Original publication of the article in June 1992 Esquire. All Access allows you to read each and every Esquire article ever published.
There’s a wonderful symmetry to the Gambino crime family. This is evident from the two photos of former family bosses in the album.
The first, which dates back to 1957, finds Albert “the Mad Hatter” Anastasia, his face still swathed in post-shave hot towels, permanently relaxed in a barbershop due to multiple bullet holes that were arranged by the family’s new patriarch, Carlo Gambino, who went on to enjoy a twenty-year reign.
The second, of more recent vintage, has Gambino’s brother-in-law Paul Castellano, anointed by Carlo on his deathbed to succeed him, stretched out on a sidewalk in front of a Manhattan steak house, also due to multiple bullet holes, orchestrated in this instance by yet another new Gambino family boss, John Gotti.
Paul Castellano’s corpse, New York.
It’s ironic that each time Gotti appeared at the Ravenite Social Club in Little Italy on Mulberry Street, it felt like Anastasia was in charge. Anastasia had earned early renown as a grim reaper for the old Murder Inc., and Gotti achieved immediate recognition as a comer for dispatching an obviously certifiably committable kidnapper who picked a Gambino blood relative (for God’s sake!) For ransom. The fact that they both lost a lot of money betting on horse races and other sports did nothing to change their attitudes. “With Albert,” Joe Valachi once told me, “it was always kill, kill, kill.”
And John Gotti’s favored response, upon learning of an underling’s transgression, either real or imagined, was “whack him.” Gotti, it appears, was especially paranoiac about rats within the ranks. But as we know, it was Gotti’s most trusted sidekick, Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano, who did him in by turning government witness. Sammy Gravano may have not enjoyed the prospect of sharing life behind bars with Gotti. However, many wiseguys remained dumbfounded. But the why is simple. Sammy made the best deal in history. Last time you heard a witness walk off the stand after admitting to 19 murders, it was Sammy. Sammy’s leverage was that the Feds, having twice before suffered Gotti thumbing his nose at them on the network news after failed prosecutions, would now do anything to nail down a conviction. So Sammy not only won’t have to worry about serving much time, but he gets to keep all his considerable cash, however ill-gotten.
As befitted the nation’s star hood, Gotti’s trial was like a rock concert. The order was maintained by retired deputized cops with walkie talkies. The general admission tickets were to be purchased in advance. It was necessary for even reporters to queue up in order to get a seat. Daily, half-dozen satellite vans carried out TV transmissions. The artists in the court were told not to draw the faces of the jurors. Mickey Rourke, Anthony Quinn and other actors visited Gotti to send their best wishes. It was Gotti himself who was the big attraction. His likeness graced national magazine covers with breathless accounts of his double breasted sartorial glory, handcrafted shoe, and diamond pinky-ring. (We were informed, during the trial that he disliked the color, green.) When Sammy the Bull took his oath, there was even more excitement. In March, at around 2:40 A.M. people started lining up to the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse. Reportage focused on the eye contact that occurred between them. According to the paper, you could read yes, no, or maybe. I personally thought that maybe…once.
Gotti attends the funeral of Anthony J., his bodyguard. (Shorty) Mascuzzlo, June, 1988. Sammy Gravano the Bull is on the right.
It was funny that, right in the middle, a racketeering court trial in Manhattan was also taking place across the East River. The case involved members of the Gambino clan, but it would have had a much greater impact on Cosa Nostra than five John Gottis.
This courtroom was as dull and boring as a mausoleum during a quiet day. The courtroom was virtually empty except for the judge and jury. Prosecutors and defense lawyers and their clients were also present. No one was able to exchange any heated words. The quaint names were not heard. The secret recordings that were presented in court did not contain a single hint of violence or anyone being threatened with a beating.
John Gotti, on the other hand, was imprisoned from the time of his arrest (for fear jurors might be terrified at the prospect of seeing him out and about while deciding his fate), but the main defendants were escorted to court each day in sober grey suits by chauffeured cars. No criminal records were available for them. Thomas Gambino was one of them, as well as Joseph Gambino. Joe attended New York University and Tommy graduated from Manhattan College, unlike Gotti. Gotti never made it past eighth grade. Both had the deceptively mild-mannered way of their late father, Carlo, who in his latter days enjoyed nothing more than a bedtime snack of warm milk and graham crackers as he presided over what had become the country’s biggest crime family.
The charges brought by District Attorney Robert Morgenthau against the brothers Gambino were that they, along with another Cosa Nostra outfit, the Lucchese family, had a choke hold on New York’s multi-million-dollar Garment District. Morgenthau had another novel idea. He not only desired to convict Tommy and Joe but to drive the mob out of the industry, “so we wouldn’t just end up with another Tommy.”
