Teach
12-14-2015, 10:36 AM
I Got Caught On An FBI Wiretap!
El Maestro de Pecado
"Teach,” the voice on the other end of the line said (the voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it). “It’s Guy, Guy Debs, remember me from our days at CBS in Boston,” the voice continued. By this time it started to dawn on me. "Guy, how are you?" I said. "I haven't heard from you in a month of Sundays," I added. "Teach, I've got some news for you," "What's that Guy?” I asked. "You were caught on an FBI wiretap,” he replied. "On an FBI wiretap!" I repeated with a note of utter amazement. "The tapes," he continued, "were played today in a Federal courtroom," "You mean the Feds went after my local bookie; I can't believe it," I continued. "This was no local bookie, Teach," Guy said, "It was a conversation you had had with the head of organized crime in Boston," Guy added. "This is the capo de tutti capi of organized crime in all of Boston.” Guy then said two words that hit me like a thunderbolt: “Gennaro Anguilo”.
As I turn the clock back, when I was growing up in Boston’s inner-city neighborhoods, I was already turning into a degenerate gambler, e.g., gin rummy, poker, the horses (both the flats and the trotters). I would even make a few bets on the numbers (I remember the bookie I dealt with used to write it down on the inside of match covers). I might add that h "the book" wanted to recruit me as “a runner”. I turned it down. Yet, I did know – in some cases on a first name basis - a few “underworld” types who lived and worked in our neighborhood.
Well, in the early 1980s, I had taken a leave-of-absence from teaching to work at CBS radio in Boston. I was CBS radio’s Boston's Manager of Network Sports Operations. Although I wore many hats, my principal job had been to set and run CBS's New England Patriots radio network. I had been brought in to solicit radio stations to join our Patriots radio network (our signal did not carry well into interior parts of New England), to negotiate contracts, and, once the stations were on board, to answer their questions and to take care of their needs.
Oh, one of my other duties was to handle any general inquiries dealing with our sports programming. In that capacity, I frequently answered the phone in our station's sports office. As I recall, one late-spring, early-summer afternoon I received a phone call (I usually don't remember most calls, but this one, I did --- it had to do with horse racing).
Well, I remember that the voice on the other end of the line sounded gruff. It was one of those "deez, demz and doz" calls. Crude! It went something like this: "CBS radio sports," I said as I picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end then said, "Hey, I'm lookin’ for the results for the third race at Suffolk Downs.” (CBS radio was sent the race results by wire and aired them periodically, after a half-hour delay, during our afternoon sports segments). The man at the other end continued, "We're a bunch of ol' timers here at an old-age home in the North End; we like to play the races...” (the voice then trailed off). Well, I recall replying, "Sir, I'm sorry but company policy prohibits me from giving you the race results over the phone." "Whadya mean?" the voice at the other end snapped, "You've got the results. Why can't ya just read'em to me?" I recall saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't." The angry man at the other end of the line then uttered a profanity and slammed the receiver down.
At the time, when all was said and done, I didn't think much of that call. Yet, when Guy Debs called me, it did rekindle my memory of that specific conversation. In hindsight, I wouldn't have thought in a million years that I was talking to an organized crime “kingpin,” and that my conversation was being listened into by a third party, the FBI. As I would soon learn, the reason the tape was being played (there was nothing terribly incriminating on it) in court was that at the time I was talking to this underworld honcho, I was also (heard in the background of our phone conversation) monitoring our on-air programming. The news anchor had inadvertently given an incorrect time-check. She said: "WEEI news-time is now 12:45"; she meant to say 1:45. Well, the underworld guy's "mouthpiece" tried to poke holes in the Feds' case by questioning the tape’s credibility, i.e., altered tapes based on incorrect time-check.
As it turns out, the CBS anchor who gave the incorrect time was called in to testify in the case. She stated that she recalled making an error in reporting the correct time, but it was too late to make a correction (she realized her mistake several minutes later). So there I was, or should I say, there was my voice – for all to hear - being played in court talking to an underworld crime boss. Who would have thought? Yet, if anything, the incident made me more aware. More cautious. After that phone conversation was played in court, I became more cognizant of what I was saying on the phone, and now, I might add, on the Internet. I kept thinking of George Orwell’s novel, 1984. "Big Brother" is really watching us. In the end, I thought, "You never know who may be listening in".
