Crime

Who’s Behind the Mafia in Dallas?

In 1957, 65 top Mafia bosses were arrested in Apalachin, New York. Among them was Dallasite Joe Civello.

On a chilly, windy November 14 in 1957, a mysterious motorcade of Cadillacs and Lincolns snaked through the sleepy upstate New York village of Apalachin. Those who heard or saw the strange procession of limousines that day had to wonder where they came from and where they were going: No funeral or parade was scheduled for that Thursday morning; and the dead of November was hardly tourist season in rural New York.

As it would turn out, the visitors were tourists – of a kind. Behind the tinted windows of those black and white limos sat some 100 of the highest ranking bosses in the infamous Italian criminal network, La Cosa Nostra. The hoodlums’ destination was the $100,000, 18-room English Tudor estate of Frank Barbara, a ranking lieutenant in one of the Cosa Nostra’s dozen major families. They had not come to socialize.

The purpose of this, the largest known convocation of underworld chieftains in American criminal history, was business – serious business. Specifically, the mob leaders had come to soothe the inter-family hostilities stirred by the recent gangland-style execution of New York mobster Albert Anastasia. Anastasia’s bloody demise at the hands of a rival family – the latest in a long succession of intra-Cosa Nostra slayings and counter-slayings – had threatened the organization’s cohesiveness as never before. Family had turned against family, boss against boss; the most efficient and secretive criminal organization in the history of the nation had been reduced to petty bickering, power politicking and constant threats of reprisal.

The unlikely convention had been summoned by Vito Genovese, the powerful New York family head who had ordered Anastasia’s death. Genovese recognized that some handshaking and backslapping were needed in the wake of this latest assassination. He also recognized that such a gathering could be persuaded to anoint him capo di capi, “boss of the bosses” of the Mafia – a position he had coveted for years. Though many of the bosses resented Genovese’s bloody style of power politicking and constant threats of reprisal.

The unlikely convention had been summoned by Vito Genovese, the powerful New York family head who had ordered Anastasia’s death. Genovese recognized that some handshaking and backslapping were needed in the wake of this latest assassination. He also recognized that such a gathering could be persuaded to anoint him capo di capi, “boss of the bosses” of the Mafia – a position he had coveted for years. Though many of the bosses resented Genovese’s bloody style of power politics, they did respect and fear him. That, coupled with the state of confusion the organization found itself in, had made the New York capo’s ascension to the throne inevitable.

The mobsters gathered on the sprawling back porch of Barbara’s estate, sipping drinks, trading amenities and soaking up the brisk country air. Business this day would come later, after they had dined on the sumptuous steak dinner Barbara had planned for them. They could not have guessed that they would never get to their second round of drinks, let alone dinner.

For even as the Mafia heads were chatpolitics, they did respect and fear him. That, coupled with the state of confusion the organization found itself in, had made the New York capo’s ascension to the throne inevitable.

The mobsters gathered on the sprawling back porch of Barbara’s estate, sipping drinks, trading amenities and soaking up the brisk country air. Business this day would come later, after they had dined on the sumptuous steak dinner Barbara had planned for them. They could not have guessed that they would never get to their second round of drinks, let alone dinner.

For even as the Mafia heads were chatting amiably on Barbara’s patio. New York State Trooper Edgar Crosswell was directing a phalanx of officers toward the Barbara mansion. Crosswell had noticed the strange parade of limos meandering through town earlier, and by noon, had traced them to the Barbara estate. With a cadre of 24 troopers, the enterprising young officer had carefully planned a four-sided ambush on the mobsters.

The hoods never knew what hit them. As Crosswell and his men charged the gathering from all sides, some dozen of the gangsters broke for the thick woods surrounding the estate; others jumped in their cars and tried to run roadblocks Cross-well had placed about the estate; still others simply stood paralyzed by the sneak attack. When the air had cleared. Cross-ting amiably on Barbara’s patio. New York State Trooper Edgar Crosswell was directing a phalanx of officers toward the Barbara mansion. Crosswell had noticed the strange parade of limos meandering through town earlier, and by noon, had traced them to the Barbara estate. With a cadre of 24 troopers, the enterprising young officer had carefully planned a four-sided ambush on the mobsters.

The hoods never knew what hit them. As Crosswell and his men charged the gathering from all sides, some dozen of the gangsters broke for the thick woods surrounding the estate; others jumped in their cars and tried to run roadblocks Cross-well had placed about the estate; still others simply stood paralyzed by the sneak attack. When the air had cleared. Cross-well and his men had rounded up some 65 of the crooks. When each had been printed and made at State Police Barracks in nearby Vestal, the officer realized he had stumbled into a Who’s Who of the American Cosa Nostra.

Included in the bunch were representatives of each of the organization’s 25 to 30 families. The arrest blotter was laced with big names like Genovese, De Simone of Los Angeles, Colletti of Colorado, Traf-ficante of Florida, Profaci, Scalish and Ida of New York and Bonnano of Arizona. As Crosswell and his superiors gasped their way through the astounding list of well and his men had rounded up some 65 of the crooks. When each had been printed and made at State Police Barracks in nearby Vestal, the officer realized he had stumbled into a Who’s Who of the American Cosa Nostra.

Included in the bunch were representatives of each of the organization’s 25 to 30 families. The arrest blotter was laced with big names like Genovese, De Simone of Los Angeles, Colletti of Colorado, Traf-ficante of Florida, Profaci, Scalish and Ida of New York and Bonnano of Arizona. As Crosswell and his superiors gasped their way through the astounding list of arrestees that afternoon, they probably didn’t notice another, more obscure name: one Joseph Francis Civello, 55, who listed his address as 5311 Denton Drive, Dallas, Texas.

Virtually all of the convictions on obstruction of justice arising out of the Apa-lachin bust were eventually reversed; Crosswell and his men, while rightfully suspicious that none of the mobsters would admit why they were in Apalachin that day, simply could not prove that any criminal violation had taken place. Still, the incident was something of a shock to a nation that had heard rumors and speculation about this secret criminal network for years, but had never witnessed its scope in such a tangible way. For the first time, the Cosa Nostra was real – a fact which would be reaffirmed with brutal frankness the next year when Mafia operative Joe Valachi went public with the who, what, why and where of the organization in his famous Valachi Papers.

For Dallas, the Apalachin affair was its arrestees that afternoon, they probably didn’t notice another, more obscure name: one Joseph Francis Civello, 55, who listed his address as 5311 Denton Drive, Dallas, Texas.

Virtually all of the convictions on obstruction of justice arising out of the Apa-lachin bust were eventually reversed; Crosswell and his men, while rightfully suspicious that none of the mobsters would admit why they were in Apalachin that day, simply could not prove that any criminal violation had taken place. Still, the incident was something of a shock to a nation that had heard rumors and speculation about this secret criminal network for years, but had never witnessed its scope in such a tangible way. For the first time, the Cosa Nostra was real – a fact which would be reaffirmed with brutal frankness the next year when Mafia operative Joe Valachi went public with the who, what, why and where of the organization in his famous Valachi Papers.

For Dallas, the Apalachin affair was its own kind of shock: After all, here was a young, vigorous city that prided itself on its safe streets and clean City Hall. But there was certainly no denying that one of its residents had turned up at the largest gathering of the Mafia in history.

Dallasite Joe Civello’s presence at Apalachin in 1957 would turn out to be less significant than the absence of another key underworld figure: New Orleans Mafia boss Carlos Marcello. Marcello, one of the most powerful and sophisticated mob bosses in the nation, had wisely stayed away from Apalachin; strapped with a 1953 deportation order and other legal troubles, the 47-year-old Sicilian feared such a foray from his Louisiana fortress would overexpose him to federal authorities. In the aftermath of Apalachin, it would become at least probable that Civello had attended as Marcello’s surrogate. This suggested that the 55-year-old imported foods grocer was not only a member of the mob, but a member of some rank. And it suggested one more possibility, one which Dallas law enforcement officers had only guessed at before: that Dallas was an operating outpost for the varied illicit interests of the Marcello mob.

Further probing into Civello’s past tended own kind of shock: After all, here was a young, vigorous city that prided itself on its safe streets and clean City Hall. But there was certainly no denying that one of its residents had turned up at the largest gathering of the Mafia in history.

Dallasite Joe Civello’s presence at Apalachin in 1957 would turn out to be less significant than the absence of another key underworld figure: New Orleans Mafia boss Carlos Marcello. Marcello, one of the most powerful and sophisticated mob bosses in the nation, had wisely stayed away from Apalachin; strapped with a 1953 deportation order and other legal troubles, the 47-year-old Sicilian feared such a foray from his Louisiana fortress would overexpose him to federal authorities. In the aftermath of Apalachin, it would become at least probable that Civello had attended as Marcello’s surrogate. This suggested that the 55-year-old imported foods grocer was not only a member of the mob, but a member of some rank. And it suggested one more possibility, one which Dallas law enforcement officers had only guessed at before: that Dallas was an operating outpost for the varied illicit interests of the Marcello mob.

Further probing into Civello’s past tended to confirm the theory: Though Civello had not been in trouble with the law since 1937, his rap sheet was more than that of the average street thug. In 1937, he had been arrested along with 10 others in connection with the Louis “Daddy” Ginsberg narcotics smuggling ring, reputed to be the largest heroin pushing organization in the Southwest. The date of the bust coincided with Carlos Marcello’s own troubles with narcotics – a 1938 bust for sale of some 23 pounds of marijuana in New Orleans. Marcello had been known to be one of Louisiana’s major narcotics peddlers during this period. Was it possible Civello served as a Dallas connection for Marcello’s narcotics operation?

