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SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2010

LISA M. FIGUEREDO PUBLISHER

EMANUEL LETO EDITOR-AT-LARGE

SUSAN CUESTA COPY EDITOR

PAUL GUZZO SENIOR WRITER

LINDA MEDNICK PUBLIC RELATIONS

VIVAN CAPOTE SALES MANAGER

DAVE CAPOTE PHOTOGRAPHER

ART & PHOTOGRAPHY CONTRIBUTORS HILLSBOROUGH COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY THE FLORIDA STATE ARCHIVES USF DEPARTMENT OF SPECIAL COLLECTIONS THE TAMPA HISTORY MUSEUM TAMPA TRIBUNE ON THE COVER BLOOD IS THICKER

Cigar City, Inc. | P.O. Box 18613 | Tampa, Florida 33679 Tel 813-373-9988 | Fax 1-866-869-0617 E-mail: info@cigarcitymagazine.com Š2010, Cigar City, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction or use without written permission of the publisher, of editorial, pictorial, or design content, in any manner is prohibited. The opinions of writers commissioned for articles are not necessarily those of the publisher. All advertising is subject to approval before acceptance. Publisher reserves the right to refuse any advertisement for any reason whatsoever. Publisher assumes no responsibility for claims made by advertisers. All letters, emails and their contents sent to Cigar City, Inc. become the sole property of the publisher and may be used and published in any manner whatsoever without limit and without obligation or liability to the author there of.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS FEATURES

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The Drive-In Era in Tampa The Cigar Maker: Excerpt from Chapter 2 9/11-Tampa The Best of Tampa’s Mobster Hangouts Blood is Thicker: A new graphic novel about Ybor City

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10 12 14 16 52 54 56 62 62

Cigar Label History

Looking Back: This Month in Florida History

Lost Landmarks

Look Who’s Smokin’

Café con Leche Interview: Dr. Linda McClintock

The Kitchen

On The Town with Dave Capote

Mama

Did You Know?

Visit us at www.CigarCityMagazine.com

the “LA ESTAMPA” cigar brand was established back in the 1930s by z. garcia y Cia., which we know was owned by Modesto Maseda, who is the oldest brother of Marcelo Maseda, close and dear friend of the Fuente family. the “LA ESTAMPA” brand was purchased by the arturo Fuente Cigar Factory in the late 1970s when Modesto dissolved his company. the origin of the name of “LA ESTAMPA” came from one day when Marcelo and his brother Modesto were taking cigars to be mailed at the post office and they were discussing names for a future cigar brand. He mentioned they needed to get more stamps and then it clicked that they should call the new brand “LA ESTAMPA” . (in Spanish slang, Estampa sometimes translates to stamps). it was an ideal name as Modesto always said that if you put your name on something and stamp it, you had to be true to your word.

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IN THE MONTH OF SEPTMBER September 2, 1912 Tampa’s Labor Day Parade includes 4,300 cigar workers. September 10, 1853 By a vote of 23–2, Tampa residents decide to incorporate the Town of Tampa. September 15, 1950 First Lieutenant Baldomero Lopez, USMC, of Tampa is killed during the invasion of Inchon, Korea. He is awarded the Medal of Honor for sacrificing his life to save the lives of his men. September 21, 1989 Tampa City Council votes to rename the city’s portion of Buffalo Avenue for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. September 22, 1887 The cigar manufacturing firm of Emilo Pons & Co. is founded in Ybor City.

IN THE MONTH OF OCTOBER October 10, 1899 El Club Nacional Cubano is founded in Ybor City. The club would be reorganized in 1902 as El Circulo Cubano. October 15, 1926 The Tampa Theatre opens. Noted architect John Everson designed the grand theatre, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The theatre is also locally landmarked by the City of Tampa. October 19, 1966 Groundbreaking begins on the $4.4 million Tampa Stadium construction project. October 18, 1960 John F. Kennedy speaks to Tampa voters during his presidential campaign at the Hillsborough County Courthouse on Pierce Street.

Today in Florida History is provided by the Tampa Bay History Center. www.TampabayHistoryCenter.org 12

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Can you identify this Lost Landmark?

Congratulations to Mary Valdes of Tampa, who guessed last issue's Lost Landmark! The Bank of Tampa Building on the southwest corner of Franklin Street (100 block) and Washington Avenue (200 block) streets in Tampa, Florida. Simply mail the answer and your name to:

Lost Landmarks C/O Cigar City Magazine P.O. Box 18613 • Tampa, Florida 33679 or email us at info@cigarcitymagazine.com by October 1, 2010. All correct entries will be entered into a drawing and one name will be selected as the winner. Your name will be featured in our next issue of Cigar City Magazine. Good luck! 14

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Look WhosSmokin

He is a bit of a Renaissance man. He is an actor. He is a businessman. He is a chef, an author and a cigar connoisseur. Yet, despite his numerous abilities, he will be forever known for two words–“Johnny Cakes.” Yeah, he’s that guy: Vito, the gay mobster from The Sopranos. Despite being pigeon-holed as “that guy,” you won’t hear him crying. No, actor Joseph R. Gannascoli has no qualms about how he obtained his fame. In fact, the famous character’s lifestyle was his idea. “I was just a background character for the first few seasons,” said Brooklyn native Gannascoli. “I’d mutter a line here and there, but I was nothing more than just another guy on the show. Then I read a book about a true gay mobster and I thought it would be a really interesting direction to take my character. I brought the idea to the writers and I told them I’d be willing to do it because it is something I had never seen in a mob movie or television show before. I gave them the book, but two seasons went by and I never heard about it again. Then came the script for Season 5, Episode 9.” In that now infamous episode, Meadow Soprano’s boyfriend, Finn, caught Vito performing oral sex on a male security guard at a construction site. The scene made Gannascoli an overnight celebrity. “I held a party the night the episode aired. I think about 20 friends were at my home watching it and I never told them what was going to happen. I only told them that this was a big moment for me in the show,” he remembered. “And when the moment was getting closer, I kept yelling for them to pay attention. Then, when my head popped up from that security guard’s lap, they all freaked! Within moments my phone was ringing like crazy and everyone who knew me said their phones were ringing like crazy. Even my mailman said he got 10 calls from people who knew he knew me!” The next day, Sopranos fans across the nation discussed the scene. Every major entertainment magazine wrote about it. Morning radio hosts jockeyed for interview time with him, including Howard Stern, who interviewed Gannascoli via phone.

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by Paul Guzzo

As the show progressed over the next few seasons, Gannascoli’s Vito character became the lynchpin for the entire show. It was the Vito character’s murder that directly led to the mafia family war that led to the show’s grand finale. Gannascoli’s idea turned Vito from a background character into one of the most defining characters in one of the most defining shows in television history. “It changed my life,” he said. “I think it is one of the most shocking moments in television history [when his character was caught with the security guard]. I am proud of what the writers did with the character. They could have made him simply some homophobic gangster living in denial. Instead, they turned him into this sympathetic man who just wanted to live his life and got killed for it, but was still a true mobster to the end.” Of course, not all the talk about his character was positive. Gannascoli admitted that his close friends in Brooklyn “really busted my balls.” “But I could care less. I can take the jokes,” he said. “It allowed me to do so much more with my life. It gave me a face and name that has allowed my other enterprises to flourish.” He has his own line of extra virgin olive oil and spaghetti sauces that are available in supermarkets throughout New York. He wrote a book, A Meal to Die For, based on his pre-acting life as a cook with a gambling problem. The book rights have recently been purchased by a production company and will hopefully be made into a feature film soon. “I will actually be playing my uncle in the film, not myself. I think they want to get The Rock to play me,” he joked. Most dear to his heart, though, is his new line of cigars–Cugine, which means “cousin” in Italian. He is currently touring the nation promoting the cigars. “The cigars is where The Sopranos really helps,” he said. “Cigars are really competitive. There are a lot of great cigars out there and a lot of people don’t know the difference between the various blends. But when I’m promoting the cigars, because I am well known from the show, my cigar stands out. I am also working on a whole new line of cigar accessories–an ashtray shaped like a pistol, a shirt that says, ‘Real Men Smoke Cigars,’ humidors, and so on.” “Yeah, I have a lot going on and it is all going really good.” And he owes it all to oral sex. For more information on his cigars, book, olive oil and spaghetti sauce, visit www.josephrgannascoli.com.

