Surviving the Mob (30 page)

“It started when I was summoned to the case-manager’s office for a legal call. It was Tom Scanlon, the state investigator who had arrested me on the fugitive warrant almost three years earlier. He got right to the point. The state needed my help in apprehending some people they wanted badly. Scanlon thought I could help them by providing some intelligence information based on my organized-crime history. So for the next few months, I helped him every chance I could.

“As with the feds, the state investigators gave no promises in return for my assistance. But I hoped that my extended cooperation would be taken into account when I finally submitted the reconsideration paperwork. Having them comment on the extent of my cooperation and the value of the information I provided could only be an asset in my dealings with the parole board.

“So as the summer passed, I was counting the days until everything would take place. I can only compare that time with waiting for a pot of water to boil. The more you watch, the longer it takes. But with the possibility that I could be a free man fairly soon, I had to get my things in order with my family. And if I did get out, I’d be entering phase two of the Witness Protection Program. Andrew DiDonato would cease to exist and some new person would take his place. I realized it would be a great opportunity to be rid of the criminal and all-around bad guy I’d been for most of my life. But the thought of being born again was a very scary prospect for me.”

In early October, Andrew submitted his initial request for a special reconsideration hearing. Within weeks he received word that he’d get his hearing, but not until December.
The fact that he would get a chance to present his case was great news. The only minor downside was that he would definitely remain locked up after the expiration of his federal sentence on November seventh. Although he felt he had a fair chance of getting a favorable decision, things could still go wrong.

Andrew went back to the torment of waiting for the water to come to a boil. In his idle moments, he thought about the upcoming hearing. What was the decision-making process of the parole board? Night after night he played devil’s advocate, wondering how strong his presentation would really be. After all, just because they’d granted his request for a hearing didn’t necessarily mean the board would side with him. Eventually, he had to force himself to stop thinking about it or risk driving himself crazy. The approaching Thanksgiving holiday helped serve as an escape from the mind games.

“I had to keep busy any way I could,” Andrew recalls. “So two of my closest jailhouse friends and me started to prepare for Thanksgiving. By prepare, I mean we began stealing food from the mess hall two weeks out. We took a little bit at a time until we had enough for a feast. The crew we assembled to put on the meal consisted of me and three other Italian organized-crime guys. Two of us were from New York, the other two from Boston. We made it a point to feed as many of the other inmates as we could. But the four of us always came first.

“So as the days wound down to the holiday, the oldest of our group and our top chef, Mike, kept me busy stealing all the ingredients he thought we’d need for our Thanksgiving meal. Mike was also a Gambino guy who worked for a Bronx faction under the leadership of Frank [Frankie Loc] LoCascio. Mike was a sweetheart of a guy and turned out to be one of the best friends I’ll ever have. Early on Thanksgiving morning, I went to the mess hall and stole a whole cooked turkey.
I hid it under my bed hoping that the other three birds they had would be enough to feed the fifty or so guys in the unit.

“As the main dinner was being served, one of the inmate workers dropped a whole turkey on the floor. To this day I believe he did it on purpose out of jealousy. They figured the dropped turkey would bring the missing bird to the attention of the civilian who ran the kitchen. Then he’d shake down the unit looking for it. But it was late in the day by then and the mess-hall boss wanted to get home to his family. So they started to serve chickens to supplement the turkeys.

“When the smoke cleared and everyone was busy doing other things, I brought the stolen bird into the dining area. I called about fifteen or so guys to eat with us to make up for anything they might have missed during the earlier dinner. I remember telling them that I knew some of them wanted to see us crash and burn, because they were jealous of us. I said my message to them was that they could go fuck themselves. In the future we wouldn’t give them a fucking crumb.

“The meal was great. And later that night, Mike told us some good news for him. The day before he’d received his release papers. He’d be getting out just before Christmas. I was happy for him, but I knew my time would be harder to do without him. True friends are hard to come by and Mike was a true friend.

“In spite of Mike leaving, I was looking forward to December and my parole hearing. I knew things might not work out in my favor. But I had to get some kind of closure. Not knowing was worse than dealing with the result itself. And then I was notified that the hearing was postponed and rescheduled for February. As you can probably imagine, Christmas is stressful enough for guys in prison. Throwing in the uncertainty and frustration of the parole thing could have made me absolutely fuckin’ miserable. But I refused to let it get to me.

“To keep my mind occupied, I planned and carried out
my annual Christmas food robbery from the mess hall, so the troops would have a good holiday. The heist went off without a hitch. Over my many years in prison, between working in the kitchen and preparing food in my cell, I’d become one hell of a cook. And those skills served me well in the years ahead.

