My Crime Fiction: 'Tony Ball-Peen'

 The story below is another chapter in my crime novel in progress. 

You can read the first chapter and link to subsequent posted chapters via the link below: 

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction: 'The Rigano Murders'

The below story originally appeared in American Crime Magazine.

 Tony Ball-Peen

By Paul Davis

I was meeting Salvatore Stillitano, once known as “Salvie Shotgun,” each week as I was interviewing him for a book about his life in organized crime.

He agreed with my idea of serializing the book in my crime column in the local paper prior to compiling the columns into a book. 

The former Philadelphia Cosa Nostra organized crime family caporegime, or captain, and the son of the legendary mobster Nunzio “Nick the Broker,” became a government witness after the FBI played him a wiretap recording of Cosa Nostra bosses ordering his murder. 

He testified against his fellow mob bosses and then went into the Witness Protection Program in the 1980s. Now, having returned to South Philadelphia, he was unafraid of mob retaliation, and he wanted to tell his life story. 

He previously spoke of Anthony “Tony Ball-Peen” Gina, his late father’s criminal underling. For this interview session, Stillitano wanted to talk more about Gina. 

Although young Anthony Gina was short and thin as a teenager in South Philadelphia in the 1950s, no one dared pick on him.

Even as a teenager, Gina was dangerous. He was violent and unafraid to brandish a weapon, any weapon, and use it on anyone he thought was disrespectful or threatening.

Gina’s father, Ralph, was a knockaround guy, thief and a bruiser for a South Philly Cosa Nostra criminal crew.

Ralph Gina saw his bad tempered and violent son heading to prison unless the father could harness that anger and violence. He approached a boxing trainer he knew, and the trainer agreed to take the little miscreant and train him to become a prize fighter.

Gina trained hard, stayed out of trouble, and became a fine amateur boxer before turning pro. As a professional welterweight, Gina racked up an impressive number of wins, often by knock out, but he was also amendable to losing a bout if his father said the mob gamblers wanted him to do so.

One of the mob gamblers was Nunzio “Nick the Broker” Stillitano. Stillitano was a Cosa Nostra soldier and a rising fight promoter. He began to promote all of Gina’s bouts. Stillitano became fast friends with Gina as he got a kick out of the loud and outrageous fighter, although their personalities were diametrically opposed.

Stillitano took Gina under his wing and used him for rough stuff when it was occasionally called for. Gina retired from boxing and became an associate member and part of Stillitano’s crew. In the mid-1960s, Stillitano proposed Gina to become a made member of Cosa Nostra and assigned him to murder a boxing manager who cheated Stillitano out of some serious money.

Gina, known in the ring as “Tony Ball-Peen” as he hit with both hands like a ball-peen hammer. A ball-peen hammer, also called a machinist's hammer, is used as a peening hammer in metalworking. The hammer has two heads, one is flat and the other, called the peen, is rounded.

Gina used a real ball-peen hammer to beat the manager to death.

The brutal murder sent a message to people around Nick Stillitano that the mob fight promoter was not a man who would be cheated.

Gina was made a Cosa Nostra member and became Stillitano’s number two.

In the late 1960s, Gina and Dominic “Dom D” DeMarco, a big and fat former heavyweight boxer, entered a small bar in South Philly.

The bar was a front for a lucrative bookmaking and loansharking operation. The bookmaker, Joseph “Joe Bar” Barbieri, a tall and gangly 50-year-old mob associate, stood up from a table. Without a word or warning, Gina punched him in the face and the illegal gambler dropped to the floor.

DeMarco then delivered a devastating right cross to John “Butch” Monti, a big and muscular collector for Barbieri, and he too fell to the floor.

Gina announced to the group of gamblers in the bar that he was taking over the “book.”

“Any objections?”

No one objected.

 

Barbieri was a long-time mob associate and a big earner. He requested a “sitdown” with Angelo Bruno, the then-boss of the Philadelphia Cosa Nostra organized crime family.   

When Barbieri entered the closed restaurant later that week, he saw that Gina was seated across from Bruno and next to Nick Stillitano. He instantly knew his case was hopeless as he was an associate while Stillitano and Gina were “made men.”

Still, he sat down and made his case. After he spoke, Gina responded by saying that Barbieri was a poor bookmaker and loan shark. Gina told Bruno that the book was not living up to its potential. This was due, Gina explained, to the fact that Barbieri neglected the illegal operation by spending too much time in Florida. Gina said that he would do a much better job.

Nick Stillitano nodded in agreement.

Bruno sipped his coffee and was silent for a moment. He then spoke softly to Barbieri.

“You have been a good earner and I’m thankful,” Bruno said. “But Tony is right, you do spend too much time in Florida.”

“My daughter and my grandchildren live in Florida, so I go down and stay with them, but I call the bar every day…”

“OK,” Bruno said flatly. “I understand. Here’s what we will do. Gina will give you a good payout and you can move to Florida permanently. Tony will take over the book for you.”