I'll be back with my Monticello picks in an hour or two.
El Maestro de Pecado
"Teach,” the voice on the other end of the line said (the voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it). “It’s Guy, Guy Debs, remember me from our days at CBS in Boston,” the voice continued. By this time it started to dawn on me. "Guy, how are you?" I said. "I haven't heard from you in a month of Sundays," I added. "Teach, I've got some news for you," "What's that Guy?” I asked. "You were caught on an FBI wiretap,” he replied. "On an FBI wiretap!" I repeated with a note of utter amazement. "The tapes," he continued, "were played today in a Federal courtroom," "You mean the Feds went after my local bookie; I can't believe it," I continued. "This was no local bookie, Teach," Guy said, "It was a conversation you had had with the head of organized crime in Boston," Guy added. "This is the capo de tutti capi of organized crime in all of Boston.” Guy then said two words that hit me like a thunderbolt: “Gennaro Anguilo”.
As I turn the clock back, when I was growing up in Boston’s inner-city neighborhoods, I was already turning into a degenerate gambler, e.g., gin rummy, poker, the horses (both the flats and the trotters). I would even make a few bets on the numbers (I remember the bookie I dealt with used to write it down on the inside of match covers). I might add that h "the book" wanted to recruit me as “a runner”. I turned it down. Yet, I did know – in some cases on a first name basis - a few “underworld” types who lived and worked in our neighborhood.
Well, in the early 1980s, I had taken a leave-of-absence from teaching to work at CBS radio in Boston. I was CBS radio’s Boston's Manager of Network Sports Operations. Although I wore many hats, my principal job had been to set and run CBS's New England Patriots radio network. I had been brought in to solicit radio stations to join our Patriots radio network (our signal did not carry well into interior parts of New England), to negotiate contracts, and, once the stations were on board, to answer their questions and to take care of their needs.
Oh, one of my other duties was to handle any general inquiries dealing with our sports programming. In that capacity, I frequently answered the phone in our station's sports office. As I recall, one late-spring, early-summer afternoon I received a phone call (I usually don't remember most calls, but this one, I did --- it had to do with horse racing).
Well, I remember that the voice on the other end of the line sounded gruff. It was one of those "deez, demz and doz" calls. Crude! It went something like this: "CBS radio sports," I said as I picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end then said, "Hey, I'm lookin’ for the results for the third race at Suffolk Downs.” (CBS radio was sent the race results by wire and aired them periodically, after a half-hour delay, during our afternoon sports segments). The man at the other end continued, "We're a bunch of ol' timers here at an old-age home in the North End; we like to play the races...” (the voice then trailed off). Well, I recall replying, "Sir, I'm sorry but company policy prohibits me from giving you the race results over the phone." "Whadya mean?" the voice at the other end snapped, "You've got the results. Why can't ya just read'em to me?" I recall saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't." The angry man at the other end of the line then uttered a profanity and slammed the receiver down.
At the time, when all was said and done, I didn't think much of that call. Yet, when Guy Debs called me, it did rekindle my memory of that specific conversation. In hindsight, I wouldn't have thought in a million years that I was talking to an organized crime “kingpin,” and that my conversation was being listened into by a third party, the FBI. As I would soon learn, the reason the tape was being played (there was nothing terribly incriminating on it) in court was that at the time I was talking to this underworld honcho, I was also (heard in the background of our phone conversation) monitoring our on-air programming. The news anchor had inadvertently given an incorrect time-check. She said: "WEEI news-time is now 12:45"; she meant to say 1:45. Well, the underworld guy's "mouthpiece" tried to poke holes in the Feds' case by questioning the tape’s credibility, i.e., altered tapes based on incorrect time-check.
As it turns out, the CBS anchor who gave the incorrect time was called in to testify in the case. She stated that she recalled making an error in reporting the correct time, but it was too late to make a correction (she realized her mistake several minutes later). So there I was, or should I say, there was my voice – for all to hear - being played in court talking to an underworld crime boss. Who would have thought? Yet, if anything, the incident made me more aware. More cautious. After that phone conversation was played in court, I became more cognizant of what I was saying on the phone, and now, I might add, on the Internet. I kept thinking of George Orwell’s novel, 1984. "Big Brother" is really watching us. In the end, I thought, "You never know who may be listening in".
I'll be back with my Monticello picks in an hour or two.