This Day in Mafia History

Hey, listen up, pal! It’s friggin’ mind-blowing, y’know? Practically every freakin’ day of the year is tied to some important “Family” shenanigan. I mean, c’mon, you got your typical hits, your busts, those unfortunate suckers who didn’t fare too well in court, or maybe they just mysteriously vanished into thin air (Hey, Tony, where the hell are ya?). But hey, it ain’t all doom and gloom, capisce? We got some of The Boys tyin’ the knot, and others gettin’ sprung from the joint. And let me tell ya, we got these huge-ass meetups goin’ on right here too. Ya know, life’s a rollercoaster in this business.

So check it out. We got this fancy calendar thingy, right? It’s got all these tiny icons, so even you can understand what the hell’s goin’ down. And it’s packin’ all the juicy details about what went down on those dates. Keep your eyes peeled, and don’t ask too many damn questions.  Got it?  Good.

JUNE

Alright, so get this: 24-year-old U.S. Sgt. Orange Dickey ain’t no regular soldier; he’s the guy who dragged Vito Genovese’s ass back to the States from Italy to face murder charges. They sailed on the SS James Lykes, docking in New York Harbor on June 1, 1945. The very next day, June 2, Vito’s standing in court, getting arraigned for knocking off Ferdinand Boccia. Vito, being the sharp fox he is, pleads not guilty, keeping his cool like always.

Yo, listen up. On June 1, 1945, the feds’ main snitch against Vito Genovese, some rat named Peter LaTempa, kicks the bucket from an “overdose of sedatives” while he’s supposed to be safe in their custody, capisce? Enough sedatives to kill a horse. With that, the big boss Genovese skates free, and by June 10, 1946, he’s back on the streets, acquitted of all charges. Ain’t that somethin’?

Here’s the skinny: the big cheese of the Chicago Outfit, Sam Giancana, got himself pinched for givin’ the cold shoulder to a Federal grand jury, even with a sweet deal of immunity on the table. They had him locked up for contempt ’cause he wouldn’t spill the beans about our operations in Chi-Town. They cut him loose on May 31, 1966, and Sam high-tailed it down to Latin America. He kept his head low till those Mexican authorities gave him the boot on July 19, 1974. That’s how the game goes when you’re playin’ in the big leagues.

So get this, on June 3, 1940, Harry Rudolph, the guy who started the Brooklyn D.A. digging into Murder Inc., never even got his day in court. It’s a twist straight outta the movies. He stirred the pot, got the whole investigation rolling, but then poof, he was gone. No one heard his side of the story ’cause he croaked from natural causes right in the Rikers Island infirmary. Ain’t that somethin’? The guy kicks off a whole juggernaut and checks out before spilling the beans.

Yo, check this out. June 5, 1941, the coppers nabbed Paul Berger, one of them Murder, Inc. boys. The press had the nerve to call him a “clothing manufacturer,” but we all know he was knee-deep in dirt with 13 arrests for murder and whatnot, yet the man always slipped the noose. This time, they got him pegged as the fingerman in Joe Rosen’s rubout. He’s gotta face the judge on the 16th, but word is, they cut him loose from that case to fry him on some smaller fish. Ain’t that just the way?

Alright, here’s how it went down. Back in the day, Salvatore “Red” Italiano was running the show in Tampa for a while, holding things together until 1950 when he had to skip town to Mexico. Then that nosey Democratic senator from Tennessee, Estes Kefauver, started poking around with his federal investigations into our business. Italiano splits, and James Lumia steps up as the acting boss. But Lumia didn’t last long. On June 5, 1950, just two weeks before he was supposed to sing in a conspiracy trial against some of our guys who were plotting to off a Hillsborough County sheriff, Lumia gets filled with lead while sitting in his car. The case is still open, but everyone in the know points the finger at the big boss, Santo Trafficante, Sr. You get it now? Cross the family, and you don’t live to tell the tale.

Listen up, you mugs. June 6, 1936, went down in the books when Charles “Lucky” Luciano, the big boss of the underworld, got pinched and convicted for pandering. Yeah, that’s right, the top dog of the mob got taken down for running broads. The law finally caught up to him, and they slapped him with a conviction that had him trading his fancy suits for prison stripes, sentenced to 30-50 years. But between you and me, word on the street is he was set up by that snake Thomas Dewey. Lucky ain’t so lucky no more, capisce?

So, on June 6, 1962, the big cheese Joe Profaci kicks the bucket ’cause of cancer. But don’t think for a second that the Gallo-Profaci beef is over. Nah, the show goes on, see? Joe’s brother-in-law, Joseph Magliocco, steps up to the throne, taking the reins of the Profaci family. The streets ain’t getting any quieter, and the bullets are still flyin’. Business as usual in our world.

On June 6, 1923, my man Albert Anastasia bounced back from a nasty wound, only to catch the heat again for some roughin’ up back in April. Word on the street is he scared the pants off the witnesses, so they had to let him walk. But that ain’t the end of the line, ’cause on that same day, they pinched him for carryin’ a concealed piece. By July 13th, they slapped him with a conviction and sent him up the river. Ain’t no rest for the wicked, ya know?