Barbieri was not happy that he was losing his criminal operation, but he thought that Gina, a notorious killer, would murder him otherwise. He was glad that he would receive a payout and that he would not be murdered.

The sitdown ended with everyone shaking hands.

The following day Gina went to the bar and sat at the back table that Barbieri had occupied. He spoke to Benny Martini, Barbieri’s assistant.

“Benny, I want you to run the day-to-day operation, and I got some ideas I want you to work on.

Martini nodded in agreement.

Gina quickly increased the book’s earnings by drawing in big gamblers that he knew to the book. He kicked up a piece of the profits to Nick Stillitano. And Stillitano in turn kicked up a piece to Bruno.

 

Butch Monti, who was still suffering from the heavy blows from Dom D, was grumbling over the management change while drinking in a mob-run club. He cursed Gina and DeMarco. He said that he was going to clip the two men.

“I don’t care if them is made guys,” Monti told a friend. “I’m gonna whack them.”

Monti’s threats were overheard by another mob associated and he reported the threats to Gina. Stillitano and Gina went to Bruno and made the case that Monti had to go. Bruno, who did like violence as it was bad for business, reluctantly agreed.

The following Saturday evening Monti left a club and was walking towards his car when Gina stepped in front of him. Gina placed his .38 revolver against Monti’s face and fired twice.

Monti fell against a parked car and slid down to the street. Gina walked briskly to a running car. Gina stepped into the front passenger seat next to Dom D at the wheel. The big former heavyweight drove away slowly.

© 2026 Paul Davis  

How Mobsters’ Own Words Brought Down Philly’s Mafia − A Veteran Crime Reporter Has The Story Behind The End Of The ‘Mob War’

 As Netflix will premiere their three-part documentary series on the Philadelphia mob war in the 1990s, Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia, tomorrow, veteran organized crime reporter George Anastasia, who was a consultant on the documentary, offers a piece on the mob war for The Conversation.com.  

The bloody mob war that is the focus of the new Netflix series “Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia,” which premieres Oct. 22, 2025, is full of the murder and mayhem, treachery and deceit that have been the hallmarks of the nation’s Cosa Nostra family conflicts.

What was different in Philadelphia was that the FBI had it all wired for sound.

Electronic surveillance has been a major tool in the government’s highly successful war against the Mafia nationwide, but nowhere has its impact been felt more dramatically than in Philadelphia.

As a reporter for The Philadelphia Inquirer, I covered this mob war in real time from 1994 through 2000. Now I teach a course at Rowan University on the history of organized crime, using the war as a case study, and I was a consultant on the Netflix series.

The war pitted one faction of the Philadelphia mob, headed by Sicilian-born John Stanfa, against a rival faction led by Joseph “Skinny Joey” Merlino. The issues were control of all illegal operations in the underworld – gambling, loan-sharking, drug-dealing and extortion. Money was the bottom line, but there also was a cultural and generational divide that had Stanfa and, for the most part, his group of older wiseguys facing off against Merlino and his crew of young South Philadelphia-born mobsters.

But only after indictments were handed down and evidence was introduced at trials did the extent of the electronic surveillance operation become known.

Mobsters, speaking in unguarded moments and unaware that the feds were listening, buried themselves.

So here was mob boss Stanfa discussing with an associate plans to lure Merlino and two of his two lieutenants to a meeting where they would be killed:

“See, you no gotta give a chance,” the Sicilian-born Stanfa said in his halting English. “Bam, bam … Over here is best, behind the ear.”

Or here was Salvatore Profaci, a New York mobster brought in to quietly settle a dispute that had gone public after mob lawyer Salvatore Avena filed a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against his mobbed-up business partner in a trash-hauling business.

“Goodfellas don’t sue goodfellas,” Profaci said in a line that couldn’t have been written any better by “The Godfather” author Mario Puzo or delivered more effectively by the award-winning actor Robert De Niro. “Goodfellas kill goodfellas.”

You can read the rest of the piece and watch the documentary trailer via the below link:

How mobsters’ own words brought down Philly’s mafia − a veteran crime reporter has the story behind the end of the ‘Mob War’ 

Netflix To Offer Three-Part Docuseries Mob War: Philadelphia Versus The Mafia

PhillyDaily.com, where my Crime Beat column appears each week, reports that Netflix has announced that they will offer a three-part docuseries called Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia. 

Netflix To Offer Three-Part Docuseries Mob War: Philadelphia versus The Mafia - Philly Daily

The docuseries portrays the internecine mob war in Philadelphia in the early 1990s between the South Philadelphia “Young Turks,” reportedly led by Joseph “Skinny Joey” Merlino, and John Stanfa, the Sicilian-born boss of the Philadelphia Cosa Nostra Organized Crime Family.

The young mobsters, the sons and nephews of the previous generation’s Cosa Nostra mobsters under then-Philadelphia mob boss Nicodemo “Little Nicky” Scarfo, were South Philly “corner boys” who bristled under the strict leadership of a Sicilian boss to whom they felt no loyalty.

