'We just want to bring these treasures back home where they belong'
Is the hunt for Rembrandt’s stolen ‘Galilee’ almost over?
According to the FBI, the Coen brothers-esque heist is reaching its final chapter after over two decades of empty frames in Boston
BOSTON – More than two decades after thieves stole Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” from a Boston museum, the FBI continues to receive new leads about the largest art theft in US history. Soon, detectives hope, the Dutch master’s iconic seascape, and 12 other treasures stolen on a cold March night 23 years ago, will be “back home where they belong.”
On that bitter night of March 18, 1990, two men dressed as police officers were let into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum by a security guard. After apparently overpowering two guards and duct-taping them to chairs in the basement, the thieves helped themselves to some of the world’s greatest art treasures.
During an 81-minute nocturnal spree, the 110-year-old museum was relieved of works by Degas, Vermeer and Manet, as well as three Rembrandts. The thirteen stolen pieces were estimated to be worth half a billion dollars – the largest private property theft ever.
Twenty-three years later, empty frames still hang in the museum’s Dutch Room gallery, including one for Rembrandt’s five-foot-tall depiction of Jesus calming a stormy Sea of Galilee. One of many Rembrandts based on scenes from the Bible, it was the artist’s only seascape, painted in 1633 — 380 years ago.
In March, the FBI’s Boston office announced it had determined the identity of the thieves, and that the stolen masterpieces were originally brought to Connecticut and the Philadelphia area. No other details have been released, but FBI officials have said the hunt is in its “final chapter.”
‘Storm on the Sea of Galilee,’ by Rembrandt (photo credit: Gardner Museum)
“The works stolen from the Gardner are part of what define us as a people, and they’re a big loss for who we are,” Geoff Kelly, a special agent in the FBI’s Boston field office and art crime team member, told the Times of Israel. “With the announcement in March, we are trying to spread a wider net based on our leads in Connecticut and Philadelphia.”
The FBI’s wider net includes an unprecedented $5 million reward for information leading to discovery of the stolen works, as well as immunity from the US Attorney’s Office, Kelly said.
“The case itself is so fascinating, because it’s right out of a Hollywood movie,” Kelly said. “It really resonates with the public.”
Added Kelly, “It would have been great if someone [came in] and said, ‘I’ve seen one of those paintings, it’s in my basement right now.’” Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened yet.
A detail from ‘Storm on the Sea of Galilee,’ by Rembrandt, thought to be a self-portrait of the artist looking directly out at the viewer, grasping a rope and holding on to his cap (photo credit: Gardner Museum)
Rembrandt based his 1633 “Storm” on a passage from the New Testament’s Gospel of Mark, in which Jesus calms a “furious squall” on the Sea of Galilee with the words, “Quiet! Be Still!”
Like other Rembrandt scenes from the Holy Land, the master worked a small self-portrait onto the canvas, right in the tempest-tossed boat with the apostles and Jesus.
According to scholars, the Bible was a kind of personal diary for Rembrandt, filled with connections to his everyday life. At least 60 of his paintings on Biblical themes run the gamut from Old Testament figures like Moses, Samson and Esther, all the way to New Testament scenes depicting the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
Despite inserting his own likeness into some panoramas, Rembrandt was obsessed with accuracy and detail in his paintings, and even imported camels to Amsterdam for use in studies. The artist made extensive use of local Amsterdam Jews as subjects for his Holy Land paintings and depictions of Jewish weddings.
Rembrandt van Rijn (photo credit: public domain)
For art thieves from London to New England, Rembrandt is the undisputed master of choice for a good heist.
“Basically everyone knows who Rembrandt is,” said Anthony Amore, the Gardner Museum’s security director since 2005 and lead investigator into the theft.
“There are Rembrandts in every major city in the world, so there is that availability,” Amore told The Times of Israel. “This availability combined with fame is the perfect storm for theft.”
A global expert in art crime, Amore recently wrote a book chronicling Rembrandt heists around the world. In “Stealing Rembrandts: The Untold Stories of Notorious Art Heists,” Amore explores fans and thieves’ shared obsession with works by the Dutch Golden Age’s most prolific master painter.
According to Amore, more than 70 thefts of Rembrandt’s works have occurred during the past century. One Rembrandt portrait – of Dutch engraver Jacob de Gheyn III – has been stolen no fewer than four times since 1966, earning it the moniker “takeaway Rembrandt” and a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.
One Rembrandt portrait has been stolen no fewer than four times since 1966
Almost all art thefts have an inside element, according to Amore, making it imperative for security heads to be intimately familiar with background checks conducted on museum personnel. Amore is also quick to shatter the belief that art thefts are committed by sophisticated, high-tech thieves.
“Art is not stolen by master criminals, but by common criminals,” Amore said. “People are regularly calling us with Hollywood-type theories about who committed the heist. But this is less like “The Thomas Crown Affair” and more like a Coen brothers movie.”
A common Gardner heist myth is that the museum was targeted because of poor security. According to Amore, the reality is somewhat different.
Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum (photo credit: courtesy)
“The fact is that almost all the other museums in Massachusetts had been hit in the years leading up to 1990,” Amore said. “At least two major museums in the state had Rembrandts stolen during this period. The Gardner’s time had come.”
Of thirteen works stolen on that March night, “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” holds a special fascination for art aficionados. The painting was the focal point of the museum’s fabled Dutch Room, and displayed directly across from a postage stamp-sized self-portrait of Rembrandt – also stolen.
Though Vermeer’s “The Concert” was the most highly valued work stolen, fellow Dutchman Rembrandt’s “Storm” has more firmly captured the public’s imagination.
“Most of the pieces in the Dutch Room were portraits,” noted Amore. “But this painting was a big dramatic scene that caught your eye first, as a giant sweeping dramatic seascape. I could talk for an hour about that painting.”
Since taking over the museum’s security in 2005, Amore has talked about the stolen works for a lot more than an hour. In countless interviews and public speaking engagements, Amore has sought to expand the museum’s quest to retrieve its stolen masterpieces into the quest of art-lovers everywhere.
“We’ve made increased use of social media in recent years, and also benefit from a symbiotic relationship between the museum, the FBI and the US Attorney’s Office,” Amore said. “We just want to bring these treasures back home where they belong.”
In the meantime, the appeal of Rembrandt and his diverse body of work shows no sign of abating. Since the artist’s death almost three and a half centuries ago, a mind-boggling array of personalities – sometimes unexpected – have expressed an affinity for the Dutch master.
One such notable was Rabbi Abraham Kook, a founder of religious Zionism and the first Ashkenazi chief rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine. During his years in London, Rabbi Kook frequently visited the National Gallery and meditated on Rembrandt’s works there.
“I really think that Rembrandt was a Tzadik,” Rabbi Kook once told the writer Avram Melnikoff, using the exalted Hebrew term for a righteous person.
“We are told that when God created light, it was so strong and pellucid, that one could see from one end of the world to the other,” Rabbi Kook said. “God was afraid that the wicked might abuse it, [but] now and then there are great men who are blessed and privileged to see it. I think that Rembrandt was one of them, and the light in his pictures is the very light that was originally created by God Almighty.”
Myles Connor Jr. tells Milton audience about his life and art heists
MILTON —
Myles Connor Jr. didn’t exactly return to the scene of the crime Thursday night, but he was close. Almost 50 years ago, in 1965, the Milton native, rock ’n’ roll singer and budding art thief committed his first robbery, taking Chinese vases and paintings from the Robert Forbes House Museum. Last night he was back in town for a speaking appearance at the Milton Art Center – not much more than a mile down Adams Street from the Forbes House. The irony wasn’t lost on Connor, but he shrugged it off. “That was a different place, another time,” he said in a Patriot Ledger interview. The appearance was a rare one for Connor. Now 70, he spent close to 20 years in prison starting in the 1970s for numerous convictions for theft and cocaine dealing. He never fully recovered from the heart attack he suffered in 1998 while in federal prison for the cocaine conviction, He can no longer sing or play the guitar, and his speech is slurred. But he spent an hour talking about long-ago robberies and why he did them, to a full room of about 80 people – among them, a couple of old friends from the Milton High Class of 1961. Connor’s visit to the community art house – arranged with the help of an old friend and local attorney – stirred some controversy in Milton this week. But there was none to be seen Thursday night. In a matter-of-fact tone, he said he’d planned a heist of priceless art from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1988, a couple of years before the museum was robbed. Connor was in federal prison when the robbery took place, so he wasn’t involved. But he said his crew was hired by others in 1990. The son of a Milton police officer, Connor said he took his fateful turn into the criminal world when he finished a sentence at the state prison in Walpole in the 1970s. Other ex-cons invited him to join them, “and I foolishly went along,” he said. Connor said he committed most of his art thefts so he could broker the art’s return for the reward money, or reduce his or someone else’s jail time. Sometimes, he said, he stole for “a little payback.” As in past interviews, he said he wasn’t involved in the 1975 murders of Karen Spinney and Susan Webster. Connor was convicted of the killings in 1981, then acquitted on retrial in 1985.
Connor finished an 11-year federal prison sentence for cocaine dealing in 2000, and served a final, brief state prison sentence in 2005. These days he mostly keeps to his home in rural Blackstone, “waiting for just the right woman,” he joked. In his Patriot Ledger interview he scoffed at the FBI’s belief that some of the art stolen from the Gardner Museum may be in the Philadelphia area. Connor said the pieces are “all the way around the world” – probably in Saudi Arabia, where they’ll never be recovered. He said he followed the capture and conviction of Boston mobster James “Whitey” Bulger, and allowed that Bulger “did a lot of bad things.” He said a State Police friend warned him long ago to steer clear of Bulger, so he did. “He went his way and I went my way,” Connor told the Ledger. As the Milton Art Center hour drew to a close, someone asked Connor if he had any regrets about his criminal life. “Everyone has regrets,” he replied. “Only a fool has no regrets.” A few minutes later he was signing copies of his 2009 HarperCollins autobiography, “The Art of the Heist.” He was a long way from the Forbes House.
READ MORE about Myles Connor. Listen to him talking about his book in 2009.
By Tim Murphy At 1:24 a.m. on March 18, 1990, two policemen demanded to be buzzed in by the guard at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. At least, they looked like policemen. Once inside the Venetian-palazzo-style building, the men ordered the guard to step away from the emergency buzzer, his only link to the outside world. They handcuffed him and another guard and tied them up in the basement. For the next 81 minutes, the thieves raided the museum’s treasure-filled galleries. Then they loaded up a vehicle waiting outside and disappeared. Later that morning, the day guard arrived for his shift and discovered spaces on the walls where paintings should have been. Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” Vermeer’s “The Concert,” Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” and five works by Edgar Degas were missing. In some places, empty frames were still hanging, the priceless works crudely sliced out. It was an appalling attack on a beloved museum, the personal collection of an eccentric heiress who handpicked the works on travels through Europe in the 1890s. The crime sparked a sweeping multinational investigation by the museum, the FBI, and numerous private parties. To date, the Gardner heist is the largest property theft in U.S. history—experts have assessed the current value of the stolen art at more than $600 million. Twenty-three years later, the case remains unsolved. In fact, not a single painting has been recovered. But this past March, the FBI signaled that it was close to solving the mystery. Officials announced that investigations had uncovered new information about the thieves and the East Coast organized crime syndicates to which they belonged. The art world buzzed over the news, yet one man doubted what he heard. Bob Wittman belongs to an elite society—the handful of government and private-sector professionals who track down art criminals and recover stolen work all over the world. Art theft is a $6 to $8 billion annual industry, and it’s the fourth-largest crime worldwide, according to the FBI. As an agent on the FBI’s Art Crime Team, Wittman spent two years working undercover on the Gardner case before he retired. He believes he knows where the art is. And right now, he says, the FBI is “barking up the wrong tree.”
