Motley mob’s cheesy end
It used to be when the wiseguys who run the Mafia from Federal Hill in Providence decided to replace personnel at their branch office in the North End of Boston, somebody would end up dead.
It’s much more civilized these days among the assorted thieves and hoodlums who people what’s left of the Patriarca crime family, which is to gangsterism what Filene’s Basement is to retail: a successor living off a name that used to mean something.
And so, a year after former underboss Jerry Angiulo was released from the hospital unit at the federal prison at Fort Devens, one of his successors, Carmen DiNunzio, will soon take his bed.
Jerry was in the hospital because he’s too old; Carmen’s going in because he’s too heavy.
Sort of sums up the sad state of affairs in the local chapter of that fine fraternal organization known as La Cosa Nostra.
Watching Carmen DiNunzio walk into federal court yesterday, you couldn’t help but think he took too literally Peter Clemenza’s advice to the hit man who whacked Paulie Gatto in “The Godfather.’’
He left the gun and took the cannoli.
But it’s impossible not to feel sympathy for Carmen DiNunzio.
He’s a guy trying to keep a dying organization from dying. He is the nicest, most courtly Mafioso you’ll ever meet. He has diabetes and a host of other ailments.
He looks older than his 51 years, and the truth is, his poor health is one of the main reasons he pleaded guilty yesterday. By copping a plea in federal court, he gets to roll the federal bribery case against him in with the extortion and gambling charges he faces in state court.
More important, he gets access to the hospital at Fort Devens.
“He wouldn’t last in the state system healthwise,’’ his lawyer, Tony Cardinale, said, riding up the elevator to Judge Bill Young’s fifth-floor courtroom. “The federal system isn’t good, but it’s a lot better than the state’s.’’
When we got off the elevator, I complimented DiNunzio on his recent weight loss.
“Thank you,’’ he said. “I’m trying.’’
There’s still enough of a fascination with mobsters to fill a courtroom. Yesterday, it was mostly law students, trying to catch a glimpse of a real, live gangster.
Many of them were probably disappointed.
“Carmen’s the nicest guy in the world,’’ Tony Cardinale was saying.
And I suppose that’s a good thing if you’re, like, a mailman or a truck driver.
But when you’re supposed to be running the Mafia, it seems like it would be bad for business if everybody’s going around town saying how nice you are.
That DiNunzio was even in a position to be made underboss in Boston says more about the state of the Mafia than any indictment drawn up in court. According to the FBI and state cops, he wasn’t even a made guy until the late 1990s, and they say Baby Shanks Manocchio, the Patriarca boss, made him underboss in 2004.
It would be nice to think that DiNunzio was promoted on merit, but the truth is the Mafia’s bench is pretty thin.
These days, it’s hard for a made guy to make a living, and the idea of whacking up money with some old guy playing cards in a social club while you do all the work just doesn’t have the appeal it once did.
The FBI and Massachusetts State Police have done a marvelous job keeping pressure on the Mafia, but the Massachusetts Lottery has done even more, robbing the wiseguys of their bread and butter: the number.
The biggest bookie in the state is the state.
Carmen said he’ll probably lose his cheese shop in the North End. He’ll end up doing a good chunk of the six years he copped a plea to, but he wasn’t complaining.
And he didn’t turn in others to save himself, a rarity these days.
Carmen DiNunzio’s old school. The problem is, school’s closed.
Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com 