“The docuseries traces the turbulent saga of Philly’s mob, beginning with the power vacuum left by Scarfo’s 1986 arrest. John Stanfa, handpicked by New York’s Five Families to restore order and return business to the shadows, soon found his old-school grip threatened by a new breed of mobsters,” Netflix stated. “Led by Joey Merlino, these flashy, fearless upstarts had little respect for tradition and everything to prove. Their rebellion ignited a vicious war of shifting loyalties and deadly vendettas, tearing the City of Brotherly Love apart — and drawing the scrutiny of national media and the FBI. 

“The series features firsthand accounts from former mob associates, law enforcement officials, prosecutors, and journalists who witnessed the war unfold. Through chilling wiretap recordings, surveillance footage, and reenactments, Mob War charts the FBI’s pursuit and eventual takedowns of Scarfo, Stanfa, and finally Merlino — though, as noted in the series, Joey Merlino denies being involved in violence or ever being a member of the Mafia.

“Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia unpacks a Shakespearean saga of shifting allegiances, family betrayal, and deadly vendettas in a true-crime story that changed Philadelphia and the American mob forever.”

 Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia premieres on October 22nd. 

The Netflix trailer of Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia can be viewed via the link below: 

Mob War: Philadelphia vs. The Mafia | Official Trailer | Netflix 

My Crime Fiction: 'Murder By The Park'

The below short story originally appeared in American Crime Magazine in 2021. 

"Murder By The Park" 

By Paul Davis 

“I’m a criminal,” the man at the bar said to me as a way of introduction. 

He said this as nonchalantly as if he stating he was a salesman or a lawyer. 

I was at the bar talking to an old friend from the old neighborhood in South Philadelphia when the 30ish, dark-haired, thin and short man approached me and asked if I wrote the crime column for the local newspaper. He said he recognized me from my column photo.   

I said yes. The man introduced himself and said he read my column on a recent murder by a nearby park. 

"The story was really good. Really interesting," the man said. 

I thanked him, he shook my hand, and he rejoined his friends at the other end of the bar. 

The column the man at the bar liked was about the murder of a drug dealer whose body had been discovered in a car parked next to the park at 13^th and Oregon Avenue. 

The story interested me as I grew up at 13^th and Oregon. Murders in that middle-class, predominantly Italian-American neighborhood were rare. And I played sports in that park as a teenager and, frankly, I did somewhat less wholesome things with girls in the park after dark. 

After the man walked away, my friend told me the man was Anthony “Tony Banana” Venditto, a local thug. My friend explained that he was called “Tony Banana,” as all of his friends described him as a banana, a South Philly euphemism for an insane person or a goof. 

I was later informed by a Philadelphia detective I knew that Venditto was the prime suspect in the murder of the drug dealer found next to the park. Small wonder that he found my column about the murder so interesting. 

The detective filled me in on the story of Venditto and the murder by the park.

 

Venditto was proud of being a criminal. His life-long goal was to be a “made man” in the Philadelphia-South Jersey Cosa Nostra crime family. But because he was, as his nickname indicated, a banana, he didn’t stand a chance. 

Venditto had a police record with multiple arrests and two convictions. He was convicted on two separate burglaries, and he was given parole on the first and served two years in Graterford State Prison for the second. He had been briefly married, but his wife divorced him while he was in prison. 

Venditto hung around a mob crew in the neighborhood, and they used him for assorted jobs, such as robbery and extortion. For Venditto, being an associate with the crew was the next best thing to being a made member of the local mob. 

The crew of gamblers, thieves and extortionists spent their usual days at a local bar, gossiping, bragging and scheming. The crew captain, Joseph “Big Joe” Farina, sat at a back table up against a wall and held court all day and some nights, as if he were a king. His crew would report in, hand over money, and linger as Farina, a large, overweight man with sparse gray hair, would sip Sambuca and impart his wisdom and wit to his fellow criminals. 

No one questioned his wisdom, and everyone laughed at his jokes and asides. 

The crew didn’t do much in the way of work. Mostly, they extorted money from other working criminals, such as bookmakers, drug dealers and burglary crews. The crooks paid their “street tax” to the crew as they figured it was the cost of doing business in South Philly. The crooks who didn’t pay had a visit from crew members, who wielded baseball bats or pointed guns. 

Farina waved over Venditto and Salvatore “Sonny” Grillo. Grillo was huge, muscular and tattooed. Standing next to the diminutive Venditto, he appeared even larger. 

“Did you see that drug guy about our money?” Farina asked Grillo. 

The man Farina referred to was John “Opie” Taylor, a South Philly drug dealer who resembled the child actor Ron Howard from the 1960s Andy Griffith TV show. Taylor was told on several occasions that he had to pay a “street tax” to Farina’s crew if he wanted to sell drugs or commit any crime in the neighborhood. 