Grooming an Art Detective
Wittman, 58, grew up in Baltimore, the son of an American father and a Japanese mother who worked as antique dealers specializing in Japanese pieces. “When I was 15, I knew the difference between Imari and Kutani ceramics,” Wittman says. He applied for work with the FBI because he admired the agency’s investigations into civil rights abuses. In 1988, he started on the property-crime beat, before moving into art theft. The agency’s Art Crime Team was created in 2004; Wittman was a founding member. Originally established to recover cultural treasures looted from Iraq after the U.S. invasion, the Art Crime Team now includes 14 agents assigned to different regions of the country. Some members possess knowledge of the field when they join. Others begin as art illiterates. Regardless, all recruits receive extensive training from curators, dealers, and collectors to beef up their understanding of the art business. Even Wittman, with his background in antiquities, underwent art schooling. After he recovered his first pieces of stolen art in the late ’80s and early ’90s—a Rodin sculpture and a 50-pound crystal ball from Beijing’s Forbidden City—the FBI sent him to the Barnes Foundation, a Philadelphia art institution. “When you can discuss what makes a Cézanne a Cézanne, you can move in the art underworld,” he says. Educating the agents has paid off. In its decade of operation, the FBI’s Art Crime Team has recovered 2,650 items valued at more than $150 million. Of course, not every piece the team chases down is glamorous. Nearly 25 percent of the Art Crime Team’s job is hunting down non-unique items, such as prints and collectibles. “These works can be concealed and eventually nudged back into the open market easily,” Wittman says. The finds are less sexy but represent a sizable black market. Then there are the masterpieces. The most famous examples are Da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa,” which was recovered 28 months after the painting was stolen from the Louvre in 1911, and Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” Munch created four versions of the painting, two of which have been stolen and recovered in the past 20 years alone. But the problem for crooks is that it’s nearly impossible to sell such an iconic work on the open market, except to a rich art lover who wants to savor it in a locked basement. So why steal the pieces if they’re so hard to unload? According to Geoffrey Kelly, a Boston-based member of the FBI’s Art Crime Team, “art thieves are like any other thieves.” They use these famous works as collateral in drug or moneylaundering deals. More importantly, the pieces can be used as bargaining chips for plea deals in case the crooks are busted down the line. “It might be difficult to fill suitcases with $100 million in cash,” Kelly says. “But you can hold a $50 million piece of art in your hand. It’s valuable and portable.” There’s another reason thieves favor this line of work: Art crime isn’t high on a prosecutor’s to-do list. “The rewards are good, and the penalties are small versus dealing drugs or money laundering,” says Turbo Paul Hendry, a reformed British art thief, who now serves as an intermediary between law enforcement and the underworld. “Stealing a million pounds’ [$1.62 million] worth of art will get you only two years max jail time, not including plea bargaining and cooperating,” Hendry says. The harder part is actually nabbing a thief. And according to Wittman, there are only two ways to catch one. None of the FBI’s cloak-and-dagger tricks would work without “the bump” or “the vouch.” As Wittman explains, a vouch involves employing an informant or a cooperating criminal to introduce you to an art trafficker, finessing you into his inner circle. A bump, which is rarer but more cinematic, refers to the spycraft of appearing to bump into a trafficker randomly and then engaging him in conversation. Insinuating yourself into the underworld and cultivating such ties involves careful preparation and plenty of travel. Wittman, who retired from the FBI in 2008 and now heads a private-sector art investigation and security firm, estimates that he spent a third of last year in hotel rooms. That may sound excessive, but the travel is key. Over a 20-year period, Wittman says, he recovered more than $300 million worth of stolen art and cultural relics, including Native American artifacts and the diary of a key Nazi operative. “My life was always a hunt,” he says. “We’d be totally immersed in one case, then right on to the next one—whatever trail was hot was the one we’d pick up on. I’d have four different cell phones to play four different roles.” Wittman’s sweetest triumph came in 2005. He posed as an art authenticator for the Russian mob in order to retrieve a $35 million Rembrandt stolen from the national museum in Sweden. In Wittman’s 2010 memoir, Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World’s Stolen Treasures, he recounts the arrest in the case, which unfolded in a tiny hotel room in Copenhagen. “We started to race for the door and heard the key card click again,” Wittman writes. “This time, it banged open violently. Six large Danes with bulletproof vests dashed past me, gang tackling Kadhum and Kostov onto the bed. I raced out, the Rembrandt pressed to my chest.” Wittman savors that victory, and he expected an equally thrilling conclusion to the Gardner case, especially once a crook offered to sell him the paintings.
Unraveling the Gardner Puzzle
For all its sophistication, the Gardner theft has baffled investigators because the heist was so crudely carried out. The thieves left behind some of the museum’s most valuable works, including Titian’s “The Rape of Europa.” The slicing of two Rembrandts from their frames suggests they were unaware that damaging a work of art sinks its value. “They knew how to steal, but they were art stupid,” Wittman says. “They probably thought they could sell them off for five to 10 percent of their value. But no real art buyer is going to pay $350,000 for hot art that they can’t ever sell.” The other element that makes the Gardner case unusual is its longevity. “What’s really suspicious,” Wittman says, “is that even though a generation has passed, not one single object has resurfaced on the market.” For those who believe that some or all of the works have been destroyed, Kelly, of the Art Crime Team, begs to differ. “That rarely happens,” he says. “Because the one trump card a criminal holds when he’s arrested is that he has access to stolen art.” In spring 2006, Wittman followed a lead that brought him closer to the art than any investigator has come to date. While in Paris for a conference about undercover law enforcement, he received a tip from a French policeman. Through wiretaps, French authorities had been monitoring a pair of suspects. Wittman calls the men “Laurenz” and “Sunny.” French police claimed that the men had ties to the mob in Corsica, a French island in the Mediterranean known for its affiliation with organized crime. Now they were living in Miami. The police suspected the two were linked to the Gardner theft because, as a sign of Corsican pride, the thieves had stolen the finial off a Napoleonic flag hanging in the museum. (Napoleon was Corsican.) Using the vouch method, a French cop working undercover told Laurenz, who had been an underworld money launderer back in France, that Wittman was a gray-market art broker. Wittman flew to Miami, using the alias Bob Clay. Wittman and Laurenz picked up Sunny at Miami International Airport in Laurenz’s Rolls-Royce. In his book, Wittman describes Sunny as “a short, plump man of 50, his brown mullet matted. … As soon as we [left the airport and] hit the fresh Florida air, Sunny lit a Marlboro.” An FBI surveillance team followed in slow pursuit. The three men went to dinner at La Goulue, an upscale bistro north of Miami Beach. They ordered seafood. During the meal, Laurenz vouched for Wittman, telling Sunny that he and Wittman had met years ago at an art gallery in South Beach. The next morning, the men met again, this time for bagels. Sunny asked Laurenz and Wittman to remove the batteries from their phones, ensuring that their conversation would be private. Sunny then looked at Wittman and said, “I can get you three or four paintings. A Rembrandt, a Vermeer, and a Monet.” The paintings, Sunny explained, had been stolen several years earlier. “From where?” Wittman asked. “A museum in the U.S., I think,” said Sunny. “We have them, and so for 10 million they are yours.” “Yeah, of course,” Wittman replied before qualifying the statement: “If your paintings are real, if you’ve got a Vermeer and a Rembrandt.” The pieces all seemed to fit. Over the next year, the three men met several times in Miami. Wittman didn’t think Laurenz and Sunny had robbed the Gardner; they were more likely freelance fences. He couldn’t discern what their allegiance might be, but he knew that this was the trail that would lead to the missing art. “I was playing Laurenz, and Laurenz thought that he and I were playing Sunny,” Wittman writes in his book. “I’m sure Laurenz had his own angles thought out. And Sunny? Who knew what really went through his mind?” The ruse went on. Working with U.S. cops, Wittman concocted an elaborate fake art deal, taking the Frenchmen to a yacht moored in Miami. The vessel was stocked with bikini-clad undercover cops who were dancing and eating strawberries. Onboard, Wittman, as Bob Clay, sold fake paintings to fake Colombian drug dealers for $1.2 million. Wittman continued to negotiate with Sunny for the Rembrandt and the Vermeer until an unrelated bust threatened to derail his work. French police nabbed the art-theft ring to which Laurenz and Sunny belonged. The group had stolen two Picassos worth $66 million from the artist’s granddaughter, and shortly after the arrests, goons from the organization showed up in Miami. They wanted to talk to Wittman. Before the meeting, which would take place in a Miami hotel bar, Wittman stashed two guns in his pockets. Laurenz or Sunny had nicknamed one thug—a white man with long stringy dark hair and a crooked nose—“Vanilla.” “Chocolate” was black and bald and wore braces. He was built like a linebacker and was known to be good with a knife. Over drinks, the thugs accused Wittman of being a cop. He countered by saying the FBI was on his back, threatening his art-broker reputation. He finessed his way through the conversation and survived the encounter, his cover intact. But it wouldn’t be for long. A year later, after busting a second art-theft ring on another job, this one in a museum in Nice, French authorities inadvertently revealed Wittman’s cover. All his hard work was blown. In Priceless, he writes: “Bureaucracies and turf fighting on both sides of the Atlantic had destroyed the best chance in a decade to rescue the Gardner paintings.” Today, despite the FBI’s public statement, the fate of the works seems as mysterious as ever. Wittman believes the paintings are in Europe. “They’ve been dispersed,” he says. He doubts the FBI actually knows who the original thieves are. “That’s bogus,” he says. “It’s a smokescreen to crowdsource leads.” The FBI takes issue with Wittman’s comments. “When we said in March that we had the identities of the Gardner thieves, that was definitely not a bluff,” says Boston-based FBI special agent Greg Comcowich, who stresses that Wittman is no longer with the agency. “Speculating at this point is not acceptable,” he says. Comcowich says another agent tracked down the French agent who worked closely on the Gardner case with Wittman. “He told me Wittman was telling a fairy tale,” Comcowich says. Wittman maintains that he had an opportunity to crack the case and admits that it has passed. Reminiscing about the experience, Wittman writes, “[It] was all part of an expanding wilderness of mirrors.” And in that carnival of intrigue, where the promise of treasure offered little more than errant leads and misdirection, Wittman still marvels that he and the FBI ever came so close to returning the art to its rightful home. - Art Hostage Comments: With this latest spat between Robert Wittman and his former bosses at the FBI it is little wonder no-one has stepped forward with the offer of help on solving the Gardner Art Heist case or indeed assistance in the recovery of the elusive Gardner paintings.
Lets look at the facts behind the case. First, back in 1998 William Youngworth offered help to recover the Gardner art if he could get immunity and the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner Museum. The FBI then embarked on a campaign that saw William Youngworth jailed for three years as leverage to try and provoke William Youngworth to reveal what he knew without any immunity or promise of the so called reward. That failed.
