"What makes these guys become mobsters?" Part I

by Dennis Griffin

I write books about organized crime. Invariably, when I give a talk one of the questions from the audience is, "What makes these guys become mobsters?" I don't have a "one size fits all" answer. But there is a rather common scenario I've come across over the years that may explain why at least some young men turn to a life of crime. And I think the case of Andrew DiDonato is a good example.

Andrew was influenced by his environment and neighborhood wiseguys as a young boy, and took to thievery before reaching his teens. In 1980 the teenager became an associate of the Gambino crime family and lived "the life" until he flipped and became a government witness in 1997.

In 2010, I agreed to write Andrew's biography titled Surviving The Mob. I believe by sharing some of Andrew's story here, readers may come away with a better understanding of the circumstances that contribute to the making of a criminal.

Learning the Trade

In 1980, Andrew DiDonato was living with his mother and step-father on East 55th Street in Brooklyn. At that time the minimum wage in the United States was $3.10 per hour. Assuming a 14 or 15-year-old boy like Andrew could get a job flipping burgers 20 hours a week after school, he’d gross $62 for his labor. Although Andrew worked when he wasn’t in school, he didn’t toil in a hamburger stand or anything similar. He did his work on the streets; and made substantially more than a minimum wage worker. In fact, his weekly income was sometimes in the neighborhood of $1,400 cash. How did a kid his age generate that kind of money? As Andrew explains, it took hard work and nerve.
“I had two main sources of making money in those days. I stole and sold parts like wheels, tires and radios, from expensive cars. And I shook down the kids selling marijuana in the neighborhood. I told them they’d either pay me a couple hundred bucks a week or I’d break their head.”

But Andrew knew that if you wanted to be respected on the sidewalks of Brooklyn you couldn’t just talk the talk. Out there actions truly spoke louder than words; and verbal threats alone weren’t enough to prove you were a person to be reckoned with. That was a lesson of the streets Andrew learned early. And he learned it well.

“My family was Mob-connected. My uncle Paddy Macchiarole was a capo in the Genovese family. I was twelve when he was murdered in a Mob hit. A few months later his son Johnny Boy was also murdered. The killings of my uncle and cousin devastated my family. It was the first taste of the reality of how brutal that life can be. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, it was a lesson that ultimately saved my life many years later.”

Andrew’s own capacity for violence became obvious as he advanced his extortion plans.

“When I started shaking down the drug dealers I began with an act of violence, like a severe beating or a few shots with a baseball bat. I let them know there was worse to come if my demands weren’t met.”

Andrew wasn’t a physically imposing figure. He stood three inches or so under six feet and weighed around 160 pounds. He was thin and athletic. Some of the dealers he wanted to move in on were bigger than he was. And some were as tough, or maybe even tougher. But that didn’t deter him. To overcome deficiencies in size or strength he used the element of surprise to get the upper hand on his victim.

“I’d sneak up behind the guy and whack him with a ball bat. When he went down I’d hit him again to make my point. They knew then I had something most of them didn’t. I had the balls to do whatever it took to impose my will. So it really didn’t matter if they were bigger than me. They knew if they fucked around with me I’d get 'em with my fists, or a bat, or a tire iron. And they’d never even know it was coming. They were afraid of me, and that’s the way I wanted it.”

Did Andrew ever feel guilty about the beatings he administered?

“You gotta remember I knew most of these dealers from school or the neighborhood. Some of them I didn’t like and enjoyed beating them up. But I wasn’t just a bully. I was liked in the neighborhood and gave respect to those who deserved it. This was business though, and I had to rough up the ones I liked too. I was making a statement that if you were in the drug game I wasn’t playing favorites.”

Andrew’s tactics worked. In addition to the dealers falling into line, word circulated that there was a new kid out there who needed to be taken seriously. In fairly short order he had most of the young drug dealers in Bergen Beach paying him a street tax.

Extorting drug dealers was primarily a one-man operation for Andrew. But when stealing car parts he often worked with other neighborhood youths.

“Some of the kids I stole with were already associated with organized crime crews. And several more of us got involved later. I made many good friends back then and I thought we’d be friends for life. But shit happens, and in some cases it didn’t work out that way. And some of those I was closest with died before their time.”

In those early days Andrew and his buddies weren’t proficient at stealing whole cars. Instead they robbed parts such as radios, tires and wheels from expensive vehicles that could be sold for good money.

“Mercedes Benz used Becker digital radios. They were a hot item. We’d smash in a window, rip out the radio and run. My next door neighbor Rocco Corozzo [nephew of Gambino capo and Andrew’s future boss Nicholas Corozzo] had a buyer for the radios. The guy would take all we could get him and pay us between a hundred fifty and two hundred a set. We didn’t have a steady buyer for the tires and wheels, so it took a little more time to move the stuff.

“We were having fun and the guys in the street crews left us alone. We were just kids and they didn’t make us kick anything in to them. Whatever we made was ours. It was all coming in and nothing had to be paid out.”

