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.
January
January 1, 1959—a day that flipped the script. That punk Castro and his revolution tossed Batista outta Cuba, and with him, our sweet casino racket. The syndicate's plush Havana joints? Gone, seized by Castro’s boys. Big man Meyer Lansky, no time for tears, hops back to Miami, already scheming his next move. The Bahamas? The Caribbean? New playgrounds for the operation, ‘cause this game don’t stop—just changes the rules.
January 2, 1940—Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, the big shot himself, gets slapped with 14 years for movin' the H. Smuggling heroin was his game, but the feds finally caught up with the boss of Murder, Inc. Tough break for Lepke, but in this life, you roll the dice, and sometimes they come up snake eyes.
January 3, 1956—Joe Adonis, the smooth operator, cuts a deal and takes a one-way ticket back to Italy. The heat got too hot, and the bosses figured it was better to pack him off than let Uncle Sam keep diggin’. Adonis didn’t whine—he walked outta here like a gentleman, but you know he left a piece of himself in every racket he touched.
January 4, 1936—Ciro Terranova, the so-called "Artichoke King" and one-time top dog of the Morello crime family, found himself pinched in New York on vagrancy charges. Can you believe that? A guy who once ran the streets like he owned 'em now getting hauled in for loitering like some two-bit hustler. Talk about a fall from grace, huh? The guy used to command respect, but now the bulls are throwing him in the tank for hanging around with no dough. What a way to start the year!
January 8, 1937—Meyer Lansky, the brains behind the big bucks, rolls the dice on a new venture, opening his swanky casino at the Hotel Nacional down in Havana, Cuba. This wasn’t just any joint—it was luxury, class, and a whole lotta green, all wrapped up in tropical flair. Lansky knew the score: sunshine, cigars, and high-stakes action were the perfect cocktail for pulling in the heavy hitters. The guy turned Havana into a gambler’s paradise, proving once again that when it came to making moves, Meyer always played the winning hand.
January 8, 1947—Andy Hintz, a stevedore bigwig and the guy who ran the waterfront hiring racket in New York, gets lit up six times by three trigger-happy goons outside his pad in Greenwich Village. Miraculously, the guy hangs on and spills the beans, naming his would-be undertakers: John "Cockeye" Dunn, Andrew "Squint" Sheridan, and Danny Gentile. But fate ain’t so kind—by January 29, the bullets do their job, and Hintz takes his final bow. The waterfront ain't no place for the faint of heart, that's for sure.
January 9, 1941—District Attorney William O'Dwyer finally decides to start sniffing around for Pietro Panto's body, a search that uncovers the poor sap’s remains by January 29. Pete Mazzie and Alice Maffia tag the corpse on February 6, confirming what everyone already knew: Panto was sleeping with the fishes. Meanwhile, Brooklyn’s walls start shouting what the streets were already whispering—graffiti popping up everywhere asking, “Who paid for Panto’s murder?” A loaded question if there ever was one, and one that had plenty of folks looking over their shoulders.
January 10, 1939—Albert Anastasia and Louis “Lepke” Buchalter weren’t messing around when it came to sniffing out potential rats, and Albert “Plug” Shuman was their first target of the year. They made it a group effort: Seymour Magoon swiped the murder car, Allie Tannenbaum took the wheel, and Knadles Nitzberg played cleanup in the back seat, pulling the trigger on Shuman. When the mob thought you might sing, you didn’t get a second chance to prove them wrong.
January 11, 1943—Carlo Tresca, the rabble-rouser with plenty of enemies, gets taken out on Fifth Avenue in a hit that still has the streets talking. The suspect list reads like a who’s who: Generoso Pope, the future news kingpin, and Frank “Carroll” Garofalo, a Bonanno underboss. But the whispers keep pointing at Luciano soldier Carmine Galante as the trigger man, supposedly doing the dirty work for Vito Genovese. No one’s ever been nailed for the job, but one thing’s for sure—Tresca’s murder wasn’t random. The guy crossed the wrong people, and in this world, that’s a fatal mistake.
January 17, 1899—Alphonse Gabriel Capone, better known to the world as “Scarface” Al Capone, makes his grand entrance into the streets of New York City. Born to a family of Italian immigrants, nobody could’ve guessed this kid would grow up to run Chicago like his personal empire. But even as a baby, you gotta figure he had that spark—that thing that’d make him one of the most infamous gangsters of all time. The Big Apple got the first look, but the Windy City? That’s where Capone’s legend was born.
