So, you wanna hear about Carmine Galante, huh? Lemme tell ya, this guy was somethin’ else. Born on February 21, 1910, in the rough streets of East Harlem, he climbed the Mafia ladder like a champ, earnin’ the nickname “The Cigar” ’cause he always had one hangin’ from his mouth. From a young age, he was already causin’ trouble, gettin’ sent to reform school at ten and runnin’ a street gang not long after. By fifteen, he’d dropped outta school and was deep in the Mafia life, takin’ on hits and buildin’ a rep for bein’ one cold-hearted son of a bitch. He worked for big names like Vito Genovese and got known for his dead-eyed stare that freaked out even the toughest guys. The guy had a rap sheet longer than your arm—robbery, assault, you name it, he’d done it. He even beat a few murder raps, which only made him more feared.
By the 1940s, Galante was carryin’ out hits for the big shots and was suspected of bein’ involved in over eighty murders. Yeah, you heard right—eighty. He even allegedly took out Carlo Tresca, an anti-fascist newspaper editor, as a favor to Mussolini. They nabbed him for it, but nothin’ stuck. In ’53, Joe Bonanno sent him up to Montreal to run the family’s drug biz, and he made a killin’—literally and figuratively. He was rakin’ in dough from heroin shipments and gamblin’ profits, makin’ himself a fortune. The Canadians couldn’t handle him, so they booted him back to the States.
In the ’50s, Galante was still schemin’ and plottin’. He attended a big mob meeting in Sicily, makin’ deals to bring more dope into the U.S. He brought in these young Sicilians, called Zips, to act as his muscle—guys like Baldassare Amato and Cesare Bonventre. But his luck started turnin’ in ’58 when he got nailed on drug charges and went on the lam. They finally got him in ’59, and after a bunch of mistrials and courtroom antics, he was sentenced to twenty years in the can in ’62.
In ’74, Galante gets paroled, and he ain’t missin’ a beat. He bombs the mausoleum of his enemy, Frank Costello, just to send a message. When Rusty Rastelli, the official boss, goes to prison in ’76, Galante makes his move, takin’ over as the unofficial boss. He starts knockin’ off Gambino family members, tryin’ to corner the drug market, and it pisses off a lotta people.
Fast forward to July 12, 1979. Galante’s at Joe and Mary’s Italian-American Restaurant, 205 Knickerbocker Avenue in Brooklyn, enjoyin’ lunch on the patio with Leonard Coppola and his cousin, Giuseppe Turano. They’re laughin’, eatin’, havin’ a good ol’ time, totally oblivious to what’s comin’. At 2:45 PM, three masked gunmen storm in, guns blazin’. It’s a massacre. Galante, Coppola, and Turano are gunned down in cold blood. And here’s the kicker—a photo catches Galante lyin’ there dead with that damn cigar still in his teeth. The Sicilian bodyguards? They didn’t do squat. They just stood there, watchin’ it all go down, provin’ their loyalty had flipped.
The Commission had had enough of Galante’s power grabs and his stranglehold on the drug trade. They got the green light from the big bosses, includin’ the retired Joe Bonanno. It was a clean sweep, a message to anyone thinkin’ they could outmuscle the Commission. That day at Joe and Mary’s marked the bloody end of Carmine “The Cigar” Galante, a ruthless, feared, and ultimately betrayed mob boss. It was the end of an era, a brutal reminder that in the Mafia, nobody’s untouchable.