The Sopranos star, actor Joseph R. Gannascoli

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Sandwich Shop at 1119 Florida Avenue in Tampa, Florida, 1941. 18

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THE DRIVE-IN ERA IN TAMPA: BY MICHAEL MURILLO

or years, the phrase “heading out for a meal” meant driving to a restaurant, going inside to eat and then heading home. Your vehicle was simply transportation to get you there and back. Today, you can get a meal from just about any restaurant without ever leaving your couch. You can have any cuisine delivered to your door, and your car stays in the garage the whole evening.

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But for a few decades, a popular choice involved leaving your house and staying in your car. The drive-in is remembered nostalgically as a teenager-dominated slice of American history, and it was the destination of choice for younger drivers–and whoever they could pile into their car–in the 1950s and 1960s. But even before that, the drive-in was a popular dining option among adults and families for several years, and Tampa businesses were happy to offer curb service to patrons hungry for food beyond the normal fare of burgers, fries, sodas and shakes normally-associated with teen hangouts.

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In the Beginning The Goody Goody restaurant opened its doors on Grand Central Boulevard–what’s now known as Kennedy Boulevard–in 1925. Five years later, it was sold and moved to Florida Avenue where it would remain for the next 75 years. In its early days, the Goody Goody didn’t resemble what people now consider a “drive-in.” It wasn’t a burger stand. The car hops weren’t attractive young girls; they were male. And their clientele wasn’t young adults looking to meet their friends and hang out after a highschool football game. The patrons were adults and families looking to spend some quality time eating a meal in a novel way. It might not be the drive-in we see in movies or imagine when listening to oldies radio stations, but it was a popular Tampa drive-in all the same. According to Andrew Huse, a librarian at the University of South Florida and local food historian, the first great heyday of drive-ins actually occurred well before the 1950s. “The beginning was in 1925 with the Goody Goody, which actually opened as an oyster bar. By 1930, they had a reputation for burgers and fries and shakes and all the stuff that we think of when we think of drive-ins,” Huse explained. “Originally, I would say the early heyday would be the late 1930s and going into World War II, where drive-ins weren’t reserved just for kids. The Goody Goody was significant because it was a place where a lot of adults went and (where) a lot of men working downtown would go.” At that time, the drive-in demographics were based less on style and more on financial situation. Following the Great Depression, most teenagers didn’t have the means to drive cars, and thus weren’t the main patrons of drive-ins. But after World War II, teenagers had more disposable income and could better afford their own transportation and entertainment options, and the drive-in became a popular spot for them to socialize. That social aspect is another cultural change that coincided with the increase in teen buying power. Huse noted that

segregated patrons by gender after the meal; Men would gather together at the bar for smoking and drinking, while the women would retire to their own parlor for socializing. But teens, armed with transportation, a little money and a new sense of freedom, were eager to break social traditions. They could eat and socialize together at the drive-in without worrying about table manners, chaperones or other traditions. Friends would pile into one car and head out together, often hoping to meet someone of the opposite sex. Drivers wanted to be seen in their cars (in part to impress prospective dates), and businesses were happy to let them eat and socialize at their establishments. Curb Service While customers remained by their wheels, the food was often served on wheels, too. Many restaurants would have carhops on roller skates taking and delivering orders that usually consisted of simple fare: burgers, fries, sodas and milkshakes. Traditionally female, these carhops would wear brightly-colored (and sometimes outlandish) outfits and brought trays of food to car windows. As the drive-in concept developed, traditional trays were replaced by special ones that fastened to the outside of car windows. But even before teens took over the drive-in stalls, the carhop was ingrained as a staple of American life: The February 1940 edition of Life magazine featured Carhop of the Year Jeanette Hall on its cover. Whether the food was walked or rolled out to them, hungry patrons in Tampa had plenty of drive-in options: The Goody Goody on Florida Avenue, The A&W on Kennedy Boulevard, The White Tower on Henderson Boulevard and Jake Walker’s Chicken & Chips on Dale Mabry Highway were just a few of the many restaurants offering curb service at the time. Huse estimates that, by 1950, as many as 40 different drive-ins were in operation in the area.

Goody - Goody Sandwich Shop at 1119 Florida Avenue in Tampa. 1932. 20

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But that doesn’t mean drivers were interested in visiting many different locations. A group of teens would likely have had their own favorite gathering spot, and frequent the same place to see their friends and meet prospective dates in a social setting. If a stall wasn’t available or they were in the mood to drive, they might simply circle the location over and over–popularly known as cruising. Each hangout was a place where teens went to see and be seen.

ertising Jake A matchbook cover adv

ips Walker's Chicken 'N Ch

The Nade In the drive-in era of the 1950s and 60s, your hangout was often determined by your high school and your address, and for decades a popular spot in South Tampa was The Colonnade on Bayshore Boulevard. “The Nade” was the hangout of choice for Plant High School students on both weekdays and weekends. With room for more than 70 cars, it could accommodate a good percentage of the student body, many of whom were eager for a soda when the last school bell rang. Before students piled into their friends’ cars, workers at The Nade were already preparing for the Coke orders. According to current co-owner Jack Whiteside, who helps run the family business that began in 1935, The Colonnade was a top Coca-Cola seller in the Southeast United States at the time. “The people at Coke told my dad that The Colonnade sold more fountain Cokes than any other place east of the Mississippi, other than the Varsity Drive-In which is up in Atlanta,” Whiteside said. Teens would order those Cokes in different varieties as well, with cherry and vanilla Cokes becoming popular favorites. They also offered some food beyond burgers and fries, such as grouper sandwiches and grilled Swiss on rye. For much of that time the area had only a few high schools, and The Colonnade was Plant High School ter-

ritory. While there were older patrons who would come by for lunch (or visit the inside restaurant when it was established), weekend evenings were dominated by the Plant high school crowd who would stop by for food or just to “Cruise The Nade” and drive around the establishment. And since it was such a well-known establishment, parents were comfortable letting them go there. “They could get out and say they were going to The Nade and their parents said ‘Well, that’s a good place to be,’” Whiteside explained. He recalls very few incidents where teens got out of hand and remembered that they were well-behaved. Most of them simply wanted to enjoy a popular destination where they could socialize, have a Coke and enjoy some time away from the restrictions of school or home. In those decades before cellular phones, parents would often know which drive-ins their children frequented, and would even call the establishment to order their son or daughter home if they were out past curfew. For several years, the drive-in was a quirky hybrid of driving, fraternizing and food for young adults just experiencing their first taste of freedom. It was an integral part of a teen’s social experience, both in Tampa and across the country. Decline Just as several factors came together to create the drive-in era, a variety of others–economic, social and even geographic–conspired for its demise. As teens dominated the drive-in scene, businesses had to rely on them for income, but even those lucky enough to have cars still operated on a limited budget. Eating wasn’t always as important as flirting, hanging out with friends and showing off new wheels. Since the drive-in was a social scene rather than just an eating alternative, profit margins on teen customers were low. As time went on, restaurant owners around the country found ways to save money: They reduced the need for carhops by equipping them with walkie-talkies, so large numbers of customers could be served by fewer employees. And in the 1940s, two brothers in California found a way to eliminate them entirely. By developing a self-service model, where customers placed and picked up their own orders and brought them back to cars, their restaurant was able to serve their patrons without any carhops. As Maurice and Richard McDonald’s system gained popularity (long before they would sell the rights to open restaurants under the McDonald’s name to Ray Kroc), and as the drive-through system slowly became the norm in the fast-food industry, the drive-in format with carhops was already in jeopardy. SePteMBer/OCtOBer 2010