But even criminals like Andrew can experience economic tough times. In the case of him and his friends, youth, inexperience and greed were contributing factors, as well as unanticipated business interruptions.

“Sometimes when we had a lot of money in our pockets we’d get a little lazy. We’d stop stealing for a while and blow what we had buying stuff and partying. We were young and weren’t thinking about saving or retirement. When we realized we were almost out of cash we’d get off our asses and go back to work.

“I even screwed myself by taking so much from the dealers I was shaking down that I put some of them out of business. By the time they made their payment to me and bought product they weren’t making enough profit to stay in business. When one of 'em went away it might be a few weeks before someone stepped in to take his place and I could get to the new guy to explain the cost of doing business.

“And then there were supply interruptions sometimes. When the dealers didn’t have anything to sell they weren’t making any money and they weren’t paying me. Depending on the reason for the interruption it could last days or weeks. That meant I had to steal more to get through the dry times.

“But I learned a lot and knew I needed to make some changes. I had to work smarter and expand my criminal activities to make more money. Instead of shaking down the dealers for money I’d start shaking them down for product and set up my own network of dealers. And instead of just stealing parts off a car I’d take the whole thing. I wanted to get into the chop shop business and start making some real money.”

Dennis Griffin is a True Crime Author, Co-Host of Crime Wire and We Know a Guy on the Inside Lenz Network.  He has written several books concentrating on the history of the mob presence in Las Vegas. www.dennisngriffin.com

  

Target: Sammy Gravano

By Dennis Griffin

Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano was a criminal for most of his life. He was a tough guy who used violence and intimidation to impose his will on others. In 1976, he became a member of the Gambino crime family, eventually becoming underboss to John Gotti. In the world of organized crime, Gravano was a very dangerous and powerful man. Although law enforcement and his colleagues and associates knew about him, he was able to ply his trade for many years and remain virtually unknown to the general public.

All that changed in 1991 when Gravano burst on the national scene by doing the unthinkable. He flipped and became a government witness against Gotti. Prior to that, federal prosecutors had suffered a series of courtroom losses at the hands of Gotti’s attorneys, earning the flamboyant boss the nickname “Teflon Don.” But in 1992, Gravano’s testimony was instrumental in Gotti’s racketeering conviction, which resulted in a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole. Thanks in large part to Sammy Gravano, Gotti’s Teflon had turned to Velcro.

 As part of his deal with the government Gravano admitted to myriad criminal activities, including taking part in 19 murders. However, his value to prosecutors as a witness against Gotti was such that he received a token sentence of five years in prison and admittance into the federal Witness Protection Program.

Gravano’s defection was viewed in different ways by the public. To those to whom Gotti had become a kind of cult hero over the years, Gravano was the ultimate rat; a traitorous cur to be held in total contempt. Others thought he was as bad as Gotti and that the government had erred in giving the admitted killer the deal of the century. And some considered him a hero for having the guts to help rid society of the likes of John Gotti.

Gravano’s organized crime associates also had mixed opinions. Some disliked Gotti because he disregarded Mafia protocol when he orchestrated the 1985 murder of then Gambino boss Paul Castellano, without getting permission from the Commission. Others became disenchanted with Gotti and his apparent infatuation with the media. The Mafia was, after all, a secret society. Being in the public eye was not good for secrecy or for business. They shed no tears upon Gotti’s departure.

However, most felt that overall, the Gravano situation was an embarrassment to organized crime in general and to the Gambinos in particular. In addition to that prevalent feeling on the part of the rank and file, there were other Gottis still in positions of power within the family. Gotti’s son, John Gotti Jr., his brother Peter, and other relatives undoubtedly harbored ill will toward Gravano. It seemed a no-brainer that at some point there would be an attempt at retribution. The question was when it would happen.

Gravano received an early release from prison and went back into the community as a member of the Witness Protection Program, making him a difficult target for his adversaries. But in 1995, he voluntarily left the Program. During a TV interview following his release Gravano made this bold announcement:

"They send a hit team down, I'll kill them. They better not miss, because even if they get me, there will still be a lot of body bags going back to New York. I'm not afraid. I don't have it in me. I'm too detached maybe. If it happens, fuck it. A bullet in the head is pretty quick. You go like that! It's better than cancer. I'm not meeting you in Montana on some fuckin' farm. I'm not sitting here like some jerk-off with a phony beard. I'll tell you something else: I'm a fuckin' pro. If someone comes to my house, I got a few little surprises for them. Even if they win, there might be surprises."

Gravano’s bravado aside, now that he was on the loose and out from under the government’s veil of protection, if his enemies could locate him he’d be vulnerable. For Sammy Gravano, the clock was ticking.

Getting Started

In 1999, the Gambinos were ready to make their move. Peter Gotti had a coded conversation with his incarcerated brother John at the federal prison in Marion, Illinois. That discussion concerned an article in a Phoenix, Arizona newspaper that stated Gravano was living in the Phoenix area and was running a construction company. It was known that Gravano’s wife Debbie, who claimed she had left him, and children were in the Phoenix area. But was Sammy really there too?

