https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2017-11-22/how-a-changing-landscape-brought-down-the-mafia-in-brooklyn

Anthony Dominick Benedetto was born on August 3, 1926, in Long Island City, Queens, deep in the heart of New York City’s working-class Italian soul. His father, John Benedetto, a grocer from Calabria, carried the old country in his bones. His mother, Anna Suraci, a seamstress born in America, stitched together the dream of two worlds. From an early age, Anthony was captivated by music, Sinatra, Perry Como, Joe Venuti, Russ Columbo, men whose voices sounded like home, like survival, like something bigger than the block. At just 13 years old, he was already singing for money, performing as a singing waiter in Italian restaurants across Queens. The subtle art of singing for men who tipped big, asked no questions, and expected respect. Then came World War II. In November 1944, Benedetto was drafted into the United States Army. But he wasn’t just another uniform. He was sent straight into the heart of combat. What he saw, and did, left marks. He fought on the front lines, and by his own account, killed many. He returned home in 1946, discharged but changed forever.

Tony Bennett didn’t need to be a made man. He was respected like one. Tony Bennett’s rise wasn’t just shaped by talent, it was engineered in the underworld, behind closed doors and beneath chandeliers that never stopped swinging. According to Tony Tamburello, Bennett’s longtime vocal coach and confidant, the man who helped launch Bennett’s early career wasn’t an agent, or a record executive, it was Lou Capone, a name that carried fear far beyond the stage lights. No relation to Al Capone. Also couldn’t be Louis Capone. This “Lou Capone” character is shrouded in mystery. But whoever he was, he wasn’t grooming singers for the fun of it. He was investing in a voice that could bring profit. And Bennett, young and a throat lined in gold, was the perfect vessel. In the world Bennett came from, you didn’t get a break without someone making a call. And the man who made that call? Had blood on his hands and stars in his eyes. In late 1948, as New York’s music scene pulsed with ambition and danger, Tony Bennett found himself standing at a familiar crossroads, the kind where talent alone wasn’t enough. That’s when fate introduced him to Ray Muscarella, the manager of Vic Damone and a man with serious weight behind him. Muscarella is the father of current high ranking Genovese family member Ernie Muscarella. Muscarella wasn’t just connected, he was deeply tied to Genovese Crime Family captain Antonio “Buckalo” Ferro, a feared and respected name on the street. Ferro was a captain in the family’s Harlem faction, and he backed Muscarella’s ventures with cash, protection, and authority. When Muscarella heard Bennett sing, he knew he’d found gold. But even gold needs muscle to shine. So he took Tony under his wing, became his manager, and secured financial support directly from Buckalo Ferro. That money didn’t just fund a singer, it launched a star. Three years later, in 1951, Tony Bennett broke through the ceiling with his first major hit: “Because of You.” It wasn’t just a song. It was a statement, from the street, to the world. A reminder that behind every great voice in that era was someone who knew where the bodies were buried… and someone who paid to keep them there. Tony sang. Buckalo backed. “Tony wasn’t cut out for the Mafia,” said Bobby Margillo, a childhood friend who knew him before the spotlight and the suits. “He was brought up to be responsible and shy.” In a world where so many boys from Queens were pulled into the life, Tony Bennett stayed just outside the circle, close enough to be protected, admired, even bankrolled… but far enough to never be owned. The wedding of Bill Bonanno, son of the infamous Joseph “Joe Bananas” Bonanno, to Rosalie Profaci, niece of Colombo Family founder Joseph Profaci, on August 18, 1956, was more than a wedding. It was a Mafia coronation, a ceremonial merger of two criminal dynasties. 3,000 guests packed the venue, a roster pulled straight from the FBI’s most wanted boards: bosses, underbosses, capos and soldiers from New York, Sicily, Havana, Montreal, and beyond. It was an international summit of Cosa Nostra, disguised as a family affair. But even among the diamond-studded mob wives, the men in silk suits, and the hundreds of black Cadillacs parked out front, one name stole the night: Tony Bennett. The legendary crooner took the stage and, under chandeliers lit by blood money, belted out hit after hit, his voice crooning to a crowd that had ordered hits, built empires, and ruled cities. The wiseguys adored him. Their wives swooned. And for a few brief hours, Tony Bennett became the voice of the underworld’s royal court. The wedding was a spectacle But the show belonged to Bennett.