Then Robert Gentile, a made man in the Mafia was asked if he could help recover the Gardner art to which he also sought immunity and the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner museum. Again no offer was forthcoming and the FBI used an informant to set up Robert Gentile so they could pressurise Gentile into revealing what he knew. Again this failed and Gentile awaits sentence for dealing in prescription medicine and possession of guns.
Furthermore, the so called reward offer by the Gardner Museum is $5 million for ALL of the stolen paintings recovered In Good Condition, despite the undisputed fact some were cut from their frames, therefore the condition would not have been good from the get-go. Furthermore, what if a single Gardner painting or two or three were recovered, would there be a delay until ALL Gardner artworks were recovered? Yet another hook/condition designed to deceive perhaps?
Many well respected and experienced professional people associated with the art crime business think the reward offer by the Gardner Museum is bogus and the "Good condition" clause is there to deceive and prevent the Gardner Museum from being liable to payout if and when the paintings were recovered. The "ALL" recovered is also another condition to the alleged reward offer that prevents anyone stepping forward with information because that may only lead to recovery of a single, two or three Gardner art works.
Second, the so called immunity offer by the Boston D.A. office was explained by Boston Assistant D.A. Brian Kelly during the IFAR meeting in New York back in March 2010 when he explained that anyone seeking the immunity would have to give up their right to take the fifth amendment, meaning they would lose their right to silence and would be required to reveal all they knew about the whereabouts of the Gardner art and who has been in possession of the Gardner art. Furthermore anyone seeking immunity would also be required to testify against those in possession of the Gardner art.
Therefore it is little wonder no-one has stepped forward with an offer of help to recover the Gardner art given the track history of those who have tired before and all the conditions.
The only possible solution to demonstrate any semblance of sincerity to be accepted by an evermore sceptical public and anyone who may have information that helps recover the Gardner art would be for a clarification of the immunity offer and also a distinct clarification of the reward offer by the Gardner Museum.
Anything less just re-enforces the allegations that both the immunity offer and reward offers are bogus and designed to deceive.
Geoff Kelly FBI Agent, Good Guy, But Follows The FBI/Gardner Museum Bogus Script
Gardner Heist Update: Museum Got Threats After Theft, FBI Needs Public's Help
Empty frames hang in the Isabella Stewart Gardner MuseumTwenty-three years since 13 priceless pieces of art were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the Gardner and the FBI issued a public appeal similar to the one launched just prior to James "Whitey" Bulger's capture — complete with wanted posters. The posters don't sport the usual most-wanted suspects. instead, they display the missing artwork in an effort to get someone to come forward with what they know about the most significant art heist in history. Gardner Museum director Anne Hawley is opening up about the loss. "It was such a painful and horrible moment in the museum's life," Hawley said. Until now, Hawley has said little about the theft and what happened in the immediate aftermath. "We also are being threatened from the outside by criminals who want attention from the FBI, and so they were threatening us, and threatening putting bombs in the museum," she said. "We were evacuating museum, the staff members were under threat, no one really knew what kind of a conundrum we were in." Meanwhile, the FBI followed thousands of leads worldwide, including in Ireland and Japan, and they believe they know who might have taken the art. WGBH News' Emily Rooney interviewed Jeff Kelley, a special agent in the FBI's Boston field office, and a member of the art crime unit. Emily Rooney: You have been in this for at least ten years. Geoff Kelley: It is actually 11 years now I have been the investigator on this case. Rooney: You essentially know who did it. Kelley: Yes. Rooney: Why can't you say? Kelley: We have to temper what we put out there in the public, and we certainly want to get the assistance of the public and we feel it is important to kind of lay our cards out on the table and say we know who did it, and we know who is involved, but we need your help. We still have an investigation here, and we still have to preserve the integrity of the investigation, and because of that we can't tell you everything, and I know it is kind of a little tantalizing to kind of put that out there and not be able to follow it up and say this is who we think did it. Rooney: Have you talked to the person? Kelley: We have certainly talked a to a lot of people, we have spoken to people we think were involved and spoken to other people it has gotten us to where we are now, and basically we need the help of the public. We have used it before, and it is great, and we continue to try and solicit the help from the public. Rooney: Anne Hawley told us — we never heard that before — that right after the heist there were all kinds of bomb threats and the museum was threatened. Explain that. What happened? Kelley: Certainly when you have a case of this magnitude, people are going to come out of the woodwork. That is what happened. Shortly after the case — it happened over the years — where people came forward either claiming to have information about the theft, or coming forward to try and extort some money out of the museum, so this has been such an unusual investigation. I have been working it for 11 years, but obviously it has been almost 24 years since it happened. And it has run the gamut from everything from an art investigation to drug investigation to extortion investigation. I mean, it has really encompassed every type of federal statute that you could think of. Rooney: The former Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashburger has a great tale of being, essentially, blindfolded and taken to a place where somebody unrolled something and he got some chips Is there any possibility what he saw is one of the real pieces? Kelley: I know Tom and he has the utmost integrity. But from what I have learned about the art itself, I don't think that what he saw was the actual painting. He described it as being unrolled, kind of unfurled, but from speaking to the experts at the museum and at other museums, the paintings are so thick that they would really be almost impossible to roll up. Rooney: Do you think that they are still in existence and do you think together — because with 13 objects, some of them are odd objects, they weren't all paintings — to think that they're together? Kelley: I don't know if they are still together. I think they are all in existence. You have to be cynical in this position and certainly one of the things we have to look at was: Did these paintings get destroyed right after? When these guys woke up and realized they committed the heist of the century, did they panic and destroy them? And that's why we haven't seen them — it is a possibility, but we have had confirmed sightings of some of these pieces throughout the 90s and into the early 2000s and that really gives us a comfort level that these paintings had not been destroyed. From the Gardner Art Heist Archives:
Sunday, March 18, 1990 is a famous date. On that day, the biggest art heist in U.S. history occurred at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, with over $300 million in paintings lost. Works by Rembrandt, Vermeer, Manet and Degas, along with several other valuable and irrepacable works, were stolen. To this day it is regarded as a fascinating and tragic moment in Boston history.
At the heart of the recent controversy around the stolen art is William Youngworth, who has been portrayed in the press as a central figure in the theft. Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg has claimed that Youngworth sent him to a warehouse where he witnessed one of the missing works: the famed Rembrandt painting "Christ In A Storm On The Sea Of Galilee".
Recently, Mr. Youngworth wrote to Big RED & Shiny, stating that he has been mis-represented. After much consideration, Big RED has offered Mr. Youngworth an opportunity to state his case, and present his side of the story and the subsequent interpretations of the Boston press. Below is his view, in his own words, offered to enlighten any discussion around the stolen artworks of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
The most recently 're-newed' efforts by the Gardner Museum to recover their former property is this week's request was for the person who reached out to them in 1994 contact them again. Like 1994 was the only time??? Please! [1]
Is it because that person offered just enough of their neck to get it whacked off by demonstrating control? Allow me to be so bold as to make another prediction, like I did after they lowered the boom on me in 1997. That was their last chance. They carved the olive branch to a fine point and stuck it in my eye. The author they seek has passed away.
Then, of course, not to be out-done by the Globe (the very Globe that fired him for same reasons the Herald hired him), we hear from Tom Mashberg. The very same reporter that gave us the sensational summer of 1997 with banner headlines of "We've seen it". That was the tale where I supposedly took him to a warehouse and showed him the Storm On The Sea Of Galilee. Hey Tom, where did all that happen again?
Mr. Mashberg gives the public some tripe about another cell-mate tale. I guess he hasn't learned his lesson about cell-mate's with tales to tell. Poor Tom. Ever since he got tossed out of the Gardner car he's been pouring the nasties on me. Tom, we can't hear your tinhorn out here.
I haven't settled on the title of my book yet. Either Dirty Pictures or Tom's Tinhorn.
You would think those con artists would have packed it in by now. Just last week I received an approach from a party in Las Vegas offering to place Five Million in a Hong Kong Bank for me. So I sniff at the bait. In the story this person fobs herself off as a Las Vegas art dealer with a line like she is Julia Roberts in Ocean's 11. When I tell her how the process starts to even see if the new owners want to sell their new acquisitions back, the scam wore its tread off real quick.
The "art dealer" turns out to be a Las Vegas Dominatrix who's claim to fame was some lie she skillfully crafted about having Bill Bennet as one of her 'clients'. I've had some funny scams run on me but this was the best yet. Check out this "art dealer" at their website. Too funny. When I give him/her the "run along" I get a nasty diatribe and how she was going to my old sell-out lawyer and go around me with a crew doing 30 years in a Federal Prison. The same crew who the FBI said was plotting to kidnap my little boy to get at the Gardner stash. Sounds like they have it, huh? But because it is me and a flea has more rights in the Commonwealth then my family has, conspiracy to kidnap a little boy for a 300 million dollar ransom is fluffed off.
Trust me. No one on the face of God's earth wishes the 1994 author could write back more than me and a little boy.
Well who knows. Maybe the Gardner will get lucky and someone is hard-up enough to chase that fake reward. When one of their Trustees turned over my sincere personal letter to a Tabloid for publication last year my debt to him was settled. All he had to do was send a post card to a P.O. Box saying "yes" and he would have been talking to the people he needs to talk to now.
As for me. I found a woman who loves me. My little boy is growing into a fine man. Our life is nice and private. We have a beautiful home full of love and the Gardner can do their Blanche DuBouir act again next year.
Sorry everyone. I did my best but the frauds of the Fenway make too much off this thing to wrap it up. Hell, half of those things were misattributed to start with. I am left with one question from Mr. Kurkjian's feature: How did the robber know the security console so well? He knows, but not telling goes with the deal he made for what he got.
[1] "Gardner Museum Seeks Tips On Thefts", The Boston Globe, March 14, 2005
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A Hartford Wise Guy And A $500 Million Museum Heist
It was a shore dinner in Maine a decade ago that transformed Robert Gentile, an aging, unremarkable wise guy from Hartford, into the best lead in years in one of the world's most baffling crime mysteries, the unsolved robbery of half a billion dollars in art from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
Gentile disagrees with most of what the government says about him. But he does not dispute that he and his wife drove to Portland, Maine, from their home in Manchester. It was nothing then for the couple to jump into a car and cross New England for a meal. Gentile is said to be passionate about food. His nickname is "The Cook." Neither is there disagreement that Gentile was meeting Robert Guarente and his wife. Guarente, a bank robber, moved from Boston to Maine in 2002, after his last prison sentence. He was living in the woods, two hours north of Portland. Guarente had been associated for years with three Boston criminals who the FBI believed were involved in or had information about the Gardner heist. One of the three was Guarente's nephew; another was Guarente's driver. Gentile and Guarente had been friends and partners since the 1980s when they met at a used car auction. Federal prosecutors have said in court: They were inducted into the mafia together. They are believed to have "committed robberies and possibly other violent crimes together." And they roomed together for a while outside Boston while acting as "armed bodyguards" for the mafia capo who was their boss. No one disputes that Gentile picked up the check in Portland. Or that he continues to complain that Guarente's wife, Elene, ordered an expensive lobster dinner. What is disputed, hotly, is what happened outside in the parking lot. Elene Guarente has told the Gardner investigators that she believes her husband put one or more of the stolen paintings in their car before they left their home in the woods and that the art was handed off to Gentile in Portland. Gentile claims that Elene Guarente's account, which she first gave investigators in 2009 or '10, is, as he once muttered in court, "lies, lies, all lies." Through his lawyers, he denies receiving a painting or paintings, denies having knowledge about the robbery and denies knowing what happened to the art afterward. Gentile said he met with Guarente in Portland because his friend, who died in January 2004, was sick, broke and in need of a loan. Gentile's most emphatic denial may have come earlier this month when a federal judge sentenced him to 21/2 years in prison on what the government called unrelated drug and gun charges. At age 76, overweight, crippled by back injuries and suffering from a heart condition, Gentile pleaded guilty to the charges — knowing that doing so meant a certain prison sentence — in spite of an offer of leniency and a chance at the $5 million reward if he helped recover the art. Gentile's lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, accused the FBI of concocting the drug case to pressure Gentile to cooperate in the Gardner investigation. The judge brushed aside the argument, concluding that Gentile did not need to be persuaded by an FBI informant to engage in the profitable sale of prescription painkillers. In any event, McGuigan said Gentile had nothing to trade the government for leniency or the reward, no matter how badly he wanted both.
