Mob star_ the story of John Gotti.

by Gene Mustain & Jerry Capeci.

PROLOGUE.

EARLY IN 2002, JOHN GOTTI finally shut up. But it wasn't because anyone made him. That he would definitely want you to know. He lost his ability to speak to throat cancer, and then only after he fought it, as he would say, "tooth and nail" for nearly four cruel years. In an operation meant to prolong his life a little while longer, the most voluble of men was silenced. Ten years after he went to prison for life, he was imprisoned further-locked in, as well as up.

He may be dead, or still clinging to life when you read this. Either way, the end of the John Gotti story has arrived. He must have died inside when he lost his ability to talk, for Gotti lived to talk. He loved to gather his men and hold court. He loved to gab, muse, banter, cajole, and abuse. He loved to reminisce, speculate, and editorialize. He was good at it, too. His way with words distinguished him from other gangsters. In his gruff, crude way, he was lyrical, clever, and vivid. He could use words like knives. Backed by guns, he rose to power on them. Unable to stop talking, he lost power because of them.

After he went to prison for good, his way with words was all he had left. "Right now, I'm cursed," he said early in 1998, after six years in solitary confinement at the toughest prison in America and eight months before the cancer came. "I'm stuck in this joint and that's the end of it. This is my realm, right here. That's the end of it."

On that day, during a visit with his daughter Victoria and brother Peter, he used his way with words to artfully spin his legal history and life story. "You know why I'm here? It took them $80 million in three lying cases and seven rats that killed a hundred people in the witness-protection program to finally frame me! You understand?" A little later, he added: "My life dictated that I take each course that I took. I didn't have any multiple choice. My time, all the doors were closed."

He spoke for four hours that day and four the next. He raged at the decimation of his crime Family since he went way, and he lamented a case that had fallen on his son Junior and another case about to fall on his son-in-law Carmine. He said he felt increasingly estranged from his relatives and complained of being forgotten-except by strangers who sent fan mail.

Despite the doom and gloom, he sounded as egomanical as ever-"listen to me carefully, you'll never see another guy like me if you live to be 5,000." Talking about his mail, which did come in bundles after his name was in the news for something, he was so over the top he sounded delusional. "I get mail from all over the world where people wish they could be my grandchildren or my children ... I got mail last night from Australia, South Africa, New Zealand-this was all last night! ... I got a million people who, if they could come here to see me now, they would cry just to be able to be here and see me."

He quoted some letters at length, including that of a 14-year-old Idaho girl writing a school paper on celebrities. She wanted him to write back and answer a few questions. "She says, 'You know, I don't know if you know it, there are millions of people out here (who) really love and adore you and respect you. I guess you and America was what was meant to be!' This is a 14-year-old kid! None of my relatives ever write that!"

Between quoting letters, he insisted he didn't care about them. It was obvious that he did, and it made you feel sorry for him. "I got a letter from England. (From) a couple, they just had a baby. They own a bunch of curio shops ... they're affluent people. The kid's got carrot-red hair ... you gotta see the letter! They named the baby 'Gianna,' like for Johnny in Italian. These are English people from London! 'We'd be honored'-they sent me pictures of the kids and all that-'we would be honored if you'd be the G.o.dparent' ... this is what the real world thinks!"

Gotti was well aware that his words, as so many more he spoke during what was supposed to be his secret life in crime, were being preserved. All visits between inmates and visitors at the United States Penitentiary in Marion, Illinois-a deliberately harsh h.e.l.lhole for convicts deemed dangerous or incorrigible-are recorded on video and audiotape to discourage plotting of any kind. His words that day, January 29, 1998, and the next are among the most compelling in this book, which uses many Gotti words to tell his story.

