Operation Family Secrets Part 16

After I finished testifying I was escorted back down to the U.S. Attorney's Office. I had to sit down for a minute. When Luigi saw the look on my face and the tears streaming down, he asked me if I was okay. Of course I wasn't wasn't okay. Leaving the courtroom, I realized it was the last time I would see my father alive. That was overwhelming. okay. Leaving the courtroom, I realized it was the last time I would see my father alive. That was overwhelming.

My uncle followed me on the stand and gave somber, chilling testimony that was also difficult to impeach. Dressed in a long-sleeved prison-issued sweatshirt and sweatpants, my uncle admitted to being a made member of the Outfit. Eclipsing my testimony in terms of drama, Nick gave a vivid account of the murders he had partic.i.p.ated in. long-sleeved prison-issued sweatshirt and sweatpants, my uncle admitted to being a made member of the Outfit. Eclipsing my testimony in terms of drama, Nick gave a vivid account of the murders he had partic.i.p.ated in.

As my father sat at the defendants' table, frequently wearing a grin, Nick recounted the murder and torching of Butch Petrocelli, the bombing of Michael Cagnoni, and the killings of Nick D'Andrea, Richard Ortiz, Arthur Morawski, Emil Vaci, John Fecarotta, Michael Albergo, and the Spilotro brothers. He recounted the bombings of a theater, a restaurant, and a trucking company.

"Did you in fact murder John Fecarotta?" Mitch Mars asked my uncle.

"Yes, I did. It was me, my brother Frank, and Johnny Apes. We got the okay from Jimmy LaPietra, who was our capo."

According to Nick's testimony, my father kept about $1.6 million in cash stashed around town, mainly in safety-deposit boxes. He told the story of the time he and my dad buried $250,000 in cash near our Williams Bay, Wisconsin, summer home, only to find out later that the bills reeked.

"Mildew," Nick recalled. "You could never get that smell out. We tried to use cologne but it only made it smell worse."

After four days of testimony for the prosecution, a circ.u.mspect Nick sadly referred to himself as "a coward, a chicken, and a rat" for not standing up to his brother and leaving the Outfit. He recalled my father's tendency toward violence, admitting that he feared his older brother should he stray from the Outfit course. On cross-examination, Lopez asked Nick if he really believed his brother would have shot him had he "froze up" on or refused a hit, to which he responded coldly, "My brother would have, yes."

As for the family businesses, when asked by Lopez if my father "put a gun to his [Kurt's] head" to stay with the crew, Uncle Nick shot back, "No, he put a fist in his face."

"And when did the beatings happen?"

"You name the time. The kids went through h.e.l.l with their father."

"And they gave him h.e.l.l, didn't they?"

"No, they did not," Nick answered back firmly.

Holding up under pressure, my uncle escaped the lengthy cross-examination unscathed.

"I am a killer," my uncle said sadly before stepping down. "But I am not a serial killer."

Once the defense was finished, the prosecution, eager to get him off the stand, asked only one question on redirect. Had he heard the prison tapes? (He hadn't.) Mars's single question about the tapes restricted the defense to asking only about the tapes. It was a subject the defense sorely wanted to avoid, so Uncle Nick was excused as the attorneys in the room shook their head in disbelief at Mars's shrewdness.

Much to the surprise of the prosecutors, three of the five defendants-Lombardo, my father, and Twan Doyle-took the stand. Who would have thought that the prosecution was going to have multiple chances to cross-examine three of their defendants? In a typical trial, the defendants don't testify; they like to exercise their right not to testify. But this was no typical trial. In a case like Family Secrets, n.o.body expected the defendants to testify, especially when there were incriminating audiotapes of them.

Twan Doyle had attempted to prepare himself for his time on the witness stand, but the street-smart Doyle, once tendered for cross-examination, had a difficult time explaining away why he said what he said to my father on the tapes. Indeed, his defense attorney seemingly tried to soften what he knew would be an impending blow, ending his direct examination with an odd statement: "I'm going to turn you over to Mr. Funk. He's a very good cross-examiner.... Good luck."

