`So you're gonna become a rat?' I screamed at my dad, Sammy the Bull Gravano
As soon as Dad walked into the visiting room, I knew something was wrong. He wasn’t making his grand entrance, all high-fives and hugs. This time, he looked very serious, like something heavy was on his mind.
Mom, Uncle Eddie and I were the only ones in the room. The rest of the inmates were doing their visiting in an adjacent room out of earshot. Dad sat down in between Mom and me, and Uncle Eddie took a seat to Mom’s right.
I could tell Dad had something extremely serious on his mind he wanted to talk to me in particular about. I watched as he took a long, deep breath, looked directly into my eyes and said, “I’m going to do something that goes against everything I’ve ever believed in, and everything I’ve ever told you guys to believe in. I’m going to cooperate with the government. I’m going to testify for them.”
I was hearing his words, but I couldn’t believe he was actually saying them. I jumped out of my seat. “How can you do this?” I yelled.
“Sit down!” Uncle Eddie directed with a stern voice.
I obeyed, but I was in total shock. What Dad was saying meant that he would be fingering friends, family, and people he’d worked with forever. His testimony was going to put people we’d known all our lives into prison for years and years. Yes, I loved him and wanted him out of prison as soon as possible, but turning state’s evidence went against every rule of behavior I had ever known, against everything he had ever taught us to believe in.
From the time we were young, my father told Gerard and me, “You never give anybody up, no matter what.” I’d get punished for telling on Gerard, and he’d get punished for telling on me. Once, Gerard and I had a dispute over the thermostat. It controlled the temperature for the upstairs part of our house, and it was located in Gerard’s room. Gerard liked the house really cold, so he’d turn down the temperature and blast the air conditioner, then lock his door. He wouldn’t open up, no matter how hard I banged. We’d be up there screaming at each other. Then I’d go downstairs to tell Dad, and he’d say, “I don’t want to hear it. Go back up there and work it out yourselves.” He’d intervene if we were really killing each other, but most of the time, we never told on each other, because that wasn’t the way it worked. Whether it involved something big or little, you just didn’t do it, plain and simple.
When Dad dropped his bomb, I never felt so hurt, confused, mad or scared in my entire life. The life I thought I had was gone. With that one announcement, he ripped my heart out. As a child, I had been Daddy’s little girl. I looked up to him, respected him and trusted him. Despite his occupation, I always felt safe and completely protected. Now, I felt totally and utterly betrayed. I stood up and yelled right there in the visiting room, “How could you do this?!”
He was sullen and withdrawn when he said in a low voice, “I know this is something you will never understand, but this is something I have to do.”
“You’re right,” I barked back. “I’ll never understand. I don’t even know who you are.” I even challenged him, “So you’re gonna become a rat?” In our circle that was just about the worst thing you could be called.
My father didn’t say a word. I think it broke his heart to see me react with so much anger. He quietly told me, “I understand how you’re feeling. This is something I’ve thought long and hard about. I just want you to know that I love you and I’ll always love you. I’m not doing it because I’m scared of staying in prison. I’m just done. I’m sick of this life. I’m sick of the backstabbing and the double-crossing. But I also know who I am. I never let anyone in my entire life double-cross me and f--k me over without doing something about it. John is a double-crosser, and I am a master double-crosser.”
That afternoon, my father, protector and friend broke my heart. I was completely empty inside. I could barely even look him in the eyes. Right before our tense goodbyes, Dad said, “I told the government I needed two weeks to tell my family, then to get my life in order. This will all come out next week.”
He forewarned me there were other bombshells to come. “You’re going to hear about murders, about everything we never spoke about at home,” he said, with a “by the way” tone. With that, our visit was over.
Naturally, the cold rain was still coming down as Mom and I huddled under an umbrella on the way back to the car. Uncle Eddie drove us home to Staten Island, and Mom kept looking back at me and asking, “Are you okay? Are you okay?”
I definitely wasn’t okay. While we were crossing the Verrazano Bridge, I stared out at a raindrop that had started making its way down my window. I felt exactly like that, a raindrop in a storm with nowhere to go but down. When I had left the house that morning, I was a certain person. I had a specific identity. I was Karen Gravano, the daughter of the Bull. But now, my entire life had changed and I was going home the daughter of “Sammy the Rat.” I was a new person, and I was as lost as if my father had just stolen my soul.
Uncle Eddie dropped us off at the house. As I got out of the car, he said, “You know you’re not allowed to say anything to anyone. None of your friends, nobody. If you do, you might get killed to keep your father from talking. Your brother might get killed, too.” He probably didn’t believe it, but was just trying to scare me. I could tell he was scared, too. He thought he was going to get killed. Right before he pulled away, he gave me one last hard look and said, “Karen, do you understand?” I understood all too well.
Excerpts from “Mob Daughter,” by Karen Gravano with Lisa Pulitzer. Copyright © 2012 by the authors and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.
“You’re right,” I barked back. “I’ll never understand. I don’t even know who you are.” I even challenged him, “So you’re gonna become a rat?” In our circle that was just about the worst thing you could be called.
My father didn’t say a word. I think it broke his heart to see me react with so much anger. He quietly told me, “I understand how you’re feeling. This is something I’ve thought long and hard about. I just want you to know that I love you and I’ll always love you. I’m not doing it because I’m scared of staying in prison. I’m just done. I’m sick of this life. I’m sick of the backstabbing and the double-crossing. But I also know who I am. I never let anyone in my entire life double-cross me and f--k me over without doing something about it. John is a double-crosser, and I am a master double-crosser.”
That afternoon, my father, protector and friend broke my heart. I was completely empty inside. I could barely even look him in the eyes. Right before our tense goodbyes, Dad said, “I told the government I needed two weeks to tell my family, then to get my life in order. This will all come out next week.”
He forewarned me there were other bombshells to come. “You’re going to hear about murders, about everything we never spoke about at home,” he said, with a “by the way” tone. With that, our visit was over.
Naturally, the cold rain was still coming down as Mom and I huddled under an umbrella on the way back to the car. Uncle Eddie drove us home to Staten Island, and Mom kept looking back at me and asking, “Are you okay? Are you okay?”
I definitely wasn’t okay. While we were crossing the Verrazano Bridge, I stared out at a raindrop that had started making its way down my window. I felt exactly like that, a raindrop in a storm with nowhere to go but down. When I had left the house that morning, I was a certain person. I had a specific identity. I was Karen Gravano, the daughter of the Bull. But now, my entire life had changed and I was going home the daughter of “Sammy the Rat.” I was a new person, and I was as lost as if my father had just stolen my soul.
Uncle Eddie dropped us off at the house. As I got out of the car, he said, “You know you’re not allowed to say anything to anyone. None of your friends, nobody. If you do, you might get killed to keep your father from talking. Your brother might get killed, too.” He probably didn’t believe it, but was just trying to scare me. I could tell he was scared, too. He thought he was going to get killed. Right before he pulled away, he gave me one last hard look and said, “Karen, do you understand?” I understood all too well.
Excerpts from “Mob Daughter,” by Karen Gravano with Lisa Pulitzer. Copyright © 2012 by the authors and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.
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