Tommy De Simone , goodfella -Mobsters Tommy De Simone goodfella Mobsters

Mobsters Tommy De Simone goodfella Mobsters Thomas Anthony "Two-Gun Tommy" DeSimone (May 24, 1950 – January 14, 1979) was an Italian-American gangster and associate of the Lucchese crime family.Thomas Anthony "Two-Gun Tommy" DeSimone (May 24, 1950 – January 14, 1979) Also known as "Tommy D", he was a nephew of Los Angeles mob boss Frank DeSimone. Tommy was a minor hoodlum with

a big chip on hs shoulder. DeSimone was well-known for his violent temper.DeSimone worked under Mafia capo Paul Vario with his friends Jimmy Burke and Henry Hill. DeSimone and Hill had known one another since they were young punks, when Burke took them on as his protégés DeSimone was involved in truck hijacking dealing stolen property, extortion fraud and murder He killed "made man"

Billy Batts Devino, and Desimone payed the price when he was murdered because of it by a Mafia Hitman. DeSimone's infamy rests on his depiction by actor Joe Pesci in the 1990 movie Goodfellas (renamed "Tommy DeVito" in the film),Frank Sivero - Frankie Carbone; Tony Darrow - Sonny Bunz; Mike Starr - Frenchy; ... 1971; Joseph Bono - Mikey Franzese; Spencer Bradley - Bruce's Brother; Henry Hill grew up in an area of Brooklyn run by the Lucchese crime family . Fascinated by gangsters, he dreamt of being in the Mafia . ...

John "Buster" Ardito

John Gregory "Buster" Ardito (October 30, 1919 - December 31, 2006) was a caporegime in the Genovese crime familywho worked in the Bronx borough of New York.
Born in New York, Ardito married Fay Cerasi and was the father of John and Annette Arditio. His legitimate profession was as part owner of a butcher shop in the Bronx. Ardito was involved in extortionloan sharking and illegal gambling operations. His arrest record included seduction, possession of counterfeit currency, and narcotics possession.
After joining the Genovese family, Ardito became a button man, or killer, in the crew of Michele Miranda Miranda eventually became the family consigliere under boss Vit Genovese and help run the family while Genovese was in prison. A later indictment alleged that Ardito once ordered a beating on a debtor who owed him $150,000. During a 1983 trial for Genovese mobster Gus Curcio Curcio collapsed in court with what seemed like a heart attack. However, Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) surveillance recorded that Ardito had secretly passed some medications that simulated cardiac problems to Curcio to allow him to delay the trial. In 1985, Ardito was sent to federal prison for conspiracy to obstruct justice. He was released in 1991.
In 2003, the FBI started using electronic surveillance to record many of Ardito's meetings in Bronx restaurants. After Ardito discovered one of the devices, he started holding his meetings in retail shops, medical offices, cars, and boats. Later on, the FBI also started bugging Ardito's home phone. Reportedly, the FBI was even able to turn on Arbito's cell phone without his knowledge and use that as a listening device. In 2006, using this surveillance information, the government charged Ardito, Genovese captain Liborio Bellomo and other Genovese family members with labor racketeering and other charges. The racketeering charge involved New York Local 102 of the Bakery, Confectionery and Tobacco Workers' Union and New York Local 15 of the International Union of Operating Engineers
On December 25, 2006, due to failing health, Ardito was released on bail while awaiting trial on these charges. He died on December 31, 2006 from pancreatic cancer

Mario Rainone linked to rash of residential crimes

Mobster Mario Rainone has crossed both sides of the law enough times, it is a wonder his legs aren't permanently tangled.

After a spasmodic career as both a criminal and a government witness, Mr. Rainone, 54, is once again sitting in jail. This time Rainone is in the Lake County lock-up on one count of residential burglary and on an outstanding retail theft warrant from South Barrington.
For years, the beefy hoodlum was considered a prime "go-to" guy for the Chicago Outfit's Rainone thanks Chuck Goudie
In the 1980's, when Mob bosses needed a job handled quickly and efficiently, Rainone was often enlisted

He was especially adept at collecting unpaid debts, whether as a result of Mob juice loans or illegal gambling debts.

