A Mob Scene

In the mid 1960’s, Antonio (“Tony”) Caminiti was the head of the Cosa Nostra in Miami, Florida. In the spring of 1967, he was called upon to testify before a grand jury in Albany, New York, where an ongoing investigation into organized crime was being conducted by New York State officials. Upon his return to Miami, a large crowd had gathered to meet his private plane when it arrived, made up primarily of broadcast and press reporters looking to get a statement from Caminiti about his testimony. 

The crowd of people pressed toward Caminiti and his fellow travelers such that it became impossible for them to make their way through without some pushing and shoving. Forcing his way through the crowd, Caminiti began to plow through the throng until he made his way to a waiting vehicle. It turned out that one of the people pushed by Caminiti was an FBI agent, who, it bears noting, was wearing a fedora and carrying a camera hung around his neck, making him indistinguishable from the other reporters covering the scene. As he would later testify, the agent wasn’t attempting to disguise himself but, rather he was trying not to be especially noticeable. For his action in shoving the agent aside, charges were lodged against Caminiti for assault on a federal officer, a federal criminal offense.

Because of the notoriety of the defendant and the high level of publicity in Miami, the case was transferred for trial to a federal court in Dallas, Texas. At the time the trial was to be heard, I was working as a law clerk and court bailiff for The Honorable Rolando Garza, the judge who had been selected to hear the case. I had begun working for the Judge shortly after passing the bar exam just under one year earlier.

On the Friday before the case was to commence on the following Monday, Caminiti’s attorneys appeared before Judge Garza to argue several pre-trial matters, including a motion to dismiss the case entirely, based upon the argument that, in order to prove assault on a federal officer, the defendant would have to know, or at least have reason to know, that the person assaulted was a federal agent. Judge Garza reserved ruling on this motion until he had an opportunity to review the legal briefs more thoroughly.

Following the hearing, as I was assisting the court clerk with organizing the court files, a large man, whom I had not noticed in the courtroom before, came up to me and asked to speak to me in the hallway outside the courtroom. When I told him I would meet him in the hallway in a moment, he said, rather sternly, “ I think you should come right now.” Which I did. Once outside, the man was joined by another very large person and I was asked to show them the various entries and exits on the floor where we were standing. Now somewhat alarmed, I said that I didn’t think that would be appropriate. At this, the first man grabbed my arm around the bicep and squeezed hard, saying, “This is not a request kid. You need to do this now and do it right because if we find out you held out on us, there will be consequences.” With his grip loosened only slightly on my arm, I walked them around the floor, pointing out the various entry/exit points. When the men finally let me go, I went directly to Judge Garza to report the incident. 

Judge Garza did not appear overly concerned, saying he was sure the men were not planning an escape for Caminiti, who was already out on bail. Instead, he reasoned, the men were probably making plans to protect their boss from others who might wish to do him harm during the course of the trial. Nevertheless, he did contact the U S Marshall’s office located in our building and had me explain to them what had happened. 

I was none too pleased with this relaxed approach and said so to the Judge. He didn’t actually pat me on the head when he responded, though he may as well have. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one, son,” dismissing me and the problem all at once as he headed back into his chambers. I was convinced the Judge had already made up his mind to dismiss the case because he believed the accused, in order to be found guilty, must have had prior knowledge that the person assaulted was a federal agent. The issue had not been decided definitively in court cases, so it seemed to me that, if Judge Garza wanted to take a strong position and hold Caminiti accountable, ample reasoning existed to support such a ruling. To me, it seemed unconscionable to allow a known criminal of the worst kind to go free under those circumstances. So, I went to work over the weekend, preparing for the case to commence on Monday. 

Here is what happened on that Monday, according to the essentially undisputed facts as ultimately sorted out by the FBI, based primarily on statements made by the several eye witnesses to the event, including the federal judge and court personnel, lawyers for both sides in the case and several spectators, some of whom were newspaper reporters (presumably trained observers). Certainly, the FBI conducted a full investigation beyond witness statements, but apparently nothing turned up to contradict the synthesis derived from the eye witnesses.

