Michael Franzese: Blood oaths

In 1986 Fortune called 35-year-old Michael Franzese one of the most powerful Mafia bosses in the country, but God turned out to be more powerful. Here’s the gist of what he told Patrick Henry students about joining and then leaving La Cosa Nostra, “This Thing of Ours.”

Let’s start with the family business. Your dad said he killed a lot of guys. When did you start knowing about what your dad did for a living? I grew up in that. My dad was the underboss of the Colombo family during the 1960s and was a major target of law enforcement. The FBI, IRS, Brooklyn’s DA office would all have cars parked around our house 24/7. My dad tried to keep what was going on in his world out of the house, but I knew from an early age.

How did your mom take all that? My mom and dad loved each other, but she didn’t like it. We always viewed law enforcement as the enemy. I grew up hating the government. My dad was my hero and law enforcement was trying to hurt him.

You became a pre-med student. My dad wanted me to be a doctor; but when he was 50, he received a 50-year sentence. I was devastated. I visited him in Leavenworth and said, “I don’t want to go to school anymore.” He was upset. We argued about it. He knew my mind was made up. He said, “Son, if you’re going to be on the street, I want you on the street the right way.” And in his mind, the “right way” was to become a member of the Colombo family.

‘If God didn’t have a different plan or purpose for me, I’d be dead or in prison for the rest of my life.’

Did you think at the time that he murdered people? My dad asked me that day, “If you ever had to kill somebody, could you do it?” I said, “If the circumstances were right, I think I can do it.” He looked at me and said, “That’s the right answer.”

How did you become a Colombo family member? For almost two years I was in a pledge period. I had to prove myself worthy, doing everything I was told to do.

And what were you told to do? Some menial things. Drive the boss to a meeting and sit in the car for five hours. And I’ve got to be honest with you, that life at times can be very violent. I had to do what I had to do to prove myself.

FBI agents scoff at your claim that you didn’t have to kill anyone as part of the initiation. In that life, you don’t admit to anything. But I want people to understand that I was violating God’s laws and the laws of man every day. If that meant somebody had to get killed, you do what you have to do.

The Colombo family inducted you on Halloween night, 1975. What was that like? I walked down the aisle, stood in front of the boss, held out my hand, and he took a knife right here and cut my fingers. Some blood dropped on the floor: This was a blood oath. I cupped my hands. He took a picture of a saint, the Catholic altar card, and put it in my hands. He lit it aflame. He said to me, “Tonight, Michael Franzese, you are born again into a new life, into La Cosa Nostra. Violate what you know about this life, betray your brothers, and you will die and burn in hell like the saint is burning in your hands. Do you accept?” I said, “Yes, I do.” That’s how it started.

You eventually made big inroads in the music business and got basketball players with huge gambling debts to miss shots, but you went to prison because of black-market gasoline sales. I had a huge gas tax scam, where I was defrauding the government out of tax on every gallon of gasoline. I ran that operation for about seven years, and at the peak was bringing in 8 to 10 million dollars a week.

While that was going on, you met Camille, who is now your wife of 30 years. She was the catalyst God used. I realized that if I wanted her in my life, I had to make some changes. My love for this woman was stronger than this lifelong love and bond I had with my dad, stronger than the blood oath.

Going to prison gave you the opportunity to get out of La Cosa Nostra? I couldn’t say, “Hey guys, I’m resigning,” but I had a plan for this gas play. I told my lawyer, “I want to plead guilty.” I figured I’d move to the West Coast, do a couple of years in prison, and when I got out, I’d be on parole and not allowed to associate with any criminals. I’d use that as an excuse not to meet with the guys. After 10 or 12 years they’ll forget about me, and I’ll live happily ever after with Camille on the West Coast. That was my plan: It had nothing to do with God, nothing whatsoever.

Some guys get away by joining a witness protection program. I didn’t. They threw me in a 6-by-8-foot jail cell because I wouldn’t cooperate—and that’s when I had my “come to Jesus” moments. I spent 35 months and 13 days in prison, and 29 months and seven days were in that 6-by-8 hole 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Just me and God. I didn’t come to God easily. I challenged God. I didn’t believe. But only God knows how many times I read my Bible. I came out of there believing that the Bible is God’s Word and Jesus my risen Savior.

So that prison cell was good for you? God saved my life in that cell.

Your plan to use parole as an excuse seems too easy. When you got out of prison, your former associates just let you walk away from crime? Nobody can understand why I’m still alive. Sure, I don’t walk my dog at the same time every morning, I don’t go to the same restaurant every Tuesday night and sit in the same seat. But the only answer to all of this is that God had a different plan and a purpose.

Some speculated you paid off the bosses with your millions in gas money. No. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t give it to them anyway. They’d have to come and try to get it.

God’s the most likely explanation? I know that if God didn’t have a different plan or purpose for me, I’d be dead or in prison for the rest of my life. And that’s what I deserved. I was a knowing and willing sinner. And I can be an encouragement to everybody: If God can turn my life around, who at one point was the worst guy in the room, then He can do it for anyone.

See three additional portions of the Franzese interview: “Mafia life: Michael Franzese tells what it was like,” “How Michael Franzese corrupted athletes—until God intervened,” and “Michael Franzese’s Mafia romance.”