“I sent him an email.” 

“You did what?” Farina said, slapping the table. 

“I sent him an email, telling him he better get right with us.” 

“Look at you, ya mamaluke. What’s the point of being a big ugly gorilla, when ya gonna send email messages to a guy we want to scare?” 

Grillo stood there, his head held low, and kept quiet. 

“When I was a soldier back in the 1960s we didn't send emails. We looked them in the eye,” Farina told Grillo and Venditto. “We were true gangsters and racketeers then. Now look at what I have to deal with,” Farina said, throwing his hands up in the air in disgust. 

“I’ll handle the guy, Skipper,” Venditto said. 

“Oh yeah? And how will a skinny banana like you do that?” 

“I’ll scare the shit out of him.” 

“All right. But take this mamaluke with you.” 

“Two stunods,” Farina said out loud as Grillo and Venditto left the bar.

 

Venditto and Grillo went to the variety store where Taylor worked. They walked in and told Taylor to come outside with them. Not wanting to cause a scene where he worked, Taylor walked out with the two. 

Venditto pulled a .38 Ruger hammerless revolver out of his jacket pocket and placed it up against Taylor’s side. 

“Where’s your car?” Venditto asked.  

Taylor pointed to the Toyota on the corner. Venditto told Taylor to give the keys to Grillo. 

“Get ina car,” Venditto told the drug dealer. 

Venditto shoved Taylor into the back seat and sat next to him with the gun between them. Grillo drove them to the park at 13^th and Oregon Avenue. Grillo parked the car next to the park on 13^th Street between Oregon Avenue and Johnson Street.  

“You gotta come up with our money,” Venditto told the visibly shaken drug dealer. “We own this city and if you want to make money from drugs, we got to get our tax.” 

“I ain’t making all that much money,” Taylor whined. “Why do you think I’m working in the store?” 

“Bullshit. You got a new car here. So pay up, motherfucker.” 

Taylor grabbed the door handle and attempted to get out and flee. Venditto grabbed his shirt and placed the gun against his chest. He shot Taylor and the drug dealer slid down on the seat. 

The gun blast inside the car deafened the two mobsters. Grillo held his ears in pain. A minute later he said, “What the fuck, Tony?”

“He had it coming. He was disrespectful.” 

Grillo wiped down the steering wheel and door handles with a hankie and the two criminals left the car next to the park with Taylor’s dead body inside. Venditto took off his blood-stained jacket and rolled it up in a ball. They walked the three blocks to the bar.

 

Venditto approached Farina’s table in the back of the bar. 

“I handled the drug guy, boss.” 

“Good. Did you get our money?” 

“No, he didn’t have no money. But I whacked him.” 

“You did what?” 

“He was disrespectful to us, so I shot him.” 

“Is he dead?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then how the fuck are we supposed to get our money from him, ya fucking banana?” 

Venditto shrugged sheepishly and looked away.

 

A man walking his dog noticed the slumped corpse in the backseat of the parked car and called the police. A 3^rd District patrol officer responded. He looked into the backseat. With blood all over the seat and the floor of the car, he knew the man was dead. 

The officer called his sergeant. The sergeant rolled up and got out of the patrol car. He looked into the back seat and opened the car door. The awful smell of the corpse drove him to step backwards, and he shut the door quickly.

The sergeant called his lieutenant as three more patrol cars pulled up and parked. The lieutenant called South Detectives. 

Two detectives rolled up and stepped out of the car. They peered into the car but didn’t touch anything. One of the detectives interviewed the dog walker as the other detective called Homicide at Police headquarters. 

A crowd of onlookers stood on the sidewalk and gawked and spoke among themselves. 

The uniformed officers tried to stop the onlookers from getting too close to the car and the two detectives walked among the gathered people, asking if they heard or saw anything. 

A half hour later, Detectives Angelo Marino and Charles Magee rolled up and took charge of the investigation. 

The two were veteran homicide detectives and worked as partners for the past five years. Both detectives were in their mid-40s. Marino was a South Philly Italian American. He was a six-footer and well-built former soldier who served in the U.S. Army in Iraq. 

Magee, a Black cop from North Philly, had a squat and solid figure and was of average height. Like Marino, he was a veteran, having served as a Marine in Afghanistan. Both detectives had seen scores of dead bodies and much blood, both overseas and in Philadelphia.

The two detectives watched as the forensics team rolled up, unloaded their gear, and began to examine the crime scene. 

“I live about six blocks from here,” Marino said to Magee. “We don’t see many murders in this neighborhood.” 

“Mob hit?” Magee asked Marino.

“Could be.”

When the forensics team finished, Marino and Magee looked for a wallet on the corpse. The found a wallet in his back pocket and they looked at the name on the driver’s license. Neither detective knew John Taylor. 

Marino and Magee added the Taylor murder to their already overloaded case load. 

 

The forensics report came in and established that fingerprints lifted from the car matched the fingerprints of both Grillo and Venditto, despite Grillo’s wiping down the wheel and door handles with a hankie. 

