My Crime Fiction: 'Villotti'

Below is my crime fiction short story Villotti.  

The story originally appeared in American Crime Magazine. 

Villotti

By Paul Davis

 Joseph Villotti was called “Crazy Joe” back in the late-1960s in South Philadelphia for a very good reason. He was criminally insane.

 Joe Villotti was insanely sadistic. He was insanely manipulative. He was insanely violent.

Villotti was 6’2”, lean and muscular with a rough face and dark brown hair. He had a raspy voice and a madman’s laugh. He reminded me of a somewhat thinner version of the actor Marlon Brando in the film On the Waterfront. (See above photo of Brando).

In South Philadelphia back in the late-1960s Crazy Joe Vilotti was legendary. Everyone in South Philly at the time had a Villotti story. I had several, including one story that I recently recounted. I wrote of the time that I witnessed Villotti murder a hoodlum in 1968 in a dispute over drugs.    

I also recall when I was walking down Oregon Avenue in South Philly when I was 15 in 1968. Villotti, who was 19 at the time, pulled his car to the curb and offered me a ride.

“Thanks, Joe, but I like to walk and my house is only two blocks away.”

Villotti, well known for not taking no for an answer, yelled, “Get in, for fuck’s sake. I’ll drive you.”

I got in the car. Villotti swung out onto Oregon Avenue and sped past a red light and headed west. I heard the police sirens behind us and then I saw two police cars swing across the four-lane avenue and block Villotti’s car.

Two additional police cars came up behind Villotti and blocked him from backing up. A plainclothes detective rushed up on the driver’s side and stuck a .38 snub nose revolver in Villotti’s face.

“Keep your hands on the fucking wheel, Joe,” the detective said. “Don’t fucking make a move.”

I was struck by the familiarity of the detective addressing Villotti by his first name.

A second detective opened my passenger side door and pointed his firearm at me.

“No, no,” Villotti said to the detective. “He’s just a kid I picked up.”

The detective looked hard at me and then said, “Get lost, kid.”

I got out of the car as Villotti was yanked out of the car and handcuffed. I walked away as fast as I could.

Back at JP’s luncheonette on 13^th and Oregon, I told everyone the story. There were several theories about why Villotti would stop and pick me up while he was being chased by the police. One was he picked me up thinking that having a passenger might throw the police off from identifying his car. Another theory was that Villotti was plain nuts.

 

Villotti was a member of the Dalton Street and Oregon Avenue street corner gang back then. The teenage street corner gang, known as the “D&O,” was a notorious and troublesome group, well known to the police and other street corner gangs in South Philadelphia.

The street corner crowd at 13^th and Oregon Avenue was not a large or tough group like the D&O and other notorious South Philly street corner gangs, although we had a handful of very tough guys like my older brother Eddie and the Sarcone brothers, Chickie and Stevie. We were known more as a party corner as we always had a crew of local pretty girls who hung out with us.

JP’s luncheonette was located on the corner of 13^th and Oregon Avenue, and we drank coffee and soda and ate cheesesteaks and hoagies in the five booths and at the counter.

We were three block west of the D&O gang’s hangout at George’s Luncheonette. We were friendly with the D&O teenagers as we all went to school together and we freely mixed at the teenage dances.

Villotti began hanging out with us more and more in 1968 as he had worn out his welcome at the D&O. He had a beef with Billy Russo, aka “Samsom,” as the teenager was a big, tough guy. Russo was also, by all accounts, a nice guy. Russo objected to Villotti picking on a skinny guy and he confronted Villotti. The two big guys squared off in the Thomas Junior High schoolyard. Russo hit Villotti so hard that Villotti went down. Other D&O guys broke up the fight.

Later, as Russo left his house and walked towards Oregon Avenue, Villotti was waiting with a baseball bat. Villotti repeatedly cracked Russo with the bat and Russo fell to his knees in pain. Villotti continued to strike Russo until several men pulled him away.

