Underworld Mafia Quotes

The thing about butterflies, Mr. Crow, is that they need to be admired from afar.

This is the moment I realize that our traumas never really go away. They live inside of us, in the deepest darkest pits of our own tiny hells. Cocked and loaded, waiting for someone to come along and pull the trigger.

Nobody has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me at this moment. Like I’m his possession. Like if anyone else were to touch me, he’d break both their legs and an arm for good measure.

Customers don’t usually tip in Australia. That’s an American etiquette,” Kara explained.

I never realized how empty my life had really become until I had him in it. He did that to me. He said I wrecked him, but he completely destroyed me. Everything was fine when I was alone. When I didn’t have to feel or think or care about someone else. Sure I was sad and broken, but I was okay. Now, I’m anything but.

I thought I told you I don’t play by the rules,” I argue. “Ye’re mistaken,” he says. “Ye just walked into my world unbidden. So you will play by the rules, butterfly. You’ll be playing by all my rules.

Can't expect to shut up a sunbeam in a box and not have it dim a little. Hm?

Realisation dawned on me. It was not the world that needed to change, but I. The world is fine, with a comfortable mix of this and that. What was topsy-turvy was within me. I needed to transform. I

Bissell fingered his napkin. "I do, Mr. Boyd. And I know how generous Mr. Hoffa, Mr. Marcello and a few other Italian gentlemen have been to the Cause, and I know that you possess a certain amount of influence in the Kennedy camp. And as the President's chief Cuban-issue liaison, I also know that Fidel Castro and Communism are a good deal worse than the Mafia, although I wouldn't dream of asking you to intercede on our friends' behalf, because it might cost you credibility with your sacred Kennedys." Stanton dropped his soup spoon. Pete let a big breath out eeeasy. Boyd put out a big shit-eating grin. "I'm glad you feel that way, Mr. Bissell. Because if you did ask me, I'd have to tell you to go fuck yourself.

A complete back tattoo, stretching from the collar of the neck down to the tailbone can take one hundred hours. Such extensive tattooing, then, became a test of strength, and the gamblers eagerly adopted the practice to show the world their courage, toughness, and masculinity. It showed, at the same time, another, more humble purpose - as a self-inflicted wound that would permanently distinguish the outcasts from the rest of the world. The tattooing marks the yakuza as misfits, forever unable or unwilling to adapt themselves to Japanese society.

By the end of spring 1942, New York City had begun to rise from a gloomy run of months. The United States Navy had won its first major victory at the Battle of Midway. Losses in the Battle of the Atlantic were horrific and still being censored, which was a good thing, as the Allies lost 213 ships in May and June alone. In New York City, however, business was beginning to boom, as a major boost in government spending cut unemployment in half. Servicemen from all over were beginning to filter through the city and spend their government paychecks on local entertainment.

Cold-blooded criminals began to look helpless, and the line between the two worlds—under and ‘over’— became thin.

Carlos” was Carlos Marcello and that Sheriff T-Jack was actively collecting gambling proceeds for the New Orleans Mafia and its allies, Frank Costello’s mob in New York. Marcello had made his fortune as a young man by distributing Costello’s slot machines throughout Louisiana and Texas using a simple marketing pitch: “We’ll make you rich, or we’ll make you disappear.

Remember, I was only in to fighting; I wasn’t a high-ranking underworld figure selling the Crown Jewels! I wasn’t the Merthyr Mafia and I had no connections with the goings on of petty criminal matters.

Usually I don’t disclose who my friends are, or talk about the places where I have travelled or am going to travel.

Kelly, George, and several other agents were spread out all over the city. Haffenden had already had George rummaging through the trash of a dozen different buildings in Midtown Manhattan. The trash that George was looking at belonged to foreign consulates that were suspected of having friendly ties with Germany, Italy, or Japan. New York City had nearly sixty different consulates. While Axis nations didn’t have their consulates in the country anymore, some of these countries hadn’t officially declared their allegiance to the Allied cause. It was possible they could be spying for the enemy.

It wasn’t Haffenden’s job to analyze intelligence (though he frequently did so anyway), but to collect it.

George then combed the office but touched nothing. He made note of locked file cabinets, safes, and a main vault, and then reported back to Haffenden. Haffenden filled out one of his own blue flimsies and reported back to Washington that the same country’s consulate in New York was also burning paper.

For five days in September 1941 the strike delayed the shipment of vital war materials to the English, who at the time were fighting the Germans by themselves.

Alfieri read, “Secreta, solo para ser abierto en caso de guerra.” Translation: “Secret, only to be opened in case of war.” They dared not open it, lest they leave evidence that they had been there, so they took a picture of the envelope, put it back, and closed the safe. George then spun the dial counterclockwise to clear it, and placed the dial on the exact number it had been on when he arrived.

