CHAPTER V
THE GREENHORN'S STORY
In the latter part of June, 1907, a young Italian landed in New York from the southern part of Italy. He was an ambitious sort of clever chap. He not only spoke his mother tongue well, but he had a good command of Spanish and French and was posted on several of the dialects current in the "boot" or southern part of Italy. He knew very little of the English tongue, however. Among his various accomplishments he was also a practical printer.
The career of this young man up to the time of his landing at Ellis Island is significant, to say the least. He was a native of the little town of Cananzero in Calabria, one of the provinces of southern Italy. He had been a teacher there and had taught technical subjects. Later on he taught in private, and finally became an instructor in government schools. From Italy he had gone to Brazil, where he spent seven years of his time. He had engaged in teaching school there, and he had also worked at the printing trade in Rio de Janeiro, the capital of Brazil. At one time he had been engaged by the Italian Consul at Rio de Janeiro to assist that official in legal matters.
The young man's name was Antonio Viola Comito.
In course of time he proved to be the connecting link that joined the chain of evidence identifying Lupo and Morello legally and inseparately with the counterfeiting gang which manufactured and distributed the counterfeit money in the summer of 1909. His own story in full, which has never been made public before, is given here. This story of his contains many statements which ought to interest the public, statements that were not divulged by Comito even at the trial where he was the pivot upon which turned the conviction of the most notorious and troublesome band of counterfeiters this country ever knew. As a result of his damaging evidence, the gang vowed to destroy him. He has changed his identity completely meanwhile, however, and was last heard from in South America, where he is very prosperous. He has a good deal more courage than his own story, as told by him, would indicate. He will never be reached by the Black-Hand gang without several of them paying with their lives for his. He is confident of that.
Comito's own story follows:
"The reader will pardon me, if, in reading this story of my life in New York, there are errors of language and periods not well expressed.
"During the latter part of 1908 and a good part of 1909, I had occasion to know many malefactors who horrified me from the very start, and whom I gradually came to fear as I studied their brutal character. I refrained from denouncing these men to the police because I was constantly in danger of losing my life had I done so.
"These men were the leaders of the notorious 'Black-Hand' Society, which spreads terror among the Italians all over the United States. While among them I studied the badness, the power, the brutality and the arrogance of the counterfeiter and the assassin.
"They were not a very civil lot. They were villains incarnate. One of their characteristic traits is that one alone would not commit a crime because of cowardice. When a 'job' was to be executed it was always carried out by three or four directed by a 'corporal,' who was put in charge by the head bandit. This 'corporal' bossed the job, remaining all the while in the distance so that in case the operations of those committing the deed were discovered by the police the 'corporal' would be sure to escape and report the circumstances to the head bandit of the society. The head bandit would in turn notify all the other members, when a counsel would be called at which steps would be taken to aid those apprehended by the police.
"What puzzled me not a little was the fact that when it came to going to trial for an offense no eye-witness would ever appear in court to tell of the crime with which the members under arrest might be charged. Those arrested usually gave fictitious names, and when placed on trial they were always freed. These men governed their association by secret orders. They operated on a vast scale and extended their crime even to the kidnapping of little children."
At this point Comito enters a long apology to those people of Southern Italy who are good citizens and law-abiding. He does not refer in this article, he says, to the honest Sicilians, who labor and earn their living honestly. It is of the malefactors, he says, that he speaks.
Comito then tells of entering New York and meeting his brother at the Battery. He relates his sensations at seeing the tall buildings of New York and the hurrying crowds in the noisy streets.
After going to the home of his brother in Bleecker Street, Comito says:
"During the dinner I was carefully advised by my uncle, an intelligent man and very cautious, having served the Italian government for twelve years as non-commissioned officer in the line infantry. He said, 'Do not acquire bad friendships. Be careful of traps that strangers may lay for you. There exists in New York a band of malefactors which bear the name of Black-Hand. Every day this band commits crimes, assassinating persons, setting fire to houses, breaking in doors, exploding bombs, and kidnapping children.'
"He told me also never to tell any one where I worked and how much I earned. He advised me to think only of bettering my condition and that of my family, because in America, in time, the man with a good will can acquire a good position."
Perhaps these words that follow may be of interest to the reader in getting an insight into the mentality of the newly arrived immigrant. Says Comito:
"My only wish was to work and put aside something; to economize, and so help the condition of my family and provide some day for my daughter that she might have a profession. I did not think of evil, and hoped from day to day to find occupation. I was a printer, and, though I did not know English, I felt confident of finding work in some Italian printing-office."