June 9, 1947, Jacob “Gurrah” Shapiro kicked the bucket in the clink while doin’ life. This cat, born May 5, 1899, was a big shot in the New York mob scene. Him and his pal Louis “Lepke” Buchalter ran the industrial labor rackets in the Big Apple for twenty years, and they weren’t shy about flexin’ their muscle. They even set up that notorious hit squad, Murder, Inc. Yeah, Gurrah played the game hard, but in the end, he couldn’t beat the house.

Yo, June 10, 1927, was a rough day in the Big Apple. Our boy James DeAmato, one of Capone’s finest hitters, was out there makin’ sure Frankie Yale’s booze racket was runnin’ smooth. But things went sideways in Manhattan, and DeAmato got taken out. Turns out, Frankie Yale had him whacked ’cause DeAmato was gonna tell Capone that Yale was tryin’ to snatch back the booze. The streets ain’t safe, even for a top enforcer like him. This life, it ain’t for the faint of heart.

On June 11, 1906, a real tough guy by the name of Emanuel “Mendy” Weiss hit the scene in New York City. This ain’t no regular Joe we’re talkin’ about here—Mendy grew up to be one of the top triggermen for Murder, Inc., the notorious syndicate’s execution squad. Mendy was tight with the infamous Louis Buchalter and ran with his crew, making a name for himself in the 1930s right up until his collar for murder in ’41. The Feds had his number, claimin’ he and his pal Philip “Little Farvel” Cohen were knee-deep in the narcotics game, but they never nailed him for it. Mendy’s ride came to an end when he got convicted and took the final bow on March 4, 1944, leaving behind a legacy carved in blood and bullets. Capisce?

June 12, 1941 was the end of the line for Harry “Pittsburgh Phil” Strauss and Martin Goldstein. These mugs from Murder Inc. got the final curtain call ’cause Abe “Kid Twist” Reles couldn’t keep his trap shut. Reles sang like a canary, and boom, Strauss and Goldstein got their tickets punched via the electric chair in Sing Sing for the murder of gambler “Puggy” Feinstein, if you catch my drift. Ain’t no loyalty in this business, I tell ya.

Yo, on June 14, 1944, our guy Frank Costello, the boss himself, goes and leaves a cool $27,000 in some Gotham taxi. The papers had a field day, making jokes like they’re funny or something. Frank had to jump through hoops in court to get his dough back without spilling the beans on where it came from. You know how it is, keeping things under wraps in our line of work.

Alright, listen up. June 16, 1923, the Big Apple sees the birth of Joe Colombo, real name Joseph Anthony Colombo Sr. Now, Joe ain’t no ordinary kid. Born right into the heart of New York City, his old man was already deep in the game with the Profaci crew, setting the stage for Joe’s future. Fast forward to ’61, things get real messy with the First Colombo War, all kicked off by Joe Gallo snatchin’ up some top dogs from the Profaci family. Gallo ends up in the slammer, Profaci kicks the bucket in ’62, and by ’63, Joe’s got himself in a tight spot when Bonanno and Magliocco start plotting hits on The Commission. But Colombo, sharp as a tack, flips the script and rats out the scheme, earning himself the big seat. Come ’66, he takes a little vacation behind bars for 30 days, holding his tongue in front of a grand jury. Joe Colombo, a true kingpin from the start.

June 17, 1933 was a real rough day at the Kansas City Union Station. Verne Miller, Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd, and Adam Richette tried to bust out their pal, Frank “Jelly” Nash, from the feds. But things went south real quick. Bullets flew, and Nash got iced along with four lawmen. They called it the “Kansas City Massacre.” It was a bloody ambush, a botched rescue mission that left a mark on the history books, alright? Nash was supposed to be heading back to the pen in Leavenworth, but instead, he ended up six feet under.

On June 17, 1957, Frank Scalise, the underboss for the Anastasia Family, got whacked by Jimmy Squillante, and it was all on the orders of the big boss himself, Albert Anastasia. See, Frank was being a greedy rat, sellin’ La Cosa Nostra memberships for fifty grand a pop and makin’ a mess outta a big heroin deal. That kinda screw-up ain’t gonna fly, capisce? So, they took him out. After that, Anastasia gave the underboss spot to his loyal lieutenant, Carlo Gambino, who was ready to keep things in line.

Not a good day! June 20, 1947, the night they whacked Benny Siegel. Picture this: Benny’s chillin’ in Virginia Hill’s Beverly Hills crib, the one he got for his doll, readin’ the Los Angeles Times with his buddy Allen Smiley. Outta nowhere, some lowlife sneaks up and sprays him through the window with a .30 caliber M1 carbine, hittin’ him all over, even twice in the head. This ain’t no fair fight; it’s a coward’s move, takin’ out a tough guy like Benny from a distance. Word on the street is it was Charlie Luciano who gave the order. And get this, nobody got pinched for it, the whole thing’s still a mystery. The streets got their own way of handling things, but this one’s cold as ice.

