Believe it or Not, it All Started Here.

While there’s a buttload of awesome things to see in New Orleans and centuries of interesting history the thing that interests me the most about the Crescent City is its Mob history. It’s my hobby, a hobby I spend a good percentage of my free time on and it’s a subject that a lot of people, even locals, don’t know a whole bunch about. Hopefully I can change that a bit.

And so, it’s always best to start at the beginning.

When most people think of the American version of the Mafia 99.9999% of the time New York comes to mind and so most people — should they decide to dig into the subject a little deeper — are surprised to learn that the American Mafia has its roots in New Orleans going back to, at least, the Civil War and most likely a couple of decades before that. It wasn’t what we know as the Mafia of the last century with guys like Capone, Lansky, Luciano or Gotti but probably more akin to the images we were shown in Godfather II explaining Vito Corleone’s origins.

The first guy who gets credit for being the Boss of New Orleans, or more accurately Little Palermo (the area of the French Quarter), was Raffaele Agnello. Raffaele was originally from Palermo Sicily and was among the leadership of the European Brigade, a military style unit made up of immigrants to Louisiana, by the time of the outbreak of hostilities between the north and south. After NOLA was captured by Union forces, the European Brigade was delegated as a security force in the city and this undoubtedly helped Agnello gather power to himself.

After the war, Agnello became more and more powerful but, of course, he had his rivals and one of those was a fruit and produce importer named Joseph Macheca. While Macheca wasn’t thought to have been an actual member of the Mafia (though he had Sicilian roots he was actually born in New Orleans and thus an Americano) he certainly mixed in those circles and though it’s not known if Macheca actually played a part in the incident, Agnello was assassinated on Toulouse Street on the morning of April 1, 1869, not far from Joseph Macheca’s business.

After a tense few months in which there were numerous shootings and at least one death, an associate of Macheca’s named Litero Barba, it appeared that Raffaelle had come out on top and decided to do a victory lap around Little Palermo so his fellow Italians could see who was in charge.

He and Godson/bodyguard Frank Saccaro had just turned the corner onto Toulouse from Old Levee Street (now Decatur Street) when a sound distracted both Sacarro and Agnello. As they turned to look back to see what the commotion was on Old Levee a man named Joseph Florada (he would later be known by the name Gaetano Arditto in the assassination of another individual a decade later) stepped from a doorway where he had hidden himself and raised a blunderbuss and shot Agnello in the head. Four bits of metal penetrated his skull. Sacarro was also wounded but only with a minor wound to his hand. He gave chase to Florada but lost him. It’s almost certain that he knew who had fired the shot but later refused to identify him to the police.

Raffaele’s brother Joseph, known as Peppino, would move into his brother’s spot.

More on Peppino, Macheca, Florada and others in (hopefully) future installments.

Next time in Leave the Gun, Take the Muffuletta: Stories of the New Orleans Mob we’ll see what a Mafia Boss, a stripper and a preacher had in common.

Till then remember, never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut, unless you have something to tell me. I always love hearing NOLA stories on this subject.

By Ron Rawson
Born a Yankee but has lived in the southern USA for decades in between periods spent out west in Las Vegas and Montana and with a (far too) short period spent in Italy. Ron has split his time between New Orleans and Atlanta for the last 13 years. With an interest in the Mafia that goes back three decades he has spent the last ten years researching the New Orleans Family and hunting down the locations around the city where the history happened. Husband to a beautiful wife, father of three great kids and grandfather to a wonderful little girl (soon to be two wonderful little girls) .

Beer & Titties

Barking at tourists in the mid-day sun
The fucks I give always add up to none

You are looking for a job and sent by Wiener Joe
Cause our barback got fired for selling fake blow
Our manager got killed speeding on his Harley
Now the biggest man here is a dwarf named Charlie

The work is hard and the work is steady
Just don’t you be fuckin up around Big Eddie

Beer and titties beer and titties
I scream it every day in this goddamn city
Beer and titties beer and titties
Why does this street always smell so shitty?

See that dancer with the big double D’s?
She’s shaking it to pay for her master’s degree
After ten years of serving in the Navy
I now sail on this Bourbon Street gravy
We’re not Toulouse and not too tight
We run the hustle through another night

Where’s my shoes did you ask?
In about two seconds they’ll be up your ass

Beer and titties beer and titties
I scream it every night in this goddamn city
Beer and titties beer and titties
Why does your ass always smell so shitty?