Comito then tells of finding employment in the Italian printing house of M. Dassori, at No. 178 Park Row, where he was getting along well. He tells of sending money to Italy to his wife and children. He tells of his brother here introducing him to honest Italians of the working class and of how he joined the order of the Sons of Italy and also the Foresters of America. Comito then relates his rapid rise in the Foresters, mentioning also how he became Supreme Deputy of the Order of the Sons of Italy, besides being chosen a member for the Congress of Italians abroad, which was held in Rome in 1908. He dwells on his losing employment because of lack of work in the place where he was employed. After getting employment again he finds himself once more out of a place, about the beginning of September, 1908. He tells very frankly of taking up with a lady named Caterina and how they shared the apartment which he furnished as well as his means afforded. He and Caterina lived together, he says, "respecting one another as husband and wife." Describing his affair with Caterina, who, by the way, enters in some measure into the counterfeiting story, Comito says:
"I, together with Caterina, lived agreeably, and what was earned weekly was divided equally, and we did not take into account which earned the more or the less. We made an honest front with friends. I discharged my duties with the societies with zeal."
CHAPTER VI
DON PASQUALE, BLACK-HAND SKIRMISHER
Here is where Comito gets into touch with a skirmisher, if I may use the word, of the Black-Handers. The skirmisher is the scout for Lupo and Morello who are, as usual, in the distance, their minds ablaze with the idea of getting rich beyond the dreams of Aladdin by a bold counterfeiting stroke. Comito is a printer out of work. Lupo and Morello have agents who tell them of such things. Comito might be the man to run a printing press and print the counterfeit bills. And so, I will turn you over to Comito. Listen to his own story once more:
"On the evening of November 5, 1908, I was at a meeting of the Order of the Sons of Italy, being a duty I owed the society as Supreme Deputy to attend the meetings of the different lodges. As was the custom toward the end of the meeting I chatted with the various members of the order, some of whom I knew by name and others whom I knew only by sight.
"That same night a member by the name of Don Pasquale, a Sicilian, came to me, clasped my hand, and without further ceremony said: 'Professor, will you take a walk with me? I have something to say that might interest you.'
"When we were outside, Don Pasquale said to me:
"'I know you are seeking work and that you are a good printer. A friend of mine is proprietor of a printing shop in Philadelphia. If you wish I can recommend you; but you must go to Philadelphia to work.'
"'It makes no difference to me where I work,'" was Comito's answer.
Don Pasquale got Comito's address and said that he would arrange to have his Philadelphia printer friend meet Comito at the latter's home. Comito then explains that the title "Don" is used by Sicilians as a mark of respect among the working class, and that the word "Uncle" is employed in addressing people advanced in years in the same sense.
Comito recalls the knock on his door on the morning of November 6. He says:
"I opened and saw Don Pasquale with his friend. I motioned them to enter and sit down. Don Pasquale said: 'Mr. Comito, I present to you my friend, Don Antonio Cecala, proprietor of a printing shop in Philadelphia.'
"'Are you a printer?' asked Cecala.
"'Yes,' I answered.
"'Well,' he continued, 'I am the proprietor of a shop in Philadelphia and in need of a trustworthy man who can take care of my affairs when I am absent looking out for my business as an inspector of Singer Sewing Machines. You can come to an agreement with me and establish yourself with your wife in Philadelphia. In that way I can be sure of your honesty,' said Cecala to me.
"'But,' I replied, 'I don't think that I am going to your printing shop to act as boss. You have other men that work there?'
"'Yes, there are other men, but they are not capable for the trade I have because they do not do this kind of work.'
"And saying this, Cecala showed me some money order blanks, stamped envelopes, commercial papers and some hand bills. I replied that it was just such work that I could do, and that if the men employed by him were not able to do such work they were not printers.
"'Well, as you are a practical man at such work, you may remain alone in the shop and will assume full responsibility. Therefore, prepare your things and tell your Mrs. not to continue working. However, if she wants to work in Philadelphia, then she may do so. Together you will soon be rich.'"
Cecala agreed to pay the rent due for the rooms occupied by Comito and his mistress, besides what he owed elsewhere. The weekly salary was agreed upon, and in the event that Comito should not care to remain at the job he was to receive his return fare to New York.
