Fund-raiser For Merlino Hard To Crash, But ... Restrooms Were Mobbed
by Kitty Caparella, Daily News Staff Writer POSTED: September 21, 2000 It was a perfect bird's eye seat, just inside Les and Joey's Restaurant inside the Park Towne Apartments.
Next door was Colleen's, a banquet hall on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway near 22nd Street, where the family and friends of reputed mob boss Joseph "Skinny Joey" Merlino were holding a benefit to raise money for his legal defense.
Merlino, 38, goes on trial early next year in a racketeering conspiracy that includes three murders, four attempted murders and a slew of other charges with eight codefendants. Two codefendants already pleaded guilty.
Tickets were 100 bucks, and one had been left for me taped to a newspaper honor box. (A true story.) This was the first fund-raiser for a mob boss in anyone's memory and I wanted to be there. They were mum about the amount raised.
In spite of a lavish spread of shrimp, crabs' legs, crabmeat, tomatoes and Buffalo mozzarella, chicken Marsala and other dishes to die for, I wasn't ready to join the 10 tables of 10 guests each. At a smaller restaurant next door, I ate grilled chicken Caesar salad with Les and Joey's regulars.
This was my game plan: Everyone has to go to the bathroom, especially with an open bar. My seat faced the restrooms for both restaurants in the complex.
Sure enough, the whole family - both relatives and mobsters - showed up, including Merlino's wife, Deborah, his mother, Rita, and two sisters.
Missing were two VIPs.
The guy who's running the show on the streets these days - acting mob boss Joseph Ligambi - was a no show.
And chief ticket seller, Roger Vella, was told by his parole officer that he could not attend the benefit, despite efforts to sell the most tickets, a guest said. His father, Roger, was his proxy.
Vella's sales approach: "Here's a ticket. Gimme $100."
My location didn't disappoint, as I spotted:
Mob soldier Michael "Mikey Lance" Lancelotti, Anthony Staino Jr., Anthony Nicodemo, Joseph Mazzone, Raymond and Robert Wagner.
Into the small eatery walked mob associate Joseph "Mousie" Massimino, whom New Jersey authorities arrested last year as head of a gambling ring.
"Whassup? Hear anything?" asked Massimino.
"Just having dinner," I said.
I showed him my benefit ticket and asked if he'd take me in. His look suggested he was stark-raving mad.
Every person after him en route to the bathroom glanced my way - even Merlino's younger sister, Natalie, wearing a red dress, a cast on her ankle and crutches.
I got two clues they might be looking for me.
Merlino's older sister, Maria Moss, wearing sleeveless white top, black slacks and spike heels, stood squarely in the doorway with a camera to take my picture. The camera light flashed. I waved.
Visitors streamed into the restaurant. Some tried to get me thrown out. "You're a real trooper," said one of a few mobsters who stopped to chat.
Some were sincere, like reputed mob associate Salvatore "Sonny" Mazzone. He wanted to know why I had to write a love story about Ronald Previte, a former mob capo and ex-cop who snitched to the government for more than two years."That's how [Previte's] girlfriend feels," I said.
Mob associate Steven "Snitch" Frangipanni asked if I would mention his "non-cooperating agreement" when he is sentenced in November.
Last night's mob party was probably the last for Frangipanni and Ralph "Ralphie Head" Abbruzzi, both of whom pleaded guilty to racketeering charges last month.
The evening got stranger. Ruthanne Seccio, the ex-lover of reputed mob boss-turned-informant Ralph Natale, whom the mob wanted to kill last year, arrived.
"What are you doing here?" asked Raymond Wagner.
"I live here," she said. They bussed cheeks.
"I'm only here to help out an old friend," Wagner said.
I finally ducked into the benefit. Joey's sister, Natalie, tried to wave me back out the door.
"I got a ticket," I said, waving it and taking a panoramic sweep of the affair. An auctioneer was taking bids on baskets filled with wrapped presents.
Suddenly, a streak of yellow, like a heat-seeking missile, came toward me. Joey's mother, Rita, was spitting out a stream of obscenities, punctuated with "Get out of here, or I'll kick your ass." As I nonchalantly walked out, her daughter, Maria, added her two cents.
I walked down the nearest steps. At the bottom, the doors were locked. Upstairs I heard a lot of "shes" and "hers," which I assumed meant me. When the decibel level dropped, I walked back up, past Deborah Merlino, and her friends, and out the nearest door.
After I left, the Merlino women discovered Seccio, once a persona non grata, and welcomed her with open arms.