His words help us finish the picture we sketched when the first edition of Mob Star Mob Star came out in 1988 and ended on a note of triumph for Gotti. Though the real ending wasn't yet available, the first came out in 1988 and ended on a note of triumph for Gotti. Though the real ending wasn't yet available, the first Mob Star Mob Star remains a good story. It was the first book ever published about a mob boss who was, you might say, still in office. The main story is his rise to power. A key subplot tells the story of two men near him who lived dangerously-for years, they regularly informed on him to the FBI. Still-secret reports on these men's contacts with the FBI will take the reader inside Gotti's world during or after most major episodes of his pre-1985 life in crime in New York. remains a good story. It was the first book ever published about a mob boss who was, you might say, still in office. The main story is his rise to power. A key subplot tells the story of two men near him who lived dangerously-for years, they regularly informed on him to the FBI. Still-secret reports on these men's contacts with the FBI will take the reader inside Gotti's world during or after most major episodes of his pre-1985 life in crime in New York.

These many years later, we can't think of a better book t.i.tle than we thought of then, even though the t.i.tle had unintended consequences. "Mob Star" captures the idea that in his realm, he was a star, and that he came to have the things we a.s.sociate with traditional realms of stardom-money to burn, the best tables, magazine covers, autograph hounds. In truth, it came to us as we considered the word, "mobster." Mob-ster. We were looking to make the second syllable into something. Mob Man ... Mob Boss ... Mob Star! Mob Star!

The t.i.tle implied adulation we never felt. It fed Gotti fantasies, his and others. Just as it was for us, it was a thrill for him to see copies of Mob Star Mob Star filling Fifth Avenue shop windows. The book's cover, if not the story inside, made him feel heroic. It became part of the mythical ident.i.ty he created in America and a large part of the world during his time at the top. His time lasted five years. That is the story we tell in the eight new chapters that begin with Chapter 28, "The Fix." filling Fifth Avenue shop windows. The book's cover, if not the story inside, made him feel heroic. It became part of the mythical ident.i.ty he created in America and a large part of the world during his time at the top. His time lasted five years. That is the story we tell in the eight new chapters that begin with Chapter 28, "The Fix."

Over those years, by winning trials in the world's media capital and swaggering in the ensuing spotlight, Gotti did become famous or infamous, take your pick. In the hype-around-the-clock culture just taking off when he came on the scene, fame and infamy are the same thing. It happened because of who he was and what people expected. He was a perfect picture of what everyone imagines Mafia bosses to be. He was gravel-voiced and smart-alecky, and handsome in a dangerous-looking way. He was good on his feet. He did for the Mafia what JFK did for politics 25 years before; he made it entertaining.

A master criminal he was not, but what he was and came to stand for are at least fascinating. "Best I ever did was a couple hijackings," Gotti once said. But people don't know or care about rap-sheet details. What mattered with him was perception. He was what we imagine gangsters to be. He looked like one. He sounded like one. He was straight out of a shared experience, the gangster movie. "He was a James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson-type of gangster," was how a former New York detective, Joseph Coffey, described him during a doc.u.mentary a couple years ago.

Gotti brought the movies to life, which made it possible to invest real emotions in him: awe, envy, fear. Early on, when the press began pulling back the curtains on his life, the public learned that in 1980 a Gotti neighbor drove his car into one of Gotti's children and killed him. It was a horrible accident, but some months later the man was thrown into a van by several men and was never seen again. The case was never solved, but everyone believes Gotti ordered the man killed, and he no doubt did. He had the power and will to do what many of us would feel like doing if we lost a child that way, and he got away with it, which we could only dream of doing.

Where it got more fascinating with Gotti was that he saw himself a gangster actor, too. He relished the role and was good at it-in public, anyway. In private, as the Marion tapes show, he was often repulsive. (He railed on about "c.o.o.ns," "n.i.g.g.e.rs" and Jews, and called his wife-in front of their daughter-a pig, a tramp, and a witch.) But in public, with his silvery showiness and sly smirks, he fed the public's fantasies, which fed his.

