The pushcarts were lined up one after another on Union from Hicks Street past Columbia Street and then to a spillover on Van Brunt Street. Hordes of people—mostly women—mulled about the pushcarts.
Battista Balsamo was one of the biggest entrepreneurs in that market. With two brothers and their four nephews, the Balsamo combine had corners on virtually the entire shopping center. Among them the Balsamo clan operated ten stores that sold a vast assortment of produce, meat, and fish—especially fish.
The Balsamos had the fish business truly locked up. They ran ten stores that specialized in catches that ranged from calamari, octopus, porgy, snails, and lobsters to whiting, codfish, crabs, mackerel, bluefish, and tuna.
Battista held sway over the fish business. And every pushcart peddler and every storeowner in the neighborhood paid commorra (protection money) to him to operate in that marketplace. The going rate was $10 for a space at the curb for a pushcart, $30 a week for the stores.
As Giuseppe Balsamo strolled along Union and Columbia, he was the focus of total attention. Children and grownups alike sidled up to him and greeted the godfather.
Balsamo loved that sort of attention—summer, fall, winter, spring—anytime he could get it. But he was especially enthralled at the large response he received that particular day in August 1920.
It was, of course, not Balsamo’s favorite season of the year. He felt most at home on his turf during the dead of winter. He especially liked wearing camel’s-haired Chesterfield-cut coats that were best worn in the worst of December’s weather. Such a coat also provided concealment for the gun he always carried with him, a .32-caliber five-shot double-action nickel-plated break-open revolver manufactured by Empire State Arms Co. It was Balsamos’s favorite piece, accurate up to a distance of forty feet. For what more could he ask?
The velvet-collared coat he wore over his shoulders served the Don well. It gave an edge over a potential opponent, for he could either draw the .32 tucked in his waistband or, if he had to ditch the firearm before a frisk, he could let the weapon slip out of his right hand and fall to the ground almost unseen.
It would be nothing more than a pistol lying on the cold cement pavement. Of course, a witness might hear a clank or two when the gun hit the deck. But no one could ever prove Giuseppi unloaded it there, so Balsamo could never be arrested or convicted of violating New York’s recently-enacted Sullivan Law, which forbade all citizens to bear arms without a permit.
A few days after Balsamo had sprung the five teenagers, he made his way along Columbia Street to check on the pushcart business when he sighted a familiar figure. He was Vince Mangano.
“Hey, Vince! Vince!” Balsamo shouted at the top of his lungs.
Mangano turned in surprise. “Don Giuseppe” he shouted. “How good to see you,” Mangano pointed his finger in the direction of Paolo’s Sicilian Restaurant around the corner on Union Street, indicating they should have their rendezvous there.
Battista reached the restaurant first. Paolo Mancino, owner of Paolo’s, made a fuss over him and seated him at a large round table with chairs made of twisted wrought-iron backs shaped like hearts. Paolo placed Balsamo with his back to the wall—as he always had—and asked who else he expected to join him for lunch.
“Any minute,” Balsamo responded, “my good friend Vincento Mangano will join me.”
At five-foot-five, with a rapidly receding hairline, Mancini was noted for his delicious chi-chi beans crushed and matted together like a fillet. Deep fried, they made a delectable sandwich.
Mancini also could whip up his so-called vestedi sandwiches, which comprised ricotta cheese and chopped lungs, a mouth-watering delicacy. For the record, Paolo’s was strictly a Palermitano cuisine that served many customers what they believed were the best Sicilian meals in all of New York State.
The main door to the street suddenly opened and Vince Mangano walked in. He didn’t wait for the head captain to greet him, but simply looked around for Godfather Balsamo, spotted him, and walked to the table unescorted.
Battista rose to his feet when Mangano arrived and the two men greeted each other with the customary kiss on the cheek.
“Seta, seta” (sit, sit) Balsamo invited. “I got to talk to you.”
“All right, all right,” responded Mangano and he sat next to the godfather at the table.
“It’s very important I talk to you,” Balsamo said.
“I’m honored that you want to talk to me,” Mangano returned. “I am most anxious to hear what you have to say…”
Balsamo inhaled deeply.
“You see, good friend, I am forty-nine years old and I feel I am getting old and tired.” Then he interrupted himself.
“Hey, Vincenzo, we haven’t ordered yet,” Battista turned and clicked his fingers to the nearest waiter.
“We want to eat,” Balsamo said. “No menu. Just tell Paul we want something special.”
The waiter understood and headed straight to Paul Marinaci, the head waiter who would be sure that the godfather’s wish turned out to be Paolo’s command.
Even as Paul rushed into the kitchen to place the order, Balsamo turned to Mangano and continued his spiel as though it hadn’t been interrupted.
“You see, paisano,” the godfather said slowly, “someone has to take over the day-to-day operations. I am getting very tired and I want to see some younger blood running what we have going…”
Mangano looked stunned.
“Don Giuseppe, what are you telling me…that you don’t want to be the boss no more? Are you kidding…?
“I think I hear you say you want to live retired life,” Mangano said. “Why, boss, you are so young yet….?”
“I may be young, but I don’t kid about this thing,” Balsamo came back. “I have had a long life in this thing and I want to give up my interest in the easy money.
“Twenty years is a long time in this business. I think it’s about time to call it quits and maybe just keep the fish store going…”
Mangano frowned at Balsamo.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked.
Don Guiseppe reached out and put a hand on the outstretched palm of Mangano’s right hand.
“Vincenzo,” the Godfather said in a solemn voice, “I want you to take over this operation for me…”
Astonishment came over Mangano’s face.
“You really mean what you say?” he asked in a trembling voice.
“If I did not intend to retire, I would not have brought you here to tell you all this,” Battista snapped. “Of course I mean what I say…But I no go tomorrow. What I say to you is that one of these days—could be next month, next year, I don’t know…But I am tired. So that is why I wanna have this talk with you. I want you know where you stand…”
Mangano
