Mafia Hitman Joseph Barboza had become known throughout the New England underworld as “The Animal.”
He relished his new alias and his reputation as a temperamental killer.
Everyone who dealt with Barboza—including Mafia Boss Raymond Patriarca—feared his explosive temper.
Granted an audience with Patriarca, Barboza was transfixed by the capo’s diamond ring. Later, he bragged that he had thought of biting off Patriarca’s finger to get the ring.
“He’s crazy,” Patriarca often told his closest associates. “Someday we’ll have to whack him out.”
Only one other mob gunman could match Barboza’s reputation for deadliness: Steve Hughes, the top triggerman for the McLaughlins.
Barboza spent more than a year trying to eliminate Hughes, until his chance finally came on September 23, 1966.
On that day, Hughes and a loanshark friend, Sammy Lindenbaum, went for a drive along Route 114 in Middleton, Massachusetts.
They paid no attention as another car—carrying Barboza and a crony, Joseph Amico—rapidly closed on them.
With Amico behind the wheel, Barboza aimed a high-powered rifle out the window and dropped Hughes and Lindenbaum in their seats.
Barboza’s moment of supreme triumph was short-lived. His rising notoriety disturbed Patriarca, who believed in taking a low profile and avoiding the antagonism of the press and police.
Patriarca began searching for an excuse to part with his top muscleman. He found it on October 6, 1966, when Boston police arrested Barboza and three companions.
Inside Barboza’s car, police found a loaded .45 automatic and an M-1 carbine. Barboza, then out on bail on a stabbing charge, was shipped off to Walpole State Prison for parole violation.
There he waited vainly for the Patriarca Family to post the $50,000 bond demanded for his release.
Tired of waiting, two of his fellow enforcers decided to lend a hand: Thomas DePrisco and Arthur Bratsos began raiding Patriarca gambling dens to collect the money.
Their fund-raising efforts ended violently one night when their intended victims drew pistols and shot Bratsos and DePrisco to death.
When he learned of the deaths of his friends, Barboza exploded. He damned Patriarca as a “fag” and swore to kill several of the capo’s top associates, whom he blamed for the slayings.
Word of this outburst reached Patriarca, who sent back a threat of his own: Barboza was a dead man, in or out of prison.
Fearing for his own life, Barboza yielded to the proddings of two FBI agents seeking evidence against Patriarca. He agreed to act as a federal witness against his former mob cronies.
In exchange, he demanded protection for himself, his wife and young daughter, and the dropping of his parole and all charges now facing him.
Although Barboza’s terms were stiff, Boston District Attorney Gary Byrne and the prosecutors of the Justice Department felt they were getting the best of the bargain.
They saw in Barboza a dramatic, unprecedented opportunity to strike down a powerful crime cartel.
This, in turn, would enable federal lawmen to recruit new informants and witnesses for additional—and successful—prosecutions..
To achieve these goals, however, the Justice Department had to prove it could protect Barboza against mob reprisals.
As a first step in this process, Byrne released the ex-hitman to the protective custody of the FBI. But the FBI found its budget and manpower strained by the assignment.
Realizing that a combined effort was necessary, the Bureau called in a handpicked security detail of sixteen deputy U.S. marshals.
Heading the detail was Deputy Marshal John Partington, a former agent with the IRS Intelligence Division and a specialist in organized crime.
John Partington (on right)
Equally important, Partington understood the criminal mentality: Not only did Barboza need to be protected, he needed to be kept in a proper state of mind to testify in court.
The marshals transferred Barboza to Thatcher’s Island, an isolated lighthouse station off the coast of Gloucester. Occupied by two houses and approachable only by sea, the island seemed a perfect security spot.
Every two weeks, a new detail of marshals arrived to relieve the sixteen men on duty. Food and supplies were regularly shipped in aboard Coast Guard vessels.
Eventually, the press learned of the security detail on ”Baron’s Island”—so nicknamed because “Baron” had once been a Barboza alias.
The disclosure led to a series of attempts by mob hitmen to eliminate Barboza.
Thatcher’s Island
The first attempt came in September, 1967. Patriarca ordered a 325-pound stock swindler named Vincent Teresa to take a crew of hitman, infiltrate the island and dispose of Barboza.
But the FBI learned of the plot and tipped off the security detail.
When Teresa’s $112,000, forty-three foot yacht, The Living End, cruised around the island, the hitman couldn’t find an unprotected spot to land.
