Honor Thy Father (12 page)

The next morning Bill and Frank Labruzzo, armed with guns, drove to the Profaci home. Both men realized that the situation was almost farcical, almost like an opera—an impassioned husband battles his in-laws to reclaim his wife. It was absurd and anarchronistic, but it was also real, and Bill did not know how else to deal with a situation that was potentially dangerous. For all he knew, half the Profaci organzation might be waiting for him, eager to avenge the insult he had brought upon Rosalie and her family, and even Labruzzo had recommended that they be armed.

Pulling up in front of Mrs. Profaci’s home, which was next to the home of Rosalie’s late uncle Joseph Profaci, Bill looked along the sidewalk for signs of waiting men or for parked cars that he might recognize. Then he walked up the stone steps and rang the bell.

The door opened slowly, and Bill saw Rosalie’s older brother, a man in his thirties, sitting in the living room. He also saw Mrs. Profaci walking quickly toward him, heard whispering in the background, but before he had a chance to look around, Mrs. Profaci grabbed him by the lapels, began to shake him and warn that her daughter was not going with him. When Bill demanded to know where Rosalie was, he was told that she was not there. Mrs. Profaci’s eyes were moist, her face red with emotion, and she continued to clutch his lapels and pound his chest and repeat that Rosalie would not be going with him.

Bill did not know what to do. He looked at Rosalie’s brother sitting calmly in the chair, making no effort to get involved, and Bill hated him for it. If he had stood, Bill could have become aggressive with him, challenged him, done more than he could do with his mother-in-law. Then Bill saw his son Charles coming down the steps. Bill broke away from Mrs. Profaci, grabbed Charles and held him in his arms. The little boy did not protest, seemed only confused.

“I’m leaving, but I’ll be back,” Bill said. “And when I come back, I want Rosalie to be here and ready to leave.”

They said nothing as he left. He drove with the boy back to Labruzzo’s home, and from there telephoned Joseph Magliocco in East Islip. Magliocco had been in charge of the Profaci organization since the death of his brother-in-law in June 1962, exactly one year ago. While Bill had found Joseph Profaci a bit remote and difficult to talk to, Magliocco had always been approachable and informal, and after Bill called, Magliocco invited him to come at once.

Magliocco’s twelve-acre estate in East Islip was protected by high stone walls, and when Bill drove past the gate with Labruzzo several dogs began to bark. Magliocco greeted them in front of the large house. He was wearing riding breeches and boots and a white polo shirt that stretched across his enormous stomach. He rode every day on his powerful white horse, and he was just walking in from the stable when Bonanno and Labruzzo arrived. At sixty-two, he was a virile figure, his shoulders strong, his arms thick and muscular.

“Uncle Joe,” Bill began, “I have a problem.”

“Yes I know about it,” Magliocco said, in his thick accent, leading them into the house.

“In that case it makes it easier for me,” Bill said. “Since you know about it and since I respect your intelligence, I’ll wait to see what you can do about it.”

“I already called them,” Magliocco said. He sat down heavily in a chair, continuing, “I told them to be here this afternoon. Whatever is going on, I know only one thing—Rosalie’s your wife, and you’re entitled to her.”

Bill was pleased by Magliocco’s attitude. Magliocco was an old-style Sicilian. He believed that a man’s wife was his property. But Sicilians also greatly respected wives, regarding them as objects of honor, and any husband in Sicily who had been as indiscreet as Bill would undoubtedly have been shot to death long ago. Bill also did not know how much Rosalie’s mother had told Magliocco. Perhaps thinking it too indelicate or repulsive to reveal the fact of Bill’s girl friend and illegitimate child, Mrs. Profaci had merely explained to Magliocco that Rosalie was unhappy in Arizona, became ill, and wanted to return East. Bill decided to say nothing more and see what happened.

During lunch, at which they were joined by Mrs. Magliocco, Joseph Magliocco was a gracious host. There was a great variety of food, much wine and cheese, and from the amount that Magliocco consumed Bill could readily see why Magliocco weighed so much. Magliocco and his wife were childless, and they were the only regular occupants of the fourteen-room house, although there were servants and a caretaker and other men doing odd jobs around the estate.