It is hard to overstate the imprint The G.o.dfather The G.o.dfather tale left on the minds of people who dream about living by one's own rules, and on the minds of the Mafiosi who actually do. The movie version, with its even more romanticized treatment of Mafia life, came out in 1972. In the underworld then, the popular but mistaken notion was that it was based on the life of Carlo Gambino, leader of the Mafia Family known by his last name and which included then 31-year-old John Gotti, just out of the joint for hijacking. tale left on the minds of people who dream about living by one's own rules, and on the minds of the Mafiosi who actually do. The movie version, with its even more romanticized treatment of Mafia life, came out in 1972. In the underworld then, the popular but mistaken notion was that it was based on the life of Carlo Gambino, leader of the Mafia Family known by his last name and which included then 31-year-old John Gotti, just out of the joint for hijacking.

When his crew leader was forced to lay low a while, Gotti took the man's place in meetings with the aging Gambino. It was no doubt heady stuff because a year later, after his arrest on a disorderly conduct charge, Gotti gave his name as John "DeCarlo" (son of Carlo). Gambino didn't much look like a gangster, but he talked like a G.o.dfather. He was p.r.o.ne to selectively quoting from The Prince, The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli's treatise on power. Soon, so was Gotti. "Fear is a stronger emotion than love" became one of his favorite lines. Niccolo Machiavelli's treatise on power. Soon, so was Gotti. "Fear is a stronger emotion than love" became one of his favorite lines.

By the time Gotti murdered his way to the top late in 1985, the G.o.dfather tradition was in steep decline. The federal government was putting all the big bosses away for life with new laws and surveillance capability that made it risky to even whisper about crime. Gotti went against the grain by beating a federal case and two state ones. That put him in the crosshairs of everyone with a badge. But he could not change who he was. Instead of retreating out of sight to try and operate on the sly, he paraded in public. Madison Square Garden one night, Rainbow Room the next. Worse, he required his men to attend weekly shapeups at his social club on a busy street in lower Manhattan. There and a block away on Prince Street, he took daylight "walk-talks," t.i.tillating pa.s.sersby and taunting cops, agents, and "girl" prosecutors.

On the Marion tapes, many years of numbing incarceration and terrible sickness later, he had only this to say about whether he should have done things differently, and, for once, he had trouble getting the words out: "I take credit for my, my, my bad doings. I made mistakes."

The Marion tapes were recorded about 18 months after Gotti, in prison, got what he may have never gotten before, at least not since he was a boy-a good beating. The scene was set during one of his cherished breaks from solitary confinement, when he and other inmates were allowed to exercise in an indoor recreation area just off his cell.

"Get out of my way, you piece of s.h.i.t," Gotti barked at another con who didn't show enough respectful s.p.a.ce quickly enough. "Don't you know who I am?"

The inmate, a black man about 20 years younger than the then 56-year-old Gotti, did indeed know who Gotti was, and he let Gotti by, with a scowl. The next time they were in the recreation area, however, the heavily muscled inmate sucker-punched Gotti, then beat him b.l.o.o.d.y before guards tore him away.

No one in the Gotti camp ever spoke publicly about it, least of all Gotti, and for sure not during tape-recorded visits with his relatives where he knew he ran the risk that tapes could be leaked, as these indeed were, to us, and the world would get the story of him getting his. Given what he wouldn't talk about, it's amazing what he did.

Aside from the vicious epithets for his wife Victoria, he criticized his son Peter for ignoring his advice and failing to write. He criticized daughters Victoria and Angela for failing to send timely photographs and letters and burdening him with problems he was helpless to do anything about. He said his son Junior and some codefendants in a case just filed "should all be sent to the insane asylum" for their criminal mistakes. He called son-in-law Carmine Agnello a "slob" who "conducts himself like a barbarian."

"You can't be more disappointed than I am in my family, utterly impossible," he said to his brother Peter, after daughter Victoria briefly stepped away from their Marion visitors' cubicle. "If I could go home, I say it right out, I wouldn't go near them with a ten-foot-long f.u.c.king pole."

The most powerful moment on the Marion tapes came when a Gotti grandchild-dressed in a suit, as though bound for a wedding or a funeral-entered the cubicle to say h.e.l.lo. The meeting began with gentle razzing. Then Gotti told the child that if he did well in school, some day he could be a lawyer. The child already had someone to emulate-his mother Victoria, a successful writer. After her father went to prison, she wrote a top-selling mystery novel and a book about a heart ailment she suffers. His notoriety fueled curiosity buying of the novel, but at least her words were being put to honest use, and she would go on to write two more mystery novels.