The reader will appreciate the humor of this arrangement as he gets along further in the story.
"'Then you wish that the lady come with me?'
"'Surely. The lady is necessary for you.'
"'But don't you want me to go first and find a house to live in?'
"'There is no need of that. The house is ready. It is my property.'
"'When you say that you will provide for everything, I am ready to leave to-morrow.'
"In the evening Caterina came home from work. I told her what had happened. She did not care to leave her work, adding that we were without means and could not afford to undertake the trip. I assured her, however, that all expenses would be paid, and she finally consented to come along. We prepared the household furnishings for shipment, Cecala insisting that we take all the stuff with us."
Comito then tells of being taken to a photo-material store. Cecala bought a camera, some plates, bath platters, chemicals, a tripod, paper, and a case. Comito was induced to go to the printing house, where he had been formerly employed, and make a "dicker" for the purchase of a printing press. The press was secured and everything was made ready for the trip to Philadelphia. Then Cecala called and introduced a certain "Don Turi," otherwise Cina, as his godfather. "He is a rich proprietor in Philadelphia," said Cecala. "Do not mind his ordinary clothes; he is a man of gentle manners." Comito's own description of the rough looking Cina adds a streak of humor to the situation. As to "gentle manners" Cina almost maimed Comito when he shook hands with him. Comito was also introduced to a fellow by the name of Sylvester.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon on the same day that the whole pack of them – Cecala, Cina, Don Pasquale and Sylvester – rushed into the little apartment of Comito, and, as he says, "without any talking, began to label the furniture." This move was made after Cecala had paid the rent that morning.
Comito had not put any address on his stuff because Cecala had assured him that all the furniture would be put on a wagon, and that the wagon and all would go under his name to Philadelphia. Comito observed a bundle labeled: "A. Cina, Highland, New York."
Turning to Cecala, he said: "Don't we go to Philadelphia?"
"A – ha, ha, ha – a, ha, a, ha, ha, ha, ha," leered Cecala. "This is the place the boat stops and then we go twenty minutes by foot. Have no fear; we will go by carriage."
"Do we not go by rail?"
"No," grunted Cecala. "It costs too much, and we cannot load all your goods on the train."
Upon inquiring what time Cecala expected to arrive at Philadelphia, Comito was informed about eight o'clock, and that it would be all the better to arrive after dark because "no one will see what we are doing, and we will give an accounting to no one." Cecala also assured Comito that there would be no delay once they got off the boat, but that they would hurry to Cecala's house where "we will eat and drink wine and warm ourselves."
In this manner Comito's fears were lulled to sleep by the promises of future prosperity that were held out to him. There would never be any more worry or struggle for gain as far as Comito was concerned, according to the assurances of Cecala and the others. Life would flow along like a pleasant dream with no worries of any kind!
"It was about 4:30 P. M. of that same day, November 11, 1908, when I and Caterina, together with Cecala, Cina, Don Pasquale and Sylvester, went on board the boat," continues Comito. "I was fully convinced that we were going to Philadelphia. I was quite happy thinking that by working honestly I would prosper. When we were about two hours out from the pier Cecala came to me and said:
"'Mr. Comito, we are about to make a bad showing.'
"'Why?' I asked.
"'Because I have not enough money to pay the fares of all of us.'
"'Why pay for all?'
"'Because they are my friends, and my godfather. Then, too, you saw how they worked.'
"'But they could have remained in New York.'
"'No. They will help put up the press, etc.'
"'This is just a circumstance,' explained Cecala. 'I imagined that Cina had money to spare, but he has forgotten his pocketbook. We are short five dollars.'
"Not knowing what to do about it, I remained silent. After a while Cecala turned to Caterina and inquired: 'Mrs., have you any money with you?'
"'I have just five dollars,' Caterina replied innocently.
"'Well, give it to me because I need it. I will give it back to-morrow, as soon as I get to the house,' suggested the bandit.
"Caterina stepped aside and produced a five-dollar bill from her stocking where she had hidden it for an emergency.