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continues as a successful traditional restaurant (the family business celebrated its 75th anniversary recently). The A&W brand can still be seen today in Tampa, usually paired with another Yum! Brands restaurant such as KFC or Long John Silver’s in one (non-drive-in) location. Steak ‘N Shake, once known for having several drive-in locations in Tampa, offers an expanded sit-down seating area as well as drive-through service. But almost every remnant of the carhop era is gone from Tampa, with the exception of Sonic Drive-In. And while their locations feature several stalls and car service, it’s not a teen hangout and they also have a drive-through.

Mary Hatcher visits her Plant High School friends at the Colonnade, 1947.

At the same time, teen culture was also changing. While high schools always had their cliques, young adults more accustomed to freedom began embracing some groups and rejecting others, and finding places where like-minded peers could spend their time. The notion of one hangout where most people congregated became outdated. “Nobody was too cool to go to the Colonnade,” Huse said while describing the heyday of drive-ins. “But I think when you get into the late 60s, by that time culture is changing. Youth culture is splintering into a lot of different groups, so I think that’s really significant.” Huse also said television was a major change in the societal landscape, allowing people–even teens–to find engaging entertainment without even leaving the house. But in warm climates such as Tampa, there was another factor that had an adverse effect on the drive-in business, and it’s something we take for granted today. “Air conditioning,” Whiteside said, when asked what contributed to the end of the drive-in era. “All of a sudden, you could go inside and it’s cool. A lot of people would sit in drive-ins because it was cooler outside than inside.” Inside-the-restaurant business started growing, and it became an attractive option for those looking to beat the Florida heat. Huse agrees with that assessment: “Who wants to sit and eat in their car, especially when most cars didn’t have air conditioning?” Teens had a growing list of entertainment options, hanging outside drinking Cokes wasn’t profitable for the restaurant, and a cooler (literally) environment was driving patrons inside. Customers who wanted to eat inside parked their cars those who wanted a quick meal used a drive-through, and young adults soon found other places to spend their time. Over time, the drive-in era came to a close. Some businesses shut down entirely, while others transitioned into a sit-down dining format. The Colonnade ended its drive-in service in 1974 and 22

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Colonnade Restaurant at 3401 Bayshore Boulevard, Tampa, Florida, 1960.

However, those drive-ins aren’t like the ones Whiteside remembers so fondly. “That’s what people did. They’d come down to the Colonnade. That’s where they’d spend their evenings,” he recalled. “They’d spend three or four hours walking around and socializing”–a far cry from today’s world where teens spend hours online on social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace. Clearly the golden era of the drive-in still holds a special place in the hearts and minds of many residents like Jack Whiteside who continue to tell the tales of Tampa’s own “Happy Days.”

Tampa native Michael Murillo is a freelance writer, former local newspaper journalist and frequent contributor to Cigar City Magazine. Michael can be reached at vivamurillo@gmail.com.

THE CIGAR MAKER Excerpt from Chapter 2 BY MARK MCGINTY

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The seeds of Cuba Libre were sprouted by men like Olympia’s father, Testifonte Cancio, who transplanted his Spanish empire to Cuban soil and built a booming sugar market on the back of slave labor. Testifonte moved his family to the plantation in Pinar del Río when Olympia was only three, just two years before a long revolution erupted and brought social and financial disarray to the island. The Ten Years’ War ended with a treaty between Cubans and Spaniards but some who continued to fight threatened Testifonte’s sugar estate. He fortified his property with armed guards, but not enough to protect Olympia from every danger presented by unstable, post-war Cuba. In 1880, soon after she turned seventeen, Olympia was kidnapped by the bandit group headed by the charismatic Victoriano Machín, known among the peasants as El Matón. A son of plantation slaves and the oldest of six children, Machín saw himself as the charitable benefactor of his peasant siblings. War meant the Machín family was homeless and unemployed as business owners hired only Spanish workers. Victoriano was forced to slip into town to pick pockets and rob Spanish bakeries in order to feed his starving brothers and sisters. He was a charitable brother who blamed the Spanish for sinking Cuba into a dreadful depression. Machín’s deeds were not limited to his family, and he generously shared the fruit of his exploits with neighbors and fellow peasants. As the rural proletariat starved and vagrancy became a permanent feature of the landscape, Machín became a feared thief of Spanish aristocracy who supervised a redistribution of wealth in the province. He was no longer just a nice-looking low-class teenage hood but a benevolent outlaw who looked after his people. His popularity grew. He attracted recruits and built a small army, outfitted first with machetes and then guns. They saw themselves not as bandits but young rebels in the mold of Cuban generals like Calixto García and Antonio Maceo. Machín stood among his men like a young captain wearing black pants with a black vest over a half buttoned white shirt. With a red kerchief tied around his neck, a belt of bullets slung over each shoulder and a pistol holstered on each hip, he stood confident and ready to announce their most daring raid yet. His long black hair seemed to shine in the morning sun, but when the wind blew wisps of dirt and dust from his locks it became obvious that Machín had shunned the luxury of a bath for many days. He said to his men, “We will go in the dead of night, after the house and surrounding quarters have fallen asleep.” His army of twenty sat around a campfire and listened to their leader. Machín’s magnetic nature impressed young rebels like the peasant boy Salvador Ortiz, who was nervous to hear the details of the raid but anxious to collect the payoff that Machín had promised.

Now the bandit leader picked up a small log and held it before him like a club. He wrapped an old tattered rag around the end and showed it to his men. “What is this?” The wily Juan Carlos answered, “It looks like a stick with a towel wrapped around it.” “Wrong.” Machín grinned; in another life he could have been a stage actor or an entertainer. He took his club and held it into the fire, and when he pulled it out, the tattered rag was balled in flames. “This is our weapon. We will descend on the plantation like thunder and leave the sugar fields burning.” Storming a giant sugar plantation was a greater crime than any of them had ever committed, but the rebels thought of their families and the starving people of Piro. The Spanish had given these men no other choice. The revolution was underway. Machín’s men gathered on a hill to the south of the plantation overlooking Testifonte’s forty acres of sugar cane. North of the cane field, standing like a stone fortress and dwarfing the plantation buildings, was the immaculate mansion of the Cancio family. The gray and white manor was surrounded by brick storage huts and wooden worker’s dwellings. Dozens of tiny figures were speckled across the plantation, chopping cane in the field and hauling it to the mill on horse-drawn carts. “Let’s move around to the north,” Machín instructed. “I want to get a closer look at the mansion and try for a headcount on the workers and guards.” The group moved into the forest and positioned themselves on the north side of the plantation. Here they had a close up view of the small village within the estate. Two of Testifonte’s men patrolled the perimeter with rifles and both were so far away that the bandits had little reason for concern. Machín actually snickered. “Two guards? That’s all he has? This won’t even be a challenge.” He pointed towards the mansion. “See that stone building there? That’s the mill which houses a press for extracting sugar and a boiling room where the sugar is heated into molasses. If it is destroyed then the whole plantation will shutdown. That must happen only as a last resort. If this plantation is making no money, then we will be unable to take our share of the wealth.” Salvador pointed to a pair of brick buildings beside the mill. “What’s in those two buildings over there?” “Storage,” said Machín as his eyes moved across the entire plantation. “Cancio will be hindered but not out of business and more important, we will have the attention of the entire province.” Including the attention of the Spanish army. None of the men fooled themselves into thinking their task was without risk. Even if they did make it back to their village of Piro, under a banner of victory, they were at the mercy of the peasants. Betrayal could be more disastrous than finding themselves face to face with Spanish soldiers. SePteMBer/OCtOBer