After coffee, they waited. Hours passed, and Magliocco finally walked impatiently into his office and called the Profaci home. A moment later, embarrassed and angry, he exclaimed, “My crazy relatives—they left for Jersey!” Then turning to Bill, he said, “Look, give me a day. Come back tomorrow. I promise you they’ll all be here.”

The next day, true to his word, Magliocco was standing in front of the house with the Profaci family as Bill drove in. Rosalie stepped forward; she was wearing a yellow dress, her hair was nicely done, and there was a glow about her that he had not seen in a long time. She kissed him modestly, then walked with him toward the others.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked softly, somehow certain that she was. During all the problems of recent years she had never ceased to attract him, and though they had a three-month-old child he knew that it was possible that she was again pregnant. Rosalie blushed but did not reply to his question.

Inside the house, there was an atmosphere of formality. Mrs. Profaci had nodded toward Bill but had not spoken. Every one took seats in the large room. After the children were ushered out, coffee was served. Magliocco, smiled, tried to make small talk. He passed a tray of Italian sweets around the room. The awkwardness continued. Finally Bill spoke up.

“Let’s get to the main question,” he said. “Is my wife coming with me or not?”

“Of course she’s coming with you,” Magliocco replied, as Mrs. Profaci frowned.

Bill continued, “Because if she’s not…”

Magliocco cut him off, shouting, “What are you talking so silly for?”

“Because that’s the way I feel. If I don’t have a right to my wife, I want to know it.”

“Nobody says you don’t have a right,” Magliocco continued.

But then Mrs. Profaci spoke up. “I am sure,” she said, “there must have been a reason why Rosalie tried to commit suicide…”

She waited as the silence set in, and Bill wondered if she was going to mention the fact of the other woman and the child. He looked at Magliocco to see how he was reacting, but Magliocco did not seem surprised by the mention of the possible suicide attempt and perhaps he knew the whole story. Mrs. Profaci asked her daughter to leave the room. Rosalie turned toward Bill for concurrence. Bill nodded for her to leave.

Then Mrs. Profaci suddenly became very emotional, almost shaking as she focused on Bill. Her eyes were soft but there was a determination about her, a strength of character that surprised and impressed him. She really loved her daughter and would do anything for her.

“
I am warning you
,” she said slowly, solemnly, emphasizing each word, “
that if anything happens to my daughter…
” This was clearly a serious threat, and Bill did not doubt her intent.

“
Stop!
” Magliocco interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“
He
knows what I’m talking about,” Mrs. Profaci quickly pointed toward Bill. Magliocco moved toward her, put his big arms around her, began to make sibilant sounds as he tried to quiet her, calm her. But she continued to glower at Bill until he looked away. Magliocco then called in Rosalie, her brother, and the children. More coffee was served and things became more relaxed.

When it was time to leave, Bill suggested what he felt would further ease the situation. He asked Rosalie to spend another night at her mother’s home, saying he would stop on the following day with their son Charles to get her and the other children. Mrs. Profaci nodded her approval.

When Bill arrived, Rosalie was already packed; her suitcase at the bottom of the stairs was the first thing he saw as he walked in. He was very happy. He had gotten his way, thanks largely to Magliocco, and now he wanted to make a fresh start with his wife and to make peace with his mother-in-law. He knew it would take time and patience, but he also knew he wanted Rosalie back and to accomplish this his mother-in-law’s support would be helpful. He did not hastily leave with Rosalie from the Profaci’s home; he spent the afternoon there and remained for dinner. The conversation was cordial and calm, even friendly, between Bill and his in-laws, and when Mrs. Profaci suggested that they leave the baby for the night, Bill and Rosalie agreed to it. They would stop for the child on the following day.

Bill had reserved a suite for his wife and the two sons at the International Hotel at the airport in Idlewild, Queens. He did not want to drive to Manhattan, and it was too late for a trip out of the city, and he did not want to stay with relatives. He had always liked the atmosphere of airports, the movement and bustle, and thought the children would also respond to it.

They arrived at the airport shortly after ten o’clock, obtained the very best suite, and Bill sent down for hors d’oeuvres and champagne. After the children had gone to sleep in their room, Bill ordered more champagne, and he and Rosalie sat together on a sofa in the soundproof suite overlooking the runway, watching the planes come and go in the night.

