Joseph Colombo Sr and the Paradox of a Public Mafia Boss
- Johnny Bee
- 5 hours ago
- 7 min read
On the late morning of 28th June, 1971, thousands of people gathered at Columbus Circle in New York City for what was intended to be a carefully managed celebration of Italian American identity. There were banners, speeches, marching bands and television crews. At the centre of it all stood Joseph Colombo, smiling, greeting supporters and preparing to address the crowd. Minutes later, he lay on the pavement, shot three times in the head and neck, the most publicly visible Mafia boss in American history reduced to silence in front of witnesses, cameras and police officers.
The shooting marked the violent end of an experiment that had no precedent in organised crime. Colombo was not simply a crime boss who happened to attract attention. He actively sought it. His life and career sit uneasily between secrecy and spectacle, criminal power and civic performance. To understand how that contradiction came to define his rise and fall, it is necessary to trace the quieter beginnings that shaped him long before Columbus Circle.
Early life and family background
Joseph Colombo Sr was born on 16th June, 1923, in Brooklyn, New York, into an Italian American family already connected to organised crime. His father, Anthony Nino Colombo, had been an early member of what was then the Profaci crime family. That connection ended abruptly and violently in 1938, when Anthony Colombo was found strangled in a car alongside his mistress. Joseph was still a teenager.
Colombo attended New Utrecht High School for two years before leaving. During the Second World War he joined the United States Coast Guard, but his service was short lived. In 1945, he was discharged after being diagnosed with neurosis. He returned to Brooklyn and settled into what appeared to be a conventional working life. He worked for years as a longshoreman on the docks, later as a salesman for a meat company, and eventually described himself as a real estate broker.
In 1944, he married Lucille Faiello. The couple had five children and lived quietly in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, later acquiring a rural property in Blooming Grove, New York. To neighbours, Colombo seemed unremarkable. To law enforcement, he was frustratingly elusive. Despite his growing reputation within criminal circles, his official criminal record remained remarkably thin.
Entering the Profaci family
Behind the appearance of respectability, Colombo followed his father into the Profaci crime family. By the late 1950s, he had become one of its trusted enforcers and later a capo. His rise coincided with increasing unrest inside the family.
On 27th February, 1961, a renegade faction led by the Gallo brothers kidnapped four senior figures within the Profaci family. The act ignited a violent internal conflict that later became known as the First Colombo War. Murders, attempted assassinations and disappearances followed. At least nine people were killed and several more vanished.
Colombo aligned himself firmly with the Profaci leadership. He narrowly avoided assassination himself in 1963, reportedly changing his route home after learning of a planned ambush. Violence subsided only after Crazy Joe Gallo was imprisoned later that year, though the underlying grievances remained unresolved.
When family boss Giuseppe Joe Profaci died of cancer on 6th June, 1962, leadership passed to underboss Joseph Magliocco. It was under Magliocco that Colombo made the decision that reshaped his career and altered the balance of power in New York.
Betrayal, survival and promotion
In 1963, Joseph Bonanno, head of the Bonanno crime family, conspired with Magliocco to assassinate rival bosses including Carlo Gambino and Tommy Lucchese. The plan was audacious and reckless. Magliocco assigned the contract to Colombo.
Rather than carry it out, Colombo went directly to the intended targets and revealed the conspiracy. When the Mafia Commission convened to investigate, Magliocco confessed. His life was spared, but he was forced into retirement and fined heavily. Bonanno fled to Canada, effectively ending his influence.
For Colombo, the outcome was extraordinary. At just 41 years old, he was awarded control of the Profaci family, which soon took his name. He became the first American born boss of a New York crime family.
His elevation puzzled rivals. An FBI wiretap later captured a New Jersey underboss asking how someone like Colombo could be allowed to sit on the Commission. Colombo lacked flamboyance, theatrical violence or a long criminal paper trail. What he possessed was discretion, loyalty and a willingness to adapt.
A boss who stepped into the spotlight
Colombo moved quickly to stabilise his family. He brought the First Colombo War to an end, reorganised internal leadership and attempted to project calm authority. Then he did something no other Mafia boss had attempted. He stepped deliberately into public view.
In April 1970, Colombo founded the Italian American Civil Rights League. Its stated purpose was to combat discrimination against Italian Americans and challenge the routine association of Italians with organised crime. Colombo compared it openly to the Anti Defamation League.
“The purpose of the League is similar to that of B’nai B’rith’s Anti Defamation League,” one early statement explained. “We want to be another and a very strong civil rights group.”
The League expanded rapidly. Within months, it claimed tens of thousands of members across several states. Colombo appeared on television, addressed rallies and gave interviews. He consistently denied being part of the Mafia, describing himself as a businessman and community advocate.
“If I am as big and as bad as they say I am,” he told reporters, “I will demand that good be done.”