“Even though I was keeping busy, I still thought about the parole situation sometimes. I began to wonder if the government was playing games behind the scenes and delaying the hearing. I hoped that wasn’t true, but who the fuck knew?

“I called my ex-wife to let her know that there was a chance I’d get an early release and enter phase two of Witness Protection. I told her if that happened, I’d like to see my son before I was relocated. But Dina didn’t want any part of it. We ended up in a good old-fashioned screaming match over the phone. She made it clear how much she hated me for my decision to roll and leaving them behind.

“That wasn’t true, though. I gave them an opportunity to enter the program too. We wouldn’t have been together while I was in prison, of course. But at least they’d have been safe. She chose door number two: to stay behind and remain friends with the Gambinos. And then she decided to turn her back on me altogether. She wouldn’t even accept my phone calls.

“It had already been four years since I’d seen my son and under these circumstances, I knew it could be many more. I can’t begin to tell you how that broke my heart. It’s something I still carry with me today. I made many choices in my life that estranged me from Andrew Junior. They were mistakes and I hate myself for making them. But becoming a government witness was not one of them.”

As 2000 came to a close, Andrew had good reason to experience feelings of anxiety. Was the government sabotaging his efforts for an early release? If and when he did get his hearing, what would the decision be? When would he be able to see his son again?

As the former gangster entered 2001, the future was anything but certain.

22

In spite of the lingering doubts regarding his pending parole hearing, Andrew began 2001 with a positive attitude. He convinced himself that even if his bid for reconsideration failed, he was still way ahead of the game. He was, after all, a survivor. And compared to many of the situations he’d been confronted with over the years, doing another four years behind bars wouldn’t be the end of the world.

But it turned out that his internal pep talks weren’t really necessary. The same good fortune that had kept him from taking anyone’s life during his numerous acts of violence smiled on him again. He recalls learning that he was going to be a free man after serving only half of his parole-violation sentence.

“I called home one night in January to speak with my mother. As soon as she answered the phone, I could hear the excitement in her voice. She was bursting at the seams to give me the good news. She’d received a call from my case agent saying that the parole board had reviewed my case and voted to grant me an immediate release. I was in shock. I didn’t even know my case was being reviewed. I was under the impression nothing would happen on my case until the hearing scheduled for February.

“I remember being too emotional to speak right away. I
don’t know if those who have never lost their freedom and then regained it can appreciate what it was like to hear that news. But I’m sure that any guys reading this who were ever incarcerated know exactly what I’m talking about when I say how emotional it was. It’s a feeling that goes beyond happiness.

“But there was a scary side to it as well. My whole life was about to change. I’d spent many nights in my cell staring at the ceiling and planning for my release. But now that it was almost a reality, I realized that I was far from being prepared. I wouldn’t be back on the streets of Brooklyn where I knew my way around. In fact, I’d probably never be in my old neighborhood again. There would be no more crime and no more big scores and no more easy money. That had been Andrew DiDonato’s thing and he’d be gone. The new me would hit the streets as a legitimate citizen and I’d have to play by the same rules as everybody else. I’d have to go to work and pay my bills.

“For most of my life, I’d faced dangerous scenarios and stress that might have brought down a two-ton elephant. And there I was thinking about having to get a real job and it scared the hell out of me. It might not make sense to most people, but I was terrified.

“But I knew I couldn’t let that fear get the best of me. I was getting a new chance at life and I wasn’t going to blow it by going back to my old ways. I’d have to succeed at whatever real job I got. If I didn’t, I could easily end up going back to making money the only way I’d ever known. And I wasn’t going to let that happen. When the gates opened for me, failure would not be an option. I was committed to becoming a regular guy.

“With no formal training or experience in the real world and no background information to put on a job application, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But if I could survive the streets of New York and deal with some of the most ruthless criminals
in the country, I knew I could handle being a working stiff in the real America.

“Not being able to have personal contact with my family was another matter. I knew that would be much harder on me than leading a legitimate life. Yeah, that would be tough. But I was going to be an active witness against some bad people and my family didn’t need me around to expose them to any danger. Their safety was worth any sacrifice I had to make.”

On April 6, 2001, Andrew was again a free man. Well, kind of. He was no longer Andrew DiDonato. And as a participant in the Witness Protection Program, the feds were keeping an eye on him. When the gate closed behind him that day, he entered a whole new world. Andrew explains what it was like.