And Doyle did indeed have a tough go of it. For example, during Funk's confrontational cross-examination, Doyle visibly struggled when explaining that his prison conversation with my father about shoving an "electric prodder" up my uncle's r.e.c.t.u.m merely concerned recent psychiatric research Doyle had come across. Doyle claimed that he was only discussing this topic with my dad because this approach might help cure Nick of his "insanity." Funk characterized as "laughable" Doyle's a.s.sertions about this form of "shock treatment." my dad because this approach might help cure Nick of his "insanity." Funk characterized as "laughable" Doyle's a.s.sertions about this form of "shock treatment."

"Anthony Doyle, the Freud of the Chicago Police Department, relaying something he read about in the Psychiatric Journal Psychiatric Journal?" Funk asked in response to a defense objection.

Under relentless cross-examination by Markus Funk, Twan Doyle finally lost his carefully monitored cool, angrily rising out of his seat and taking exception to a line of questioning about his physical admiration of my father.

Doyle made the point under direct examination that he was attracted to Frank Calabrese, Sr., when he was a young man because he was strong, worked out a lot, and had big muscles. It was a very strange direct examination. So on cross, Funk inquired about it a little further and Doyle misinterpreted what he was trying to imply, rising out of his chair and asking, "What are you trying to say, Mr. Funk?" Funk did not respond, but instead just looked at him.

Putting Joey Lombardo on the stand was a bold effort to sell the seventy-eight-year-old mobster as neighborly and fatherly. Dressed in a gray jacket and a silver tie, Lombardo flashed his quirky sense of humor when he remarked how cops were lousy tippers back when, as a young shoeshine boy, he gave them five-cent shines. Lombardo grinned and flirted with a blond court reporter. He chatted with the court's sketch artist. He reminisced about his athletic ability as a skater, a golfer, and a handball player as he turned his chair toward the jury while he spoke.

My father's charm on the stand was fleeting, as it didn't take long for his impatience and arrogance to surface. Nor did his snickering and groaning from the defendants' table bolster his cause.

Once a person has testified, the other side can comment on his demeanor. When my dad was audibly giggling while the court was going over a homicide that he had committed, it was fair commentary on his behavior for Funk to stop, point at him, and say, "Is there anything funny here?" Conversely, if the prosecutors had seemed afraid to point at my father or look him in the eye, it would have sent a message to the jury that the defendants were in charge. For a mob trial like Family Secrets, it was important to give the jurors and other people in the room the sense that the prosecution was not afraid of them. had seemed afraid to point at my father or look him in the eye, it would have sent a message to the jury that the defendants were in charge. For a mob trial like Family Secrets, it was important to give the jurors and other people in the room the sense that the prosecution was not afraid of them.

As court-savvy as the defendants were, they were used to being catered to, feared, and treated like bosses. Thus they didn't respond well to being accused, questioned, and second-guessed in public. Inside their world, they'd always been the bosses. No one had ever talked back to my father, other than maybe Angelo or Johnny Apes. Thanks in part to my role in the pretrial preparation, not only was I ready for cross-examination, but the prosecutors, especially T. Markus Funk, really knew how to push my father's b.u.t.tons by pointing at him, raising their voices, and questioning his authority. He was the boss of the crew, and he was not used to having some pipsqueak or some upstart challenging him, let alone making him look bad. The same went for Lombardo. They didn't take well to someone pointing at them or, in their eyes, mocking them and their testimony.

Taking the stand in his defense, complaining of bad hearing and playing the role of the feeble, elderly man, my father recalled his poverty-stricken childhood and how he grew up eating oatmeal for dinner, and how later, as a working man earning millions, he couldn't possibly have had time to perform the killings of which he was accused. As for his a.s.sociation with the Outfit, he insisted that his mentor, Angelo LaPietra, was not his boss.

"He did never control me-never!" he emphasized on the stand. "Many people feared him. Many people couldn't look him in the eye when they talked to him. I never had that problem."

