The Anderson Tapes (13 page)

I could outswim my brothers and all their friends. I think the boys resented it. They liked frail, weak, feminine things. I had this big, strong, muscular body. I thought the boys would like a girl who could swim with them and ride horses with them and wrestle and all that… . But when dances came along, I noticed it was the frail, weak, pale feminine things who got invited. Mother insisted I take dancing lessons, but I was never very good at it. I could dive and swim, but on the dance floor I felt like a lump.

ANDERSON: Who copped your cherry?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: My brother Ernie. Does that shock you?

ANDERSON: Why should it? I’m from Kentucky.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Well, it happened when he was home one Easter vacation from Dartmouth. And he was drunk.

ANDERSON: Sure.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Here I am at my high school graduation. Don’t I look pretty?

ANDERSON: You look like a heifer in a nightgown.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I guess I do … I guess I do. Oh, God, that hat.

But then, here, when I started going to Miss Proud’s school, I slimmed down. A little. Not much, but a little. I was on the swimming team, captain of the winning intramural field-hockey team, captain of the riding and golf teams, and I played a good game of tennis, too. Not clever, but strong. Here I am with the cup I got for best all-around girl athlete.

ANDERSON: Christ, what a body. I wish I could have stuck you then.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Plenty of boys did. Maybe I couldn’t dance, but I discovered the secret of how to be popular. A very simple secret. I think they called me Miss Round Heels. All you had to do was ask, and I’d roll over. So I had plenty of dates.

ANDERSON: I’d have figured you for a lez.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Oh … I tried it. I never made the first advance, but I had plenty of those sweet, pale, soft, feminine things touching me up. I tried it, but it didn’t take. Maybe it was because of the way they smelled. You didn’t shower this morning, did you?

ANDERSON: No.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: That horsey, bitter, acid smell. It really turns me on. Then I met David. He was a friend of my youngest brother, Bob. Here’s David.

ANDERSON: Looks like a butterfly.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: He was … but I didn’t discover that until it was too late. And he drank and drank and drank… . But he was funny and kind and considerate. He had money, and he made me laugh and held doors open for me, and if he wasn’t so great in the sack, well, I could excuse that because he always had too much to drink. You know?

ANDERSON: Yes.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Lots of money. Cleveland coal and iron and things like that. Sometimes I wondered if he was a little Jewish.

ANDERSON: A little Jewish?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: You know … way back. Anyway, here we are at the beach, at the prom, at a horse show, at the engagement party, the wedding pictures, reception, and so forth. I wore low heels because I was just a wee bit taller than he was. He had beautiful hair. Didn’t he have beautiful hair?

ANDERSON: Beautiful. Much more of this shit?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: No, not much more. Here we are at our summer place in East Hampton. Some good times. Drunken parties. I walked in on him once when he was getting buggered by a Puerto Rican busboy. I don’t have a picture of
that!
And that’s about all.

Some pictures of me on buying trips—Paris, Rome, London, Geneva, Vienna… .

ANDERSON: Who’s this guy?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: A kid I bought in Stockholm.

ANDERSON: Good lay?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Not really.

ANDERSON: What the hell are you crying for?

[Lapse of seven seconds.]

MRS. EVERLEIGH: These pictures. A hundred years. My great-grandparents. The Civil War. My parents. The world wars. My brothers. I just think of what all these people went through. To produce me. Me. I’m the result. Ah, Jesus, Duke, what happens to us? How did we get to be what we are? I just can’t stand thinking about it—it’s so awful. So sad.

ANDERSON: Where’s your husband now?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: David? The last time I saw him, he was wearing lipstick. That’s what I mean. And look at me. Am I any better?

ANDERSON: You want me to go?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: And leave me here counting the walls? Duke, for the love of God, get me out… .

Dominick “Papa” Angelo, ninety-four, don of the Angelo family, was a legal resident of 67825 Flint Road, Deal, New Jersey. Born Mario Dominick Nicola Angelo in Mareno, Sicily, 1874. His family was a “left-side” branch of the Angelo family, and for five generations had been tenant farmers in Sicily. There is no record of Dominick’s early schooling.

