THE MALA VITA IN AMERICA
THERE are a million and a half of Italians in the United States, of
whom nearly six hundred thousand reside in New York City—more than in
Rome itself. Naples alone of all the cities of Italy has so large an
Italian population; while Boston has one hundred thousand, Philadelphia
one hundred thousand, San Francisco seventy thousand, New Orleans
seventy thousand, Chicago sixty thousand, Denver twenty-five thousand,
Pittsburgh twenty-five thousand, Baltimore twenty thousand, and there
are extensive colonies, often numbering as many as ten thousand, in
several other cities.
So vast a foreign-born population is bound to contain elements of both
strength and weakness. The north Italians are _molto simpatici_ to the
American character, and many of their national traits are singularly
like our own, for they are honest, thrifty, industrious, law-abiding,
and good-natured. The Italians from the extreme south of the peninsula
have fewer of these qualities, and are apt to be ignorant, lazy,
destitute, and superstitious. A considerable percentage, especially
of those from the cities, are criminal. Even for a long time after
landing in America, the Calabrians and Sicilians often exhibit a lack
of enlightenment more characteristic of the Middle Ages than of the
twentieth century.
At home they have lived in a tumble-down stone hut about fifteen feet
square, half open to the sky (its only saving quality); in one corner
the entire family sleeping in a promiscuous pile on a bed of leaves;
in another a domestic zoo consisting of half a dozen hens, a cock, a
goat, and a donkey. They neither read, think, nor exchange ideas. The
sight of a uniform means to them either a tax-gatherer, a compulsory
enlistment in the army, or an arrest, and at its appearance the man
will run and the wife and children turn into stone. They are stubborn
and distrustful. They are the same as they were a thousand or more
years gone by.
When the writer was acting as an assistant prosecutor in New York
County, a young Italian, barely twenty years of age, was brought to
the bar charged with assault with intent to kill. The complainant was
a withered Sicilian woman who claimed to be his wife. Both spoke an
almost unintelligible dialect. The case on its face was simple enough.
An officer testified that on a Sunday morning in Mulberry Bend Park, at
a distance of about fifty feet from where he was standing, he saw the
defendant, who had been walking peaceably with the complaining witness,
suddenly draw a long and deadly looking knife and proceed to slash her
about the head and arms. It had taken the officer but a moment or two
to seize the defendant from behind and disarm him, but in the meantime
he had inflicted some eleven wounds upon her body. No explanation
had been offered for this terrible assault, and the complainant had
appeared involuntarily before the Grand Jury and afterward had to
be kept in the House of Detention as a hostile witness. The woman,
who appeared to be about fifty years old, was sworn, and on being
questioned stated that she had been married to the defendant in Sicily
three years before. She declined to admit that he had attacked or
harmed her in any way, constantly mumbling: “He is my husband. Do not
punish him!”
The defendant, however, seemed eager to get on the stand and to tell
his story; nor did the introduction of the knife in evidence or the
exhibition of the woman’s wounds embarrass him in the slightest degree.
His manner was that of a man who had only to explain to be entirely
exonerated from blame. He nodded at the jury and the judge, and scowled
at the complainant, who was speedily conducted to a place where no harm
could possibly come to her. When at last he was sworn, he could hardly
restrain himself into coherency.
“Yes—that woman forced me to marry her!” he testified in substance.
“But in the eyes of God I am not her husband, for she bewitched me!
Else would I have married an old crone who could not have borne me
children? When her spells weakened I left her and came to America.
Here I met the woman I love,—Rosina,—and as I had been bewitched
into the other marriage, we lived together as man and wife for two
years. Then one day a friend told me that the old woman had followed
me over the sea and was going to throw her spells upon me again. But
I did not inform Rosina of these things. The next evening she told me
that an old woman had been to the house and asked for me. For days my
first wife lurked in the neighborhood, beseeching me to come back to
her. But I told her that in the eyes of God she was not my wife. Then,
in revenge, she cast the evil eye upon the child—_sul bambino_—and
for six weeks it ailed and then died. Again the witch asked me to go
with her, and again I refused. This time she cast her evil eye upon
my wife—and Rosina grew pale and sick and took to her bed. There was
only one thing to do, you understand. I resolved to slay her, just as
you—_giudici_—would have done. I bought a carving-knife and sharpened
it, and asked her to walk with me to the park, and I would have killed
her had not the police prevented me. Wherefore, _O giudici!_ I pray you
to recall her and permit me to kill her or to decree that she be hung!”
This case illustrates the depths of ignorance and superstition that
are occasionally to be found among Italian peasant immigrants. Another
actual experience may demonstrate the mediæval treachery of which the
Sicilian Mafiuso is capable, and how little his manners or ideals have
progressed in the last five hundred years or so.
A photographer and his wife, both from Palermo, came to New York and
rented a comfortable home with which was connected a “studio.” In the
course of time a young man—a Mafiuso from Palermo—was engaged as
an assistant, and promptly fell in love with the photographer’s wife.
She was tired of her husband, and together they plotted the latter’s
murder. After various plans had been considered and rejected, they
determined on poison, and the assistant procured enough cyanide of
mercury to kill a hundred photographers, and turned it over to his
mistress to administer to the victim in his “Marsala.” But at the last
moment her hand lost its courage and she weakly sewed the poison up for
future use inside the ticking of the feather bolster on the marital bed.
This was not at all to the liking of her lover, who thereupon took
matters into his own hands, by hiring another Mafiuso to remove the
photographer with a knife-thrust through the heart. In order that the
assassin might have a favorable opportunity to effect his object, the
assistant, who posed as a devoted friend of his employer, invited the
couple to a Christmas festival at his own apartment. Here they all
spent an animated and friendly evening together, drinking toasts and
singing Christmas carols, and toward midnight the party broke up with
mutual protestations of regard. If the writer remembers accurately,
the evidence was that the two men embraced and kissed each other.
After a series of farewells the photographer started home. It was a
clear moonlight night with the streets covered with a glistening fall
of snow. The wife, singing a song, walked arm in arm with her husband
until they came to a corner where a jutting wall cast a deep shadow
across the sidewalk. At this point she stepped a little ahead of him,
and at the same moment the hired assassin slipped up behind the victim
and drove his knife into his back. The wife shrieked. The husband
staggered and fell, and the “bravo” fled.