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“Yes, it is an act of war,” Machín explained. “But this is our country.” They observed the plantation until it became as quiet as a lake in the dead of night. After the sun set, the sweet smell of caramelized sugar and dying coals wafted from the boiling room. Lamps burned inside the mansion and illuminated the rooms for Machín and his men, who crouched in the weeds just outside. Testifonte could be seen in the dining area with his son and daughter while a plump mulatto housemaid circled the room and tended to the family dinner. It was the first time any of the rebels and seen the wealthy sugar planter in person. Testifonte was dignified but informal, rarely wearing a suit and tie, and tonight he dined in a thin white shirt with an opened collar. Dark hair was lined with streaks of gray and he wore a small moustache like a man from a Greco painting. His skin was smooth and youthful, unblemished by hours in the sun like his workers and characteristic of a career spent almost entirely behind a desk. Known as caciques in Spain, men like Testifonte held the power and ruled politics, agriculture and real estate. They considered themselves family people who prided themselves on the purity of their race. Testifonte often told Olympia and her older brother Hector of the myths of Don Pelayo, who lead Gothic nobles to victory against Moorish invaders at Covadonga. “Asturias is the only real Spain,” Testifonte would say. “The rest is conquered territory.” While Testifonte’s father and brother were captains of finance and government, he’d made his fortune in sugar. And since he hired only Spaniards, as most peninsulares did, it meant thousands of Cubans remained unemployed. Testifonte tried to shield his children from the prostitution and robbery that resulted and even hired a bodyguard to accompany his daughter between the plantation and her school. Victims of poverty were attracted to crime and banditry and until now, Testifonte had been lucky to avoid confrontation with these clever and mischievous men. As he inspected the family from afar, Machín said, “The son should be dealt with cautiously and appropriately.” Beside the planter was Hector, a healthy young man in his early twenties who looked athletic and near his physical prime. He resembled his father in every way, including the moustache, open collar and flawless skin. At the opposite end of the table was Testifonte’s seventeen-year-old daughter Olympia. The girl’s black hair was wound in braids and her olive skin was like the women of Southern Spain. Her appearance was pure and untarnished. Machín smiled when he saw the pretty, young girl. “A clear child of the indoors,” he remarked. “Her father will pay a fortune to have her returned safely from the cesspool of peasant society.” He laughed and imagined tens of thousands of pesos 26

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in ransom, enough to purchase a horse for every one of his men and feed all of Piro for a month. The bandits returned to camp and the following morning the rebel leader gathered his men and reviewed the plan. “We’ll wait until dark. Once the guards are eliminated we’ll storm the mansion like a hurricane. For the rest of the day, we rest.” And so they rested, until dusk when they formed a column and marched down the hill to the Cancio plantation. Once it was dark, they formed a perimeter around the north side of the property and on Machín’s signal, they lit their torches. Testifonte was in bed and drifting towards sleep as faint voices called him into a dream, and then the sound of ceramic pots shattered on the cement outside and forced his eyes open. Men were shouting and Testifonte realized the voices and hollers did not belong to his men. He knew instantly that his plantation was in terrible trouble. When he sat up, he looked through his bedroom window and saw orange flames down below. The fields were on fire! He threw his sheets away and jumped out of bed. Machín’s men moved swiftly across the plantation and illuminated the night with their flames. Torches were thrown upon the palm-thatched roofs of the storage huts and into the workers’ dwellings. The guards had been immediately ambushed and neutralized with a pair of gunshots and the bandits carried their fire into the cane fields, which became a curtain of white light. As he torched the sugar cane Salvador thought of his parents and remembered the sight of the family bohio crumbling under an orange fireball. Now Salvador carried the torch and was invigorated as he turned it against the same aristocracy that had murdered his parents and made him an orphan. The sweet odor of simmering sugar and ash overtook the estate and Salvador felt great satisfaction watching the Cancio empire burn into worthless curtains of smoke. A plantation that had been silent and sleepy just moments ago now clamored with commotion. Men with machetes and torches screamed and yelled like true warriors and ran every direction smashing flower pots and useless, petty trinkets that seemed to be the height of self-indulgence. Gunshots echoed across the hills as the bandits fired their weapons and torched plantation buildings before the inhabitants had time to react. Testifonte moved quickly for a man over fifty. Once out of bed he hurried across the hall to Olympia’s room. The girl was awake and sitting upright in bed, frozen, waiting anxiously, knowing that someone would soon arrive. She gasped when she saw a man’s shadow in her bedroom doorway and relaxed slightly when her father came forth.

ClubHabanoCigars.com

Before Testifonte could say anything there was a terrible crash from the first floor, like a bull had charged through the front door at full speed and then ran headfirst into a dining room table set with plates and glasses for morning breakfast. Machín and his men charged into the house and shattered windows, torched the curtains and carpet, and used their machetes to hack at the furniture and smash every breakable object of affluence in sight. Wine glasses and fancy pottery flew across the dining room and exploded against the walls with bursts of glass and debris. The downstairs was filled with dust, dirt, and smoke almost immediately as the bandits ran through every room like rabid wild animals, energized by the hot blood of war and revolution. Testifonte’s son Hector appeared on the grand staircase with rifle in hand, but before he could load a shot, he was overwhelmed by men and his rifle confiscated. Two men held him down while Machín led a charge up the stairs and found Testifonte in the hallway shielding Olympia, who huddled terrified behind him. The sugar planter stood defiant, his arms angled back to form a wedge around his daughter. His chest swelled as he looked down his nose at Machín. The sugar planter and the rebel leader stood face to face. Machín signaled to his men to halt behind him as he smiled at Testifonte. His grin was captivating, almost as if he was ready to sit down with Testifonte and discuss business. It became a quiet scene with the sounds of crackling embers downstairs and the flickering yellow flames outside reminding everyone of the emergency they faced, yet Machín was relaxed. He said to Testifonte, “Good evening, sir. We did not mean to wake you and your family from their quiet slumber, but as you can see, your property is in danger and we have come to rescue your daughter from the fires.” Machín extended his left hand for Olympia as if expecting Testifonte to be so charmed as to step aside and surrender his daughter. Instead, Testifonte puckered his lips and spat towards Machín’s hand. The rebel leader smiled. “Good sir, you have no time for these juvenile antics, for the fires desperately need your attention.” “You are heathens!” shouted Testifonte. “Thugs! Beggars with rifles! Get out of my house and return to the alleys and live off the filth from which you were spawned!” As smoke filled the hallway and obstructed their vision Machín said, “Neither of us have time for discussion. Salvador! Take the girl!” Salvador appeared beside Machín and saw Olympia Cancio de la Serna up close for the first time. As she peeked out from behind her father, Salvador first thought she looked frightened. He instantly remembered his parents and thought of how he must have looked when the Spanish burned his 28