During a New York State investigation in 1934 (see Records of the Murphy Committee, Vol. I, pp. 432-35) evidence was presented that Dominick Angelo entered the United States illegally in 1891 by swimming ashore from a merchant ship on which he was working as cook. In any event, records are confused—or missing—and Dominick Angelo filed for his first citizenship papers in 1896, and became a U.S.

citizen in 1903. At that time he listed his occupation as “waiter.” His criminal record includes an arrest for disturbing the peace in 1904

(no disposition) and assault with intent to kill in 1905 (charge withdrawn). In 1907 he was arrested on a charge of assault with a deadly weapon (knife) with the intent to commit grievous bodily harm (he castrated his victim). He was tried, convicted, and served two years, seven months, and fourteen days at Dannemora (#46783).

Upon his release from prison, there is inconclusive evidence that he became a “button” for the Black Hand, as the Italian criminal organization in this country was then called.

(In their treatise
Origins of American Slang
, Hawley and Butanski, Effrim Publishers Co., Inc., 1958, the authors state [pp. 38-39] that in the period 1890-1910, the term “button” was used to describe a gangland executioner, and may have come from a description of a man who could “button the lip” of an informer or enemy. The authors point out that later, in the 1920’s and 1930’s the terms “buttons” or “Mr. Buttons” came into use in criminal circles to describe a uniformed policeman.) In 1910, Dominick Angelo obtained employment with the Alsotto Sand & Gravel Co., of Brooklyn, New York, ostensibly as a loader. In 1917

he volunteered for service with the American Expeditionary Forces, but because of his age, his services were limited to guard duty on the docks at Bayonne, New Jersey.

In 1920 he secured employment as foreman with the Giovanni Shipping Enterprises, Inc. During this period he married Maria Florence Gabriele Angelo, a distant relative. Their first child, a boy, was born in 1923. He was subsequently killed in action on Guadalcanal Island in 1942.

During World War II, Dominick Angelo volunteered his services to the U.S. government and, according to documents on file, his assistance was “invaluable” in preparing for the invasions of Sicily and Italy.

There is in existence a letter from a high official of the OSS attesting to his “magnificent and unique cooperation.” During the period 1948-68, official records reveal his rise to a position of great prominence and power in the Italian-dominated structure controlling organized crime in the United States. From soldier to
capo
to don took him less than ten years, and by 1957 he was recognized as leader of one of the several national “families.” His personal fortune was variously estimated as $20,000,000 to $45,000,000.

Students and observers of organized crime in the United States—of what has been described as the Black Hand, the Syndicate, the Mafia, the Cosa Nostra, the Family, etc.—generally agree that Dominick Angelo was the guiding spirit, brain, and power behind the conversion of the violent system to a semilegitimate cartel that increasingly avoided the strong-arm methods of previous years and invested more funds in loan companies, real estate, entertainment enterprises, brokerage houses, garbage collection, banks, linen supply companies, restaurants, laundromats, insurance companies, and advertising agencies.

In 1968,1 Dominick Angelo was ninety-four; 124 pounds; 5 feet 6

inches tall; almost totally bald; almost completely bedridden from diabetes, arthritis, and the effects of two severe coronary occlusions.

Very dark eyes; extraordinarily long fingers; a habit of stroking his upper lip with one finger (he wore a long mustache until 1946).

His home in Deal, New Jersey, was large, comfortable, and situated in the center of a generous acreage, without being ostentatious. The 1 Dominick Angelo died on February 19, 1969.

estate was surrounded by a 12-foot brick wall topped with cement into which pieces of broken glass had been studded. It is believed the staff consisted of several people—housekeeper, two or three groundsmen, a personal valet, butler, a male medical attendant, a female nurse, three maids, and two chauffeurs.

On 16 May, 1966, an explosion occurred at the locked gate leading to the Angelo estate. Officers investigating the incident reported it had been caused by several sticks of dynamite wired to a crude time fuse—a cheap alarm clock. No injuries were reported, and no arrests were made. The investigation is continuing.

Of peripheral interest are two unsubstantiated reports on Dominick Angelo: After his wife’s death in 1952, he engaged in homosexual liaisons, preferring the company of very young boys; and he was the inventor of the split-level coffin, although this “credit” has since been given to others. The split-level coffin is a device to get rid of victims of gangland slayings. The coffins are built somewhat deeper than usual, and the victim is buried in a section beneath the legitimate corpse.

This scheme, of course, depends upon the cooperation of funeral parlors, in which the family has a substantial financial interest.