The police arrived, and so did an ambulance, which removed the
hysterical wife and the transfixed victim to a hospital. Luckily the
ambulance surgeon did not remove the knife, and his failure to do so
saved the life of the photographer, who in consequence practically
lost no blood and whose cortex was skilfully hooked up by a dextrous
surgeon. In a month he was out. In another the police had caught the
would-be murderer and he was soon convicted and sentenced to State
prison, under a contract with the assistant to be paid two hundred and
fifty dollars for each year he had to serve. Evidently the lover and
his mistress concluded that the photographer bore a charmed life, for
they made no further homicidal attempts.
So much for the story as an illustration of the mediæval character of
some of our Sicilian immigrants. For the satisfaction of the reader’s
taste for the romantic and picturesque it should be added, however,
that the matter did not end here. The convict, having served several
years, found that the photographer’s assistant was not keeping his part
of the contract, as a result of which the assassin’s wife and children
were suffering for lack of food and clothing. He made repeated but
fruitless attempts to compel the party of the first part to pay up,
and finally, in despair, wrote to the District Attorney of New York
County that he could, if he would, a tale unfold that would harrow up
almost anybody’s soul. Mr. Jerome therefore, on the gamble of getting
something worth while, sent Detective Russo to Auburn to interview
the prisoner. That is how the whole story came to be known. The case
was put in the writer’s hands, and an indictment for the very unusual
crime of attempted murder (there are only one or two such cases on
record in New York State) was speedily found against the photographer’s
assistant. At the trial the lover saw his mistress compelled to turn
State’s evidence against him to save herself. She testified to the
Christmas carols and the cyanide of mercury.
“Did you ever remove this terrible poison from the bolster?” demanded
the defendant’s counsel in a sneering tone.
“No,” answered the woman.
“Have you ever changed the bolster?” he persisted.
“No.”
“Then it’s there yet?”
“I—I think so,” falteringly.
“I demand that this incredible yarn be investigated!” cried the lawyer.
“I ask that the court send for the bolster and cut it open here in the
presence of the jury.”
The writer had no choice but to accede to this request, and the bolster
was hunted down and brought into court. With some anxiety both sides
watched while the lining was slit with a penknife. A few feathers
fluttered to the floor as the fingers of the witness felt inside and
came in contact with _the poison_. The assistant was convicted of
attempted murder on the convict’s testimony, and sentenced to Sing Sing
for twenty-five years. That was the end of the second lesson.
About a month afterward the defendant’s counsel made a motion for a new
trial on the ground that the convict now admitted his testimony to have
been wholly false, and produced an affidavit from the assassin to that
effect. Naturally so startling an allegation demanded investigation.
Yes, insisted the “bravo,” it was all made up, a “camorra”—not a word
of truth in it, and he had invented the whole thing in order to get a
vacation from State prison and a free ride to New York. However, the
court denied the motion. The writer procured a new indictment against
the assassin—this time for perjury—and he was sentenced to another
additional term in prison. What induced this sudden and extraordinary
change of mind on his part can only be surmised.
These two cases are extreme examples of the mediævalism that to a
considerable degree prevails in New York City, probably in Chicago and
Boston, and wherever there is an excessive south Italian population.
The conditions under which a large number of Italians live in this
country are favorable not only to the continuance of ignorance,
but to the development of disease and crime. Naples is bad enough,
no doubt. The people there are poverty-stricken and homeless. But
in New York City they are worse than homeless. It is better far to
sleep under the stars than in a stuffy room with ten or twelve other
persons. Let the reader climb the stairs of some of the tenements in
Elizabeth Street, or go through those in Union Street, Brooklyn, and
he will get first-hand evidence. This is generally true of the lower
class of Italians throughout the United States, whether in the city
or country. They live under worse conditions than at home. You may go
through the railroad camps and see twenty men sleeping together in a
one-room hut of lath, tar-paper, and clay. The writer knows of one
Italian laborer in Massachusetts who slept in a floorless mud hovel
about six feet square, with one hole to go in and out by and another
in the roof for ventilation—in order to save $1.75 per month. All
honor to him! Garibaldi was of just such stuff, only he suffered in a
better cause. In Naples the young folks are out all day in the sun.
Here they are indoors all the year round. For the consequences of this
change see Dr. Peccorini’s article in the _Forum_ for January, 1911,
on the tuberculosis that soon develops among Italians who abroad were
accustomed to live in the country but here are forced to exist in
tenements.
Now, for historic reasons, these south Italians hate and distrust all
governmental control and despise any appeal to the ordinary tribunals
of justice to assert a right or to remedy a wrong. It has been justly
said by a celebrated Italian writer that, in effect, there is some
instinct for civil war in the heart of every Italian. The insufferable
tyranny of the Bourbon dynasty made every outlaw dear to the hearts
of the oppressed people of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Even if
he robbed them, they felt that he was the lesser of two evils, and
sheltered him from the authorities. Out of this feeling grew the
“Omertà,” which paralyzes the arm of justice both in Naples and Sicily.
The late Marion Crawford thus summed up the Sicilian code of honor:
According to this code, a man who appeals to the law against
his fellow man is not only a fool but a coward, and he who
cannot take care of himself without the protection of the
police is both.... It is reckoned as cowardly to betray an
offender to justice, even though the offence be against one’s
self, as it would be not to avenge an injury by violence. It
is regarded as dastardly and contemptible in a wounded man
to betray the name of his assailant, because if he recovers
he must naturally expect to take vengeance himself. A rhymed
Sicilian proverb sums up this principle, the supposed speaker
being one who has been stabbed. “If I live, I will kill
thee,” it says; “if I die, I forgive thee!”
Any one who has had anything to do with the administration of criminal
justice in a city with a large Italian population must have found
himself constantly hampered by precisely this same “Omertà.” The south
Italian feels obliged to conceal the name of the assassin and very
likely his person, though he himself be but an accidental witness of
the crime; and, while the writer knows of no instance in New York City
where an innocent man has gone to prison himself rather than betray a
criminal, Signor Cutera, formerly chief of police in Palermo, states
that there have been many cases in Sicily where men have suffered long
terms of penal servitude and even have died in prison rather than give
information to the police.
