Authors: Gay Talese
“Let me ask you,” the judge cut in again, “is there some question of privilege or other confidential problem that makes it difficult for you to enlighten me about this year and a half of absence in the face of the press conference? Because this is highly relevant on the question of bail and ensuring the appearance of this gentleman, if there was a notorious awareness that he was expected, on request or otherwise, to come here and that his lawyer then representing him announced that he would come here. It leaves a large question in the court’s mind. What happened? Why didn’t he come?”
“I appreciate that, Your Honor,” Krieger said, “and I am glad that you cut right to the heart of it there. There are many questions which you pose in answer to which I would have to invoke the privilege.”
“You mean your pleasure in the question is mitigated by your inability to give me useful answers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I understand that,” Judge Frankel said, “but it seems to me that the government makes out a rather cogent case for its view that one does not have a solid certainty that this gentleman appears when he is expected in court.”
“Why would he be here today, Your Honor?” Krieger replied. “He walked into this courtroom at 10:35, and he sat there waiting and waiting and waiting, until finally the marshals effected an arrest warrant at about twenty minutes to twelve. Why would he be here if he intended to abscond? He certainly would need no permission to abscond.”
“I don’t understand that, Mr. Krieger,” said the judge. “If we expect him back next month and he comes voluntarily in 1968, that won’t be satisfactory.”
“No, that would not be satisfactory, Your Honor,” Krieger agreed. “That is why I cannot argue that a bail should be set. I am not asking for his parole. I think that the court does need some assurance in a realistic figure as to his future appearances before the court, but bail must be realistic, and bail must be sufficient to assure the government and the court of the return of the defendant, but not so unrealistic that it amounts to a request for no bail.”
“Are you saying that he can’t make $500,000?” the judge asked.
“He cannot, Your Honor. He cannot.”
“With the property you have described, what bail would you recommend?”
“I would recommend this——that is a twofold question, Your Honor. One, you are asking me how much bail could he possibly put up, and the other question is how much bail do I think would be reasonable here.”
“Why don’t you answer them both?”
“Well, I think that $25,000 bail, Your Honor, would be reasonable and realistic.”
“And the other part: what would be possible?”
“In all candor, he could make a somewhat larger sum than that, Your Honor.”
“You realize that I am liable to set it somewhat larger and I wanted…”
“I realize that possibility, Your Honor.”
“Whatever help you could give me on that,” the Judge said, turning before he finished toward the United States Attorney and asking, “Mr. Morgenthau, you mentioned a grand jury problem. You are not asking for bail for his appearance as a witness, I take it?”
“No, we are not, Your Honor.”
“What about Mr. Krieger’s point that it is questionable whether this witness was under compulsion to appear before that grand jury?”
“I believe that is a problem, Your Honor,” Morgenthau said, “but this is the first time that Mr. Krieger has raised that as a reason for his not appearing. Certainly Mr. Krieger has known for many, many months during which he has represented Mr. Bonanno that we have been looking for him. He certainly has not been with his family or at his residence for that period of the last year and a half. And I would like to repeat again that for the years from approximately the summer of 1963 to the summer of 1964 the FBI and the Internal Revenue Service were looking for Mr. Bonanno, and he was not present in his home or in any of the usual places that he frequented.
“When he went to Canada, he went there for the purpose of trying to establish a permanent residence. He applied to the Canadian immigragion authorities for permanent residence. He has, I think without doubt, been a fugitive for about a year and a half. He had full knowledge that the processes of the court were seeking him. Why he has come in at this particular time of course we don’t know in detail, but I don’t think that anybody who is under a grand jury subpoena should be permitted to select the time in which he wants to come in and appear before a grand jury or before the court.”
“Your Honor,” Krieger said, “Mr. Morgenthau is in effect arguing his summation after conviction. He is charged with a specific crime. I am not going to argue a defense for that crime here at the time of arraignment. I think Your Honor is faced with a crime the maximum punishment for which is five years. It is not the most serious or heinous of offences. I can cite to Your Honor instances where defendants have been convicted of much more serious offences, have been sentenced to fifteen years in jail, and $100,000 was continued as sufficient bail pending appeal. In the present posture of this case, Your Honor, I again request something in the neighborhood of $25,000.”
