For Michael Franzese, the answer depends entirely on which stage of his life you mean. He breaks his time in the Colombo crime family into three distinct phases: his years as an associate, his years as a formally inducted soldier, and his years as a caporegime, or captain.
Each phase looked different. Each came with its own duties, pressures, and daily rhythms. Together they offer a rare inside view of how a mobster actually spends his hours.
His life in the life began long before any oath. By age 22, Franzese had already been indicted four times on grand larceny and a range of other charges. He stood trial four times. Three of those trials ended with hung juries. The fourth case was dismissed after the prosecution rested, for lack of evidence.
Franzese has said he doubts the charges would have come at all without the Franzese name and the grudge held against his father. Still, he does not cry about it. He acknowledges his father had built a reputation by then, and that he himself did things he probably should not have done.
At the time, he was still in school. He dropped out. He went to visit his father at Lewisburg prison, where visits were allowed only once a month. His father was furious.
"You have four indictments by the time you're 22," his father told him. "You have more cases than me." Franzese was in his early twenties. His father was in his fifties, and he was right.
The decision that followed changed everything. His father told him that if he wanted to help, the best way was to become part of his life. He proposed him for membership.
From the moment of that proposal, Franzese was summoned. He recalls the scene as something out of the film "Donnie Brasco." The acting boss at the time, Tom DiBella, sent for him. A soldier known as Little Joey Vitacco came to pick him up.
He went to see the boss. Andrew Russo was there, serving as the number two and advising Tom in the absence of Junior Persico. Tom sat with him and said his father wanted him to become a member of this life. Then he asked whether that was what Franzese wanted.
Franzese said yes, if it was what his father wanted. Tom looked at him sternly. He had not asked what his father wanted. His father had made the recommendation. He had asked Franzese what he wanted.
Franzese looked back and said, "Yes, Tom, that's what I want."
Then came the terms. From that moment on, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, he was on call to serve the Colombo family. If his mother were sick and dying and he was at her bedside, and the family called, he was to leave her and come serve. From then on, the family came first, before anything and everything. When they felt he deserved the privilege and honor of becoming a member, they would tell him.
That was the opening speech of his life as an associate. Tom meant every word. Andrew turned to him and told him to be at Carroll Street the next morning, where the Colombo family headquarters was then located, and to wear a suit.
From that moment, he was on call around the clock. He received calls for different matters, but he spent most of his time at Carroll Street every day. It was a grind, because he was learning the life. His father guided him during those monthly visits to Lewisburg, but he was also learning the trade on the job.
At the same time, after four trials, he was broke. He had to try to make a living. No one hands you money and tells you to go get rich. You have to figure it out yourself.
He tried to do things legitimately. He had an auto body shop. He was in the car business, buying wrecked cars, fixing them, and selling them at auction. He did many things just to make money, because he had heavy expenses and no cash.
An opportunity came through Vinnie Vengo, a Colombo associate who owned a flea market on Long Island. Vinnie put him in charge of it on Saturdays and Sundays. Franzese started making real money, a few thousand dollars a week, because he began loan sharking and doing other things there that Vinnie allowed. They did it together. He began to get his footing back.
As an associate, though, he was on call every day. Much of the time was spent sitting at the social club on Carroll Street. Andrew, who liked him, and Tom were often together. Franzese drove them everywhere. They liked the way he drove, and he always had a good car because he was buying and selling them. He got involved with a Mazda dealership during those years.
He would come to Brooklyn to Carroll Street, and Andrew would have him drive him around. Andrew always told him, "You're an associate, you just listen. Don't talk." Franzese was a good listener. His father had taught him to listen, always, before speaking.
He learned a great deal from Andrew and Tom and from their discussions. Often he was not allowed to sit at the table, but he was there, listening. He heard what they allowed him to hear, because he was not yet a formal member. He was observing, becoming a student of the school of life, learning on the job.
That went on for about two years. During that time, he did anything asked of him to prove himself. That is what you must do as a new associate. You have to prove yourself.
It does not matter whether you are the son of Sonny Franzese, Joe Colombo, Carlo Gambino, a relative of Paul Castellano, or the son of Carmine Persico. You still have to prove yourself. You cannot simply say you have a family name and walk in. Things do not work that way. Even your own father does not want you to enter that way. You have to have what it takes, or you will not be part of it.
There was a great deal of discipline in that life, a great deal of supposed respect, and a great deal of authority. Associates had to learn to accept authority. If you did something wrong, you received a harsh reprimand. You had to know how to stay quiet and take it.