In point of fact, however, the “Omertà” is not confined to Italians.
It is a common attribute of all who are opposed to authority of any
kind, including small boys and criminals, and with the latter arises no
more from a half chivalrous loyalty to their fellows than it does from
hatred of the police and a uniform desire to block their efforts (even
if a personal adversary should go unpunished in consequence), fear that
complaint made or assistance given to the authorities will result in
vengeance being taken upon the complainant by some comrade or relative
of the accused, distrust of the ability of the police to do anything
anyway, disgust at the delay involved, and lastly, if not chiefly, the
realization that as a witness in a court of justice the informer as a
professional criminal would have little or no standing or credence, and
in addition would, under cross-examination, be compelled to lay bare
the secrets of his unsavory past, perhaps resulting indirectly in a
term in prison for himself.[18] Thus may be accounted for much of the
supposed “romantic, if misguided, chivalry” of the south Italian. It is
common both to him and to the Bowery tough. The writer knew personally
a professional crook who was twice almost shot to pieces in Chatham
Square, New York City, and who persistently declined, even on his dying
bed, to give a hint of the identity of his assassins, announcing that
if he got well he “would attend to that little matter himself.” Much
of the romance surrounding crime and criminals, on examination, “fades
into the light of common day”—the obvious product not of idealism, but
of well-calculated self-interest.
As illustrating the backwardness of our Italian fellow-citizens in
coming forward when the criminality of one of their countrymen is at
stake, the last three cases of kidnapping in New York City may be
mentioned.
About a year and a half ago the little boy of Dr. Scimeca, of 2 Prince
Street, New York, was taken from his home. From outside sources the
police heard that the child had been stolen, but, although he was
receiving constant letters and telephonic communications from the
kidnappers, Dr. Scimeca would not give them any information. It is
known on pretty good authority that the sum of $10,000 was at first
demanded as a ransom, and was lowered by degrees to $5,000, $2,500, and
finally to $1,700. Dr. Scimeca at last made terms with the kidnappers,
and was told to go one evening to City Park, where he is said to have
handed $1,700 to a stranger. The child was found wandering aimlessly in
the streets next day, after a detention of nearly three months.
The second case was that of Vincenzo Sabello, a grocer of 386 Broome
Street, who lost his little boy on August 26, 1911. After thirty days
he reported the matter to the police, but shortly after tried to throw
them off the track by saying that he had been mistaken, that the boy
had not been kidnapped, and that he wished no assistance. Finally he
ordered the detectives out of his place. About a month later the child
was recovered, but not, according to reliable information, until Mr.
Sabello had handed over $2,500.
Pending the recovery of the Sabello boy, a third child was stolen from
the top floor of a house at 119 Elizabeth Street. The father, Leonardo
Quartiano, reported the disappearance, and in answer to questions
stated that he had received no letters or telephone messages. “Why
should I?” he inquired, with uplifted hands and the most guileless
demeanor. “I am poor! I am a humble fishmonger.” In point of fact,
Quartiano at the time had a pocketful of blackmail letters, and after
four weeks paid a good ransom and got back his boy.
It is impossible to estimate correctly the number of Italian
_criminals_ in America or their influence upon our police statistics;
but in several classes of crime the Italians furnish from fifteen to
fifty per cent of those convicted. In murder, assault with intent
to kill, blackmail, and extortion they head the list, as well as in
certain other offences unnecessary to describe more fully but prevalent
in Naples and the South.
Joseph Petrosino, the able and fearless officer of New York police who
was murdered in Palermo while in the service of the country of his
adoption, was, while he lived, our greatest guaranty of protection
against the Italian criminal. But Petrosino is gone. The fear of him no
longer will deter Italian ex-convicts from seeking asylum in the United
States. He once told the writer that there were five thousand Italian
ex-convicts in New York City alone, of whom he knew a large proportion
by sight and name.[19] Signor Ferrero, the noted historian, is reported
to have stated, on his recent visit to America, that there were thirty
thousand Italian criminals in New York City. Whatever their actual
number, there are quite enough at all events.
By far the greater portion of these criminals, whether ex-convicts
or novices, are the products or by-products of the influence of the
two great secret societies of southern Italy. These societies and the
unorganized criminal propensity and atmosphere which they generate, are
known as the “Mala Vita.”
The Mafia, a purely Sicilian product, exerts a much more obvious
influence in America than the Camorra, since the Mafia is powerful all
over Sicily, while the Camorra is practically confined to the city of
Naples and its environs. The Sicilians in America vastly outnumber the
Neapolitans. Thus in New York City for every one Camorrist you will
find seven or eight Mafiusi. But they are all essentially of a
piece, and the artificial distinction between them in Italy disappears
entirely in America.
Historically the Mafia burst from a soil fertilized by the blood of
martyred patriots, and represented the revolt of the people against all
forms of the tyrannous government of the Bourbons; but the fact remains
that, whatever its origin, the Mafia to-day is a criminal organization,
having, like the Camorra for its ultimate object blackmail and
extortion. Its lower ranks are recruited from the scum of Palermo,
who, combining extraordinary physical courage with the lowest type of
viciousness, generally live by the same means that supports the East
Side “cadet” in New York City, and who end either in prison or on the
dissecting-table, or gradually develop into real Mafiusi and perhaps
gain some influence.
It is, in addition, an ultra-successful criminal political machine,
which, under cover of a pseudo-principle, deals in petty crime,
wholesale blackmail, political jobbery, and the sale of elections, and
may fairly be compared to the lowest types of politico-criminal clubs
or societies in New York City. In Palermo it is made up of “gangs” of
toughs and criminals, not unlike the Camorrist gangs of Naples, but
without their organization, and is kept together by personal allegiance
to some leader. Such a leader is almost always under the patronage of
a “boss” in New York or a _padrone_ in Italy, who uses his influence
to protect the members of the gang when in legal difficulties and find
them jobs when out of work and in need of funds. Thus the “boss” can
rely on the gang’s assistance in elections in return for favors at
other times. Such gangs may act in harmony or be in open hostility
or conflict with one another, but all are united as against the
police, and exhibit much the same sort of “Omertà” in Chatham Square
as in Palermo. The difference between the Mafia and Camorra and the
“gangs” of New York City lies in the fact that the latter are so much
less numerous and powerful, and bribery and corruption so much less
prevalent, that they can exert no practical influence in politics
outside the Board of Aldermen, whereas the Italian societies of the
Mala Vita exert an influence everywhere—in the Chamber of Deputies,
the Cabinet, and even closer to the King. In fact, political corruption
has been and still is of a character in Italy luckily unknown in
America—not in the amounts of money paid over (which are large
enough), but in the calm and matter-of-fact attitude adopted toward the
subject in Parliament and elsewhere.
