The decline and fall of James “Whitey” Bulger

Here is MSNBC’s Mike Barnicle from an Aug 1991 column on Whitey winning the lottery:

In a blatant display of prejudice against local Irish gangsters, some narrow-minded bigots are hinting the Lottery was rigged simply because a friend of Jimmy Bulger’s won $14 million and split the lucky ticket four ways. Next, in a gross display of piling on, the state treasurer, Joe Malone, said he was disturbed that the guy who sold the winning numbers, my pal, Kevin Weeks, showed up at Lottery headquarters “with a reputed mobster,” and I think he meant Bulger.

First things first: If the Mass Millions could be bagged, I would today be sitting on my fat arse doing next to nothing because my longtime, close personal friend — the former Treasurer and Receiver General of the Commonwealth, Robert Quentin Crane of Presentation Parish — and I would absolutely have found a way to send the money South. And don’t think I didn’t inquire.

Whitey Bulger, Kevin Weeks and the two Linskey brothers won it on the up and up. Hey, good things happen to good people, right? Of course, there is an army of malcontents who refuse to believe that the result of a mere game of chance is on the level when the cash cow moos at the doorstep of a man — Bulger — who, according to illegal eavesdropping by FBI agents and their cheap equipment (And I will show you how lousy their stuff is), runs a vastly overrated criminal enterprise in the area. Naturally, this paranoid bitterness is fueled by the fact that Jimmy’s brother runs the State Senate, although the one man has nothing more to do with the other than saying, “Pass the gravy,” during occasional Sunday dinners. But, with all the publicity, the Lottery has become part of local gangster legend.

The myth took root decades ago after Jimmy returned home from away games in Atlanta, Alcatraz and Leavenworth, where he earned his federal letter sweater. Then, Southie was sort of dominated by nickel and dime hoodlums claiming to be part of the Mullen Gang. This was the only gang in America that took its name from a street sign. They were supposed to be bad but, bottom line, they were stupid and Whitey is not.

He aligned himself with a larger outfit, many of whose members were of Mediterranean extraction and thus easily tricked by glib Irish wit. His associates loved to talk with their mouths full of linguine and clam sauce and, in between twirling noodles onto spoons, they talked themselves into jail or the trunks of Lincoln Town cars.

Some Irish were wounded, too. Among them was a Bulger acquaintance, Buddy Roache, the police commissioner’s brother, who got shot in the spine and must now rely on a wheelchair for movement. Then, there was the commissioner’s former brother-in-law, Mickey Dwyer, who got in a fight with the late Donald Killeen, one of Whitey’s executive vice presidents before they changed the title to executed vice president. Donny bit Mickey’s nose off in a fight but, out of friendship, called a cab after the beef and had the nose sent to the hospital. The cabbie got a tip, but the surgical procedure failed and to this day Mickey sounds like a cold front out of Canada.

There was Billy O’Sullivan of Savin Hill, who did not know enough to stay within his own zip code. Billy had more hits to his credit than Elvis but he got greedy. They found his car in Charlestown with Billy’s shoes alongside the spare tire. And that’s all they ever found.

Louie Litoff was another part-time member of Jimmy Bulger’s cabinet, a bookmaker with a hundred different jogging outfits. On his last run around the block, Louie stepped on Red Assad’s foot outside the Waltham Street Cafe. It’s the little things that are important and soon Louie had a new nickname and a new address. He went out being called, “Bowling Ball Head” due to the three bullet holes in the back of his skull, and he now gets his mail at Mt. Calvary Cemetery.

Believe me, it’s not all ice cream and sweet dreams for Jimmy Bulger. Someone is always after his behind or his job. He’s always the object of some hostile takeover.

Just last week, a moron in the D Street project who either did not know or, worse, did not care whom he was fighting with took a couple of swings at Jimmy. This was hours after Kevin Weeks’ brother-in-law got beaten and robbed there. Before that, two women stopped at The Busy Bee in Brookline for coffee, grabbed some napkins and came up with an electronic device they figured for a bomb. See, Bulger once went to the restaurant, so “The G’s” wired it with one of their ridiculous machines. If the FBI had run the war with Iraq, we’d be swearing allegiance to Saddam Hussein this morning.

So, lay off Jimmy Bulger. For the first time in his life, he got lucky, legitimately, and won the lottery. Knowing him, he probably already has handed out money to St. Augustine’s, figuring that when he goes — and the odds on that are better than winning Mass Millions — there will be some people left behind who will say, “Not a bad guy.”

Rich on June 23, 2011 at 2:19 PM