Joseph Valachi was the first member of the Mafia to talk publicly about its secrets.
But before that happened, he had to be persuaded to open up. The men who first got that assignment were agents of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
But the sessions between him and the agents went badly. He blamed them for his imprisonment on drug charges in 1960. And he believed they had deliberately created a rift between him and his cellmate, “Boss of all Bosses” Vito Venovese.
Then the FBI intervened. Under pressure from Attorney General Robert Kennedy to combat the crime syndicates, the Bureau took an aggressive interest in Valachi.
Seeing him as a potential breakthrough in organized crime intelligence, the FBI cited its greater area of jurisdiction and successfully lobbied the Justice Department to take charge of the new informant.
Valachi’s disclosures proved worthless as prosecution evidence. They were too dated, and too many of the leading mobsters who figured in them were now dead or retired.
But as strategic intelligence, they were invaluable.
Valachi provided federal lawmen, for the first time, with an insider’s account of the history, membership and operations of organized crime.
Many veteran law enforcement agents were shocked: The shadowy world of the Cosa Nostra was far more extensive and powerful than they had dared imagine.
More important, in Joseph Valachi himself, the Justice Department finally had tangible proof of an organized crime network. The very existence of the Mafia had long been hotly debated within law enforcement.
Chief among the believers in such a criminal empire had been Harry Anslinger, director of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics.
Anslinger’s certainty that the Mafia existed grew out of his agents’ constant struggles against mobsters importing narcotics into the United States. His agency had compiled elaborate dossiers on many of these mobsters, and had sent many others to prison.
By far the most important “debunker” of this belief was J. Edgar Hoover, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Hoover insisted that there was no “national crime confederation,” only loosely-knit groups of criminals whose apprehension was best left to local law enforcers.
J. Edgar Hoover
Hoover’s refusal to admit the existence of the Mafia has long been the subject of heated debate. Some theorists believe he feared that his “Boy Scout” agents would be corrupted by Mafia bribes.
Others argue that he had been compromised by Mafia bribes or blackmail (the latter through his alleged homosexual relationship with Clyde Tolson, his second-in-command at the FBI).
Still others claim that Hoover simply couldn’t accept that other federal, state and local police agencies had discovered a criminal empire that his own agents had somehow overlooked.
A major reason for the continuing debate over the existence of organized crime lay in the refusal of mob informants to testify as courtroom witnesses. Abe Reles had been an exception, but he had given his testimony twenty years ago, and only for the State of New York.
More importantly, Reles never appeared before a Senate investigating committee—and on live television.
Joseph Valachi did. In September, 1963, he became the Senate’s star witness in its hearings on organized crime and narcotics trafficking.
By that time, the mob was offering $100,000 for his life. To guarantee that no one collected on this contract, federal lawmen turned the Senate Caucus Room into a bodyguards’ convention.
Before Valachi entered the room, FBI agents and deputy U.S. marshals screened the audience for suspicious types or known underworld figures. While Valachi testified, marshals and capital police filled most of the first eight rows behind him. Other lawmen were scattered throughout the building.
Joseph Valachi
Whenever Valachi left the witness chair, twenty deputy marshals accompanied him everywhere—even during trips to the restroom. And after each day’s proceedings, a fast-moving caravan of police cars returned him to his heavily-guarded cell at the District of Columbia Jail.
During the nearly three years that federal agents interrogated Joseph Valachi, the Justice Department spent more than $167,908 guarding, transporting and maintaining him.
But the money was well-spent: when Valachi died in 1971 at La Tuna Federal Prison, near El Paso, the cause was a heart attack. And federal lawmen had proven they could guarantee protection for those who betrayed the secrets of the Mafia.
Other organized crime witnesses for the Justice Department didn’t fare so well.
In 1965, two years after Valachi’s appearance before the Senate, Attorney General Nicholas deB. Katzenbach, who had succeeded Robert Kennedy, informed a shocked Congress: “We must dismiss [organized crime cases] because key witnesses or informants suffer ‘accidents’ and turn up, for example, in a river wearing concrete boots.
“Such accidents are not unusual. We have lost more than twenty-five informants in this and similar ways in the last four years. We have been unable to bring hundreds of other cases because key witnesses would not testify for fear of the same fate.”
Copyright@1984 Taking Cover: Inside the Witness Security Program, by Steffen White and Richard St. Germain
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TWO ANNIVERSARIES–ONE GLORIOUS, THE OTHER TRAGIC
In History, Politics, Social commentary on June 6, 2013 at 12:01 am“For it is the doom of men that they forget.”
