Story
I came in 1906 at the age of five with my parents from Palermo to America.
My father had found a job on the docks of New York and my mother earned a few cents as a seamstress.
Those were hard times back then.
We lived in Manhattan's Lower East Side. Actually not a good place for a little boy to grow up.
In order to support my family, I began as a ten year old, doing little errands for Frankie Yale and his boys. It was nothing special. They were mostly small pieces of paper on which messages were. I was sort of the postman of the Five Points Gang.
When I was sixteen, I helped Frankie in his bar, the Harvard Inn at Coney Iceland. It was fascinating to me. Frankie's world had everything the world of my parents did not. There was apparently money in abundance, luxury cars and stunning women.
The famous Al Capone was not famous at that time and was my colleague behind the bar.
At this time, it was clear to me that I wanted to be a gangster. The whole thing for me was something heroic - it smelled like an adventure.
No one in my neighborhood dared to even look at me wrong. At the baker or the butcher, I got what I wanted without paying or queuing. People held the door open for me. I was sixteen years old, but I was somebody. I belonged to Frankie Yale.
Over the years Frankie trusted me more and gave me more responsibility, and led me into the business.
In 1922, he sent me to Chicago to Al Capone in his local shops to help. In 1919, Frankie had sent Al to Chicago.
That was when the fat years started. Prohibition was a gift from heaven. Everyone wanted alcohol, but we had secured a monopoly on the illegal alcohol.
The wind was rough from 1928 onwards. Frankie had cheated Al Capone on his shipments of alcohol, which Al couldn't take standing up.
On 01 July, 1928, Frankie's car was riddled with bullets. Officially, no one was able to connect the incident to Al. But everyone knew it.
On 14 February, 1929, Al sent me and four other members of the Gang to 2122 N. Clark Street. In police uniforms, we raided a North Side Gang storage depot.
The seven boys had no chance.
In the newspapers the action known as a "Valentine's Day Massacre" was famous, and Al Capone really became the boss of all bosses.
At least until May of that year. Then the police grabbed him for illegal weapons possession.
That was the time to rid myself of Al and to go my own way.
I'm back in New York and this city provides me with all the possibilities.
My father had found a job on the docks of New York and my mother earned a few cents as a seamstress.
Those were hard times back then.
We lived in Manhattan's Lower East Side. Actually not a good place for a little boy to grow up.
In order to support my family, I began as a ten year old, doing little errands for Frankie Yale and his boys. It was nothing special. They were mostly small pieces of paper on which messages were. I was sort of the postman of the Five Points Gang.
When I was sixteen, I helped Frankie in his bar, the Harvard Inn at Coney Iceland. It was fascinating to me. Frankie's world had everything the world of my parents did not. There was apparently money in abundance, luxury cars and stunning women.
The famous Al Capone was not famous at that time and was my colleague behind the bar.
At this time, it was clear to me that I wanted to be a gangster. The whole thing for me was something heroic - it smelled like an adventure.
No one in my neighborhood dared to even look at me wrong. At the baker or the butcher, I got what I wanted without paying or queuing. People held the door open for me. I was sixteen years old, but I was somebody. I belonged to Frankie Yale.
Over the years Frankie trusted me more and gave me more responsibility, and led me into the business.
In 1922, he sent me to Chicago to Al Capone in his local shops to help. In 1919, Frankie had sent Al to Chicago.
That was when the fat years started. Prohibition was a gift from heaven. Everyone wanted alcohol, but we had secured a monopoly on the illegal alcohol.
The wind was rough from 1928 onwards. Frankie had cheated Al Capone on his shipments of alcohol, which Al couldn't take standing up.
On 01 July, 1928, Frankie's car was riddled with bullets. Officially, no one was able to connect the incident to Al. But everyone knew it.
On 14 February, 1929, Al sent me and four other members of the Gang to 2122 N. Clark Street. In police uniforms, we raided a North Side Gang storage depot.
The seven boys had no chance.
In the newspapers the action known as a "Valentine's Day Massacre" was famous, and Al Capone really became the boss of all bosses.
At least until May of that year. Then the police grabbed him for illegal weapons possession.
That was the time to rid myself of Al and to go my own way.
I'm back in New York and this city provides me with all the possibilities.
