Elliston had its own Teflon Don – Angelo P _____, a man who was no where
near as dapper or elusive as the much more famous John Gotti, the boss of the
New York Gambino crime family, but impressive nonetheless in a small town in the
Northeast.
Angelo owned the gravel quarry, the trucking company which had contracts with
every town from Francis to Bellingham, and the cement mixers which poured
concrete for sidewalks as far south as New Haven. Other than a buying a new
Cadillac every year and wearing handmade suits crafted by a Mulberry Street
Italian tailor, Angelo lived modestly. He built a brick split-level on Adams
Street, and although it was far too Mediterranean-looking for the West End, it
was far less obvious than it could have been.
At his wife’s insistence Angelo commissioned a replica of the Rizzoli Palace
in Sorrento, but realized when he saw the architect’s rendering (below) and
realized that it would be too unlike the simple white frame colonial houses in
the neighborhood, he demurred, offered his wife an even bigger winter residence
in Bay Biscayne, and stuck with an American classic.
Everyone in Elliston knew Angelo’s real business, and that the gravel and
cement companies were alleged fronts for extortion, money laundering, and wire
fraud, but he was such a conscientious member of the community that they turned
a blind eye. He knew his place and never made a ruckus like other Italians and
Jews who had been blackballed at the Green Acres Country Club. He gave to the
Annual Fund at St. Mary’s, supported the Boys and Girls Club, and contributed to
the Democratic Party; but always kept his donations within the limits of social
propriety. The town’s old guard was as flinty as they come, and Angelo, while
far more generous, kept his largesse within range.
He played golf with Father Mullins at the public course and although he knew
the Archbishop, he kept the friendship quiet and low-key. He was careful to meet
the city’s union bosses in New Bradford where in one of the largest Italian
communities in the Northeast, they would barely be noticed. He loved Jai Alai
and the dog track, vacationed on the Jersey Shore in the summer, and sent his
children to public school; but all in all he was a remarkably well-integrated
first generation Italian.
He was serious when he told his wife that he would go legit before he was 70
and turn over the family business to others. He spent as much time running his
successful above-board enterprises as he did leaning on the unions, making
backroom deals with the aldermen at city hall, and negotiating productive truces
with his competitors in in Bridgeport and Providence.
Angelo kept his feet in both worlds but for him like every other immigrant
before and after, he wanted acceptance, legitimacy, and a piece of the American
pie. He understood that when his father arrived from Sorrento in 1890, paths to
traditional success were blocked. Luigi never looked down on his brothers who
never managed more than menial factory jobs, but knew that he wanted more. Not
a barber, cook, or truck driver; but the owner of a chain of barber shops,
restaurants, and trucking firms. The way up for Italians was not paved with
bank loans, advanced degrees, or family privilege but muscle, balls, and
hustle.
Luigi knew about the Mafia in Sorrento. Everyone did. It was ubiquitous,
powerful, and had been solidly entrenched in Southern Italy for decades if not
centuries. The Mezzogiorno was always so poor and underdeveloped that La Cosa
Nostra had an easy time acquiring and keeping power. Stories of the internecine
battles between branches of the Giotto, Mirabella, and Palumbo Families were
legion; but these were more the classic blood feuds of the South than any
high-octane wars over wealth and profitability. The Mafia was as traditional,
old-fashioned, and backward as the region itself.
When he arrived in America and saw how the dons of Mulberry Street, Brooklyn,
and Queens ran large, highly profitable businesses, controlled the operations of
dockworkers, truckers, and police; and bought off judges, aldermen, and state
representatives, Luigi was impressed. “America”, he told his young son. “Land of
opportunity”.
Neither Luigi nor his son Angelo years later ever resented the prejudice and
hostility of the majority community. They knew that America was such a big
country full of potential and possibility for all, that all one had to do was to
figure out how take advantage of it. They believed that the ends justified the
means, and that America would eventually be better off through their enterprise,
however distasteful it might seem to others. Their stay on the margins of
society would only be temporary; and within a generation, their offspring would
be golfing at Green Acres and summering on the Vineyard.
Luigi left New York for New Haven, thanks to a patron from his home town who
said that the opportunities for a smart young man would be better there, and
worked his way through the ranks of the G____Family. Like all ambitious young
men at that time, he did his share of beatings and ‘disappearances’; and he had
his own Family-sanctioned business on the side.
A lot of Italian families in North Haven bought cars they couldn’t afford and
contracted Angelo to dump them in New Haven Harbor so they could collect the
insurance. It was easy money for Angelo and his partners. The gates to the
harbor were rarely locked, a few bucks to the night watchman gained them access
to deep water Pier 40, and when the barnacled bumpers of dumped Buicks on the
top of the underwater pile started to show they moved to Pier 41. No one
cared. The piers were abandoned and awaiting repairs which would never come;
the insurance companies had made plenty in premiums so looked the other way; and
the police had other fish to fry.
When Angelo was 31, the boss of the G____family asked him to take over
operations in Elliston. Over the years he acquired the gravel and cement mixer
business, maintained a steady cash flow of protection money and government
kickbacks, and thanks to a natural accounting ability, kept his expenses to a
minimum. What with his legitimated and family businesses, he became a wealthy
man.
Angelo was one of the most patriotic Americans in Elliston if not the
state. He voted faithfully in every local, state, and federal election. He
championed every principle the Founding Fathers had ever espoused; and was
deeply committed to family and community values. Whereas other first generation
immigrants turned their backs on newcomers, he was never hostile to the many
Puerto Ricans and Dominicans who had come to Central Connecticut. He was never
hesitant to employ them as laborers, and offered opportunities to the most
responsible. By the 80s it was as likely to find a Jose behind the wheel of a
cement mixer as a Guido.
“Let ‘em in”, he told his son who, as Angelo had predicted, had become an IT
entrepreneur in Boston and indeed summered on Nantucket and played golf with
investment bankers. As a matter of fact Angelo saw no difference at all between
their bare-knuckled tactics of intimidation, legal shenanigans, and muscle and
his. His ambition, drive, determination, and willingness to do whatever was
necessary was as American as apple pie. So what if a few bodies ended up in the
East River?
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
From Goomba To Nantucket In Short Measure–An American Success Story
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