They had dinner at Magliocco’s on the following evening, and it was then suggested that the couple and their children live temporarily in the big house until they decided on their next move. Rosalie was opposed to returning to Arizona and Bill agreed, against his better judgment, to look for a house in New York. Spending the summer at Magliocco’s would be pleasant in the meantime—they would have their own apartment in the house, there were horses to ride, a boat for fishing, servants, it would be like a resort; so Bill agreed to give it a try. And he was glad that he did. Rosalie seemed much happier, the children became acquainted with their young cousins who came to visit, and Bill was free to come and go as he wished. It was also advantageous for him to be in New York during the summer of 1963—his father was still living an elusive existence, and the dissension within the organization was increasing.

Ever since the unfortunate gathering at Apalachin, the elder Bonanno avoided meeting in groups with other dons, and they became offended by his attitude. While Joseph Bonanno had always been individualistic in his thinking, insisting for example that the “families” were autonomous and that the nine-man commission, of which he was a part, could arbitrate disputes but could not dictate policy to the individual heads of “families,” he now gave the impression that he was drifting even further from his fellow dons. On the occasions when his organization was represented at meetings with other organizations, it was never Bonanno himself who attended but rather one of his captains—John Morale, Labruzzo, or sometimes Notaro. But never Gaspar Di Gregorio. A distance had developed in 1963 between Di Gregorio and Bonanno, due in part to the presence of Bonanno’s son in New York, whose rise Di Gregorio saw as inevitable, and due also to the elder Bonanno’s haughty attitude toward the commission, whose senior member, Stefano Magaddino, boss of the Mafia in western New York and the Ohio Valley, was Di Gregorio’s brother-in-law.

Stefano Magaddino, who had little tolerance for individuality and had for years been suspicious of Joseph Bonanno’s ambition, encouraged Di Gregorio to boycott the Bonanno family meetings and to spread the word that Joseph Bonanno was due to be suspended and that his followers would either have to switch their allegiance or suffer the consequences.

When Bonanno learned of this, he seemed unconcerned. He believed that the commission was now composed of confused men and he did not intend to follow their dictates, having lost faith in their collective judgment. When they should have had the foresight to maintain ultrasecrecy, such as immediately following Albert Anastasia’s death in 1957, they had foolishly scheduled the Apalachin meeting. And when they should have demonstrated unified strength, such as ordering the rout of the Gallo brothers for leading a revolt against their boss, Joseph Profaci, in 1960, the commission had—despite Profaci’s and Bonanno’s protests—voted to do nothing, to let Profaci handle his own internal problems. Profaci, a member of the commission, became disillusioned and resentful. And while the Gallo revolt was eventually crushed by Profaci’s loyal followers, it was nonetheless achieved at a considerable loss in bloodshed and money, and in prestige for Joseph Profaci. At one point in the dispute, the Gallo men had succeeded in kidnaping Profaci’s chief aide, Joseph Magliocco, and three other Profaci men, and in forcing Profaci himself to flee to Florida until concessions were promised. Profaci’s organization never fully recovered from the internal difficulties, and while the Gallo faction claimed that the trouble had begun because Profaci had not adequately shared the profits with the underlings in the family, Profaci himself believed that the revolt was inspired by two of his fellow dons on the commission—Carlo Gambino and Thomas Lucchese. Profaci was sure that these two dons had plotted the Gallo uprising, had encouraged the Gallo men with the assurance that the rebellion would be unopposed from the outside.

Profaci went to his grave despising Gambino and Lucchese, whose two organizations in New York—closely related through the marriage of Lucchese’s son to Gambino’s daughter—became stronger as Profaci’s became weaker; and Profaci’s successor, Magliocco, whose sister was Profaci’s wife, carried on the grudge against Gambino and Lucchese.

If Joseph Bonanno had not been on the run during the time of the Gallo revolt, he might have openly supported Profaci’s cause with additional men, but it would not have helped because what was really needed was a united front against the Gallos by the commission; and Bonanno’s intervention could possibly have led to a nationwide war within the underworld, and none of the dons, including Bonanno, wanted that.