As he settles into prison, Gentile could become another dead end in the succession of dead ends that have characterized the Gardner investigation. But the account of how he became, at least briefly, the best potential lead in the Gardner case offers a glimpse inside a sensational robbery from which the art world may never recover.
Gentile And The Gardner The FBI will not discuss Gentile in the context of the Gardner robbery. But its interest has become apparent in other ways, including filings in court, a sensational press statement it issued in March, its pursuit of Gentile's Boston associates and a curious price list found in Gentile's home. Buried among the guns and other odd items in Gentile's basement was a list of the stolen Gardner paintings and accompanying values. An infamous art thief from Massachusetts said recently that he wrote the list and that Gentile probably acquired it, in a transaction not directly related to the robbery that may have been nothing more than an attempted swindle. There are signs, too, that government investigators are not persuaded by what one described as Gentile's consistent denials. A federal prosecutor said in court that an FBI polygraph examiner concluded there is a 99 percent probability that Gentile was not telling the truth last year when he denied knowing anything about the stolen art. Gentile's lawyer said the results are false because the test was improperly administered. A year ago, dozens of FBI agents swarmed over Gentile's suburban yard. They found an empty hole someone had dug and apparently tried to conceal beneath a storage shed in his backyard.
Federal prosecutors said in court that Gentile was such a fixture in organized crime in Boston by the middle to late 1990s that he, with Guarente, was sworn in as a member of the Boston faction of a Mafia family that is active in Philadelphia. In a dramatic press statement in March 18, the FBI claimed the stolen paintings were moved to Connecticut, at least for a time, and to Pennsylvania. The bureau issued the statement on the 23rd anniversary of the robbery: "The FBI believes with a high degree of confidence that in the years after the theft, the art was transported to Connecticut and the Philadelphia region, and some of the art was taken to Philadelphia, where it was offered for sale by those responsible for the theft. With that same confidence, we have identified the thieves, who are members of a criminal organization with a base in the mid-Atlantic states and New England."
Characteristically, the bureau will not elaborate. Not only does Gentile deny being a member of the mafia, he denies knowingly associating with gangsters. If he is being truthful, people who know him say he is one of the world's most unlucky men because circumstance in which he has become entangled. Some of the most important art ever created disappeared at about 1:30 a.m. on March 18, 1990, as St. Patrick's Day celebrations wound down across Boston. Two thieves dressed as police officers bluffed their way into the museum, a century-old, Italianate mansion full of uninsured art and protected by an outdated security system They bound the museum security guards and battered 13 masterworks from the museum walls before driving away in a red car fewer than 90 minutes later. Among the missing art: a Vermeer, a Manet and five drawings by Degas. Two of the paintings — "Storm on the Sea of Galilee," Rembrandt's only known seascape, and Vermeer's "The Concert"— could be worth substantially more than $100 million, if anyone could find away to unload some of the world's hottest art.
Cooking For The Boys In Hartford, Gentile seemed to inhabit a different world. He is short and round, with a high forehead. His hair is white and he leans heavily on a cane when he walks. He has penetrating eyes and is a pleasant conversationalist when he chooses. Over the last eight years, he could be found most days at Clean Country Cars, a garage and used car lot on Franklin Avenue in the Hartford's South End. He put a stove and a refrigerator in a service bay and, as he wrote in a court filing, "cooked lunch for the boys." "I like to cook," Gentile once said. "Macaronis. Chicken."
The list of attendees at his luncheons in bay No. 1, according to someone familiar with the events, could read like a federal indictment. Among others: Hartford tough guy and mob soldier Anthony Volpe and John "Fast Jack" Farrell, the Patriarca family's card and dice man. Gentile's arrest record begins during the Eisenhower administration, although most of his involvement with the police occurred in the 1960s. Convictions include aggravated assault, receipt of stolen goods, illegal gun possession, larceny and gambling. He beat a counterfeiting case. During three searches of his suburban ranch in Manchester last year, FBI agents found explosives, a bullet-proof vest, Tasers, police scanners, a police scanner code book, blackjacks, switch-blade knives, two dozen blank social security cards, a South Carolina drivers license issued under the alias Robert Gino, five silencers, hundreds of rounds of ammunition, a California police badge, three sets of handcuffs with the serial numbers ground off, police hats and what a federal magistrate characterized as an "arsenal" of firearms.
There was a surveillance camera trained on the approach to his home. Hanging from a hook inside the front door was a loaded, 12-gauge Mossberg shotgun with a pistol grip, a federal prosecutor said. Gentile has giving varying explanations for the presence in his home of the weaponry and related paraphernalia. He said some of it had been there so long he forgot about it. Other material probably was dropped off by a friend who is a "dump picker." Gentile's lawyer said he is a hoarder. He is handicapped by back pain, probably the result, according to multiple sources, of a blow his father delivered with a metal bar when he was 12 years old. He left school two years later to work for his father's masonry business and became the youngest bricklayer and cement mason to join the International Union of Brick Layers and Allied Craft Workers. He took a stab at the restaurant business in the 1970s, but closed his place, the Italian Villa in Meriden, after two years. Gentile and his brothers had a reputation as top concrete finishers, according to friends. When union construction slowed in the 1970s, he went to work for a builder of swimming pools in greater Hartford. Meeting Guarente
Gentile moved from swimming pools to used cars, according to friends and material filed in court. He met Guarente at one of the automobile auctions where dealers buy inventory, said associates of Gentile and a person familiar with the investigation. A source who claims to have met repeatedly with Guarente beginning in the 1990s said that Guarente was a bank robber whose last arrest and conviction, in the 1990s, was for cocaine trafficking.
"Guarente was Gentile's connection with Boston," said the source. "Until then, Gentile was his own man. He did his own thing, his own way. Guarente was a stone cold criminal and robber. He told me he robbed 30 banks and, toward the end, he was selling huge amounts of drugs." Said a law enforcement source: "Guarente was the hub of so many people. He is an interesting guy because he is not well known. But he knows everybody." One of the places Guarente visited, according to a variety of sources, including an FBI report, was TRC Auto Electric, a repair business in Dorchester, Mass., a hangout of reputed Boston mob associate Carmello Merlino. Gentile met Merlino at least once: He was with Guarente when he stopped by the garage to talk about having work done on his car, according to a source who knows all three men. Merlino and his crew were on the FBI's list of Gardner suspects in the 1990s, according to filings in federal court. The legal filings and FBI reports show that, by 1997, the FBI had inserted two informants in Merlino's operation. Over the next year, the informants reported that Merlino treated Guarente like a partner. They also reported that Merlino talked as if he might have access to the stolen art. In one of the FBI reports, an informant said it appeared to him that Merlino "was getting the authorization to do something with the stolen paintings." A lawyer with knowledge of a variety of Gardner cases said the informant reports, collectively, suggest Merlino was trying to take possession of the paintings. Merlino also was meeting, according to FBI reports and other legal documents, with two younger men: robbery suspect David Turner, who was Guarente's driver; and, less frequently, with Stephen Rossetti, Guarente's nephew. When he was questioned by the FBI, Gentile was asked to identify Turner from photographs, said a source familiar with the investigation. While looking for the stolen paintings, the FBI learned that Merlino and the two younger men were planning to rob an armored car depot. Agents intercepted and arrested the men on their way to the depot in early 1999. An FBI agent later testified in court that, immediately after the depot arrests, he tried to question the three about the Gardner heist. They refused to talk. The three robbers argued unsuccessfully that the FBI, through its informants, created a conspiracy to rob the depot to leverage them to talk about the stolen art. Gentile's lawyer failed when making the same claim in court about his drug and gun indictments. The Philadelphia Connection Guarente also introduced Gentile to Robert Luisi, the Boston mobster who a federal prosecutor said sponsored Gentile and Guarente for membership in the Philadelphia mafia — a city where the FBI said some of the stolen Gardner art was taken.
Luisi had tried to join, but was not accepted by, the New England mafia, an associate said. Philadelphia agreed to accept him when he reached out through a man he met in prison. He agreed and, according to court filings, became the boss, or capo, of the Philadelphia mob's Boston crew. Guarente became Luisi's second in command and Gentile became a soldier in his crew, according to a prosecution court filing. As it turned out, Philadelphia's Boston crew collapsed within months of being created. Within a year, Luisi had been indicted in a cocaine conspiracy. Worse for Gentile, Luisi agreed to cooperate with the government. Gentile's lawyer said in court that Luisi lied to curry favor with the FBI. During his interviews with the FBI, Luisi said Gentile and Guarente committed robberies together. He said they lived with him for a while in Waltham, Mass., while acting as his armed bodyguards. Luisi told the FBI that Gentile always armed himself, usually with a snub nose .38-caliber revolver and a .22-caliber derringer. He said Gentile gave him a silencer for his own handgun. The FBI found a half dozen silencers in Gentile's cellar, as well as two snub nose, .38-caliber revolvers and a .22-caliber derringer, according to a government legal filing. Luisi said that, in the late 1990s, Gentile was planning the robbery of an armored car carrying cash from a casino in Ledyard and that Luisi had introduced him to a crew of Charlestown robbers who could help, a federal prosecutor said in court. It was Luisi who told the FBI that said Gentile's nickname was "The Cook." Gentile acknowledges using the name "The Cook," according to a government court filing. But his lawyer said he denies almost everything else.
He acknowledges working for Luisi, but said he was paid what amounted to small change for cooking and running card games, his lawyer said. Another source who knew Luisi in the late 1990s said "Luisi had apartment where they hung out and Gentile would cook. Gentile was the cook and the bodyguard." Within a year of Gentile's alleged induction in the mafia, his network in Boston was in disarray. Guarente was indicted for selling cocaine on April 1998. He was released from prison in December 2000 and died in January 2004.