–Merlin, in “Excalibur”
June 6–a day of glory and tragedy.
The glory came 69 years ago–on Tuesday, June 6, 1944.
On that morning, Americans awoke to learn–from radio and newspapers–that their soldiers had landed on the French coast of Normandy.
In Supreme Command of the Allied Expeditionary Force was American General Dwight D. Eisenhower. Overall command of ground forces was given to British General Bernard Montgomery.
Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion to liberate France from Nazi Germany, proved one of the pivotal actions of World War II.
It opened shortly after midnight, with an airborne assault of 24,000 American, British, Canadian and Free French troops. This was followed at 6:30 a.m. by an amphibious landing of Allied infantry and armored divisions on the French coast.
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel–the legendary “Desert Fox”–commanded the German forces. For him, the first 24 hours of the battle would be decisive.
“For the Allies as well as the Germans,” he warned his staff, “it will be the longest day.”
The operation was the largest amphibious invasion in history. More than 160,000 troops landed–73,000 Americans, 61,715 British and 21,400 Canadians.
Initially, the Allied assault seemed likely to be stopped at the water’s edge–where Rommel had always insisted it must be. He had warned that if the Allies established a beachhead, their overwhelming advantages in numbers and airpower would eventually prove irresistible.
German machine-gunners and mortarmen wreaked a fearful toll on Allied soldiers. But commanders like U.S. General Norman Cota led their men to victory through a storm of bullets and shells.
Coming upon a group of U.S. Army Rangers taking cover behind sand dunes, Cota demanded: “What outfit is this?”
“Rangers!” yelled one of the soldiers.
“Well, Goddamnit, then, Rangers, lead the way!” shouted Cota, inspiring the soldiers to rise and charge into the enemy.
The allied casualty figures for D-Day have been estimated at 10,000, including 4,414 dead. By nationality, the D-Day casualty figures are about 2,700 British, 946 Canadians and 6,603 Americans.
The total number of German casualties on D-Day isn’t known, but is estimated at 4,000 to 9,000.
Allied and German armies continued to clash throughout France, Belgium and Germany until May 7, 1945, when Germany finally surrendered.
But those Americans who had taken part in D-Day could be proud of having dealt a fatal blow to the evil ambitions of Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich.
So much for the glory of June 6. Now for the tragedy–which occurred 45 years ago.
Twenty-four years after D-Day, Americans awoke to learn–mostly from TV–that New York Senator Robert F. Kennedy had died at 1:44 a.m. of an assassin’s bullet.
He had been campaigning for the Democratic Presidential nomination, and had just won the California primary on June 4.
This had been a make-or-break event for Kennedy. He had won the Democratic primaries in Indiana and Nebraska, but had lost the Oregon primary to Minnesota Senator Eugene McCarthy.
If he could defeat McCarthy in California, Kennedy could force his rival to quit the race. That would lead to a showdown between him and Vice President Hubert Humphery for the nomination.
(President Lyndon B. Johnson had withdrawn from the race on March 31–just 15 days after Kennedy announced his candidacy on March 16.)
After winning the California and South Dakota primaries, Kennedy gave a magnaminous victory speech in the ballroom of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles:
“I think we can end the divisions within the United States….We are a great country, an unselfish country, and a compassionate country. And I intend to make that my basis for running over the period of the next few months.”
Then he entered the hotel kitchen–where Sirhan Sirhan, a 24-year-old Palestinian from Jordan, opened fire with a .22 revolver. Kennedy was hit three times–once fatally in the back of the head. Five other people were also wounded.
Kennedy’s last-known words were: “Is everybody all right?” and “Jack, Jack.” Then he lost consciousness–forever, dying in a hospital bed 24 hours later.
Kennedy had been a U.S. Attorney General (1961-1964) and Senator (1964-1968). But it was his connection to his murdered brother, President John F. Kennedy, for which he was best-known.
His assassination–less than five years after that of JFK–convinced many Americans there was something “sick” about the nation’s culture.
One of the best summaries of Robert Kennedy’s legacy was given in Coming Apart: An Informal History of America in the 1960’s, by historian William L. O’Neil:
“…He aimed so high that he must be judged for what he meant to do, and, through error and tragic accident, failed at….He will also be remembered as an extraordinary human being who, though hated by some, was perhaps more deeply loved by his countrymen than any man of his time.
“That too must be entered into the final account, and it is no small thing. With his death something precious disappeared from public life.”
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