Moreover, Civello had grown up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a key Marcello stronghold; additional intelligence information would link him with several Baton Rouge area and Port Allen, La. area gambling bosses, including Frank Vaci, known to be an associate of Marcello. Civello himself had been known to take more than a passing interest in various to confirm the theory: Though Civello had not been in trouble with the law since 1937, his rap sheet was more than that of the average street thug. In 1937, he had been arrested along with 10 others in connection with the Louis “Daddy” Ginsberg narcotics smuggling ring, reputed to be the largest heroin pushing organization in the Southwest. The date of the bust coincided with Carlos Marcello’s own troubles with narcotics – a 1938 bust for sale of some 23 pounds of marijuana in New Orleans. Marcello had been known to be one of Louisiana’s major narcotics peddlers during this period. Was it possible Civello served as a Dallas connection for Marcello’s narcotics operation?

Moreover, Civello had grown up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a key Marcello stronghold; additional intelligence information would link him with several Baton Rouge area and Port Allen, La. area gambling bosses, including Frank Vaci, known to be an associate of Marcello. Civello himself had been known to take more than a passing interest in various gambling rackets: He and. Dallas club owner Joseph Ianni, in fact, were regarded by some intelligence officers as major book-makers in the area. Was it possible Civel-lo and/or Ianni served as conduits to the huge and lucrative Marcello bookmaking business?

Finally, strong evidence would emerge that Civello himself knew key members of the Marcello family: Phone tolls from Civello to the Jefferson Music Company in New Orleans, the Marcello front business, would later be traced. Jefferson Music was one of the few locations where Carlos Marcello himself was known to take phone calls.
The evidence was sketchy, more circumstantial than concrete, but it pointed down an interesting road. The implication was not only that Civello was a Mar-cello operative in the Dallas area, but that he operated in a whole new way for the Mafia. From the available evidence, Civello did not seem to be a major lieutenant in the Marcello family; his operations here were not a direct extension of Mar-cello’s in Louisiana. Rather, he seemed to be a loosely allied “associate,” perhaps part of a network of such associates Marcello maintained in many Southern cities.

gambling rackets: He and. Dallas club owner Joseph Ianni, in fact, were regarded by some intelligence officers as major book-makers in the area. Was it possible Civel-lo and/or Ianni served as conduits to the huge and lucrative Marcello bookmaking business?

Finally, strong evidence would emerge that Civello himself knew key members of the Marcello family: Phone tolls from Civello to the Jefferson Music Company in New Orleans, the Marcello front business, would later be traced. Jefferson Music was one of the few locations where Carlos Marcello himself was known to take phone calls.
The evidence was sketchy, more circumstantial than concrete, but it pointed down an interesting road. The implication was not only that Civello was a Mar-cello operative in the Dallas area, but that he operated in a whole new way for the Mafia. From the available evidence, Civello did not seem to be a major lieutenant in the Marcello family; his operations here were not a direct extension of Mar-cello’s in Louisiana. Rather, he seemed to be a loosely allied “associate,” perhaps part of a network of such associates Marcello maintained in many Southern cities.

That, in itself, represented a major irony for Dallas law enforcement officials. For while organized crime had existed in the city since the outlaw gangs of the 19th century, the Mafia had always been kept at bay. Even in the Thirties and Forties, when some 27 casinos, scores of numbers and bookmaking rackets, prostitution rings and narcotics smuggling operations flourished in the city, the Mafia had not gained a significant foothold. The mobsters who ran these rackets, legendary figures like Benny Binion, Earl Dal-ton and Ivey Lee, were “home-grown” products. As such, they were violently protective of their domain: Numerous attempts by large Chicago and New York Mafia groups to infiltrate Dallas during this era ended in gunplay, with the out-of-towners invariably winding up on the wrong side of a gun.

Then in 1946, a reform movement began to sweep the courthouse: A young man That, in itself, represented a major irony for Dallas law enforcement officials. For while organized crime had existed in the city since the outlaw gangs of the 19th century, the Mafia had always been kept at bay. Even in the Thirties and Forties, when some 27 casinos, scores of numbers and bookmaking rackets, prostitution rings and narcotics smuggling operations flourished in the city, the Mafia had not gained a significant foothold. The mobsters who ran these rackets, legendary figures like Benny Binion, Earl Dal-ton and Ivey Lee, were “home-grown” products. As such, they were violently protective of their domain: Numerous attempts by large Chicago and New York Mafia groups to infiltrate Dallas during this era ended in gunplay, with the out-of-towners invariably winding up on the wrong side of a gun.

Then in 1946, a reform movement began to sweep the courthouse: A young man by the name of Will Wilson was elected district attorney; Bill Decker, a tough, no-nonsense constable, was elected sheriff two years later. Overnight, official policies toward the local gangsters changed. For the previous two decades. City Hall had handled the booming gambling rackets with an olive branch rather than a nightstick. Instead of aggressively busting the bookmakers, police had simply levied a $10 per head “tax” on all gamblers in the city – a levy which at its peak amounted to a $250,000-a-month windfall for city coffers.

Wilson, Decker and later Henry Wade swiftly changed all that; casinos were run out of business; bookmaking reduced to a less flagrant level. Suddenly, Eastern Mafia families had another problem with infiltrating Dallas: tough and incorruptible law enforcement. Those invaders who earlier found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun upon crossing the county by the name of Will Wilson was elected district attorney; Bill Decker, a tough, no-nonsense constable, was elected sheriff two years later. Overnight, official policies toward the local gangsters changed. For the previous two decades. City Hall had handled the booming gambling rackets with an olive branch rather than a nightstick. Instead of aggressively busting the bookmakers, police had simply levied a $10 per head “tax” on all gamblers in the city – a levy which at its peak amounted to a $250,000-a-month windfall for city coffers.

Wilson, Decker and later Henry Wade swiftly changed all that; casinos were run out of business; bookmaking reduced to a less flagrant level. Suddenly, Eastern Mafia families had another problem with infiltrating Dallas: tough and incorruptible law enforcement. Those invaders who earlier found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun upon crossing the county line now faced the prospect of a stern and uncompromising lecture from Sheriff Bill Decker. In one case in 1951, when the tall, strapping sheriff received a tip from an underworld snitch that a carload of Chicago mobsters was headed for Dallas to strong-arm into the vending machine business. Decker arranged a greeting party for them a mile north of the county line. Halted at a fortress-like roadblock, the gangsters listened slack-jawed as Decker warned: “Turn around and go back. If you cross that line a mile away, you’ll go to jail. As long as I’m alive, you won’t move in here.”

Apalachin and Joe Civello, of course, made Decker less than prophetic. Indeed, it appeared that while both sides of the law had been busy warding off the overt attacks of Eastern seaboard Mafia families, a wily Carlos Marcello and his “associates” had slipped into town right under their noses.

line now faced the prospect of a stern and uncompromising lecture from Sheriff Bill Decker. In one case in 1951, when the tall, strapping sheriff received a tip from an underworld snitch that a carload of Chicago mobsters was headed for Dallas to strong-arm into the vending machine business. Decker arranged a greeting party for them a mile north of the county line. Halted at a fortress-like roadblock, the gangsters listened slack-jawed as Decker warned: “Turn around and go back. If you cross that line a mile away, you’ll go to jail. As long as I’m alive, you won’t move in here.”

Apalachin and Joe Civello, of course, made Decker less than prophetic. Indeed, it appeared that while both sides of the law had been busy warding off the overt attacks of Eastern seaboard Mafia families, a wily Carlos Marcello and his “associates” had slipped into town right under their noses.

Those familiar with the ways of Carlos Marcello should not have been surprised that his tentacles reached as far as Dallas, Texas. The dumpy, 5’ 1″ gangster, affectionately known as the “Little Man,” is generally recognized as the first Mafia head to refine organized crime into a conglomerate-style business. Aaron Kohn, director of the New Orleans Metropolitan Crime Commission and the most widely recognized Marcello expert in the nation, calls him “the most powerful, influential and sinister racketeer boss in Louisiana.”

From his lavish office in the Town and Country Motel in New Orleans, Marcel-lo commands a huge and diverse criminal empire estimated to be worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. His organization’s interests range from simple book-making to complex real estate investments. Surrounded at all times by a cadre of lawyers, Marcello has become a master at making illicit money appear legitimate. Those familiar with the ways of Carlos Marcello should not have been surprised that his tentacles reached as far as Dallas, Texas. The dumpy, 5’ 1″ gangster, affectionately known as the “Little Man,” is generally recognized as the first Mafia head to refine organized crime into a conglomerate-style business. Aaron Kohn, director of the New Orleans Metropolitan Crime Commission and the most widely recognized Marcello expert in the nation, calls him “the most powerful, influential and sinister racketeer boss in Louisiana.”

From his lavish office in the Town and Country Motel in New Orleans, Marcel-lo commands a huge and diverse criminal empire estimated to be worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. His organization’s interests range from simple book-making to complex real estate investments. Surrounded at all times by a cadre of lawyers, Marcello has become a master at making illicit money appear legitimate. Like any smart businessman, he has al-ways considered expansion and diversification to “outpost” cities like Dallas a part of the natural growth of his business.

It had not always been this way. Carlos Marcello, in fact, started his life of crime as little more than a common street thug. Born Calogero Minacore in 1910 in Tunis, Africa, Marcello emigrated to New Orleans with his Sicilian parents at the age of eight months. By his teens, he was already in trouble with the law: At 19, he and his two brothers were arrested for bank robbery; the charges were eventually dropped. Five months later, Carlos was nabbed for planning and commanding a grocery store robbery. This time he was convicted and sentenced to nine years. But Marcello served only four of those nine years, thanks to a full pardon from Governor Allen in 1935.

