Bye-Bye, Whitey

Maybe I should call this entry “From Santa Monica to the Hoosegow.”

My father was never much interested in the New England mob, except for the Patriarcas, who occupied our area of Connecticut. His focus was always Philadelphia and New York. “What’s in a Name?

I know, though, that Daddy is smiling over the capture of James “Whitey” Bulger, more than fifteen years after he went on the lam, having been tipped off by his former FBI handler. Whitey isn’t the best mob name, and his Boston mob was not colorful, just brutal. His FBI involvement produced arrests for Cosa Nostra members so his Irish Winter Hill Gang could occupy the turf. He’s being charged with nineteen murders and attendant crimes.

I know Daddy would also appreciate the way the former leader of Boston’s Irish mob came to grief: Someone, who stands to collect $2 million, spotted girlfriend Catherine Greig on a PSA. It was probably a woman watching The View or another woman-friendly TV show.

The only down side to this whole business is that the arrest took so long and Whitey may no longer be in his right mind. His mental capacity may be somewhat diminished. Or it could be an act.

The mystery of his whereabouts has been solved. Now someone or some ones will have to explain how he managed to live in the same place for about fifteen years while the FBI chased him to Canada and Europe. The cynic in me says they didn’t start a real search until Osama bin Laden got knocked off the top of the Ten Most Wanted list.


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