In the late 1960s, as the weight of fame pressed heavier and the shadows grew long behind the spotlight, Tony Bennett made a move that few dared attempt, he tried to sever his ties with La Cosa Nostra. Bennett made a reported payment of $600,000 to none other than Carlo Gambino, the capo di tutti capi, a man whose nod could end lives. It was a quiet offering, handed over not out of fear, but out of fatigue, sort of a way of saying: “Thank you. But I’m done.” It was a payment for peace, not protection. A final act of respect to the men who helped him climb, who cleared the path, opened the doors, and made sure the checks cleared and the crowds stayed polite. Tony Bennett’s entanglement with the underworld didn’t end with money or goodwill, in fact, it nearly ended with his life. In 1979, while performing a residency at the Sahara Hotel in Las Vegas, Bennett found himself spiraling. He was recently separated from his wife, addicted to cocaine, plagued by depression, and battling suicidal thoughts. The crowds still cheered, but behind the curtain, Tony was unraveling. And then he made a fatal mistake, he allegedly got involved with the girlfriend of Tony “The Ant” Spilotro, a man whose reputation needed no exaggeration. Spilotro was a high-ranking enforcer in the Chicago Outfit. With many murders under his belt and dozens more rumored, he was a killer of killers, a man sent to Vegas to keep it in line. The confrontation came fast. In a rage, Spilotro reportedly struck Bennett over the head with a book, hard enough to knock him unconscious. The message was clear: stay away, or don’t wake up next time. What happened next isn’t in any police report, but the rules of Cosa Nostra never leave room for chaos, especially not involving made men and high-profile voices. A sit-down was likely held, brokered by a high ranking Outfit member, Spilotro himself, and Tony Bennett. But an agreement was likely made, respect restored, boundaries drawn, and debts, if any, settled. Shortly after the incident, Bennett overdosed on cocaine. Whether it was a cry for help, a moment of collapse, or a final brush with death, he was rushed into rehab. It was a turning point.

In a rare and telling moment, Tony Bennett was photographed alongside Angelo Bufalino, a soldier in the Bufalino Crime Family and cousin to the elusive boss, Russell Bufalino. The photo wasn’t taken backstage or after a show, it was snapped at Russell Bufalino’s private Christmas party, an invitation-only affair where every guest list was cleared with whispers and where every handshake carried weight. Bennett wasn’t just an entertainer that night, he was a guest among royalty. Bufalino’s crew didn’t host parties for attention. They hosted them to remind people who mattered, and Tony’s presence in that room said everything without saying a word. In the 1960s, Tony Bennett was photographed with British mob boss Ronald “Ronnie” Kray, one half of the infamous Kray twins, who ruled London’s East End with suits, smiles, and sheer violence. The photo, grainy and electric, captures two sharply dressed men, one a legend of song, the other a legend of fear. The exact backstory of the photograph is lost to time, but those who know the way the world worked don’t need details to connect the dots. It’s believed Bennett was performing at a London nightclub owned or operated by the Krays, likely one of their Soho haunts where entertainers were booked as much for protection as they were for performance. Ronnie Kray wasn’t just a gangster. He was a celebrity criminal, obsessed with showbiz, and known to collect performers the way others collected watches. And Bennett, smooth, charming, American, was the kind of presence Ronnie craved near his table. Tony never played the criminal. But everywhere he went, the criminals played his records.

In another rare but telling photograph, Tony Bennett is seen seated beside Frank “Punchy” Illiano, a feared and respected caporegime in the Genovese Crime Family. The image captures them mid-evening, sharing a table, a bottle of wine, and the kind of silence that only exists among men who understand the weight of the world they move through. Illiano, known on the street as “Punchy” for a reason, had once been a Brooklyn enforcer under the Gallo crew before shifting allegiance to the Genovese regime. He wasn’t a nightclub regular for the atmosphere, he was there to be seen by those who needed to remember who really owned the room. As for Bennett, his presence at the table wasn’t random. In that era, entertainers didn’t just mingle with wiseguys, they were summoned. Protected, patronized, and in many cases, expected to show face at the right table, at the right hour.

