Smaldone: The Untold Story of an American Crime Family
296
Smaldone: The Untold Story of an American Crime Family
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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781555918293 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Fulcrum Publishing |
| Publication date: | 10/26/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 296 |
| Sales rank: | 388,777 |
| File size: | 23 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
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Smaldone
The Untold Story of an American Crime Family
By Dick Kreck
Fulcrum Publishing
Copyright © 2009 Dick KreckAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-55591-829-3
CHAPTER 1
Little Caesar
Somebody shot him. It don't bother me one way or another.
— Clyde Smaldone
The two men on his front porch were familiar to Joe Roma. Otherwise, he never would have opened the door to them. He was careful like that.
The little house at 3504 Vallejo Street in the heart of North Denver seemed a safe haven for Roma and his second wife, Nettie, whom he had married on April 14, 1931. The couple had lived in the isolated bungalow, which provided unobstructed views in all directions, for only a few days. The house directly behind theirs was unoccupied, the lot on the north side was empty, and undeveloped blocks covered the south side of West Thirty-fifth Avenue and the west side of Vallejo Street. The nearest neighboring house, 3455 Vallejo Street, was catercorner to the Romas'. Nobody heard the shots that killed him.
The front and back doors to the modest gray stucco house were always locked, and a bodyguard frequently stayed in Roma's home — but somebody got in. Shortly after noon on Saturday, February 18, 1933, the boss of Denver's gangland, the man known as Little Caesar, was riddled with seven bullets, six of them to the head. When Nettie returned home from visiting her mother on Quivas Street, a few blocks away, she found Joe slumped in his favorite overstuffed chair in the front parlor. She thought he had fainted, but when she tried to lift him out of the chair, she saw that he was covered with blood. "Oh! He's dead!" she screamed to no one in particular. She carefully laid his body on the floor and called the police.
Detectives who kept close tabs on Roma swarmed the house. Suspicion immediately fell on "friends" — or at least someone he knew — because no one else could have gained entry to his home. "No stranger could have got into the house," a distraught Mrs. Roma told officers. "Joe wouldn't let a stranger in. I don't know who did it. I don't know of anyone who was coming to see him, or of anyone expected." He apparently had no hesitation admitting his visitors and must have been at ease with them, because while they talked he rested in his high-backed chair, holding his mandolin, which he loved to play, sometimes accompanied by his wife on the piano. On the music stand at his side sat an instruction book, Singer's Complete Mandolin Methods.
Evidence at the scene led police to conclude that his killers sat on either side of him, one on the stool at the upright piano next to his chair and the other in a chair across the small room, catching Roma in a crossfire when they unleashed a fusillade from .45 and .38 caliber weapons. In his death throes, Roma kicked over the music stand. A single bullet pierced the mandolin. The unarmed and unsuspecting Roma — two of his handguns were later found in a dresser drawer — was leaking from so many wounds that police at first theorized he had been shot fourteen times. An autopsy revealed only seven entry wounds, but the bullets, fired at such close range, tore through his small body, spraying blood and brains on his chair and the wall behind him.
Though police floated several theories — that a drug dealer killed him (he dabbled briefly in drug distribution) or that a rival gangster marked him for death — the only serious suspect was an eastern hit man, Leo Micciche, who was questioned primarily because he had hosted a dinner honoring Roma a few nights before the murder, the kind of dinner that was often a prelude to death in the mob world. It was all a misunderstanding, said Micciche, a guntoter wanted on a murder charge in Detroit who had moved to Denver three years earlier and went by the name Leo Papito. The spaghetti dinner, for which 165 invitees paid $2.75 apiece, was not a gangland send-off, he swore, but to help pay Mrs. Micciche's recent medical bills, and he knew that Roma's many friends would pitch in. The police subsequently released him.
