A SHORT STORY WITH DEADLY ENDING
Carmine Galante, the alleged head of organized crime in America, was just a few feet away from me. Galante was rarely seen without a cigar leading to the nickname “The Cigar.”
He was waiting to testify to a federal grand jury that subpoenaed him. When you cover the crime beat in Miami, you come across all kinds of people. I’m reminded of that when I came across one of my stories on YouTube. It was from the CBS Evening News.
He was standing alone. Few people were in the waiting area, and no other reporters were around because grand jury matters are secret. I was fortunate to be there. No cameras were allowed IN the federal courthouse.
You may think I was crazy to do what I did. During the 1970s, Galante allegedly planned the murders of at least eight members of the Gambino family. He schemed to take over a massive drug-trafficking, prostitution, and murder-for-hire operation. He was allegedly responsible for the murders of hundreds of men.
Yes, he could motion with his pinky finger, and that would be the end of me. You wouldn’t read this blog, though. But you are reading it, so here’s what happened.
I walked up to Mr. Galante — and that’s how I addressed him. I was very polite, of course. “Mr. Galante, sir, the government claims you’re the head of organized crime in this country. The boss of all bosses. I’d like to get your side of the story.”
I figured that was the nicest way to get a comment. Galante looked at me for a few seconds. I was holding my breath waiting for an answer. The room was quiet. He stared me, as though he didn’t believe anyone was crazy go approach him. Then, in a low voice – almost a whisper — he replied: “I’m just a grandfather. I plant tomatoes for relaxation.”
How do you respond to that? He wasn’t going to answer my question, which was THE question. So how could I possibly follow up? I tried with “Isn’t it hard to grow tomatoes in a city like New York?” “Oops” I thought to myself. But no worries. He walked away dismissively. I didn’t follow him although he was only a few feet away. Smart move, right?
That was the last time I saw Mr. Galante. Correction. His corpse was on the front page of a New York City newspaper a few years later. Gunned down by at least three masked men pumping shotguns while dining at a favorite Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. A cigar dangling from the corpse’s lips.