Marcello’s introduction to big-time crime came through Sylvestro Carrollo, the New Orleans mob boss at the time. Carrollo was the latest in a long line of Mafia chieftains who ruled crime in the Gulf Coast city, part of a legacy that stretched back to the infamous “Black Hand” gangs of the 1890’s. Carrollo’s stock in trade at the time was narcotics smuggling: His dope ring was known to be the largest marijuana smuggling apparatus in the New Orleans area. Marcello quickly became a Like any smart businessman, he has al-ways considered expansion and diversification to “outpost” cities like Dallas a part of the natural growth of his business.

It had not always been this way. Carlos Marcello, in fact, started his life of crime as little more than a common street thug. Born Calogero Minacore in 1910 in Tunis, Africa, Marcello emigrated to New Orleans with his Sicilian parents at the age of eight months. By his teens, he was already in trouble with the law: At 19, he and his two brothers were arrested for bank robbery; the charges were eventually dropped. Five months later, Carlos was nabbed for planning and commanding a grocery store robbery. This time he was convicted and sentenced to nine years. But Marcello served only four of those nine years, thanks to a full pardon from Governor Allen in 1935.

Marcello’s introduction to big-time crime came through Sylvestro Carrollo, the New Orleans mob boss at the time. Carrollo was the latest in a long line of Mafia chieftains who ruled crime in the Gulf Coast city, part of a legacy that stretched back to the infamous “Black Hand” gangs of the 1890’s. Carrollo’s stock in trade at the time was narcotics smuggling: His dope ring was known to be the largest marijuana smuggling apparatus in the New Orleans area. Marcello quickly became a valuable part of that organization, though his troubles with the law continued. In 1938, he was busted for transport and sale of some 23 pounds of marijuana.

In the early Forties, Marcello expanded to a less hazardous enterprise: slot machines and rigged pinball machines. Operating out of his Jefferson Music Company, which he purchased from his mother, Marcello and his brother Vincent quickly became major slot machine dealers in the Jefferson Parish surrounding New Orleans. As such, they became part of a nationwide Mafia network and close associates of mob kingpin Frank Costello. Costello, in fact, had been literally invited to bring slot machine business into Louisiana by then-Governor Huey Long. By the mid-Forties, Marcello and Costello controlled several thousand machines operating from at least 80 different front businesses.

While the coin-machine business was lucrative to Marcello and his brothers, this early association with Costello would later prove valuable in another way: Cos-tello taught young Carlos the ways of the world of organized crime. He helped valuable part of that organization, though his troubles with the law continued. In 1938, he was busted for transport and sale of some 23 pounds of marijuana.

In the early Forties, Marcello expanded to a less hazardous enterprise: slot machines and rigged pinball machines. Operating out of his Jefferson Music Company, which he purchased from his mother, Marcello and his brother Vincent quickly became major slot machine dealers in the Jefferson Parish surrounding New Orleans. As such, they became part of a nationwide Mafia network and close associates of mob kingpin Frank Costello. Costello, in fact, had been literally invited to bring slot machine business into Louisiana by then-Governor Huey Long. By the mid-Forties, Marcello and Costello controlled several thousand machines operating from at least 80 different front businesses.

While the coin-machine business was lucrative to Marcello and his brothers, this early association with Costello would later prove valuable in another way: Cos-tello taught young Carlos the ways of the world of organized crime. He helped smooth the gangster’s rough edges: taught him, as Kohn puts it, to operate with a “handshake instead of handcuffs.”

Nineteen-forty-six was a banner year for Marcello in a couple of ways. First of all, Sylvestro Carrollo was arrested and deported, paving the way for Marcello to assume godfather status in Louisiana. Second, a new business opportunity presented itself to Marcello, an enterprise that would form the foundation of his criminal empire: off-track bookmaking.

Bookmaking by illegal telephone or teletype communication between racing tracks and betting parlors had existed since the I920’s. But the Mafia had never had exclusive control of the all-important ’”wire” – links between regional betting headquarters. In the mid-Forties, the mob decided to make its move. Slot machine and casino gambling were becoming increasingly risky because of stiffened state laws. Besides, a good bookie could bring in a lot more cash on a daily basis than even the slickest black jack dealer.

In New Orleans, the “wire” was controlled by one John Fogarty, who fronted smooth the gangster’s rough edges: taught him, as Kohn puts it, to operate with a “handshake instead of handcuffs.”

Nineteen-forty-six was a banner year for Marcello in a couple of ways. First of all, Sylvestro Carrollo was arrested and deported, paving the way for Marcello to assume godfather status in Louisiana. Second, a new business opportunity presented itself to Marcello, an enterprise that would form the foundation of his criminal empire: off-track bookmaking.

Bookmaking by illegal telephone or teletype communication between racing tracks and betting parlors had existed since the I920’s. But the Mafia had never had exclusive control of the all-important ’”wire” – links between regional betting headquarters. In the mid-Forties, the mob decided to make its move. Slot machine and casino gambling were becoming increasingly risky because of stiffened state laws. Besides, a good bookie could bring in a lot more cash on a daily basis than even the slickest black jack dealer.

In New Orleans, the “wire” was controlled by one John Fogarty, who fronted his booking under the name of The Daily Sports News. He bought the service through the Continental Press Service in Chicago. His operation was a healthy one – with some 66 “drops’” or booking joints in the New Orleans area. Marcello. who by now had learned the art of gentle persuasion from Costello, decided the best way to handle Fogarty was to become his “partner.” He first brought in Joe Por-etto, an associate from Houston, to set up a competing booking operation; Por-etto’s front was Southern News and Publishing. Within months, a “merger” had been consummated between Fogarty and Poretto, with Carlos’ brothers Anthony and Joseph owning nearly 80 percent on behalf of Carlos. The Marcello family was on its way to becoming one of the largest and most independent organized crime operations in the nation.

Marcello’s bookmaking operations worked in different ways with different hardware. Basically, through bribing telephone company employees, phone or teletype lines were set up between New Orleans area race tracks and various drops his booking under the name of The Daily Sports News. He bought the service through the Continental Press Service in Chicago. His operation was a healthy one – with some 66 “drops’” or booking joints in the New Orleans area. Marcello. who by now had learned the art of gentle persuasion from Costello, decided the best way to handle Fogarty was to become his “partner.” He first brought in Joe Por-etto, an associate from Houston, to set up a competing booking operation; Por-etto’s front was Southern News and Publishing. Within months, a “merger” had been consummated between Fogarty and Poretto, with Carlos’ brothers Anthony and Joseph owning nearly 80 percent on behalf of Carlos. The Marcello family was on its way to becoming one of the largest and most independent organized crime operations in the nation.

Marcello’s bookmaking operations worked in different ways with different hardware. Basically, through bribing telephone company employees, phone or teletype lines were set up between New Orleans area race tracks and various drops in the city. Bettors would lay down their money at any one of the dozens of drops in the city and await the outcome of their wager. When a race was finished, a contact at the track – generally another bribed employee – would transmit the results back to the drops, allowing the bookie to collect and pay on the wagers instantaneously. Collection and payment completed, he was prepared immediately to accept wagers on the next race.

The regional booking headquarters such as New Orleans, in turn, leased phone or teletype lines linking each other: Bettors in New York could wager on New Orleans races, and vice versa. Additionally, lines were cut between these centers and various other cities in the region. In retrospect, this is probably where Carlos Marcello’s interests expanded to Houston and Dallas. A schematic of the nationwide wire system shows a direct link from New in the city. Bettors would lay down their money at any one of the dozens of drops in the city and await the outcome of their wager. When a race was finished, a contact at the track – generally another bribed employee – would transmit the results back to the drops, allowing the bookie to collect and pay on the wagers instantaneously. Collection and payment completed, he was prepared immediately to accept wagers on the next race.

The regional booking headquarters such as New Orleans, in turn, leased phone or teletype lines linking each other: Bettors in New York could wager on New Orleans races, and vice versa. Additionally, lines were cut between these centers and various other cities in the region. In retrospect, this is probably where Carlos Marcello’s interests expanded to Houston and Dallas. A schematic of the nationwide wire system shows a direct link from New Orleans to Houston to Dallas and on to Las Vegas. Though Marcello’s earlier narcotics activities undoubtedly brought him and Joseph Civello together, the booking wire likely cemented the association. Sports wagering being, at the minimum, a regional business, Marcello needed trusted associates in his outposts to keep an eye on things.

As cash from the bookmaking operation began to flow in, Marcello diversified his interests. He, Costello and another mobster, Frank Kastel, built a lavish casino known as the Beverly Country Club; Marcello money would eventually back another casino called the Old Southport Club. Beginning a pattern that would characterize his later career, Marcello also began sinking money into legitimate enterprises: Food storage and shrimp trawling companies, legit coin machine operations, news-stands and bookstores, gift shops – all Orleans to Houston to Dallas and on to Las Vegas. Though Marcello’s earlier narcotics activities undoubtedly brought him and Joseph Civello together, the booking wire likely cemented the association. Sports wagering being, at the minimum, a regional business, Marcello needed trusted associates in his outposts to keep an eye on things.

As cash from the bookmaking operation began to flow in, Marcello diversified his interests. He, Costello and another mobster, Frank Kastel, built a lavish casino known as the Beverly Country Club; Marcello money would eventually back another casino called the Old Southport Club. Beginning a pattern that would characterize his later career, Marcello also began sinking money into legitimate enterprises: Food storage and shrimp trawling companies, legit coin machine operations, news-stands and bookstores, gift shops – all became part of the growing Marcello empire.