Among the legends of Mario Rainone is the time he informed a shakedown target that his family would pay if he didn't. The old man asked Rainone exactly what he meant. Rainone told the elderly extortion victim that if the debt wasn't handed over, he would kill his children and plant their heads in his front yard. The man settled up.

Rainone quit Organized Crime in late 1989, when he was deployed to murder a wayward mobster. As he prepared to take up a position for the hit, Rainone realized that he was actually the intended target. Rather than waiting to be whacked, Rainone escaped to his truck and sped away. He went straight to the FBI in Chicago and spilled his story. Agents convinced him that he could only help himself by wearing a wire and working undercover against his one-time Mob bosses.

Rainone got a couple of wise-guys on tape but his cooperation was short-lived. He stopped helping the FBI in November, 1989 when a his mother's front stoop was blown up.
The message-bombing freaked Rainone, who felt it was better that he spend a stretch in prison rather than his mother end up in pieces on her porch.

So he gave up witness protection and in 1992 pleaded guilty to extortion and racketeering. He was sentenced to nearly 18 years and released in 2006.
Rainone, last known to reside in Bloomingdale, was arrested on Friday by Lincolnshire police and charged with the Feb 12 burglary of a home in the Trafalgar square subdivision. Also charged as an accomplice was Vincent T. Forliano, 39, of Addison.

Both men are being held on $500,000 bond. Rainone is schedule to appear in Lake County Court Tuesday at 9am. Forliano is due in court on Friday at 9am. The duo has been under investigation by several northwest suburban police departments in connection with a string of home invasions.

Other than the alleged burglary business, the connect between Rainone and Forliano is not known. Mobwatchers say if the accused break-in artists were not paying a kick-back to the Outfit, known as "tribute" or "street-tax," Rainone could once again find himself on short hit-list.

Greg Scarpa sr.Witness: FBI used mob muscle to crack ’64 case

The FBI used mob muscle to solve the 1964 disappearance of three civil rights volunteers in Mississippi, a gangster’s ex-girlfriend testified Monday, becoming the first witness to repeat in open court a story that has been underworld lore for years.
Linda Schiro said that her ex-boyfriend, Mafia tough guy Gregory Scarpa Sr., was recruited by the FBI to help find the volunteers’ bodies. She said Scarpa later told her he put a gun in a Ku Klux Klansman’s mouth and forced him to reveal the whereabouts of the victims.
The FBI has never acknowledged that Scarpa, nicknamed “The Grim Reaper,” was involved in the case. The bureau did not immediately return a call for comment Monday.

Schiro took the stand as a witness for the prosecution at the trial of former FBI agent R. Lindley DeVecchio, who is charged in state court with four counts of murder in what authorities have called one of the worst law enforcement corruption cases in U.S. history.
Prosecutors say Scarpa plied DeVecchio with cash, jewelry, liquor and prostitutes in exchange for confidential information on suspected "rats" and rivals in the late 1980s and early ’90s. Scarpa died behind bars in 1994.
Mob loreThe notion that Scarpa strong-armed a Klan member into giving up information about one of the most notorious crimes of the civil rights era has been talked about in mob circles for years.
It supposedly happened during the search for civil rights workers James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman, who were beaten and shot by a gang of Klansmen and buried in an earthen dam near Philadelphia, Miss. The case was famously dramatized in the movie “Mississippi Burning.”
Investigators struggled for answers in the early days of the case, stymied by stonewalling Klan members.
In 1994, the New York Daily News, citing unidentified federal law enforcement officials, reported that a frustrated J. Edgar Hoover turned to Scarpa to extract information. The Daily News said the New York mobster terrorized an appliance salesman and Klansman already under suspicion in the case and got him to reveal the location of the bodies.
Schiro testified Monday that she and Scarpa traveled to Mississippi in 1964 after he was recruited by the FBI. She said they walked into the hotel where the FBI had gathered during the investigation, and the gangster winked at a group of agents. She said an agent later showed up in their room and handed Scarpa a gun.
She said Scarpa helped find the volunteers’ bodies by “putting a gun in the guy’s mouth and threatening him.” She said an unidentified agent later returned to the room, gave Scarpa a wad of cash, and took back the weapon.
Civil rights turning pointThe killings galvanized the struggle for equality in the South and helped bring about passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Seven people were convicted at the time, but none served more than six years.
Mississippi later reopened the case, winning a manslaughter conviction against former Klansman and part-time preacher Edgar Ray Killen two years ago. He is serving a 60-year prison sentence.
Schiro’s remarks about the Mississippi episode were only a brief part of her full day of testimony.
Schiro, 62, started dating Scarpa at age 17 after meeting him in a bar. She said she had been around mobsters most of her life, so his boasts that he had been involved in 20 gangland murders didn’t frighten her.
“I was impressed,” she said.
She said she was more surprised when the Colombo crime family captain told her about his ties to the FBI. “I said, ‘What do you mean, you’re a rat?”’ she recalled. “And he said, ‘No, I just work for them.”’
DeVecchio became the informant’s “handler” in 1978, and Schiro said she was allowed to sit in on weekly meetings at the couple’s apartment. She said that when Scarpa offered stolen jewelry to the agent, he took it and put it in his pocket.
'I'll take care of it'