“I think,” Morgenthau said, “you have got to consider the resources of the defendant, Your Honor, and these resources are very, very large.”
“The defendant’s wife is ill,” Krieger interjected, “he does have children, he has grandchildren—if he has been a fugitive for a year and a half, as indicated, he hasn’t seen them for a considerable period of time. He is a human being. Regardless of any charges against him, he is a human being and he is entitled to simple, basic…”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Krieger,” said the judge, abruptly. “The question is, what amount of bail will ensure the appearance of this human being in the court when he is expected.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Krieger said, gently, as if aware that he may have pushed a bit too hard.
“I will set bail in the amount of $150,000,” Judge Frankel said. Krieger and Bonanno did not react; only Morgenthau seemed disappointed.
“Judge,” Morgenthau said, after a few moments of silence, “may the government ask that he surrender his passport in whatever name he holds it to the clerk of the court? And also that he be directed not to enter any railroad station, pier, dock, or airport and that if he is going to be away from whatever residence that he gives you for a period of more than twenty-four hours, that he so advise the United States Attorney’s office that he will be away and the location that he will be at?”
“Your Honor,” Krieger said quickly, “I would request this: in the event that he does make bail, that the bail limits be extended to include the Eastern District of New York. My reason for that is that his son has maintained a residence in Nassau County for about two years plus. He probably will be staying there. I would also request, Your Honor, that the bail limits be extended to include the District of Arizona so that he may visit with his wife. She has resided at their home in Tucson for many, many, many years. She is not well. This is known to the government. A trip from Tucson to here could well be injurious to her health. I would have no objection to the last request, of advising the government as to where he is staying.”
“And as to surrendering his passport, if any?” the judge added.
“I understand the passport has expired,” Krieger said, “but we will surrender the passport.”
“He will surrender the expired passport,” the judge repeated.
“It has to be renewed after three years, I believe,” Krieger said.
“Whatever passport he has will be surrendered,” said the judge, with insistence.
“Surely,” Krieger said, “no problem.”
“And if he has any other passport other than an expired passport,” Morgenthau added.
“Any passport he has he will be ordered to surrender,” the judge assured.
“Any passport he ever had was in his own name, and that one will be surrendered,” Krieger said, pointedly, reacting to Morgenthau’s inference that Bonanno used false passports.
“Well,” the judge replied, trying to conclude the whole exchange, “the government certainly ought to be able to check on that.” After a pause, the judge continued, “Now on the other conditions on which you are not together, would the government feel secure, Mr. Morgenthau, if it were provided, as you requested, that he not enter railroad stations and other such places except for the purpose, on notice to the United States Attorney, of going to and from the District of Arizona to visit his wife?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Could you gentlemen formulate that in a way that accomplishes the result; that is, that he is not to go to piers, docks, and so forth, but he is permitted, on notice to the government, to travel to the District of Arizona and return, and to give notice on the occasions of such trips as to when and by what means he will be proceeding to and from Arizona?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Krieger.
“Mr. Morgenthau, is there any objection to extending the bail limits to the Eastern District of New York?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“May we use the ordinary consent form, Your Honor, to the Eastern District of New York?”
“No,” Morgenthau interrupted, “I would like you to prepare an order on that.”
Judge Frankel concurred, and Krieger said, “All right.”
“Will you collaborate in preparing such an order? And I will sign it.” the judge said to Krieger.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is there anything else?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” Morgenthau said.
“Is there any problem of scheduling for motions and so on?”
“Your Honor, I would like about a month for motions, please,” Krieger said.
“That is agreeable, Your Honor,” Morgenthau said.
“Is June 20 all right?” Judge Frankel asked, lifting his pencil to his pad.
“Fine,” said Krieger.
“That is agreeable,” said Morgenthau.