When you are wrong, Franzese says, keep your mouth shut. Do not defend yourself. You get past it faster if you stay silent, accept the reprimand, learn from it, and do not repeat it. That is what he tells his own children. He learned to do it himself.
So his life as an associate meant driving to Brooklyn every day and going home trying to make a living. He was enterprising by nature, and he began using what he understood about that life to benefit his legitimate business. He sold cars to some made members. They would tell him they liked a car. He would tell them to give him the money and drive him home, and they could take it. He never fell in love with a car. He was always trying to make money, around the clock.
Then one day he got a call from Andrew, who told him to wear a suit and be in midtown. He met him there. Everyone wondered when and whether they would receive the call to become a formal member and take the oath.
It is worth remembering that until about 1975, the books had been closed. For roughly 20 years, for security reasons and others, new men were not being brought in. Franzese was surrounded by men who had waited two decades for membership.
Sammy had reservations about how it happened. He told Franzese that he had jumped over a lot of men, and some were upset about it. Franzese says Sammy was right. There were men who had been around a long time, and Franzese passed them for one reason or another. He did not make that decision. The bosses did. His father was in prison at the time. They made the call.
So yes, he passed over many men. Was there resentment? Yes. First, because he was very young. Second, because he had not served 20 years. He had served only two. But they gave that respect to his father, and he had proven himself in their eyes, so he received the invitation.
It was Halloween night in 1975. Six of them received the invitation that night. He was not the only one who had been moved ahead of others. After the oath, they went in and held a feast, as they always do. They ate together. All the crew leaders were there, the boss was there, Andrew was there.
Little Joey Vitacco, who had asked permission to attend, was only a soldier but loved Franzese. He asked Tom DiBella for permission to come, and it was granted. When they entered for the feast, he walked in carrying a brown bag. Franzese never forgot it. Joey asked the boss whether he should give them their money bags now.
There was an irony in that, because people assume that when you enter this life, money pours in all the time. It is not like that at all. It is the opposite. You are the one who pays if you are a moneymaker. You have to make your own way.
You might be given a no-show union job, and you can get benefits that way, but no one gives you large sums of money to become rich. You have to do it yourself. You have to prove yourself either as a earner or as someone who handles things for the family. Some men were both racketeers and gangsters. Some were what he would describe as gangsters only. No one was a racketeer only.
Frank Costello is the perfect example, Franzese says. They called him the Prime Minister. He came up the hard way and had arrests in his youth, but he was not arrested again for 37 years. Why? Because he realized he had become a true racketeer. He understood he needed political connections. He understood he had to make money if the life was to succeed. He had to be an earner, because money is power. Money provides everything. Without money, you have no organization, legal or illegal. Without money, you have nothing, whether you steal it, earn it legitimately, or get it some other way.
That is how Frank Costello became the classic racketeer. Thirty-seven years without trouble. When he did get in trouble later, it was mainly fraud and white-collar cases. If Franzese could go back in time and meet one mobster, Frank Costello would be one of them. He might be the main one. His father knew him. Franzese believes he may have met him as a child, because his father took him many places and he met many people, though he does not remember it. Costello was a classic racketeer who also came up the hard way, but he truly understood the business, as many men did. Carlo Gambino understood it too.
So what did daily life look like as a made man? Andrew Russo was his caporegime, and later a man named Joe T. for a time, but Andrew was his captain. He had to visit him two, three, or four times a week. Anything he did on the street had to be put on the record. Even if it was a legitimate venture, he reported it, in case someone tried to bother him or a man from another family tried something in a legitimate business. He would tell Andrew what he had going, so that if anything happened or a challenge arose, it was on record.
When he says "on record," nothing was written down. It was all in your head. You did not write anything down in those days, at least not if you were smart. It was a funny thing. On the street, he never forgot a name or a phone number. He had an almost photographic memory for faces, names, and numbers.
When he went to prison and served his eight years, many people came to him in the yard with schemes, business proposals, and this and that. He listened, and it went in one ear and out the other. When he came out, he could not remember a name or a phone number. That is what prison did to him. He is grateful for cellphones now. He does not memorize numbers anymore.
So he visited his captain two, three, or four times a week. He still had to do whatever was asked of him. You had to report to your caporegime. When he went to Florida, California, Chicago, and did things in other cities, sometimes he had to ask permission, and sometimes it was enough to put it on the record.
At the same time, he was building his own crew, his own group of men. Men came to him. He assessed their value, so to speak. Men from the neighborhood, men he met along the way. He was very social and very aggressive. He was involved in business, so many people came to him and wanted to be associated with him. He was a known figure on Long Island. His father had a well-known name, and he hopes he made a name for himself through the work he did and the money he made.