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house. But then a fleeting look of calm passed over her and made Salvador question his assumptions. There was something inquisitive and searching about her, as if she could just as easily have been watching him through her window. Testifonte stepped forward to challenge Salvador. “Take me instead.” Juan Carlos unsheathed his machete and held it under Testifonte’s chin. “Cooperate and you will save your family and possibly this house.” Testifonte froze under the blade as Salvador reached behind him and grabbed Olympia by the wrist. The girl yelped but offered little resistance as the bandits disappeared with her into the smoke. They ran from the burning house and escaped into the night with Testifonte’s most prized possession thrown like a bunch of bananas over the shoulder of Salvador Ortiz. The Cigar Maker is available wherever books are sold. For more information about visit, www.TheCigarMaker.net

Mark Carlos McGinty is a descendant of Cuban cigar makers. Mark’s first novel “Elvis and the Blue Moon Conspiracy” (Beaver’s Pond Press, 2003) won an Eric Hoffer Book Award Honorable Mention for General Fiction. He graduated from Stetson University in DeLand, Florida and got his Master’s degree from Xavier University in Cincinnati. Mark can be reached at mmcginty_32@yahoo.com

9/11 Tampa “Hiroshima …Nagasaki …Tampa. That was all that was running through my mind that night.” – Dick Greco B BYY PPAUL AUL G GUZZO UZZO

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October 2001–One month after 9/11. “Mayor Greco, we could have a catastrophe coming,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. It was then-Tampa Police Captain Jane Castor, and her voice was filled with dread. The FBI just contacted her, she told Greco. They told her that a ship was on its way to Tampa with al-Qaeda and two nuclear devices–and they were not sure if they were trying to smuggle them into the United States through Tampa or if they planned on detonating them in the city because it is home to Central Command.

haps, he thought, it would all just suddenly end. Perhaps everyone in Tampa would soon be dead. Hours later, while Greco nervously sat on the edge of his bed, his phone finally rang and he received the good news he’d been praying to hear. Castor told him that they tracked down the ship that was suspected of carrying the devices, boarded it and found nothing. Either the threat was false or the order was cancelled. Either way, Tampa was safe. Greco said that when he hung up, he began to sob. Some of

“It could have been a false threat,” explained Greco, “and if we told everyone in Tampa about it, the mass hysteria caused by the news could have gotten out of hand. Besides, if the devices were detonated, no one really could have gotten far enough away to be safe. If they were detonated, I think we were all dead.” Greco said he swallowed hard and tried to maintain his composure as his dinner guests at Tampa’s world-famous Bern’s Steakhouse were looking over their dessert menus, discussing what to order while they sipped on their expensive wine. Castor didn’t need to tell Greco that this news was confidential, so he politely excused himself from the table and walked outside so they could talk in private. Castor informed him that the specific type of nuclear device was unknown, but Tampa’s Joint Terrorism Task Force (JTTF)–a federal task force comprised of FBI and federal, state and local law enforcement agencies of which she was a part–were handling the situation. A federal helicopter with a nuclear detection device was flying over every ship on its way to Tampa and countless law enforcement officers with the JTTF were waiting at the port, ready to search every ship that docked. The JTTF was told by the federal government that they were not to make the threat public. “It could have been a false threat,” explained Greco, “and if we told everyone in Tampa about it, the mass hysteria caused by the news could have gotten out of hand. Besides, if the devices were detonated, no one really could have gotten far enough away to be safe. If they were detonated, I think we were all dead.” There was nothing he could do to help; all he could do was wait. “After I told him everything, his response was the same as everyone’s,” said Castor, who is currently the Tampa police chief. “He had no response. He had no point of reference for how to react to an incident like that. No one did.” Greco said he returned to his dinner table and tried to act like nothing was wrong, which was driving him crazy. He said for the rest of the night his mind was so focused on his phone, waiting for it to ring with news, that the world was mute to him. Mouths were moving. Feet were trampling. The piano was playing. Glasses and silverware were clinking. Doors were slamming. But Greco heard none of it. His mind was focused on his cell phone sitting in his lap. He was staring at it, waiting for it to ring again, waiting for Castor to tell him everything was ok. Or, per-

the sobs were part of a normal emotional release following such a traumatic evening. And some of the sobs were due to the realization that there were some threats to the city about which he could do nothing. His greatest attribute had always been his ability to handle every situation through sheer force of personality. He could sit down with anyone, talk with them and find a way to solve their problem. But he couldn’t talk with the terrorists. They are faceless cowards hiding in the shadows. And even if he could talk with them, he knew they don’t think logically. For the first time in his life, Greco felt helpless, an emotion that would only increase in the coming months, as everyday was consumed with something terrorist-related. “For a while, every day I was at a meeting discussing something about terrorists,” said Greco. “It was crazy. The day after 9/11, I got a call from Police Chief Benny Holder and he said we had to go over some of the potential dangers the city faced. So we got together and had to discuss what we would do if they blew up the chlorine tanks we had in the port or if they sunk a ship in our channel because that meant other ships couldn’t get through. Or, how would we react to an anthrax attack? And oh my God, my phone kept ringing with new scenarios we had to be prepared to handle. “And then we had to start worrying about our Middle Eastern population. We were getting tips about people wanting to attack our Middle Eastern-owned establishments and businesses like convenience stores, restaurants, temples, doctor’s offices, gas stations and so on. Some people wanted to kill every Middle Eastern resident in Tampa so we had to make sure the police were looking after them. “People would make appointments to see me and sit in my office and ask me if they should be worried about anthrax. Some of these people were 80 years old or older and they’d never had to worry about anything like this before. So I’d have to calm them and tell them everything was ok, but I had no idea if everything would be ok. It was all new to me too. But I’d tell them not to worry anyway.” For the first few months after 9/11, Greco said he rarely ever slept. SePteMBer/OCtOBer 2010

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A single-engine Cessna 172 was flown into downtown Tampa’s Bank of America building by 15 year old Charlie Bishop.

Greco said it got to the point that every time his phone rang late at night, he worried that it would be the worst type of news–either a terrorist attack occurred or was coming, or a scared citizen turned vigilante and blew up an innocent Middle Easterner’s business. Throughout his four terms as mayor (1967 - 1974 and 1995 - 2003), Greco kept a police radio in his car and home. He would often race to the scene of a crime after hearing it broadcast. He said that doing so helped him understand the problems law enforcement officers had to deal with in Tampa, which enabled him to better provide them with the necessary resources. Following the October 2001 threat, he said he sat up late listening to the police radio in his home, wondering when the bad news of a terrorist attack would be broadcast. “I think everybody, every law enforcement officer nationwide, had a new sense of awareness after 9/11,” said Castor. “We all had a different perspective on the world. The things you may have driven past prior to 9/11, like something as simple as a car parked in front of a federal building, began to look suspicious. The world is just different now.” 34

