added something significant, he felt. I told Dary the last thing I needed while on parole was to create controversy for a sitting president. I was dealing with enough problems at the time. Therefore, I was not willing to either confirm or deny the story.
My position on the matter had not changed when I was contacted by the reporter. I saw no purpose in commenting on the story in the media. If I were called as a witness in the case, I would deal with the matter in the proper forum-the courtroom. I didn't want a newspaper story to somehow get in the way of my release.
The story was eventually written and published, but it quickly blew over and nothing came of it. For me, it was just one more thing to deal with, something to keep me on edge. My former life continued to haunt me. Would it never go away?
Shortly after that incident blew over, I was contacted by a New York Daily News reporter who told me that a former Colombo associate had turned informant and was implicating many Colombo mob guys in various racketeering crimes that had occurred in the 1970s. That thought did nothing to make me more comfortable. I was only five months away from release, and now I had something new to worry about. On the day of my release, would FBI agents be waiting at the gate to arrest me for yet another mob-related crime? Was some other indictment brewing in New York? Had the Dally News reporter contacted me because he knew more than he was letting on? Was I already being implicated in some other case? For the next four months, I didn't get a single good night's sleep because of worrying about these and other p
ossibilities that might derail my impending freedom.
Although I was so on edge, I refused to let on to Cammy that anything was wrong. I didn't want to worry her. Could she handle yet another crisis that would keep me behind bars even longer? I wasn't sure. The only thing I knew to do was pray and give the whole situation to God.
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One day, shortly after the Daily News reporter had called, I was walking in the prison yard when suddenly it seemed to me that my worst fears were about to become reality. A voice was heard over the loudspeaker summoning me to the warden's office, and such a summons was rarely good news.
Was the FBI waiting in the warden's office to pick me up? Had that reporter known something, after all? Was I going down? A lump formed in my throat as I walked the distance to the warden's office, as if to the gallows. The whole way I was calling out to God in my spirit. My prayer that day was very simple: "Help me!"
"Franzese," I could almost hear the warden say, "FBI here to see you.
And that would be it. I'd be done at that point. I would spend the rest of my life in prison. No more Cammy. No more children. It would be all over.
Was it God's will for me to finally get what I deserved? I had gained eternity through His grace, but would I have to pay a lifetime of punishment for being part of La Cosa Nostra? My heart sank as I took the final steps toward the warden's office and opened the door.
As I had suspected, there were FBI agents in the office waiting for me that day. They were from headquarters in Washington, D.C. My heart sank further. But I was confused when I walkd in because I couldn't see any handcuffs. Still, as the men introduced themselves, I was dying inside.
Then I realized that their faces did not have the usual sternness of men coming to take me away, and what they were saying was nothing to be upset about.
"Hi, Mike," one of the agents said pleasantly. "We're here to ask a favor. The NBA, MLB, NHL, and NFL are cooperating to produce a video that will deliver an anti-gambling message to the players and personnel of the various leagues, and we'd like you to get involved. What do you think?"
Oh, was I happy to hear those words! In my heart, I was saying, "Thank You, Jesus! You do have a plan for my life." I couldn't have known it in that moment, but the video would lead to my first public speaking engagements and would prepare me to present my testimony to believers and nonbelievers alike. The Lord was laying the foundation from which He would use me in the future. Had my entire life in the mob been a preparation for God's service? Did he really intend to use all that bad for His good? So it seemed.
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As the days passed, however, and it got closer to my release date, I must admit that I was still pretty nervous. I had heard nothing more about the George Bush or New York informant issues, and the silence was deafening. I was still terribly nervous on the morning of my release. Cammy and the kids were there bright and early to pick me up, but I kept thinking that something bad was going to happen. I saw them standing outside the gates waiting as I walked through the yard for the last time and received my fellow inmates' good-byes. The men were happy for me and sad for themselves-sad that it wasn't them leaving.
Lance Badgwell, my friend and racquetball partner, was the last to say good-bye that morning. I couldn't believe it when I saw that he was fighting to hold back tears. He had never struck me as the sensitive type, but he was clearly all choked up. It got to me, too, because sometimes you make some good friends in the joint.
When I finally got to R&D (Receiving and Discharging), I was a bundle of nerves. I was looking all around to see where the feds were waiting, and, at the same time, I was praying that they wouldn't be there.
Then I was outside, and suddenly I was in the arms of my beloved wife and my children. What utter joy! But still the conflicting emotions that had assailed me would not let me go.
"Hurry!" I said to everyone. "Let's get in the car! Let's go! Let's get out of here quickly!"
I could think of nothing else. I had to get away.