The girlfriend was gunned down at a mob social club a few days later.
Defense attorneys have sought to portray Schiro — who testified that prosecutors were paying her $2,200 a month for living expenses — as an opportunist who framed DeVecchio at the behest of overzealous prosecutors.
They have also accused her trying to improve her chances for a tell-all book deal about Scarpa.

'Gomorrah' is gripping and powerful

The bleakly violent, true-life-based "Gomorrah" isn't your

father's crime saga "Gomorrah

Gomorrah" is a fictionalized adaptation of an Italian crime exposé, but it plays like an angry cinema vérité document of mob life.
Roberto Saviano's riveting bestseller tore the lid off Naples' murderous Camorra crime family, the cousin of Sicily's Cosa Nostra. It was quite a piece of journalism -- unglamorous, viciously unsentimental, and now the author lives under 24-hour police protection. In the hard-boiled film version, professional actors mingle with local kids and actual Camorra thugs, several of whom have since been arrested for crimes like those they perform onscreen. To say the film has an aura of authenticity is understating it. It's gripping, occasionally terrifying, but unlikely to be anyone's favorite movie. Is there such a thing as too real?
Writer/director Matteo Garrone's film records daily life under a brutal crime regime as dispassionately as an X-ray revealing cancer. This is a "slice of life" movie made of raw, impressionistic scenes, not a plot. Garrone throws us into the thick of things without a road map, insisting that we stay alert, connect the dots, work things out for ourselves, sink or swim.
The film opens in a surreal blue glow as a few Camorristi bake at a tanning salon. They're shockingly shot dead in a twist on the old gangster-film barbershop rub-out. The who and why of the scene matters less than the brutally realistic depiction of the murders. Mob wars have been going on for generations; this is just today's tally. "Gomorrah's" body count is high, but the killings never feel routine. Each death comes as a moment of horror with huge emotional impact.
The story is a constant, bloody struggle for money and power set in a prison-like housing project, scrubby public parks and garment industry sweatshops. Here we encounter a half-dozen men trying to get into the mob, survive it or escape it. Marco and Ciro are loose cannons with a taste for chaos who wave guns, shout Al Pacino's lines from "Scarface," and stage impulsive robberies. Don Ciro, a Camorra bag man, doles out payoffs to families of jailed Mafiosi, a once-routine clerking job growing increasingly dangerous. University student Roberto becomes a junior executive, applying his chemical training with a mob toxic-waste subsidiary that is poisoning his hometown. Pasquale, a master tailor for mob-controlled couture clothing factories, risks his life by secretly teaching workers in a Chinese competitor's facility. Toto, a grocery delivery boy from the projects, takes up drug dealing as unselfconsciously as is it were skateboarding. The characters' stories don't intersect, and the episodic narrative allows little character development, but the film evokes a panorama of greed and betrayal.
The Italy we see looks like a Third World viper pit at worst, drab and banal at best. Travel-poster vistas appear only in a brief scene when Roberto accompanies a smoothly tailored Camorra businessman to Venice for a corrupt poison-control deal. "We'll be traveling a lot," the older man says, a tossoff remark that reverberates with menace.
Garrone's world view is dark and disconcerting, but not hopeless. Several characters move away from lives of mob control. Others die, soon to be replaced by eager new opportunists. "Gomorrah" is stark and powerful filmmaking, a welcome alternative to romanticized American mob melodramas.