To law enforcement, the League appeared to function as a shield. To many Italian Americans, it addressed genuine grievances about stereotyping and surveillance. The two realities coexisted uneasily.
Confrontations with the FBI and Hollywood
The League’s activism quickly brought it into conflict with federal authorities. In April 1970, Colombo organised pickets outside FBI headquarters after his son Joseph Jr was arrested on charges related to melting silver coins. The case later collapsed when the prosecution’s key witness was charged with perjury.
An FBI agent remarked to the press, “Everybody, even the Mafia, is demonstrating now.”
Colombo’s influence extended into popular culture. When Paramount Pictures began filming The Godfather, Colombo objected to its portrayal of Italian Americans. After negotiations with producer Albert Ruddy, the production agreed to remove the terms Mafia and Cosa Nostra from the script. In return, the League cooperated.
The arrangement illustrated Colombo’s unusual position. He was both a criminal leader and a public negotiator operating in plain sight.
Rising tensions and returning enemies
Colombo’s visibility unsettled other Mafia leaders. Many feared it attracted unwanted scrutiny. Tensions sharpened in 1971 when Crazy Joe Gallo was released from prison.
Colombo attempted reconciliation, inviting Gallo to a peace meeting and offering money. Gallo rejected the offer and demanded far more. The fragile peace collapsed, igniting what became known as the Second Colombo War.
At the same time, Colombo faced renewed legal pressure. In March 1971, he was sentenced to two and a half years in state prison for perjury related to his real estate licence. The sentence was delayed pending appeal. He remained free as he prepared for the League’s second Italian Unity Day rally.
The shooting at Columbus Circle
By the time the rally opened on 28th June, 1971, Colombo had become one of the most recognisable Mafia figures in the United States. The event was designed to reinforce the League’s image as open and civic. Tens of thousands attended. What was notably absent was heavy security.
Colombo had insisted on minimal visible protection. Armed guards and barricades would have undermined the League’s claims of legitimacy. Police presence was substantial but focused on crowd management rather than close protection.
Shortly before midday, Colombo stood greeting attendees near the stage area. A man carrying press credentials approached calmly. Witnesses later recalled that he had been moving through the crowd for some time, behaving like a freelance photographer. His name was Jerome A Johnson.
Johnson asked Colombo to pose for photographs. As aides and supporters stepped back to allow space, Johnson produced a revolver and fired three shots into Colombo’s head and neck from close range. Colombo collapsed immediately.
Chaos followed. Johnson was tackled by police officers and civilians. Multiple witnesses stated that he was alive, restrained and being beaten when additional shots were fired. Johnson was fatally wounded. Who fired those shots has never been conclusively established.
Accounts diverged almost at once. Some witnesses claimed police gunfire. Others believed one of Colombo’s bodyguards intervened. A United Press International photographer stated that Johnson appeared to have been shot from behind while already on the ground. No officer was charged, no civilian shooter identified, and no definitive ballistic reconstruction released.
Police described Johnson as a gun enthusiast and extremist, framing the attack as the act of a lone individual. Few observers found the explanation satisfying.
Colombo was rushed to Roosevelt Hospital in critical condition. Surgeons operated for more than five hours, removing bullets from his mid brain and neck. Doctors gave him less than a fifty percent chance of survival. He lived, but the damage was devastating. He was left paralysed and largely unable to communicate.
Aftermath and decline
Colombo spent the next seven years in a severely impaired state, first in hospital and later at his home in Blooming Grove. Medical examinations showed limited responsiveness. He could recognise familiar voices, move fingers and occasionally vocalise. He never regained speech or independence.
Leadership of the Colombo family passed first to Joseph Yacovelli and later to Carmine Persico. Violence continued. Crazy Joe Gallo was murdered on 7th April, 1972, shot while dining in Little Italy.
On 22nd May, 1978, Joseph Colombo died at St Luke’s Hospital in Newburgh. The official cause was cardiac arrest, attributed directly to the injuries sustained seven years earlier. He was 54.
His funeral was held at St Bernadette’s Church in Bensonhurst. He was buried at St John Cemetery in Queens.
Legacy
Joseph Colombo remains one of the most unusual figures in American organised crime history. He ruled briefly, spoke publicly and paid a high price for both. His name survives not only in law enforcement records but in popular culture, reportedly inspiring the character Joey Zasa in The Godfather Part III.
Colombo’s career raises enduring questions. Was the Italian American Civil Rights League a sincere movement led by a compromised figure, or a strategic shield built by a crime boss? Did his public presence protect his family or doom him? The answers remain unresolved.
What is clear is that Joseph Colombo altered the relationship between the Mafia and the public. For a brief period, organised crime stood in daylight, under banners and television lights. Then, with three gunshots at Columbus Circle, it retreated once more into silence.
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