I went to middle school in the far northern NYC suburbs with a kid of Italian heritage; he was a member of Future Business Leaders of America and claimed to have “connections”. No idea if he was really connected or just being teenaged boy, of course.
I can remember my Siclian uncle putting me on his knee when was about 4 years old and told me there were a few things in life I needed to know
One of those was that you should always keep your nose clean and your mouth shut.
I grew up in a mob area. Restaurants burning down was fairly common. One restaurant was called The Embers, never was there a more appropriate name for a restaurant. One woman complained in the paper about how she lost her restaurant because she refused to pay the protection fee. After it burned down for the third time she couldn’t get insurance anymore.
When our ‘downtown’ area was being modernized, instead of being torn down it was blown up. It was cheaper that way.
I dated a guy who I was never too sure about. He had an awful lot of money for a guy his age, nice car, his own apartment. There was a way he carried himself and the few times I met his co-workers they gave him a lot of respect even though he was considerably younger than they were.
I was living in the city at the time and once I complained about the drug dealers in my block. They were keeping me awake at night making their deals. Suddenly there were no more dealers on my block.
My son’s father vetoed our first choice of name because my son would have shared the name of a mob boss (now deceased) related to my ex’s family. He said the name wouldn’t have gone over very well in the family because they were trying to distance themselves from the boss. So we went with the second choice.
I don’t have a story about the Italian mob, but as a child, my stepfather was an errand boy for the Hungarian mafia. He’s told stories of doing small “jobs” such as breaking windows and getting information about people’s whereabouts.
When I was young and just starting out in the manufacturing business I spent 30 years at, I was in charge of inventory. There was this sales guy named Larry (ItalianLastName) who was involved in the Midwest beef industry and he was always pushing us to buy more livers and spleens for use in our pet food flavors.
My boss, an owner of the company, said that Larry was the “real deal”, a real Mafia guy. I thought, yeah right, the mafia guy who sells beef liver.
Larry had a condo out here on the west coast and liked to go salmon fishing. One day my boss said that Larry needed someone to go fishing with him and my boss was busy and told me I was going. Ok.
So we went out on the river in Larry’s boat to go salmon fishing. Just me, Larry, and the most stereotypical mafia-type goon I had ever seen. Big guy, quiet, yes, no, always deferring to Larry for a clue as to what to say. We had a chat, did some fishing, and all the time Mr. Goon is hanging around in the background, assisting Larry when asked but otherwise just hanging out not saying 10 words the whole afternoon. I kept waiting for the big question, whatever that was going to be, but it never came.
Much relieved and a bit nervous, I was later put ashore with the nice salmon I caught and that was it. So what the fuck was that all about? I don’t know. I think Larry was a real mafia connected guy who just wanted a fishing partner that day. But it was damn weird.
Many years later, like 25 years, I met my current wife who was a waitress at the place Larry hung out when he was out west. I happened to mention Larry’s name one day and told her of the fishing trip, not knowing that she knew him too, and she said, "Oh, yeah, he was the “real deal!”
Ooo, I just remembered one more anedote, this time from my youth in Canada.
I was an Air Cadet with an Italian kid who came from a rich family. We became close friends, and we used to hang out at each other’s houses. I remember him telling me one time about how careful he had to be at his “uncle’s” house (I don’t know if this is an actual biological uncle), because his uncle had revolvers stashed nearly everywhere. My friend accidentally found one in a set of Snap-On tool drawers, in a corner table for a phone, in the cutlery drawer, etc. Apparently due to the uncle’s line of work, he never wanted to be more than a few paces from a gun.
You can see them on Starz! The Capones (TV Series 2014– ) - IMDb
Actually, the restaurant is in Lombard, on St Charles Road. The Eggplant Parmesan is supposed to be okay and the portions were huge, but nobody would share with me, saving their leftovers for breakfast and maybe lunch.
I’ve had too many low-level criminal enterprise associates as customers in my business as a spiritual advisor to make a count. I’ve never been impressed by the brain power of the average foot soldiers. Some of the men above them (and they are always men with the Italians) seem rather intelligent to the extent that I wonder why they didn’t go into legitimate, legal professions.
Eh, skip it and go to Punky’s 1/2 block south.
Punky’s has changed. Used to be they wouldn’t allow anybody in who was under 25, a move I applauded. A nice, smoky, old fart bar with Old Style on tap and the Cubs on TV. But the village got on him so he and some customers got it chartered as a Moose lodge. Private clubs get to make their own rules. But it looks like some of the Meese started to do community service shit and split off and Punky’s is now a faux Irish Pub. Haven’t been in it for 30 years, myself.
I grew up in Rhode Island and my grandfather was a mobster.
I don’t know if he was “made” or if that was even relevant at the time…but I doubt have any doubts about it.
He once approached my father (who didn’t want that lifestyle) and asked if he’d like to make 5k a month to let some “friends” use our house out in the country for Sunday morning every week. We weren’t allowed to ask questions about what happened, there would just be an envelope on the table once a month. We declined.
My uncle kept an alligator as a pet in the basement of the antique store that my grandfather ran.
