Cullotta: The Life of a Chicago Criminal, Las Vegas Mobster and Government Witness (3 page)

Frank’s disdain for authority, for rules and regulations, became apparent early on. Going to school was problematic for him. He hated it. He considered the teachers to be a bunch of mean old biddies. There was another problem, too. Frank wore glasses. In those days kids who wore eyeglasses were looked on as freaks by some of their classmates. When nasty comments or dirty looks were directed at Frank because of his eyesight, he responded with his fists.

Ongoing difficulties regarding Frank’s conduct resulted in his mother enrolling him in a Catholic school. The nuns were tough on him and routinely slapped his hands or knuckles with a ruler. On one such occasion Frank fought back; he took the ruler away from the nun and broke it over his knee. That incident resulted in expulsion and a return to the public school system.

The change of scenery didn’t improve Frank’s attitude toward school. When he acted up, the teachers made him sit behind the piano or put him in the closet. This made him even more hateful and defiant. He started coming to school late or not showing up at all.

When Frank’s mother received calls or letters from the school about his behavior, she did what most parents would do: She punished him. He had to come straight home in the afternoon and be in the house by a certain time at night. Then she took away his allowance. To compensate, while walking to school he started stealing the money out of the bags customers left out to pay for their newspapers. Eventually, the paperboy got tired of finding the bags empty and began to keep an eye out for the thief. One day he spotted Frank in the act and the chase was on. Frank got away and started taking a different route to school.

Stealing the paper money accustomed Frank to having some cash in his pocket. He liked the feeling and knew he needed to find another source of income. Like many other kids in his neighborhood, he decided to try his hand at shining shoes.

Frank started shining shoes up and down Grand Avenue. One day he noticed a kid about his age, though much shorter, shining shoes on the opposite side of the street. The competitors glared at each other for several seconds.

The stranger hollered, “What the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Frank replied, “I’m looking at you. What about it?” Like a pair of Wild West gunfighters ready to do battle, the boys walked toward each other. Stopping a few feet apart in the middle of the street, they put down their shoeboxes.

The stranger said, “This is my fuckin’ territory and I don’t want you on this street. Understand?”

“I don’t see your name on any street signs and I’m not leaving.”

The challenge had been made and answered. Some pushing, shoving, and name-calling followed. As the confrontation ended, the other boy said to Frank, “I’m coming back here tomorrow and if I see you, we’ll have to fight.”

Not backing down, Frank said, “Then that’s what we’ll have to do.”

Frank returned to the same spot the next day as promised, but the other kid wasn’t there. In fact, the two didn’t meet again until about a week later. Frank didn’t think he’d intimidated his competitor. He figured the boy was around and they were simply missing each other.

The next time the two met, the stranger approached Frank, but he wanted to talk, not fight. “I’ve been asking around about you. What’s your last name?”

“Cullotta.”

“Was your father Joe Cullotta?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Your father and my father were friends. Your old man helped my old man out of a bad spot one time.”

As the boys talked, the stranger explained that his father ran a well-known Italian restaurant on the east side called Patsy’s. Joe Cullotta frequented the restaurant and liked Patsy Spilotro. Joe had come to Patsy’s rescue when he was being harassed by a gang of criminals known as the Black Hand. Frank’s adversary-turnedfriend was Patsy Spilotro’s son Tony.

After listening to Tony’s story, Frank remembered hearing about the incident at Patsy’s restaurant. The Black Hand consisted of Sicilian and Italian gangsters who extorted money from their own kind and Frank’s father hated them with a passion. Their method was to shake down business owners by demanding money in return for letting the business stay open. They were making Patsy pay dues every week. When Joe Cullotta heard about it, he and his crew hid in the back room of the restaurant until the Black Handers came in for the payoff. Then they burst out and killed them. After that Patsy wasn’t bothered anymore.