With his mother now back in the cubicle, however, the child said he would rather be a professional athlete. His grandfather insisted on a lawyer: "To be a good basketball player or baseball player, first of all, you got to be a good liar. A good lowlife and an imbecile."

The child said nothing and squirmed in his chair.

"And you got to take steroids! You must take steroids, and anybody who takes steroids is a garbage pail."

Finally, softly, the boy replied: "Fine, then I will be a crook."

The words were a sharp slap to Gotti's face, sharper than the grandchild probably knew or meant. Briefly speechless, Gotti leaned back, stared, and then exploded.

"I don't care if you'll be nothin'! You think you're being ... spiteful with me? You'll get an a.s.s-kicking from me! I know how to raise children!"

The boy stayed silent.

"You ain't doing me no favor coming to see me talking sa.s.s to me! I will put my foot right up your a.s.s, you hear me?"

The boy fidgeted and peered through the gla.s.s barrier separating him from Gotti, cradling one of the cubicle's telephones on his shoulder.

"You'll never forget the a.s.s-kicking you'll get from me. You understand? Don't you look at me like that. I'm more serious than cancer. You can look as sad as you want. Now, give that phone to your uncle and get outta here!"

The boy fled, head down. His mother soon left too, after agreeing that her child did deserve a whipping for smarting off.

A couple moments later, Gotti said to his brother: "That's why these visits, I told you, I got to keep them to a minimum. When I go back upstairs (to my cell), it breaks my heart ... let's try and salvage some of this visit. You know anything good? Anything good anyone wants to talk about?"

A long silent ensued. "Not really, everything's normal," Peter finally said.

"That's perfect," Gotti answered, "that's terrifying. Normal. Normal in this family is terrifying, that's for sure. Normal in this family is terrifying."

Later, with daughter Victoria back in the cubicle, Gotti turned to another topic obviously stuck in his gloomy craw: His family failed to send him a photograph of his kids and their kids for the Christmas just past. He blamed Victoria the most, but she protested she had. He kept insisting she hadn't.

"I don't want to hurt you," he told her. "I want to die before you have a toothache. But I got nothing! I got no group picture!"

Victoria remained silent as Gotti raised his voice and sarcastically fumed that he received group photographs from many other admiring families, just not his own. "I didn't get none from mine! I got nothing! Nothing!"

Victoria then exited the cubicle again. Gotti turned to Peter: "What, am I wrong? I gotta beg them for a group picture of my grandchildren! When you come [the next time], come the f.u.c.k alone!"

His loss of power and freedom and the bleak terms of confinement-until he was hospitalized, he lived in a gray, closet-sized cell with only a 13-inch black-and-white television for company-were enough to put Gotti in a permanently agitated state, but his son Junior's legal troubles contributed to his hair-trigger mood the days of the visit. Junior and others were indicted a week earlier in a case based partially on evidence hidden behind a bas.e.m.e.nt wall in a building owned by a friend of Junior's; the evidence included lists of "made men" in three Mafia Families and men who gave Junior cash when he got married-plus the cash itself, all $350,000 of it.

"These people here, if ever found guilty, they should never be sent to jail," Gotti yelled at Peter. "They should all be sent to the insane asylum. From keeping the wedding money down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, right down the line. I want to know what part of this was intelligent!"

At least with Junior, Gotti paused to say how it was impossible for him to love Junior more than he did. Then he compared Junior to his uncle, Gotti's brother Gene, who went to prison for heroin dealing. "He's a tough kid, he's a smart kid, but he's another (Gene). They think they know everything and they don't. It's heartbreaking."

Gotti said he was sick of getting only bad news. He then took off after daughter Angela for failing to tell him about such good news as a new house. He complained he hadn't received a letter from son Peter in two years.

"I wish one day you would bring me good news," he told his brother. "I really wish one day you would bring me good news. You know more about Angela's house than I do."