Although I was not allowed to watch his testimony, my father's primary defense was that my family was conspiring to keep him in jail to steal his money, his jewelry, and the car collection with which he was obsessed. He rambled on about the two million dollars he claimed his family members had stolen from him, even as the prosecution objected. As a result, Judge Zagel removed the jury and threatened my dad with contempt if he continued to talk about it after the prosecution objected and the objection was sustained. My father recounted another bizarre tale about my uncle Nick giving him a sloppy holiday kiss on the lips. jury and threatened my dad with contempt if he continued to talk about it after the prosecution objected and the objection was sustained. My father recounted another bizarre tale about my uncle Nick giving him a sloppy holiday kiss on the lips.

"The kiss he gave for Christmas was a Judas kiss," he exclaimed. "My brother was like Alfredo in The G.o.dfather The G.o.dfather. If he wasn't running things and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up, he wasn't happy."

As for his reaction to my testimony, he could only conclude that I could "make Jesus look like the devil on the cross."

John Scully had delivered the opening statement, and Mitch Mars would handle the summary. Markus Funk was entrusted with the closing argument. As he prepared for his closing PowerPoint presentation, Mitch Mars sat in the back of the war room, reclining on a couple of chairs pushed together. He was shuddering from his unrelenting cold and hacking cough, his coat draped over his body like a blanket. Occasionally he'd shout out directions to Mike Maseth and Funk from the back of the room whenever he felt his team was spinning its wheels. Funk was having a difficult time finding his groove.

Having spent the last few years in the trial-intensive Narcotics unit, Funk was not as comfortable with the OC squad's more "scripted" approach to closing arguments. They did a practice round, but about an hour or so into it, he felt something was not right. Maseth and Funk decided to shelve the scripted approach and go back to delivering a closing like Funk would do in a normal multidefendant conspiracy case, working informally off the PowerPoint and doing it free-form instead of closely following prepared statements.

Having had only a few hours' sleep, Funk disappeared to collect his thoughts. Funk's free-form delivery ran five full hours over the course of two days. During his defendant-by-defendant, murder-by-murder, count-by-count survey of the prior months' evidence, Funk repeatedly and directly challenged my father's claims of innocence, taking my father to task for what he had done in life and how he had tried to use his time on the witness stand to distance himself from that conduct.

My father did not appreciate the attention. While discussing one particularly gruesome homicide, Funk caught my father smirking and chuckling to himself. He wheeled around, pointed at my father, and said to the jury, "See this man laughing? There is nothing funny here. There is simply nothing to laugh about in this case!" My father's smile vanished.

Mitch Mars continued the onslaught during his powerful reb.u.t.tal closing argument. In response to Mars's charge that my father had "left a trail of bodies in his wake," my dad blurted out a line that will go down in Family Secrets infamy.

"Dem are lies!"

The jury was not sequestered and was out for three days. On the fourth day, it delivered the verdict. On September 10, 2007, the five defendants were found guilty of racketeering and conspiracy, which included charges of loan-sharking, extortion, and illegal gambling. Over the objections of the defense, the jury took a weeklong break, during which time Judge Zagel revoked Twan Doyle's bail. The jury reconvened to deliberate a breakdown of who they felt was responsible for which murders. On September 27, which marked the thirty-third anniversary of the killing of Daniel Seifert, my father, the Clown, and Little Jimmy were convicted of murder.

My father was found "responsible" for the most killings: seven-those of Michael Albergo, William and Charlotte Dauber, Michael Cagnoni, Arthur Morawski and Richard Ortiz, and John Fecarotta. The jury was deadlocked on his responsibility for six of the deaths: those of Paul Haggerty, Henry Cosentino, John Mendell, Donald Renno, Vincent Moretti, and Butch Petrocelli. (At the time of sentencing, however, in determining if there were "aggravating circ.u.mstances," Judge Zagel would agree with Funk and also hold my father and his co-defendants legally responsible for those additional murders.) James Marcello was found responsible for the murders of Anthony and Michael Spilotro. Joseph Lombardo was responsible for the murder of Daniel Seifert. The jury was deadlocked on Paul Schiro's responsibility for the death of Emil Vaci. (At sentencing, Judge Zagel found Schiro did in fact partic.i.p.ate in the Vaci homicide.) Schiro's responsibility for the death of Emil Vaci. (At sentencing, Judge Zagel found Schiro did in fact partic.i.p.ate in the Vaci homicide.) The verdicts proved to be controversial to the victims' family members, who became very vocal about the outcome. Some had waited decades for justice and closure. Upon hearing the verdicts, Charlene Moravecek, the widow of Paul Haggerty, whose murder remained unaccounted for, cried out, "I've waited thirty-one and a half years for this?"

