July 12, 1979 was a typical summer day, the heat and humidity had wrapped itself around Bushwick, Brooklyn, like a wet blanket. Children ran in and out of an open fire hydrant. Old Italian men played bocce ball in Knickerbocker Park as onlookers sipped Demitasse. Fried garlic mixed with tomato, emanated from several kitchens and the laundry hung like uncooked lasagna between the houses.

The Ferina boys, Joseph and Philip, sat in their wheelchairs in front of 316 Suydam Street, between Knickerbocker Avenue and Irving Street.

"Phil, I can’t believe they’re still setting off fire works a week after the fourth. Don’t they know they’re late?"

"I know Joe, maybe they’re just a year early". The two boys chuckled. "They just don’t know when to stop."

The two boys did hear what sounded like fireworks on that day. Three masked gunmen had stormed into Joe and Mary’s Italian American Restaurant, at 205 Knickerbocker Avenue. The assassins fired several shotgun blasts into the face and body of Capo Carmine Galante just two blocks from where the boys were seated, also the victims of an assassin, muscular dystrophy.

It had started as another ordinary day for gangster Carmine Galante, until he decided to get something to eat at his cousin Joe’s restaurant. The small eatery, situated between Jefferson and Troutman Streets, was part of a block long building of ground level commercial establishments capped by a couple of floors of apartments. Knickerbocker Avenue was a busy one-way street, littered with shoppers and double-parked cars. The restaurant, with a reputation in the neighborhood as a mob hangout, had a modest dining room, complete with a bar. A back door opened onto an outdoor patio. It was here that Carmine sat with his friend, Angelo Provenzano and sipped wine. Galante smoked his trademark cigar, something he was rarely seen in public without.

Carmine Galante grew up the son of a fisherman from the town of Castellammare Del Golfo, the same town that Salvatore Maranzano came from. He learned quickly the way of the streets and he would murder someone before he was a teenager. Carmine got himself in real trouble during a truck robbery when he shot a police officer and an innocent little girl. Carmine was convicted and sent to jail for twelve and a half years. Standing at just over five feet, Carmine’s physical size was not very intimidating, but his temper was furious and made up for his height. During his lifetime, he was implicated in seventy to eighty murders, but he never served time for any murder. The most famous murder was that of Carlos Tresca who was a staunch out spoken enemy of the Mafia, but close ally to the Italian-American worker. At the time Galante was a soldier in the Genovese Family and under orders from Genovese to murder Tresca. During his getaway, a witness to the event wrote down the license plate of the car that sped away from the scene. It was the same car that Carmine had driven earlier in the day to meet his parole officer. Galante was picked up in the company of another criminal, which immediately violated his parole. Carmine was sent back to jail, but was never questioned about the murder. When he was released from jail, Carmine defected to the Bonanno Family for a better opportunity; he became underboss to Joe Bonanno.

Galante ruled his empire with an iron fist and swore to take out anyone that got in his way. His boasts, followed by his actions, struck fear in all who knew him. Galante had been instrumental in developing the infamous French Connection, a drug trade network, which encompassed numerous countries. The network was designed in collaboration with Lucky Luciano and a supporting cast of thousands. They were importing Turkish Opium into France, then shipping it into French Canada and then bringing it into the United States. Upon his release from the twenty-year prison term he received for his part in the French Connection, Carmine ordered the brass crypt doors of former gangster Frank Costello, blown off their hinges. The message was sent to the other mob families that Carmine was back, and a force to be reckoned with.

Galante had his eyes on being head of the Bonanno crime family. He immersed himself deeper and deeper into the world of narcotics. At the time, then crime boss, Philip "Rusty" Rastelli refused to step down and allow Carmine to take over as head of the crime family. Rastelli’s stepson was mysteriously gunned down in Brooklyn. Rastelli quit. With "Rusty" out of the way, Galante worked on accumulating control of the worldwide heroin trade. This made the bosses of the other crime families very nervous. Something had to be done about this ruthless, power-hungry boss.

As they ate, Angelo Provenzano began to complain of stomach pains. A concerned Galante urged his friend to go home. Leonard Copolla, a friend of Carmine’s dropped by the restaurant with two of Galante’s trusted bodyguards. Both of the bodyguards wore thick jackets to conceal their hardware. Beads of sweat formed on their brows.

One of the bodyguards excused himself to use the bathroom. Shortly thereafter, the other guard left to make a phone call. About five minutes to three o’clock, three masked gunmen, toting shotguns, stormed into the tiny restaurant. Patrons fled for the exits as the three made their way to the back patio. The three men sat stunned and motionless as the son of the restaurant owner was gunned done while reaching for a gun stashed in the back room. His father Joe rushed to his aid. He was blown off his feet by two shotgun blasts. The picnic table rolled over, as his limp body slumped in the corner. Carmine Galante catapulted from the table but one of the gunmen proceeded to empty his shotgun into the Boss’s arm, chest and face. Carmine Galante’s maimed body fell against the back wall, his teeth still clenching the cigar he was smoking. A shocked Leonard Copolla’s has his head blown off with the next volley of shotgun blasts.

Carmine Galante’s two bodyguards never returned to aid their boss. The three killers made their getaway on foot out onto Knickerbocker Avenue. Witnesses dialed 911 and dozens of calls for "Shots Fired" jammed the phone lines. Brakes from the 83^rd Precinct patrol cars, screeched like God’s fingernails on the blackboard of life. The officers entered with their 38 calibers drawn, but the smoke had already cleared. Three men lay dead and one seriously wounded.

Life’s too short, eat dessert first.