Adonis was indeed a good-looking man, and nobody thought he was more handsome than himself. He had big lips and boyishly soft olive skin. He made sure he always looked his best; manicures and pedicures were part of his daily routine. The three of them knew each other, but they weren’t close. So Meyer Lansky had sent word to Adonis first, and asked him to meet with Lanza. When Adonis arrived at Carmine’s, Lanza and Espy greeted him cordially, and Adonis sat down with the two men.

On Monday morning, June 15, 1942, Elizabeth Schwerin came into work at the Hotel Astor to find Haffenden absolutely exhausted. He told her he’d been “chasing saboteurs almost all night.” He even showed her a German button that he’d taken from one of their discarded uniforms.

Those crystal-blue eyes of hers…they cut through all the bullshit and pierced my soul. I was forever lost to her. That twenty percent angel, eighty percent devil mix made me want to dive headfirst into whatever underworld she’d take me.

his father's murder and survives the ruthless battles to become a mob boss. Facing a life sentence, he causes havoc in the underworld when he agrees to testify against his associates and becomes the highest-ranking Mafia turncoat in US history.

matter, the authorities have been interviewed, privately, in the public interest. As a result, the Court is able to conclude that the defendant probably attempted to assist them, and possibly

Another reason the longshoremen in Brooklyn were not talking to the navy was because President Roosevelt had declared that the country’s six hundred thousand nonnaturalized Italians be classified as “enemy aliens.” It was insulting, and it was an unwise move to offend the very people who were handling the materials that were being transported for war.

Another reason the longshoremen in Brooklyn were not talking to the navy was because President Roosevelt had declared that the country’s six hundred thousand nonnaturalized Italians be classified as “enemy aliens.” It was insulting, and it was an unwise move to offend the very people who were handling the materials that were being transported for war.3 By late February 1942, Haffenden and his section had failed to produce a single informant on the waterfront. Every officer at ONI had been trained to know that developing informants was essential for counterintelligence work, and on the waterfront, B-3 was coming up short.4

In B-3 section, Haffenden may have commanded over one hundred investigators from the New York District Attorney’s Office, FBI agents, and cops who had joined the war effort, but Haffenden himself was never a member of law enforcement of any kind. He had been a good-looking man in his youth, with a poise and cunning in his eyes, but now he wasn’t sleeping, and he wasn’t placing much emphasis on keeping himself in shape and healthy. He was now completely devoted to his job. His dark hair was mostly gone. His waistline was expanding, he had a double chin, and his only exercise was a weekly golf game. His face still lit up, as he always found energy in leadership. He gave off an infectious enthusiasm, and exuded confidence well beyond his abilities. He was also creative, and equipped with an imagination that was so extravagant that at times it had to be reined in by his superiors. At other times, it manifested into strokes of pure genius.

Thousands from the navy, Coast Guard, and Merchant Marines had been killed, but there were more than a fair share of survivors. Some of them had even been pulled aboard German U-boats and interrogated, before being sent adrift in the open ocean. The ones who were rescued by US forces had strange things to share, and what they reported made its way through the channels of Naval Intelligence to Haffenden and MacFall. American supplies—packaged with their name branding—were seen belowdecks inside German U-boats. This meant that the Germans might be rendezvousing out at sea with people from mainland North America. And if these people could supply food, then they could also supply other things, such as fuel and distilled water, which were liquid gold to a U-boat at sea.

As they began to see that criminal gangs of New York were connected to their two problems—being unable to infiltrate the docks and stopping anyone from completing a resupply mission with the enemy, Haffenden and MacFall needed to answer some questions: Could underworld figures be recruited as informants? How reliable of an informant would a career criminal be? And if criminals could be trusted, could they be used for counterespionage?

With that, Marzulo made his peace with the nature of the mission, having learned a valuable lesson in the difference between peacetime law enforcement and wartime counterespionage.

President Roosevelt himself even said during a fireside chat that “Today’s threat to our national security is not a matter of military weapons alone. We know of new methods of attack—the Trojan Horse, the Fifth Column that betrays a nation unprepared for treachery. Spies, saboteurs and traitors are the actors in this new energy.” These threats were exactly what Haffenden was up against on the waterfront. If the enemy infiltrated the harbor, and posed as a longshoreman, the missions he could carry out were terrifying. As unthinkable as they were, it was Haffenden’s job to be one step ahead. That meant getting information about sabotage activity, however he could get it.

With US fleet strength in the Atlantic still floundering, and insufficient to protect its merchant fleet on not only the high seas, but their own home waters, the navy was now using Long Island’s fishing fleet as the first line of defense against the enemy.

