By the age of twenty-two, Michael Franzese had been indicted four times. He had stood trial four times, and three juries had deadlocked. The fourth case was dismissed after the prosecution rested. Looking back, he believes it was the weight of his father’s name that made him a target, a lingering vendetta against the man who had built a reputation that reached far beyond their Brooklyn neighborhood.
He does not dwell on it. His father, Sonny Franzese, had made enemies and a name for himself, and Michael understood that trouble often followed both. The turning point came during a visit to his father at Leavenworth federal prison. Sonny was furious.
He pointed out that his twenty-two-year-old son had more legal troubles than he did, a man in his fifties. He told Michael that if he wanted his help, the best way was to become part of his life, and he proposed something that would change everything: he would sponsor his son for membership in the Colombo crime family. Michael had been in college, but after that conversation, school was over. At his father’s urging, he accepted the path laid out before him.
The summons came quickly. He was called in to see Tom DiBella, the acting boss running the family while Carmine Persico was away. Little Joe Vitacco, a soldier, came to pick him up. Andrew Russo, the underboss, was there, advising DiBella on many matters.
DiBella asked Michael directly whether he truly wanted to become part of the life, making it clear that his father’s wishes were not enough. Michael looked at the boss and said it was what he wanted. DiBella then laid out the terms. From that moment, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, Michael belonged to the family.
If his mother were dying and he sat at her bedside, and the family called, he would leave her side to serve. They were now the first priority in his life, above everything and everyone. When the leadership decided he had earned the privilege of becoming a made member, they would tell him. Andrew Russo turned to him and ordered him to report to the family headquarters on Carroll Street the next morning, wearing a suit.
That was the beginning. Life as an associate was demanding. He was expected at Carroll Street every day. He began learning the trade by immersion, sitting in the social club, listening to the conversations around him.
Often, he was not allowed at the table, but he was present and he was quiet. His father had taught him to listen before speaking, and it served him well. Andrew Russo grew fond of him, and Michael often drove him around Brooklyn. Russo reminded him that as an associate, his job was to listen.
But Michael also had to make a living. The trials had left him broke, and no one handed a man money just for joining. He had an auto body shop and bought and sold cars at auction, fixing them up and reselling them. Through Vinny Vingo, a Colombo associate who owned a flea market on Long Island, Michael took on responsibility on weekends and started making real money, running loans and other schemes with Vinny’s blessing.
He was aggressive, eager to earn, and he learned to prove himself. It did not matter whose son he was, not Sonny Franzese’s, not anyone else’s. He had to demonstrate he belonged, and any task asked of him, he did. The discipline was brutal.
When he made a mistake, he learned to accept the rebuke in silence and not repeat it. For two years, that was his life. Then came the night of Halloween, 1975. Michael was among a group of men summoned to become made members of the Colombo family.
He had been an associate for only two years, and there were men in the family who had waited twenty years in an era when doors had been closed to new members. There was resentment. He had skipped past older men, but the decision was made by the leadership, and it was in part a respect paid to his father. That night, six men took the oath, and afterward they gathered for a dinner.
Little Joe Vitacco, who had requested permission to attend, walked in carrying a brown bag and asked the boss if he should hand out the envelopes of money. It was a joke with a pointed truth. People assumed that entering the life meant wealth poured in. In reality, the opposite was true.
He had to make his own way. As a made man, his responsibilities multiplied. His boss was Andrew Russo, and Michael reported to him two, three, sometimes four times a week. Everything he was doing on the street had to be logged in his memory.
The record existed only in his head, because no one was foolish enough to write things down. His memory was nearly photographic, for faces, names, and phone numbers. He would later spend eight years in prison, and the experience dulled that gift, but in those years it served him constantly. When he traveled to Florida, California, or Chicago, he checked in.
He started building his own crew, drawing men who wanted to attach themselves to a go-getter with a famous name. People in business sought him out. His typical day started early. He rose at five-thirty or six in the morning, needing little sleep.
He went to his office first to check his businesses, then drove to Brooklyn to see Andrew. In the evenings, he tried to be home for dinner with his wife and children, but by ten or eleven he was usually out again, spending six nights a week in nightclubs in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or Long Island. He lent money to club owners and took a cut. He was involved in a club called Jupiter’s and another called Le Jardin.
He returned home at two, three, or four in the morning, slept a few hours, and started again. He admits he did not give his family enough time. He was driven, determined to become the best earner he could be, in part to help his father, who was serving a fifty-year federal sentence, a de facto death sentence if nothing was done. Michael fought his father’s appeals constantly.
When Sonny Franzese came home, his son became his acting field captain. In 1980, Michael became a caporegime himself, and the job grew heavier. As a captain, he had many men working under him, including Russian associates, and he was constantly solving their problems. He was still in court, indicted seven times total, facing two federal racketeering cases and a state racketeering case.
He balanced the street, the legitimate businesses, the family life he admits he was not good at, and constant legal battles. Looking back, he says if only the day had more hours. But he was young, driven, and fully immersed. He liked his businesses and the money he made, and he had disruptions in his personal life because of it.
What he remembers of those years is constant motion, constant meetings, and constant pressure, a life that consumed everything around it.