When I got back from Vietnam at age 22, I worked for Jimmy Hoffa’s Teamsters. I delivered appliances for Sears throughout the five boroughs of New York.
I earned a buck, but I gambled.
I needed an outlet to bet, so one of the guys I worked with hooked me up with his brother, Vinny. He was the real deal.
Vinny did a stretch for a big wise guy from Arthur Avenue, an Italian enclave near the Bronx zoo. Angelo was the “boss of bosses.” In the Bronx, all bookies kicked back cash to Angelo.
After Vinny did Angelo’s “bit,” Angelo hooked up Vinny with three “number shops” in Harlem so he could earn. He bought Vinny a $200,000 house in Westchester. In 1978, 200 large was real money.
I’d settle up with Vinny weekly. As Angelo’s runner, he got 50 percent of my losses. Runners bring in business for bookmakers, so they work off percentage.
Besides being a Bronx Don, Angelo owned a restaurant, Michael’s, and a huge discothèque in New Rochelle.
Another one of Angelo’s runners, Joe, lived above the restaurant. To make ends meet, he also played guitar in Angelo’s restaurant Friday and Saturday nights. He’d stroll, strum and serenade diners with Italian songs.
One Saturday night, before the restaurant got busy, Angelo, Joe and Vinny were eating pasta at the booth in the corner reserved for the boss.
The waiter tells Joe, “Hey, Joe, you got a phone call.”
Joe wipes the napkin across his mouth and walks to the phone.
“What are you, some kind of asshole? Up in your mother’s ****,” he screams and slams the receiver onto the cradle.
He returns to his meal, steaming.
“What the hell was that all about?” Angelo asks.
“Some f****** asshole telling me he’s Robert De Niro, and he wants to put me in a movie. Like I ain’t got enough f****** problems without some asshole breaking my balls.”
Joe returns his napkin to his lap and re-grips his fork.
“Joe, phone call again,” the waiter says.
“Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this shit. I’ve gotta work tonight, and I can’t even eat in peace.”
Joe retraces his steps to the upside-down receiver.
“What are you, some kind of a sick bastard? I swear to Christ, if you were here in front of me, I’d rip your f****** throat out. What did I tell you before? Up in your mother’s ****.”
Down slams the phone again as Joe returns to the table,
“What a f****** asshole. Can you believe this guy? Did one of you two guys put this asshole up to this shit? Bobby De Niro, I’m up to my ass in debt. I’m working two jobs trying to earn, keep my head above water, and some asshole’s got nothing better to do than break my f****** balls.”
Angelo and Vinny swig, laugh then hoist their wineglasses.
“Salute, Joe Pesci, movie star.”
Thirty minutes later, the door opens and in walks Robert De Niro. Celebrated smirk chiseled in place, he approaches Joe’s table and extends his hand.
“Hey, I’m Bobby De Niro. I know we had a misunderstanding on the phone, but I really want you in a movie I’m making.”
Angelo ignores Joe.
“Oh my God, Bobby De Niro. Sit down, mangia, mangia. Hey, Mario, bring a plate for Mr. De Niro.”
Angelo pats the red-velvet seat with a Rolexed wrist and diamond-ringed fingers: “Sit here, Bobby. Have a little vino.”
De Niro explains that he saw a bit part Pesci shot with Danny Aiello. He thought he’d be perfect for a minor part in his latest film, “Raging Bull.” The movie’s being shot in the neighborhood’s Mt. Carmel Gym where Jake LaMotta, who the story is based on, trained.
After dinner and drinks, Angelo insists the four visit his discothèque, “Rings.” They arrive in New Rochelle after midnight and grab four stools at one of three circular bars.
After a few belts, De Niro stares out at the crowded dance floor. He sees a pretty young blonde gyrating beneath the strobe lights. He tells Angelo the girl’s a dead ringer for young Vikki LaMotta, Jake’s wife.
Angelo tells Vinny, “Have the young lady join us at the bar.”
The 17-year-old girl, Cathy Moriarty, gets a break.
She goes on to stardom in Scorsese’s monumental masterpiece, “Raging Bull.”
***
Joe devours the script. He convinces De Niro to let him play the major role of LaMotta’s brother, Joey.
As Sam Spade said when he stared at the Maltese Falcon, this is “the stuff that dreams are made of.”
Joe Pesci skyrockets from “wannabe wise-guy” to film legend in roles such as, “Casino,” “Goodfellas” and “My Cousin Vinny.”
Primarily, Pesci plays himself, or guys he admired all his life. One caveat: Once you work for Angelo, you always work for Angelo.
Angelo relocates to Hollywood to protect his “investment.”
He partners a production company with Walter Matthau, who, fortunately for Angelo and unfortunately for Matthau, is a compulsive gambler.
***
Vinny tells me years later:
“Angelo’s making a fortune. He never uses his own money to produce a film. He overcharges the investors millions in production costs. This way, whatever happens at the box office, they come out ahead. The sweetest racket he ever had.”
***
Talk about sweet rackets: Three years after the worst financial crisis ever perpetuated by fraud on the American people, not a single financial executive has gone to jail. Angelo would have admired that.
Bill O’Connor is a Vietnam veteran, former Bronx firefighter and pub and restaurant owner. O’Connor is currently a journalism major at UF and a standup comic. The irreverent and acerbic O’Connor performs free standup around Gainesville.