DILLINGER

An elderly janitor walked into the cell block of the Lake County Jail at Crown Point, Indiana. The date: March 3, 1934. It was a relatively new facility, built onto the back of the

This photograph and similar ones taken that day helped lead to the firing of Lake County prosecutor Robert Estill (to Dillinger's left) and the sheriff (not pictured, but her arm is holding Estill's). AP photo.sheriff’s house in 1926, easy to clean, impossible to escape from. The addition of a notorious prisoner—John Dillinger—would prove that. Or so the sheriff thought.
As the janitor entered the cell, the prisoner jumped him and jammed a gun—actually a piece of wood carved in the shape of one—into his ribs. Quickly, through a combination of bravado and desperation, Dillinger tricked half a dozen guards back to the cell block, confiscated their weapons, and jailed the jailors.

On that day, Dillinger was 30 years old. He was of medium build and average height, with brown, thinning hair. His most distinguishing feature was a roguish smile, which he had put to good use in a series of press photos with the prosecuting attorney Robert Estill and the sheriff upon his extradition to Crown Point. The chummy nature of the photos contributed to both these officials losing their jobs that year. And Dillinger’s charm had already begun to captivate the American people, who began to see him as part Robin Hood, part vicious thug.

The notorious gangster had been captured in Arizona two months earlier. He was wanted in connection with the murder of an East Chicago, Indiana police officer named William O’Malley. At the time Dillinger was not on our radar; he had committed no federal crimes. But we had been assisting Ohio law enforcement in their search for him after was freed from a Lima jail by his confederates in the fall of 1933.

Now Dillinger had escaped once more. In making the break, he’d stolen the sheriff’s car and driven it to Chicago, 50 or so miles northwest of Crown Point. In the process, he crossed the Indiana/Illinois border and violated the National Motor Vehicle Theft Act, commonly called the “Dyer Act.” John Dillinger was now a federal fugitive and an FBI subject.
Over the next several months, the Bureau tracked Dillinger and a wide array of violent criminals who worked with him—making mistakes along the way, but ultimately bringing these violent criminals to justice.
This year marks the 75th anniversary of that chase. More importantly, it is the 75th anniversary of the emergence of the FBI as an organization of national and international stature.
The Bureau’s success in dealing with the gangsters led to significant changes in the FBI and law enforcement nationwide. Over the next few months, we will spotlight what we are calling “The Year of the Gangster” on this website through stories, photographs, and multimedia presentations, along with some new case details. We will tell how we went after such desperados as Bonnie and Clyde, “Pretty Boy” Floyd, “Baby Face” Nelson, and more. We will examine the social and political changes that arose from these criminal threats, bring to light long-forgotten historical sources, and consider the role that the Gangster Era played in the evolution of the FBI and its portrayal in American popular culture.

Resources:- FBI history website- More history stories

Sal Sperlinga Winter Hill Mob

Salvatore Sperlinga a/k/a "tough Sal "

Sal Sperlinga was in the Winter Hill Gang, and a close friend of boss Howie Winter. When they were both convicted in a 1977 pinball shakedown, Winter asked the judge to go easy on Sal because he was the sole support of his widowed mom. Sal was out on work release in 1980, toiling at the Magoun Square print shop of Somerville alderman Peter Piro, brother of state Rep. Vinny Piro, who would soon beat an attempted-extortion rap. Sal had told a local character, Dan Moran, to stay out of Union Square. Moran, angered, found out where Sal was working and tracked him down, and one Friday, while the boys were playing cards in the back of the shop, Moran came in and opened fire, killing Sperlinga. He was quickly tried and convicted, but he never had any “street justice” meted out, because his pal Howie Winter was still in prison