After the prison meeting, Peter Gotti ordered former Gravano crew member Thomas "Huck" Carbonaro to head a two-man reconnaissance team to Phoenix. To accompany him, Carbonaro selected Gambino associate, electronics expert and bank robber, Sal "Fat Sal" Mangiavillano, who at times tipped the scales at around 400 pounds.

Huck Carbonaro was never much of an earner for the family. He’d taken over Gravano's loansharking book, estimated to be worth more than $2 million, after Gravano flipped. But after a while most of the customers refused to pay back a "rat's money" and the cash flow dried up.

However, according to federal prosecutors, what Carbonaro was good at was killing. In addition, he’d been part of Gravano’s crew and knew the man and his habits well. And as a bonus, his wife continued to have telephone contact with Gravano’s wife, providing the potential to gather valuable intelligence. For those reasons Carbonaro was a logical choice for such an important assignment.

In what would later prove to be an ironic twist, the feds alleged that while travelling cross-country, Carbonaro confided to Mangiavillano that of the many people he’d killed, the only murder he regretted was that of his good friend Nicholas “Nicky Cowboy” Mormando, who was slain on Gravano's orders for violating the family’s policy of not dealing drugs. But later on, Gravano changed his position on the issue of distributing drugs and became a drug trafficker himself.

Fat Sal’s reputation was the opposite of Carbonaro’s. He wasn’t known as a killer. His reputation in the criminal underworld was as a highly skilled thief, who led a crew of Mob associates that specialized in bank burglaries, bank robberies, and auto theft. He was a master of electronic gadgetry and a valuable earner for the family.

Sal was also known for his resourcefulness. He’d committed more than 30 bank burglaries from Brooklyn to South Carolina, usually by angling a homemade gaff and three-pronged spears into night deposit boxes to pluck out the loot. During one Queens, New York, heist he rigged a remote controlled drill to cut through concrete and steel. His organized crime pals dubbed his capers "Fat Sallie Productions."

After an 18-month prison stretch in the mid-1990s for bank burglary, during which his weight dropped to a svelte 225 pounds, Sal was deported to Argentina, where his parents were living when he was born. From Argentina he traveled to his parents’ birthplace in Sicily. After that he went on to visit friends in Montreal, Canada, and then to Toronto. However, he longed to get back into the United States, and slipped into the country by riding a Jet Ski across the Niagara River.

Once again in Brooklyn in late 1999, the 35-year-old Mangiavillano reunited with his wife and three young children. He also put the word out to his criminal associates that he was back and available for work. It was important for guys like Sal to let their presence be known quickly. If they didn’t, upon discovery their friends might think they’d kept silent because they were cooperating with the law or had become weak, making them untrustworthy or unreliable. Such impressions could affect their ability to earn, and even be hazardous to their health.

Huck Carbonaro was among those who heard of Sal’s return. Carbonaro had gone on scores with Sal in the past. His nephew, Tommy Dono, was a member of Sal’s bank burglary crew. And several years earlier when Sal heard that a family associate from another crew was making Carbonaro’s excessive weight the butt of his jokes, Sal and three of his friends went to the bar where the offender hung out. The joint was full of the guy’s friends. Sal and one of his buddies dragged the man outside and beat him mercilessly. One of Sal’s other two friends stationed himself at the bar’s door to block the victim’s pals from intervening. The other sat in their car with gun in hand, prepared to shoot if the bar patrons got out the door and tried to interfere with Sal’s administration of justice. Later, when Carbonaro asked Sal the motive for the beating, he said it was because the victim had been making fun of Carbonaro. Sal’s action placed him in high esteem in Carbonaro’s eyes. 

Shortly after Sal announced his return, Carbonaro received his marching orders regarding Gravano. Although Sal had never committed murder for the family before, Carbonaro knew he was willing to commit violence. And he liked the way Sal handled himself, his abilities with electronics and gadgets, and his talent for overcoming obstacles. Equally important, he trusted him.

Confident that Sal had what it took to be a valuable partner in the assassination plot, he invited him along. He then explained the potential rewards. If they were successful, Carbonaro would be promoted to captain. Fat Sal would have made his bones and become a made man—a full member of the Gambino family.

To many up and coming mobsters, getting made was a giant step up the career ladder. But not to Sal. Over the years he’d done quite well for himself as an associate. To him, being a made man would subject him to much tighter control by the family. He’d have to live by another standard of Mafia rules. That would change his lifestyle in a way he wasn’t excited about. But Sal felt that once asked, he couldn’t say no. In the Mob, refusing Carbonaro’s request for help might have cost him his own life.

So in late December, the pair headed for Phoenix.  Their assignment: Locate and assassinate Sammy Gravano, the super-rat.

Next: The Mission – Part I

Dennis Griffin is the author of several mob related books, as well as a co-host on the popular radio show, Crime Wire.