As we sped away, I turned and looked one last time at the men in the yard. I could see them, but they looked different now. They were behind a fence, and I felt so sorry for them in that moment that I hated to leave them behind.
But I was free. My thoughts ran wild with praise. "God, I thank You. As undeserving and unworthy as I am, You have blessed me yet again. Now, I just want to live to please You."
Prison had been good for me, and I was a much better man for it. I had come through it as a much more dedicated and serious believer. This former Mafia captain had really become a soldier in the army of the Lord Jesus.
39
For the second time in five years, I had to attempt to rebuild my life after having served a fairly lengthy prison sentence. Once again, I was released on parole. In light of my mob association, past history, and high profile, my parole officer, a lady, politely told me I could expect no favors while on parole.
"Obey the rules. Don't ask for anything. Finish your supervision, and get on with your life," she told me on my first visit.
She was aware of just how disastrous my last attempt at parole had been, and she did not want a repeat performance. Not on her watch.
In reality, she was doing me a favor.
This time, I was able to lay low. The feds didn't have it in for me like they may have had the first time around. And, as for my old mob pals, they had their own troubles to deal with. Most of my former mob associates were either dead or in prison for the rest of their lives. And I hadn't testified against them or put any of them there.
There seemed to be no immediate reason for them to seek retribution. Oh, there were still some ruffled feathers. After all, I had violated the oath and then some, and that would not be forgotten. Not ever. No, they would wait for me to slip up, go back to my old ways, make a run for the presumed buried gasoline money, be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or maybe, just maybe, God took care of all of that for me. While in prison one night a long time ago, I was really laboring over the possibility of renouncing my blood oath when I came across a Bible verse that made it all seem crystal clear to me. Proverbs 16:7 says, "When a man's ways are pleasing to the Lord, he makes even his enemies live at peace with him." From that evening on, I can honestly tell you I have never worried about retribution. I gave that problem to God, and He'll decide when it's time for me to enter eternity. All I can do is be ready when He calls me home. But I also realize that it would be helpful not to move back to Brooklyn.
In 1997, I was formally released from parole. No more state or federal supervision. I was a free man at last. It was time to get on with my life. I had made some very nice acquaintances while on parole, people who had given me an opportunity to earn a living. My old Israeli buddy, Moshe Diamant, welcomed me home with open arms and within days introduced me to Howard and Karen Baldwin. The husband and wife team owned the NHL Pittsburgh Penguins and also had a major film production company that was located on the Universal Studios lot, adjacent to Spielberg's Amblin Entertainment offices. With the help and reassurances of my ever-faithful friend and agent from ICM, Jack Gilardi, the Baldwins employed me to help develop some mob-related stories for Universal Pictures, which included a story based upon my own life. I worked with the Baldwins for one year and not only enjoyed a nice working relationship with them, but Cammy and I also developed a meaningful friendship with the couple as well. They are two very gracious people, and I am forever grateful to them for affording this former mob boss an opportunity when I was really in need.
On an interesting side note, I was sitting in my office one day when I received a call from Jack Gilardi. He had received a call from a fellow talent agent who represented a producer by the name of David Chase. He wanted to know if I was interested in going to work as a creative consultant for a television show David was producing for the Fox network about a New Jersey mob family whose boss was named Tony Soprano. I turned the offer down. Goes to show you how smart I was! But then again, Fox turned th
e show down, too.
The rest, as they say, is history.
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While I was working for the Baldwins, Howard came into my office one day and asked for a favor. It seemed that a good friend and former fellow NHL team owner had gotten himself into some hot water with the feds. The friend's name was Bruce McNall. The team he had owned was the Los Angeles Kings-then the Wayne Gretzky L.A. Kings. It was Bruce who had lured Gretzky away from his native Canada and engineered the trade that brought him to the Kings just a few years earlier. Many people involved with professional hockey believed this trade had a tremendous impact on the growth of the sport in America. Bruce also played a major role in convincing Michael Eisner and Disney to bring the Mighty Ducks to Anaheim.
Aside from Bruce's involvement with the NHL, he was a big player in Hollywood, having produced some major feature films throughout the years. And now a run-in with the feds had all but brought his empire down.
Bruce was, and is, a classy guy. Once indicted, he almost immediately accepted responsibility for his white-collar misbe- havings and accepted a plea agreement from the government that called for him to pay a substantial restitution and to serve seventy months in federal prison. The favor Howard asked me for was to meet with Bruce and give him some advice on how to deal with his impending incarceration. I was happy to oblige, but only after my parole was terminated a few months later. I wasn't about to add criminal association to my violation history. I had seen enough of that in my dad's case.
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