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While listening to his police radio a few weeks after the nuclear threat, Greco said he heard about a shooting in downtown Tampa and he rushed to the scene. When he arrived, the first thing he saw was a pool of blood surrounding a sheet-covered body. The police shot the young man as he fled a robbery in his car. An officer pulled up next to the suspect’s car and the man pulled a gun, so the officer shot and killed him in self-defense. Greco said that he had been to dozens of such crime scenes over the years, but he said that this one was different; he didn’t feel as much empathy for the dead man as he normally did. “Usually, especially when the victim was a young person, I’d think about what a shame it was and wonder how the kid got to that point in his life,” said Greco. “But I didn’t think that way that night at all. I was actually relieved. I wasn’t happy that someone was dead, but I was happy that it wasn’t worse. I was happy it was a robbery because after all the nation had been through since 9/11, anything that wasn’t terrorist-related seemed like a relief. So I went up to Benny Holder and asked him if he felt the same as I did and he said he did. I made a point to ask every cop there and they all said exactly what I was thinking, that they were just happy it wasn’t something worse. And I couldn’t help but to think what a strange world we lived in that we could all be relieved when someone was killed.” The downtown shooting paled in comparison to the incident that occurred in downtown a few months later. Shortly after 5 p.m. on Saturday, January 5, 2002, Greco received a call informing him that a stolen airplane purposely flew into the side of downtown Tampa’s Bank of America building. “I thought, ‘Oh my God. The worst has happened,’” remembered Greco. He raced to downtown, thinking it was going to be a repeat of what happened in New York City. He expected to arrive and find the building crumbling to the ground, covering the city with ashes and killing everyone around it. He was expecting a second or even a third plane to follow. And he was expecting to hear Osama bin Laden broadcasting a message over the radio and television, talking about how more attacks in Tampa will follow because the city is home to the U.S. military’s Central Command. But when he arrived, he was relieved at what he found. The plane was “only” a single-engine Cessna 172. Because the plane was small, the damage was minimal. It was hanging from the 28th story window it flew through, half in the office and half sticking out. It damaged the office it flew into, but it didn’t puncture any interior walls or even touch the adjoining room. It was Saturday, so no one was in the office. The pilot died on impact, but no one else was injured. And police did not believe the crash was terrorist-related. “We were so thankful,” said Greco. “We went home thinking that while it was a big accident, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” In the ensuing days, the story of the pilot unfolded and Greco again realized how warped he had become since 9/11. Greco was so happy that the plane crash was not a terrorist

attack that he never stopped to think that the pilot had a family and friends who would suffer as a result of losing a loved one and he never stopped to think what types of inner demons must have haunted a person to cause them to commit suicide in such a manner. The pilot’s name was Charlie Bishop and he was just 15 years old. He lived alone with his mother and he took regular flying lessons at the St. Petersburg-Clearwater International Airport from which he stole the plane. His classmates considered him a loner and he had few friends. Bishop wrote a letter proclaiming that he purposely crashed the plane into the building as a show of support for Osama bin Laden. Bishop claimed that bin Laden contacted him and asked him to join al-Qaeda, but investigators quickly dismissed this assertion, ruling the crash as a suicide and stating that Bishop wasn’t a terrorist, but a delusional and depressed teenager whose mind slipped too far away from the real world. While searching the home where he lived with his mother, investigators found a prescription for Accutane, an acne medication that according to the Food and Drug Administration had caused 147 people to either commit or attempt suicide between 1982 and May 2000. Charlie Bishop wasn’t a terrorist. He was just a confused and lonely boy who may have had an adverse reaction to a medication meant to rid him of acne. “He was my shining star. He was the light of my life,” Bishop’s mother, Julia, was quoted as saying in a January 9, 2002 St. Petersburg Times article after she learned of the negative effects Accutane had on some teenagers. “There is nothing I would not do for that child. Everyone loved him… I don’t know how I go on living without him. He was my boy.” “When you realize that he was someone’s son and was just a confused boy, it makes you question your own morality,” said Greco. “There we were patting each other on the back and thanking God it wasn’t anything worse, while a mother mourned the loss of her son. We were just happy it wasn’t worse. I’m ashamed that I didn’t think more about the boy and his mother. What a world we live in. It’s gotten so ugly that it has made us all a little ugly no matter how hard we fight to stay good. I think we were all robbed of a bit of our compassion following 9/11. I sometimes wonder if we will ever get our innocence back.”

Paul Guzzo has been a journalist in Tampa for the past 10 years. He has also written and produced a number of award-winning independent films, including “Charlie Wall: The Documentary”. Paul is also the Senior writter of Cigar City Magazine. Paul can be reached at paulguzzo@hotmail.com.

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The Best of Tampa’s Mobster Hangouts by Scott M. Deitche

Santo Trafficante, Jr.

Nick Scaglione 38

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Frank Diecidue

Henry Trafficante

Frank Ippolito

The hidden history of Tampa’s underworld is often intertwined with some of the city’s most cherished landmarks and popular restaurants. Tampa really didn’t have the storefront social clubs popular in cities like Boston and New York City. But Tampa did have more than its share of lounges, bars, restaurants, and newsstands where bolita bets were taken, baseball odds conveyed, drug deals went down, and local gangsters held sit-downs with visiting crime figures from New Orleans, New York, and Chicago. There are many not-so-secret spots where the wiseguys used to hang out. Dale Mabry has Donatello’s, the Tahitian Inn, the Palma Ceia Newsstand, 2001, Shangri-La, and the Tapper Pub, all known at one time or another as choice spots for mobster sightings. The original Malio’s on Dale Mabry was a favorite haunt. According to Trafficante soldier John Mamone, when he was formally “made” or inducted, into the local Mafia by Steve Raffa in the mid 1990s, the ceremony took place at Malio’s.

ownership is being contested by another Gambino mobster, John Alite. While Gotti beat the rap after his fourth mistrial in a row, Cadicamo pled guilty on May 17, 2010 to racketeering. Down on Kennedy Boulevard was the former Castaways Lounge, now the Lazzara Liquors store. For a while in the late 60s and early 70s, the Castaways was considered by law enforcement as the unofficial headquarters of Frank “Daddy Frank” Diecidue, longtime underboss of the Tampa Mafia. Diecidue, who died in 1994, had a motley crew of drug dealers and arsonists, some of whom were implicated in the 1975 murder of Tampa Police Detective Richard Cloud. A bartender at the Castaways was the late Johnny “Scarface” Rivera, a noted mob associate, one-time bodyguard of Charlie Wall, and a suspected hitman.

Hillsborough Avenue also has a few choice locations. The parcel at 3001 W. Hillsborough was owned by the estate of Santo Trafficante, Sr. and was at various times the Kit Kat Club, the Starboard Lounge, and the Tangerine Lounge. They were operated by the Trafficante brothers, mainly Fano. Just down the block, nary a stone’s throw away, is 3523 W. Hillsborough, an address that is no longer listed in property records. A construction site at the time, it was here that Angelo Giglio lured Rene Nunez in September of 1952. Giglio was reportedly sent by Trafficante, Jr. to talk Nunez into folding his gambling operation into the Mafia. But both were on the outs in the underworld and were gunned down by an unknown assailant. Not all the mob hangouts are distant memories on Hillsborough. Right across from the Nunez/Giglio scene, at 3605 Hillsborough Avenue, is Club Mirage, where one-time manager Jimmy Cadicamo held court. An associate of the Gambino crime family, Cadicamo was arrested with John Gotti, Jr. in 2008 as part of an indictment against the Gambino crime family’s activity in Tampa. Club Mirage was featured prominently in the indictment. Cadicamo claimed in court that he owned the club, but his