Merlino and his crew were charged in the Loomis Fargo robbery on February 1999. Merlino died in prison and the others have decades left to serve on their sentences. Luisi was charged in a cocaine conspiracy on July 1999. When Guarente's wife told investigators in 2009 or '10 about the meal in Portland, only Gentile was a alive and out of jail. A Postscript One of New England's most colorful thieves, Florian "Al" Monday, believes he knows the significance of the list of stolen Gardener paintings — and their black market values — that the FBI found in Gentile's cellar. He said it is his. Monday said, in a recent interview, that he has been engaged in the murky business of stolen art at least since 1972, when he and a small group he recruited stole Rembrandt's "St. Bartholomew" from the Worcester Art Museum. In the process, one of them shot and wounded a security guard. The painting was quickly recovered and the gang was arrested. Monday got nine to 20 years in prison. Because the Gardner thieves carried weapons, Monday said he was an early suspect in the theft of those Gardner paintings. "Of course, everyone thought that I had stolen them since I'm the guy that invented that methodology, of robbing museums with a gun," Monday said recently. He got stung in 2002 when he and a partner, a Rhode Island swindler who put up $250,000, tried to buy an etching they had been persuaded was one of the Gardner's Rembrandt pieces. It was a forgery. Monday said he believes his list of the stolen Gardner art fell into Gentile's hands under similar circumstances. Monday said he drafted the list for a partner, who knew both Gentile and Guarente. The partner wanted to buy Gardner art because he had lined up a pair of prospective buyers. Gentile was the middleman through whom Guarente and Monday's partner communicated, according to Monday and another source. Monday said he was putting up the money for the deal, but would not say where he got it. He said he did not know and never met either Gentile or Guarente. "Guarente? I know nothing about him," Monday said. "I never negotiated any prices for him. I hadn't heard of Gentile until recently. The list ... was a list of the paintings and the prices that I was willing to pay for them. That's what those figures are. It is not their value. It is what I was willing to pay for them." The deal fell apart, Monday said, when the partner suspected that he was being hustled, and that Guarente had no Gardner art to sell.
Monday said his partner paid Guarente $10,000 when Guarente said he needed the money to travel to Florida to obtain whatever art was involved. Monday said he suspects Guarente never went to Florida. The partner was next told that he had to pay to see proof that Guarente actually had the Gardner art. The proof was to be a photograph, purportedly of the stolen art. Guarente mailed the photograph to Gentile. The partner, who carried a jeweler's loupe, recognized it as a photograph of a page in an art book. He left with the money but forgot the list.
Conn. man thought linked to heist gets 2½ years
HARTFORD, Conn. — A reputed Connecticut mobster has been sentenced to 2 1/2 years in prison in a weapons and prescription drugs case that revealed federal authorities' belief that he knew something about the largest property heist in U.S. history. Seventy-six-year-old Robert Gentile (JEN'-tile) of Manchester was sentenced Thursday in Hartford. He pleaded guilty in November to illegally selling prescription drugs and possessing guns, silencers and ammunition. With credit for time served and good behavior, Gentile is expected to get out of prison in 10 to 12 months. He has been detained since his arrest in February 2012. Gentile's lawyer has denied that his client is a mobster or has information on the still-unsolved 1990 theft of a half-billion dollars' worth of art from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston.
Conn. man gets 2½ years in drugs and guns case; feds said he had info on Boston art heist
HARTFORD, Conn. (AP) — A reputed Connecticut mobster was sentenced Thursday to 2 1/2 years in prison in a weapons and prescription drugs case that revealed federal authorities' belief that he knew something about the largest property heist in U.S. history.
Robert Gentile, 76, of Manchester, pleaded guilty in November to illegally selling prescription drugs and possessing guns, silencers and ammunition. With credit for time already served and good behavior, Gentile is expected to be released from prison in 10 to 12 months. He then faces three months of home confinement, followed by three years of supervised released.
Prosecutors were seeking a prison term of 4 to 4½ years. Gentile sought a sentence of prison time already served and wanted to be released on probation or home confinement. He has been detained since his arrest in February of last year.
Gentile spoke at the hearing, telling the judge he's been a hardworking man all of his life. He started talking about his wife, saying he loved her, before breaking down into tears.
The case made national news last year when prosecutors revealed that the FBI believed Gentile had information on the still-unsolved theft of art worth an estimated half-billion dollars from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990.
Two men posing as police officers stole 13 pieces of artwork including paintings by Rembrandt, Manet, Degas and Vermeer. FBI officials said earlier this year that they believe they know who stole the paintings but still don't know where the artwork is.
Gentile has denied knowing anything about the art heist and no one has been charged in the theft. But prosecutors revealed at the sentencing hearing that Gentile had taken a polygraph about the theft and claimed he didn't know where the stolen paintings were, which an expert concluded likely was a lie.
Federal agents said they found an arsenal of weapons at Gentile's home including several handguns, a shotgun, five silencers, hundreds of rounds of ammunition and homemade dynamite. Authorities also searched the property with ground-penetrating radar in what Gentile's lawyer called a veiled and unsuccessful attempt to find the stolen artwork.
Gentile and a co-defendant, Andrew Parente, were also charged with selling dozens of prescription drug pills including Dilaudid, Percoset and OxyContin. Parente also has pleaded guilty and is set to be sentenced later this month.
Assistant U.S. Attorney John Durham said at sentencing that Gentile had been recorded by an informant saying he had associated with reputed Boston mobster James "Whitey" Bulger and another mobster. He did not elaborate on those associations.
But Durham said earlier in court documents that Gentile has been identified by several people as a member of a Philadelphia crime family who has been involved in criminal activity for virtually his entire adult life.
Durham said a captain in the La Cosa Nostra, Robert Luisi, told authorities that Gentile had committed robberies and possibly other violent crimes and once planned to rob an armored car carrying money from a Connecticut casino. Luisi also said that Gentile once lived with him in Waltham, Mass., and Gentile was his body guard.
Gentile's lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, called Luisi's allegations "hearsay" and said the government has never proven any link between Gentile and organized crime. He also said Gentile's criminal record, before the current case, includes only old convictions for non-violent crimes.
McGuigan said Gentile is a family man and retired bricklayer, concrete mason and automobile dealership owner. He said Gentile's last conviction was for larceny in 1996 involving improper distribution of proceeds from his father's estate. Gentile's other convictions were in 1956, 1962 and 1963 for receiving stolen goods, carrying a deadly weapon in a motor vehicle and possession of illegal firearms, respectively, McGuigan said.
When he pleaded guilty in November, Gentile said he wanted to spare the state and himself the expense of a trial and hoped to get out of prison as soon as possible to be with his ailing wife. Both Gentile and his wife have heart problems and other ailments, according to court documents.
Art Hostage Comments: Lets look at the facts behind the case. First, back in 1998 William Youngworth offered help to recover the Gardner art if he could get immunity and the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner Museum. The FBI then embarked on a campaign that saw William Youngworth jailed for three years as leverage to try and provoke William Youngworth to reveal what he knew without any immunity or promise of the so called reward. That failed.
Then Robert Gentile, a made man in the Mafia was asked if he could help recover the Gardner art to which he also sought immunity and the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner museum. Again no offer was forthcoming and the FBI used an informant to set up Robert Gentile so they could pressurize Gentile into revealing what he knew. Again this failed
Furthermore, the so called reward offer by the Gardner Museum is $5 million for ALL of the stolen paintings recovered In Good Condition, despite the undisputed fact some were cut from their frames, therefore the condition would not have been good from the get-go. Furthermore, what if a single Gardner painting or two or three were recovered, would there be a delay until ALL Gardner artworks were recovered? Yet another hook/condition designed to deceive perhaps?
Many well respected and experienced professional people associated with the art crime business think the reward offer by the Gardner Museum is bogus and the "Good condition" clause is there to deceive and prevent the Gardner Museum from being liable to payout if and when the paintings were recovered. The "ALL" recovered is also another condition to the alleged reward offer that prevents anyone stepping forward with information because that may only lead to recovery of a single, two or three Gardner art works.
Second, the so called immunity offer by the Boston D.A. office was explained by Boston Assistant D.A. Brian Kelly during the IFAR meeting in New York back in March 2010 when he explained that anyone seeking the immunity would have to give up their right to take the fifth amendment, meaning they would lose their right to silence and would be required to reveal all they knew about the whereabouts of the Gardner art and who has been in possession of the Gardner art. Furthermore anyone seeking immunity would also be required to testify against those in possession of the Gardner art.
Therefore it is little wonder no-one has stepped forward with an offer of help to recover the Gardner art given the track history of those who have tired before and all the conditions.
The only possible solution to demonstrate any semblance of sincerity to be accepted by an evermore skeptical public and anyone who may have information that helps recover the Gardner art would be for a clarification of the immunity offer and also a distinct clarification of the reward offer by the Gardner Museum.
Anything less just re-enforces the allegations that both the immunity offer and reward offers are bogus and designed to deceive.
Sunday, March 18, 1990 is a famous date. On that day, the biggest art heist in U.S. history occurred at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, with over $300 million in paintings lost. Works by Rembrandt, Vermeer, Manet and Degas, along with several other valuable and irrepacable works, were stolen. To this day it is regarded as a fascinating and tragic moment in Boston history.
At the heart of the recent controversy around the stolen art is William Youngworth, who has been portrayed in the press as a central figure in the theft. Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg has claimed that Youngworth sent him to a warehouse where he witnessed one of the missing works: the famed Rembrandt painting "Christ In A Storm On The Sea Of Galilee".
Recently, Mr. Youngworth wrote to Big RED & Shiny, stating that he has been mis-represented. After much consideration, Big RED has offered Mr. Youngworth an opportunity to state his case, and present his side of the story and the subsequent interpretations of the Boston press. Below is his view, in his own words, offered to enlighten any discussion around the stolen artworks of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
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The most recently 're-newed' efforts by the Gardner Museum to recover their former property is this week's request was for the person who reached out to them in 1994 contact them again. Like 1994 was the only time??? Please! [1]
Is it because that person offered just enough of their neck to get it whacked off by demonstrating control? Allow me to be so bold as to make another prediction, like I did after they lowered the boom on me in 1997. That was their last chance. They carved the olive branch to a fine point and stuck it in my eye. The author they seek has passed away.
Then, of course, not to be out-done by the Globe (the very Globe that fired him for same reasons the Herald hired him), we hear from Tom Mashberg. The very same reporter that gave us the sensational summer of 1997 with banner headlines of "We've seen it". That was the tale where I supposedly took him to a warehouse and showed him the Storm On The Sea Of Galilee. Hey Tom, where did all that happen again?
Mr. Mashberg gives the public some tripe about another cell-mate tale. I guess he hasn't learned his lesson about cell-mate's with tales to tell. Poor Tom. Ever since he got tossed out of the Gardner car he's been pouring the nasties on me. Tom, we can't hear your tinhorn out here.
I haven't settled on the title of my book yet. Either Dirty Pictures or Tom's Tinhorn.
You would think those con artists would have packed it in by now. Just last week I received an approach from a party in Las Vegas offering to place Five Million in a Hong Kong Bank for me. So I sniff at the bait. In the story this person fobs herself off as a Las Vegas art dealer with a line like she is Julia Roberts in Ocean's 11. When I tell her how the process starts to even see if the new owners want to sell their new acquisitions back, the scam wore its tread off real quick.
The "art dealer" turns out to be a Las Vegas Dominatrix who's claim to fame was some lie she skillfully crafted about having Bill Bennet as one of her 'clients'. I've had some funny scams run on me but this was the best yet. Check out this "art dealer" at their website. Too funny. When I give him/her the "run along" I get a nasty diatribe and how she was going to my old sell-out lawyer and go around me with a crew doing 30 years in a Federal Prison. The same crew who the FBI said was plotting to kidnap my little boy to get at the Gardner stash. Sounds like they have it, huh? But because it is me and a flea has more rights in the Commonwealth then my family has, conspiracy to kidnap a little boy for a 300 million dollar ransom is fluffed off.
