FOR SOME REASONS, I'VE ALWAYS BEEN FASCINATED BY STORIES ABOUT THE MOB IN THE U.S.

HERE IS ONE OF THE LATEST NEWS FEATURES FROM THE ASSOCIATED PRESS ABOUT THEM

La Cosa No-more? Authorities say Italian-American mob is in decline
from tough laws, informants

By Larry McShane
New York, The Associated Press

In early 2004, mob veteran Vincent Basciano took over as head of the Bonanno crime family. The reign of the preening, pompadoured Mafiosi known as Vinny Gorgeous lasted only slightly longer than a coloring dye job from his Bronx hair salon.

Within a year, the ex-beauty shop owner with the hair-trigger temper was behind bars—betrayed by his predecessor, who "ratted" to the FBI. It was a huge blow to Basciano and the once-mighty Bonannos, and similar scenarios are playing out from coast to coast. The Mafia, described as bigger than the corporate giant U.S. Steel at mid-20th century, is more of an illicit mom-and-pop operation in the new millennium.

The mob's frailties were evident in recent months in Chicago, where three senior-citizen mobsters were locked up for murders committed a generation ago; in Florida, where a 97-year-old Mafiosi with a rap sheet dating to the 1930s was imprisoned for racketeering; and in New York, where 80-something boss Matty "The Horse" Ianniello pleaded to charges linked to the garbage industry and union corruption.

Things are so bad that mob scion John A. "Junior" Gotti chose to quit the mob while serving five years in prison rather than return to his spot atop the Gambino family.
At the mob's peak in the late 1950s, more than two dozen families operated nationwide. Disputes were settled by the Commission, a sort of gangland Supreme Court. Corporate change came in a spray of gunfire.

Today, Mafia families in former strongholds like Cleveland, Los Angeles and Tampa are gone. La Cosa Nostra—our thing, as its initiates called the mob—is in serious decline everywhere but New York City. And even there, things are not so great: Two of New York's five crime families are run in absentia by bosses behind bars.

Mob executions are also a blast from the past. The last boss whacked was the Gambinos' "Big Paul" Castellano in 1985. And in Chicago—home to the St. Valentine's Day massacre, the gunning down of six gangsters in a garage by a rival mob in 1929—the last hit linked to the "Outfit" went down in the mid-1990s. The Mafia's ruling Commission has not met in years. Membership in key cities is dwindling, while the number of mob turncoats is soaring. "You arrest 10 people," says one New York FBI agent, "and you have eight of them almost immediately knocking on your door: 'OK, I wanna cut a deal."' The oath of omerta—silence—has become a joke. Ditto for the old world "Family" values—honor, loyalty, integrity—that served as cornerstones for an organization brought to America by Italian immigrants early in the 20th century. "It's been several generations since they left Sicily," says Dave Shafer, head of the FBI organized crime division in New York. "It's all about money."

Which does not mean the Mafia is dead. But organized crime experts say the Italian mob is seriously wounded: shot in the foot by its own loudmouth members, bloodied by scores of convictions, and crippled by a loss of veteran leaders and a dearth of capable replacements. The Bonannos, along with New York's four other borgatas (or families), emerged from a bloody mob war that ended in 1931. The Mafia then became one of the biggest U.S. growth industries, extending its reach into legitimate businesses like concrete and garbage carting and illegal pursuits like gambling and loan-sharking. The mob always operated in the black.

Things began to change in the mid-1980s, when the Mafia was caught in a crossfire of rats, recorded conversations, and RICO—the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations act that made even minor crimes eligible for stiff prison terms. The 20-year sentences gave authorities new leverage, and mobsters who once served four-year terms without flinching were soon helping prosecutors.

The first major RICO indictment came in 1985, with the heads of three New York families and five other top level Mafiosi eventually convicted. It took nearly two decades, but the heads of all five New York families were jailed simultaneously in 2003. And the law has since cut into crime families across the land. To name a few examples:

In Philadelphia, one mob expert estimates the Mafia presence is down to about a dozen hardcore "made" men—full-fledged members. Their number was once about 80.

The New England mob claims barely two dozen remaining made Members—about half the number involved 25 years ago.

In Chicago, home of Al Capone, the head of the local FBI office believes fewer than 30 made men remain. That figure stood at more than 100 in 1990. The city's biggest mob trial in decades ended recently with the convictions of three old-timers for murders from the 1970s and '80s.
The Florida family dominated by Santos Trafficante, the powerful boss linked to assassination plots targeting President John F. Kennedy and Cuban leader Fidel Castro, is gone. The beachfront Mafia of the 21st century is mostly transplanted New Yorkers, and money generated by rackets is not kicked up the chain of command any more.

"You have guys running around doing their own thing," says Joe Cicini, supervisor of the FBI's South Florida mob investigations. "They don't have the work ethic or the discipline that the older generation had."

The decline of "Family values" is nothing new. In January 1990, a government bug caught no less an expert than Gambino boss John Gotti wondering if the next generation of mobsters was equal to their forebears.

"Where are we gonna find them, these kind of guys?" Gotti asked. "I'm not being a pessimist. It's getting tougher, not easier!" "Mob informant" was once an oxymoron, but today the number of rats is enormous—and growing with each indictment. And the mob's storied ability to exact retribution on informants is virtually nonexistent.

"There is no more secret society," says Matthew Heron, the FBI's Organized Crime Section Chief in Washington. Basciano, 48, the one-time owner of the "Hello Gorgeous" beauty parlor, faces trial for plotting to kill a federal prosecutor, a charge that could put him in prison for the rest of his life. The case was brought after his old boss, "Big Joey" Massino, wore a hidden microphone into a jailhouse meeting where the alleged hit was discussed.

The Bonanno family is now led by the inexperienced "Sal The Ironworker" Montagna, just 35 years old, according to the FBI. Montagna shares one trait with his family's founder: He, too, is a Sicilian immigrant.

The mob of the 21st century still makes money the old-fashioned way: gambling, loan-sharking, shakedowns. But there are other, more modern scams, too: The Gambino family collected US$230 million in fraudulent credit card fees linked to pornographic Web sites.

After getting busted, mobsters are quick to offer advice to the FBI about allocating the agency's investigative resources. "I can't tell you how many times we've gone to arrest people, and the first thing a wiseguy says is, 'You should be going after the terrorists," said Seamus McElearney, a New York FBI official.

"They say it all the time: 'You should be doing that.' "And leaving them alone."
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Associated Press writers Curt Anderson in Miami, Denise Lavoie in Boston, Jeremiah Marquez in Los Angeles, Dave Porter in Newark and Maryclaire Dale in Philadelphia contributed to this report.