33

By the beginning of the 1970s, I found myself besieged by lurid publicity, tormented by overzealous lawmen, misunderstood and abandoned by friends, haunted by my reputation and, for a time, estranged from my own sons.

My relationship with Joseph had become strained. In the autumn of 1969, he dropped out of college and decided to leave Tucson. He wanted to be on his own. Joseph was the most Americanized of my children and the farthest from me in age. He had trouble understanding some of my principles and my philosophy. And I didn’t approve of some of his ideas and his life-style. I also didn’t like some of his friends. Joseph, then in his mid-twenties, was in an independent mood, eager to live outside the shadow of his name. Our separation was not warm.

I had some painful advice to give him before he left. I told Joseph to associate with Americans and to avoid Italians from my world. Once Joseph went to California, I knew that people from my world might seek him out and that he might get into trouble. Even if he did nothing wrong, his mere association with such men would lead to unfavorable complications with the law. I went so far as to tell him to stay away from his brother, Salvatore, who had settled in the San Jose area.

I had never thought I would say such words to a son of mine. Fay cried.

When Joseph left Tucson, Salvatore was serving time at the Terminal Island federal prison camp for first offenders. His conviction, which was in New York, stemmed from a credit-card-fraud case. Because he lived in San Jose, Salvatore was allowed to serve his prison sentence in California.

The credit-card case came about because someone double-crossed Salvatore. The fraud was on Salvatore, not by him. This trial was amply described in Honor Thy Father by Gay Talese.

The 1971 publication of this book, which dealt with Salvatore’s life up to then, caused a rift between Salvatore and me. I didn’t talk to him for about a year.

The book itself centers on Salvatore’s relationship with me and on his involvement in my world in New York, mainly during the time of my disappearance. If the book had dealt only with this, I would have no objections to it. Whatever Salvatore wants to say about his life is up to him.

But the book goes much further. As Talese tells Salvatore’s story, he interweaves a narrative about me and also a history of the “Mafia” in America. The narrative about Salvatore is fine. That’s because Talese got this information from Salvatore himself. But since I didn’t, and wouldn’t, talk to him for purposes of the book, Talese had to get information on me from secondary sources. He turned to public records, district attorneys’ files, newspaper clippings, etc. Consequently, in writing about me, he repeated information that was tainted and distorted to begin with.

The timing of the book’s publication also riled me.

In the early 1970s, when the book came out, I had more than enough problems of my own, inside and outside my world, without having to contend with a blockbuster best-seller.

I had only a vague idea of what to expect in the book. I knew that Salvatore and Talese were cooperating on some sort of literary project. They talked about wanting to write a “classic.” But I didn’t know too much more. I had presumed the book was going to be mainly about Salvatore.

In August of 1971, someone handed me a copy of Esquire magazine with a full-page photograph of me on the front cover. I recognized the photograph—it had been in a family photo album which I had lost track of. The caption said:

“Honor Thy Father … The Story of Joe Bonanno and His Son by Gay Talese.”

If this was a book about Salvatore, why was my picture on the cover? By emphasizing me over Salvatore, the magazine editors apparently revealed their impression that Talese wrote with equal validity about both me and my son. If they got that impression, so did a lot of other people.

When referring to me, Honor Thy Father has only the patina of authenticity. However, since my son is quoted in it, it gives the impression that the book had my tacit stamp of approval as well. People both in my world and outside assumed that the book did indeed represent my point of view, despite any disclaimers to the contrary.

The truth is that Salvatore had agreed to be interviewed on his own; he was almost afraid to tell me about it. As I later learned, he had decided to talk to Talese at a time in his life when he didn’t know if the next day he might be dead. If he did become a fatality in the Volcano, he wanted to leave something behind so that posterity might understand him better. However, the book aggravated Salvatore’s already precarious position with the law. More publicity was the last thing either one of us needed in the early 1970s. The book increased both Salvatore’s visibility and mine. It made us even more desirable targets for speculation by newsmen and law officials.

In 1972, Joseph and Salvatore (who was already in jail on the credit-card case) were found guilty of extortion to collect a debt. Without knowing the facts of the case, you’re apt to consider this conviction proof of some sort of heinous conduct. It was nothing of the sort. It was a case of someone who had borrowed private money but didn’t repay it. When this person got in trouble with the law for something else, he made a deal with the government for leniency in exchange for squealing on those who had helped him.

Joseph and Salvatore were sentenced to five years in prison. Salvatore was allowed to serve his new sentence concurrently with his old one. Salvatore was released on parole in 1974. In the meantime, Joseph went to prison in 1973 and was released on parole in 1975.

On their release from prison both my sons had trouble making a living. They were free from prison but not free from government harassment. If Joseph went to apply for a job, the FBI would talk to the prospective employer; the mere presence of the FBI discouraged employers from having anything to do with Joseph. Salvatore had similar experiences. After prison, he had some speaking engagements on the college lecture circuit and he tried his hand in public relations. Salvatore’s situation was aggravated by the fact that because of his tax-debt problems, the IRS could appropriate almost all his income.

Eventually, Salvatore became associated with a firm called U.S. Mattress Co. and Joseph with a company called Kachina Fashions. Neither of these companies did well, and they were struggling enterprises throughout their existence.

In 1976 Fay wanted to do something to help the children, and she talked me into lending $20,000 to U.S. Mattress. Fay signed the check and I had my lawyer, Albert Krieger, draw up the necessary papers. In 1978 I lent another $20,000 to Kachina Fashions.

In the summer of 1978, both my sons returned to prison for violating their probation. Without getting into details, I just want to say that the government used petty technicalities to get them back in jail. Salvatore remained in prison until the spring of 1980. Joseph stayed in jail until the very end of 1979. When he went to prison the first time in 1973, Joseph had just gotten married. Of the first seven years of his marriage, he spent almost six of them in prison.

*   *   *

The Christmas of 1976 was one of the few times my entire family was together during the 1970s. My sons were out of jail. Salvatore, Joseph, Catherine and their families all came to Tucson for the holidays.

Fay had been in poor health from a blood disease. At one point, she was taken to the intensive-care unit of a hospital. Her weight had dropped from about 140 pounds to under 100 pounds. Doctors gave her a week to live. Fay’s sisters and our children came to Tucson expecting the worst. Thanks to the will of God, Fay recovered. Although she was a frail version of her former self, at least she was with us.

Fay and I were both seventy-one years old during that Christmas season. We were at an age when the end of all things becomes a tangible reality. Despite our troubles we had our three children and our seven grandchildren. The Bonannos still had each other.

The rest of society had largely abandoned us. Many so-called respectable people shunned us. The prime example of this estrangement was Evo DeConcini, but I merely use Evo as being emblematic of a whole assortment of people. When the tempest over me blew furious, even the Cracchiolos positioned themselves further from me. When the Catholic church officials in Tucson became embarrassed because I had been a major contributor to the mausoleum at Holy Hope Cemetery, they made overtures to find out if I would give up my family vault in the mausoleum.