Peter protested that he didn't even know where the house is.

"You know more than me ... I know absolutely nothing!"

His voice rising higher, Gotti growled that son Peter not only failed to write, he ignored his wishes. It hurt because men of "lesser ilk" had sons who do what their fathers say.

"If I tell him, 'Go this way,' he goes that way," Gotti said. "If I tell him, 'Go that way,' he goes this way.

"I don't know absolutely nothing about none of them. I don't know if they're home, who's living together no more, who ain't living together no more, who's talking.

"And I don't want to know. They choose that route, ahh, let them take that route."

With Victoria back in the cubicle, he started up again, complaining that he is forced to extract information about some relatives, such as her husband.

"So what's the story with Carmine?" he asked.

"Whaddya mean, what's the story with him?" she replied.

"Is he feeling good? Is he not feeling good? Is his medication increased? Decreased? Is it up? Down? Does he get in the back seat of the car and think someone has stolen the steering wheel?"

"It's the same," she said, answering only the question about medication.

Gotti predicted that hot-tempered Carmine, who operated a car-salvage business between minor dustups with cops, would be the next member of the clan to get in serious trouble. "He's gonna get in-dicted any day, this moron. He's built himself a gallows. He's bought the noose."

Near the end of a visit saying much of what there is to say about John Gotti doing hard time, Gotti recalled for Peter that one of their early Mafia mentors had warned that it was best for mobsters if they never married.

"He was right. In this life, you can't get married. You're better off if you don't have no f.u.c.king body, and this way, that's the end of it."

Author (and now New York newspaper columnist) Victoria Gotti wasn't the only person to benefit from Gotti's notoriety. We did. Besides the original Mob Star Mob Star and this update, we wrote another book about him, and a third about some of his Gambino friends and enemies. We also did television doc.u.mentaries, magazine pieces, and a thousand or so talk-show appearances. Our a.s.sociation with the story brought friendly newspaper and magazine interviews and profiles from New York to Hong Kong, and reasonable status at the and this update, we wrote another book about him, and a third about some of his Gambino friends and enemies. We also did television doc.u.mentaries, magazine pieces, and a thousand or so talk-show appearances. Our a.s.sociation with the story brought friendly newspaper and magazine interviews and profiles from New York to Hong Kong, and reasonable status at the Daily News Daily News, where we used to work. One of us, that's Jerry, owns and operates a very popular website, ganglandnews.com; it gets 200,000 hits a month.

Others also did well on the Gotti beat. John Miller, first for local television, now ABC; Michael Daly, who wrote the first major Gotti profile, in New York New York; the late Mike McAlary, who wrote several great columns for Newsday Newsday, the Post Post and the and the Daily News Daily News, and virtually all the reporters chosen to cover the 1992 trial-with its bomb threats, its tapes, showdowns, and staredowns, it dominated the news in New York for three months.

It wasn't just we reporters. Bruce Cutler, Gotti's lawyer, benefited. So did Gerald Shargel, another Gotti lawyer. They got profiles in GQ GQ and and The New Yorker, The New Yorker, and all the other media they could possibly want. They were good; now they're big. John Gleeson, the lead prosecutor in the 1992 case, is now a federal judge in Brooklyn. Coprosecutor Laura Ward became a judge, too, on the state bench in Manhattan. Bruce Mouw, boss of the FBI's Gambino squad, won a big Justice Department award. Gotti case agent George Gabriel now has his own squad. Remo Franceschini, a Queens detective on many Gotti cases, got what most cops don't, a book about his career: and all the other media they could possibly want. They were good; now they're big. John Gleeson, the lead prosecutor in the 1992 case, is now a federal judge in Brooklyn. Coprosecutor Laura Ward became a judge, too, on the state bench in Manhattan. Bruce Mouw, boss of the FBI's Gambino squad, won a big Justice Department award. Gotti case agent George Gabriel now has his own squad. Remo Franceschini, a Queens detective on many Gotti cases, got what most cops don't, a book about his career: A Matter of Honor: One Cop's Lifelong Pursuit of John Gotti and the Mob. A Matter of Honor: One Cop's Lifelong Pursuit of John Gotti and the Mob.

