http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/07/nyregion/07towns.html?scp=1&sq=bisaccia&st=cse
Requiem for a Tough Guy With a Joe Pesci StyleBy PETER APPLEBOME
NUTLEY, N.J.
For one night, at least, it seemed like the good old days — old virtues, old vices, old wounds, old friends.
Since the scene in question was Thursday night at the S. W. Brown & Son Funeral Home, where the legendary New Jersey mobster Robert Bisaccia was getting his final sendoff before Friday’s cremation, it was not exactly an upbeat affair. But still.
Along with the standard horrific economic news, the front page of The Star-Ledger had the kind of long, knowing obituary that used to be a staple of Garden State news. Mr. Bisaccia, a traditionalist in his line of work, and a man known for his sense of humor, would have found the headline, “Iconic ‘Goodfella’ Robert Bisaccia, 73, Dies in Prison,” hilarious.
The crowd of mostly large, tough-looking men and subdued family members had the solid, no-nonsense look of folks likely to be doing something more respectable than bundling derivatives, shorting stocks or selling mortgage-backed securities. The giant wreaths — red heart, white crosses — the photographs by the casket, one of the deceased, another of a racehorse, all bespoke a sense of tradition.
And people’s memories, both those of enemies and friends, were of a classic old-school guy, either a violent throwback to the glory days of the mighty Gambino family in New Jersey or a man’s man who played tough but always by the rules, whatever they were.
“He always said, ‘Once I get out of here,’ — which he always believed he would — ‘We’re gonna go to the racetrack and you and me are going to have a martini on the finish line,’ ” said his nephew Anthony Margotta Jr., a horse trainer, on Friday.
Earlier in the day, Mr. Margotta, 46, had put an old scuffed softball in his uncle’s hand (he got his nickname, Bobby Cabert — a combination of K, the symbol for a strikeout, and Robert — for his skill as a fireballing softball pitcher) and pushed the button to begin the cremation. “He was one of the most loving uncles in the world — funny, charming, one of a kind — and his advice was always to do the right thing. Always. Don’t do anything shady. Don’t do anything wrong.”
Alas, that’s not the way Mr. Bisaccia is remembered by law enforcement officials in New Jersey who had stalked him since the 1960s. They say he began as a minor figure in the Gambino family who rose to become John J. Gotti’s powerful capo in New Jersey, and was admired and feared for his toughness, ferocity and willingness to do whatever was asked of him.
He was convicted of racketeering in a circuslike 13-month trial in state court.
During the trial, there were near-fistfights in court, and Mr. Bisaccia taunted witnesses and the judge, complaining he was being railroaded. A juror’s car windows were riddled with bullets, another was offered $500 to vote for an acquittal. Four of Mr. Bisaccia’s outbursts got him barred from the court, the last one permanently.
He was later convicted in federal court of a New York killing said to have been ordered by Mr. Gotti and sentenced to life. Prosecutors say Mr. Bisaccia could be charming and funny — his ability to change moods in a moment was said to have inspired part of the performance by Joe Pesci, a longtime friend, in the film “Goodfellas.”
Mr. Gotti, in a videotaped jailhouse conversation, once talked about how Mr. Bisaccia could find humor in a negative biopsy from prison. “He said, ‘Sure, if I was out on the street they’d tell me I got two weeks to live. I’m doing life, so it’s benign.’ ”
But Robert H. Codey, one of the prosecutors in the New Jersey trial, said no one should romanticize Mr. Bisaccia or the violent world he prospered in.
“The adjective for him is ‘ruthless,’ ” Mr. Codey said. “The reason he was picked for the New York murder was because they knew he was not afraid to walk up to someone in broad daylight and put a bullet in his head.”
Mr. Bisaccia contended until he died that he was innocent of the charge and that he had been convicted solely on the testimony of Salvatore Gravano, a mob informant, who is now back in prison and whose veracity has been called into question.
“In my 24 years, I never had a client more involved in his case and more adamant about his innocence,” said John Vincent Saykanic, who represented Mr. Bisaccia in his final appeals. “He had this fury, this fury about it. He wrote me all the time.”
AND though his enemies and friends don’t agree on much, they do agree he was one of the very last of his kind, old-school to the end, a man who would rather swallow glass than inform on an associate.
“There aren’t many left like him,” said Robert T. Buccino, now chief of detectives in Union County, who testified against Mr. Bisaccia for 28 days at the state trial. “You can count them on one hand. And one thing about Bobby Cabert, he never talked. He never would. Which is not happening anymore. They get a wrong sentence, and they turn in a minute. Cabert would have taken a bullet rather than rat out a friend.”
Inside the funeral home there was chatter about the old days, Mr. Bisaccia’s wit, lots of small talk (“You look like a movie star.” “I am.”)
There was a short service and people got in their cars, mostly big American cars like Hummers, Lincoln Town Cars, Cadillacs and Ford Expeditions, for a reception at the Chandelier in Belleville.
The leaders of the Three Families from Detroit were in Washington looking for any offer they couldn’t refuse. Maybe if Mr. Bisaccia and his pals were still going strong, they wouldn’t need a bailout.