Marino and Magee ventured out and arrested Grillo and Venditto. 

In police custody, Venditto sat still and said nothing to the detectives. With a smirk on his face, he refused to answer their questions. He also refused to respond to the detectives’ claims they had him dead to rights with fingerprints and witnesses from the variety store who can testify that Grillo and Venditto walked Taylor out of the store and placed him in his car. 

Venditto, acting like a tough guy, sat back and smiled. 

"I want a lawyer," Venditto told the detectives. 

The detectives then laid out their case to Grillo in another room. Grillo sobbed and beat the table with his huge hands.

“I don’t wanna go to prison,” Grillo said. “I can’t do hard time.”  

“Tell us what went down,” Magee said. “And maybe we can help you.” 

So Grillo gave up Venditto.   

Venditto pled guilty on advice of counsel. He was sentenced and shipped off to prison.

Venditto, the man who introduced himself to me as a criminal, said he liked my column on the murder by the park.  

I don’t know what he thought about my follow-up column, which covered his arrest and imprisonment.

© 2021 Paul Davis 

Note: You can read my other crime fiction stories via the link below:

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction Stories

My Crime Beat Column: South Philly Mobland

The below column originally appeared in the South Philadelphia American on March 27, 1998:

South Philadelphia was again the media focus of our region when Anthony Turra was shot and killed on his doorstep early one morning last week.

Turra, 61, stricken with cancer and aided by a cane, was on his way to Federal Court to await the verdict on a number of racketeering charges stemming from the widely reported conflict between his gang of drug dealers and the South Philadelphia Cosa Nostra organized crime family.

I was on the scene shortly after the shooting, as I live a few blocks from Turra's house. The local TV news vans and police vehicles quickly set up shop at the crime scene near the corner of 20th Street and Passyunk Avenue. As the police fanned out looking for evidence, the reporters, notebook or microphone in hand, went out among the curious onlookers in search of a good, colorful quote.

The broadcast and print reporters (including yours truly) were not disappointed, as South Philadelphians are generally earthy, honest and gregarious.

While some people were frightened and didn't want to get involved, others said they didn't see organized crime as an immediate threat to them and were unconcerned about the occasional shooting it generates. Some neighbors said they were taken aback at the bold early morning killing.

"At this time of morning there are children walking to school and people waiting for the bus to go to work," a neighbor named Rita said to me when I asked her about the shooting. "I don't know what the man was involved with, but I'm glad no innocent children were hurt."

One South Philly man on his way to work called both the shooter and the victim "Bums, criminals who can't hold down a real job."

One neighbor said he believed that by having mob guys as neighbors, muggers and burglars applied their trade elsewhere. And unlike other parts of the city, where idiot criminals who have more fire power than skill and technical knowledge shoot indiscriminately into a crowd, the local mob tends to get up close and personal with their hits.

Another neighbor I know, a man who dabbles in the rackets himself, told me that the general public has nothing to fear from mobsters.

"These guys only kill each other," he said. "And they only offer the things people want and the law says no to, like gambling and prostitution."

Of course, the law enforcement community has a different point of view.

A while back I asked Robert Courtney, III, the chief of the U.S. Attorney's Organized Crime Task Force, about this when he was my guest on Inside Government, a public affairs radio program that airs Sunday mornings at 6:30 AM on WMGK 102.9 FM and repeats on WPEN 950 AM at 7:00 AM.       

"This is misguided thinking," Courtney replied. "When you step back and look at what organized crime is about, it's about making money."

"The murders and the violence are used to enforce the discipline of the organization so they can ultimately make money," Courtney added. "Organized crime preys on legitimate businesses and involves corruption of the political process as well.'

While covering the crime scene, I ran into a detective I know who lives in South Philly and works out of South Detectives. He asked me not to use his name, but he told me that the occasional mob hit is to be expected, considering the mob's greed and propensity for violence.

"It's the nature of the business," the detective explained. "It's the natural thinning of the herd."

The day after the Turra murder, the Philadelphia Daily News' front page headline proclaimed South Philly to be "Mobland." Inside the newspaper was a multi-page spread that listed the long history of mob hits in South Philadelphia.

South Philly is known far and wide for good entertainers, good food, good neighbors - and the occasional mob hit. 

My Crime Beat Column: My Q&A With The Late Ralph Natale, The Former Boss Of The Philadelphia Cosa Nostra Organized Crime Family

Back in 2017, I reviewed Last Don Standing: The Secret Life of Mob Boss Ralph Natale and interviewed Ralph Natale for the Washington Times. 

I expanded my interview with Ralph Natale in my online Crime Beat column.

You can read the column below:

On March 27^th my review of Last Don Standing: The Secret Life of Mob Boss Ralph Natale appeared in the Washington Times. 