Patsy’s wasn’t the only time Joe Cullotta had trouble with the Black Hand. In another incident, a member put a threatening note on Cullotta’s door. When Joe saw that note, he went crazy. He found the guy who was responsible for the threat in a barbershop getting a shave. He walked up to the chair and blew him away, right in front of the barber. The Black Hand became aware that it was Joe Cullotta who killed their man, but they didn’t retaliate. They may have come to the conclusion that he was a man better left alone.

Finally, the man in charge of the Black Hand was murdered while he was asleep in a hotel room. His wife, in the bed right next to him, wasn’t killed. Frank heard that his father was in on the murder, but he never found out for sure. In any case, that killing marked the end of the Black Hand in the Cullotta neighborhood.

Frank and Tony Spilotro had some things in common other than their fathers having been friends. They were nearly the same age—Tony was seven months older—and neither liked school or had much respect for authority. Their main difference was the makeup of their families. Tony had five brothers and there’s no evidence that Patsy Spilotro engaged in criminal activity.

In Tony Spilotro, Frank had made a friend who would play a major role in his future. At the same time, he was learning a lot about getting by on the streets. And his formal education continued to go poorly. He was sent to a vocational school where he tried to turn over a new leaf by staying out of trouble. That effort didn’t last long, though. In fact, his behavior turned violent.

The new place was a trade school for boys who couldn’t handle a normal academic environment. Frank liked working with his hands and was actually doing well in shop. But the principal, Mr. Jones, was a real tough guy. He was always on the kids about haircuts and wearing their pants too low. He regularly badgered Frank.

One day Mr. Jones stopped Frank in the hall and asked him to step into the bathroom with him to talk. Frank thought it was a little weird, but went along. Once inside, Jones said, “I’ve told you and told you about wearing your pants like that. Now get them up where I want them.”

Jones flew into a rage. “We’ll see about that!” he yelled, pushing Frank and slapping him.

Frank kneed Jones in the groin. When the man doubled over, he kneed him in the head. Frank left Jones on the floor of the bathroom and walked out. No action was taken against him, possibly because Mr. Jones felt he was in the wrong for slapping Frank around and decided to let the matter drop. That wasn’t the end of it for Jones, though. A couple of other kids were having similar problems with him and Frank’s anger hadn’t been completely sated. The trio decided to give the principal another lesson.

As Mr. Jones walked down a hallway during recess one day, the three boys threw a blanket over his head and pushed him into an empty classroom. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t fight off three tough and angry kids. They tied him up and hung him out a window, dangling by his ankles. The police were called and someone identified Frank as being involved. He was expelled from the trade school and sent to a place that he found to be a hell of a lot worse.

Montefiore School was a reformatory for troublemaking kids who couldn’t get along anywhere else. Two young men who fit that definition and found themselves in Montefiore were Frank Cullotta and Tony Spilotro. Frank was the first to arrive, followed by Tony a week later.

The student body of Montefiore was primarily black. Tony and Frank were two of the half-dozen or so white kids in the place. They had a bad time of it and were regularly involved in physical confrontations with their black classmates. In addition to the fights, the two boys had to rely on public transportation to get to and from Montefiore. Using a bit of ingenuity, they solved that problem in short order: They began stealing cars.

Frank had already figured out how to hotwire his mother’s car. He showed Tony how simple it was and Spilotro was impressed. The pair stole any car they wanted, drove to school, and parked a couple of blocks away. Most of the time they drove the same car back to their neighborhood.

Having their choice of vehicles was convenient, but it didn’t resolve the problem of dealing with their fellow students. The combat continued.

One day as Frank came out of wood shop, he found Tony surrounded by four or five blacks. One of them wanted to fight Tony alone. “Come on, white boy,” he said. “Just you and me.”

When Tony accepted the challenge, the black kid picked him up and flung him over his head to the floor. Tony got up and outboxed his opponent. Then one of the other blacks said, “Let’s kill the motherfuckers,” and the gang started to attack.

Frank grabbed one of the long poles with a hook on the end that was used to open and close the upper windows. He swung it at the blacks and caught a couple of them in the head, giving him and Tony time to run out of the building. Frank didn’t go to school the next day, but Tony did; he took a knife with him and stabbed one of the black kids, resulting in expulsion.