Trust me. No one on the face of God's earth wishes the 1994 author could write back more than me and a little boy.
Well who knows. Maybe the Gardner will get lucky and someone is hard-up enough to chase that fake reward. When one of their Trustees turned over my sincere personal letter to a Tabloid for publication last year my debt to him was settled. All he had to do was send a post card to a P.O. Box saying "yes" and he would have been talking to the people he needs to talk to now.
As for me. I found a woman who loves me. My little boy is growing into a fine man. Our life is nice and private. We have a beautiful home full of love and the Gardner can do their Blanche DuBouir act again next year.
Sorry everyone. I did my best but the frauds of the Fenway make too much off this thing to wrap it up. Hell, half of those things were misattributed to start with. I am left with one question from Mr. Kurkjian's feature: How did the robber know the security console so well? He knows, but not telling goes with the deal he made for what he got.
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[1] "Gardner Museum Seeks Tips On Thefts", The Boston Globe, March 14, 2005
Sunday, March 18, 1990 is a famous date. On that day, the biggest art heist in U.S. history occurred at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, with over $300 million in paintings lost. Works by Rembrandt, Vermeer, Manet and Degas, along with several other valuable and irrepacable works, were stolen. To this day it is regarded as a fascinating and tragic moment in Boston history.
At the heart of the recent controversy around the stolen art is William Youngworth, who has been portrayed in the press as a central figure in the theft. Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg has claimed that Youngworth sent him to a warehouse where he witnessed one of the missing works: the famed Rembrandt painting "Christ In A Storm On The Sea Of Galilee".
Recently, Mr. Youngworth wrote to Big RED & Shiny, stating that he has been mis-represented. After much consideration, Big RED has offered Mr. Youngworth an opportunity to state his case, and present his side of the story and the subsequent interpretations of the Boston press. Below is his view, in his own words, offered to enlighten any discussion around the stolen artworks of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
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The most recently 're-newed' efforts by the Gardner Museum to recover their former property is this week's request was for the person who reached out to them in 1994 contact them again. Like 1994 was the only time??? Please! [1]
Is it because that person offered just enough of their neck to get it whacked off by demonstrating control? Allow me to be so bold as to make another prediction, like I did after they lowered the boom on me in 1997. That was their last chance. They carved the olive branch to a fine point and stuck it in my eye. The author they seek has passed away.
Then, of course, not to be out-done by the Globe (the very Globe that fired him for same reasons the Herald hired him), we hear from Tom Mashberg. The very same reporter that gave us the sensational summer of 1997 with banner headlines of "We've seen it". That was the tale where I supposedly took him to a warehouse and showed him the Storm On The Sea Of Galilee. Hey Tom, where did all that happen again?
Mr. Mashberg gives the public some tripe about another cell-mate tale. I guess he hasn't learned his lesson about cell-mate's with tales to tell. Poor Tom. Ever since he got tossed out of the Gardner car he's been pouring the nasties on me. Tom, we can't hear your tinhorn out here.
I haven't settled on the title of my book yet. Either Dirty Pictures or Tom's Tinhorn.
You would think those con artists would have packed it in by now. Just last week I received an approach from a party in Las Vegas offering to place Five Million in a Hong Kong Bank for me. So I sniff at the bait. In the story this person fobs herself off as a Las Vegas art dealer with a line like she is Julia Roberts in Ocean's 11. When I tell her how the process starts to even see if the new owners want to sell their new acquisitions back, the scam wore its tread off real quick.
The "art dealer" turns out to be a Las Vegas Dominatrix who's claim to fame was some lie she skillfully crafted about having Bill Bennet as one of her 'clients'. I've had some funny scams run on me but this was the best yet. Check out this "art dealer" at their website. Too funny. When I give him/her the "run along" I get a nasty diatribe and how she was going to my old sell-out lawyer and go around me with a crew doing 30 years in a Federal Prison. The same crew who the FBI said was plotting to kidnap my little boy to get at the Gardner stash. Sounds like they have it, huh? But because it is me and a flea has more rights in the Commonwealth then my family has, conspiracy to kidnap a little boy for a 300 million dollar ransom is fluffed off.
Trust me. No one on the face of God's earth wishes the 1994 author could write back more than me and a little boy.
Well who knows. Maybe the Gardner will get lucky and someone is hard-up enough to chase that fake reward. When one of their Trustees turned over my sincere personal letter to a Tabloid for publication last year my debt to him was settled. All he had to do was send a post card to a P.O. Box saying "yes" and he would have been talking to the people he needs to talk to now.
As for me. I found a woman who loves me. My little boy is growing into a fine man. Our life is nice and private. We have a beautiful home full of love and the Gardner can do their Blanche DuBouir act again next year.
Sorry everyone. I did my best but the frauds of the Fenway make too much off this thing to wrap it up. Hell, half of those things were misattributed to start with. I am left with one question from Mr. Kurkjian's feature: How did the robber know the security console so well? He knows, but not telling goes with the deal he made for what he got.
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[1] "Gardner Museum Seeks Tips On Thefts", The Boston Globe, March 14, 2005
Sunday, March 18, 1990 is a famous date. On that day, the biggest art heist in U.S. history occurred at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, with over $300 million in paintings lost. Works by Rembrandt, Vermeer, Manet and Degas, along with several other valuable and irrepacable works, were stolen. To this day it is regarded as a fascinating and tragic moment in Boston history.
At the heart of the recent controversy around the stolen art is William Youngworth, who has been portrayed in the press as a central figure in the theft. Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg has claimed that Youngworth sent him to a warehouse where he witnessed one of the missing works: the famed Rembrandt painting "Christ In A Storm On The Sea Of Galilee".
Recently, Mr. Youngworth wrote to Big RED & Shiny, stating that he has been mis-represented. After much consideration, Big RED has offered Mr. Youngworth an opportunity to state his case, and present his side of the story and the subsequent interpretations of the Boston press. Below is his view, in his own words, offered to enlighten any discussion around the stolen artworks of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
----
The most recently 're-newed' efforts by the Gardner Museum to recover their former property is this week's request was for the person who reached out to them in 1994 contact them again. Like 1994 was the only time??? Please! [1]
Is it because that person offered just enough of their neck to get it whacked off by demonstrating control? Allow me to be so bold as to make another prediction, like I did after they lowered the boom on me in 1997. That was their last chance. They carved the olive branch to a fine point and stuck it in my eye. The author they seek has passed away.
Then, of course, not to be out-done by the Globe (the very Globe that fired him for same reasons the Herald hired him), we hear from Tom Mashberg. The very same reporter that gave us the sensational summer of 1997 with banner headlines of "We've seen it". That was the tale where I supposedly took him to a warehouse and showed him the Storm On The Sea Of Galilee. Hey Tom, where did all that happen again?
Mr. Mashberg gives the public some tripe about another cell-mate tale. I guess he hasn't learned his lesson about cell-mate's with tales to tell. Poor Tom. Ever since he got tossed out of the Gardner car he's been pouring the nasties on me. Tom, we can't hear your tinhorn out here.
I haven't settled on the title of my book yet. Either Dirty Pictures or Tom's Tinhorn.
You would think those con artists would have packed it in by now. Just last week I received an approach from a party in Las Vegas offering to place Five Million in a Hong Kong Bank for me. So I sniff at the bait. In the story this person fobs herself off as a Las Vegas art dealer with a line like she is Julia Roberts in Ocean's 11. When I tell her how the process starts to even see if the new owners want to sell their new acquisitions back, the scam wore its tread off real quick.
The "art dealer" turns out to be a Las Vegas Dominatrix who's claim to fame was some lie she skillfully crafted about having Bill Bennet as one of her 'clients'. I've had some funny scams run on me but this was the best yet. Check out this "art dealer" at their website. Too funny. When I give him/her the "run along" I get a nasty diatribe and how she was going to my old sell-out lawyer and go around me with a crew doing 30 years in a Federal Prison. The same crew who the FBI said was plotting to kidnap my little boy to get at the Gardner stash. Sounds like they have it, huh? But because it is me and a flea has more rights in the Commonwealth then my family has, conspiracy to kidnap a little boy for a 300 million dollar ransom is fluffed off.
Trust me. No one on the face of God's earth wishes the 1994 author could write back more than me and a little boy.
Well who knows. Maybe the Gardner will get lucky and someone is hard-up enough to chase that fake reward. When one of their Trustees turned over my sincere personal letter to a Tabloid for publication last year my debt to him was settled. All he had to do was send a post card to a P.O. Box saying "yes" and he would have been talking to the people he needs to talk to now.
As for me. I found a woman who loves me. My little boy is growing into a fine man. Our life is nice and private. We have a beautiful home full of love and the Gardner can do their Blanche DuBouir act again next year.
Sorry everyone. I did my best but the frauds of the Fenway make too much off this thing to wrap it up. Hell, half of those things were misattributed to start with. I am left with one question from Mr. Kurkjian's feature: How did the robber know the security console so well? He knows, but not telling goes with the deal he made for what he got.
----
[1] "Gardner Museum Seeks Tips On Thefts", The Boston Globe, March 14, 2005
QUINTONS FARM HOUSE GROVE LANE ASHFIELD STOWMARKET IP146LZ
Art theft: the stolen pictures we may never see again
Hollywood has got it wrong – art theft is not driven by villainous aesthetes, it is a branch of organised crime in which masterpieces are used as collateral to finance drug deals
Stolen: 'The Concert' by Jan VermeerPhoto: Bettmann/CORBIS
It had gone midnight following St Patrick’s Day in 1990 when two men disguised as policemen entered the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Within minutes they had overpowered the pair of security guards on duty. “This is a robbery,” one of the intruders announced, before executing the largest art heist in history.
Roaming through the museum, a replica of a Venetian palazzo built to house a collection boasting works by Raphael, Titian and Botticelli that belonged to the Boston heiress after whom it is named, the thieves ripped pictures from the walls and cut canvases from their frames, before removing them in two trips to their getaway vehicle outside.
In total they stole 13 works of art, including a portrait by Manet, five sketches by Degas, the only known seascape by Rembrandt, and – perhaps most heartbreakingly – The Concert by Vermeer, one of only around 36 extant paintings by the 17th-century Dutch master. Today this haul is valued at more than $500 million (£305 million).
Earlier this year, the FBI announced that the case had been “solved”, but none of the missing works has been recovered. If you visit the Dutch Room of the Gardner today, you will find the frame that once contained Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee hanging alongside a portrait by Rubens.
A perpetual reminder of the startling and disfiguring effect of art theft, this empty rectangle contains nothing but the sumptuous green silk wallpaper behind.
Art crime has long been an obsession for the media, ever since newspaper proprietors discovered that in-depth coverage of the theft of the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in 1911 would dramatically boost sales. Today things are no different: witness the excitement generated by the recent reports about hundreds of works of art looted by the Nazis and hoarded by an octogenarian recluse in Munich. Or the attention paid to two limited-edition prints by Damien Hirst together worth £33,000 that were stolen from a gallery in London last week. As an art critic, I am occasionally asked to comment on stories of this nature, such as the 2010 theft from the Musée d’Art Moderne in Paris of five important paintings by Braque, Léger, Matisse, Modigliani and Picasso, together worth at least $123 million (£75 million). Invariably, people want to know: what happens to masterpieces after they get pinched? Do they end up in some villain’s lair, where a billionaire master-criminal can gloat over them away from prying eyes? Well, as I discovered while filming The World’s Most Expensive Stolen Paintings, to be shown on BBC Two this Saturday, the truth is that they don’t. The reason I wanted to make this programme was to test the validity of the Hollywood myth of art crime, built up over decades in movies from Topkapi (1964) to The Thomas Crown Affair (1999) to Danny Boyle’s recent heist flick, Trance (2013). And it turns out that the popular vision of art theft as some kind of glamorous caper is hokum – seductive, yes, but pot-boiler baloney all the same. The likelihood of a nefarious, Dr No-style aesthete commissioning bespoke, ingenious thefts is slim-to-none: indeed, the very concept of such a figure comes from a tongue-in-cheek moment in the film of Dr No (1962), when Sean Connery visits his adversary’s lair on the Caribbean island of Crab Key and spots an easel supporting Goya’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington, which had been stolen from the National Gallery in London the year before the movie’s release. The reality of art crime is very different. In the case of the Goya, a 61-year-old unemployed truck driver from Newcastle removed the painting through a toilet window in order to protest against the cost of television licences for pensioners. This is prosaic to the point of absurdity – but most high-profile art crime is dangerous as well as bathetic. According to Art Theft (2011), by the director of the National Portrait Gallery Sandy Nairne, the international market for stolen art and antiquities is worth as much as $5 billion annually: “This places it among the top international crimes, after drugs, money-laundering and the sale of illegal weapons.” In other words, the notion of a criminal connoisseur in the mould of Dr No may be a myth, but gangs of everyday thieves and thugs do steal art – and lots of it. But since they can’t flog stolen masterpieces on the legitimate market, how does the big business of art theft actually work? There are several ways thieves try to convert their spoils into cash. Newcomers might hope to ransom works back to the institutions from which they were stolen – but this rarely yields results. Often, though, a museum (or an insurance company) will offer a reward for information leading to the recovery of a work. While rewards are never paid to criminals, this can be circumvented with the help of one or two shady middlemen – with the authorities turning a blind eye, as long as the stolen goods are returned. Most likely, though, pilfered art will accrue value on the black market. Typically, a stolen painting’s underworld currency will be between three and 10 per cent of its estimated legitimate value, as quoted in the media. Thus, Vermeer’s The Concert, which is often said to be worth up to $300 million, could be a kind of criminal gaming chip, with a felonious value of up to $30 million. It could then be used as collateral, helping to finance drug deals, gun-running, tobacco trafficking, and other illicit activities. There are obvious benefits to controlling even a share in a single object worth so much money: “Since the introduction of money-laundering regulations, it has become unsafe for criminals to pay for their operations in cash,” says Dick Ellis, who set up the Art and Antiques Squad at New Scotland Yard. “With its black-market value, stolen art can easily be carried across international borders. “It has an international value, without the hassle of currency conversion, and may even be accepted as a trophy payment by senior cartel members.” The canvas of Vermeer’s The Concert measures just 72.5cm x 64.7cm. Of course, there is also the prospect of a bleaker fate for stolen art: irreparable damage, or, worse, destruction. In 1969, shortly after it appeared in a television programme about Italy’s little-known artistic treasures, a late nativity by Caravaggio was stolen from an oratory in Palermo in Sicily. Given the location of the crime, the most likely culprits were the Mafia. Sure enough, over the years, several Mafia pentiti have spoken out about what happened to the painting, which is still missing. One said that it was ruined when it was cut out of its frame. Another claimed that it was left to moulder in a farm outhouse, where rats and pigs slowly devoured it, before it was burned. “The overall recovery rate of stolen art is probably only 15 per cent,” explains Julian Radcliffe of the Art Loss Register, an international database of stolen and missing works. “Of the other 85 per cent, probably 20 per cent have been destroyed.” Returning to the Gardner case, if the FBI is so confident that the crime has been solved, then where are the missing paintings? While filming my new documentary, I met an FBI agent to discuss the possibilities. He told me that he knew who had committed the original crime, and that the agency had even traced the whereabouts of the stolen works until the turn of the millennium, when they had reached Philadelphia. But at that point, the trail went cold. Does he have any inkling about their location today? “Absolutely not,” he said. Nobody outside the criminal fraternity can even say for sure whether they still exist. Ultimately, we like hearing about well-executed art heists, in part because many of the cases remain unsolved – and everyone loves a fiendish mystery. But it’s time we ditched the Hollywood myths, toughened up and got real. The truth about stolen paintings is anything but glamorous. Art crime is a brutal business, with repercussions for us all. 'The World’s Most Expensive Stolen Paintings’ is on BBC Two at 9pm on Saturday
How is it that Whitey received widespread national coverage during his trial, even reports in some international media? What makes him such a figure that well over two dozen books have been written about him in which he plays a prominent part in one way or another? I’ve posited that Whitey was a run-of-the-mill viscous gangster. Yet forces united to elevate him to stratospheric levels.
One prominent media maven wrote that he “Corrupted Boston for a Quarter Century.” From what I can tell there’s never been any public official in the state or city convicted of corruption because of an involvement with Whitey. It seems that the corruption we’ve seen among Massachusetts public office holders or officials has not implicated anyone involved with organized crime.
However four different surveys ranks Massachusetts as follows: Center for Public Integrity gives it a C placing it in the top ten least corrupt states; the New York Times ranks it 18th in the number of officials convicted; the federals show it ranks 27th in per capital convictions; and Business Insider ranks it as the 21st most corrupt.
If Whitey didn’t corrupt any public officials and if he didn’t terrorize the city, then what is it that makes him such a matter of fascination? It boils down to the smallness of Boston where something rather ordinary can be made into something extraordinary. But why pick out Whitey? He wasn’t the worst of the lot: John “Murderman” Martorano and Stevie “Benjiman”Flemmi, not to mention Larry Baione (Zannino), Gerry Angiulo and Frankie Salemme all surpassed him in cruelty and crime. I’ve suggested Whitey was made into much more than he ever was because it sated the Boston media’s appetite to foil his brother; and there was a need of other parties to jump on the ship to inflate his reputation for their own less than straight forward purposes.
I’m sure most of you are scratching your head and wondering who is Jimmy the Gent? You’re probably saying “there’s no way he’s in the same league as Whitey.” And I’d have to agree. He makes Whitey look like a small timer.
Burke was an outright mean murderer. You might have heard how Whitey didn’t like a story Paul Corsetti of the Herald was planning to write. He made a plan to confront him at the Dockside in Quincy Market (according to Ralph Ranalli in 2001) or at P.J. Clark’s (according to Howie Carr in 2006) or “a bar in Quincy Market” (according to Howie Carr in 2011). Whitey was upset because the story was about his brother Billy, or about the Litif murder, or whatever.(Hard to pin down the reason.) We’re told that Whitey interacted with Corsetti, a combat vet from Vietnam, and whispered one of those “do you know who I am” talks allegedly telling him “I’m Jimmy Bulger and I kill people.”
Many of the murders attributed to Whitey were done by others. He was allegedly in a crash car for a half-dozen who were murdered by Murderman nor did he have much to do with the Wheeler or Callahan murders. Jimmy the Gent was all hands on. He is suspected in over 50 murders. Most of the people who pulled the Kennedy heist with him he murdered so they either wouldn’t talk or complain about their cut of the loot. Yet no one has suggested that he terrorized New York City. He was but a minor blip in the annals of crime.
How is it that Whitey received widespread national coverage during his trial, even reports in some international media? What makes him such a figure that well over two dozen books have been written about him in which he plays a prominent part in one way or another? I’ve posited that Whitey was a run-of-the-mill viscous gangster. Yet forces united to elevate him to stratospheric levels.
One prominent media maven wrote that he “Corrupted Boston for a Quarter Century.” From what I can tell there’s never been any public official in the state or city convicted of corruption because of an involvement with Whitey. It seems that the corruption we’ve seen among Massachusetts public office holders or officials has not implicated anyone involved with organized crime.
However four different surveys ranks Massachusetts as follows: Center for Public Integrity gives it a C placing it in the top ten least corrupt states; the New York Times ranks it 18th in the number of officials convicted; the federals show it ranks 27th in per capital convictions; and Business Insider ranks it as the 21st most corrupt.
If Whitey didn’t corrupt any public officials and if he didn’t terrorize the city, then what is it that makes him such a matter of fascination? It boils down to the smallness of Boston where something rather ordinary can be made into something extraordinary. But why pick out Whitey? He wasn’t the worst of the lot: John “Murderman” Martorano and Stevie “Benjiman”Flemmi, not to mention Larry Baione (Zannino), Gerry Angiulo and Frankie Salemme all surpassed him in cruelty and crime. I’ve suggested Whitey was made into much more than he ever was because it sated the Boston media’s appetite to foil his brother; and there was a need of other parties to jump on the ship to inflate his reputation for their own less than straight forward purposes.
I’m sure most of you are scratching your head and wondering who is Jimmy the Gent? You’re probably saying “there’s no way he’s in the same league as Whitey.” And I’d have to agree. He makes Whitey look like a small timer.
Burke was an outright mean murderer. You might have heard how Whitey didn’t like a story Paul Corsetti of the Herald was planning to write. He made a plan to confront him at the Dockside in Quincy Market (according to Ralph Ranalli in 2001) or at P.J. Clark’s (according to Howie Carr in 2006) or “a bar in Quincy Market” (according to Howie Carr in 2011). Whitey was upset because the story was about his brother Billy, or about the Litif murder, or whatever.(Hard to pin down the reason.) We’re told that Whitey interacted with Corsetti, a combat vet from Vietnam, and whispered one of those “do you know who I am” talks allegedly telling him“I’m Jimmy Bulger and I kill people.”
Many of the murders attributed to Whitey were done by others. He was allegedly in a crash car for a half-dozen who were murdered by Murderman nor did he have much to do with the Wheeler or Callahan murders. Jimmy the Gent was all hands on. He is suspected in over 50 murders. Most of the people who pulled the Kennedy heist with him he murdered so they either wouldn’t talk or complain about their cut of the loot. Yet no one has suggested that he terrorized New York City. He was but a minor blip in the annals of crime. - See more at: http://www.patriotledger.com/article/20140124/BLOGS/301249982/2011/OPINION#sthash.1cJSsaBF.dpuf
How is it that Whitey received widespread national coverage during his trial, even reports in some international media? What makes him such a figure that well over two dozen books have been written about him in which he plays a prominent part in one way or another? I’ve posited that Whitey was a run-of-the-mill viscous gangster. Yet forces united to elevate him to stratospheric levels.
One prominent media maven wrote that he “Corrupted Boston for a Quarter Century.” From what I can tell there’s never been any public official in the state or city convicted of corruption because of an involvement with Whitey. It seems that the corruption we’ve seen among Massachusetts public office holders or officials has not implicated anyone involved with organized crime.
However four different surveys ranks Massachusetts as follows: Center for Public Integrity gives it a C placing it in the top ten least corrupt states; the New York Times ranks it 18th in the number of officials convicted; the federals show it ranks 27th in per capital convictions; and Business Insider ranks it as the 21st most corrupt.
