to instruct Joe the Coon to change a lightbulb in the building now and then so he blended in even more.
The Kefauver Committee crime hearings in the early 1950s dug up facts on how bagmen operated during the reign of Mayor William O'Dwyer. Frank Bals, always close to O'Dwyer and seventh deputy police commissioner, admitted to the committee—and later retracted—that while he and his 12-man staff were charged with investigating gambling and corruption of the police department, they turned matters completely around. Bals said they were actually bagmen for the police department, collecting payoffs from gamblers and parceling it out at headquarters.
Occasionally, the financial mastermind of the syndicate, Meyer Lansky, personally played bagman when the recipient was very highly placed. He handed over huge sums to Huey Long, the political dictator of Louisiana, and Fulgencio Batista, the dictator of Cuba. In the case of Huey Long, Lansky and his aide, Doc Stacher, arranged to pay the Kingfish three to four million dollars a year, in Switzerland, where the tax men, hot after Long, would never find it.
Stacher explained to him, "You have nothing to worry about. We'll take the money there for you with our special couriers and nobody but you and us will know your number. And only you will be able to draw on the account. Your signature and secret code which you will give the bank—you don't even have to tell us—will be your protection. To put money in, all we need is the number. To draw it out, you need the code that only you will know. You must never write it down. Keep it in your head."
Naturally, Long was deeply impressed and allowed the Lansky-Costello forces to take over gambling activities in his domain. Somehow a bagman loaded with ready cash has a way with people.
Baldwin Wallace College: "Mafia U." Within certain law enforcement circles and, most likely, among the ranks of organized crime, small Baldwin Wallace College in Berea, Ohio, is referred to as "Mafia U." Although the arrangement has never been quite clear, Alfred Bond, the president of the college, was known to have given a commitment to government agents that the school would falsify its records to provide backgrounds for former mafiosi. Neither the U.S. Justice Department nor President Bond ever discussed the number of repentant mafiosi that eventually were added to the alumni lists, but noted television reporter Fred Graham in his book, The Alias Program, puts it a shade more kindly than using the Mafia U. sobriquet "... it seems possible that this tiny Ohio college could have developed—with Justice Department assistance—one of the largest Italian-American alumni groups in the Midwest.''
Eventually, there is little doubt that Mafia snoopers learned to look for a Baldwin Wallace background when tracking possible "new citizens" in the government's witness protection program. It may also be presumed that Mafia U.'s participation in salvaging former mafiosi probably tapered off.
The school's experience in the program may not always have been a happy one. Fabricating a college background is no easy chore; a great many bases at an institution have to be meticulously covered to make the phony background stand up. Justice Department bungling sometimes made the job that much harder.
All in all it was hardly a stirring example of higher education in action.
Balistrieri, Frank P. (1918–1986): Milwaukee Mafia boss Although feared by his local "button men" (soldiers), Frank Balistrieri never ranked high in nationwide Mafia or crime syndicate councils. This is explained by Milwaukee's proximity to Chicago.
Noted for spreading its Windy City tentacles over much of the country and operating on the proposition that everything west of Chicago belongs to them, the Chicago Outfit's claim is not entirely recognized in Las Vegas, Arizona or California. But other domains, notably Kansas City and Milwaukee, are another matter.
In September 1985 Balistrieri and eight others were tried in federal court on charges of skimming $2 million of the Argent Corporation's gross income from casino operations. Allegedly, the defendants skimmed the money as a tax dodge and then distributed the cash to organized crime interests in Kansas City, Chicago, Milwaukee and Cleveland.
Balistrieri had gotten a share but whether it was a fair share is debatable. Both the late Kansas City don Nick Civella and Balistrieri felt they were entitled to