Joe Roma's funeral was as grand a burial as any ever staged in the Mile High City. The pageantry, marveled the Rocky Mountain News, could "rival the splendor attending the burial of gangland kings of Chicago." His body lay in a polished copper casket said to have cost $3,000, guarded by two tall candles at its foot. A glass dome covering the casket bore a simple inscription in Old English script: Joseph P. Roma / July 26, 1895–Feb. 18, 1933. An elaborate floral bouquet adorned by a white sash imprinted with the word Husband was draped atop the casket.
The brief funeral took place in the darkened parlor where Roma was gunned down, but the room was now awash with dozens of colorful floral arrangements, including a six-foot-tall Golden Gateway display, topped by a star of yellow roses, that cost $125. The widow told bystanders that she bought the Golden Gateway arrangement because Roma sent a similar one to the funeral of his friend John Pacello, who had died in January a few days after being shot in the abdomen and arm, injuries, he told police, he had sustained while hunting muskrats.
A crowd of 2,000 onlookers — sprinkled liberally with uniformed and plainclothes cops who kept a sharp eye out for trouble and, with luck, Roma's killers — jammed the streets on both sides of the house. Given the cramped quarters and abundance of floral tributes, only a few close friends attended the 2 pm service. For an hour before it began, however, visitors were allowed to pass by the coffin and gaze at Roma's remains through the transparent dome. Though he was a devout Catholic, Roma, whose first marriage ended in divorce, was buried without the church's blessing, said his widow, because of his sudden death and the absence of last rites. After a brief prayer and comments by the funeral director, pallbearers, including Pueblo mob figures Charley Blanda, Joe "The Ram" Salardino, and Tom "Whiskers" Incerto, among others, accompanied the casket to the hearse at the curb. The three-block-long funeral procession, including two flatbed trucks heaped with floral arrangements, wound slowly through North Denver before heading to Crown Hill Cemetery, where Roma, just thirty-seven years old, was entombed in the Tower of Memories.
Joseph Pasquale Roma was born in Calabria, Italy, on July 26, 1895. At least that's what authorities who threatened to have him deported as an undesirable alien said. Roma maintained that he was born in San Francisco but that his birth records were lost in the 1906 earthquake.
He came by his nickname, Little Caesar, legitimately because he stood only 5 feet 1/ inches and weighed a mere ninety-nine pounds. He possessed a high-pitched — some called it shrill — voice. Under dark eyebrows his dark eyes were soft, in contrast to his prominent nose. Whenever one of his many arrests for liquor violations made the papers, he was invariably referred to as "the little grocer of North Denver." This, too, was legitimate, because Roma operated a grocery store at 3420 Quivas Street and lived for a time in apartments behind the store. Police labeled the grocery as nothing more than a front for his gangland empire and a supply house for bootleggers. Roma saw it differently. When he and brother-in-law Frank Greco were arrested a few weeks prior to the fatal shooting, for operating a still in Gilpin County in the mountains west of the city, he exclaimed, "This is terrible! This incident will ruin my grocery business!" Roma also briefly ran an automobile dealership near downtown.
Police weren't amused by Roma or by his operation. The day after the shooting, a police detective told The Denver Post, "He was just a little shrimp but he might as well have been of Herculean stature. Those who first saw him laughed at the idea of his being called a gangster. He looked more like an errand boy for a department store."
Roma's rapid rise to the top of the Denver crime pyramid was made possible by the vacuum created when crusading district attorney Philip Van Cise busted up the Lou Blonger gang in 1922. By bribing corrupt government officials, Blonger and his associates ran gambling and bunco operations unimpeded in the city for almost twenty years — until Van Cise's raids, which netted thirty-three members of the gang, including Blonger, in one night. Blonger died in the state penitentiary in Cañon City only five months after he started serving a ten-year sentence.
Roma moved from Brooklyn, New York, to Denver in about 1915 and made his first appearance on the local police blotter in March 1925 on a federal narcotics charge. Through the years, he was arrested many times, mainly on charges of violating federal anti-liquor laws, but was rarely convicted. Local police once warned him to stop construction on an armored car, one he said he needed to protect himself against a rival gang that had made several attempts to "put him on the spot."