"I took Caterina aside and asked her why she had given the money to Cecala. She said it would be all right, that she would get it back to-morrow. I did not talk any more. I took a rest on a lounge, until about nine o'clock, when I heard the boat's whistle. It was the signal of our approaching a dock. I jumped up, thinking I was at Philadelphia, and woke Caterina. I was surprised when Cecala informed me that Philadelphia was a little farther on, and that we would get off at the next stop. Making further inquiries as to the location of Philadelphia, I was informed in a very brutal manner by Cina that he did not know when the boat would arrive, but he guessed about one o'clock. Right then and there it dawned on me that I was not dealing with honest people, but with a dangerous pack who were probably trying to get me into a trap.
"When Caterina heard that we would not arrive until one A. M., she spoke cross to me and said that if any harm came to her I was responsible. I consoled her as well as I could and resumed my rest on the lounge.
"It was about half-past twelve that night when a long, resounding toot that echoed in the mountains announced our arrival at a stopping place. When the deck hand announced the name of the place, which did not sound very much like Philadelphia, I asked Cecala whether we should go ashore here.
"He said yes.
"It was a freezing cold night. There was snow on the ground. Caterina and I were chilled to the bone and very nervous.
"'We will all stop at my godfather's for the night, and, if necessary, for a day or so until we are rested,' announced Cecala. 'From there we will continue our trip to Philadelphia, which is one station beyond this place. We will do the rest of the journey by wagon.
"'This is Highland,1 New York,' said Cecala, when I inquired the name of the place.
"After a short wait in the dark near the dock we heard a wagon rushing up at top speed. It was driven by a man whom Cecala introduced me to as another godfather of his who was named Vincenzio Giglio. Cina and Giglio are brothers-in-law and own the place where I was to stop that night, Cecala told me.
"We arrived at Cina's house and found a table prepared for dinner. While Cina invited Caterina and me to sit down, the wives of Cina and Giglio brought on stuffed chickens, young goats meat, baked potatoes, wine. The dessert was of cheese, apples and pears, raised, Cina said, on the premises.
"My furniture was placed in a house near that of Cina and I was left there to live with Caterina on scanty fare and without money until, as Cecala told me, the printing shop would be in readiness. I was told to have my mail directed at the box in Highland, New York, where Cina had his mail sent. There were five little children playing about in the Cina house. I heard Cecala tell Cina to make out a list of food-stuffs needed saying that he would see Ignazio (Lupo) and have him ship it up to the farm.
"Cecala then took his departure to look after his business as a 'Singer Sewing Machine Inspector.'"
For three days after arriving at Cina's, Comito says, he and Caterina ate at Cina's table. They were waiting for the supplies to arrive from Lupo, and which Comito and Caterina were to eat at their own table. Concerning this time Comito says:
"In the three following days, Caterina and I ate at Cina's table while we were waiting for supplies. The conversation was about nothing but homicides, assassinations, and robberies. At times I thought my hair would stand on end, but I tried my best to appear unconcerned even when Caterina glanced at me in dismay.
"On a certain cold and rainy day, I shall never forget, while we were all huddled around the stove, Cina began to spin his yarns and boasted, among other exploits, that he had been a trusted man of the notorious bandit Varsalona. In this way Cina had became implicated in the murder of a school teacher in his native town, Bevona, in the province of Girgenta, Sicily, and had been obliged to flee the country and make his way to America. Cina also remarked that he was married in Tampa, Florida, where he had worked for seven years as a cigar maker. He married the sister of his intimate friend Giglio.
"As we were about to go to bed that night I told Caterina that we had better plan to get back to New York somehow. There was no longer any doubt in my mind but that we were in the hands of confirmed criminals.
"'How about the fare?' answered Caterina. 'I have no money at present. If you want money ask godfather Cina.'
"I did not sleep a wink that night. I was blaming myself for having induced Caterina to come along. In the morning I hurried over to talk to Cecala to make arrangements for our return to New York, but to my surprise Giglio informed me that Cecala and Don Pasquale had gone the night before to New York.
"I complained to Giglio of the manner in which Cecala had left me behind with Caterina without money or return fare to New York.
"With apparent good grace Giglio replied that I should have a little patience and wait until Cecala returned.
"'Think of eating and drinking. Don't worry. Enjoy yourself,' he said with a grin.
"The manner of Giglio's talk quieted me a little and calmed my nerves; he also said that when it was not raining I could go about the farm to see what was cultivated and could roam around and forget about returning to New York.
"Caterina and I had to worry along in that godforsaken place until December 7, 1908, when I was informed that we would be moved to the printing shop. A wagon was coming for our furniture at three o'clock in the morning."