By 1953, the Marcello conglomerate was easily large enough to be listed on the New York Stock Exchange. But it was not large enough to exempt him entirely from the law. In early 1953, the U.S. Department of Immigration and Naturalization issued a deportation order on Marcello: the feisty mobster immediately appealed, the first of nearly 40 court actions his Byzantine case would involve. The appeal was denied, but immigration authorities quickly discovered another became part of the growing Marcello empire.
By 1953, the Marcello conglomerate was easily large enough to be listed on the New York Stock Exchange. But it was not large enough to exempt him entirely from the law. In early 1953, the U.S. Department of Immigration and Naturalization issued a deportation order on Marcello: the feisty mobster immediately appealed, the first of nearly 40 court actions his Byzantine case would involve. The appeal was denied, but immigration authorities quickly discovered another problem: They couldn’t find another nation that wanted Marcello. Five countries were tried and discarded, before Marcello solved their problem for them.

Through South American contacts, his organization had been able to develop false papers showing Carlos was a Guatemalan citizen, not Italian. Marcello was carted off to Guatemala, where he promptly disappeared. Barely two months later, he turned up again in New Orleans, thumbing his nose at authorities.
That would become a favorite habit of Marcello’s during the next 20 years.

No criminal becomes as large and independent as Carlos Marcello without the complicity of law enproblem: They couldn’t find another nation that wanted Marcello. Five countries were tried and discarded, before Marcello solved their problem for them.

Through South American contacts, his organization had been able to develop false papers showing Carlos was a Guatemalan citizen, not Italian. Marcello was carted off to Guatemala, where he promptly disappeared. Barely two months later, he turned up again in New Orleans, thumbing his nose at authorities.
That would become a favorite habit of Marcello’s during the next 20 years.

No criminal becomes as large and independent as Carlos Marcello without the complicity of law enforcement officials. It is as much a part of organized crime as fedora hats and hit men. In Marcello’s case, the co-opting of the other side started early: During his slot machine days, the Marcello organization used the sheriff of Jefferson Parish – a suburban area across the river from New Orleans – to strong-arm local club owners into using Marcello-owned machines. The sheriff’s department there became so allied with the Marcello bunch that it would, on occasion, provide the boss direct physical protection: In the early Sixties, a photographer was snapping shots of Marcello during one of his rare public forays. Marcello’s men jumped the photographer, stripped him of his camera and frisked him – all within clear view of several expressionless deputy sheriffs.

As Marcello’s power and financial independence grew, so did his influence over forcement officials. It is as much a part of organized crime as fedora hats and hit men. In Marcello’s case, the co-opting of the other side started early: During his slot machine days, the Marcello organization used the sheriff of Jefferson Parish – a suburban area across the river from New Orleans – to strong-arm local club owners into using Marcello-owned machines. The sheriff’s department there became so allied with the Marcello bunch that it would, on occasion, provide the boss direct physical protection: In the early Sixties, a photographer was snapping shots of Marcello during one of his rare public forays. Marcello’s men jumped the photographer, stripped him of his camera and frisked him – all within clear view of several expressionless deputy sheriffs.
As Marcello’s power and financial independence grew, so did his influence over public officials. He has been officially pardoned for criminal offenses by two Louisiana governors: in l935 by Governor O.K. Allen, and again in 1956 by Governor Earl Long. In 1970, Life magazine reported that Marcello virtually owned the state revenue department. The magazine documented that there had been no compilation of Marcello’s taxes from 1962 to 1970, and that at one time, the tax director kept the Marcello file locked in a drawer marked, “Hold Action.” The article additionally charged that at least four high-ranking state officials were in Marcello’s hip pocket.

Official investigations into Marcello’s activities in the New Orleans area reflect his control over public officialdom there. In the late Sixties, Attorney General Jack Gremillion was appropriated funds to inpublic officials. He has been officially pardoned for criminal offenses by two Louisiana governors: in l935 by Governor O.K. Allen, and again in 1956 by Governor Earl Long. In 1970, Life magazine reported that Marcello virtually owned the state revenue department. The magazine documented that there had been no compilation of Marcello’s taxes from 1962 to 1970, and that at one time, the tax director kept the Marcello file locked in a drawer marked, “Hold Action.” The article additionally charged that at least four high-ranking state officials were in Marcello’s hip pocket.

Official investigations into Marcello’s activities in the New Orleans area reflect his control over public officialdom there. In the late Sixties, Attorney General Jack Gremillion was appropriated funds to investigate organized crime in the state: the study, predictably, turned up nothing. Later, it was discovered that a bank Gre-million was involved in used some $26 million in deposits to make a series of loans to Marcello’s interests. Even New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison, of Kennedy assassination fame, could not come up with anything on Marcello during a series of grand jury investigations in the Sixties. Garrison’s final conclusion was that “no evidence of organized crime in New Orleans Parish” existed. That the DA made such an announcement, even as a handful of the nation’s largest book-makers were being arrested by federal authorities in the New Orleans area, only further emphasized the depth of Marcel-lo’s penetration.

Even the United States Senate, during the 1951 Kefauver hearings and 1959 McClellan hearings, could not crack Mar-cello’s facade of legitimacy. After extensive testimony from Kohn detailing Mar-cello’s activities in 1951, the Little Man himself took the Fifth Amendment in response to over 140 questions. At one point, vestigate organized crime in the state: the study, predictably, turned up nothing. Later, it was discovered that a bank Gre-million was involved in used some $26 million in deposits to make a series of loans to Marcello’s interests. Even New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison, of Kennedy assassination fame, could not come up with anything on Marcello during a series of grand jury investigations in the Sixties. Garrison’s final conclusion was that “no evidence of organized crime in New Orleans Parish” existed. That the DA made such an announcement, even as a handful of the nation’s largest book-makers were being arrested by federal authorities in the New Orleans area, only further emphasized the depth of Marcel-lo’s penetration.

Even the United States Senate, during the 1951 Kefauver hearings and 1959 McClellan hearings, could not crack Mar-cello’s facade of legitimacy. After extensive testimony from Kohn detailing Mar-cello’s activities in 1951, the Little Man himself took the Fifth Amendment in response to over 140 questions. At one point, he even refused to state his place of birth on grounds that “it might tend to incriminate me.”

Marcello has used the complicity of officialdom wisely. Though in his early years he employed it to protect flagrantly illicit activities, during the Sixties and Seventies he increasingly used it to shield quasi-legitimate enterprises. Marcello has always displayed a unique knack for reshaping his illicit activities to the climate of the times. As the Fifties turned to the Sixties, federal enforcement of bookmak-ing and narcotics smuggling became tougher, making involvement in such interests a riskier proposition. Marcello sensed this, and while not entirely abandoning book-making and prostitution, slowly turned his financial muscle to a new area: real estate speculation.
Employing a corps of lawyers and “front” men to mask his investments, Marcello began investing in motels, including two Holiday Inns in Louisiana, and bought up raw land in the state in thousand-acre hunks. He got into housing subdivisions, and at one point even planned a lavish “new town” for the Southern Louisiana area. All of this, compared to his earlier activities, seemed on the ud and he even refused to state his place of birth on grounds that “it might tend to incriminate me.”

Marcello has used the complicity of officialdom wisely. Though in his early years he employed it to protect flagrantly illicit activities, during the Sixties and Seventies he increasingly used it to shield quasi-legitimate enterprises. Marcello has always displayed a unique knack for reshaping his illicit activities to the climate of the times. As the Fifties turned to the Sixties, federal enforcement of bookmak-ing and narcotics smuggling became tougher, making involvement in such interests a riskier proposition. Marcello sensed this, and while not entirely abandoning book-making and prostitution, slowly turned his financial muscle to a new area: real estate speculation.

Employing a corps of lawyers and “front” men to mask his investments, Marcello began investing in motels, including two Holiday Inns in Louisiana, and bought up raw land in the state in thousand-acre hunks. He got into housing subdivisions, and at one point even planned a lavish “new town” for the Southern Louisiana area. All of this, compared to his earlier activities, seemed on the ud and up. After all, it is no crime to invest in land, in New Orleans or anywhere else. Moreover, real estate investment is an ideal laundering apparatus for illicit money: Once the cash gets cranked into the complex labyrinth of paperwork, there is no tracing its origin – particularly if the owners listed on those papers are little more than “beards” for the real investor.

In his real estate activities, Marcello quickly became a master at combining illicit money, the cooperation of public officialdom, and “legitimate” investment. In 1958, for example, he managed to sell a 183-acre parcel of land that had recently been valued at $40,000 for nearly $1 million. The windfall profit was accomplished through a complex structure inup. After all, it is no crime to invest in land, in New Orleans or anywhere else. Moreover, real estate investment is an ideal laundering apparatus for illicit money: Once the cash gets cranked into the complex labyrinth of paperwork, there is no tracing its origin – particularly if the owners listed on those papers are little more than “beards” for the real investor.
In his real estate activities, Marcello quickly became a master at combining illicit money, the cooperation of public officialdom, and “legitimate” investment. In 1958, for example, he managed to sell a 183-acre parcel of land that had recently been valued at $40,000 for nearly $1 million. The windfall profit was accomplished through a complex structure involving nine front companies, and the co-operation of local tax authorities.

Marcello’s coup de grace in real estate is his 6,000-acre Churchill Farms development. It is a classic example of how the Little Man works. In 1959, Marcello bought the land for about $1 million. It was not prize property, primarily delta swamp and mire. But properly drained and diked, it could easily be worth $60 million or so. While fronting the land as a hunting preserve, Marcello set about acquiring those improvements – at the taxpayers’ expense. In a flagrant display of political clout, he convinced Jefferson Parish and state authorities to declare the area an offiical drainage district, thereby affording Churchill Farms its own taxing authority.