As expected, Ybor City has more gangland haunts and hangouts than any other part of the city, and appropriately so, since it was where the bolita syndicate started and ran their operations for most of the early years of Tampa’s history. At 2201 15th Street North in Ybor City, sits the structural shell of the Yellow House Bar. In the 1950s and 60s, the Yellow House was owned by Augustine “Primo” Lazzara, a regular feature in the papers for his ties to the bolita racket, and named as an integral part of the Tampa Mafia during the McClellan Commission hearings in 1963. Rumors circulated that the Yellow House, built in the 1920s, once housed a brothel upstairs. On June 30, 1950, Primo’s bodyguard was leaving the Yellow House with $2,000 worth of checks when he was held up at gunpoint. The Ybor City buzz grew so loud that the Tampa Tribune did an article on the robbery the next day. An unidentified relative told the Tribune, “We know who did it. We are waiting until we hear from Primo before we act.” La Tropicana Café (1822 E. 7th Avenue) is one of the most popular lunch spots in Ybor City. On the wall is a picture of the former owner, Frank “Cowboy” Ippolito, who before his death in 2008 was a regular fixture at the restaurant. In the 1960s and SePteMBer/OCtOBer 2010

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Castaways Lounge in Tampa at 4601 W. Kennedy Boulevard in the 1960s and 1970s.

and 70s, Frank did more than eat a bowl of black beans at “La Trop.” Law enforcement investigations found him running a sizeable bookmaking operation out of the restaurant with the help of Henry Trafficante. Outside the 7th Avenue corridor of Ybor was the Dream Bar (2801 Nebraska Avenue), originally called the Nebraska Bar. It had an adjoining poolroom (2806 Nebraska Avenue) and was owned by the Trafficante family. The long-time bartender and manager was Nick Scaglione, a gambling figure who was wellknown to police and named by law enforcement as a made guy in the local Mafia. On August 18, 1954, just a week after the death of Santo Trafficante, Sr., police were called to the bar to investigate a reported shooting. When police arrived they found blood on the sidewalk out front and a torn shirt inside. The customers, including Frank Ippolito, claimed no knowledge of the shooting and police never found a victim. But there was a victim a few years later when Nick Scaglione was stabbed while tending bar. He refused to name his assailant. The Dream Bar was also at the center of a federal tax lien against the estate of Santo Trafficante, 40

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Sr. In 1962, when the Feds started closing the noose around the Trafficante brothers (Santo Jr., Henry, and Sam), the bar was damaged in a fire. Then there is the Columbia. The Columbia Restaurant is THE Tampa landmark. And it was the favorite eating establishment of the enigmatic Santo Trafficante, Sr., as well as his son and namesake, Santo Jr. The elder Trafficante was a virtual unknown to law enforcement for most of the early 20th century. He stood back in the shadows, while men like Ignazio Antinori and Charlie Wall were well-known crime figures about town. When his son, Santo Jr., took over the family operations, he was also a regular fixture at the Columbia. It was also popular with FBI agents tailing the crime boss; dozens of field intelligence reports were recorded over plates of the “1905 Salad.” Trafficante, Jr.’s bodyguard James Costa Longo worked at the Columbia from the late 1950s through at least the early 70s, as well as at various other legitimate enterprises. This, of course, was in addition to his alleged bookmaking and stolen property rackets. Longo often used the Columbia as a meeting place, like in April of 1962 when he was spotted meeting with Santo Trafficante, Jr.,

Club Mirage located at 3605 West Hillsborough Avenue in Tampa John Gotti, Jr.

and Lou Coticchia, a notorious Miami racketeer. The next time Lou had dinner with Trafficante, in Miami, he disappeared for good. But like many cities, Tampa’s past often gets bulldozed, torn down, or simply left to fall away. Some of the legendary places of underworld activity that have slipped into history are: Buffalo Avenue Drug Store (3924 Nebraska Avenue, now a service station)–According to a grand jury investigation in 1968, John Demmi and Fred Navarra ran bookmaking out of the drug store throughout the 1960s. Max Lemeis Sundry Store (1605 15th Street, Ybor, now a parking garage)–In the same hearings, authorities stated that Henry Trafficante used this address to take sports bets and run bookmaking. Nick Scaglione was also a frequent visitor to the sundry store. Zack Street Newsstand (401 E. Zack Street)–Another Henry Trafficante bookmaking location. He often met with suspected bolita bankers Joe Plescia and “Gasoline” Martinez at the stand. Tony’s Sundries (856 E. Zack Street, now an empty lot downtown, near the train station)–This was another headquarters for Nick Scaglione’s gambling enterprise. There are more: Brothers Lounge on Kennedy, a jazz club owned by alleged crime boss Vincent LoScalzo; The Legend Club at 3447 West Kennedy, named as a hangout of Frank Diecidue during a drug investigation in the mid 1980s; Mike’s Lounge on

Nebraska Avenue, also named in that same drug investigation. In downtown Tampa, you had the Silver Meteor Lounge, Rio Liquors, Anthony Distributors, the Deep South Lounge, and the Red Top Bar. There was The White Spot, The Boston Bar, The Neptune Lounge…the list goes on. While most of the reputed mob hangouts are memories, there are still enough tangible pieces of that history around for urban explorers, historians, and mob watchers to check out and maybe catch a glimpse of one of the few remaining wiseguys from Tampa’s fabled underworld history. Check out Cigar City Magzine’s “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly Tour” throughout the month of September. Scott Deitche will be hosting our Mobster Tour through the streets of Ybor City. For more information please visit CigarCityMagazine.com and check out our events page Scott M. Deitche was born in Perth Amboy and grew up in Fords, NJ. He lives in St. Petersburg, Florida with his family. He is an environmental scientist by profession. Some of his books include: “Balls: The Life of Eddie Trascher, Gentleman Gangster”, “The Everything Mafia Book”, “Marked Card: Powerplay in the New England Mafia”, “The Silent Don: The Criminal World of Santo Trafficante Jr.”, and “Cigar City Mafia: A Complete History of the Tampa Underworld”. For more information on Scott visit his website at www.scottdeitche.com or to contact Scott email him at sdeitche@tampabay.rr.com

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The future is now! remember the science fiction stories you read and watched as a child in which everyone was in perfect shape and the government forced everyone to wear the same clothes and get the same haircut? it has become a reality! Well, not the part about the government forcing us to have the same haircut and wear the same clothes. What is a reality, though, is that we no longer have to become flabby, sexless and weak as we grow older. thanks to a hormone Dr. Linda McClintock replacement regimen, we can enjoy the energy, vitality, mental awareness and sex drive of a 30–40year-old when we are deep into our 70s, 80s and even 90s! Dr. Linda McClintock, founder of age-Less Medicine, has brought this futuristic sounding medical treatment to tampa and has changed the lives of numerous tampa Bay residents. Patients who once took handfuls of pills a day now supplement with vitamins alone. Senior citizens once confined to chairs for the majority of their days are back on the golf courses. Don’t believe it? Well, one only has to look at Dr. McClintock’s most famous patient–her husband, former Mayor Dick greco–for proof. at 77-years-old, he has guns, cannons, pipes … He HaS BULging BiCePS! and it is due to hormone replacement. Cigar City Magazine recently sat down with Dr. McClintock to learn more about this revolutionary treatment. CCM: So what exactly is hormone replacement? LM: Hormones are nothing more than chemical messengers. they send messages to our cells to turn on. every cell has a receptor and it’s like the hormone is the key that turns them on. So as we start to age, some hormones—as early as the late 30s or early 40s—start to diminish, which means some processes in the cells are not turning on when they should. if enough of those cells turn down, that causes aging. So we have the ability now to replace those hormones and keep people between the ages of 30 and 40. the reason we pick that age group is because that is when you have the lowest morbidity and mortality rate. CCM: How does someone know if they need hormone replacement? LM: McClintock: Forty-five percent of our hormone replacement business is from men and a lot of that is because they start to feel tired; not like themselves. they have a lack of interest in life in general; sex life is starting to diminish because they don’t have the interest anymore. they are always sleepy and tired and they are starting to gain weight around the middle. Hormone replacement allows men well into 52

