My old man got screwed by his Used Car partner right before I was born. He wound up declaring personal bankruptcy after Amos forged his name on a bank loan. Thank goodness my grandfather, my Mom’s dad, found him employment on the docks. Grandpa Phil had at one time been a ‘Doc Boss’ at one of the Brooklyn piers, so he had some juice. Daddy became a Checker, which was because he had some college and excelled over the regular longshoremen. This was the powerful ILA ( International Longshoremen’s Union) so my old man caught a break. My mother stayed home with my older brother and then me, so one paycheck was all they had to support our family.
I can remember, from the age of five, sitting at our kitchen table for dinner, when daddy would turn on the giant radio nearby. He had this notebook and pencil ready to get the National Armstrong Daily thoroughbred race results. We were told to ‘Be still’ as he painstakingly recorded the Win, Place and Show results for the eastern racetracks. Then, we were allowed to continue our dinner table banter. (Years later, when under hypnosis, I discovered that this was where and when I developed my stutter. Having to wait for when I could speak, and I am sure the anger that was coupled with it, may have orchestrated this disorder). The answer to you the reader’s question of all this scenario was that my dad had this part-time job working for Louie the book,maker. Louie was a mob connected guy who lived out on Long Island and was given the 17th Street docks as his Pad or territory by the Profaci Family ( One of the five NYC mobs). My grandfather, who was also a horse player, introduced my dad to Louie. My old man was great with numbers and a total ‘ Neat freak’ so this came easy to him. Part of the job was also to take the action and make the payments to the winners ( usually never his father in law). This brought in enough money to keep our family afloat.
I can recall the time my old man drove us all out to Manhasset, Long Island to visit Louie, who was quite a bit older than my dad, more like an uncle. Louie had this humongous house with a giant swimming pool. His kids were teenagers and my brother and I ( 13 and 10 ) were quite envious of the life they had. One of the purposes of the visit was because Louie was going to retire to Florida and decided to give my old man his pad, no strings attached. He just said my dad earned it for the years he put in with Louie. What could go wrong with that? Of course, we kids didn’t know all this at the time. My mother was privy to it all and she was not very happy with it. She knew, from being a Depression child, that when things look too good to be true they usually are not. The ‘are not’ came about within a few weeks.
Years later I got the whole scoop. One day, while my dad was working in the Receiving office at the pier, two guys pulled up and walked over. It was Joey and Larry Gallo, part of the Profaci crew. Years later, when I read Jimmy Breslin’s great book ‘ The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight’, I found out who those two brothers were: Stone cold killers who many said had murdered gangster Albert Anastasia in 1957 for Profaci. This was early 1960 and the brothers asked to speak to my old man outside the office. Here’s what my dad told me years later: Joey Gallo tells him ” Al, we heard the good news that Louie retired and gave you his pad. Well, we’re here to make sure nobody bothers you Al. ” My old man just said that he would be happy to just give them the pad. He didn’t need it. Joey looked at his brother Larry, laughed and said ” No Al, you deserve the business. We just want to help you that’s all. ” My old man insisted that it was OK for them to have it. ” No Al, just take a night to think it over and we’ll come by tomorrow to work out all the edges, Ok pal?” And they left. My dad was beside himself. This was going to be terrible. He immediately went home and stopped by my grandfather’s. My grandfather then called up his dear friend, who happened to be Profaci’s Capo ( 2nd in command) and filled him in. The very next day, early in the morning, the Gallo brothers show up at the Receiving office and called my dad outside. ” Hey Al, we didn’t know you knew the old man that well. Just forget we were even here. Good luck with things.”
Fast forward to Spring of 1964. My dad was doing well with his bookmaking, which was top heavy in action on Saturdays. My mother started to notice a certain ‘ Click ‘ on our home phone while he was getting his calls from bettors. She told him that it had to be the cops listening in, so he decided to do his work from the candy store around the corner. The candy store had those phone booths that you could sit in and close the door for privacy. One Saturday, late morning, he was on the phone taking a bet when suddenly two plainclothes detectives pushed into the booth. They grabbed him and hustled him out to their vehicle. ( He didn’t tell me this until years later) As they were driving him down Ave U towards the 61st Precinct one of them said ” Al, we got you on tape. How do you want to do this? Do we go to the 61 and book ya, or do we work something out?” My old man then began negotiating with them. First, they wanted $ 1000 each ( Now, this was 1964 don’t forget). He told them there was no way for him to afford that much ( He was actually telling the truth, because his pad wasn’t that lucrative). So, they made a deal for $ 300 each. Now, my old man was thinking that this could be a ‘ Sting operation’ as the media had been hammering home about gambling corruption recently ( Didn’t they always?). So, he asked for one week to raise the cash, but he wanted the ‘transfer’ to be in public. The detectives said no problem, where? My old man said he wanted it done next Saturday at his son’s baseball game at the Parade Grounds field. The following Saturday, at my Pony League game, I saw my old man sitting with these two husky guys in overcoats. He told me afterwards that they were friends of his. ( Years later I laughed when he told me the whole story).
That was the end of my daddy the bookie. He told me years later that once those guys have their hands in your pockets…
PA Farruggio
February 2025