When the appropriate levee construcvolving nine front companies, and the co-operation of local tax authorities.

Marcello’s coup de grace in real estate is his 6,000-acre Churchill Farms development. It is a classic example of how the Little Man works. In 1959, Marcello bought the land for about $1 million. It was not prize property, primarily delta swamp and mire. But properly drained and diked, it could easily be worth $60 million or so. While fronting the land as a hunting preserve, Marcello set about acquiring those improvements – at the taxpayers’ expense. In a flagrant display of political clout, he convinced Jefferson Parish and state authorities to declare the area an offiical drainage district, thereby affording Churchill Farms its own taxing authority.

When the appropriate levee construction and pump installation had been accomplished, Marcello had aggrandized the value of the swamp property by 6,000 percent. Cost to taxpayers: $5 million. Cost to Marcello: $264 a year in drainage tax.

As Marcello’s business enterprise grew more “legitimate,” so did his public demeanor. That tough-talking street thug who’d dealt dope with Carrollo’s gang in the Thirties was now a suave, soft-spoken businessman who wore $300 suits, smoked expensive cigars and donated lavishly to local charities. In the late Sixties, he even agreed to answer the questions of a Senate committee, though his responses were tion and pump installation had been accomplished, Marcello had aggrandized the value of the swamp property by 6,000 percent. Cost to taxpayers: $5 million. Cost to Marcello: $264 a year in drainage tax.

As Marcello’s business enterprise grew more “legitimate,” so did his public demeanor. That tough-talking street thug who’d dealt dope with Carrollo’s gang in the Thirties was now a suave, soft-spoken businessman who wore $300 suits, smoked expensive cigars and donated lavishly to local charities. In the late Sixties, he even agreed to answer the questions of a Senate committee, though his responses were no more revealing than his earlier Fifth Amendment protestations.

Still, he would occasionally provide flashes of his earlier, more violent personality: In 1966, he was nabbed at a Cosa Nostra convention in Forest Hills, New York along with dozens of other mobsters. Upon returning to New Orleans Airport, he was greeted by FBI agent Patrick Collins. After Collins introduced himself, Marcello promptly slugged him – an act which resulted in arrest and indictment for assaulting a police officer. But the rap stuck with no more authority than previous attempts to put Marcello behind bars: He beat one conviction on the charge amidst allegations of jury tampering; a later trial in Houston netted him a lenient two-year sentence. Some 20 respected New Orleans public officials and businessmen spoke up for him during this latest fray with the law, including one bank president, the sheriff and a state legislator, two police commanders and six clergymen.

That facade of legitimacy, more than no more revealing than his earlier Fifth Amendment protestations.

Still, he would occasionally provide flashes of his earlier, more violent personality: In 1966, he was nabbed at a Cosa Nostra convention in Forest Hills, New York along with dozens of other mobsters. Upon returning to New Orleans Airport, he was greeted by FBI agent Patrick Collins. After Collins introduced himself, Marcello promptly slugged him – an act which resulted in arrest and indictment for assaulting a police officer. But the rap stuck with no more authority than previous attempts to put Marcello behind bars: He beat one conviction on the charge amidst allegations of jury tampering; a later trial in Houston netted him a lenient two-year sentence. Some 20 respected New Orleans public officials and businessmen spoke up for him during this latest fray with the law, including one bank president, the sheriff and a state legislator, two police commanders and six clergymen.

That facade of legitimacy, more than anything else, has allowed Marcello to build an empire of incomprehensible proportions. Kohn now calls him “probably the wealthiest man in New Orleans.” His interests include land investments in tens of thousands of acres, interest in some 150 to 200 clubs and restaurants, motels, vending machine companies, sightseeing tour operations and dozens of other concerns. Through carefully building the complicity of public officialdom and even more carefully masking his operations, Carlos Marcello has built one of the largest criminal empires in the history of crime – an empire that stretches from New Orleans to Atlanta to Hot Springs to Dallas.

In recent years, law enforcement officials have had trouble getting a firm grasp on the nature and extent of Mafia activities in Dallas. Marcello’s guile is only part of the problem. Talk to enough law enforcement intelligence officers and you realize that their uniformly smug “no comments’” and “not to our knowledges” are not all coyness. In many cases, they really do not know.

Some of this has to dp with manpower: anything else, has allowed Marcello to build an empire of incomprehensible proportions. Kohn now calls him “probably the wealthiest man in New Orleans.” His interests include land investments in tens of thousands of acres, interest in some 150 to 200 clubs and restaurants, motels, vending machine companies, sightseeing tour operations and dozens of other concerns. Through carefully building the complicity of public officialdom and even more carefully masking his operations, Carlos Marcello has built one of the largest criminal empires in the history of crime – an empire that stretches from New Orleans to Atlanta to Hot Springs to Dallas.

In recent years, law enforcement officials have had trouble getting a firm grasp on the nature and extent of Mafia activities in Dallas. Marcello’s guile is only part of the problem. Talk to enough law enforcement intelligence officers and you realize that their uniformly smug “no comments’” and “not to our knowledges” are not all coyness. In many cases, they really do not know.

Some of this has to dp with manpower: Intelligence divisions at local, state and federal levels seem uniformly undermanned; the State Attorney General’s Organized Crime Division, for example, has 14 investigators to track an estimated 160 Mafia associates or operatives in the state. Of more significance, however, is the difficulty of the intelligence gathering process itself: The Mafia started as a secret criminal network, and in many ways, it remains enigmatic today. Despite the burst of revelations, confessions and official Congressional inquiries into La Cosa Nostra during the late Fifties and early Sixties, the Mafia still operates half in the shadows, in many cases, on both sides of the law. Moreover, because its activities are ongoing and involve varying numbers of individuals, they are not as easily tracked and pinned down as say, a Intelligence divisions at local, state and federal levels seem uniformly undermanned; the State Attorney General’s Organized Crime Division, for example, has 14 investigators to track an estimated 160 Mafia associates or operatives in the state. Of more significance, however, is the difficulty of the intelligence gathering process itself: The Mafia started as a secret criminal network, and in many ways, it remains enigmatic today. Despite the burst of revelations, confessions and official Congressional inquiries into La Cosa Nostra during the late Fifties and early Sixties, the Mafia still operates half in the shadows, in many cases, on both sides of the law. Moreover, because its activities are ongoing and involve varying numbers of individuals, they are not as easily tracked and pinned down as say, a simple armed robbery.

Intelligence officers, with the exception of the FBI, operate with few tools. At state and local levels, they have no wiretap sanction; thus they are precluded from developing hard, first-hand evidence of the heart of the Mafia’s modus operandi: the criminal conspiracy. Officers are left, regrettably, to the whim and fancy of their informants. A snitch can deliver good, solid information that leads to an arrest but he can just as easily deliver a bundle of rumors, even lies. In many cases, it is impossible to tell the difference.

Anyone who has lived in Dallas for any length of time has heard the rumors about the Mafia here. Like some precious and time-honored litany, the same names come up, over and over. Like most rumors, there are reasons for them.

Joseph Civello lay low after the Ap-alachin bust in 1957, surfacing only to appeal and win a reversal on Apalachin-related perjury charges in 1961. When he simple armed robbery.

Intelligence officers, with the exception of the FBI, operate with few tools. At state and local levels, they have no wiretap sanction; thus they are precluded from developing hard, first-hand evidence of the heart of the Mafia’s modus operandi: the criminal conspiracy. Officers are left, regrettably, to the whim and fancy of their informants. A snitch can deliver good, solid information that leads to an arrest but he can just as easily deliver a bundle of rumors, even lies. In many cases, it is impossible to tell the difference.

Anyone who has lived in Dallas for any length of time has heard the rumors about the Mafia here. Like some precious and time-honored litany, the same names come up, over and over. Like most rumors, there are reasons for them.

Joseph Civello lay low after the Ap-alachin bust in 1957, surfacing only to appeal and win a reversal on Apalachin-related perjury charges in 1961. When he died in 1970, educated conjecture among intelligence people was that his long-time friend and associate, restaurateur Joe Ianni, had inherited the mantle. But lanni, who died just three years later, had fewer direct ties to New Orleans than Civello, only what some intelligence officers call “friend of a friend of a friend” relationships. Born in Calabria, Italy, Ianni’s biggest run-in with the law was a 1946 liquor law violation. He did have distant blood ties to a New York character by the name of Pellegrini, but there remains considerable scattering of thought on just how big an operator Ianni himself was. Some feel in his heyday, he was a big bookmaker: others say he was little more thana “hip pocket” book, In either case, no one could characterize Ianni’s ties to Marcello as anything more than a vague association.

In the wake of Ianni’s death, interest centered on another local Italian busdied in 1970, educated conjecture among intelligence people was that his long-time friend and associate, restaurateur Joe Ianni, had inherited the mantle. But lanni, who died just three years later, had fewer direct ties to New Orleans than Civello, only what some intelligence officers call “friend of a friend of a friend” relationships. Born in Calabria, Italy, Ianni’s biggest run-in with the law was a 1946 liquor law violation. He did have distant blood ties to a New York character by the name of Pellegrini, but there remains considerable scattering of thought on just how big an operator Ianni himself was. Some feel in his heyday, he was a big bookmaker: others say he was little more thana “hip pocket” book, In either case, no one could characterize Ianni’s ties to Marcello as anything more than a vague association.