We don’t mind if you act a little screwie
But don’t be fuckin with our Uncle Louie
If you get out of line you out of towners
We’ll take you in the alley for a Quarter pounder
Down on Decatur there ain’t no hope
Just cheap drinks and punks on dope

We got some naked pictures of your mom
Check them out at THE QUARTER RAT DOT COM

Beer and titties beer and titties
I scream it every day in this goddamn city

Welcome to the party, Pal

I got up at 5 a.m. to go to work at the bars across the street as a cleanup guy. Rough night’s sleep between the fireworks at midnight and the revelers, more random fireworks, sirens from all types of response vehicles — kind of like most weekends living in the French Quarter. I can sleep through Mardi Gras. I often have news come across my feed about shootings and stabbings on Bourbon Street in the mornings when I wake up. I’m not often shocked anymore.

This morning, I was. I won’t rehash all of the details here that have been in the news coverage all day. I’ll share what happened in the aftermath, since it was a daylong event. As I was getting dressed for work, I heard a muted explosion about 9:15 a.m. I joked to myself, “Maybe I should go in late today.” I couldn’t blow off work, New Years Day and Ash Wednesday are two of the days that clean up people are the most essential. Spoiler alert: The bars and Bourbon Street are still a mess.

UPDATE: I just found out from my next door neighbor Andrea that the bomb squad was parked in front of our buildings. They detonated a “suspicious package” in the back of their truck at that time.

Damn it, that’s what happened to my DoorDash delivery.

I felt sick and numb from the bits of the news I watched before I went to work. I stepped outside and saw wall-to-wall law enforcement from every part of the state. I mumbled to myself, “I feel like the janitor at Nakatomi Plaza the day after Christmas. I ain’t cleaning this shit up…”

“SIR! SIR! Come over here please.” I heard a stern female voice bark. There was a Louisiana State Patrol officer on the corner of Royal Street pointing at me. I did the point to myself in a “who, me?” gesture. “Yes sir, come here.”

I was informed that my block, and many others, were closed due to the investigation. I politely explained “I live here, work there…”

“Well, I can’t allow you to re-enter the area,” the officer said.
“Can I just go back into my apartment?” I asked.
“No sir.”

Well shit. Fine, I have my camera, I’ll roam around for an hour or so and get some shots. I ran into fellow Quarter Rats who seemed just as numb and confused as I was. I saw my buddy Jett on his electric scooter (You’re too old for that Dude, you’ll fall and break a hip.) He wasn’t sure if he was even going to work. Tom from Royal Street and I had a somber exchange, and I ran into Shorty chomping on Brothers chicken for breakfast. Seeing these people somehow made it less surreal.

Bourbon Street was closed from Canal Street down to Dumaine Street, with one block closed on either side. From Royal Street to the river, the sidewalks were congested and many of the people were displaced tourists from hotels in the affected areas on Bourbon Street. It was a bit breezy and a chill was in the air. I didn’t put on a heavy jacket “because I’m only going across the street.” I went through Jackson Square and noticed the gates were still locked. It was rumored an explosive device had been found there as well.

There were many people milling about the river front. A lone bagpipe player was playing. Playing or practicing, it’s tough to tell with bagpipes. Either case, it added a somber mournful tone to the morning.

After an hour of photographing police tape and every agency in the state, I headed for coffee at the Clover Grill. It was the most stoic I have ever seen the Clover. Another local walked in, sat a few stools down and we made eye contact. I could tell that he wanted or needed to talk. The best we could do was look at each other slack jawed and shake our heads in disbelief.

After several coffees and a quick breakfast, I continued my mission of getting photos. I walked the perimeter of the cordoned off area up to Canal Street. FBI jackets all over the Quarter. Canal Street was crowded with one-third spectators, one-third cops and one-third press. I caught Brad Bohannon doing a live remote interview on Canal Street using a parking meter as his tripod.

When he finished, we chatted about what bits we knew or heard rumored. I whined about my situation about being forcibly evacuated from Toulouse Street. Brad said, “Come tell my reporter friend Cassie Schirm from WSDU.” She was the reporter I had been watching prior to leaving my building. I explained my plight. I complimented her on her earlier report. It was apparent that she was personally shook by the news but covered it like a pro.

Brad and I continued down Royal Street talking and taking photos. By this point it was after noon, three hours after I left. I again asked the same LSP trooper if I could please return to my building. “No sir, we can’t allow you to do that due to the ongoing investigation.” I might be dumb enough to try and argue with a state trooper, but I’m not dumb enough to try and argue with a woman.

