How to Meet Better People

Frankie Costello is an underworldling with a difference: he has more money than most bank presidents and he never seems to be around when any rough stuff is going on. This enables him to maintain a snug Manhattan apartment and a big house in the Long Island countryside, to contribute to worthy causes, and to control as many Tammany politicians as he finds convenient.

No man outside the know really knows just how many gambling joints in Florida and Nevada, how many slot machines in Louisiana, how many bookie joints and policy rackets in New York and New Jersey Frankie Costello* owns, operates, or controls--except that the number is large. But last week, New Yorkers could take a quick count of Costello-conscious politicians in the nation's biggest city.

The occasion was a $100-a-plate benefit dinner for the Salvation Army. As a big contributor, Frankie had been appointed one of 123 vice chairmen of the Army's current fund-raising drive. The invitations were clearly inscribed "sponsored by Frank Costello," and Frankie hoped people would come. They did.

Scurrying for Cover. Last week some 150 politicos and others dutifully showed up at Manhattan's gaudy Copacabana nightclub. So, unfortunately, did two reporters. Next day there were wild cries of dismay as the distinguished guests scurried for cover. The reporters had spotted five judges of the state Supreme Court, at least three other judges, a U.S. Congressman, a whole slate of Tammany luminaries headed by Hugo E. Rogers, president of the borough of Manhattan.

Cornered, Supreme Court Justice Thomas A. Aurelio conceded that he had been there: "I don't care to say more." Justice Aurelio had good reason. In 1943, the District Attorney's office had tapped a conversation on Costello's private wire the morning after Aurelio's nomination by the Democrats. It went like this:

Aurelio: "Good morning, Francesco, how are you and thanks for everything."

Costello: "Congratulations. It went over perfect. When I tell you something is in the bag, you can rest assured."

Aurelio: "It was perfect. . . I want to assure you of my loyalty for all you have done. It's undying."

There were no recorded conversations of other luminaries, but none seemed anxious to talk. Said a secretary for Supreme Court Justice S. Samuel DiFalco: "Quote --no comment--unquote." Said Special Sessions Judge Joseph Loscalzo: "No comment, comma, no comment." Blandest of all was Borough President Rogers. He had developed a real enthusiasm for the Salvation Army. He added: "I am not interested in or have any comment to make on the personalities involved."

No Refunds. The Salvation Army was shaking like a chilled lassie on a windy corner. It had no idea that Costello was "THE Frank Costello," said a spokesman. Would the Army return Costello's $10,000? Well, no. Said Commissioner Donald McMillan: "The Salvation Army has been advised by its counsel that it has no legal right to refuse to accept funds."

But Frankie, a man of delicate sensibilities, promptly resigned his vice chairmanship "to forestall any embarrassment on anybody's part." Said Costello plaintively: "I don't ask any favors from anybody. Anything I do comes from the heart, not the head."

Dr. Richard Hoffmann, a prominent Park Avenue psychiatrist, furnished an explanation of sorts. When Frank came to him three years ago, he didn't sleep so well: his mind was troubled. He suffered from a sense of "frustrated superiority"--socially, that is. Frankie was anxious to meet the better people--"and nothing but the better," said Frankie.

That was all he had been trying to do.

* Real name: Frank Castiglia.

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