In the wake of Ianni’s death, interest centered on another local Italian businessman. This individual had established associations with certain members of the Marcello family; that had been traced through phone tolls from his business to several Marcello-related businesses in New Orleans, through trips he and his family had taken to Louisiana, through the three Marcello associates and two Marcello family members who turned up at his son’s wedding in 1974. But an association is … well, an association: It can mean anything from a mild social acquaintance to a working relationship. In this particular case, little more than the former has ever been developed. To this day, intelligence officials remain widely divided on the nature and extent of the businessman’s direct activity: Some feel that even an acquaintance with the Marcello family is sufficient food for suspicion. Other officers simply say, “Italians tend to know one another. So what?” More recently, speculation has centered on newer blood. Chief among these individuals is Anthony “Tony” Caterine, inessman. This individual had established associations with certain members of the Marcello family; that had been traced through phone tolls from his business to several Marcello-related businesses in New Orleans, through trips he and his family had taken to Louisiana, through the three Marcello associates and two Marcello family members who turned up at his son’s wedding in 1974. But an association is … well, an association: It can mean anything from a mild social acquaintance to a working relationship. In this particular case, little more than the former has ever been developed. To this day, intelligence officials remain widely divided on the nature and extent of the businessman’s direct activity: Some feel that even an acquaintance with the Marcello family is sufficient food for suspicion.

Other officers simply say, “Italians tend to know one another. So what?” More recently, speculation has centered on newer blood. Chief among these individuals is Anthony “Tony” Caterine, former owner of the now defunct Losers Club in Dallas and several other clubs ranging from Memphis to Honolulu. Caterine, now serving 27 months for a conviction on credit card swindling, was known to be a character of diverse interests. The flashy, gregarious sort, Caterine was always fast with a buck and openly proud of his wide range of friends, particularly those in show business.

But Caterine’s associations to New Orleans and Marcello are not at all well-established. More than one intelligence officer characterizes him as “his own operator.” His name did turn up in the address book of a Shreveport clubowner with known ties to Marcello operatives in that area; and in his heyday, intelligence officers did note that he seemed to be able to expand his club business at will, suggesting that he knew who to call for help. But that does not add up to much.

Moreover, the nature of the fraud Caterine was convicted of does not reflect the sophistication one would expect of a Marcello operative. In 1971, Caterine and several associates set up a bogus bartending school to use as a reference in obtaining credit cards. Nine cards were obtained under a variety of phony names. Members of the group then crisscrossed the nation with the cards, buying up some $50,000 to $60,000 in airline tickets. The tickets were later used, redeemed at cash value or sold to Caterine associates at former owner of the now defunct Losers Club in Dallas and several other clubs ranging from Memphis to Honolulu. Caterine, now serving 27 months for a conviction on credit card swindling, was known to be a character of diverse interests. The flashy, gregarious sort, Caterine was always fast with a buck and openly proud of his wide range of friends, particularly those in show business.

But Caterine’s associations to New Orleans and Marcello are not at all well-established. More than one intelligence officer characterizes him as “his own operator.” His name did turn up in the address book of a Shreveport clubowner with known ties to Marcello operatives in that area; and in his heyday, intelligence officers did note that he seemed to be able to expand his club business at will, suggesting that he knew who to call for help. But that does not add up to much.
Moreover, the nature of the fraud Caterine was convicted of does not reflect the sophistication one would expect of a Marcello operative. In 1971, Caterine and several associates set up a bogus bartending school to use as a reference in obtaining credit cards. Nine cards were obtained under a variety of phony names. Members of the group then crisscrossed the nation with the cards, buying up some $50,000 to $60,000 in airline tickets. The tickets were later used, redeemed at cash value or sold to Caterine associates at reduced rates. That is hardly the kind of caper Carlos Marcello would bankroll, or even consider.

Most recently, Caterine was linked to a large gambling casino in Hunt County. The casino, run by a federal informant, was apparently being used by various law enforcement agencies as a lure for gangland types. The casino was abruptly shut down in August, 1976 when officials realized the operators were working with loaded dice and crooked dealers. Amidst the revelations concerning the casino, Dallas News reporters Earl Golz and Dan Watkins reported that Caterine not only was “reportedly a partner” in the casino, but that he had “agreed to become an undercover agent for the U. S. Drug Enforcement Administration.” Caterine, initially sent to Seagoville Federal Prison, has now been moved to an unknown correctional institution. The revelation that Caterine may have turned informant tends to confirm speculation of his ties to big time organized crime: Criminals become informants because they know something.

And a handful of other individuals, including two real estate speculators and at least one vending machine operator, have aroused the suspicion of local intelligence officers. But documentation of direct associations or working relationships with Marcello has been slim to non-existent. Intelligence officers will tell you frankly, reduced rates. That is hardly the kind of caper Carlos Marcello would bankroll, or even consider.

Most recently, Caterine was linked to a large gambling casino in Hunt County. The casino, run by a federal informant, was apparently being used by various law enforcement agencies as a lure for gangland types. The casino was abruptly shut down in August, 1976 when officials realized the operators were working with loaded dice and crooked dealers. Amidst the revelations concerning the casino, Dallas News reporters Earl Golz and Dan Watkins reported that Caterine not only was “reportedly a partner” in the casino, but that he had “agreed to become an undercover agent for the U. S. Drug Enforcement Administration.” Caterine, initially sent to Seagoville Federal Prison, has now been moved to an unknown correctional institution. The revelation that Caterine may have turned informant tends to confirm speculation of his ties to big time organized crime: Criminals become informants because they know something.

And a handful of other individuals, including two real estate speculators and at least one vending machine operator, have aroused the suspicion of local intelligence officers. But documentation of direct associations or working relationships with Marcello has been slim to non-existent. Intelligence officers will tell you frankly, that it is probable, even likely, that Mar-cello has operatives in Dallas whose names do not even show up in intelligence files. That would jibe with the Little Man’s present style: His numerous run-ins with the law have taught him well to keep a low, even invisible profile, particularly when dealing on foreign turf. And because most of his present activity in Dallas is believed to be quasi-legitimate real estate investment, he has no need for a local operator of Civello’s stature. But in the early Seventies, the following incidents tended to confirm that Marcello was still quite active in the Dallas area:

  • In March, 1973, a well-known Texas/Louisiana drug pusher, Andre AugustCrossley, was arrested for possession ofdangerous drugs. Police found one ofCarlos Marcello’s phone numbers in thesuspect’s diary.
  • In July of that same year, Dallas police busted a sophisticated hijacking/fencing ring. During the investigation, afringe member of the 30-man ring, DoyleHarry Ward Jr., had agreed to inform onthe group’s activities in exchange for amnesty. The morning he was to meet withInvestigator R. L. Kavanaugh, Wardwas found shot to death in NortheastDallas County. Police later developedevidence that Marcello’s organizationmay have bankrolled the fencing operation through contacts here in the vendingmachine business.
    that it is probable, even likely, that Mar-cello has operatives in Dallas whose names do not even show up in intelligence files. That would jibe with the Little Man’s present style: His numerous run-ins with the law have taught him well to keep a low, even invisible profile, particularly when dealing on foreign turf. And because most of his present activity in Dallas is believed to be quasi-legitimate real estate investment, he has no need for a local operator of Civello’s stature. But in the early Seventies, the following incidents tended to confirm that Marcello was still quite active in the Dallas area:
  • In March, 1973, a well-known Texas/Louisiana drug pusher, Andre AugustCrossley, was arrested for possession ofdangerous drugs. Police found one ofCarlos Marcello’s phone numbers in thesuspect’s diary.
  • In July of that same year, Dallas police busted a sophisticated hijacking/fencing ring. During the investigation, afringe member of the 30-man ring, DoyleHarry Ward Jr., had agreed to inform onthe group’s activities in exchange for amnesty. The morning he was to meet withInvestigator R. L. Kavanaugh, Wardwas found shot to death in NortheastDallas County. Police later developedevidence that Marcello’s organizationmay have bankrolled the fencing operation through contacts here in the vendingmachine business.
  • Finally, on March 30, 1973, Dallas News reporter Earl Golz reported that Carlos Marcello himself had been spotted at an East Dallas restaurant, dining with three local clubowners. Though some intelligence officers denied knowledge of the visit, its timing jibed with previous reports that the Little Man had made trips to San Antonio, Laredo and Dallas during a two-year period, beginning in late 1971.
    Marcello’s connections elsewhere in Texas have been no less sketchy and elusive. Law enforcement sources confirm that he has more than 100 associates operating in 10 different counties: Dallas, Tarrant, Bexar, Harris, Galveston, Webb, Cameron, Travis and McClennan. But the family itself has been caught red-handed only once in recent memory: In 1975, the state attorney general’s office shut down a South Texas vegetable importing firm owned and managed by Mar-cello associates and family members. The company failed to file proper papers
  • Finally, on March 30, 1973, Dallas News reporter Earl Golz reported that Carlos Marcello himself had been spotted at an East Dallas restaurant, dining with three local clubowners. Though some intelligence officers denied knowledge of the visit, its timing jibed with previous reports that the Little Man had made trips to San Antonio, Laredo and Dallas during a two-year period, beginning in late 1971.

Marcello’s connections elsewhere in Texas have been no less sketchy and elusive. Law enforcement sources confirm that he has more than 100 associates operating in 10 different counties: Dallas, Tarrant, Bexar, Harris, Galveston, Webb, Cameron, Travis and McClennan. But the family itself has been caught red-handed only once in recent memory: In 1975, the state attorney general’s office shut down a South Texas vegetable importing firm owned and managed by Mar-cello associates and family members. The company failed to file proper papers of incorporation and to pay franchise taxes between 1970 and 1975. The company, Pelican Tomatoes, listed a New Orleans home office and ownership including Marcello associates Joseph Sal-dino and Joseph Matassa, and one of Mar-cello’s sons, Joey. Additionally, investigators discovered that Carlos himself had been on the company’s payroll as a $20,000-a-year salesman. Though no firm evidence was developed proving Pelican Tomatoes was a front for illicit enterprise, produce importing is a well-known cover for a variety of such activities, including narcotics smuggling and money laundering.