Russo was hospitalized with several broken bones and a concussion. Most of the D&O teenagers took Russo’s side as he was a popular guy, but no on confronted Villotti. But Villotti sensed he needed a break from the D&O gang, so he began to hang out with us.

Lucky us.

Villotti was sadistic and a bully with a warped sense of humor. Thankfully, he never picked on me as he was afraid of my older brother Eddie.

Although Villotti was “bat shit” crazy, he was sane enough to know that he could not beat my brother, and Villotti knew that Eddie was a lot tougher than Samsom Russo.  

Villotti came to spend more time with us after his beating of Russo and his involvement in a romantic triangle. A teenage girl named Jennifer broke up with a D&O guy named Butchie and she began seeing Eddie Dano. Eddie Dano was a good-looking young guy, and girls liked him, but he was a fool for love.

He would date a girl, quickly fall in love with her, and he would go into debt buying the girl an expensive ring. Inevitability, the new girl would grow tired of Dano’s rapt attention and she would drop him. We called Dano “Captain Cute,” and we called his big tan Buick the “Cutemobile,” a take on Batman’s “Batmobile.”

Butchie complained to Villotti about Dano “stealing” his girl. Villotti talked a group of D&O guys into going up to 13^th and Oregon and beating the shit out of this guy “Eddie.” There were three guys named Eddie on 13^th and Oregon Avenue. There was Eddie Dano, Eddie Pellegrini, and my older brother, Eddie Davis.  

My brother Eddie, who was three and a half years older than me, had stopped hanging with us on the corner, as he had graduated to hanging out with our “old heads,” the previous generation of guys who were then in their mid-20s and went clubbing throughout the city. My brother was also seeing a girl named Frannie that he would later marry.

One of the D&O guys held a grudge against my brother from a few years prior when we all went to the South Philly Boys Club. At 6’3,” lean and athletic, with long, strong arms and legs, Eddie was a star basketball player. He was also a genuine tough guy, but he was no bully. In fact, he was the champion of the bullied, as he often came to their defense. He never bullied anyone but me, his little brother.

While during a basketball game at the Boys Club, Jason “Jay” Gianni and his older brother Mark doubled-teamed an opposing player and beat him to the court’s floor. My brother stepped in, pulled the Gianni brothers off the guy and he offered to fight both of the brothers at the same time. The Ginanni brothers walked away.

And now Jay Gianni saw a way to get back at my brother, believing the Eddie that Villotti wanted to have beaten up was my brother.

That night Eddie Dano was warned that the D&O guys were coming for him. So he downed several barbiturates, stating, “When they beat the shit outta me, I won’t feel a thing.”   

I stood out on the corner leaning on my brother’s parked car. I was amused by Dano, who had trouble standing. Also on the corner was “Mikey Head” Tabone.

I saw Jay Gianni and four guys walking up Oregon Avenue. One of the guys in the group was my good friend Alex Agnello, whom I’ve known since junior high school. He walked up to me and said hello.

Gianni and the others seemed to ignore Dano, who leaned against the wall. Just then, my brother Eddie appeared on the corner of Iseminger Street, and he turned and was heading towards his car.

“There he is!” Gianni shouted as he and three others ran towards my brother. I grabbed Alex by his jacket, and he grabbed me as we grappled against my brother’s car.

My brother saw Gianni and the others run towards him and he put up his hands and punched Gianni in the face, knocking the hoodlum to the concrete. The other three hoodlums started to swing at my brother and he hit back, knocking each one down with a single punch. The fight was quickly over and Gianni rose from the payment, bloody and bruised, saying in a shaky voice, “We’re going to get, you son of a bitch!”

“Come and get me now,” my brother replied as the other hoodlums rose with black eyes and bloody noses.

Gianni repeated the threat as he and the others walked away quickly and headed back to Dalton Street. Alex and I let each other go and he too headed back to Dalton Street.

Tabone, who had run into the luncheonette when the fighting started, now came out.