This could go on all night, I feared. I needed to find a refuge and a bathroom soon. I headed down to Turtle Bay on Decatur Street and met up with Steve Smith. We discussed the breaking news and I asked for shelter. Steve of course obliged, along with soda and pizza. Damn good pizza, it’s because Steve is a Jersey boy like me.

At some point CNN had contacted the Quarter Rat editor, Dave Minsky and he being aware of my situation put them in contact with me. Not to flex here but CNN is reaching out to The Quarter Rat for comment. Not really a huge flex, it’s not like it was Tim Pool or anyone major asking. At 3 p.m., I gave a quick phone interview while squatting on the office balcony at Turtle Bay, explaining how we are locked down still in some areas.

I also griped about how useless the bollards and street blocking was. I mentioned the moveable barriers ran on tracks that quickly fill with litter making them next to useless since they were installed back in 2017. My rant about that will come in the next few days.

At 4 p.m., I again approached the LSP trooper and before I got to her vehicle, I saw her look at me and shake her head no. This is getting serious. I’m cold, my old joints are aching and my weed is back in my apartment. I better work on a plan B. It’s been 14 years since I had to roam the French Quarter looking for a safe place to crash, I don’t like having to do it again.

I only have a potato flip phone with no Facebook access. I’m an old grumpy fuck who refuses to get a smart phone. Maybe I can crash at my boss’s place, maybe Pete Oneil will let me couch surf. Dave even put a notice on our Quarter Rat Facebook page. Thanks, Brenda, for the offer, but I’m home now.

I returned to the safety of Turtle Bay and decided to have dinner, and try again at 7 p.m., 10 hours after I left. I figured a shift change must have happened and perhaps the next cop will be a bit more sympathetic. As I hobbled up Royal Street, I was relieved to see a fresh faced trooper standing by the barricade. I toyed with an idea of a last-ditch bullshit story about needing my insulin back at my apartment. I don’t like lying, not even to the cops. It never goes well. The way my day was going, he would’ve still refused me and called an ambulance. Let me try reason first.

I had my identification in my hand as I approached and offered it to him.
“You make me feel like a bouncer,” he joked
“You’d make a good one,” I replied. “Please sir, I have been out of my apartment for 10 hours, may I please go back to my building?”
“Which one is yours?”
I pointed to it 40 feet away.
“That one is yours?”
“Yes, may I please go back?”
“Well, I am NOT going to stop you from going home sir.” He lifted the police tape for me and said, “Have a good night at home sir.”

Bourbon Street’s Clover Grill sold to new owner

The Clover Grill diner located at 900 Bourbon St. has been sold to a new owner, according to commercial real estate brokerage Elfin Realty.

The property was sold for an undisclosed amount to owner 900 Bourbon LLC. Clover Grill’s sale was listed in Elfin’s The Pulse NOLA website, described as a “weekly update on the commercial real estate landscape of New Orleans.”

Located on the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine streets, the Clover Grill diner is known for its cheeseburgers, all-day breakfasts and class diner decor.

The restaurant opened in 1939 and was featured in the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” in which the main character, played by Brad Pitt, ages in reverse.

Picture courtesy of mrpolyonymous/CC Flickr

Woman drives away with parking boots attached to car following alleged Canal Street assault

A 30-year-old woman is wanted on suspicion of theft and assault charges after driving away from a Canal Street parking lot with two boots attached to her rental vehicle following an altercation with an officer in November, according to New Orleans Police on Tuesday.

Police officials said the incident occurred at about 5 p.m. on Nov. 20 in the parking lot located at 201 Canal St., Brandie Yvonne Moody parked her rental vehicle without paying for parking.

Moody fought with the booting officer when they refused to remove the car boots placed on her vehicle for non-payment, causing minor injuries, NOPD said.

After the altercation, Moody allegedly stole the booting company’s thermal printer and fled the scene with the two boots still attached, damaging her rental vehicle in the process

New Orleans Police said Moody is now being sought on suspicion of charges that include felony theft, simple assault and simple battery. Officials said Moody also goes by the name of “Brandie Yvonne Bell.”

Officials urge the public to contact NOPD Detective Mark Boyle at 504-658-6703 or by email at mboyle@nola.gov, or contact NODP Eighth District detectives at 504-658-6080 with any information on the whereabouts of Moody.

Pictured: Brandie Moody/Courtesy of NOPD.