If Marcello has an “organization” in Texas, it is centered in the Houston area. There, some 35 associates of the Little Man have been identified. In 1969, Mar-cello associates Luke Galioto, Joseph of incorporation and to pay franchise taxes between 1970 and 1975. The company, Pelican Tomatoes, listed a New Orleans home office and ownership including Marcello associates Joseph Sal-dino and Joseph Matassa, and one of Mar-cello’s sons, Joey. Additionally, investigators discovered that Carlos himself had been on the company’s payroll as a $20,000-a-year salesman. Though no firm evidence was developed proving Pelican Tomatoes was a front for illicit enterprise, produce importing is a well-known cover for a variety of such activities, including narcotics smuggling and money laundering.

If Marcello has an “organization” in Texas, it is centered in the Houston area. There, some 35 associates of the Little Man have been identified. In 1969, Mar-cello associates Luke Galioto, Joseph Accardo and Sam Saia were busted in connection with a large bookmaking operation at Houston’s Royal Coach Inn. More recently, members of Marcello’s Shreveport organization reportedly visited with some owners of the Sportspage Clubs, concerning a possible new club in New Orleans. The Marcello operatives were reportedly very ingratiating, though the Sportspage people eventually swore off the negotiation because they thought they might wind up with some unwanted silent partners.

Marcello’s expansion beyond the Louisiana borders has been cautious, well-planned and clandestine. The Little Man is smart enough to know that very few Texas counties are as corruptible as Jefferson Parish. He is also smart enough to know that a criminal of his influence and wealth no longer needs to truck in flagrantly illegal activities. Like any cash-rich wheelerdealer, he can pick and choose his investments.

Accardo and Sam Saia were busted in connection with a large bookmaking operation at Houston’s Royal Coach Inn. More recently, members of Marcello’s Shreveport organization reportedly visited with some owners of the Sportspage Clubs, concerning a possible new club in New Orleans. The Marcello operatives were reportedly very ingratiating, though the Sportspage people eventually swore off the negotiation because they thought they might wind up with some unwanted silent partners.
Marcello’s expansion beyond the Louisiana borders has been cautious, well-planned and clandestine. The Little Man is smart enough to know that very few Texas counties are as corruptible as Jefferson Parish. He is also smart enough to know that a criminal of his influence and wealth no longer needs to truck in flagrantly illegal activities. Like any cash-rich wheelerdealer, he can pick and choose his investments.

Organized crime in Texas and Dallas extends well beyond the activities of the Mafia. The roots of organized crime here are homegrown; and in some sense, the underworld in Dallas remains that way.

The 350 to 500 bookmakers who line out $10 million a week in sports wagering in Dallas do not, for example, pay Carlos Marcello a ten-percent commission on their earnings. Marcello had early ties to bookmaking here, of course; in some sense, he is the granddaddy of book-making in the South and Southwest. But bookmaking, particularly sports betting, has grown too popular and unwieldy for any Mafia boss, even the Little Man, to control outright.

The bookies in Dallas do form their own criminal organization, though it is considerably more loose-knit than any Mafia family. The booking subculture is structured in tiers: An uppermost echelon of some five to a dozen “big books”; a Organized crime in Texas and Dallas extends well beyond the activities of the Mafia. The roots of organized crime here are homegrown; and in some sense, the underworld in Dallas remains that way.

The 350 to 500 bookmakers who line out $10 million a week in sports wagering in Dallas do not, for example, pay Carlos Marcello a ten-percent commission on their earnings. Marcello had early ties to bookmaking here, of course; in some sense, he is the granddaddy of book-making in the South and Southwest. But bookmaking, particularly sports betting, has grown too popular and unwieldy for any Mafia boss, even the Little Man, to control outright.

The bookies in Dallas do form their own criminal organization, though it is considerably more loose-knit than any Mafia family. The booking subculture is structured in tiers: An uppermost echelon of some five to a dozen “big books”; a second layer of 50 or so major bet takers; several other levels of smaller players. The “big books” achieve that status through direct access to the betting line out of Las Vegas. They, in turn, feed the line to the lower orders of bookies, either for a fee or other “favors.”

Since the spread of regular betting to the middle class, bookmaking has become big business. The case of one Mike Miller and associates should suffice as an example. Miller and four other individuals were busted by the FBI and convicted this past summer for operating what federal authorities believe to be one of the largest bookmaking organizations in the city. Miller and associates were accepting sports wagers totalling as much as $100,000 to $150,000 a day – representing a daily net profit of between $2,000 and $5,000.

Expert testimony from one Joseph Gurwitz, also known as “Joey Boston,” revealed the inner workings of big time second layer of 50 or so major bet takers; several other levels of smaller players. The “big books” achieve that status through direct access to the betting line out of Las Vegas. They, in turn, feed the line to the lower orders of bookies, either for a fee or other “favors.”

Since the spread of regular betting to the middle class, bookmaking has become big business. The case of one Mike Miller and associates should suffice as an example. Miller and four other individuals were busted by the FBI and convicted this past summer for operating what federal authorities believe to be one of the largest bookmaking organizations in the city. Miller and associates were accepting sports wagers totalling as much as $100,000 to $150,000 a day – representing a daily net profit of between $2,000 and $5,000.

Expert testimony from one Joseph Gurwitz, also known as “Joey Boston,” revealed the inner workings of big time bookmaking. Boston is owner and manager of Stardust Sportsbook in Las Vegas, reputed to be the largest sports wagering parlor in the world. Boston explained that bookmakers like Miller operate in loose cooperation with one another in two ways: through trading the line, and through “lay offs.”

“Laying off” is the way a book keeps his bets balanced, and ultimately, how he makes his daily profit. Here’s how it works: A bookie like Miller makes his money off “juice” or “vigorish” – a 10 percent commission or penalty fee he charges losing bettors. In other words, if you bet $200 and win, you win $200; if you lose, you pay the book $220. But the only way a bookie can ensure that his “juice” will be clear profit is to keep his bets balanced on both sides of the line. For example, if a Mike Miller puts out a line of Dallas over Washington by seven points, he bookmaking. Boston is owner and manager of Stardust Sportsbook in Las Vegas, reputed to be the largest sports wagering parlor in the world. Boston explained that bookmakers like Miller operate in loose cooperation with one another in two ways: through trading the line, and through “lay offs.”

“Laying off” is the way a book keeps his bets balanced, and ultimately, how he makes his daily profit. Here’s how it works: A bookie like Miller makes his money off “juice” or “vigorish” – a 10 percent commission or penalty fee he charges losing bettors. In other words, if you bet $200 and win, you win $200; if you lose, you pay the book $220. But the only way a bookie can ensure that his “juice” will be clear profit is to keep his bets balanced on both sides of the line. For example, if a Mike Miller puts out a line of Dallas over Washington by seven points, he needs to have, say, $50,000 bet on Dallas and $50,000 bet on Washinton to clear a profit. As long as his bets are even, he can pay his winners with the cash collections from his losers, then rake off his 10 percent free and clear.

This isn’t always easy, particularly in a town with local favorites. Indeed, it is likely in the aforementioned example that Mike Miller would have an overload of betting for Dallas – say, $80,000 on the Cowboys and $20,000 on the Red-skins. This is where “laying off comes in. Through other local books, or big bookies in other cities, Miller can refer, or “lay off’ his surplus bets on one side of the line or the other. In turn, he can accept “lay offs” from other books to build up the light side of the line.

If New Orleans and Marcello retain a link to sports wagering in Dallas, it is through this lay off ritual. The big books needs to have, say, $50,000 bet on Dallas and $50,000 bet on Washinton to clear a profit. As long as his bets are even, he can pay his winners with the cash collections from his losers, then rake off his 10 percent free and clear.
This isn’t always easy, particularly in a town with local favorites. Indeed, it is likely in the aforementioned example that Mike Miller would have an overload of betting for Dallas – say, $80,000 on the Cowboys and $20,000 on the Red-skins. This is where “laying off comes in. Through other local books, or big bookies in other cities, Miller can refer, or “lay off’ his surplus bets on one side of the line or the other. In turn, he can accept “lay offs” from other books to build up the light side of the line.

If New Orleans and Marcello retain a link to sports wagering in Dallas, it is through this lay off ritual. The big books here know who to call if their wagering becomes drastically lopsided; the Marcello organization, with its nationwide contacts, can easily accept or refer lay offs. In this way, a big bookie can be an “associate” of the Marcello family without knowing anyone in New Orleans on a first name basis.

Sports bookmaking is far and away the most widespread form of organized criminal activity in Dallas and the state, accounting for some $900 million in cash flow yearly. But narcotics peddling is not far behind. Here again, narcotics hustling has grown too amorphous and too risky for a man like Carlos Marcello to be directly involved. Indeed, intelligence sources indicate the mob nationwide has lowered its profile in narcotics smuggling considerably in recent years, simply because of stepped-up law enforcement.
Narcotics traffic in Dallas is based on the Mexican connection. Between 400 and 500 Mexican dealers – structured here know who to call if their wagering becomes drastically lopsided; the Marcello organization, with its nationwide contacts, can easily accept or refer lay offs. In this way, a big bookie can be an “associate” of the Marcello family without knowing anyone in New Orleans on a first name basis.