The judge entered the courtroom at approximately 9am, the scheduled starting time for the day’s proceedings. Everyone in the courtroom rose as was customary. Once the judge was in position, he turned and nodded to me, acting as the court bailiff at the time, signaling me to make my court opening announcement. I ran through the “Hear Ye, Hear Ye” bit and when I came to the part where I lowered my head and said loudly, “God save these United States and this….”, a shot rang out in the courtroom and everyone, including me, ducked down behind whatever protection was available — tables, benches, podia, railings, chairs. Not everyone ducked, I should say, because one man at the defense table fell over backward, crashing down hard against the chair he had pushed back in order to stand, finally slipping down to the floor.

After a short period of silence, when it seemed there would be no further shooting, the US Marshall in attendance came rushing toward my podium, ran past me and went racing out the open door behind me, in pursuit, he hoped, of the shooter who must surely have fled through the open door and down the hallway that ran behind the courtroom. For my part, I rushed up to the bench to make sure the Judge was safe and to usher him out of the courtroom and into the safety of his chambers, just across the hallway. Two Marshalls had already been dispatched to the Judge’s chambers for his protection. During the pandemonium that ensued after the shot, several people undertook to help the fallen victim, though, as it turns out, there was nothing to be done as he died very quickly on the spot. 

No one actually saw the shooter. All witnesses gave essentially the same account. While standing for the court opening, their heads were down, some with eyes closed, when they saw or sensed a flash of light followed immediately by a loud blast. Some never looked up, immediately dropping to the floor. Those who did look up, had their attention drawn towards the man at the defense table as he was flailing and falling backward, before looking in the direction of the shot, seeing nothing but an open door a few feet behind my podium. 

The US Marshall in attendance was not in position to see the shooter as he stood on the other side of the courtroom. The Judge, who would have had the best view of the area from which the shot originated, explained in his statement that he was looking down and busily leafing through the court papers for the case. It seemed clear that the shot was fired very near, but slightly behind where I stood. In my statement, I was able to verify this conclusion to some extent because, as I said “the shot was so loud I lost hearing in one ear for a while and the blast of light, surely from the muzzle flash of the gun, would have done serious visual damage had my eyes not been closed at the moment.”

No shell casing was ever found and later analysis proved that the slug was fired by a .32 caliber pistol, probably a revolver, meaning the casing did not eject. Once the conclusion was reached that the killer was most likely a mob hit man, there was some difficulty in explaining why a professional shooter would use such a relatively low caliber weapon.

Obviously, the Marshall was not able to apprehend the shooter, never actually seeing him at all. The theory was that the shooter had likely exited through one of the other courtrooms on the floor or just made it around the hallway to its exit on the other side of the building. 

The case remained open for many years, although it was effectively closed when law enforcement authorities concluded the killing was a mob hit. No need to waste much manpower or resources on such a situation. There was certainly no public outcry for justice to be done. The matter was basically forgotten by everyone other than those directly involved. It was certainly never forgotten by me. In fact, it has haunted my very existence every day of my life since.

Here’s what really happened. As I headed home from work after my encounter with the two goons, steam was coming out my ears. I had never been manhandled in that fashion before and never been seriously threatened with bodily harm. But more to the point, I was outraged by the thought that my judge was going to dismiss the case against one of the worst criminals in America, a man who represented the very essence of evil. Sure, the case might get reversed on appeal because of the somewhat shaky basis for the arrest. But even if that happened, we would have our hands on the neck of the man for however long it took for the case to get resolved. Yes, he would be free on bail, but we would be able to keep track of him. I decided to do something about it.

As a graduation gift to myself a year earlier, I purchased a .32 caliber revolver and got a friend to take me out a couple of times to teach me how to use it. I dug it out of the back of my closet, cleaned it and loaded it with 5 shells. At a nearby shop, I located a small magnet, about the size of a quarter, with a loop on top through which a string or cord could be looped and tied. 