"I'm feeling pretty c.r.a.ppy," admitted Bob D'Andrea, after the jury deadlocked on whether Jimmy Marcello beat his father to death. "Deadlock might as well be innocent." Zagel later agreed with Funk that Marcello partic.i.p.ated.

After my father was found responsible for shotgunning Richard Ortiz to death, his son, Tony Ortiz, reveled in the conviction. "Finally, it's over. It's closure! We've been waiting for this for a very long time. He won't be smirking any longer."

Once all five defendants were found guilty, a seventeen-month pause preceded sentencing. My uncle received immunity and a small amount of money deposited in his prison commissary account, allowing him to buy toiletries and small food items. His fate, along with the fates of the five defendants, would be decided by Judge Zagel in February 2009, when everyone-the defendants, the legal teams, and the victims' family members-reunited for sentencing. Two key players would be missing from this emotional event, with Funk remaining as the sole member of the trial team still in the employ of the G.

When Mitch Mars approached the witness stand to cross-examine Joe Lombardo, he leaned in and eyeballed the Clown for a few seconds. Lombardo, no stranger to lawyerly intimidation, leaned in and imitated Mars's penetrating stare.

"Mitch was the best lawyer I'd ever seen in my life, bar none," Mike Maseth once told me. "He was fast on his feet and he knew how to deal with witnesses and other lawyers. He knew how to deal with the judge. n.o.body could get anything past him."

While Lombardo took the stand in his defense and denied his role as an Outfit gangster, Mars designated him as a capo of the Grand Avenue crew. He was not, Mars a.s.serted, financier Allen Dorfman's errand boy, and he did more than conduct illegal dice games. The Clown, also known as Lumpy, embezzled and brokered multimillion-dollar deals with Dorfman. Mars wondered aloud how an exshoeshine boy lackey would score $2 million on a Dorfman-orchestrated transaction that cost Lombardo out of pocket $43,000.

Mars hammered away at Lombardo's involvement in the Seifert slaying, the prosecution's most challenging aspect of Operation Family Secrets. During closing arguments he presented seventeen reasons why Lombardo was guilty of murder. (When discussing the Spilotro case, Mitch gave the jury 240,000 reasons why Marcello was guilty of Tony and Michael's slayings-that would be the $240,000 that Marcello paid Uncle Nick to keep his mouth shut. Mars argued that someone would not pay that kind of money unless he had good reason to-like covering up a murder.) Mars cross-examined Joey Lombardo and carved him up, according to court observers. It's not that he screamed or yelled-Mitch was only five foot seven and he was not flashy. Markus Funk, despite his years spent in the hallowed halls of academia, was more your prototypical prosecutor, an imposing six-foot-four blond opponent.

Yet every one of those mobsters knew Mitch because he had been the Chief of the Organized Crime Section of the U.S. Attorney's Office for the past fifteen years and had tried the most significant organized crime cases in the country. Honest to a fault and a man of unimpeachable integrity, Mitch usually credited his trial partners, FBI agents, and those who made contributions to the prosecution of a successful case.

During the trial Mitch had a persistent cough and was told by his colleagues to get to the doctor. If he had any other serious health problems during the trial, he didn't let on to his a.s.sociates. Wanting to see it through to the verdicts, Mitch didn't visit the doctor until early October of 2007. He never returned to his beloved office. the doctor until early October of 2007. He never returned to his beloved office.

Everybody a.s.sumed he had a cold. Right after the trial, he finally went to the doctor to get some tests. After Mike Maseth called up Mars and asked how the tests were going, Mars told Mike he couldn't get them done because his oxygen levels were too low. "What do you mean your oxygen levels are too low?" The doctors took an X-ray and found that he had a liter and a half of fluid in his lungs. They removed the fluid and did a CAT scan, and two days later the doctors diagnosed cancer in both lungs.

After hearing the news that he had lung cancer, Mars, a non-smoker, quietly arranged for a leave of absence. Four months later, on Tuesday night, February 19, 2008, Mitch Mars died at age fifty-five.

