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.
February
February 2, 1940: Abe "Kid Twist" Reles gets nabbed for the rub-out of Red Alpert. The law’s got him cold, and Reles knows he’s not wriggling off the hook this time. So, what does the Kid do? He flips faster than a two-bit hustler in a back-alley card game. He spills the beans on Murder Inc., the infamous gang of hitmen, trading secrets for a shot at staying above ground. Loyalty? Forget about it. When the noose tightens, even the toughest rats start squealing. Kid Twist wasn’t going down alone, and he made sure the whole murderous operation felt the squeeze.
February 2, 1940: Word hits the Brooklyn D.A., O’Dwyer, that Harry Rudolph got a fat $5,000 offer to spring Abe Reles and Buggsy Goldstein, leaving Dukey Maffetore out in the cold. Dukey ain’t no fool—angry and sweating bullets, he flips on February 20, spilling the goods on more syndicate hits and naming Murder Inc.'s top triggermen. Pretty Levine gets chatty too, singing his own tune in custody. Meanwhile, some of the crew—Irving Cohen, Jacob Drucker, Kuppy Migden, and Jack Parisi—figure it’s time to hit the bricks and skip town. The walls were closin’ in, and the game was gettin’ dirty.
February 5, 1942: Murder Inc.'s January fireworks lit up Los Angeles, where Ben “Bugsy” Siegel and Frankie Carbo faced the music for the January 19 rub-out of Harry Greenberg. Ida Greenberg played the clueless widow, ID’ing the getaway car while swearing up and down she didn’t know her husband was mixed up in the rackets. Meanwhile, Allie Tannenbaum confessed to handing off the pistols to Bugsy but admitted he’d fudged his story about the hit in earlier statements. The jury let Bugsy walk on February 5, but they couldn’t agree on Carbo, deadlocking 10-2. Carbo wasn’t off the hook yet, though—round two was set for March 24. The spotlight wasn’t leaving L.A. anytime soon.
February 6, 1897: Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, future kingpin of Murder Inc., entered the world in New York City. Who’d figure this kid from the Lower East Side would grow up to run the nation’s deadliest hit squad? With brains, ambition, and a cold streak a mile wide, Lepke made sure his name would go down in Mob history—and not for playin’ nice.
February 6, 1910: Down in French Tunisia, a baby named Carlos Marcello took his first breath. Who’d guess this “Little Man” would grow up to run the New Orleans Mafia with an iron fist? From small beginnings to big power moves, Marcello’s rise proved size don’t matter when you’ve got brains, guts, and a knack for staying one step ahead of the law.
February 6, 1939: Albert "Umberto" Anastasia wasn’t takin’ no lip from nobody. He sent his boys to Bergen Street to take care of Cesare Lattaro and Antonio Siciliano, who thought they could buck the Mob’s kickbacks in Local 65 of the Hotel Carriers Union. Ex-cabbie Julie Catalano chauffeured, while Frank “The Dasher” Abbandando, Vito Gurino, and Harry “Happy” Maione (rumor says dressed in drag) stormed the joint, gunning down both men—and their poor bulldog for good measure. Their crime? Refusing to whack rebel organizer Calagero Verusso, who was makin’ trouble for Local 65 boss Gesuele Capone. When cops leaned on mobster Felice Esposito for answers, the same hit crew silenced him for good on February 9. No loose ends, no exceptions.
February 6, 1941: Benjamin "Benny the Boss" Tannenbaum, a pal of Louis "Lepke" Buchalter and Jacob "Gurrah" Shapiro, met his end in the most unexpected place—a babysitting gig. While minding a friend's four-month-old, Tannenbaum took two slugs to the chest, silenced for good. His connection to Bronx real estate guy Max Heitner, whom he’d met at a summer resort, didn’t save him. Seymour "Blue Jaw" Magoon, a Murder Inc. hitter, eventually got hauled in for the job. Rumor had it Benny was marked for knowing too much—specifically about Charles "The Bug" Workman’s role in Dutch Schultz’s 1935 hit. With D.A. Thomas E. Dewey gunning for Lepke, they couldn’t risk Benny singin’.
February 6, 1917: John "Sonny" Franzese, Sr., future underboss of the Colombo crime family, was born in Naples, Italy. This tough-as-nails gangster would grow up to become one of the most feared and respected figures in the New York Mob, known for his old-school code of silence and a knack for staying in the game long past his rivals. From Naples to New York, Sonny carved out a legacy that would make any wiseguy proud.