“I went in to get a butcher knife,” Tabone explained as he tried to catch his breath.

My brother just shook his head in disbelief.

I explained quickly to my brother that the D&O guys were after Eddie Dano and not him. My brother just shook his head and drove away.

The next morning, I sat in JP’s drinking a cup of coffee before heading to the South Philadelphia High School, known locally as “Southern.” I was telling my good friend Chickie Sarcone about the fight when my brother walked in. He stopped in before going to work for the Electric Company as he wanted to see Chickie. Sarcone, like my brother, was a genuine tough guy who was respected by the D&O.

“Make sure no one bothers my brother,” he said to Chickie.

“No one will.”

“Thanks.”

That night Villotti and a big fat guy came into JP’s. Thankfully, Dano wasn’t there, as he would have had a heart attack. Villotti sat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. A minute or two later, my brother stopped in to buy a pack of cigarettes.

Villotti jumped up and explained to my brother that the previous night had been a misunderstanding and that he was sorry. He said he told Gianni and the other D&O guys that Eddie Davis was not to be bothered anymore.

My brother shrugged as he placed coins in the cigarette machine and extracted his pack of cigarettes.

“It’s all over,” my brother said.

Villotti laughed. “Yeah, it’s over. I heard you knocked down Jay and his boys all by yourself. Good for you.”

Villotti put out his hand to shake, and my brother shook his hand, and then walked out the door.

 

But it was not quite over for Villotti.

The next day after school I went to the Oregon Diner with Eddie Dano and Harry “Bud” Keitel, also known as “Bud the Dud.”

After we ate our cheeseburgers and French fries, we got into Dano’s big Buick and started to pull out of the diner’s parking lot. It was a warm day, so we had all of the car windows down. Suddenly, Villotti rushed up to the driver’s window and punched Dano in the face. Another guy appeared on the passenger side and punched Keitel in the face. A third guy opened the back door, and he was about to strike me with a tire iron when Villotti grabbed the tire iron and said, “No, he’s a good kid. I know his brother.”

Villotti and his friends walked off. Dano slumped over and held his broken nose. Keitel held a handkerchief to his bloody teeth. After a few minutes, Dano was able to drive and we headed back to 13^th and Oregon Avenue. No one spoke of what happened.   

Afterwards, Villotti acted like nothing had happened and he began to hang out with us, especially since my brother no longer came around. Villotti was abusive, cheated at cards, stole, and borrowed money from the guys and never paid them back. No one even asked Villotti to pay them back. They were usually glad that he had picked on a new victim. For those who were immune to Villotti’s bullying, like Chickie Sarcone and I, Villotti was a funny guy.         

Later that summer, as we were driving in Bud’s car on the way to Belmar Lake in South Jersey, Villotti saw a hippie hitchhiker on the side of the road. He ordered Bud to stop the car, pull over, and pick up the hippie. Bud was confused, but he pulled over.

Villotti opened the car door and the hippie with long, stringy blonde hair and a big, goofy grin, bent over and began to climb into the back seat, face first. Sitting next to Villotti in the back seat, I saw Villotti hit the grinning hippie square in the face and the hippie’s head reared back and his body followed, collapsing on the side of the road.

“Go, go, go!” Villotti ordered Bud and Bud sped off.

Looking back, this was a cruel and heartless act, and I felt bad for the hitchhiker. But at the time, we all felt this was a spontaneous and outrageous act, and we roared with laughter.

Villotti had that effect on us.  

Villotti was arrested for attempted murder, and he was sentenced to prison in 1973. A heroin addict, he contracted AIDS in prison, and he died there in 1975.

Even after all these years, whenever two old school South Philly corner boys get together, they will invariably tell Villotti stories.

This was mine.

 Note: You can read my previous story about Joe Villotti, The Seventh Street Shooting, via the link below:

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction: 'The Seventh Street Shooting'

And you can also read my other crime fiction short stories via the link below:  

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction Stories