The next morning Patrick Fitzgerald sent out a personal e-mail to his staff. "We lost a very dear friend and a treasured colleague today," wrote Fitzgerald. He praised Mars's long career of public service.

Mars first joined the U.S. government in 1977 as a staff lawyer for the House of Representatives, having served on the House investigation of the John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., a.s.sa.s.sinations. In 1980 Mars joined the Organized Crime Strike Force in Chicago, and in 1990 his office merged with the U.S. Attorney's Office. In 1992 Mars became the Organized Crime supervisor, a position he held until 2007, along with the t.i.tle of a.s.sistant U.S. Attorney.

Mitch Mars came from the South Side of Chicago, and like many of his Outfit adversaries, he rooted for the White Sox rather than the Chicago Cubs. In addition to convicting my father, James Marcello, and Joe Lombardo, Mars successfully prosecuted Albert "Caesar" Tocco, Ernest Rocco "Rocky" Infelise, Harry Aleman, Salvatore "Solly" DeLaurentis, cocaine dealer John Cappas, former Cicero mayor Betty Loren-Maltese, and former Cicero a.s.sessor Frank Maltese.

Mike Hartnett had done the Betty Loren-Maltese Cicero case with Mitch Mars and recalled how the trial lasted thirteen pressure-packed weeks. Hartnett agreed that Mars was the best in a courtroom. Great directs, spectacular cross-examinations. He could tear someone apart, but he had such a great personality, he didn't come off as c.o.c.ky or egotistical. case with Mitch Mars and recalled how the trial lasted thirteen pressure-packed weeks. Hartnett agreed that Mars was the best in a courtroom. Great directs, spectacular cross-examinations. He could tear someone apart, but he had such a great personality, he didn't come off as c.o.c.ky or egotistical.

According to his colleagues, Mars became a prosecutor for just the right reason: to put criminals in jail. He didn't use it as a stepping-stone to go into the lucrative private sector. He treated federal agents and courthouse staff with respect. If Mitch was trying the case, the Feds knew they weren't going to lose. They didn't care which defense attorneys were on the other side. Mars would smoke them.

Another of Mars's contemporaries recalled Mitch's intuitive ability to zero in on a potentially hot case. Back in 1982 one of the suspects Mars was looking at was Paul "Peanuts" Panczko, a notorious robber and burglar who spent twenty-three years in and out of prison. Panczko had been involved in staking out a place. He and his cohorts got stopped by some Chicago cops (one of them being Dennis Farina, the future actor). Peanuts had a gun with him. Since he was a convicted felon, this was illegal.

When the case was brought in-you had to get an indictment approved by the U.S. Attorney-the government initially wasn't going to prosecute the case. But Mitch decided, "Let's go after him for this gun. He probably knows a lot and we need to keep him off the street."

Consequently, Peanuts Panczko cooperated and went into the Witness Protection Program, but not before he wore a wire against other mobsters, including James "Dukey" Basile. Mars's move created a chain reaction, and after he was busted, Dukey wore a wire against Jerry Scarpelli, another mob killer involved with the Wild Bunch.

Unlike many lawyers who sit in their s.p.a.cious offices and have a hard time relating to the average person, Mitch was was the average person. If he went to meet somebody, he would drive his own car and run out into the rain with the hood of his jacket up. He wasn't the the average person. If he went to meet somebody, he would drive his own car and run out into the rain with the hood of his jacket up. He wasn't the almighty guy. Although he was smarter than many, it wasn't always about doing things his way. He listened intently, and that was why he was able to prosecute our case so flawlessly. almighty guy. Although he was smarter than many, it wasn't always about doing things his way. He listened intently, and that was why he was able to prosecute our case so flawlessly.

Mars had a bottom-line way of getting to the facts. For example, during the Family Secrets trial, Uncle Nick testified about the number of bosses who were at the Bensenville house for the ambush and murder of the Spilotros. Many were skeptical that so many mob higher-ups would actually be there. Jimmy Marcello's lawyer, Marc Martin, called Nick a liar and questioned his testimony about the killers wearing gloves. Why wouldn't the streetwise Spilotro brothers, Martin asked, flee after seeing a bunch of mobsters waiting for them wearing gloves?