February 7, 1941: Albert "Allie" Tannenbaum, a Murder Inc. hitman turned canary, signed on the dotted line, spilling the beans on one of the Mob’s dirty jobs. In his statement, Tannenbaum fingered Albert Anastasia, James Ferraco, and Mendy Weiss as the triggermen behind the hit on labor leader Pietro "Pete" Panto. Panto had dared to cross the Mob, and now Allie was putting the big names in the frame. When a killer flips, the fallout ain’t small—Anastasia and his crew were feelin’ the heat.
Lemme paint ya a picture, see? It’s 12:30 in the a.m., February 8, 1932. That wild mutt Vincent "Mad Dog" Coll’s holed up in a 23rd Street drugstore, sweatin’ bullets and makin’ threats over the phone. He’s barkin’ at big-shot Owney Madden, demandin’ fifty large or else Madden’s brother-in-law takes a one-way ride to nowhere. Now, how it all shook out ain’t crystal—some say Owney kept him yappin’ long enough to trace the call, others whisper someone ratted. Either way, Coll’s luck ran out. He got mowed down right there in the phone booth, still jabberin’ into the receiver. Fifteen slugs got pulled from his carcass at the morgue—who knows how many zipped clean through? The Bronx was his final stop, laid to rest next to his brother Peter at Saint Raymond’s. And Dutch Schultz? The guy sent a floral wreath with a ribbon that read, “From the boys.” Real classy, huh?
February 9, 1942. The S.S. Normandie, the crown jewel of French luxury liners, sittin’ pretty on the New York City docks, goes up in flames like a cheap cigar in a wiseguy’s hand. This wasn’t just any boat—it was a floating palace, all glitz and glamour, the kind you’d expect a kingpin to sip champagne on. But that day? Fuhgeddaboudit. The fire spread fast, turnin’ the Normandie into a smolderin’ skeleton of what it once was. Some folks call it sabotage, others an accident—truth is, nobody’s talkin’. Either way, she was completely destroyed, goin’ from high-class to ash in a New York minute.
February 10, 1946. The kingpin himself, Charlie "Lucky" Luciano, takes his final stroll on U.S. soil—courtesy of Uncle Sam. They yanked him outta Sing Sing, marched him down to the docks, and put him on the Laura Keene, his one-way ticket outta the country he built his empire in. The next morning, he was deported to Italy, the land of his birth but not his kingdom. Lucky played the game better than anyone, but even he couldn’t outrun the law forever. Still, a guy like Luciano? He wasn’t the type to fade quietly into the background. This was just the start of another chapter.
February 13, 1972. The great Frank Costello, the so-called "Prime Minister of the Underworld," bows out for good, courtesy of a heart attack at a Manhattan hospital. Once the top dog of the Luciano crime family, Costello wasn’t just a mobster—he was a gentleman gangster, playin’ politics and pullin’ strings like a maestro. He lived the high life, rubbin’ elbows with society’s elite while keepin’ the streets in check. But even legends can’t outrun the reaper. Costello went out quiet, no bullets, no blood—just the cold hand of nature takin’ its cut.
February 14, 1929. A day Cupid took a backseat to carnage. In a cold Chicago garage, seven mugs from Bugs Moran’s North Side Gang lined up against the wall, thinkin’ it was business as usual. But instead of a deal, they got a date with destiny. Four hitmen—two dressed like cops—stormed in and opened up with Tommy guns, fillin’ the joint with lead and leavin’ the floor painted red. The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre wasn’t just another gangland hit; it was Al Capone’s bloody Valentine to his rivals, sendin’ a message loud and clear: the South Side ran the show.
February 14, 1936. Exactly seven years to the day after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, "Machine Gun" Jack McGurn, the brains behind the bloodbath, meets his own bloody end in a Milwaukee Avenue bowling alley in Chicago. Once a top trigger man for the Chicago Outfit, McGurn thought he was untouchable, but the streets don’t forget, and payback’s always on the menu. Three hitters cornered him mid-frame, and before he could roll another strike, they sent him to the gutter for good. Poetic justice? Maybe. But in this business, everyone’s number comes up eventually.
