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.
April
April 1, 1924—Frank Capone, big brother to the infamous Al, goes down in a hailstorm of lead. The Cicero streets ain’t got no mercy, and neither do the coppers when they see a Capone running the show. One minute, he’s calling the shots, the next, he’s bleeding out on the pavement, another casualty in the brutal dance of power.
April 5, 1940—Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, the kingpin of Murder, Inc., gets slapped with 30 years to life for extortion, but the joke’s on him—he’s still gotta finish 14 years for moving dope first. The feds ain’t letting him breathe, stacking sentences like bodies in a back alley. Ain’t no bribing his way out this time—Lepke’s empire is crumbling, and the only thing waiting for him now is cold prison steel.
April 6, 1950: Kansas City, Missouri mob boss Charles Binaggio and his bodyguard, Charles Gargotta, are found shot to death. Binaggio would be succeeded by Anthony Gizzo.
April 7, 1929—New York City welcomes a wild one. Crazy Joey Gallo comes kicking and screaming into the world, destined for the life—guns, power, and chaos in his blood. From the jump, he ain't built for the straight and narrow. One day, the streets will know his name, and one day, they'll paint ‘em red with his blood.
April 7, 1972—Crazy Joe Gallo’s luck runs out at Umberto’s Clam House, Little Italy. One minute, he’s toasting to 43 years, the next, he’s choking on bullets instead of birthday cake. The hitters storm in, guns blazing, and Joe goes down hard, but his bodyguard, Pete the Greek, makes it out breathing. Word on the street says Colombo consigliere Joseph Yacovelli set the whole thing up—payback served cold, Mafia-style.
April 8, 1962—Anthony "Tony Bender" Strollo steps out and vanishes into the night, just like that. A former Maranzano gunman turned Genovese capo, he ran Greenwich Village with an iron fist since '31. But power don’t mean a damn thing when the bosses decide you’re done. No body, no witnesses, no last words—just a quiet exit from a loud life. In this business, when you disappear, you don’t come back.
April 8, 1943—Albert Anastasia’s got himself another son, but don’t go congratulatin’ his wife Elsa, 'cause she ain't the mother. Kid’s name? Jack O’Halloran, born in Philly to Mary O’Halloran, raised by her and some sap named Peter in Jersey. Jack grows up, throws fists in the ring, plays tough guys on screen, writes books, and then—boom—he claims he’s Anastasia’s blood. If that’s true, and Mary didn’t deny it, then back in July ‘42, Albert wasn’t just runnin’ rackets—he was makin’ legacies.
April 10, 1972—Frank Ferriano’s ridin’ near the Holland Tunnel when his number comes up. One minute he’s drivin’, thinkin’ he’s still got time, the next—bang—he’s got lead where his future used to be. New York don’t play, and in this life, when they want you gone, you don’t get a warning.
April 14, 1972—Sam "Mad Sam" DeStefano thought he was untouchable, but even the craziest dogs get put down. Out on bail, back in his garage, and—boom—somebody turns him into a red smear with a shotgun. Chicago justice, no witnesses, no suspects, no tears. The kind of ending a sick bastard like him had comin’.
March 15, 1951—Virginia Hill, the Mob’s redheaded queen, stepped into the national spotlight, taking the stand before the Kefauver Committee on live television. She played it coy, dodging questions with a smirk, but everyone knew the score—she was Bugsy Siegel’s old flame, the woman who carried secrets men would kill for. Senators pressed, cameras rolled, but Hill wasn’t rattled. She knew how to survive in a world of killers, and no committee was gonna change that.
April 15, 1931—Lucky Luciano played his boss like a hand of bad cards, cuttin’ a secret deal with Salvatore Maranzano to whack Joe Masseria and take his empire. But Masseria got wise, sniffed out the betrayal, and tapped Joe Adonis to ice Lucky—only problem was, Adonis flipped the script and tipped Luciano off. So Lucky set the stage, luring Masseria to Nuova Villa Tammaro on Coney Island for a friendly game of cards. One bathroom break later, and the air was thick with gun smoke—Anastasia, Genovese, Adonis, and Bugsy Siegel made sure Masseria never played another hand.
April 15, 1940—The heat came down hard when some yappin’ witness fingered Martin "Buggsy" Goldstein, Seymour Magoon, and Abe "Pretty" Levine as the wiseguys who boosted the getaway car in the George Rudnick hit. One snitch, one bad break, and suddenly these boys had a target on their backs—cops sniffin’ around, lookin’ to put ‘em on ice.