When my grandfather died I was still pretty young, but I remember an enormous amount of black cars showing up for the funeral, and some very, very important people showing up.
I don’t think I can say too much more without making it obvious who I am, but my grandfather’s specialty was embezzlement through gold.
One time my grandmother was being stalked by a creepy formerly convicted rapist. My grandfather caught him creeping around one day and splashed something at the car, inches from his face. It was acid. He told the guy next time it would be his face and that was the last he saw of him.
To the Rhode Islanders in this thread (I didn’t know we had so many!). Remember how crazy Centerdale could be? Or Federal Hill - geeze! But D’patrones had some Spinach Pie.
OH! I’m remembering more! One night my uncle picked me up and drove me to Providence. We showed up at a closed restaurant. I asked him why we were going and he said it wasn’t closed for him and his friends. We went in to a raucous party with some people I honestly didn’t believe were truly connected (politicians). I had the BEST calamari of my life that night and I still try to find a place that will make it the same.
I’m in DC. There’s no such thing as The Mafia here. We have an entirely different kind of organized crime; we call it “Congress.”
I doubt there is anyone in Springfield associated in any way with the Mob. We have low-level street gangs to handle our organized crime.
You can probably count on two hands and two feet the number of Italian-American families living in this town; I imagine that they’re hard-working, honest families, just like most everyone else in this town.
FUNNY STORY: Back in like 1995, I was working at the Holiday Inn in Joplin, Missouri. At the time, Joplin was a backwater little city of about 45,000 people, as white-bread as can be. Kansas City is about 150 miles north (this will become important later in the story).
So one night I’m at work and our banquet rooms are rented out for a wedding. I found an excuse to sneak into the banquet area, and let me tell you: “opulent” doesn’t even begin to describe it. You would have had no idea that you were at the Holiday Inn in Joplin! The people coming in and out of the hotel that night did not look like the type of people who frequented Joplin chain motels. Big hair, big rings (on women AND men), rolling up in Mercedes’. It was a sight.
I learned later that the bride was a niece of some mid-level guy in the KC Mob.
Mrs. Homie has asked me to add that she believes that, here in Springfield, there are likely Chicago Mob people hanging out in the halls of state government, making sure the politicians they’ve bought are doing their bidding. I, for one, doubt it, but there it is.
Sad news today from Federal Hill, the Blue Grotto just closed.
My known mobsters are all from Lincoln, when they sub-urbanized and established a small colony just over the North Providence line over by the race track, now casino.
Here in Austin, Texas, I’ve never heard of any Mafia/Cosa Nostra activities. If they’ve got dealings here, they’ve kept everything remarkably quiet.
As for my old neighborhood in Queens, NY… well, Astoria wasn’t a Mob stronghoold, and I never heard of any blatant Mob activities. BUT there were certain businesses that were mob-run that almost all the honest local entrepeneurs had to deal with. A Jewish shopkeeper on Steinway Street probably HAD to deal with Mob-controlled garbage collection companies, for instance.
And the owner of my favorite local pizza joint turned out to be a VERY bad guy with heavy mob ties.
Great anecdotes and stories! Thank you all, I find all this fascinating and entertaining. Please keep 'em coming.
I worked with a woman who had the same last name as a very famous crime family. I mentioned it once and said that, yeah their her relatives and saw them at extended family events.
I used to work at an Italian restaurant in Pittsburgh that was rumored to be a mafia front. Seemed like people were scared to even say hello to the owner. He took a liking to me, though, and used to sit with me and fold napkins and say things like “You’re a nice girl. You’ll meet a nice boy.” I didn’t work there long because I just wasn’t making enough money.
Only in my imagination -
I grew up in a very small mid-west farm community, everyone was pasty white corn-fed tow-heads. Around my freshman year in high-school, an Italian family moved into town. Dark skin, black hair, uncountable number of kids, lots of big boys. They seemed to have some money from somewhere (more than usual for our community), when you asked the kids at school, “What does your dad do?”, you never got a good answer, “He work! What’s it to you?” So, our small town snarky conclusion - witness protection program! 
We were on a two-week cruise a few years ago, with a cabin on the elite deck. The huge “master’s suite” and two of the smaller cabins like ours were filled with a Cubano family, from Grandpa down to the young couple with a baby, and a couple of unrelated hard cases. Maybe they were just successful Cadillac dealers from Miami, but they absolutely radiated every cliche and mark of a family well connected to the families. A bit frighteningly, they decided they liked me… I would have my drink replenished while I sat reading on the exclusive sundeck, and the waiter would waive off a signature - “It’s taken care of.” And there would be Junior across the pool from me, little exchange of friendly waves. I don’t think I exchanged a hundred words or five minutes of direct conversation; I was just “liked” a lot.
The capper came when we ended up at adjacent tables in the teppan restaurant. They sent over a round of drinks for our table (five of us and three others - you know how teppan works). Then, at the end, I discovered it was my birthday… they had told the restaurant manager such, and so everyone in the seating got the chocolate lava cake. What the hell could I say? I had two birthdays that year.