February 14, 1969. Vito Genovese, the boss of bosses, takes his final bow, dyin’ of a heart attack in a prison hospital in Springfield, Missouri, while servin’ 15 years for pushin’ dope. From the heights of power to a cold prison cot, Genovese’s fall from grace was the kind of drama only the mob could script. With him outta the picture, the Genovese crime family leadership shuffled faster than a crooked card game. Thomas "Tommy Ryan" Eboli steps in as the new boss—or so it seemed. Word on the street is Eboli was just a front, a smoke screen to keep the heat off Philip "Benny Squint" Lombardo, the real puppet master. In the world of wiseguys, nothin’s ever what it looks like, capisce?
February 19, 1938: Ciro "The Artichoke King" Terranova, once one of the most powerful mobsters in New York, checked out for good after a stroke. Once feared for his stranglehold on the artichoke racket, Ciro’s star had faded in his later years, leaving him a shadow of his former self. The Mob doesn’t do retirement plans, and for Ciro, his stroke marked the final chapter of a life lived large—and dangerous.
February 19, 1942: Murder Inc.’s killers Harry "Happy" Maione and Frank "The Dasher" Abbandando got their final curtain call—courtesy of the electric chair. Convicted the year before, the state of New York made sure these two hitters paid the ultimate price for their bloody careers. Once feared on the streets, Happy and The Dasher didn’t get the last laugh this time. Justice had its day, and for these killers, it was lights out.
ebruary 21, 1910: Camillo "Carmine" Galante, the future terror of the underworld, was born in New York City. This baby would grow into one of the most ruthless bosses the Mob ever saw, running rackets with an iron fist and leaving a trail of fear wherever he went. From the streets of Little Italy to the top of the Bonanno family, Galante’s name became synonymous with power, brutality, and the ultimate price of crossing him.
February 22, 1947: Charles "Lucky" Luciano, the infamous mastermind of the American Mafia, found himself in cuffs in Cuba. The Cuban authorities, bowing to heavy heat from the U.S. government, took down the Mob boss who thought he’d escaped their grasp. Lucky’s Havana hideout turned out to be anything but lucky as Uncle Sam made sure his influence stretched far beyond American shores. The man who built the Commission learned the hard way—nobody’s untouchable forever.
February 24, 1894: Guarino "Willie" Moretti, a future Mob powerhouse, was born in Italy. This sharp operator would later make his mark in the American underworld, climbing the ranks with a mix of charm and muscle. Known for his wit and loose lips, Willie was as much a talker as he was a player—a combination that made him both dangerous and unforgettable in the world of organized crime.
February 26, 1930: Gaetano "Tom" Reina, a power player in the Bronx underworld, met his bloody end that evening. Stepping out of either his mistress Marie Ennis’ apartment or his aunt’s, depending on who you ask, Reina was ambushed and taken out with a double-barreled shotgun blast to the head—dead on the spot. The hitters ditched the weapon under a parked car and vanished into the night. Suspicions pointed at Vito Genovese or Joseph Pinzolo as the brains behind the hit, but no one sang. Cops found a pistol and $804 on Reina’s body, a hefty haul worth over $14,000 today. His murder lit the fuse on the Castellammarese War, pitting Joe Masseria against Salvatore Maranzano in a brutal fight for control of the Mafia’s future.
February 26, 1959: Abner "Abe" Zwillman, the "Al Capone of New Jersey," was found hanging from a plastic clothesline in his home, the official word calling it suicide. Facing a federal squeeze over tax evasion and his coin-operated machine racket, Zwillman was under intense pressure. But not everyone bought the story. Bruises on his wrists suggested he’d been tied up before the hanging, sparking whispers that this was no self-inflicted end. Rumors pointed to Vito Genovese as the man who gave the nod, silencing Zwillman before he could talk or push back. In the mob world, even kings of the racket aren’t safe when the winds shift.
February 28, 1906. New York City welcomes a baby who’d grow up to be one of the most infamous gangsters of all time—Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel. From a street punk runnin’ rackets to a flashy Vegas visionary, Bugsy wasn’t just another trigger-happy hood—he had style, brains, and a temper that could turn deadly in a heartbeat. A founding father of the Mafia’s modern operations, he helped build the empire, but like any high roller, he played too fast and loose. His story? A mix of ambition, betrayal, and a whole lotta bullets. But on this day, he was just another kid in the Big Apple, destined for the history books.