US merchant ships had already been told a month ago not to operate with their lights on at night, but back in New York City lights still made them perfect, dark silhouettes for U-boat captains who observed them through their periscopes. In April 1942, New York City finally decided to turn out the lights. However, the “blackout” that was desired by Admiral Andrews never materialized, as Mayor La Guardia argued for a compromise—New York City would institute a “dimout.” The Statue of Liberty’s torch was extinguished. The Wrigley’s fish and neon bubbles in Times Square were taken down. However, at night, the Camel man kept smoking, and blowing smoke rings over a dark street. Street lamps and traffic lights were dimmed, and cars either ran with just their parking lights on or had their lights painted over so light could only escape through a slit. Gasoline and rubber shortages saw fewer and fewer cars were on the road, and most cars running were yellow taxicabs that were exempt from rationing. Floodlights that illuminated the facades of New York City’s most recognizable structures—the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and Rockefeller Center—were turned off, making them look like “giant mausoleums.” In late April, sporadic blackout drills made the city even darker.

The other problem that Lanza had, and perhaps the most significant, was that he was not a very powerful gangster. Sure, in the Luciano family, he was a high-ranking soldier, he had his own territory, and his influence stretched across the country. But that influence stopped cold when it came to the territories dominated by the other four families in New York City. This was by design—the design of his imprisoned boss, Lucky Luciano. Perhaps it was time to talk to the acting boss of his family—Frank Costello—but even he would have trouble exerting influence over the other families. It had been purposely set up that way to maintain a balance of power and keep the peace in the underworld.

The word of Charlie,” Lanza said, “may give me the right-of-way.” Haffenden knew that recruiting the man who was believed to be the country’s top criminal to help the navy could never reach the light of day. None of his fellow officers would try something so audacious and risky, that could damage the reputation of the navy so badly. But his qualms about recruiting Luciano for the navy’s interests only went so far as whether or not Luciano could help him accomplish his mission. If it was going to succeed, nobody outside of MacFall, Howe, and the spymaster in DC could know about it. If the main branch of the navy heard about it, they’d be shut down and possibly reprimanded. Whatever information or contacts they developed would also have to be controlled, and sworn to secrecy, if that was even possible. Haffenden knew that bringing in Luciano would mean they were going to develop dangerous contacts that went way beyond fishing boat captains and low-level gangsters. These informants would represent the top echelon of Mafia leadership. “I’ll talk to anybody,” Haffenden said at the time. “A priest, a bank manager, a gangster, the devil himself, if I can get the information I need. This is a war.

In late April 1942, Commander Charles Radcliffe Haffenden undertook the unlikely task of trying to recruit Charles “Lucky” Luciano to become an informant for Naval Intelligence. It was complicated in that he would have to successfully move through a number of government and bureaucratic hoops without causing a stir. It was a delicate dance filled with imagination, the kind only a man like Haffenden could conceive; a circus of go-betweens, all of whom had to understand the necessity of secrecy.

Gurfein said he was open to the idea, so Polakoff told him he would call this “intermediary,” as Polakoff put it.1 Gurfein had no idea who Polakoff was talking about, but he did have faith that Polakoff understood perfectly how the underworld was organized and knew what he was doing. Socks Lanza was happy to be Luciano’s contact. But from what Haffenden had learned about underworld hierarchy, he had his reservations about sending in Lanza to meet Luciano, so when Gurfein reported back that Polakoff had someone else in mind, the commander was more than receptive to the idea. Another dancer was thus added to the circus. Interestingly, Polakoff’s choice wasn’t Frank Costello—Luciano’s acting boss—or anyone from the Luciano family, for that matter. Polakoff knew Luciano well after spending so much time defending him—albeit unsuccessfully—during his trial. So he knew that the person who held the most sway with his client was his business partner, current accountant, and best friend, Meyer “Little Man” Lansky.

What follows is a true story

Food and supplies cost money, and that meant there were profits to be made. But who would do such a thing—sell out their country, presumably for the right price? German spies were one threat, but there was another avenue that had to be explored—Haffenden and MacFall believed the answer lay in the Italians in New York, especially members of the underworld, who perhaps still held their native Italy closer to their hearts than the America they had adopted (and exploited). Haffenden’s creative mind, along with those at ONI, was extremely concerned that the Germans could persuade these Italians to aid their cause.15

The lieutenant was secretive and kept a low profile—given his past, it was for a good reason. But he confided in Haffenden, whom he trusted, and respected. Treglia was short, with an athletic build full of muscle.16 Treglia was a first-class officer, and Haffenden was happy to have him not only because he was an Italian-American, had expertise in the underworld, and was smart, but also because he was one of the only actual seamen in his command.

Haffenden then told Lanza that the war was not going well for the United States as far as the movement of supplies across the Atlantic was concerned. He told Lanza about the U-boat threat, which had been covered in the newspapers for Lanza to read, but not at length, as the US government was actively censoring the worst aspects of the war.