On Monday, I took the gun, the magnet and a bit of string with me to work (there were no metal detectors in the federal building back then), arriving a little earlier than usual. In the courtroom alone, I was able to practice a maneuver I intended to use once court was in session. There was a court entry door coming off a hallway that ran behind all the courtrooms on our floor. This door was located just a few feet behind my station, which was an exact replica of the witness box which was located on the other side of the bench. Myself and other court personnel used that door, whereas the judge entered from a door directly behind his bench.

This entry door was quite heavy, but swung easily on its hinges. On the toe of the doorframe, an L-shaped metal flange had been attached, presumably as some kind of protection against scuffing. So, when I made my entrance into the courtroom, timed to be only a few short moments before the judge entered, I bent down, attached the magnet to the metal flange and closed the door to the point just short of having the latch catch. The string attached to the magnet was tied around my ankle as I stepped up to the podium. As usual, no one paid much attention to my entry.

Once the judge reached his station on the bench and stood facing the audience, he nodded at me to open court. With all heads bowed as I was going through the “God bless” part of my opening, I raised the pistol, continued with “these United States and this Honorable…”, fired a single shot, and yanked my ankle forward to pull the door open behind me and pull the magnet loose. Then, like everyone else save one, I ducked behind the podium, gathered up the string and magnet and tucked the gun back into my pants behind my back and under my suit coat. 

Once the Marshall raced by me in pursuit of the phantom shooter, I hurried up to the judge and escorted him out into the hall and to his chambers. After gathering ourselves and before the Marshalls arrived, I was able to slip the gun, the magnet and the string into my office desk drawer, wash my hands and brush down my coat sleeve. The rest of my day was spent in shirtsleeves with my coat, probably still carrying some powder residue, hanging in the corner of my office.

If you have read this far, you’ve probably already figured out that I got away with it, at least up to now. But you are probably also asking why I would have ever thought my plan would work. The truth is, I never expected to escape, though I was surely going to try. There were just too many variables, too many things that could go wrong and, for sure, too many eyes around. You must understand, I was fresh out of law school with a head full of ideals and a heart tugging hard at me to do what I thought was right. I was 25 years old, unmarried and with virtually no responsibilities. When my term of service with Judge Garza ended in one month, I was scheduled to enter the Navy’s Judge Advocate General program, my alternative to being drafted and sent over to Southeast Asia to fight in a war about which I knew almost nothing.

So, even if I was caught, which I felt sure would be the case, I was more than willing to spend a few years in jail in return for getting rid of one of the most ruthless, bloody, tyrannical criminals in all the world. After all, how hard could a court come down on an impetuous young man for getting rid of a big-time mafia boss. 

To be sure, my biggest problem would not be dealing with law enforcement authorities. Reprisal by the Caminiti family was what I feared most. I hoped, of course, that I would get protection from the police and the federal government, though I had no clear idea how that might work out. So, yes I was surprised I wasn’t caught, but I was prepared to accept that outcome should it work out that way.

 It was mid-afternoon before I learned the awful truth. I had not killed Caminiti; I had shot one of his lawyers instead. Apparently, the defendant and the lawyer had traded seats shortly before the court opening. I had not noticed the change as I was giving my “Here ye” spiel and I certainly had no time to make an adjustment as I raised the pistol to shoot. I was devastated beyond belief, became physically ill and left the building as soon as the FBI released us.

So, why tell this story now, some 50 plus years later? First, I no longer have any fear of reprisal. My wife of 50 years passed away a month ago and I am getting my affairs in order to follow after her. We had twin boys who were killed together in a mountain climbing accident when they were 23 years old. Neither had married and there were no children, so I am basically alone in the world. 

Further, one of the many lessons I learned from my monstrous mistake —  a lesson I am now trying to pass along by this disclosure — was that lawlessness in any form is a blight on the personality of humanity, whether it comes in the form of insurrection, vigilantism, violent crime, petty larceny, or simple bullying. No doubt insurrectionists believe they are doing the right and moral thing. Protestors who turn into rioters probably feel the same. But lawlessness can never be justified, regardless of intent. It is simply unacceptable human behavior. 

Without adherence to the law and the moral code it provides, men become ever more like animals instead of becoming the marvelous creatures of love that they can be.