Sports bookmaking is far and away the most widespread form of organized criminal activity in Dallas and the state, accounting for some $900 million in cash flow yearly. But narcotics peddling is not far behind. Here again, narcotics hustling has grown too amorphous and too risky for a man like Carlos Marcello to be directly involved. Indeed, intelligence sources indicate the mob nationwide has lowered its profile in narcotics smuggling considerably in recent years, simply because of stepped-up law enforcement.

Narcotics traffic in Dallas is based on the Mexican connection. Between 400 and 500 Mexican dealers – structured around families like the Mafia families of New York and Chicago- smuggle about $1 billion worth of heroin, cocaine and marijuana into Texas each year. Dallas is not known as a major center for users, but rather as a stopover point, a distribution center for Los Angeles, Denver, Chicago and New York.

Intelligence officers indicate between 100 and 200 distributors of various size currently operate in Dallas. Because marijuana and cocaine have become so popular, many of these dealers are little more than neighborhood distributors. But Dallas does have its share of major pushers.

Probably the biggest dealer snared by the law in recent memory is Joe Hicks, a heroin/cocaine smuggler who some law enforcement officials believe supplied 50 percent of the hard drugs to the black community here. Hicks’ operation was sophisticated, employing 12 couriers and an intricate smuggling scheme between around families like the Mafia families of New York and Chicago- smuggle about $1 billion worth of heroin, cocaine and marijuana into Texas each year. Dallas is not known as a major center for users, but rather as a stopover point, a distribution center for Los Angeles, Denver, Chicago and New York.

Intelligence officers indicate between 100 and 200 distributors of various size currently operate in Dallas. Because marijuana and cocaine have become so popular, many of these dealers are little more than neighborhood distributors. But Dallas does have its share of major pushers.

Probably the biggest dealer snared by the law in recent memory is Joe Hicks, a heroin/cocaine smuggler who some law enforcement officials believe supplied 50 percent of the hard drugs to the black community here. Hicks’ operation was sophisticated, employing 12 couriers and an intricate smuggling scheme between Bangkok and Dallas.

Described as “a used car salesman,” Hicks began dope smuggling in the wake of the Vietnam war. He set up a salvage operation for military vehicles as his front, found a cab driver in Bangkok to supply him with pure Asian white heroin and began smuggling the contraband through Los Angeles in the tires and engine parts of the vehicles.

What started on a shoestring quickly grew to an organization that accounted for the smuggling and sale of 200 kilos (440 pounds) of heroin and cocaine in two short years. Like bookmaking, hard drug smuggling is astoundingly lucrative: Hicks could buy one kilo of 90 percent pure Asian white for about $4,000. By “cutting,” or diluting it twice, he could produce four kilos of respectable 25 percent heroin. Those four kilos, sold in pounds or ounces, could gross him about $80,000 – a $76,000 profit.

It is doubtful even a dealer of Hicks’ stature had direct ties to the Marcello family, however. Intelligence officers indicate that if big narcotics dealers have any relationship to the New Orleans mob, it might be through front money for large narcotics operations. As with bookmaking, narcotics dealers know where the big money is if they need it.

Pornography is an area of illicit enterprise long considered to be the mob’s bailiwick. Marcello himself has dabbled in it in New Orleans. In Dallas, there are Bangkok and Dallas. Described as “a used car salesman,” Hicks began dope smuggling in the wake of the Vietnam war. He set up a salvage operation for military vehicles as his front, found a cab driver in Bangkok to supply him with pure Asian white heroin and began smuggling the contraband through Los Angeles in the tires and engine parts of the vehicles.

What started on a shoestring quickly grew to an organization that accounted for the smuggling and sale of 200 kilos (440 pounds) of heroin and cocaine in two short years. Like bookmaking, hard drug smuggling is astoundingly lucrative: Hicks could buy one kilo of 90 percent pure Asian white for about $4,000. By “cutting,” or diluting it twice, he could produce four kilos of respectable 25 percent heroin. Those four kilos, sold in pounds or ounces, could gross him about $80,000 – a $76,000 profit.

It is doubtful even a dealer of Hicks’ stature had direct ties to the Marcello family, however. Intelligence officers indicate that if big narcotics dealers have any relationship to the New Orleans mob, it might be through front money for large narcotics operations. As with bookmaking, narcotics dealers know where the big money is if they need it.

Pornography is an area of illicit enterprise long considered to be the mob’s bailiwick. Marcello himself has dabbled in it in New Orleans. In Dallas, there are only vague hints that Mafia money in any way controls distribution of pornographic materials.

Until recently, distribution of obscene materials to Dallas’ 12 or so major bookstores and movie houses was thought to be controlled by Mike Thevis, an Atlanta-based operator believed to be among the three largest pornography distributors in the nation. The extent of Thevis’ involvement here remains something of a mystery, but the bottom line of his Atlanta operations is exemplary: On a typical day, Thevis’ 10 different enterprises in a block-and-a-half area of Atlanta could gross $3 million.

Thevis was convicted on nine counts of transporting obscene materials through interstate commerce in November, 1971; he was indicted in San Antonio on similar charges along with 34 other individuals – including four Dallas men – in 1973. Since his troubles with the law, intelligence and vice officers say the pornography industry has become wide open.
In Irving, where pornography has boomed off and on for the past 10 years, three different organizations are believed to control distribution, including one group wth ties to a New York mob family.

New Orleans’ Aaron Kohn once said, “Organized crime often is subtle and insidious. Because it black markets popular illegalities on the suronly vague hints that Mafia money in any way controls distribution of pornographic materials.

Until recently, distribution of obscene materials to Dallas’ 12 or so major bookstores and movie houses was thought to be controlled by Mike Thevis, an Atlanta-based operator believed to be among the three largest pornography distributors in the nation. The extent of Thevis’ involvement here remains something of a mystery, but the bottom line of his Atlanta operations is exemplary: On a typical day, Thevis’ 10 different enterprises in a block-and-a-half area of Atlanta could gross $3 million.
Thevis was convicted on nine counts of transporting obscene materials through interstate commerce in November, 1971; he was indicted in San Antonio on similar charges along with 34 other individuals – including four Dallas men – in 1973. Since his troubles with the law, intelligence and vice officers say the pornography industry has become wide open.

In Irving, where pornography has boomed off and on for the past 10 years, three different organizations are believed to control distribution, including one group wth ties to a New York mob family.

New Orleans’ Aaron Kohn once said, “Organized crime often is subtle and insidious. Because it black markets popular illegalities on the surface it does not appear offensive or threatening … The law enforcement machinery usually is reactive to complaints of victims of ordinary crime, and its time and resources generally are consumed by such complaints. These characteristics have permitted organized crime to grow to its present massive proportions in our nation.”

Even with increased attention from law enforcement agencies, organized crime -Mafia-related or not – is an elusive outlaw to stalk. Because of its ingenuity, its ability to enlist the complicity of officialdom, and the increasingly legitimate facade of its activities, the best law enforcement officials can do in many cases is what they call a “wag” – a “wild-assed guess.”

Restrictions against wiretapping are part of the rub, but in recent years, a new problem has emerged. The 1972 Freedom of Information Act, passed by Congress in early reaction to Watergate revelations concerning illegal domestic surveillance, has severely hampered development of intelligence through snitches. Under the act, the object of surveillance can sue the agency in question to view the contents of his file. If and when he sees his file, it doesn’t take long for him to figure out who said what to whom.
That has made many previous valuable snitches button their lips for fear of reprisal from the criminals in question. face it does not appear offensive or threatening … The law enforcement machinery usually is reactive to complaints of victims of ordinary crime, and its time and resources generally are consumed by such complaints. These characteristics have permitted organized crime to grow to its present massive proportions in our nation.”

Even with increased attention from law enforcement agencies, organized crime -Mafia-related or not – is an elusive outlaw to stalk. Because of its ingenuity, its ability to enlist the complicity of officialdom, and the increasingly legitimate facade of its activities, the best law enforcement officials can do in many cases is what they call a “wag” – a “wild-assed guess.”

Restrictions against wiretapping are part of the rub, but in recent years, a new problem has emerged. The 1972 Freedom of Information Act, passed by Congress in early reaction to Watergate revelations concerning illegal domestic surveillance, has severely hampered development of intelligence through snitches. Under the act, the object of surveillance can sue the agency in question to view the contents of his file. If and when he sees his file, it doesn’t take long for him to figure out who said what to whom.
That has made many previous valuable snitches button their lips for fear of reprisal from the criminals in question. Furthermore, it has thrown the entire business of intellegence gathering into a state of confusion. “I sometimes don’t know what I can put into a file and what I can’t these days,” says one high-ranking official.

Which raises an ironic prospect: Since1957 and Apalachin, the Mafia and itshomegrown imitators in cities across thenation have been in the spotlight; organized crime, once truly a secret underworld, was laid bare to a shocked American public and made a major priority oflaw enforcement. Today, particularly incities like Dallas, the cleverness of Mafiaheads like Carlos Marcello and the restrictions imposed on law enforcementofficials are letting it sink slowly backinto the underground. Omerta, La CosaNostra’s time-honored tradition of secrecy, may live again.

Furthermore, it has thrown the entire business of intellegence gathering into a state of confusion. “I sometimes don’t know what I can put into a file and what I can’t these days,” says one high-ranking official.

Which raises an ironic prospect: Since1957 and Apalachin, the Mafia and itshomegrown imitators in cities across thenation have been in the spotlight; organized crime, once truly a secret underworld, was laid bare to a shocked American public and made a major priority oflaw enforcement. Today, particularly incities like Dallas, the cleverness of Mafiaheads like Carlos Marcello and the restrictions imposed on law enforcementofficials are letting it sink slowly backinto the underground. Omerta, La CosaNostra’s time-honored tradition of secrecy, may live again.

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