I once worked with a guy who was in a gang in New York City. That part of his life was over when I worked with him, and he said he got in accidentally (He was hanging out with some friends who were in the gang when they were attacked by members of a rival gang. He helped his friends fight the other guys and was automatically in the gang.)
At the same job I went to dumps and scrap yards everyday. I think of those guys were mafia, but I can’t know for sure.
I believe it was more a matter of respect, a “He’s one tough bastard” sort of thing. Ben owned a record store called Caper’s Corner that was Kansas City’s best record store and the best place to get tickets - they sold the most and they got the pick of the tickets, and people would wait for hours in the freezing cold.
One of Ben’s competitors was Tiger’s Records, owned by one Anthony J. “Tiger” Cardarella, last known address - the bullet-riddled trunk of a Cadillac. Tiger sold records that “fell off a truck” and wanted the ticket business. So it may have been that Tiger tried to kill Ben, then once that failed he was no longer allowed by the guys above him.
I miss Capers. They filed everything by first name, so Frank Zappa was in “F”, not “Z”.
I hung out with a group of guys for a while, one of whom had a very recognizable last name. He had a very menacing personality and no one ever argued with him. He had no visible means of support but he always drove late model luxury cars and had plenty of cash. He loved to play pool but only for sizable bets. If he lost, his opponents would laugh it off and refuse his offers to pay up. When he won, people would pay immediately. He was an excellent pool player; I never played him because I couldn’t afford his bets. One day he just disappeared and was never seen again; people said he had “moved up” and that was that. I can’t be certain he was connected but I wouldn’t bet against it. He was a scary guy who would fight anyone over any perceived insult.
Yes. They were the saddest men ever. For the most part, they had expensive (but ugly) cars, bought expensive (but ugly) jewelry for their wives and watches for themselves (to match their tacky as hell track pants and overpriced, ill-fitting suits), had awful relationships with their families when they weren’t estranged (yelled and screamed when they were home, cheated on their wives and most of their wives eventually cheated on them), had gambling problems. Basically they never knew how much money they were going to have or how long they would be around, and neither did their spouses, kids and the rest of their families. One day they would be on a shopping spree, the next they would barely make the rent. That combined with addictive personalities, no foresight and a pretty awful support system makes for a horrible life. And some of them are dead.
All the friggin’ time, as I live very close to Howard Beach (Queens, NY), and dine down there often. I am not friends with any of them, but the place crawls with both mobsters and pretenders.
ETA: I always tell people that the characters they see on The Sopranos are the closest representations to the real guys you will see, including Paulie Walnuts white shoes and all the bad hair and clothes.
Sure, rather than capo di tutti capi he was fruitto di tutti frutti.
What was it some sort of pan-Asian gang?
My maternal great grandfather came to Minnesota from Chicago - according to Mom, he was a low totem pole guy in the Jewish / Yiddish mafia. She vaguely remembers him. She said he drank heavily and always had a stogie plugged in. He refused to allow his daughters (one being my grandmother) to attend school - they were to serve him. Jerk.
My stepgrandmother landed in NYC around 1920. She became close friends with a woman while working as a model. The friend married a connected guy who was asked to leave NYC in the mid 30’s. They decided Alaska was far enough away, but still kept an apartment in NYC. I remember them very well. He would always bring me gold nuggets or jewelry. When I was dithering about where I wanted to go to college, they offered me their apartment in NYC. My parents made me say no thanks, reminding me that strings always are attached. In Alaska, he was a very well respected businessman, but we knew where he came from.
That wasn’t Mob, that was just ordinary unorganized theft and an ask-no-questions scrap metal dealer.
It might speak to the ethics of the scrap metal business, but that’s all it has to do with organized crime.
The hotel I worked at in college hosted wedding receptions from time to time, as hotels are want to do. This was in Joplin, Missouri - quite possibly the blandest white-breadest Midwestern town ever.
Joplin is about 150 miles from Kansas City. Apparently The Mob is (or was at the time) active in KC.
So back to the wedding reception. This reception was opulent. I mean, this hotel was a roadside Holiday Inn, but the banquet hall we rented out that night looked straight out of a European 5-star hotel. Whoever decorated it went nuts.
In attendence were Italians of all ages - little kids on up to old men and women. The adults - men and women alike - were done up in Gucci, Armani, etc. All kinds of jewelry - audacious diamond necklaces, pinky rings on the guys, etc. The whole thing was completely out of character for Joplin. Jersey City or Hoboken, maybe. Joplin, no.
Turns out the bride was a niece of someone in the KC mob.
For some reason, the idea of the Jewish mafia always cracks me up: “Oy, Irvie Two Knishes! Tell the Big Mezuzah that the Sollie the Mohel better get his cut! You want you should wake up with a beef tongue in your bed?”
Purple Gang was Jewish. As, of course, were Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel.