How America recruited ‘consigliari’ bosses for the 1943 landing in Sicily

Joseph “Socks” Lanza walked through the lobby of the Hotel Astor in Times Square, heading straight for the lifts. The meeting was on the twentieth floor, officially at the offices of the American Federation of Little Business. In reality, it was a cover for the ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence, the U.S. Navy’s counter-intelligence agency. It was 16 April 1942. The United States was at war and New York was in it up to its neck. German U-boats were sinking military and merchant ships bound for Europe just a few dozen miles off the coast of Long Island. One thing was clear: America was losing the Battle of the Atlantic. And in Washington, officials were convinced that in Manhattan, along the harbour front, a swarm of undercover agents and Americans of German origin who were Hitler sympathisers were providing the enemy with vital information, helping them to locate the ships.

The idea had come from Lieutenant Commander Charles Radcliffe Haffenden, head of the third division of the ONI: “The port is teeming with spies and serves as a base for sabotage. We need those who work there to give us a hand: informants, undercover agents, tailing operations, raids,” he told Lieutenant Tony Marsloe, alias Anthony F. Marzullo, the son of Sicilian immigrants, a graduate of the prestigious Ivy League Cornell University, and one of his best agents. His fluency in Italian with a Sicilian accent, familiarity with the dialect, and deep understanding of immigration dynamics made Marsloe the ideal candidate for the mission.

It was he who had explained to Haffenden what the problem with the docks was: “We’d need the dockers, fishmongers, fishermen and drivers to work for us. But these are people who don’t speak to strangers. Unless someone higher up tells them to. And at the top of the pyramid, in the port, there are the trade unions, and above them still the criminal gangs and thugs. You don’t want to approach them, do you?” The captain’s reply had been immediate: “I want to use every tool at our disposal to win this damned war. What’s the first name that springs to mind?” “Socks Lanza,” the agent replied instinctively.

Lanza had emigrated from Palermo whilst still a teenager and had immediately found work at the Fulton Fish Market. He had initially made his way up through the USW trade union, but his no-nonsense approach towards those who opposed him had earned him respect. In the war for control of the docks, he had sided with the gangs of Charles ‘Lucky’ Luciano and Meyer Lansky, bosses of the Italian and Jewish mafias, who were fighting against the Irish mafia. His dominance over the fish market is now total and undisputed: union boss, man of honour, member of the Luciano family; no deal can go through without him taking his cut. Anyone who steps out of line ends up sleeping with the fishes.

One of his worst enemies, Deputy Prosecutor Murray Gurfein, had contacted him on Haffenden’s behalf through his solicitor, Joe Guerin. “The Navy needs help,” he had told him, “they suspect there are spies in the harbour passing information to the Germans. He would like the crews of the fishing boats and those working in the docks and shipyards to report any suspects, assist undercover agents, and possibly even take part in acts of sabotage.” Lanza understood immediately; he said that even if he were to obtain that information, he certainly could not pass it on to the District Attorney, who was trying to frame him. But Gurfein made his position clear: “You will report solely to them. I’m just acting as a liaison; once I leave here, I’ll continue to investigate you. There’s no commitment, favour or promise on our part.” Lanza fell silent for a moment, then replied: “You can tell the Navy that I’m ready to cooperate and that I’m only doing this for the war: I, too, want Mussolini to be defeated.”

This is how the meeting at the Astor came about. Socks Lanza went there with Guerin. Waiting for him, alongside Captain Haffenden, were Morsloe and Gurfein, who left the room immediately after the introductions. That day marked the beginning of one of the most extraordinary and controversial intelligence operations of the Second World War: the Italian Mafia coming to the aid of the American military, first on the quays of Manhattan, then on the coasts and in the countryside of Sicily, where it facilitated the July 1943 landings and provided information that was crucial to the success of the occupation.

If this story – hitherto only partially known – is now being examined in minute detail, it is thanks to Mark Harmon and Leon Carroll Jr., who, in "Ghosts of Sicily", recently published in the United States by Harper Select, reconstruct the exploits of the four secret agents who ‘courted the underworld to fight the Nazis in America and on the battlefields of Italy’. Only now are their names and their roles being openly acknowledged and revealed to the general public: alongside Marsloe, who died in 2006 and was buried with full military honours at Arlington, those of Paul Alfieri, Joachim Titolo and Jim Murray – the only one to enter politics, becoming mayor of Jersey City and then a senator for New Jersey, before dying in 1965 at the age of just 45.