January 19, 1942—Murder, Inc. made headlines all the way out in Los Angeles as Ben "Bugsy" Siegel and Frankie Carbo went on trial for the hit on Harry Greenberg. Harry’s widow, Ida, painted a picture of the getaway car but played dumb about her husband’s ties to the mob. Allie Tannenbaum spilled that he handed off pistols to Siegel, but his shaky story about the murder didn’t exactly help the prosecution. By February 5, Bugsy walked free, acquitted by the jury, while Carbo wasn’t so lucky—10-2 deadlocked, leaving him lined up for round two in March. Out West or back East, the wheels of gangland justice kept turning.
January 20, 1882—Donato Torro, the guy the underworld would come to know as Johnny Torrio, aka "The Fox," was born in Italy. Slick, smart, and always two steps ahead, Torrio was the brains behind the operation long before the streets heard of Al Capone. A kid from the old country who built an empire, Torrio wasn’t just a gangster—he was a strategist, a mastermind who knew how to play the long game. When it came to organized crime, The Fox wrote the playbook.
January 22, 1893—mark it down, see? That’s the day the world got a little tougher, a little sharper. Francesco Ioele, better known to the streets as Frankie Uale—or for you mugs who knew him best, Frankie Yale—was born over in Italy, where they know how to raise ‘em mean and smart. Brooklyn didn’t stand a chance once he hit the scene.
January 24, 1933—dark day for the Boston rackets, see? Charles "King" Solomon, the big boss of Prohibition bootlegging, gets taken out at the Cotton Club in Southie. The King was top dog in Beantown’s underworld, running liquor like a maestro, but even kings ain’t untouchable.
January 24, 1925—Johnny Torrio, the brains of Chicago’s booze biz, catches hot lead from Hyman Weiss, Bugs Moran, Vincent Drucci, and Frank Gusenberg. The hit didn’t finish him off, but it was enough to make Torrio hang up his hat. He skips town for Italy, leaving the whole empire—booze, rackets, and all—in the hands of a young go-getter named Al Capone. And the rest? That’s gangster history.
January 24, 1940—Harry Rudolph, a career crook with a knack for singing to the law, pens a letter to D.A. O'Dwyer from Riker's Island. This stool pigeon had the goods on Red Alpert’s killers, see? All he wanted was a ticket outta Riker’s and into Brooklyn’s jail, “The Singing School,” where snitches stayed safe. Rudolph spilled it all, naming Abe “Kid Twist” Reles, Buggsy Goldstein, and Dukey Maffetore as the hitters. By February 2, 1940, O'Dwyer slapped the trio with murder indictments. And as for Reles? He was already juggling charges for robbery, assault, dope, burglary, and, well, just being a downright menace.
January 25, 1947—the mighty fall, see? Al Capone, the Big Boss himself, checks out for good. A cerebral hemorrhage did the job, but it was the slow burn of advanced syphilis that really took him down. He spent his last days holed up in his Miami estate, far from the roaring streets he once ruled. Even kings of the underworld ain’t immortal.
January 26, 1961—Charles "Lucky" Luciano, the godfather of modern organized crime, takes his final bow. A heart attack in Naples, Italy, they said, right in the middle of talking business with some Hollywood big shots about a movie on his life. But whispers on the street? They say poison might’ve played a part. Either way, Lucky’s luck finally ran out.
January 26, 1891—Francesco Castiglia, better known as Frank Costello, "The Prime Minister of the Underworld," comes into the world over in Italy. The kid didn’t just grow up; he rose up, running the rackets with brains and charm, turning the streets into his boardroom. A kingpin was born that day, no doubt about it.
January 28, 1970—Angelo "The Gyp" DeCarlo, one of Jersey’s heaviest hitters, finally takes a fall. Convicted on loansharking and extortion, the Gyp swaps his seat at the table for a cell in the joint. Even the toughest in the game can’t dodge the heat forever.
January 28, 1939—Louis Cohen and Isadore Friedman, set to spill the beans on Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, get silenced for good in New York City. They were witnesses ready to testify, but the mob had other plans. When Lepke’s name’s on the line, loose ends don’t stay loose for long.
January 28, 1970—Angelo "The Gyp" DeCarlo, one of Jersey’s heaviest hitters, finally takes a fall. Convicted on loansharking and extortion, the Gyp swaps his seat at the table for a cell in the joint. Even the toughest in the game can’t dodge the heat forever.
January 29, 1941—after weeks of whispers and dead ends, D.A. William O'Dwyer finally digs up Pietro Panto’s corpse. The long-missing dock boss gets unearthed, and the city starts buzzing. By February 6, Pete Mazzie and Alice Maffia ID the remains, while Brooklyn walls scream in graffiti: "Who paid for Panto's murder?" The question hung heavy, but the streets already had their suspicions.