The book was written by Dan Pearson, the executive producer of the Discovery Channel’s I Married a Mobster, and Larry McShane, a crime reporter and author of The Chin: The Life and Crimes of Mafia Boss Vincent Gigante. The book covers the life of Ralph Natale, the boss of the Philadelphia-South Jersey Cosa Nostra organized crime family in the 1990s, and the first mob boss to become a government witness.               

As I wrote in the review, I grew up in South Philly, not far from where Natale was raised a generation earlier. I contacted him and we talked about his life and the book. I noted that he didn’t appear to be particularly remorseful or repentant in the book. I asked him if had any regrets about his past criminal life? 

“I have regrets about one thing, I broke my marriage vows,” Natale replied. “That’s the only thing I regret in my life. When I was 12 years old, I was a hoodlum. I was a born killer, that’s what I did and why I rose to the top so easily. But I never touched an innocent man or a woman or a child. I just clipped the guys who were supposed to get clipped. And they went. It was a simple thing for me.” 

Below is my interview with Ralph Natale: 

Davis: Why did you write the book? 

Natale: It was very simple. When I “went away,” the second time, I did 13 years. I told my friends to make sure every month that my wife has enough until I come home. Oh, yeah, yeah, they said. When I asked her every month, she said no, I said OK, maybe something happened. Then I said, OK, how about these punks? 

Davis: That made you bitter? 

Natale: When I first came home from the first bit - I did 16 on that because I didn’t want to be a witness - they were living in their mother’s homes and they were driving other people’s cars. Forty-five months later when they arrested me for a parole violation, they were now driving Mercedes, BMW’s and they bought their own homes. Forty-five months! Before that they didn’t know how to get out of their own way. This is all a matter of fact. Everybody in South Philly knows and everybody in the mob knows. And now when I go away and this thing happens, I said I want to see those punks. I got indicted for helping my son-in-law and his drug business, I leant him some money, and this and whatever. He got arrested with everybody else and my name came up. So I got indicted on this. Now this was the third time around. I was facing life. I would have gladly done it, gladly, because I did 16 when I really was in trouble. But they didn’t come up with a dime. And that’s why I wrote every word, and every part of it. You have to believe it because they never denied it. They couldn’t deny anything. 

Davis: Did you have any difficulty testifying against your former criminal associates in court? 

Natale: I saw them in the courtroom when I think did eleven or twelve days on the stand. In fact even the marshal said, we never seen nothing like it, you ripped the lawyers up. We never saw a man answer like you. I was telling the truth. It’s easy to tell the truth. The FBI agents when they arrested me in Florida, they said we’ll get you on the big one, I said you guys are crazy. It all came out later in the trial when I was a witness. That’s the reasons why I did this. Throughout the mob, every mob leader at that time could not believe it, but then they said we know why Ralphy did it, because these bastards kept everything for themselves and didn’t give me a dime. 

Davis: Can you briefly describe what it was like to be the boss of the Philadelphia-South Jersey Cosa Nostra family? 

Natale: Well, first of all, I always loved the guy who ran it, Angelo Bruno. When I went to work under “Skinny Razor,” John DiTullio, I saw what it was like to be admired and respected by “men,” and to tell men what to do and they would do it. I loved the ways, the world, everything was in place. I like things in order. I don’t like any disorder. When it gets disordered you see what happens in the world, in politics, in everything. It was like being dead and then all at once I became alive when I became a boss. I loved every moment of it. There is nothing like it in this world. I once saw a movie, a great sports movie, The Hoosiers. Did you see it?       

Davis: Yes, good film, with Gene Hackman. 

Natale: OK. When the woman in the movie was talking about her brother she said around here if a guy plays basketball, he’s treated like a God. Hackman said, listen, he told her, anybody, if he’s treated like a God for 15 seconds, then that’s well worth anything in the world. That’s true.     

Davis: That’s the way you felt when you were the boss? 

Natale: Yeah, that’s the way I felt. To be a part of La Cosa Nostra, when things meant something, you had to at least make a kill on your own. In my time, I committed, I think I pled to eight of them when I had to plea. I love my peace, I love my family, I love whatever I do, but if it comes time, I’m still mobster Natale. That’s all I know. The reason I speak so plainly is because I want you to understand what men like me are like. We don’t look any different. I don’t act like a mobster, I never did.          

Davis: I’m half-Italian, I grew up and live in South Philly and I’ve covered organized crime for a good number of years. I know the Cosa Nostra culture. 

Natale: The culture is this, if you can’t do it and then go home to sleep, then you shouldn’t do anything. I was brought up at 6^th and Wharton in South Philly. I was born and raised in that area. My mother family comes from there. My father’s family died early in their lives when they came from the other side. They got caught up in that flu epidemic. I was still see the same stores, the same houses and the same people. And I love every one of them with my heart. 

Davis: How were things different from when you were the boss and, say, from when Angelo Bruno was the boss in the 1960’s and 1970’s?    