“All right, gentlemen,” the judge said, standing.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” they said, and Krieger led Bonanno to a place in the building where he would wait while the bail was arranged.
Later in the afternoon, a $150,000 bond was posted by the Stuyvesant Insurance Company of the Bronx at a cost of $4,-530 premium, using as collateral Frank Labruzzo’s home in Queens and two parcels of real estate in Tucson in the name of Bonanno’s wife and one of her sisters. But a document filed with the bond in court revealed an interesting disclosure: it showed that Bonanno or one of his representatives had begun to make bail arrangements more than a week ago, on May 9, and that the insurance company had sufficient collateral to authorize a bond up to the amount of $500,000—the very figure that Morgenthau had requested and that Bonanno had reponded to in court with a look of pain and astonishment.
After Bonanno had stood before the United States Commissioner and solemnly swore that while on bail he would refrain from entering any embassies or legations of governments other than those of the United States and after he had returned to him those items that the arresting officers had confiscated as possibly lethal—a silver pencil and a comb—he was free to leave the federal courthouse, which he did at 4:20
P.M.
He smiled as he walked through the corridor, flashbulbs popping in front of him, but neither he nor his attorneys would answer questions that the reporters were asking: Where had he been? Was the kidnaping a hoax? Why did he return?
“I have nothing to say,” Bonanno said, repeating it several times as he walked and occasionally shook hands with passersby.
“Well, how do you feel?” one reporter asked.
“Under the circumstances,” Bonanno said, cautiously, “as well as could be expected.”
At the bottom of the steps in front of the courthouse, Bonanno waved good-bye and walked with Krieger half a block to a parking lot. There he climbed into a 1965 white Lincoln and Krieger drove away.
Ten minutes later they pulled into a lot next to a tall building at 401 Broadway, the location of Krieger’s firm, and arriving in the office lobby Bonanno saw his son waiting for him. The two men moved quickly toward one another and embraced for several moments. Then other men who had been waiting also embraced the elder Bonanno. Among the men were Labruzzo, Joseph Notaro, and Notaro’s cousin Peter Notaro. There were affectionate exchanges in Sicilian, tears in the eyes of Joseph Bonanno, and awkward moments of silence. Then someone suggested that they all go uptown to La Scala Resturant on Fifty-fourth Street to have a few drinks and perhaps dinner. The elder Bonanno agreed. La Scala had long been one of his favorite restaurants. But first he wanted to go to a barbershop to get his long gray hair trimmed, wanted also to have hot towels on his face and a shoeshine. The men knew of a barbershop on West Forty-eighth Street that was on the second floor, making it easier for them to protect against a rival gang’s “hit” man.
The men drove uptown in a three-car tandem. It was after 5:00
P.M.
now, and the streets were crowded with office workers returning home; cars were bumper to bumper and horns were honking. Bonanno looked out with fascination at the pedestrians as he was driven slowly uptown; he noticed how fashion had changed during the months he was out of New York, and he told one of the bodyguards in his car that he would have to go to a tailor soon—his trousers had cuffs, and he noted that the prevailing trend was cuffless trousers. He also observed that the lapels of men’s jackets were wider, and the shorter skirts that he saw some women wearing along the avenue amazed him.
As Bill sat in the car with his father, he could not help but wonder where he had been all those months, but he doubted that his father would ever discuss it with him. After all, a trial would be coming up sooner or later, although it might take years because of various delays; in any event Bill would surely be summoned to testify, and the less he knew the easier it would be. Still, Bill was intensely curious about whether his father had moved around from place to place—and how he had done it—or whether his father had remained generally in one place, and he wondered how close his father had come to getting caught, and how he had managed to avoid foolish mistakes during the interminable weeks of tension and solitude. His father now had a deep suntan, and he might well have been in North Africa or Haiti as the newspapers suggested, or even in any of a dozen other places beyond the hot sun—knowing his father, it was possible that the elder Bonanno had gotten the tan from a sunlamp as a ploy to mislead the FBI in court today.