"They [the Spilotros] weren't going to get out of the house no matter what they thought," Mars replied. "[The mobsters] could have worn T-shirts that said, 'We're Here to Kill the Spilotros.' It didn't matter. They weren't getting out of there."

On February 23, 2008-almost a year before sentences were handed down-funeral services were held for Mitch.e.l.l Mars in a village named, appropriately, Justice, Illinois. The road to Justice was closed as the motorcade drove west from Chicago-which would have irritated Mars for the inconvenience it might have caused the average citizen.

Beside each on-ramp to the expressway, people waved. Later, an honor guard presided over his viewing at the Damar Kaminski Funeral Home in Justice. Three thousand people showed up between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. on a workday. People who had never met Mars waited in a line for two and a half hours to pay their respects and view the casket.

One person who came through the line said to Mitch's mom, "I never met your son but I just wanted to come and say thank you. You raised a great son. He did great things for this community. We need more people like him."

John Scully delivered the eulogy at a private Catholic service at St. Cletus Cathedral in LaGrange the following day. Later that week, a memorial ceremony was held at the Dirksen Federal Building. The ceremonial courtroom was filled with six hundred fellow professionals, and Mike Maseth spoke to the crowd. Building. The ceremonial courtroom was filled with six hundred fellow professionals, and Mike Maseth spoke to the crowd.

Was Family Secrets Mars's greatest case? Who knows? But I think it is fair to say that Family Secrets was the culmination of his career. He'd done a lot of mob cases, more than any other person in the history of Chicago. Make no mistake, Mitch was a thorn in the Outfit's side.

"Criminal cases are about accountability and justice," said Mitch Mars during the closing arguments of the trial, "not only for the defendants, but also justice for our system, justice for our society, and justice for the victims. Our system works. It is the greatest system in the world. But it only works when those who should be held accountable are held accountable."

Five weeks after the guilty verdicts were announced, Mitch Mars sent a letter to my father's lawyer, Joe Lopez, stating that prosecutors Mars and Funk had met with an anonymous jury member regarding an alleged threat that my dad had directed to U.S. Attorney Funk during the trial's contentious closing arguments. According to the letter, a copy of which was sent to Judge Zagel, the juror "partly heard and partly read" my father's lips saying to Funk, "You're a f.u.c.king dead man." According to the letter, during deliberations, three other jurors "confirmed the juror's observations and heard Mr. Calabrese say the same thing." alleged threat that my dad had directed to U.S. Attorney Funk during the trial's contentious closing arguments. According to the letter, a copy of which was sent to Judge Zagel, the juror "partly heard and partly read" my father's lips saying to Funk, "You're a f.u.c.king dead man." According to the letter, during deliberations, three other jurors "confirmed the juror's observations and heard Mr. Calabrese say the same thing."

Lopez dismissed the threat as "nonsense," the figment of "an overactive imagination." But the accusation set off alarms among the co-defendants. Rick Halprin, Lombardo's attorney, stated, "I have grave concerns about this. This is, to say the least, novel. You would a.s.sume it impacted their [the jury's] thought process. We know from the letter that one-third of them talked about it."

Marc Martin, representing Jimmy Marcello, claimed that from the start of the trial, Marcello had been angling for a severance from my father, his grumbling and snickering co-defendant. "Marcello has been complaining about this since day one and this just adds more fuel to the fire," Martin told the press, and he vowed to raise the issue during posttrial motions. He questioned whether the prosecutors broke the rules by meeting with the juror without the court's permission.

"My client has more brains than that," Lopez responded. "We were surrounded by FBI agents and U.S. Attorneys and spectators and n.o.body heard anything, and now a month later? Why wasn't something said immediately?"

During trial testimony regarding my dad, Joey Lombardo was overheard saying, "Man, I'm tied to the b.u.mper of the car this guy's driving and he's dragging me over the cliff with him."