Going out wider, many other inst.i.tutions and individuals also benefited. HBO got a ratings record out of Gotti, Gotti, which was based on our second book. Other networks and cable channels, publishers, distributors, and bookstores, they all got a bounce out of Gotti. All the publicity also helped create an audience for HBO's which was based on our second book. Other networks and cable channels, publishers, distributors, and bookstores, they all got a bounce out of Gotti. All the publicity also helped create an audience for HBO's The Sopranos The Sopranos series series. Two members of the show's cast, Tony Sirico and Vincent Pastore, were first in Two members of the show's cast, Tony Sirico and Vincent Pastore, were first in Gotti, Gotti, the movie. They and all the other make-believe gangsters from the movie. They and all the other make-believe gangsters from Gotti Gotti shaped up at Elaine's, a media hive on Manhattan's Upper East Side. It is a few blocks from where Gotti, when he was out and about, used to hoist gla.s.ses of Cristal Rose with the late Anthony Quinn, who-the circle keeps turning-portrayed Gotti's gangland mentor in shaped up at Elaine's, a media hive on Manhattan's Upper East Side. It is a few blocks from where Gotti, when he was out and about, used to hoist gla.s.ses of Cristal Rose with the late Anthony Quinn, who-the circle keeps turning-portrayed Gotti's gangland mentor in Gotti. Gotti.

The Sirico-Pastore crew called themselves GAG, for Gangster Actors Guild. "Gotti "Gotti started everything for me," said Pastore; his character was killed off at the end of the second started everything for me," said Pastore; his character was killed off at the end of the second Sopranos Sopranos season, but he has many other roles coming out or up. "Before that, I had bits and pieces. season, but he has many other roles coming out or up. "Before that, I had bits and pieces. Gotti Gotti was the beginning of it all for me." was the beginning of it all for me."

Gotti was the beginning of this reporting and writing partnership, too. It was hard keeping up with him, so four hands were better than two. Our view of him kept evolving because the bigger he became, the more material we kept getting. He did not, of course, give formal interviews, although one of us, that's Gene, spoke with him for 40 minutes once. Everything else, we got through records, tapes, sources on both sides of the law, and observing him in court.

The 40-minute talk was the serendipitous result of being a pool reporter on a pre-trial day in 1992 when the lawyers and judge stepped into chambers and left Gotti free to engage in banter with a writer who wasn't about to encourage him to shut up by asking a hostile question. At the outset, we gossiped about Bill Clinton, Gennifer Flowers, Mike Tyson, and other individuals and current events of the time. He was quick, funny, and cordial, much to the annoyance of the FBI agents and guards also in the room.

As we veered onto some issues in the case, he became theatrical. His voice rose, his shoulders shook, he wagged his fingers. He accused the FBI of crimes. He accused the judge of favoring prosecutors. He accused the lead prosecutor of a personal vendetta going back to the federal case Gotti won in 1987.

"This guy," Gotti shouted, referring to lead prosecutor John Gleeson, "learned how to talk by listening to my voice! This guy, you know what he says to his wife when he gets up in the morning? 'Hi ya, John!'"

It was a marvelous performance, and naturally the News News and many more media front-paged it. By 1992, the Gotti story was far more about media than crime. He used the media to speak to his audience and the media used him to win one. Successful Mafia bosses would be men who die in their own beds and leave organizations that carry on under their names. Gotti gets neither. His organization is in ruin. No one wants to be boss. His social club is now a women's boutique. What he achieved was a stage. and many more media front-paged it. By 1992, the Gotti story was far more about media than crime. He used the media to speak to his audience and the media used him to win one. Successful Mafia bosses would be men who die in their own beds and leave organizations that carry on under their names. Gotti gets neither. His organization is in ruin. No one wants to be boss. His social club is now a women's boutique. What he achieved was a stage.