Along the way, two of his rivals, Sam and Pete Carlino, who ran mob activity in the southern Colorado steel town of Pueblo, were murdered, elevating Roma to the top of the gang hierarchy. After his arrival from Brooklyn, Roma worked for the Carlino brothers, but he eventually broke away to run bootlegging and racketeering operations in Denver. The rivalry between the Pueblo and Denver factions, fueled by the enormous profitability of illicit booze, was murderous. Police estimated that between 1919, shortly before federal Prohibition became law, and Roma's death in 1933, more than thirty murders, including four law-enforcement officers, took place in the two cities.
In April 1931, Pete Carlino's Denver house, at 3357 Federal Boulevard, was leveled by a tremendous midnight explosion, one everyone assumed was set off by rival mobsters while Carlino's wife and six children were safely in Pueblo. A police investigation revealed the explosion was fueled by a potent mix of twenty gallons of gasoline, four gallons of linseed oil, three gallons of turpentine, and two gallons of automotive oil. The man behind the blast, it turned out, was Carlino himself. He and three other men were convicted of arson after police found that the home was destroyed to collect $11,500 in insurance to finance the Carlinos' bootlegging operations.
Less than a month later, on May 8, 1931, Sam Carlino was shot down in the kitchen of his North Denver bungalow. Roma presented himself at the Denver district attorney's office five days after the shooting to proclaim his innocence. He told investigators that he was on his honeymoon in Pueblo and didn't know anything about Carlino's murder. "I am engaged in the automobile business and know nothing about gangs. I have nothing to conceal in either my private or business life and am willing to appear here anytime when you have any questions to ask. I can't imagine how authorities received this misinformation that I am associated with gangsters." In September, Pete Carlino, whose abrasive personality frequently put him at odds with other gang leaders, was found dead near a bridge twenty-two miles southwest of Pueblo, shot three times with a .38. His killers moved his body to a more visible location after it went unnoticed for several days.
In the two years following the Carlino brothers' deaths, Roma's continuing rise to power also elevated the importance of his "friends." Among Roma's confederates were four young toughs: Jim Spinelli, Louis Brindisi, and two streetwise and ambitious brothers, Clyde and Eugene — known as Checkers — Smaldone. By coincidence, or perhaps not, three of the four were in Roma's home only minutes before he was fatally shot. Spinelli, Brindisi, and Checkers freely admitted to visiting the mob boss. They had an alibi. They had arrived, they said, about 10 am but left just after noon to take in a movie downtown. Roma, they said, was alive when they left, and Clyde Smaldone, they swore, wasn't there at all.
Nevertheless, all four were hauled in by the police and questioned closely. It would not be the last time their names appeared on a police blotter and in the newspapers. Despite several days of interrogation, detectives could not disprove their stories, including the fact that Checkers stopped to borrow fifty cents from Clyde so he and the others could afford to go to the movies on Curtis Street. After the movie, they told police, they went to get some chili, and it wasn't until they saw Clyde that evening that they heard about Roma's killing.
Six decades later, Clyde Smaldone had a different memory of that day, which he revealed in a series of taped interviews made with his son Gene. According to his account, he was there. He said, "[Somebody] shot him in his house. [The police] thought we did it because we left the house about two hours before he got shot. Well, they knew we didn't do it, but somebody shot him. It don't bother me one way or another. [The Pueblo mobs] was always arguing and fighting amongst themselves about the business, and they weren't capable of handling business, to tell you the truth. They was all right making moonshine, but to sell it, they didn't have a diplomatic way of talking to people to get business. Most of them couldn't hardly talk English."
Ultimately, all four were absolved of Roma's murder. In homage to their late boss, the Smaldones contributed two of the most massive floral arrangements at Roma's funeral.