Joe Lanza required little explanation. “I’m in,” he said succinctly. He even offered to arrange trade union membership cards for the naval intelligence agents who were to be stationed on board the fishing vessels. In fact, it was he who pointed out to Haffenden that they needed to broaden their scope, that the fish market and the quays alone would not be enough: “We’re leaving out the West Side and Brooklyn. If you want to cover the entire harbour front, you need to have men there too – not just on the boats, but also in the restaurants, pubs, hotels and brothels. That means bringing other people on board, big names.” “Who’s he thinking of?” asked the captain. “Luciano,” replied Socks.

Charles “Lucky” Luciano was the boss of bosses. Although he had been incarcerated since 1937 in the maximum-security prison at Dannemora – considered the “Siberia of New York State” – it was he who commanded the National Commission, which he had founded in the 1920s and which brought together the heads of the five Mafia families. Luciano was taken aback when informed of his transfer to Great Meadow prison, a less punitive facility and, crucially, one closer to Manhattan. The suggestion had come from Meyer Lansky, who had proposed the measure to Haffenden. The decision was made by District Attorney Gurfein, who by that point was convinced that the ONI’s work needed to be facilitated.

Known as ‘the genius’, the boss of the Jewish underworld was a confidant and trusted business partner of the Sicilian mafioso. Having also been approached by the Office of Naval Intelligence to lend a hand, Lansky had waged a violent personal war against Nazi sympathisers in New York as early as 1933, when Hitler came to power: for him, as a Jew, Germany’s defeat was a sacred cause. It was he who visited Luciano at Great Meadow to convey the Navy’s proposal. He went there accompanied by Frank Costello, the ‘consigliere’ who ran the Commission on his behalf, and Moses Polakoff, Lucky’s lawyer. Lansky explained to him that Haffenden could be trusted, as demonstrated by the ‘kindness’ of the transfer. And he added: “If you cooperate, you might stand a chance of being released on parole sooner.” But the decisive argument came from Costello, whom Luciano asked for his opinion: “You’ve got to do it, Lucky. If only for patriotic reasons. They think we Italians aren’t real Americans. That we’d side with the Nazis and Mussolini for money. It’s offensive. That’s how they see us; we’ll never get off the government’s radar. And besides, the prospect of getting you out of here sooner is worth the effort. We’ve got to lend a hand.”

A second meeting was necessary. This time, Lansky and Costello brought Socks Lanza with them, who explained to Luciano how things were unfolding. The boss of bosses gave the order: “Tell everyone they must listen to Socks and cooperate with the Navy,” he told the “consigliori”.

Within weeks, naval intelligence found itself inundated with information, tips, reports, and the names of spies and collaborators. The initiative proved a resounding success, as the number of merchant ships sunk fell rapidly and dozens of spies—even teams of German saboteurs who had landed in secret—were uncovered and captured. Even the most reluctant Mafia bosses were cooperating: Emil Camarda, John ‘Cockeye’ Dunn, Mike Lascari. Every now and then, someone would go beyond the instructions: when Dunn saw that Haffenden had not immediately acted on the tip-off about two sailors who were asking too many questions about the cargo, he took matters into his own hands. Convinced they were spies, he had them disposed of: “They won’t be bothering us any more,” said “Cockeye” to the stunned captain, who merely remarked that next time he would do well to wait for instructions from his agents.

Soon, however, a new mission loomed on the horizon for the Office of Naval Intelligence. In North Africa, American and British forces were tightening their grip to drive out the Germans and Italians. With the victory at El Alamein in November, it became clear that it was only a matter of time before the Axis forces surrendered, and by now the question was no longer if, but when, during 1943, an Allied invasion of Europe would take place. “And that could mean Italy,” Haffenden told his agents in the Third Division, who were all assembled on 12 November. Most of them were unaware of what had happened up to that point on the quays and at the harbour front.

In fact, there were two missions. And the success of both was once again linked to the help of the Sicilian Mafia. “They asked us,” explained the captain, “to provide as much information as possible on where the troops might land in Sicily: geographical maps, photographs, nautical charts, beaches, secondary roads, descriptions of the coastline and ports. We need all the Sicilians here to become our sources for the island, and the big bosses like Lanza and Luciano will give us a hand.” “Welcome to Operation Underworld,” commented Agent Morsloe, faced with the silence and incredulous stares of his colleagues who had just learnt they were allied with the underworld.

