The Made Man, 1929

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Salvatore Maranzano had been a pious and well-behaved child. He had studied the teachings of the church with discipline. Back then he had wished to become a priest, on that sunny little island where his dreams still dwelt. But Salvatore’s admiration for the Roman Empire whispered temptation into his ear; he was not made to obey blindly, nor for the humility of the Church. Already Salvatore was fascinated by power, and conquest, and they called him ‘little Caesar.’ Now, he was Caesar in his own right. He too had had to endure in order to find a land to conquer. In 1924, Salvatore left Sicily, starving and in misery, for the New World. He had grand dreams, like Caesar. But grandeur would not come easily. The voyage across the Atlantic was the beginning of his disillusionment. Humiliating, and terrible. Hundreds were piled in to the ship’s hold like livestock, living with seasickness and off rotting food. But when he saw Ellis Island, Salvatore knew he was home. He knew that he would make it, and that he, Caesar, had found his empire.

He soon joined the Schiro family, who were originally from Castellamarre and the most powerful of the Italian families. He cut his teeth as a soldier. The mafia is an organization with a strict hierarchy. It runs on two principles: tradition and order. At the top of that empire sits the godfather. He receives advice from his consigliere. There are capos and soldiers to obey and apply his law; all of them are made men, and belong to the same family. At the bottom of the pyramid are the associates. Salvatore made a name for himself, showing both courage and honor. He had a sense of strategy, and a moral code.  After all, he had once been a student of theology. He drew the praise of the Schiro family. When the godfather passed, he was named as the head of the empire. Now, having disposed of his rivals, he was no less than the “boss of bosses,” the godfather of all the families.

An associate named Frank knocked at the office door. Today, his time had come. Today, Salvatore Maranzano was going to make him a member of the family. Frank had been earning well, running rat races in the warehouses in New York. Thanks to his canny betting, he had managed to play his cards right and win the godfather’s trust.  “You sent for me?” the associate asked the consigliere as he entered. The advisor nodded. Salvatore Maranzano was proud of him. He had insisted on ‘making’ Frank in person. Frank had been loyal all this time. He had always respected his superiors, and followed the boss’s orders. Frank adjusted his tie. His shoes were shined to perfection, and he wore a brand-new three-piece suit.

Salvatore Maranzano was sitting in front of an icon of the Virgin Mary, as was tradition. The godfather had remained true to his faith. A shudder ran down Frank’s spine. Caesar was all-powerful; the godfather was more terrible than God the father. “Give me your hand!” came the command in Salvatore’s hoarse tenor voice. Using a needle, he pricked the tip of the inductee’s forefinger. A drop of blood pearled on the surface. “You give your blood to the family, and the family will protect you,” announced Salvatore. Frank almost wept. With that same hand he had struck down enemies, performed searches on snitches, beaten prostitutes, collected dirty money and counted thousands of bets. With that same hand, he had sworn to speak the truth in several criminal trials. The godfather took the card with the image of the Virgin on it, and burned it with his lighter. Frank spoke his rite: “As this card burns, so may my soul burn in hell if I betray my vow of silence.” He was now a made man. 

Alan Alfredo Geday