For nearly two decades, corrupt Laborers Local 91 kingpin Michael "Butch" Quarcini knew he could rely on his "Goon Squad" -- a group of men under the direct command of feared enforcer Mark Congi -- to do his dirty work for him.
Whether he needed a house bombed, a bar shot up from a speeding car or recalcitrant members of another union beaten half to death, Congi and his men were happy to do their boss's bidding. Millions of dollars' worth of construction equipment, owned by building contractors too slow to hire from Local 91's Seneca Avenue hall, was stolen, consumed by flames or otherwise made useless by Laborers under Quarcini's control.
For the men, it was a simple matter of economics. Those who participated in the brutality and destruction worked regularly, often gifted with plum assignments that required little actual labor. Those who didn't languished on unemployment compensation, falling farther behind on their mortgages and often being forced to take non-union side jobs in order to feed their families.
When Quarcini died of natural causes in July 2003, before he could be brought to trial, the stool pigeons who riddled Local 91's ranks were suddenly left without a huge bargaining chip in their own plea deals with the U.S. Department of Justice. They began to turn their attention to the enforcers and to Congi in particular, according to FBI documents made available to the Reporter last week.
On Aug. 4, 2005, Dominick Dellaccio gave a lengthy interview to the feds in which he implicated more than 20 of his union brothers in various acts of violence and mayhem. His position as former Local 91 president made Dellaccio particularly attractive to the lawmen, who were looking for a new fall guy in Quarcini's absence. Dellaccio had apparently settled on Congi prior to the interview.
On Sept. 16, 1998, he said, he was called and told to go to the construction site of the Wegmans store on Military Road. There, he joined a dozen or so other thugs in a gang beating of four members of the bricklayer's union, a vicious act of violence that appalled even longtime Laborers supporters.
Dellaccio told the feds he was "devastated, disgusted, angry and embarrassed" over the incident, and the next day, when he entered the union hall, former Local 91 secretary Cheryl Cicero apparently sensed he was upset.
"So what, a couple of guys got beat up?" Dellaccio said Cicero remarked.
"What if it was one of your kids that got beat up?" he told the feds he replied.
After the savage beatings, the thugs met with their attorney at a popular hotel and restaurant on Niagara Falls Boulevard.
"Mark Congi told Dellaccio that there was a meeting set up with Paul Cambria," the report states. Cambria was the attorney for a number of the union members until Judge Richard Arcara removed him from the case. "Dellaccio said that he believed the meeting was away from the union hall because it was thought the hall may have been 'wired' by law enforcement. Present at the meeting were Congi, Quarcini, Cambria and Dellaccio, he said.
"Cambria asked, 'Where did the guys come from?'" the report continues. "He was told that they came from different job sites. Cambria said to make sure that the guys got docked pay for the time they were away from their regular jobs. Dellaccio believed that this was to insure the union would not be accused of having 'no show' jobs."
Dellaccio then sang about the April 1998 terror campaign directed at workers refurbishing the former Clarion Hotel on Third Street. According to Dellaccio, former mayor James Galie, along with two other city officials, showed up at the union hall one Saturday morning to meet with Quarcini, Congi, Dellaccio and Albert Celeste, a Local 91 member who was there because of his close personal relationship with the mayor.
"It was suggested that the police should take their time in responding to the pickets and back off," the report states. "The meeting seemed to lead to a mutual agreement and there would be better cooperation between the police and the picketers."
Indeed. In spite of the fact that three hotel workers were beaten and numerous acts of vandalism were recorded at the work site, no one was ever charged until the Justice Dept. indictments were handed down five years later.
Dellaccio noted that Quarcini's lavish campaign contributions over the years had endeared him to all sorts of politicians, from city councilmen and mayors to members of Congress.
The feds also seemed interested in Danny Rose, president of the bricklayer's union, a former state trooper and a suspect in the disappearance and likely murder of 21-year-old Leisha Reilly, who went missing after last being seen with Rose on Jan. 31, 1985.
Again, Dellaccio was ready to oblige, accusing Rose of attempting to solicit the murder of a Lockport building contractor in 1997.
"During the time of the pickets at (the contractor's) home, Dellaccio and Danny Rose were at the Summit Street Saloon in Lockport," the report states. "Rose approached Dellaccio and said they needed to talk. Dellaccio agreed and sat down in the back of the bar facing the back wall. Rose insisted they switch seats because Rose was facing the bar. Rose was concerned that someone could read his lips. Dellaccio switched seats and sat down. Rose told Dellaccio that we have to do something more to (the contractor). Dellaccio said you mean hurt him? Rose said yes. Dellaccio said you mean like break his legs? Rose said no. Dellaccio said you mean like put him away, kill him? Rose said yeah. Dellaccio said he walked away and told Rose never to talk to him like that again." The FBI agents conducting the interview made no comment on the credibility of Dellaccio's statements in the report. As with the Reilly disappearance a dozen years earlier, Rose was never charged with the alleged solicitation to murder.
While Dellaccio, Celeste, Paul Bellreng, Bobby Malvestuto and more than a dozen other Local 91 thugs showed how truly tough they were by singing like a bunch of yellow canaries in attempting to negotiate plea bargains, Mark Congi remains the only one of the accused to stay true to the code of silence traditionally adhered to by men of honor regardless of nationality.
For his trouble, Judge Arcara handed the enforcer 15 hard years in prison, far more than any of his partners in crime. Observers have noted Congi's stiff sentence came despite the fact that no testimony was presented to show that he himself had ever beaten anyone, destroyed property or thrown any bombs.
"Congi could easily have done to the others what they did to him, but he didn't," a retired federal agent told the Reporter. "Why he didn't is a matter of conjecture. Even his own father has begged him to tell what he knows, but to no effect."
At the Elkton Federal Correctional Institution near Youngstown, Ohio, where Congi now resides, he has become friends with a number of East Coast mob figures, including Tony "Green" Urso, former acting boss of New York's Bonanno crime family, now serving a 25-year sentence after pleading guilty to extortion, loan sharking and conspiracy to commit murder.
Another of Congi's prison friends is Philadelphia capo Frank Narducci, who is serving a 35-year sentence for murder and conspiracy.
The three men should have a lot to talk about. In addition to their shared heritage, Urso and Narducci -- like Congi -- were undone by the not-always-reliable testimony of government informants like Dellaccio, who bargained with the lives of others in order to save their own skins.
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | July 8 2008 |