The overwhelming majority of Italian criminals in this country come
from Sicily, Calabria, Naples, and its environs. They have lived,
most of their lives, upon the ignorance, fear, and superstitions of
their fellow-countrymen. They know that so long as they confine their
criminal operations to Italians of the lower class they need have
little terror of the law, since, if need be, their victims will harbor
them from the police and perjure themselves in their defence. For the
ignorant Italian brings to this country with him the same attitude
toward government and the same distrust of the law that characterized
him and his fellow-townsmen at home, the same Omertà that makes it so
difficult to convict any Italian of a serious offence. The Italian
crook is quick-witted and soon grasps the legal situation. He finds his
fellow countrymen prospering, for they are generally a hard-working
and thrifty lot, and he proceeds to levy tribute on them just as he
did in Naples or Palermo. If they refuse his demands, stabbing or
bomb-throwing show that he has lost none of his ferocity. Where they
are of the most ignorant type he threatens them with the “evil eye,”
the “curse of God,” or even with sorceries. The number of Italians who
can be thus terrorized is astonishing. Of course, the mere possibility
of such things argues a state of mediævalism. But mere mediævalism
would be comparatively unimportant did it not supply the principal
element favorable to the growth of the Mala Vita, apprehended with so
much dread by many of the citizens of the United States.
Now, what are the phases of the Mala Vita—the Camorra, the Black Hand,
the Mafia—which are to-day observable in the United States and which
may reasonably be anticipated in the future?
In the first place, it may be safely said that of the Camorra in its
historic sense—the Camorra of the ritual, of the “_Capo in Testa_” and
“_Capo in Trino_,” highly organized with a self-perpetuating body of
officers acting under a supreme head—there is no trace. Indeed, as has
already been explained, this phase of the Camorra, save in the prisons,
is practically over, even in Naples. But of the Mala Vita there is
evidence enough.
Every large city, where people exist under unwholesome conditions,
has some such phenomenon. In Palermo we have the traditional Mafia—a
state of, mind, if you will, ineradicable and all-pervasive. Naples
festers with the Camorra as with a venereal disease, its whole body
politic infected with it, so that its very breath is foul and its
moral eyesight astigmatized. In Paris we find the Apache, abortive
offspring of prostitution and brutality, the twin brother of the
Camorrista. In New York there are the “gangs,” composed of pimps,
thugs, cheap thieves, and hangers-on of criminals, which rise and wane
in power according to the honesty and efficiency of the police, and
who, from time to time, hold much the same relations to police captains
and inspectors as the various gangs of the Neapolitan Camorra do to
commissaries and _delegati_ of the “Public Safety.” Corresponding to
these, we have the “Black Hand” gangs among the Italian population of
our largest cities. Sometimes the two coalesce, so that in the second
generation we occasionally find an Italian, like Paul Kelly, leading a
gang composed of other Italians, Irish-Americans, and “tough guys” of
all nationalities. But the genuine Black Hander (the real Camorrist or
“Mafioso”) works alone or with two or three of his fellow-countrymen.
Curiously enough, there is a society of criminal young men in New York
City who are almost the exact counterpart of the Apaches of Paris. They
are known by the euphonious name of “Waps” or “Jacks.” These are young
Italian-Americans who allow themselves to be supported by one or two
women, almost never of their own race. These pimps affect a peculiar
cut of hair, and dress with half-turned-up velvet collar, not unlike
the old-time Camorrist, and have manners and customs of their own. They
frequent the lowest order of dance-halls, and are easily known by their
picturesque styles of dancing, of which the most popular is yclept the
“Nigger.” They form one variety of the many “gangs” that infest the
city, are as quick to flash a knife as the Apaches, and, as a cult by
themselves, form an interesting sociological study.
The majority of the followers of the Mala Vita—the Black Handers—are
not actually of Italian birth, but belong to the second generation. As
children they avoid school, later haunt “pool” parlors and saloons,
and soon become infected with a desire for “easy money,” which makes
them glad to follow the lead of some experienced _capo maestra_. To
them he is a sort of demi-god, and they readily become his clients
in crime, taking their wages in experience or whatever part of the
proceeds he doles out to them. Usually the “boss” tells them nothing of
the inner workings of his plots. They are merely instructed to deliver
a letter or to blow up a tenement. The same name is used by the Black
Hander to-day for his “assistant” or “apprentice” who actually commits
a crime as that by which he was known under the Bourbons in 1820. In
those early days the secondgrade member of the Camorra was known as
a _picciotto_. To-day the apprentice or “helper” of the Black Hander
is termed a _picciott’_ in the clipped dialect of the South. But the
_picciotto_ of New York is never raised to the grade of _Camorrista_,
since the organization of the Camorra has never been transferred to
this country. Instead he becomes in course of time a sort of bully or
bad man on his own hook, a criminal “swell,” who does no manual labor,
rarely commits a crime with his own hands, and lives by his brain. Such
a one was Micelli Palliozzi, arrested for the kidnapping of the Scimeco
and Sabello children mentioned above—a dandy who did nothing but
swagger around the Italian quarter.