Natale: Well, when Ang was the boss, money was around. Gambling, and this and that, but when I became boss, we had to go out and make our money. There was a lot of punks around. It was tough. Two weeks after I came home I called one big meeting. I said I want everybody to go get these guys taking all the action and tell them to meet us. When we were through with this meeting at a banquet hall we all became partners with the guys that were there. That’s what I did. We started to make money. 

Davis: Did you meet any resistance from other ethnic gangs, like the Russians or biker gangs? 

Natale: Everybody else knew that I was home and they knew what kind of man I was on the street before and when I was in prison. Once I called them in and had something to say, they all knew I kept my word. And they had to keep their word. I wasn’t Superman. You could put two in my head. But so far, I’m OK. I’m here. 

Davis: How different is today’s mob, as I guess you’re watching it from afar, and from your day and era? 

Natale: They don’t keep the rules. The watch too many movies. They watch The Godfather, they watch Casino. I was with those people, I knew those people. It was a joke. And these guys want to walk and talk like that. It was not like it was when we were young. We had men on the street. The few men that are left are the men that did time with Scarfo. They all did their time like men and they all came home like men. I didn’t know them because I was much older than them and I was away, but I admired men who did their time and came home. They are the only men who are left in South Philadelphia. 

Davis: Scarfo recently died in prison. What did you think of him and how he ran the crime family? 

Natale: He destroyed it. Nicky Scarfo was a man who had a hole inside him. He had no soul, no heart. You know, he didn’t have one true friend? Not one. I knew him very well. Many years ago when we were working in Atlantic City I wanted to kill Nicky Scarfo. It came out. I asked Angelo Bruno. No, Ang said, his uncles are my friends, and he’s this, he’s that. I said he’s going to give us trouble. But Ang said, with half a smile, don’t do this. It can’t be done. He put all those guys, all men, in prison. 

Davis: There is some question of who is the South Philly and South Jersey boss today. Do you know who it is? 

Natale: There is no boss! There is no more mob there. They are not recognized anywhere in the country because of what they did and who they were. They don’t even know how to walk on Passyunk Avenue. The men who came home can and I wish them all well. It’s not like before. 

Davis: Can you describe your homecoming when you became the boss? 

Natale: When I came home the first thing I did was walk from Jefferson Hospital, where I arranged to have a hernia operation later, to South Philly. I wanted to see South Philly again. When I went down Ninth Street at the Italian Market, all the guys working behind the stands came and we hugged and kissed. They already had the word because the news media had me as the new boss. It was so warming for me. And then we stopped at the Villa de Roma and we had a little drink – it was in the afternoon – and then we went home. That’s what South Philly was to me. I lived my life pretty good in South Philadelphia. Walk up and down every street and find out how I treated my friends and other people that I barely knew, and then you’ll know what kind of man I was. Then you’ll understand me. 

Davis: How difficult was it to become a government witness after a lifetime in Cosa Nostra? 

Natale: It wasn’t difficult for me. I’m not going to cry like other people. I wanted to get those punks. When my wife and family had nothing and I gave those punks everything? It was so easy. Done and done. 

Davis: If you look back in crime history, Cosa Nostra took pains to support the families of guys who went away to prison. This was key, along with a threat of death, that there is no record of any Cosa Nostra member becoming a government witnesses prior to Joe Valachi, and not many afterwards until much later, when greed, along with the RICO statute, changed all of that. 

Natale: It was like that. When I was away at Lewisburg I got subpoenaed to appear before a Senate Investigation Committee On Organized Crime. This was in 1982 and I had the first three years of a 23-year sentence. When they took me there they told me if you give us the right answers you’ll have your sentence reduced and you’ll be home within three months from today. I said you got the wrong guy. There were just three guys there. There was Nicky Scarfo, who had just become the boss, and the old man from Chicago, Anthony "Joe Batters,” Accardo. and me. I was the only one in prison and I was in jeopardy of getting another sentence for perjury, for this, for that. I did what I had to do. It was on C-Span and I still got the clip. I didn’t say a word about anybody. I could have put in prison half of New York, half of Chicago and all of Philadelphia. And you know who went to jail? Me. And that’s the truth. That I’m proud of. 

Davis: What do you think of Ron Previte, the man who wore an FBI wire, recorded you and testified against you? 

Natale: Anybody who testifies against me was what he was. I have no ill feeling about anything or anybody. I look at him, and say, well, you know, he did what had he had to do to save his ass. That’s what kind of name he’s got and that’s it. I ain’t got time for hate. I intend to live to be a hundred, but if I die tomorrow, I don’t have any hate in my body for anybody that did anything against me. 

Davis: Are you concerned about your personal safety? Is there an open contract on you? 

Natale: Who’s going to come after me (laughs)? I’m still a man. I was always known as a dangerous, dangerous man. That’s all I can tell you. 

Davis: There is that interesting story of “Harry the Hunchback” Riccobene, an elderly man, who took a couple of bullets but still managed to take the gun away from the hit man who was a young guy. Did you know him? 