Cigar City Magazine

their 50s, 60s, 70s, and beyond to go back to the gym, get back in shape, enjoy a healthy sex life again and look tremendous. CCM: So this process can actually prevent aging? LM: no, i’d never say that, but we can slow down the pathological aging. aging is inevitable; youthfulness is a choice. youthfulness is not just about a lack of wrinkles. youthfulness is not just about having a lower age number. youthfulness is about what is in your heart. it is a state of mind. the more mentally aware we are, the more we can do physically, the more energy we have, the younger we will feel, no matter what our age may say. We can’t keep you alive forever, but we can help you to live a youthful life everyday of your life. What good is it to live longer to sit in a nursing home? What we want to do is have longer, more exciting lives–decades of extra quality. through hormone replacement, as well as through proper diet and exercise, you can do the things you love to do decades longer than you thought you could. CCM: What is the hormone replacement process? Do you have to cut someone open? Is it a major surgery? LM: no. [Laughs] it is very simple. Some we replace by injection; some we replace by gels that you rub in. it depends. i would say 8085 percent of the people do well by the gels. there are certain individuals who do not achieve a high enough level so [they] have to get a once a week shot. But those are the exceptions rather than the rule. CCM: How did you end up in the hormone replacement field? LM: i practiced medicine in Houston, texas and practiced pediatrics there and then i went back to Pepperdine and got my MBa and found my way to tampa and did administrative medicine here for a while. What brought me to this field of medicine was to be married to someone 20 years older than me. i wanted to ensure his quality of life, and not just longevity but quality. So i went back at my own cost and went to as many training seminars as i could to learn how to keep him young, healthy and active for as long as possible and that is where i learned about hormone replacement. i was so impressed with what i learned that i went to additional training and decided i was going to open a practice. So i initially didn’t do it to open a practice. it was only after meeting [Dick] that i became interested in the aging process. CCM: So your practice really is a labor of love? LM: Without a doubt. i love my husband and i also love what i do. What is really exciting is to see men who have come through these doors who were on multiple medications and who thought they were destined to sit in chairs for the rest of their lives and stare out the window. now, these same men are back on the golf courses, out-driving men half their ages. We will all get older. But there is no reason to feel old. For more information on Dr. Linda McClintock and hormone replacement, visit www.age-lessmedicine.com or call (813) 286-4404.

Chicken “Chimichurri� Richard Gonzmart developed this versatile sauce/marinade with Ybor chef Paco Duarte. It is a family favorite for the holidays and entertaining, especially for picky eaters. It has a nice kick without being fiery.

Ingredients

Soak wooden skewers in water to prevent burning while cooking for at least 1 hour.

Wooden skewers Water 4 boneless chicken breasts

Dice chicken breast into 1-inch cubes. Place cubes on each skewer. Cover skewers with Chimichurri Sauce and marinate at least 1 hour. Grill or broil chicken skewers for 10 minutes, turning skewers and basting with sauce as they cook. Serves 4 to 6.

Chimichurri Sauce 1 1/2 cups Spanish extra-virgin olive oil 2 tablespoons parsley 3/4 cup red wine vinegar

2 teaspoons crushed red pepper 3 tablespoons Columbia Seasoning 1 cup tomato puree

2 1/2 tablespoons paprika 2 teaspoons cumin 4 tablespoons oregano 6 tablespoons garlic

Chop all ingredients in a food processor, leaving sauce chunky. Refrigerate until use. Makes 4 cups.

Share the Columbia Seasoning secret in your own kitchen. Use on meat, poultry, seafood and vegetables. For more information or to purchase our seasoning visit us at www.ColumbiaRestaurant.com

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In July of this year, Cigar City Magazine’s owner & creator, Lisa Figueredo attended her 30-year Jefferson High School Reunion and found out quickly that things just don’t change when gathering with high school friends. The Dragons were in rare form when at about 4am they were thrown out of their rooms at the Sheraton Sand Key Resort for being too loud and crazy. They then managed to show up at the Clearwater High School Class of ‘80’s celebration, invading their Saturday night party! The dance floor went from about 5 people to about 100 Dragons! For the forever young Jefferson Dragons, it was a blast.

To see more pictures of our events, visit www.CigarCityMagazine.com and click on our Facebook page! 56

Cigar City Magazine

Special thanks to Rey Cabrera Photography for these spectacular photos (see their ad on page 5)

MAMA KNOWS GOT A QUESTION FOR MAMA? EMAIL HER AT: INFO@CIGARCITYMAGAZINE.COM

Dear Mama, i’m 18 and just about ready to move out of my parents home. they are very religious and are in fear that i’m going to do something bad and will not go to heaven. What can i do to convince them they are wrong? -Stuck at Home Dear Stuck at Home, you need to tell them that good girls go to heaven but bad girls go everywhere. you have one life to live. Be wild and free like me and god will love you better for it. -Mama

Dear Mama, My mother is driving me crazy about getting married. i date a lot of men and i like it that way. How can i get her to stop bugging me? -Dating is Good Dear Dating is Good, First, I’d like to change your name from Dating is Good to just plan Puta. After a certain age there is nothing wrong with being a Puta, as a matter of fact I consider myself to be an expert at it. Depending how old you, the dating will be less because after a while a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle. -Mama

Dear Mama, i’m a 25-year-old woman and i just recently got married and can’t be happier. in your “infamous” wisdom can you please give me some good tips on how to keep the fun in my marrage? -Happier than Ever

D I S COV E R

Did you know? by Dan Perez

Did you know that the cannon at the Spanish-American War Memorial on Kennedy Boulevard by the University of Tampa isn't the original cannon placed there in 1927 when the memorial was built? It's not even from Fort Dade as the inscription on the plinth states. The historic cannon in Plant Park faces Kennedy Boulevard, and symbolically, towards Cuba. An impressive turn-of-the-century coastal defense gun, it memorializes the important role Tampa played in 1898 during the SpanishAmerican War. The inscription on the cannon's monumental base describes it as an eight-inch (203 mm) gun on a "disappearing carriage" taken from Fort Dade, an old coastal defense fort on Egmont Key at the mouth of Tampa Bay. The original Fort Dade gun described on the base was placed in Plant Park in November 1927, but was donated to a steel scrap drive during World War II. Following the war, the current eight-inch (203 mm) cannon of similar vintage was obtained from Fort Morgan, Alabama and installed on the 1927 memorial's vacant plinth. The new gun is mounted on the top portion of a 1918 railway gun carriage dating from World War I rather than the "disappearing carriage" of the original Fort Dade cannon. At www.tampapix.com, you can see the original cannon on the original disappearing carriage in 1930 and a photo of it in use at Fort Dade, as well as a photo of the current cannon in use on its railroad car carriage.

Sponsored by TampaPix

Dear Happier than Ever, Oyé chica, my best advice to you is to make sure you stock up on the batteries! -Mama Visit Mama now on Facebook. Do a search for Mama Knows.

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For more information visit, www.TampaPix.com


Cigar City Magazine/Sept-Oct 2010