Generally each _capo maestra_ works for himself with his own handful
of followers, who may or may not enjoy his confidence, and each gang
has its own territory, held sacred by the others. The leaders all know
each other, but never trespass upon the others’ preserves, and rarely
attempt to blackmail or terrorize any one but Italians. They gather
around them associates from their own part of Italy, or the sons of
men whom they have known at home. Thus for a long time Costabili was
leader of the Calabrian Camorra in New York, and held undisputed sway
of the territory south of Houston Street as far as Canal Street and
from Broadway to the East River. On September 15, last, Costabili was
caught with a bomb in his hand, and he is now doing a three-year bit up
the river. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_
The Italian criminal and his American offspring have a sincere
contempt for American criminal law. They are used by experience or
tradition to arbitrary police methods and prosecutions unhampered by
Anglo-Saxon rules of evidence. When the Italian crook is _actually
brought to the bar of justice_ at home, that he will “go” is generally
a foregone conclusion. There need be no complainant in Italy. The
government is the whole thing there. But, in America, if the criminal
can “reach” the complaining witness or “call him off” he has nothing to
worry about. This he knows he can easily do through the terror of the
Camorra. And thus he knows that the chances he takes are comparatively
small, including that of conviction if he is ever tried by a jury of
his American peers, who are loath to find a man guilty whose language
and motives they are unable to understand. All this the young Camorrist
is perfectly aware of and gambles on.
One of the unique phenomena of the Mala Vita in America is the
class of Italians who are known as “men of honor.” These are native
Italians who have been convicted of crime in their own country and
have either made their escape or served their terms. Some of these
may have been counterfeiters at home. They come to America either as
stokers, sailors, stewards, or stowaways, and, while they can not get
passports, it is surprising how lax the authorities are in permitting
their escape. The spirit of the Italian law is willing enough, but its
fleshly enforcement is curiously weak. Those who have money enough
manage to reach France or Holland and come over first or second-class.
The main fact is that they get here—law or no law. Once they arrive
in America, they realize their opportunities and actually start in to
turn over a new leaf. They work hard; they become honest. They may have
been Camorrists or Mafiusi at home, but they are so no longer. They are
“on the level,” and stay so; only—they are “men of honor.” And what is
the meaning of that? Simply that they keep their mouths, eyes, and ears
shut so far as the Mala Vita is concerned. They are not against it.
They might even assist it passively. Many of these erstwhile criminals
pay through the nose for respectability—the Camorrist after his kind,
the Mafius’ after his kind. Sometimes the banker who is paying to a
Camorrist is blackmailed by a Mafius’. He straightway complains to his
own bad man, who goes to the “butter-in” and says in effect: “Here!
What are you doing? Don’t you know So-and-So is under my protection?”
“Oh!” answers the Mafius’. “Is he? Well, if that is so, I’ll leave him
alone—as long as he is paying for protection _by somebody_.”
The reader will observe how the silence of “the man of honor” is not
remotely associated with the Omertà. As a rule, however, the “men of
honor” form a privileged and negatively righteous class, and are let
strictly alone by virtue of their evil past.
The number of south Italians who now occupy positions of respectability
in New York and who have criminal records on the other side would
astound even their compatriots. Even several well-known business men,
bankers, journalists, and others have been convicted of something
or other in Italy. Occasionally they have been sent to jail; more
often they have been convicted in their absence—_condannati in
contumacia_—and dare not return to their native land. Sometimes the
offences have been serious, others have been merely technical. At
least one popular Italian banker in New York has been convicted of
murder—but the matter was arranged at home so that he treats it in a
humorous vein. Two other bankers are fugitives from justice, and at
least one editor.
To-day most of these men are really respectable citizens. Of course
some of them are a bad lot, but they are known and avoided. Yet the
fact that even the better class of Italians in New York are thoroughly
familiar with the phenomena surrounding the Mala Vita is favorable
to the spread of a certain amount of Camorrist activity. There are
a number of influential bosses, or _capi maestra_, who are ready to
undertake almost any kind of a job for from twenty dollars up, or on a
percentage. Here is an illustration.
A well-known Italian importer in New York City was owed the sum of
three thousand dollars by another Italian, to whom he had loaned the
money without security and who had abused his confidence. Finding
that the debtor intended to cheat him out of the money, although he
could easily have raised the amount of the debt had he so wished, the
importer sent for a Camorrist and told him the story.
“You shall be paid,” said the Camorrist.
Two weeks later the importer was summoned to a cellar on Mott
Street. The Camorrist conducted him down the stairs and opened the
door. A candle-end flaring on a barrel showed the room crowded with
rough-looking Italians and the debtor crouching in a corner. The
Camorrist motioned to the terrified victim to seat himself by the
barrel. No word was spoken and amid deathly silence the man obeyed. At
last the Camorrist turned to the importer and said:
“This man owes you three thousand dollars, I believe.”
The importer nodded.
“Pay what you justly owe,” ordered the Camorrist.
Slowly the reluctant debtor produced a roll of bills and counted them
out upon the barrel-head. At five hundred he stopped and looked at the
Camorrist.
“Go on!” directed the latter.
So the other, with beads of sweat on his brow, continued until he
reached the two thousand-dollar mark. Here the bills seemed exhausted.
The importer by this time began to feel a certain reticence about his
part in the matter—there might be some widows and orphans somewhere.
The bad man looked inquiringly at him, and the importer mumbled
something to the effect that he “would let it go at that.” But the bad
man misunderstood what his client had said and ordered the bankrupt
to proceed. So he did proceed to pull out another thousand dollars
from an inside pocket and add it to the pile on the barrel-head. The
Camorrist nodded, picked up the money, recounted it, and removed three
hundred dollars, handing the rest to the importer.
“I have deducted the _camorra_,” said he.
The bravos formed a line along the cellar to the door, and, as the
importer passed on his way out, each removed his hat and wished him a
_buona sera_. That importer certainly will never contribute toward a
society for the purpose of eradicating the “Black Hand” from the city
of New York. He says it is the greatest thing he knows.
But the genuine Camorrist or Mafius’ would be highly indignant at being
called a “Black Hander.” His is an ancient and honorable profession;
he is no common criminal, but a “man peculiarly sensitive in matters
of honor,” who for a consideration will see that others keep their
honorable agreements.
The writer has received authoritative reports of three instances of
extortion which are probably prototypes of many other varieties. The
first is interesting because it shows a Mafius’ plying his regular
business and coming here for that precise purpose. There is a large
wholesale lemon trade in New York City, and various growers in
Italy compete for it. Not long past, a well-dressed Italian of good
appearance and address rented an office in the World Building. His name
on the door bore the suffix “Agent.” He was, indeed, a most effective
one, and he secured practically all the lemon business among the
Italians for his principals, for he was a famous _capo mafia_, and
his customers knew that if they did not buy from the growers under his
“protection” that something might, and very probably would, happen to
their families in or near Palermo. At any rate, few of them took any
chances in the matter, and his trip to America was a financial success.