Gotti is seen arriving at lower Manhattan courtroom in April 1986.
The Garment District was left to the sons of Old Carlo. The Gambinos literally liked to keep things as much as possible in the family; Carlo’s wife was also his first cousin, and Tommy’s own wife, Phyllis, was the daughter of the late Thomas “Threefinger Brown” Lucchese. Tommy Gambino was the dominating player at the time of the indictment. He lived in a duplex penthouse just off Fifth Avenue and owned a Long Island Beach House. His personal worth was $100 million.
Who has contributed most to the fortune of this company? Well, mostly you and me, that’s who.
Gambinos, their close associates and the Gambinos received at least $3.50 for every $100 that we spent, on clothing or sportwear, with names like Ralph Lauren, Liz Claiborne or Ralph Lauren. Trembling manufacturers simply passed on this “cost of doing business” to the consumer.
The Gambinos, along with some members of the Lucchese Family, divided up all trucking within the Garment District and controlled it. Any one garment moves several times during the manufacturing process—from a fabric warehouse to the cutter, then the sewer, and onto where buttons, zippers, and so forth are added on. Nothing moved except for a Gambino truck or Lucchese. Tommy Gambino’s principal firm was called Consolidated Carriers. Consolidated Carriers made $22,000,000 in a period of three years beginning 1988. Tommy and Joe each received a salary of $1.8 million per year. They also contributed $2.8M more with their 30 percent share of net profit.
Paul Castellano at the US Federal Courthouse Manhattan in February 1985.
Naturally, Tommy’s uncle Paul Castellano, as the family boss, got his end—about $2 million a year. Tommy, in fact, was headed to his steakhouse the evening Castellano died. Once Gotti was satisfied that Tommy had no intention of challenging him or seeking revenge (too dumb, Tommy wasn’t), he replaced Castellano with the unrivaled golden gosling. Tommy brought the money to the Ravenite Social Club on Wednesdays and gave it to Sammy the Bull.
D. A. Morgenthau’s chief of investigations, Mike Cherkasky, started things off by purchasing Chrystie Fashions, a dress manufacturer on the verge of bankruptcy. The installation of taps and buggings was done.
Cherkasky discovered how the Garment District was full of free enterprise. After getting quotes from Consolidated for hauling, he decided to try AAA Delivery, a Lucchese firm.
“Say, where’d you say you’re located?”
“Chrystie Street.”
“Uh, we don’t do no pickups there. Call Consolidated.”
Anthony Quinn, an actor, talking with reporters at the Manhattan trial of John Gotti Jr. in March 1992.
The Gambino lawyers sounded like they could be stand-up comedians in their opening remarks to the jury. “The prosecution would love to have visions of gangsters dancing in your head and have you hear the theme from The Godfather . . . Thomas Gambino and Joseph Gambino have built up their company the old-fashioned manner. . . . Yes, Tommy is a friend of John Gotti’s, and they dined together and socialized just like any other friends would do. . . . You won’t find any baseball bats and broken bones in this case.”
It was true, at least for the last part. The most threatening statement taped came from a pair of rather large Consolidated “salesmen” telling a cloak-and-suiter, “We’re from Tommy Gambino. You’re in Tommy’s building. You know who Tommy is?” According to Cherkasky, it was left to others in the industry to pass along certain verities: “You don’t go along, they’ll bust you up good.”
Morgenthau and Cherkasky were counting on Tommy’s fervent wish not to trade his penthouse for the slammer. It was midway through the case on Sunday that the break occurred. Cherkasky was coaching the soccer team that his daughter, aged 11, was on in Connecticut. The beeper of his car rang. Eliot Spitzer was the prosecution prosecutor. “They want to make a deal,” Spitzer said.
Initial offer included a fine of $5 million and no prison time, allowing Gambinos the opportunity to continue in their trucking business.
The only punishment they received was not jail. The fine was $12 million—everything Consolidated Carriers had in its accounts. Gambinos, Lucchese and other interests in the New York metro area had to leave the business of garment trucking. The majority of the 12 million dollars would go to finance an extra staff for compliance monitoring. Violations will result in future jail sentences.
Tommy Gambino, of course, never would have dared copping a plea if John Gotti hadn’t been on trial himself for thirteen counts of murder and racketeering. Gotti learned about it in court when his lawyer gave him a copy of a press release revealing Tommy’s deal. He twitched his face, crumpled up the newspaper in his hand and then hurled it away. He could not do anything else. Tommy had made a big bet that Gotti was soon to be permanently out of the picture, a winner as it turned out—and, all things considered, a small but still satisfying payback for the whacking out of Uncle Paul.