April 16, 1935—Dutch Schultz walks into that Syracuse courtroom like he owns the joint, but by the 29th, the jury's tighter than a drum—mistrial. Bad luck for the Dutchman, 'cause every shark in the city smells blood. Charlie Luciano ain't waiting around for the next trial to stick; he moves in fast, carving up Schultz’s Gotham rackets like a butcher at closing time. And whispering in his ear? That rat Bo Weinberg, flipping sides like a two-bit hustler. In the end, Dutch ain't just fighting the law—he's fighting the knives in the shadows.
April 17, 1959—Vito Genovese, the boss of bosses, gets slapped with a drug rap and the judge don’t blink—15 years up the river. But the Genovese family don’t crumble; it adapts. A power crew steps up—Eboli, Catena, Miranda, Strollo, and Lombardo—running the empire like a shadow government while Vito rots in a cell. The streets don’t wait, the money don’t stop, and the rackets keep rolling, 'cause in this life, the name on the throne don’t matter—only the power behind it.
April 17, 1941—Sidney "Shimmy" Sallas gets his ticket punched, gunned down in the street like yesterday’s trash. Once tight with Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, once in deep with Albert Anastasia, but now? Just another name on a hit list. Maybe he knew too much, maybe he talked too loud, or maybe the life just caught up with him. Either way, the message was clear—loyalty ain’t a bulletproof vest, and in this game, once you’re marked, you’re done.
April 19, 1951—Vincent Mangano vanishes into the night, no body, no trace, just gone like a ghost. His brother Philip ain’t so lucky—found face down, pumped full of lead, a message written in blood. This ain’t a coincidence; this is a coup. The old guard gets buried, and the new order steps in. And who’s at the top when the smoke clears? None other than Albert Anastasia, the Mad Hatter himself. In this world, you don’t retire—you get retired.
April 24, 1965—Owney "The Killer" Madden takes his final breath, not from a bullet, not in a back alley, but in a quiet hospital bed down in Hot Springs. One of the last Prohibition wolves, a bootleg king, a Harlem racketeer, a killer who played it smart enough to die old. The streets he once ruled moved on, the empire faded, but the legend? That don’t die.
April 25, 1939—Murder, Inc. don’t take spring breaks. Harry "Pittsburgh Phil" Strauss gets the call, and Abraham "Whitey" Friedman takes his last breath. Whitey thought he could talk, spill to Dewey’s boys, maybe cut himself a deal. Bad move. Soon as he opens his mouth, Strauss shuts it—for good. One bullet, one less witness, one more reminder that in this business, snitching ain’t a retirement plan.
April 27, 1952—Big night in New England. Over 80 wiseguys show up to toast Raymond L.S. Patriarca, the new boss in town. Word is, it ain't just a party—it’s a coronation. Philip Buccola skipped off to Italy with the tax boys on his tail, and now it’s Raymond’s throne. Drinks flow, cigars burn, and deals get made, 'cause when the boss rises, everybody wants a piece of the future.
April 27, 1940—Brooklyn grand jury drops the hammer on Joe Adonis and Sam Gasberg for kidnapping, assault, and extortion in the '32 Juffe-Wapinsky snatch-up. Wapinsky caught a brutal beating, wound up dead, but the doc blamed his ticker, so no murder rap stuck. Gotham yanks Adonis’s used-car license on May 1, like that’s his biggest problem. Gasberg gets grabbed in L.A. three days later, while Adonis plays ghost. Cops put out an eight-state alert on May 6, but Joey walks in cool as ice on May 9, turns himself over to John Amen. By May 20, he’s out on bail, still breathing, still smiling—like always.
April 27, 1941—Max "Boo Boo" Hoff drops dead in Philly, not from a bullet, not from a beef, but from his own damn heart giving out. The rackets, the booze, the fast living—guess it all caught up to him. No headlines, no shootouts, just the quiet end of a once-big man in the game.
April 28, 1923—James Calabro and Francesco Pellegrino thought they had it all figured out. They set up in a window at Henry and Sackett, waited for the right moment, then lit up Biagio Giordano’s Cadillac. Giordano got it bad—dead on the spot. Albert Anastasia caught lead in the hip, maybe the gut, but he lived. And in this life, if you don’t finish the job, you better start runnin’. Less than 24 hours later, Camorra hitters dropped Pellegrino. Calabro lasted a little longer, but on June 21, 1923, he got his, too. Blood in, blood out.