In much the same way a notorious crook named Lupo forced all the retail
Italian grocers to buy from him, although his prices were considerably
higher than those of his competitors.
Even _Americans_ have not been slow to avail themselves of Camorrist
methods. There is a sewing-machine company which sells its machines to
Italian families on the instalment plan. A regular agent solicits the
orders, places the machines, and collects the initial dollar; but the
moment a subscriber in Mulberry Street falls in arrears his or her name
is placed on a black list, which is turned over by this enterprising
business house to a “collector,” who is none other than the leading
Camorrist, “bad man,” or Black Hander of the neighborhood. A knock on
the door from his fist, followed by the connotative expression on his
face, results almost uniformly in immediate payment of all that is due.
Needless to say, he gets his _camorra_—a good one—on the money that
otherwise might never be obtained.
It is probable that we should have this kind of thing among the
Italians in America even if the Neapolitan Camorra and the Sicilian
Mafia had never existed, for it is the precise kind of crime that
seems to be spontaneously generated among a suspicious, ignorant, and
superstitious people. The Italian is keenly alive to the dramatic,
sensational, and picturesque; he loves to intrigue, and will imagine
plots against him when none exists. If an Italian is late for a
business engagement the man with whom he has his appointment will be
convinced that there is some conspiracy afoot, even if his friend
has merely been delayed by a block on the subway. Thus, he is a good
subject for any wily Iago that happens along. The Italians in America
are the most thrifty of all our immigrant citizens. In five years
their deposits in the banks of New York State amounted to over one
hundred million dollars. The local Italian crooks avail themselves of
the universal fear of the vendetta, and let it be generally known that
trouble will visit the banker or importer who does not “come across”
handsomely. In most cases these Black Handers are ex-convicts with a
pretty general reputation as “bad men.” It is not necessary for them
to phrase their demands. The tradesman who is honored with a morning
call from one of this gentry does not need to be told the object of
the visit. The mere presence of the fellow is a threat; and, if it
is not acceded to, the front of the building will probably be blown
out by a dynamite bomb in the course of the next six weeks—whenever
the gang of which the bad man is the leader can get around to it. And
the bad man may perhaps have a still badder man who is preying upon
_him_. Very often one of these leaders or bosses will run two or three
groups, all operating at the same time. They meet in the back rooms
of saloons behind locked doors, under pretence of wishing to play a
game of _zecchinetta_ unmolested, or in the gloaming in the middle of a
city park or undeveloped property on the outskirts. There the different
members of the gang get their orders and stations, and perhaps a few
dollars advance wages. It is naturally quite impossible to guess
the number of successful and unsuccessful attempts at blackmail
among Italians, as the amount of undiscovered crime throughout the
country at large is incomputable. No word of it comes from the lips
of the victims, who are in mortal terror of the vendetta—of meeting
some casual stranger on the street who will significantly draw the
forefinger of his right hand across his throat.
There is rather more chance to find and convict a kidnapper than a
bomb-thrower, so that, as a means of extortion, child-snatching is
less popular than the mere demand for the victim’s money or his life.
On the other hand it is probably much more effective in accomplishing
its result. But America will not stand for kidnapping, and, although
the latter occurs occasionally, the number of cases is insignificant
compared with those in which dynamite is the chief factor. In 1908,
there were forty-four bomb outrages reported in New York City. There
were seventy arrests and nine convictions. During the present year
(1911) there have been about sixty bomb cases, but there have been
none since September 8, since Detective Carrao captured Rizzi, a
_picciott’_, in the act of lighting a bomb in the hallway of a
tenement house.
This case of Rizzi is an enlightening one for the student of social
conditions in New York, for Rizzi was no Orsini, not even a Guy Fawkes,
nor yet was he an outlaw in his own name. He was simply a _picciott’_
(pronounced “pish-ot”) who did what he was told in order that some
other man who did know why might carry out a threat to blow up somebody
who had refused to be blackmailed. It is practically impossible to get
inside the complicated emotions and motives that lead a man to become
an understudy in dynamiting. Rizzi probably got well paid; at any rate,
he was constantly demonstrating his fitness “to do big things in a big
way,” and be received into the small company of the elect—to go forth
and blackmail on his own hook and hire some other _picciott’_ to set
off the bombs.
Whoever the _capo maestra_ that Rizzi worked for, he was not only
a deep-dyed villain, but a brainy one. The gang hired a store and
pretended to be engaged in the milk business. They carried the bombs in
the steel trays holding the milk bottles and cans, and, in the costume
of peaceful vendors of the lacteal fluid, they entered the tenements
and did their damage to such as failed to pay them tribute. The manner
of his capture was dramatic. A real milkman for whom Rizzi had worked
in the past was marked out for slaughter. He had been blown up twice
already. While he slept his wife heard some one moving in the hall.
Looking out through a small window, she saw the ex-employee fumble
with something and then turn out the gas on the landing. Her husband,
awakened by her exit and return, asked sleepily what the matter was.
“I saw Rizzi out in the hall,” she answered. “It was funny—he put out
the light!”
In a moment the milkman was out of bed and gazing, with his wife, into
the street. They saw Rizzi come down with his tray and pass out of
sight. So did a couple of Italian detectives from Head-quarters who
had been following him and now, at his very heels, watched him enter
another tenement, take a bomb from his tray, and ignite a time fuse.
They caught him with the thing alight in his hand. Meanwhile the other
bomb had gone off and blown up the milkman’s tenement.
There is some ancient history in regard to these matters which ought to
be retold in the light of modern knowledge; for example, the case of
Patti, the Sicilian banker. He had a prosperous institution in which
were deposited the earnings of many Italians, poor and wealthy. Lupo’s
gang got after him and demanded a large sum for “protection.” But Patti
had a disinclination to give up, and refused. At the time his refusal
was attributed to high civic ideals, and he was lauded as a hero.