Everywhere they looked they saw deputy U.S. marshals, armed with pistols and carbines, patrolling the beach. Barboza never appeared in sight.
Then a Patriarca assassin, Maurice “Pro” Lerner, thought of making a one-man, commando-style assault on the island. An experienced skindiver, he brought along his own scuba gear for just such an attack.
But he quickly dropped the idea: he estimated the odds of getting a successful shot at Barboza were a million to one.
Copyright@1984 Taking Cover: Inside the Witness Security Program, by Steffen White and Richard St. Germain


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EXIT THE GECKO, ENTER THE PIG AND BULLY
In Bureaucracy, Business, Social commentary on March 4, 2013 at 11:53 pmThere’s been a changing-of-the-guard at GEICO insurance.
Exit the understated, British-accented gecko.
Enter the pig–and the grunting black bully.
For years GEICO has taken a light-hearted, humorous approach to its advertising.
The company that designed these ads accomplished the seemingly impossible: It recruited a friendly reptile as its spokesman and, in doing so, turned a dull subject like insurance into something fun.
Remember the ad about the towering GEICO executive who tells the gecko: “GEICO is about trust. So let’s demonstrate how that trust works. I’ll fall backward–and you catch me.”
And as the man starts to fall back, the gecko mutters, “Oh, dear.”
But apparently GEICO wanted something more than humor in its advertising–something that would shake up those who watched it.
And the ads the company is now running will definitely do that. But GEICO may wind up regretting it.
Enter the new GEICO spokesman: a pig–porcine, hairless, goofy-voiced. And he’s sitting in the driver’s seat of a stalled car next to a beautiful brunette.
And it’s clear the woman is clearly feeling aroused and wants to do something romantic. Or, maybe the word for it is perverted.
But the pig is–fortunately–nervous, and just wants to talk about how wonderful GEICO is.
Now, think about this for a moment.
If you’re Jewish, Hindu or Muslim, eating pork is strictly forbidden. The meat is considered “unclean” because pigs don’t sweat–thus trapping all the impurities within.
So if you’re an adman who wants to design commercials that will appeal to the widest number of viewers, you’ve already flunked out.
And if eating pork is verboten to millions of Jews, Muslims and Hindus, having a romantic tryst with a pig is off-limits to anyone outside the confines of a porno theater.
After all, how twisted do you have to be to date out of your own species?
So what is the message GEICO is trying to send here? That if you buy GEICO insurance, you can make it with a beautiful chick even if you’re a pig?
Then there’s the bullying black basketball player as GEICO sales rep–played by real-life former basketball star Dikembe Mutombo.
Mutombo is a Congolese American retired professional basketball player who once played for the Houston Rockets. He was an eight-time All-Star and a record-tying four-time NBA Defensive Player of the Year.
Outside of basketball, he has become known for his humanitarian work.
But you’d never know it by the GEICO ad.
First, clad in basketball attire, he darts into an office and throws something at a startled executive and his secretary.
Then, grunting, he appears in a laundromat and prevents a woman from tossing clothing from a dryer to her cart by knocking it out of the air as she throws it in. Then he wiggles his finger at her. Thus the woman ends up with a clean garment made dirty.
Finally, he charges into a supermarket and knocks a cereal box out of the hands of a little boy as he’s about to toss it into a shopping cart. The box explodes, spilling cereal onto the floor and the little boy as the grunting black man races off.
GEICO Dikembe Mutombo Commercial – Happier Than Dikembe Mutombo Blocking a Shot
What is the message GEICO is trying to send here? That violence and intimidation are fun? That you’d better buy GEICO insurance–or else?
Even more ominous: This ad premiered during the week that another bullying black man was making headlines across the nation.
From February 3 to 12, Christopher Dorner, a former member of the Los Angeles Police Department, waged war on the LAPD.
Dorner blamed the agency for his firing in 2008. First he published a “manifesto” on his Facebook page and then set about a killing spree that killed four people. Two police officers died, and three others were wounded.
The rampage ended on February 12, in an isolated cabin near Big Bear Lake, California. Surrounded by lawmen from several police agencies, the cabin set ablaze by pyrotechnic tear gas, Dorner shot himself in the head rather than surrender.
It’s likely that these ads will join a parade of others that produced results other than those intended:
Clearly the executives at GEOCO need to ask themselves two questions:
More often than not, there is a disconnect between the two.
As in the case of the latest GEICO commercials.
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