He began building many things. He went to his office every day. He had two car dealerships, first Mazda and then Chevrolet. He also had a leasing company. He had offices, nice offices. He met people legitimately all the time to build his business. He had a production company. He had many things, so he was deeply involved in his work.
So what did a typical day look like? He woke up early every morning. He had always needed very little sleep. He still does, though he sleeps a little longer now. He wakes at 5:30 or 6 a.m. He might not jump up immediately, but he is awake. He started his day quickly.
Often he went to his office first to make sure everything was running smoothly, then went to Brooklyn to see Andrew and sit with him. Did Andrew need anything? Put some things on the record. What did he want him to do? Sometimes he drove him around. Andrew would tell him to come to a meeting. Often he held a sit-down because of things happening on the street, and he had to meet someone about it. That was the gangster work.
Then he left. He went back to his offices. He sat with his men. He listened to them. He had a place called Michael's. On Monday nights, he met people. He met his men all the time, and they reviewed everything they needed to review.
So the pattern was: wake early, drive to Brooklyn, meet Andrew, come back, go to the offices, make sure everything was fine, and go home at night to his first wife and children. He was married at the time. He always tried to get home for dinner and spend two hours at home. He tried to do that as best he could.
Honestly, at 10 or 11 p.m., they would come to pick him up, and they would go to a club. He spent six nights a week in a nightclub, whether in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or Long Island. He got involved in club business. Men came to him, he lent them money, and he took a share of the profits. He had a piece of a club called Jupiter's. He had a club called Le Jardin. He spent time there until 2, 3, or 4 a.m. Then he went home, slept a few hours, woke in the morning, and went out again.
He is honest that he did not give his family enough time during that period. He was determined to be number one, the best mobster he could be, to make money, and to help his father get out of prison. That was a major effort during those years as well.
When he became a soldier, he worked constantly on his father's case. Many things came up. He has discussed them in other videos, so he does not want to go into all of it. Just fighting for his father and his case during that time was hard work they had to do. His father was sentenced to 50 years. That was a death sentence if they did not get him out, so it took a great deal of work.
He could spend two hours talking about a single day from that period. Then his father came home from prison. Franzese became his acting field commander. As a result, they had a larger crew, with made men working under him.
In 1980, he became a captain himself, and things changed somewhat, because now he held a larger leadership position. People wonder whether he was ever a boss. He never claimed to be one. But when you are a caporegime, you are called a street boss, because the boss has assigned soldiers to follow you. You are their first superior. You are their direct manager. They must come to you first. They cannot go directly to the boss. They do not go directly to the underboss. They come to you first. You are their direct supervisor. So it is like being a street boss. He does not get upset when someone calls him a boss. When you are a caporegime, you hold that position.
He had men working under him. He constantly solved their problems, with them, in ongoing meetings. Again, because he was aggressive, he was always involved in one meeting or another. You have heard about many of them. He will not go into them now.
So he divided his time the same way. He woke early, had coffee with his wife, fed the children, and drove them to school, his first wife at the time. Then he went to work, went to the office, and handled his affairs. Once or twice a week, he went to Brooklyn. He went less often because he was a capo, and Long Island was almost his territory, so he handled things there. He still went to the neighborhood in Brooklyn once or twice a week. His friends were still there in Greenpoint and Williamsburg, and he went to see how things were going in the neighborhood.
He organized his schedule fairly well. He traveled a great deal at that time. He had interests in Florida, so he went there and handled them. He had a home in Florida. He had a home in California at the time because he owned a film production company there. So he moved around a lot.
He wishes there had been five or six more hours in the day when he became a capo and was involved in the gasoline business and all of it. He was busy around the clock, seven days a week, if he wanted to be. When you are a caporegime, it takes a great deal of work. When you have a large crew, and he had many men under him, it is constant work.
Remember, he had Russians working with him. He had many men. It was continuous work. It was almost exhausting, but he was immersed in it at the time. He was young. He could handle it. And of course, he began getting into trouble, with indictments from every direction. He was indicted seven times. He faced two federal racketeering cases. He faced a state racketeering case. He fought the cases. He was with his lawyers. It was hard work.
So trying to balance street work, the life, Cosa Nostra, legitimate life, the businesses he owned, and family life, which he admits he was not great at, was difficult. Yes, he loved his children and his family, but he was not good at it. He tried to devote a lot of time, but he was too immersed in the life and the businesses at that time. He has regrets about how he handled things then.