Police, the newspapers, and the citizenry were becoming fed up with a decade of criminal activity. The Post thundered in an editorial: "Joe Roma's assassination emphasizes that 'CRIME NEVER PAYS.' The 'big shot' of today in the gang world is the bullet-riddled target of tomorrow. Greed and envy flourish in gangland. Honor among crooks is an illusion. If they had any honor, they wouldn't be crooks." The News joined the clamor for something to be done: "A single gangster is a greater peril to a community than all the Socialist and Communist spellbinders."
Denver police immediately reinvigorated a drive to rid the city of mobsters, begun the previous year when they devised a plan to arrest gang members on charges of vagrancy. A vagrant, said law-enforcement officials, "is a man who has no legitimate occupation, no matter how much money he may possess." Raffaele (Ralph) Smaldone, the patriarch of the family, his sons Clyde, Eugene, and Anthony, and their brother-in-law Albert (Bert) Capra all were charged with vagrancy following a police raid on a Smaldone hangout at West Thirty-fifth Avenue and Mariposa Street, which police described as "a perpetual loafing place for bootleggers, racketeers and gangsters." All received forty-day sentences. Despite requests from the Smaldones for extra visiting hours and special meals, county jail wardens vowed there would be no extra privileges. "It's forty days in jail for the Smaldones," said warden James Norton. "There will be no posies or Park Avenue service. They look no different to me than any other prisoners."
After Roma's death, a stack of clippings, all of which mentioned him, was found in his house. It exhibited one thing: Roma had loved the limelight. His murder was a grand exit from a life of crime that was featured often in detailed newspaper accounts.
Despite all the coverage and attention, Little Caesar's murderers were never caught. And though they may not have been involved in the shooting, the Smaldone brothers benefitted most from it. Denver district attorney Earl Wettengel had told reporters in December 1932 that Clyde and Eugene aspired to succeed Roma as leaders of the Denver gangs. In February 1933, it came true in a spray of gunfire. With Roma's death, the brothers were raised to undisputed leaders of the Denver mob.
CHAPTER 2Arrivals
My dad, he worked at the railroad, $30 a month, and then he got to be a foreman, then he got $40 a month. That's when he put a toilet in the house and a bathtub and got rid of the outhouse.
— Clyde Smaldone
Raffaele Smaldone was born in Potenza, Italy, in 1882 and arrived in the United States with his parents as a two-year-old in 1884. He quickly became Ralph as his parents, like thousands of other immigrants, began the long process of assimilating into the general population. They settled first in Buffalo, New York, but five years later the family, like many before and after them, set out for the wide-open spaces and bright hopes of the uncluttered West.
The argument can be made that the first Italian immigrant to the Americas was Christopher Columbus, a feat Italians continue to celebrate, despite political pressure. In the nineteenth century, the main influx of Italians to the New World was in South America. The tide of Italian immigrants built more slowly in the United States. In 1850, for example, there were fewer than 4,000 Italians, but by 1880, when emigration began to pick up speed, the numbers rose to 44,000, and to 484,027 by 1900. The 1920 US census recorded 1.5 million Italians in the country.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Smaldone by Dick Kreck. Copyright © 2009 Dick Kreck. Excerpted by permission of Fulcrum Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Foreword, xi,Acknowledgments, xvii,
Chapter One Little Caesar, 1,
Chapter Two Arrivals, 15,
Chapter Three Bootleg, 29,
Chapter Four Noble Experiment, 39,
Chapter Five Murder, Inc., 55,
Chapter Six Clyde, 71,
Chapter Seven Checkers, 97,
Chapter Eight Pueblo, 113,
Chapter Nine Central City, 127,
Chapter Ten Rich and Famous, 139,
Chapter Eleven The Heights, 153,
Chapter Twelve 1953, 167,
Chapter Thirteen Double-crossed, 183,
Chapter Fourteen Chauncey, Paulie, and Eugene, 197,
Chapter Fifteen The Smaldone Women, 211,
Chapter Sixteen Recessional, 229,
Epilogue, 241,
Notes, 256,
Bibliography, 264,
Index, 269,