The show continues. Our other Gotti book still sells. The movie remains popular in stores. Salvatore Gravano, the ex-underboss who took the stand against Gotti, also got a book-and-movie deal. In the summer of 2001, nine years after Gotti went away, even a comedy program, Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, found material in Gotti. Its staff focused on him in three of the five half-hour shows they cooked up about the Mafia in a week-long ratings drive. found material in Gotti. Its staff focused on him in three of the five half-hour shows they cooked up about the Mafia in a week-long ratings drive.

On one of the Gotti shows, the daughter of a man Gotti murdered was one of the guests. She wore a deep tan, black slacks, and a backless, satin top. In an only-in-modern-America few moments, Cindy DiBernardo recalled her father adoringly, then used the language of gangster movies to mythologize Gotti further.

She said Gotti was convicted because he was "given up" by a turncoat "who didn't want to do his time." Anyone who knows the facts of Gotti's trial knows it isn't true. Gotti convicted himself when he got caught on tape in his club. Salvatore Gravano, the "turncoat" DiBernardo was referring to, was just icing. But as far as she was concerned, Gravano was a b.u.m and Gotti was ... a man.

"Whatever John Gotti's agenda was, he is doing his time like a man," she said.

At least one of the show's other guests, Bruce Mouw, retired boss of the FBI's Gotti team, squirmed in his seat. Here was a woman whose father was murdered by Gotti, and only because-as Gotti said on tape played at his trial-of a rumor that he gossiped about Gotti's leadership style behind Gotti's back. But DiBernardo went on: "Whatever (Gotti) is condemned for, whatever he has done wrong, he is doing his time like a man."

It was left to Mouw to try and provide the law enforcement view, that Gotti was just a thug who took power by murder, but DiBernardo and others on the show weren't buying. They, like most people, vaguely sensed he was something more. It was just hard to put fingers on. But he was. For a while, he was what he wanted to be, which is only what we all want.

We are sitting here at our desk. Piles of Gotti paper and records strewn about. We leaf through the notes detailing his declining health, the controversies over whether he was getting adequate treatment, and how he was fighting cancer tooth and nail. We look at the transcripts of various trials, the secret accounts of his secrets. But we keep going back to the Marion prison tapes. We keep being amazed by the self-absorption, then finally see it's how he survived six years alone in a hole and four more of merciless disease.

Here at the end, it's impossible not to feel empathy and a little admiration. He was delusional, but he tried living an impossible life. He tried to live up to expectations. His words and the words of others were the proof he tried hard.

Heroic anti-hero carrying the flag of a dying tradition people outside it don't want to let go. That's a hard role.

"What did I tell you the other day?" he asked Victoria, as they discussed how his son and her husband were following him into prison. "I'm tired, I'm tired. But I'll always be me. I'll always be me until the day I die."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Over the sixteen years-on and off-that it took us to write this book, we spoke to many people whose lives intersected with John Gotti's. We can't thank many of them publicly, but they know who they are, and we especially salute them for trusting us so that we might tell a good story.

Over the same time, we wrote hundreds of articles and columns about the mob star and his grimy world; we covered his trials and most other major events in his public life, and came to read or possess many secret doc.u.ments describing his not-so-public life. Gotti left a very large paper trail.

We can publicly thank many people, including these current and former members of the United States Attorneys' offices in New York: James Comey, Patrick Cotter, Raymond Dearie, Fran Fragos, John Gleeson, Douglas Grover, Karyn Kenney, Walter Mack, Andrew Maloney, Kenneth McCabe, Edward McDonald, Leonard Michaels, James Orenstein, Charles Rose, and Laura Ward. At the Federal Bureau of Investigation, we thank William Doran, James Fox, George Gabriel, Greg Hagerty, George Hanna, Jim Margolin, Bruce Mouw, Arthur Ruffels, Philip Scala, Lewis Schiliro, and Joseph Valiquette.

At the New York state law enforcement level, we thank Ellen Corcella, Michael Cherkasky, Ercole Gaudioso, Barbara Jones, Eric Krause, Robert Morgenthau, Pasquale Perrotta, Jeff Schlanger, and Eric Seidel.