One of the most iconic moments in Italian-American cinema comes in the opening sequence of Martin Scorsese’s 1990 mob masterpiece Goodfellas. The screen fades in, and we hear Ray Liotta’s immortal words: “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.” And then, Tony Bennett’s “Rags to Riches” explodes onto the soundtrack, bold, brassy, defiant. It’s more than a song. It’s a declaration. A blood oath in musical form, ushering the audience straight into a world of power, pride, and violence. But not everyone saw it that way. Tony Bennett himself later expressed discomfort with the use of his song in the film, stating he didn’t like how it reinforced stereotypes of Italian-Americans as mobsters. To Bennett, the music stood for aspiration, not bloodshed. Yet to the audience, it became an anthem, a voice that forever bridged the space between art and underworld myth. His cinematic legacy didn’t end there. In 1999’s Analyze This, starring Robert De Niro as a tortured mob boss and Billy Crystal as his reluctant therapist, Bennett’s music once again takes center stage. Crystal’s character openly declares Tony Bennett as his favorite singer, and Bennett’s voice threads through the film’s soundtrack, adding elegance and irony in equal measure. Then, in the film’s final scene, Tony Bennett himself appears in a cameo, performing “I’ve Got the World on a String”, the perfect closing note to a mob comedy rooted in therapy and tradition. His music was even featured in The Sopranos, the defining mob epic of the modern era, further cementing his place in the mythology of Mafia media. He was also mentioned in The Godfather Part III when Michael Corleone, played by Al Pacino, says to Johnny Fontaine, played by Al Martino, “I’m gonna go to the kitchen and listen to some Tony Bennett records.” Artie Nigro wasn’t just a made man, he was a street boss, one-third of the ruling panel of the Genovese Crime Family, and by the early 2000s, one of the most quietly powerful men in the New York underworld. He operated with the cold efficiency of a boardroom chairman, but he never forgot a slight. In 2003, Nigro had plans to attend a Tony Bennett concert with Frank Dadabo, a Bronx-based cement union official and longtime friend. They were close. Trusted each other. Sat at the same tables at Rao’s, passed the same envelopes. But when the night came, Nigro went without him, using the tickets but lying about it afterward. Maybe it was personal. Maybe it was business. But Dadabo took it as an insult, and in a world ruled by ego and code, he responded with silence. He stopped answering calls. Cut Nigro out of union dealings. Ghosted him. That was enough. To most, it might’ve been a misunderstanding. But to a boss like Nigro, it was disrespect, and disrespect demands correction. He put out the order. From the Genovese crew in Springfield, Massachusetts, Anthony Arillotta was tapped to handle it. With him were brothers Freddy and Ty Geas, two of the most feared enforcers in the region. They found Dadabo, and they shot him. But he survived. Still, the message was clear. Dadabo got the point. He stepped down from the union and disappeared from the inner circle. All over a night with Tony Bennett.

Tony went on to continue in the music industry until he retired in 2021 at the age of 95 and died in 2023 at the age of 96.

I’m trying to track down a supposedly rare book from the 1970s about the East Harlem Purple Gang. I’ve heard it pops up online sometimes priced at $200 or more, but I can’t seem to find a concrete title or author — just scattered mentions and old newspaper/magazine articles from the late ’70s. Hoping maybe to keep the name in my pocket and stumble across it sometime.

Does anyone know the actual name of this book (if it exists), or is it more likely people are just reselling vintage clippings/magazine features (like the 1979 New York Magazine “.22 Caliber Killings” article)?

Any leads, library tips, or even personal copies out there? Thanks in advance!

 I was reading Rifleman by Howie Carr, the book on Steve Flemmi which is essentially a bunch of FBI files on Flemmi...At one point in this book it alleges that there is a high ranking RI mobster who is an informant and was for many years but stopped cooperating at some point...From what I remember; there was strong reason to believe this was Louis Manocchio