The following transcription is from a tape recording made by agents of the New Jersey Special Legislative Subcommittee to investigate Organized Crime. The transcription is labeled NJSLC-DA-#206-IC, and is dated 10 July, 1968. The time was approximately 11:45 P.M., and the recording was made at Dominick Angelo’s home at 67825

Flint Road, Deal, New Jersey. The transmitting device was a Socklet MT-Model K.

From internal evidence, the two persons present were Dominick

“Papa” Angelo and Patrick “Little Pat” Angelo. Although the tape recording from which this transcription was made ran for slightly less than three hours, portions have been deleted that repeat evidence already presented. In addition, law enforcement agencies of New Jersey, New York, and Las Vegas, Nevada, have requested that certain portions be withheld, since they concern possible criminal prosecutions presently under investigation. All such deletions have been indicated by “lapse of time” notations.

[Lapse of thirty-two minutes during which Patrick Angelo inquired as to his grandfather’s health and was informed that it was “as well as could be expected.” Patrick Angelo then reported on the meeting with John Anderson and Anthony D’Medico.]

PATRICK: Well, Papa, what do you think?

PAPA: What do
you
think?

PATRICK: I say no. Too many people involved. Too complex, considering the possible profit.

PAPA: But I see your eyes shining. I see you are interested. You say to yourself, this is action! You are excited. You say to yourself, I am getting old and fat. I need action. This is how it was in Korea. I will plan this like a military raid. To me you say no—but in yourself you want this thing.

PATRICK [laughing]: Papa, you’re wonderful! You’ve got it all exactly right. My brain tells me this is nothing. But my blood wants it. I am sorry.

PAPA: Why be sorry? You think it is a good thing to be all brain and no blood? It is as bad as being all blood and no brain. The right mixture—that is what is important. This man Anderson—what is your feeling on him?

PATRICK: A hardnose. He has never carried a piece, but he is hard.

And proud. From Kentucky. A mountain man. Everything the Doctor told me about him was good.

PAPA: Anderson? From the South? About ten years ago Gino Belli—he is the Doctor’s cousin—had a thing planned. It seemed good but it went sour. He had a driver named Anderson. Is that the man?

PATRICK: The same one. What a memory you’ve got, Papa!

PAPA: The body grows old; the mind remains young, praise to God.

This Anderson brought Gino to a doctor. I remember it all now. I met him, very briefly. Tall and thin. A long, sunken face. Proud.

Yes, you are right—a very proud man. I remember.

PATRICK: So what do you want to do, Papa?

PAPA: Be quiet and let me think.

[Lapse of two minutes thirteen seconds.]

PAPA: This Anderson—you say he has his own staff?

PATRICK: Yes. Five men. One’s a smoke. One’s a tech. Two are drivers, one of them a dumdum.

[Lapse of nine seconds.]

PAPA: That is four. And the other? The fifth man?

[Lapse of sixteen seconds.]

PAPA: Well? The fifth man?

PATRICK: He’s fancy. Knows about paintings, rugs, art collections—

things like that.

PAPA: I see. Is his name Bailey?

PATRICK: I don’t know what his name is, Papa. I can find out.

PAPA: There was a fancy boy named Bailey out in Vegas. We did a… .

[Lapse of four minutes thirty-two seconds.]

PAPA: But that is not important. Besides, I suspect it is not Bailey. I suspect Bailey is dead. And who does the Doctor recommend as our representative?

PATRICK: A man named Sam Heming. One of Paul Washington’s boys.

PAPA: Another dinge?

PATRICK: Yes.

PAPA: No. That won’t do.

PATRICK: Papa? You mean you approve of this campaign?

PAPA: Yes. I approve. Go ahead with it.

PATRICK: But why? The money is… .

PAPA: I know. The money is nothing. There are too many people involved. It will end in disaster.

PATRICK: So …?

[Lapse of seventeen seconds.]

PAPA: Little Pat is thinking why should Papa okay something like this? All these years we work hard to get legit. We deal with Wall Street bankers, Madison Avenue advertising agencies, political parties. We are in all good businesses. The profits are good. Everything is clean. We keep trouble down. And now here is Papa, ninety-four years old, and maybe his mind is getting feeble, too—here is Papa saying all right to this silly plan, this
meshugeneh
raid, where people will be hurt and probably killed. Maybe Papa is no longer to be trusted. Is that what Patrick thinks?