In Sunday's NYT Margalit Fox gives us the story of Douglas LeVien, a NYC undercover detective who was the plant in a junkyard trailer in Canarsie that along with film and audio tapes from a hidden bug, helped the authorities bring indictments against hundreds of members of organized crime in the five boroughs and surrounding counties, as well as 100 subpoenas against policemen suspected of being involved with the mob. All 5 mafia families were swept up in the subpoenas. There were nearly 100 convictions.
This was October 1972, and there was A LOT of news about the mob in the papers those days, usually rub-outs and pictures of men lying under sheets, with one famous 1979 photo of Carmine Galante with a cigar sticking out of his mouth, covered in blood, not a sheet. It really was a different era.
After Operation Gold Bug, there was Abscam, The Pizza Connection, and any other number of code-named operations that relied on undercover plants and audio and video tapes.
Ms. Fox serves to recreate this era while filling us in on Mr. LeVien's life. When the story broke about the massive arrests, it was big news. Top of the fold, upper right hand corner in then eight column Paper Of Record; two bylines.
One story, by Sylvan Fox (no relation to Margalit) provides the particulars of the arrest sweep, and mentions that the trailer in the junkyard served as a "summit headquarters" for organized crime and is where the bug was planted, and where at least one undercover officer imbedded himself with the mob. That officer, years and years later of course is known to be Douglas LeVien. He was Donnie Brasco, before Donnie Brasco.
At the health insurance company I once worked for we were infiltrated by a connected person who came to learn a good deal about an ambulance case that Medicare was getting ready to crack open. Apparently, the informant only learned so much, but not enough to prevent themselves from also being swept out with the subpoenas that were eventually issued.
The second bylined piece is by Robert D. McFadden, a reporter who it turns out is still with the paper contributing obituaries. This piece is almost broadcast booth commentary about how one family boss, Carmine Tramunti, greeted the morning from outside his $50,000 Whitestone house with a yawn, stretch and a scratch, only to be headed off by a team of detectives who cut him off with their car and presented him with the subpoena that no one in the mob wants to ever receive. Grand jury testimony.
It's fun to look back at the description of things from that era. In the 50s and early 60s I went to school in the Whitestone area. I knew the homes, and I could always guess which ones might have family from a family living inside. Those homes had the most stonework surrounding the property.
This type of home is still in the area, and I suspect still occupied by successor families of the family. It almost sounds funny to read that a $50,000 home in 1972 is being described in a news story to make the readers recognize that the occupants are living large. Today of course the same home would easily be over $1 million.
Ms. Fox doesn't have a closing quote from Mr. LeVien, but does recount a cute story about how dim-witted (but dangerous) the people of organized crime are. It is almost akin to the movie scene in 'Analyze This' where the Chazz Palminteri character, Primo Sidone, feels threatened, slams the phone down and wants to get to the bottom of what the word 'closure' means. He wants a dictionary.
The whole obituary got my attention, but the first line was the clincher. Mr. LeVien passed away on July 30 while vacationing at Saratoga. This can only mean one thing: Mr. LeVien was up there to be at the track.
It turns out this was true, and that Mr. LeVien had a heart attack after winning $3,000 at the track. Winning is fun, but not when it's fatal.
In 1972 I was at Belmont with my uncle Vernon when he felt nauseous and left arm pain. In those days the track was packed with patrons, and also Pinkertons. One of the Pinkerton's noticed my uncle was not doing well and got him (and me) downstairs to the track's infirmary. This was fully staffed with at least two nurses and one doctor. A small hospital. We left the track in an ambulance to Franklin General Hospital in nearby Floral Park. My uncle was conscious during the ride and gave me his $10 winning ticket on Sportique (not worth thousands). He didn't want it to become lost.
My uncle survived that heart attack, but did succumb to one in 1978, but not at the track. Dying stinks, but to go at some place that others will likely always associate with your passing is bad too.
Some people memorialize others who had a yen for racing. There are plenty of stories of ashes being scattered, and there is sometimes a race a family arranges to be named after a deceased racing fan relative. Usually, there is only one race named to commemorate the first anniversary.
I got the T-shirt from the first Harry Lazarus Memorial Race from my friend who knew Harry. I was at Belmont on July 18th this year and was surprised to see in the program that the 5th Race was named 'The Harry Lazurus 4th Annual Memorial Race'. I didn't get a T-shirt from that one. The family is keeping the tradition up though.
I don't know if Mr. LeVien's family will do anything at the track to publicly memorialize Douglas. Given his undercover past and who he helped convict, the family might understandably remain low key.
But at 68, it's too soon to leave the paddock rail.
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