But the geographical aspect was, after all, the easiest part: data began to pour in. People also provided postcards, family photographs with the coastline in the background, and prints of Sicilian coastal landscapes. The most complicated task was to lay the groundwork for the invasion, to find the necessary contacts on the island to serve as a base for the Navy agents who would find themselves behind enemy lines. Local individuals who could be trusted, capable of guiding them, locating the command centres of the Nazis and Fascists, and reporting on their movements. Haffenden was thinking above all of Sicilians who spoke English because they had lived in America and now lived in Sicily, including those who had fled the United States after committing heinous crimes, to avoid convictions or Mafia reprisals. The name of the person to contact was given to the captain almost immediately by the usual Lansky: Vincent Mangano, known as Don Vincenzu, head of one of the five families, a member of the Commission held in high regard by Luciano, and someone who had never been caught by the authorities. “He’s the one with the best contacts within the sister organisation in Sicily,” explained Lansky, who was a close friend of his.

It fell to Marsloe to meet him. The conversation took place in dialect. “I’ll probably,” said the lieutenant, “be one of those who’ll be on the island in civilian clothes to gather information on the enemy. I’ll need someone to be there waiting for me, to guide me through the ports and villages, and to put me in touch with people who might not be happy with Mussolini.” Mangano’s reply surprised the agent with its clarity: “Once you’ve invaded it, you’ll have to govern the place, and in Sicily, people aren’t too keen on that sort of thing.”

The name Morsloe had in mind was that of Vito Genovese, a former member of the Commission who had fled the United States in 1938 after being accused of murder. But he was a controversial figure, even amongst New York mafiosi. It was rumoured that, to curry favour with the Fascist regime, he had ordered the killing of Carlo Tresca, the anarchist and anti-Fascist journalist, who was murdered in Manhattan in January 1943. Furthermore, at the time, Genovese was not even in Sicily, but somewhere in Italy, where he was living under the protection of Don Calò Vizzini, the godfather of Villalba.

Mangano, however, had another idea: “He had to leave New York when he was a boy; his family still lives in America. But now he’s a man and he’s the most important link between the business here and that in Sicily.” “What’s his name? You have my word that no one will ever find out about his involvement,” promised Marsloe. Mangano was silent for a long time, then replied: “His name is Damaniano Riccobono.”

As Harmon and Carroll Jr. recall in the book’s prologue, the young Riccobono had, together with his father Giovanni, been responsible for the murder of a policeman, Henry Schwarz, in New York in 1916. Having emigrated from San Giuseppe Jato and arrived in America at the turn of the century, the Sicilian family had links to the Mano Nera, the early mafia, and was active in the racketeering of shopkeepers. Giovanni Riccobono turned himself in on the very evening of the shooting, but his son managed to escape, thanks to the help of the New York underworld: first by car to Canada and then by ship to Europe and Sicily. “It seemed,” the authors write, “that American history had finished with him. And indeed, the name Damaniano Riccobono would have been forgotten, left out of newspaper articles and even the census. Yet, decades after his escape from New York, he played a vital role at the nation’s darkest hour, when not only human lives but the very fate of civilisation was at stake. No one would ever have given him credit for it.”

Marsloe and Murray landed on 10 July 1943 on the beach at Torre di Gaffe, near Licata, as part of the second wave, alongside the 3rd Infantry Division and the 3rd Ranger Battalion. Alfieri and Titolo went ashore at Gela with the 1st Ranger Battalion. They immediately changed out of their uniforms into civilian clothes – velvet jackets, heavy shoes, the sort of things farmers wear. Having been tipped off months earlier by friends in New York, Damaniano Riccobono had everything prepared. He met them two days later. He already had a very tempting lead ready: a villa in the countryside which, until just a few days earlier, had housed the Italian army headquarters. It had been abandoned in a great hurry: Marsloe and his men found maps there, manuals for deciphering communication codes, evacuation plans and plans for the demolition of ports and towns – including Licata, Gela and Porto Empedocle – as well as defence plans for Messina and Palermo, the next targets of the Allied offensive, updated to 9 July: “A veritable goldmine, far more than they had hoped for,” the authors comment. 

Riccobono proved invaluable to the ONI agents. He spoke English fluently. He knew all the merchants and smugglers along the coast personally. He had a network of contacts in every town and village – people able to provide the four agents with accommodation, cover and, above all, all manner of information. Above all, he knew the terrain: the minefields, the sea conditions, the traps set by the enemy at the entrances to the harbours. “And then there are the large, fast motorboats at Porto Empedocle,” explained Damaniano. It was probably the most significant coup for the Oni, even though capturing them was not as high a priority as locating the mines: these were the German Schnellboote, 35-metre-long vessels capable of reaching 80 kilometres per hour and armed to the teeth with torpedoes and two 37- and 20-millimetre guns. Until then, they had been a secret weapon.