Judge Zagel called for an unusual closed-door hearing to "establish the details surrounding the alleged remarks." While the defense attorneys requested a retrial once the jurors were called back and questioned, Judge Zagel declined such action, opting to call in the juror who had originally stepped forward. During the hearing, the juror was asked questions and Funk was put under oath and cross-examined by defense counsel. Judge Zagel, having heard all the evidence he needed, ruled that my father had in fact uttered the threat. Another set of facts had been resolved against my dad. Zagel, having heard all the evidence he needed, ruled that my father had in fact uttered the threat. Another set of facts had been resolved against my dad.

Three months later, on June 11, 2008, it was time for Frank Schweihs to face the music. Schweihs was as treacherous on the streets as my father. Potential witnesses were hoping that the German would die before his trial date so that they wouldn't have to take the stand. Ailing from cancer and emaciated, he was confined to a wheelchair, which didn't rob the German of any of his trademark charm. During the criminal hearing, the seventy-eight-year-old Schweihs struggled out of his wheelchair and gazed over at Funk, who was to first-chair (lead) the prosecution, and called him out. "You making eyes at me? Yeah, you...you making eyes at me?"

Funk did not respond verbally, but the look he shot Schweihs spoke for itself.

Seated near Schweihs was another federal prosecutor, Amarjeet Bhachu. Bhachu, a Sikh, wore a turban, which further irritated the irascible gangster.

"Where are we, in a foreign country?"

Schweihs's trial was scheduled to start in October 2008, with Funk leading the team, and prosecutors Bhachu and Marny Zimmer backing him up, but the German wouldn't make it-lung cancer and a brain tumor claimed him six weeks later. His funeral was marred when the body was delivered late to the mortuary. His family, already upset that Schweihs had pa.s.sed away without any family members present, was more distressed when his funeral was delayed after the Cook County medical examiner, by regulation, demanded that the body be examined because Schweihs had died in custody. "Mobster's Late for His Own Funeral," the Sun-Times Sun-Times headline smirked, highlighting that the German was someone only a mother or a close family member could love. This is the same Schweihs that mob boss Jimmy Marcello referred to as "Hitler," as in "Give it to Hitler," the order to murder someone. An anonymous "mourner" showed up at the funeral parlor and headline smirked, highlighting that the German was someone only a mother or a close family member could love. This is the same Schweihs that mob boss Jimmy Marcello referred to as "Hitler," as in "Give it to Hitler," the order to murder someone. An anonymous "mourner" showed up at the funeral parlor and was asked why he attended. He replied, "I just wanted to make sure he was dead." was asked why he attended. He replied, "I just wanted to make sure he was dead."

By September of 2008, with Frank Schweihs dead and buried, Judge Zagel quashed the notion of a Family Secrets retrial for four of the defendants, clearing the way for final sentencing. But prior to his sentencing, my father would pull one more stunt that would land him deeper in federal solitary confinement. As a result of a bizarre eighteen-page letter that was smuggled out, typed up, and e-mailed to Frank Coconate, a Chicago political activist and longtime friend of both me and my dad, the letter and additional information emerged indicating that my father intended to make good on his threat to kill Funk. He was then transferred to the MCC's toughest lockdown.

Coconate and I had a long history dating back to when we both worked for the city of Chicago. My dad took an instant liking to Coconate, one of my closest friends and running buddies, a brash personality with a history of taking on local Chicago politicians and city officials. Coconate was one of the few among my friends who hung out socially with my father and Diane in Florida, where the Calabrese family vacationed.

A gadfly, Coconate, after receiving the text via e-mail, surrendered the contents of the note to local ABC newsman Chuck Goudie. Whether or not the opening sentence, "Hi to my friend how are you and your family doing?" is a veiled threat to Coconate's family, most of the stream-of-consciousness writing is directed at trying to enlist Coconate to take to the streets and investigate the dangling factors involving my father's case. Part of the text is fixated (to the point of obsession) on the "disappearance" of a stable of antique cars that my dad had stashed in Huntley, Illinois.

Throughout the trial, my father maintained that I had stolen his automobiles. The topic persisted until Judge Zagel, with the jury removed, dealt with the subject by calling witnesses and trying to get to the bottom of his accusations. Failing to find any relevance to the case or to my father's culpability, the subject of his missing antique cars was set aside.