Natale: Let me tell you a story about Harry Riccobene. You’re the first guy I’m going to tell it to, a South Philly guy. When I was home and I was the boss, I was down at 8^th and Tasker, at Frankie’s bar and I had to see him about something. I ran into a couple of my old school chums from Bartlett Junior High and one of them came over and said can I speak to you? Yeah, what is it? He said he gets a call every week from a man who praises you and loves you. He said if I ever ran into you I should arrange for you to come to my home and talk on the phone to him. What’s his name, I asked? Harry Riccobene. Little Harry? I love him. You make the arrangements and we’ll get it done. I did go over the week after. That was a real man. You know what he told me? He was glad I got it. He said I deserved it more than anybody. I said thanks Harry. He said he was fine - he had a ton of money. You remember I love you, ever since I was a boy, I said, and he said he loved me too. He died at 93-years-old, I think. 

Davis: He was a tough old guy. 

Natale: Harry Riccobene was a notorious killer. He used to drive Skinny Razor around and they were the men that I knew and they watched me grow up. I loved and respected them with all my heart. 

Davis: You write about Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa in you book. Are you aware that Martin Scorsese is making a film about Frank Sheeran, the former Teamster and hit man who claimed to have murdered Hoffa as well as “Crazy Joe” Gallo in New York? 

Natale: Let me tell you about Frank Sheeran. He’s nothing but a drunk and he imagines things. He begged for me to see him when I was home and I did. I went over to South Philly and I met him there. He was half-drunk and that was it. He said he killed Jimmy Hoffa. I know who killed Hoffa. I have a picture in the book with me and a few of the guys from Lewisburg and one of the guys in the photos was one of the three guys who killed Hoffa. His name was Tommy Andretta. His brother was with him and there was the other guy they killed in New York, Salvatore Briguglio. This was a hit squad from “Tony Pro” Provenzano, who was my dear friend. He was a capo. I get a little angry. You know how guys claim to killed Jimmy Hoffa? I think 15. 

Davis: And he’s buried here, there and everywhere. 

Natale: I just gave you the three guys. It will come out. 

Davis: Why do you believe he was he murdered? 

Natale: Because he wanted to come back and take over the union. I got a whole chapter in there. He asked me to help him and it explains it in the book. He was killed because he made the first major mistake in his life. If a man is a gambler, a drinker, a womanizer, he’s got other things to do when he’s retired, you know. Hoffa had only thing – the union. He loved it. He was a rich man but he wanted that union back. I met Hoffa and told him if Ang wants me to help you, fine but if not, I can’t serve two masters. Sorry. That was the last time I saw Jimmy Hoffa and then he was dead. 

Davis: In your book you debunk the idea that Cosa Nostra was against drugs. You write that everybody sold drugs. But why did some bosses like Paul Castellano in New York prohibit them in such a strong way? 

Natale: Listen to me. Let me break that fable. Every mob in New York, Chicago, Philly, always has a man who sells drugs. Everybody handles drugs. There was Joe Bonnano, who in the beginning said no drugs, no drugs, meanwhile he became the biggest rat in the world. You get the bosses’ money, and that’s it. 

Davis: After Bonanno was exiled from New York to Arizona he was suspected of running a major heroin operation from Mexico. 

Natale: Listen to me. There is no crime that cannot be done if you belong to the mob. 

Davis: You spent a good many years in prison and your descriptions of prison life in the book seem almost nostalgic. Was prison life for you like the scenes from the movie Goodfellas? Did you live fairly well inside? 

Natale: That’s another thing they overdid. It’s all bullshit. You go to prison and you got time to do. You do it and it’s hard. Some guys can do it and some guys can’t. I did almost 30 years in prison. So I know what prison is about. 

Davis: Are there plans to make a film from your book? 

Natale: We’re ready to make one. Dan Pearson will be leaving in a couple of weeks to go to Hollywood and sit down and talk turkey with some real big people. You’ll hear about it in two or three weeks. We’re going to make a beautiful movie. 

Davis: Are they going to shoot the film in South Philly? I hope they don’t film it in Pittsburgh or Scranton like they did the film 10^th and Wolf. I grew up near 10^th and Wolf. 

Natale: It is going to be filmed in South Philly and Jersey. 

Davis: Who was the most impressive man you came across? 

Natale: I would have to say that the most impressive man I ever been around was John DiTullio, Skinny Razor. He was the most feared man in the United States, you know. He was number one. And I give you the Chicago guy, Anthony Accardo. When I met him, I thought I was meeting God. 

Davis: What is your life like now? 

Natale: I love my family. I enjoy my wife and all my children. I had five children and they had ten children and now we have 12 great-grandchildren. Can you image that? They are all beautiful and smart and entertaining. They are great looking people.   

Davis: Thanks for talking to me. 

Note: You can read my Washington Times review of Last Don Standing via the below link: 

http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2017/mar/27/book-review-last-don-standing-the-secret-life-of-m/