Anyhow, he defied the Mafia, laid in a stock of revolvers and rifles,
and rallied his friends around him. But the news got abroad that Lupo
was after Patti, and there was a run on Patti’s bank. It was a big run,
and some of the depositors gesticulated and threatened—for Patti
couldn’t pay it all out in a minute. Then there was some kind of a row,
and Patti and his friends (claiming that the Mafia had arrived) opened
fire, killing one man and wounding others. The newspapers praised Patti
for a brave and stalwart citizen. Maybe he was. After the smoke had
cleared away, however, he disappeared with all his depositors’ money,
and now it has been discovered that the man he killed was a _depositor_
and not a Black Hander. The police are still looking for him.
This case seems a fairly good illustration of the endless opportunity
for wrong-doing possible in a state of society where extortion is
permitted to exist—where the laws are not enforced—where there is a
“higher” sanction than the code. Whether Patti was a good or a bad man,
he might easily have killed an enemy in revenge and got off scot-free
on the mere claim that the other was blackmailing him; just as an
American in some parts of our country can kill almost anybody and rely
on being acquitted by a jury, provided he is willing to swear that the
deceased had made improper advances to his wife.
The prevention of kidnapping, bomb-throwing, and the other allied
manifestations of the Black Hand depends entirely upon the activity
of the police—particularly the Italian detectives, who should form
an inevitable part of the force in every large city. The fact of the
matter is that we never dreamed of a real “Italian peril” (or, more
accurately, a real “Sicilian peril”) until about the year 1900. Then
we woke up to what was going on—it had already gone a good way—and
started in to put an end to it. Petrosino did put an end to much of it,
and at the present time it is largely sporadic. Yet there will always
be a halo about the heads of the real Camorrists and Mafiusi—the
Alfanos and the Rapis—in the eyes of their simple-minded countrymen in
the United States.
Occasionally one of these big guns arrives at an American port of
entry, coming first-class via Havre or Liverpool, having made his exit
from Italy without a passport. Then the Camorrists of New York and
Brooklyn get busy for a month or so, raising money for the boys at home
and knowing that they will reap their reward if ever they go back. The
popular method of collecting is for the principal _capo maestra_, or
temporary boss of Mulberry Street, to “give” a banquet at which all
“friends” must be present—at five dollars per head. No one cares to
be conspicuous by reason of his absence, and the hero returns to Italy
with a large-sized draft on Naples or Palermo.
Meanwhile the criminal driven out of his own country has but to secure
transportation to New York to find himself in a rich field for his
activities; and once he has landed and observed the demoralization
often existing from political or other reasons in our local forces of
police and our uncertain methods of administering justice (particularly
where the defendant is a foreigner), he rapidly becomes convinced that
America is not only the country of liberty but of license—to commit
crime.
Most Italian crooks come to the United States not merely some time or
other, but _at intervals_. Practically all of the Camorrist defendants
on trial at Viterbo have been in the United States, and all will be
here soon again, after their discharge, unless steps are taken to
keep them out. Luckily, it is a fact that so much has been written in
American newspapers and periodicals in the past few years about the
danger of the Black Hand and the criminals from south Italy that the
authorities on the other side have allowed a rumor to be circulated
that the climate of _South_ America is peculiarly adapted to persons
whose lungs have become weakened from confinement in prison. In fact,
at the present time more Italian criminals seek asylum in the Argentine
than in the United States. Theoretically, of course, as no convict can
procure a passport, none of them leave Italy at all—but that is one
of the humors of diplomacy. The approved method among the continental
countries of Europe of getting rid of their criminals is to induce them
to “move on.” A lot of them keep “moving on” until they land in America.
Of course, the police should be able to cope with the Black Hand
problem, and, with a free use of Italian detectives who speak the
dialects and know their quarry, we may gradually, in the course of
fifteen years or so, see the entire disappearance of this particular
criminal phenomenon. But an ounce of prevention is worth several tons
of cure. Petrosino claimed—not boastfully—that he could, with proper
deportation laws behind him, exterminate the Black Hand throughout the
United States in _three_ months.
But, as far as the future is concerned, a solution of the problem
exists—a solution so simple that only a statesman could explain why
it has not been adopted long years ago. The statutes in force at
Ellis Island permit the exclusion of immigrants who have been guilty
of crimes involving moral turpitude in their native land, but do
not provide for the compulsory production of the applicants’ “penal
certificate” under penalty of deportation. Every Italian emigrant is
obliged to secure a certified document from the police authorities
of his native place, giving his entire criminal record or showing
that he has had none, and without it he can not obtain a passport.
For several years efforts have been made to insert in our immigration
laws a provision that every immigrant from a country issuing such a
certificate _must_ produce it before he can be sure of admission to the
United States. If this proposed law should be passed by Congress the
exclusion of Italian criminals would be almost automatic. But if it or
some similar provision fails to become law, it is not too much to say
that we may well anticipate a Camorra of some sort in every locality
in our country having a large Italian population. Yet government moves
slowly, and action halts while diplomacy sagely shakes its head over
the official cigarette.
A bill amending the present law to this effect has received the
enthusiastic approval of the immigration authorities and of the
President. At first the Italian officials here and abroad expressed
themselves as heartily in sympathy with this proposed addition to
the excluded classes; but, once the bill was drawn and submitted to
Congress, some of these same officials entered violent protests against
it, on the ground that such a provision discriminated unfairly against
Italy and the other countries issuing such certificates. The result of
this has been to delay all action on the bill which is now being held
in committee. Meanwhile the Black Hander is arriving almost daily, and
we have no adequate laws to keep him out.