Following the armistice, the Sicilian mission of the men from the Office of Naval Intelligence was effectively over. Morsloe, Alfieri, Titolo and Murray were transferred to Italy, first to act as guides in the ports of Castellammare di Stabia and Torre Annunziata, then to gather as much intelligence as possible on the port of Naples. There, too, they followed the Sicilian script, and this time the contacts provided by New York were those linked to the Camorra. But there was one fundamental difference: the underworld was no longer crucial; the resistance that had begun after 8 September had in fact provided the ONI with hundreds of collaborators who had nothing to do with organised crime, whilst a significant bonus now came from collaboration with the Italian military services.

However, as Harmon and Carroll write, “whilst members of the Camorra played a minor role in the reopening of the port of Naples, they were the ones who reaped the greatest benefits, now free to set up a highly lucrative black market that diverted Allied supplies and resold them at exorbitant prices. Over time, they even managed to bribe American troops, getting their hands on goods intended for the sick and the starving population”.

Vito Genovese played a decisive role in this scheme; in October 1943, he even managed to get himself hired as an interpreter by Major Elmer Holmgreen, a Texan from San Antonio, who had become the civil affairs officer – effectively the governor – of a city that had been virtually deserted, yet still had 250,000 inhabitants. He would go on to become Holmgreen’s adviser, securing an ideal position from which to run a vast smuggling operation: sugar, flour, soap, coffee, blankets, cigarettes, fuel, vehicles – nothing escaped his network. Even Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Poletti, who succeeded Holmgreen, was on his payroll. Genovese’s criminal enterprises came to an end due to his own recklessness – corruption so widespread and blatant that it prompted an investigation by the Allied command into the incredible quantity of US government property that had been stolen and sold openly in Forcella or other markets. Genovese was framed, arrested and repatriated to the United States (he was wanted by the FBI for murder) thanks to another intelligence officer, Army Sergeant Orange Dickey, who had been tasked with investigating internal corruption. Once back in America and having served a short prison sentence, he continued his rise to the top of the Commission, becoming its head in 1957, before being arrested again, tried and sentenced to 15 years in 1959. Vito Genovese died ten years later in a prison in Missouri.

Almost a decade passed before Operation Underworld was acknowledged, but even then, it was done so discreetly and unofficially. The methods were deemed too embarrassing and the figures to whom Captain Haffenden had turned in his darkest hour were considered too unsavoury. Moreover, although there had been no formal commitments on the part of the judicial authorities, the Office of Naval Intelligence had put pressure on judges and prosecutors to show leniency towards the Mafia members who had collaborated to secure victory in the war. Admittedly, Joe Lanza, who had continued to make a fortune in the docks whilst the police turned a blind eye to his shenanigans, was eventually arrested and sentenced to 10 years. But Lucky Luciano was released from prison 10 years early – albeit to be deported to Sicily – thanks to an affidavit from Haffenden confirming his role.

Haffenden paid dearly for his courage. In 1950, a US Senate select committee played down the entire Operation Underworld, reducing it solely to the case of Lucky Luciano and concluding that his contribution to the war effort had been overestimated and that, consequently, his early release ‘had no justification’. None of the four agents – neither Marsloe, nor Alfieri, nor Titolo, nor Murray – were able to testify, as they were bound by professional confidentiality. Haffenden, dismissed in the final report as “a low-ranking official who opened the prison gates for Luciano”, was forced to leave the ONI, retiring to the South where he would die of a heart attack in 1952 at the age of sixty.

It was not until 1954 that another commission – this one established in New York and chaired by William Herlands to shed light on the use of organised crime during the war in Europe – would re-establish the historical truth and do him justice. However, the proceedings and conclusions remained secret. More than sixty people were called to give evidence, including Agents Marsloe and Alfieri – by then war heroes decorated with the Presidential Legion of Merit – as well as Joe Lanza, Meyer Lansky, the lawyer Polakoff and the judges involved. Running to 100 pages, the final report was a documented and comprehensive account of the US Navy’s collaboration with the Italian Mafia and other criminal organisations during the Second World War.

Not all the content was to the ONI’s credit. But the conclusion, which has remained secret until now, leaves no room for interpretation: “The use of Luciano, his henchmen and his contacts was an operation conceived and carried out by the ONI in light of the serious national emergency of that time. Initially Joe Socks Lanza, and later Charles Luciano, became the central figures in the operation, which took place from spring 1942 until 1944. The details are set out in this report, and there can be no doubt or question as to the value of the project.”