Ok I found the relevant quote '1. Flemmi stated that he had nothing to do with SALEMME’s arrest in New York (12/14/72). FLEMMI said that SALEMME had been liv¬ ing in an apartment in an upscale area on Park Avenue when the pair split up. FLEMMI speculated that Rhode Island LCN member Louis “Baby Shanks” MANOCCHIO had been the individual who gave up the information that led to SALEMMEs arrest. MANOCCHIO had been stay¬ ing with SALEMME at his New York apartment and is redacted (possibly an informant) . FLEMMI recalled that in the early 1990 MANOCCHIO would often tell SALEMME that FLEMMI “was no good,” and to stay away from him. FLEMMI assumed MANOCCHIO had been told by his redacted (possibly handlers) that he was an informant. FLEMMI asked his FBI handler John CONNOLLY about his arrest of SALEMME, and was told that it was the result of an accidental meeting as reported in newspaper accounts of the event. FLEMMI also added that in around 1990 or 1991, he directly asked CONNOLLY about redacted (possibly Manocchio)

After speaking with FBI agent Nick “Doc” GIANTURCO about the matter, CONNOLLY advised FLEMMI to “stay away from MANOCCHIO.” FLEMMI knew that this was a signal from CONNOLLY that MANOCCHICO was redacted (possibly an informant)'

Is it normal for a FBI agent like Connolly to tell Flemmi to stay away from certain mobsters? although all these guys like Flemmi, salemme and maybe Manocchio could have been ratting on each other at various times over the years. There seemed to be a ton of that in New England. How much time did Baby Shanks do over the years? I don't know, I know he caught that case when he was in his 80s. For all we know he could have been dropping info back in the 70s or 80s. Maybe he had a guardian angel watching out for him when he was on the lam like Flemmi did. Don't forget Harry the Hunchback Riccobene in Philadelphia had his RICO case and his murder case when he was an old geezer and it never came out that he had snitched years earlier.

(Tarrytown Daily News)

I've been tinkering with this specific iteration for about a month, but the overall game system is something I've been developing for about 3 years. It's meant to be ridiculously-simple in terms of game mechanics, character creation, and overall play, not to mention supplies since it's based on rolls of six or fewer 6-sided dice at a time. It can be staged in any era, for any type of organized crime, based on whatever the Players agree upon with "The Man Upstairs" (i.e., the DM). You wanna be Tong in the late 1800s? Mafia in the 1920s? Westies in the '70s? Russians taking over Brighton Beach in the '90s? Any or everything in between, or any other kind of mobster in history? Go for it!

I only really know him from the Irishman and snippets of what I remember people on the internet saying about him.

Obviously, he was a mob boss - so he wasn't a good guy.

But it sounds like in his interactions with others, he was polite, well mannered, even-tempered, good company and a generally likable (good)fella.

I posted that video of Bensonhurst. I thought it was interesting and it also gives an idea about how active the mob was back then.

I worked in the NYPD back in the 80's. A good friend (co-worker) had grown up on Bath Ave, right in the middle of the area. His mother still lived there. He knew and was friendly with all the local players.

One night, five of us were working plainclothes in another area. My friend says, "Hey, my mother bought pastries and she's gonna leave a pot of coffee for us. We'll stop over during the night".

So, about 3:00 am, we drive over to his mother's house. We get out and he's opening his mother's door with the four of us standing around him. All of a sudden a car pulls up and three guys jump out calling, "Hey John! Johnny! You okay?! What's going on? You need help?!" He says to them, "No, no, it's okay, these guys work with me". They get back in their car and leave.

That's what people mean when they say those neighborhoods were safer back then. There was always a lot of eyes looking out.

The public library in my city has a bookstore where they sell books that they don’t want anymore. I found this while browsing the shelves. Looked it up on eBay & the cheapest one listed is $45.

Watched this movie Prime Cut, premise being Irish mobsters from Chicago having to do something in American heartland. It's got Lee Marvin & Gene Hackman, so if you're fans of theirs, you'll like it.

But it's got me thinking that every time I've seen the Irish on screen, they're always portrayed as a lot looser, arguably more laid-back than their Italian counterparts, without necessarily being much less influential or competent than them. Sometimes, like in this movie, they're portrayed as being straight peers to the LCN - great suits, so on. They seem to usually be shown as much more "working class" than the LCN, though. The Departed, Killing Them Softly, The Friends of Eddie Coyle...

So how's/'d all that compare to reality?

Who exactly is sabotaging his YouTube channel as claimed in his most recent video about Philly mob?

Look at what you made me do.