APPENDIX
ANXIOUS for the actual facts, the writer asked an Italian
friend to secure an interview with Cavalier Tarantelli,
Questor of Florence, who for a long time was a functionary of
the Public Safety in Naples, and testified in this capacity,
at Viterbo, on August 9, 1911. In discussing the power of
the Camorra, the Questor, after having given it as his
opinion that the actual criminal organization had lost most
of its unity, said: “At present there exist what are called
‘_combricole di quartiere_’ (_conventicles of the quarters_)
small secret associations of ‘camorristi’ belonging to the
same quarter of Naples. Naturally the different _combricole_
in the different quarters of Naples assist each other, as
likewise do the different chiefs of the quarters. Perhaps
there is still a kind of hierarchy among the chiefs as
there may still exist a hierarchy among the ‘camorristi’ in
the different quarters. These ‘camorristi’ are, as a rule,
bad characters, whose chief characteristics are immorality
and overbearing insolence, and who live accordingly. They
impose upon women and get money out of them; they practice
usury; they receive and hide stolen things. Naples has now
a special and intense criminality. The ‘camorristi’ are
at present almost all habitual criminals. But the real
so-called ‘act of camorra’ (_atto d’camorra_) is _extortion_,
namely, a price imposed upon those who fear individual or
collective imposition, either occult or open, on the part
of the ‘Camorra.’ Every morning a ‘camorrista’ will go to
the shopkeepers and tradesmen of the quarter (_quartiere_)
and collect the price paid by him to be let alone. There
are instances even nowadays of people who go to the chief
‘camorrista’ of their quarter in order to have their persons
and property protected. This protection, however, is now more
apparent than real. For instance, it is much more difficult
now than it was formerly to find people who try to recover
stolen property by having recourse to the ‘Camorra’ rather
than to the police. The ‘camorristi’ are extremely numerous
in Naples; at funeral processions, for example, you may see
thousands of them. Songs are sung beneath the windows of
prisons by the friends and relatives of the prisoners as a
means of communicating with the latter. But this custom of
‘the songs’ is now disappearing and the same may be said of
the ‘dichiaramenti’ (kinds of challenges), and of the tribunal
of the ‘Camorra.’ Some large meetings of ‘camorristi’ still
take place now and then. They will meet in some deserted
place in the country far away from the city or among the
mountains. I shall not deny that the judiciary of Naples is
somewhat different from that of Northern Italy. The former is
sometimes exceedingly indulgent, perhaps corrupt; that will
explain the influence of the ‘Camorra.’ It is no exaggeration
to state that magistrates in Naples are at times in awe of
the ‘camorristi,’ and especially of their friends who always
appear as perfectly honorable persons. It is a fact that the
police now endeavor to destroy the ‘Camorra,’ a thing which
they would not even have dreamt of a few years ago, and we
must not forget that the police consist for the most part of
men from the South of Italy. That there are officials and
agents taking bribes from secret associations for delinquency
is well known, but, of course, that does not occur in Naples
or in Italy alone. In Naples the ‘Camorra’ places itself
at the disposal of those who pay it, even in the case of
elections. As a rule, it is the candidates of the conservative
parties who avail themselves of the ‘Camorra.’ Thus, you see,
even ministers and prefects may avail themselves of it! At
all events, these deplorable facts are becoming less and less
frequent. Let us hope they may completely disappear! To the
Socialist party, however, must be given the credit of fighting
against the ‘Camorra’ to the best of its ability.”
This is an extraordinary admission for a public functionary
to make, and it is only fair to the Questor to state that his
interview was not made intentionally for publication. It is
what would be called in law an “admission against interest”
and is evidence of the weightiest character. One can read
between the lines that he but hints at the real state of
things. His opinion that the solidarity of the Camorra has
been greatly weakened seems to be borne out by many other
evidences. For example, the depositions of the informer
Abattemaggio are filled with detailed accounts of how various
local “camorristi” quarrelled over the division of their petty
spoils, tricked and cheated one another, and often betrayed
each other to the police. The day of the real camorrista,—he
of the swift dagger, the man of “heart,”—seems to be over
and to have given place to an era of filthy traders in vice,
petty grafters, blackmailers, and cheap thieves. But popular
imagination still surrounds these with the halo of romance and
regards the Camorra as “the friend of the people.”
FOOTNOTES.
[Footnote 1: Now abolished.]
[Footnote 2: In the State of New York.]
[Footnote 3: The following table gives the yearly percentages of
convictions and acquittals by verdict in New York County since 1901:
+------+-------------+------------+-------------+------------+
| | NUMBER | NUMBER | | |
| YEAR | CONVICTIONS | ACQUITTALS | CONVICTIONS | ACQUITTALS |
| | BY VERDICT | BY VERDICT | PER CENT | PER CENT |
+------+-------------+------------+-------------+------------+
| 1901 | 551 | 344 | 62 | 38 |
| 1902 | 419 | 349 | 55 | 45 |
| 1903 | 485 | 307 | 61 | 39 |
| 1904 | 495 | 357 | 58 | 42 |
| 1905 | 489 | 299 | 62 | 38 |
| 1906 | 464 | 246 | 65 | 35 |
| 1907 | 582 | 264 | 69 | 31 |
| 1908 | 649 | 301 | 68 | 32 |
| 1909 | 463 | 235 | 66 | 34 |
| 1910 | 649 | 325 | 66 | 34 |
+------+-------------+------------+-------------+------------+]
[Footnote 4: Written in 1909.]
[Footnote 5: Naples and Sicily were united under that name in 1734.]
[Footnote 6: G. M. Trevelyan, “Garibaldi and the Thousand,” c. iii, p.
45. De Cesares F. di P., p. lxix.]
[Footnote 7: Compare the Florentine _carcisfo_ “artichoke” for
gendarme.]
[Footnote 8: H. D. Sedgwick, “Letters from Italy.”]
[Footnote 9: G. M. Trevelyan, “Garibaldi and the Thousand,” c. i., p.
19.]
[Footnote 10: Compassion.]
[Footnote 11: _Publica Securezza_, or Public Safety—the regular
police.]
[Footnote 12: The Italian Parliament approved in June last a bill
proposed by the government authorizing the establishment of 6,000
schools, mainly in the southern provinces, at a cost of 250,000,000
lire ($50,000,000).]
[Footnote 13: See appendix.]
[Footnote 14: In stolen burial shrouds and the bones of children.]
[Footnote 15: About equivalent to our “quartermaster-sergeant.”]
[Footnote 16: May, 1912.]
[Footnote 17: Ten or more have been liberated already on this ground.]
[Footnote 18: Much more likely in Italy than in the United States.]
[Footnote 19: Petrosino is a national hero in Italy, where he was known
as “Il Sherlock Holmes d’Italia”—“the Italian Sherlock Holmes.”
Many novels in which he figures as the central character have a wide
circulation there.]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
errors.
2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.