The US high command had issued orders to commission civilians all over New York to watch the shores. Coastguardsmen called “sand pounders” paced every inch of beach on Long Island. Also on Long Island, private yachts began making up what was called “the Hooligan Navy.” They patrolled the water for enemy U-boats—some of them were even armed with machine guns—and were joined by other civilians who flew their private planes for sub watch patrols.

But before Haffenden could even make a choice of go-betweens, he had to recruit an inspector in the Westchester District, who then made clear to Haffenden that there was yet another hurdle: In order to set up a meeting with Luciano in prison, Haffenden would have to get the approval of the New York Commissioner of Correction, John Lyons.

Haffenden’s first move was to bring Assistant DA Murray Gurfein back into the mix. Haffenden invited Gurfein to his office at the Hotel Astor for a meeting where they would be joined by Socks Lanza. In the circus of go-betweens to get to Luciano, the meeting between Lanza and Gurfein would be perhaps the oddest of all. After all, now, strangely in the interest of national security, Lanza found himself meeting face-to-face—and not in a courtroom—once more with the very man who wanted to put him behind bars. There was a mutual understanding that put the age-old game of good versus evil on the sidelines, and in its place they were playing another ancient game—warfare.

The attorney arrived at Gurfein’s office the next day. He was forty-six years old, had a long nose, and thick, wavy dark hair. He may have represented his fair share of underworld figures, but he believed in the law, and that everyone—no matter how sinister—deserved a legitimate defense, and their day in court. He was devoted to his country, and his Jewish faith.

In eighth grade, despite Lansky’s fantastic aptitude, he dropped out of school and joined Luciano’s gang. By then, Luciano had already made friends with Frank Costello (known then by his real name, Francesco Castiglia), and Lansky brought into the gang his fellow Jewish friend Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel. A year later World War I started,2 and though Lansky was just fifteen years old, the four boys were having success as stickup men and thieves and making more money than they could deal with. Luciano was the brains and the leader, Costello made important connections, Siegel was the brawn, and Lansky was the accountant. It was a fruitful partnership, and the four of them were sitting on a pile of cash just waiting to invest in something. Then, after World War I, the US government solved that problem for them when they passed the eighteenth Amendment, which started Prohibition. 3 Soon after, Lansky split off and started his own gang with Siegel called the “Bugs and Meyer Mob.” Lansky was ambitious, and while the Bugs and Meyer Mob worked with Luciano and Costello frequently, the gangs of New York were still largely divided along racial lines. Lansky recruited other Jews from the neighborhood, and together they provided trucks and protection for the movement of alcohol. They also shook down Jewish moneylenders and made them pay tribute. But of all the rackets that Lansky ran, the most notorious was his murder-for-hire business that the press called “Murder Inc.

The United States military and law enforcement weren’t even close to becoming aware of all the enemy spy rings that had been operational for some time. Some were only picking up steam and others were firmly entrenched in American society, as the enemy had been preparing for war for a decade, leaving the US desperately behind in its ability to combat threats from enemy legions in Europe, armadas in the Pacific Ocean, and spies and saboteurs at home.

Over the next two-and-a-half weeks, Haffenden had two of his young officers pore through case files provided by the DA’s office. For this task, Haffenden used James O’Malley and another lieutenant j.g., named Anthony Marzulo. Marzulo had also previously worked in the DA’s office, as an investigator under Thomas Dewey. He was in his early thirties, was of Italian descent, and had thick black hair and big black eyebrows. He was a linguist who not only spoke Italian, but also various Sicilian dialects. He had mixed feelings about his Italian heritage, and wanted to be thought of as an American. He despised the Italian criminal gangs of New York, as he felt they gave his ethnicity a bad name. To combat them, he had gone to law school, before becoming an investigator in the DA’s office.21

The city’s population mostly stayed the same, as the largest manufacturing city in the country failed to secure early war production contracts. Small factories, which New York City was full of, had nothing to produce, and more jobs were actually lost than gained.

President Roosevelt admitted to the press that there “have been losses,” but he was mum on the details. The federal government told the press that they would be censoring the information that they shared with the American public, and the press, for their part, cooperated.

Squeezing too hard on people outside the underworld—or “legits”—was a recipe for disaster. Squeeze legits too hard and they run to the police. Montagna didn’t seem to understand or care.

On December 22, 1946, it was during a meeting at the Hotel Nacional that Meyer Lansky, Santo Trafficante, Jr. from Tampa, Florida, and other underworld figures planned Havana’s future as the new playground for the Americas. Joe Bananas, Vito Genovese and Frank Costello, just to mention a few of the Mafia hierarchy, were present for the largest Mafia forum since the Chicago meeting of 1932. One of the main topics at the Havana Convention was the narcotics trade. It was a long-standing myth that the Mafia was against narcotics trafficking. Their involvement actually started when Luciano was a kid and running narcotics for the mob in New York City.