But Tony wasn’t through with Montefiore yet. He, his older brother Vic, and Frank stole a car and went back to the school. They wanted to get the leader of the blacks, a boy named Jackson, who they believed was the instigator of all the problems. They pulled up to the schoolyard in the hot car around lunchtime. Vic Spilotro was armed with a 45-caliber pistol.

The three entered the building and found Jackson in the cafeteria. They yanked him outside, beating him with the gun as he was dragged to the car. Jackson’s friends seemed stunned and didn’t immediately react. After a few seconds they came outside, but didn’t interfere as their leader was placed in the stolen car and driven away. Jackson was pistol-whipped and beaten, then dumped off back at the school.

Frank, Tony, and Vic were subsequently charged with the kidnapping and assault. Tony disappeared for a while and nobody could find him. However, he did show up for court and was released to work at his father’s restaurant. Frank was thrown out of Montefiore and placed in a reformatory setting, where the kids had to live in cottages right on campus. The time he spent there was difficult on his mother. But she remained loyal and visited him every day.

Frank was eventually released from reform school and placed back in the public system. As soon as he reached the age of 16, he dropped out of school for good.

Josephine Cullotta cashed in some savings bonds her husband had left in Frank’s name and bought him a used car, an Oldsmobile 98. To Frank it was big and beautiful. He loved it and washed it all the time.

One day while he was giving the car a bath, an old neighborhood acquaintance stopped by. The man’s name was Bob Sprodak; he was also known as “Crazy Bob.” Sprodak was a year or two older than Frank and it was common knowledge on the street that he always carried a gun.

“Nice-lookin’ car you got there,” Crazy Bob said. “I’ve got a car parked down the street, but mine’s hot. You workin’ anywhere?”

“My uncle’s getting me a job at a newspaper stand downtown. I’ll be starting any day now.”

Then Sprodak did something that would change Frank’s life forever: He reached into his pocket and pulled out a big wad of money.

Frank was impressed and curious. “Where’d you get that?”

“Sticking up places; I do armed robberies. I hold up taverns, restaurants, and gas stations. There’s a lot of money in it and it’s real easy.”

Frank had more questions. “Do you work by yourself?”

“Usually, but you’re welcome to come with me sometime if you want. Sometimes it’s better to have another guy along.”

“I don’t know. It sounds pretty dangerous,” Frank said. “What do you do if somebody fights back?”

“Then you shoot him.”

Frank wasn’t completely sold on the idea. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

The next day Frank’s uncle took him to the newspaper stand to start work. It was then that he learned there was a little more to the job than selling newspapers. “This is very important,” the uncle said, holding up a cigar box. “Guys are going to come by here and give you money and slips of paper. They’ll be for their bets on horse races. You take the money and slip of paper and put it in this cigar box. Whatever you do, don’t mix the bet money up with the newspaper money. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. What do I do with the bets and money after I collect them?”

“Just put them in the box like I told you. Somebody will stop around every so often and pick them up.”

Frank tried the job for a while. But the weather was turning cold and he had to sell papers and collect illegal bets while standing next to a 55-gallon drum with a fire in it in order to keep warm. From time to time a car pulled up and a guy got out to collect the contents of the cigar box.

As it got colder, Frank thought more and more about Crazy Bob and that big wad of cash. He started to ask himself what the hell he was doing out there freezing to death for a few quarters when there was an easier way to make a lot more money. He told his uncle he was quitting.

“Quitting? What the fuck do you mean you’re quitting? You can’t just quit!” the uncle stepped in close, threatening him.

Frank wasn’t intimidated. “This is bullshit. I know of better ways to make money than standing out here freezing to death. I’m all done.”

With that decision Frank’s life turned another corner. The days of stealing newspaper money and fighting with teachers and other kids were behind him. From then on, the cars he stole would be work cars, used in burglaries and armed robberies. The next phase of his career was about to begin.