Charles “Lucky” Luciano

January 26, 1962

the Mob-Father

Charles (Salvatore) “Lucky” Luciano—he was the mob boss of all mob bosses. Luciano is what everyone envisions when they hear the word Mafia. There’s a ubiquitous mug shot of Luciano that so epitomizes the mob and the man—that famous sneer, those steely eyes, one of them drooping a little because of a violent altercation he’d gotten into years before. That’s the face of the Mafia.

A superb strategist, it was Luciano who removed the old Moustache Petes Joe Masseria and Salvatore Maranzano. And it was Luciano who truly organized crime, creating the Commission and the Syndicate—the latter being the organization that regulated the actions of all the mobs throughout the United States, regardless of ethnicity.

It’s no understatement to say that Luciano was the greatest gangster in America (if the word “great” can be used for a gangster). And it was for precisely this reason that special prosecutor Thomas Dewey focused his energy on bringing him down. It’s said that the charges were trumped-up, that a mob boss as elevated as Luciano would be well insulated from the actual criminal activities of his family. Nevertheless, charges of pandering were made and in 1936 Luciano was convicted, receiving from thirty to fifty years in prison.

Charles “Lucky” Luciano and his wife, Igea Lissoni, at their home in Naples after his deportation to Italy, in 1955.

exile to italy

Life in prison was certainly not tough for Luciano. He had tailored uniforms, specially cooked meals and his own radio on which he could listen to Abbott and Costello. He even had his own bodyguards and a pet bird. So proficient was Luciano that he was able to control his family from inside the prison, via his proxies, first Vito Genovese and then Frank Costello. But still, a prison is a prison.

By the beginning of World War II, however, the underworld had come up with a plan. The mob controlled the docks and shipping, and Luciano promised to ensure that the docks would be guarded and ships—both naval and commercial—would be protected from saboteurs. The mob was also to ensure that no strikes were to be staged for the duration, and Luciano himself was to convince his mob contacts in Italy to aid in the Allied invasion. It’s not known how effective all of this actually turned out to be, but the plan worked as far as Luciano was concerned and his sentence was commuted. There was one condition, though—Luciano would be exiled to Italy.

So on February 10, 1946, Lucky Luciano headed to Naples to take up his residence in Italy. This exile hurt him very much, reportedly. Though he’d been born in Sicily, he considered himself American through and through.

In 1947 Luciano slowly tried to make his way back to the United States, but he only got as far as Cuba before his presence was flagged and he was forced to return to Italy. Once he was in Naples again, the Italian government cracked down on him, even curtailing his activities for several years. There was no way Luciano was getting out of the country.

Fast forward to 1962, when Luciano entered Naples International Airport. Apparently he was going to meet with film producer Martin Gosch, who wanted to make a movie of his life. As the pair walked to the parking lot, Luciano suddenly grasped his chest and fell to the ground. He had a bad heart and carried nitro pills, so the director hurriedly got some pills under his tongue. But it was too late—Luciano was dead.

The official ruling on the death of the mob boss of all mob bosses was heart failure. But there are those who claim that Luciano was poisoned, that the mob wanted to silence him before the movie could really get under way; or maybe the police had a hand in his death. Who can say? With the demise of Lucky Luciano, though, it was definitely the end of an era.