June 21, 1940, see? Our boy, Hollywood actor Irving “Gangi” Cohen, played the weepy bit on the witness stand, making out like he was just a small-time sap caught up with Murder, Inc. The chumps in the prosecution didn’t know what hit ’em when Gangi walked free that day, leaving ’em all stunned with his acquittal. Gangi played ’em like a fiddle, and now he’s back on the streets, showing the world that even in Hollywood, it’s all about who can put on the best show, capisce?

So, June 21, 1940, this Brooklyn judge, some stiff in a robe, figured he’d get wise on Harry “Pittsburgh Phil” Strauss, the top trigger from Murder, Inc. See, Strauss was puttin’ on a show, actin’ all loony tunes to dodge the murder rap. But the judge ain’t no fool; he ordered up some head doctors to take a peek inside Strauss’ noggin, see if he’s really lost his marbles or just playin’ possum. Ain’t that a kick in the head? This ain’t over yet, not by a long shot.

Let me spin ya a tale from back in the day, June 22, 1938, when the streets was runnin’ red and respect was earned, not given. The notorious Albert Anastasia, better known in our circles as The High-Lord Executioner, tied the knot with the dame Elsa Roland Bargnesi. This ain’t just any matrimony, capisce? It’s the kinda union that shakes up the underworld, blending power and beauty into a dangerous cocktail. Anastasia, the big boss who made his bones and then some, found his queen, solidifying his empire with a touch of class. It’s a match made in gangster heaven, where love’s as tough as the streets they ruled.

On June 24, 1929, our boy Gandolfo Curto, but yous probably know him as “Frankie Marlow,” got himself whacked over in Queens after chowing down in Manhattan. Frankie was tight with Brooklyn’s big cheese, Frankie Yale, running his bookmaking gig under Yale’s watchful eye. He wasn’t just a numbers guy, though—Marlow was deep in the bootlegging game, owned a nightclub, and managed boxers too. Ain’t no one saw it coming, but in this life, ya never know when your number’s up.

Listen up, June 25, 1962, the big shot Carmine Galante, yeah, “The Cigar” himself, got nailed for drug charges. This cat, an American Mafioso, was pullin’ the strings as the unofficial boss of the Bonanno crime family in New York City. Always sportin’ a cigar, that’s how he got the nicknames “The Cigar” and “Lilo” – straight Sicilian for cigar, capisce? But don’t get it twisted, his reign didn’t last forever. In ’79, while chowin’ down at a joint, the Commission decided his time was up and took him out, just like that.

I’m only gonna say this once. June 28, 1971, was a dark day for the familia. Mob Boss Joe Colombo, the big cheese of the Italian-American Civil Rights League, gets popped by some nobody named Jerome Johnson during the Italian-American Unity Day. That hit left Joe seriously wounded, outta commission for good, capisce? It marked the end of his reign and his crusade for Italian-American rights. You cross the family, you pay the price, and this was no exception.

On June 29, 1942, Tony Romanello’s rags showed up, and by June 29th, his body popped up in some woods near Wilmington, DE. The guy had a busted jaw and was riddled with 28 bullet holes—someone really wanted him gone. His old lady, cold as ice, told the press, “He had it coming. I’m relieved it’s done. Two years, I’ve been sneakin’ in and out of morgues, always thinkin’ the cops had found him.” Tough break, Tony, but in this life, you reap what you sow.

Alright, now. June 29, 1961, our man Frank Costello, the Prime Minister of the Underworld, walks outta the clink after doin’ nearly a year. He ain’t lookin’ back neither; he’s steppin’ right back into his world, mixin’ his gambling gigs with some straight-up legit biz. Ain’t nobody messin’ with Frank no more, he’s retired from the heavy stuff, but don’t get it twisted—he’s still got his hands in the game, smooth as ever.

Prett’ amazin’. On June 30, 1941, them St. Louis coppers bagged Irving Penn’s old trigger man, Jacob “Kuppy” Migden. Now, Kuppy thought he was slick, got his mug fixed up by some fancy doc, but the bulls saw right through it. Back in ’39, Louis Capone, under orders from the big cheese Buchalter, was supposed to ice a squealer named Philip Orlovsky. Capone passed the ID job to Kuppy, but the dope fingered the wrong guy, Irving Penn, instead. So, Jack the Dandy Parisi plugs Penn right in front of his Bronx joint. A bum steer that got the wrong guy rubbed out, but them coppers finally pieced it together and pinched Kuppy good.

Yo, check it out, on June 30, 1941, our boy Enoch “Nucky” Johnson, the big boss of Atlantic City, ties the knot with his dame, ex-showgirl Florence Osbeck. Just a day before he gets slapped with a 10-year stretch for tax evasion. Ain’t that a kicker? But don’t worry, the hustle don’t stop. Frankie Farley steps up, ready to keep the game strong and the money flowing in our little slice of paradise by the sea.