The Coconate letter itself is a fascinating study. On one level, it's the ramblings of a maniac. On another, it's a mad manipulator at work. He sets up the letter by baiting Coconate, an extremely jealous man involving anything to do with his wife, whom I dated in high school. it's the ramblings of a maniac. On another, it's a mad manipulator at work. He sets up the letter by baiting Coconate, an extremely jealous man involving anything to do with his wife, whom I dated in high school.

While I was away at Milan, with my son, he told me some ridiulas [sic] lies about you and your wife.... I would like to tell you what he said, but I would rather tell you in person about you and your wife. You will not be happy.

Throughout the letter are a series of questions and reminiscences put to Coconate.

Do you remember when you would come by the house, with my son, and your wife, [did you] ever see me mistreating my boys or their wives?

Question. You remember how Jr. was so humble, and kind to me when we were at Miland [sic]? Did you not see him hug and kiss me, and tell me that he loved me?

Question. Tell me everything you can in regards to Frankie telling you how he wanted to set me up....

Again please think hard. I want you to please tell me anything you can about my son Kurt or his brother Frank. If they were involved in buisness(es) [sic] ...

Do you know if Jr. has been spending a lot of money? And where has he been spending it at?

Toward the end of his frantic screed, my father goes on a religious rant that twists his interpretation of Christianity and the Bible (paraphrasing Mark 13:12) to fit his circ.u.mstances. This from the man who referred to the Apostles' Creed as "Apollo Creed." He goes on in part, Did you ever read the Bible? If you read it you would understand how smart those people 2,000 years ago were. I started reading it because a could [good friend] of mine sent it to me a month after I was locked up. It's amazing, how the Bible tells you things about what's happening in our lifes [ things about what's happening in our lifes [sic] today, that was happening then. It also tells you in the Bible that the son will betray father, father will betray son, brother will betray brother, along with other family members. All because of money and earthly material things.

Now in solitary confinement in an environment reserved for terrorists and enemies of the state, and because of his veiled threats to us and his extraordinary direct death threat to a federal prosecutor, my dad is now closely monitored and restricted to one visitor and one fifteen-minute phone call every couple of weeks.

With prosecutor John Scully retired and prosecutor Mitch Mars deceased, it was left to Markus Funk to handle all of the Operation Family Secrets sentencing and other posttrial litigation. My father wasn't the first of the Operation Family Secrets defendants to be sentenced. Preceding him was Dennis Johnson, described as a "bit player" and the one bright spot among the eleven indicted co-defendants. He received six months in federal prison for his part in converting video poker games into barroom gambling devices while working for Jimmy Marcello's M&M Amus.e.m.e.nt. Johnson was remorseful and vowed to change his ways.

"Take a chance on me," he pleaded with Judge Zagel. "I'm a great person, a good person. I help people whenever I get a chance." While the judge took that chance, Johnson's partners weren't as fortunate. His brother Thomas Johnson and Joseph "Family Man" Venezia received thirty and forty months respectively.

Mickey Marcello received eight and a half years for his part in gathering information for his imprisoned half brother, including his help in inst.i.tuting four thousand dollars in monthly hush money payments to my uncle's family. Nick Ferriola, one of my father's street crew errand boys, received three years. Although the jury was deadlocked on Paul "the Indian" Schiro's role in killing his friend Emil Vaci, he was sentenced to twenty years. Anthony "Twan" Doyle was sentenced to twelve years. His annual police pension of thirty thousand dollars was revoked.

The combined rest.i.tution and forfeiture amount for the Family Secrets defendants totaled over twenty million dollars. In addition, the prosecution made the novel request that the estates of the non-career-criminal victims be reimbursed for the lost wages resulting from the homicides. Judge Zagel agreed with Funk's legal maneuver, and held the defendants additionally responsible for an additional seven-million-dollar rest.i.tution award. The combined rest.i.tution and forfeiture amount for the Family Secrets defendants totaled over twenty million dollars. In addition, the prosecution made the novel request that the estates of the non-career-criminal victims be reimbursed for the lost wages resulting from the homicides. Judge Zagel agreed with Funk's legal maneuver, and held the defendants additionally responsible for an additional seven-million-dollar rest.i.tution award.