If Whitey didn’t corrupt any public officials and if he didn’t terrorize the city, then what is it that makes him such a matter of fascination? It boils down to the smallness of Boston where something rather ordinary can be made into something extraordinary. But why pick out Whitey? He wasn’t the worst of the lot: John “Murderman” Martorano and Stevie “Benjiman”Flemmi, not to mention Larry Baione (Zannino), Gerry Angiulo and Frankie Salemme all surpassed him in cruelty and crime. I’ve suggested Whitey was made into much more than he ever was because it sated the Boston media’s appetite to foil his brother; and there was a need of other parties to jump on the ship to inflate his reputation for their own less than straight forward purposes.
I’m sure most of you are scratching your head and wondering who is Jimmy the Gent? You’re probably saying “there’s no way he’s in the same league as Whitey.” And I’d have to agree. He makes Whitey look like a small timer.
Burke was an outright mean murderer. You might have heard how Whitey didn’t like a story Paul Corsetti of the Herald was planning to write. He made a plan to confront him at the Dockside in Quincy Market (according to Ralph Ranalli in 2001) or at P.J. Clark’s (according to Howie Carr in 2006) or “a bar in Quincy Market” (according to Howie Carr in 2011). Whitey was upset because the story was about his brother Billy, or about the Litif murder, or whatever.(Hard to pin down the reason.) We’re told that Whitey interacted with Corsetti, a combat vet from Vietnam, and whispered one of those “do you know who I am” talks allegedly telling him“I’m Jimmy Bulger and I kill people.”
Many of the murders attributed to Whitey were done by others. He was allegedly in a crash car for a half-dozen who were murdered by Murderman nor did he have much to do with the Wheeler or Callahan murders. Jimmy the Gent was all hands on. He is suspected in over 50 murders. Most of the people who pulled the Kennedy heist with him he murdered so they either wouldn’t talk or complain about their cut of the loot. Yet no one has suggested that he terrorized New York City. He was but a minor blip in the annals of crime. - See more at: http://www.patriotledger.com/article/20140124/BLOGS/301249982/2011/OPINION#sthash.1cJSsaBF.dpuf
'Goodfellas' Cold Case Cracked With Witnesses, Secret Tapes
For decades, those responsible for a 1978 pre-dawn robbery at the Lufthansa cargo terminal at John F. Kennedy International Airport, immortalized in the movie “Goodfellas,” eluded authorities. Only one person, an airline employee, was convicted, suspected organized crime associates were murdered and more than $6 million in cash, gold and jewels was never recovered. That changed yesterday when authorities arrested Vincent Asaro, 78, alleging he’s a Bonanno crime family captain who participated in the Dec. 11, 1978, heist, the largest U.S. robbery at the time and the biggest in New York City history. The break in the 35-year-old case came after the Federal Bureau of Investigation recruited new cooperating witnesses, including a cousin of Asaro who prosecutors said had been in on the heist. Authorities used information from at least four cooperating witnesses, DNA evidence and secretly made recordings in building a case that resulted in five arrests of alleged Bonanno crime family members as part of a broader organized crime sweep. An indictment announced by U.S. Attorney Loretta Lynch in Brooklyn, New York, describes the trade craft of organized crime practiced by Asaro and his four alleged Bonanno cohorts, including extortion, racketeering, gambling, loansharking and threats of violence and murder.
‘Wise Guys’
“These ‘Goodfellas’ thought they had a license to steal, a license to kill and a license to do whatever they wanted,” George Venizelos, head of the FBI’s New York office, said in a statement. “It may be decades later, but the FBI’s determination to investigate and bring wise guys to justice will never waver.” The defendants are charged with racketeering, which carries a term of as long as 20 years in prison. Asaro faces as long as life in prison, prosecutors said in a memo to the court. Four of the five defendants pleaded not guilty before U.S. Magistrate Judge Marilyn Go in federal court in Brooklyn. All five remain in federal custody. “This is the sequel to ‘Goodfellas,’’ Gerald J. McMahon, a lawyer for Asaro, said after court yesterday. ‘‘Marty needs a screenplay,’’ he said in reference to the movie’s director, Martin Scorsese. Asaro will go to trial, McMahon said. ‘‘He will walk out of the doors a free man,’’ he said. McMahon denied that Asaro was involved in the Lufthansa heist. ‘‘He doesn’t even know how to spell it,’’ he said.
Gold, Jewels
According to prosecutors, the team walked into the darkened Lufthansa Air Cargo building and left with gold, jewels and 50 boxes of cash, each containing $125,000. Soon after the heist, federal authorities suspected that at least 10 members of the team were murdered, said Edward McDonald, then the federal prosecutor who oversaw the investigation. ‘‘Many of the people we believed to be participants were executed afterward, some within weeks, to silence them,’’ McDonald, now a partner at Dechert LLP, said yesterday in an interview. ‘‘There was a feeding frenzy in the press, and for months it was the subject of an intense federal investigation.’’
No Money
Asaro, the only one of the five defendants yesterday linked with the Lufthansa heist, was rankled that he didn’t get his share of the spoils, which was supposed to be $750,000 each, according to court documents. In a Feb. 17, 2011, recording cited by prosecutors, he alleged that it was kept by his associate James ‘‘Jimmy the Gent’’ Burke, who died in prison in 1996, and in the Hollywood telling was played by Robert De Niro. ‘‘We never got our right money, we were supposed to get, we got f---- all around. Got f---- all around. That f------ Jimmy [Burke] kept everything,’’ Asaro said in the recordings, according to court documents. ‘‘Neither age nor time dimmed Asaro’s ruthless ways as he continued to order violence to carry out mob business in recent months,’’ Lynch said in a statement. Asaro was also singled out for his role in the murder of Paul Katz, who the U.S. said owned a warehouse in Queens that Asaro and his associates used to store stolen items. After the warehouse was raided in the late 1960s, Asaro and Burke became concerned that Katz would become an informant. In 1969 Katz was taken to a vacant home in Queens where Burke killed him with a dog chain because it was believed ‘‘he was a rat who was cooperating with law enforcement,’’ according to court papers.
Buried Body
They buried his body in the basement of a vacant Queens home where it remained for about 20 years. Alerted that state law enforcement officials were again investigating Katz’s murder, Burke told Asaro and his son to dig up the body and move it to the basement of another Queens home to avoid detection, the U.S. said. In June, after receiving a tip, the FBI excavated the site and found human remains. DNA testing on a human skull, bones and corduroy cloth found at the scene later determined that the body was Katz’s. After the FBI began excavating the Queens home on Liberty Avenue on June 17, ‘‘Cooperating Witness 1” made a secret recording of his conversation with Asaro, in which Asaro asked, “What happened?” according to court papers. “The feds are all over Liberty Avenue,” the witness said on the recording. “For what?” Asaro asked. “You know,” the cooperator said. After the witness asks Asaro what he should do, Asaro replied, “Nothing,” adding later, “Don’t call me.” The U.S. said FBI agents observed Asaro drive past the excavation site that same day.
Devoted Life
The defendants, including Asaro, are his son, Jerome Asaro, 55, Thomas “Tommy D” DiFiore, 70, John “Bazoo” Ragano, 52, and Jack Bonventre, 45. Bonventre is scheduled to appear before a federal magistrate in Brooklyn today. All five are scheduled to appear before Judge Allyne Ross on Feb. 19. “Vincent Asaro devoted his adult life to the Bonanno crime family, with a criminal career that spanned decades,” Lynch said in a statement. “Far from a code of honor, theirs was a code of violence and brute force.” Asaro’s participation in the heist was corroborated by information provided by more than four cooperating witnesses, including those who are associated with three crime families, according to court papers. One of the cooperating witnesses, who prosecutors identified as a cousin of Vincent Asaro, participated in the heist, has pleaded guilty and is aiding the U.S. in the hopes of getting leniency, authorities said. The cooperating witness wore a wire to make secret recordings for the U.S. after he became suspicious that Asaro and his son intended to kill him, according to the U.S.
Federal Informant
Henry Hill, a federal informant whose life in organized crime was portrayed by Ray Liotta in “Goodfellas,” said convicted Lucchese crime family captain Paul Vario and Burke were the two behind the Lufthansa heist, according to Nicholas Pileggi’s book “Wiseguy.” Burke died in federal prison while serving a 20-year prison term for murdering a drug dealer. He was never charged with the airport robbery. Burke had a “close criminal association” with Vincent Asaro and shared an interest in Robert’s Lounge, a Queens bar that was a meeting place for Burke and his crew, according to papers filed by prosecutors.
Armed Holdup
According to the book “The Heist” by Ernest Volkman and John Cummings, the robbery was considered “the greatest cash robbery in American history,” larger than the armed holdup of the Brink’s Armored Car Co. in Boston in 1950, in which $2.7 million was stolen. McDonald, who won the cooperation of Hill when he was a prosecutor, said that the U.S. convicted only one person tied to the JFK heist, Louis Werner, a Lufthansa cargo agent. Werner, arrested two months after the robbery, was found guilty of accepting $80,000 to provide information to the robbers to help them carry out the heist, McDonald said. Hill also told federal investigators that Burke and Vario were behind the heist, McDonald said. McDonald, who played himself in “Goodfellas,” said the U.S. was unable to obtain corroborating evidence to support Hill’s information and the probe also was hindered by the execution of people authorities linked to the robbery. Eventually the U.S. won convictions against crime family members for extortion of airport shipping companies as well as the union that handled freight at the airport, McDonald said. Vario was one of the men convicted by a federal jury in Brooklyn 1986 for running a protection racket at JFK airport. Hill testified against Vario and his co-defendants at trial. Vario died in federal prison in Texas in 1988, while Hill died in 2012 in Los Angeles from heart problems tied to smoking. “This case was larger than life,” McDonald said. The case is U.S. v. Asaro, 14-cr-00026, U.S. District Court, Eastern District of New York (Brooklyn).
The real Goodfellas: FBI arrest New York mafia suspected of carrying out the infamous 1978 Lufthansa heist
Five suspected mobsters have been arrested for their part in the 1978 Lufthansa heist at New York's Kennedy International Airport
The robbery was famously featured in the Martin Scorsese movie Goodfellas
The arrests of four men and surrender of a fifth follows a discovery by the Federal Bureau of Investigation of human remains at a New York property in June
The home was once owned by James 'Jimmy the Gent' Burke last summer - who was played by Robert De Niro in Goodfellas
This is the first time any accused member of the mafia has ever faced charges in connection with the crime
The December 11, 1978, heist was one of the largest cash thefts in American history
The cash was never found and only one conviction has ever been made
It has taken them over 30 years, but the FBI have finally charged members of the New York mafia with the 1978 Lufthansa heist at JFK - made famous by the movie Goodfellas. Five high-ranking members of the Bonanno organized crime family were arrested and charged in pre-dawn raids on Thursday morning in connection with the $6 million robbery that is still one of the largest cash thefts in American history. The arrests took place across New York and included Thomas 'Tommy D' DiDiore, who is believed to be the highest ranking member of the Bonanno family outside of prison and Vincent Asaro, 78, who is alleged to be a captain, or capo in the ranks of the crime family. Scroll Down for Video
Arrest 35-years later: Vincent Vinny Asaro (2-R), a captain in the Bonanno crime family, is escorted by FBI agents out of a federal building in New York, on Thursday 23 January 2014 - Asaro is suspected of being involved in the infamous Lufthansa heist of 1978
Busted: Vincent Asaro, an alleged captain in the Bonanno crime family, is led from Federal Plaza as he is charged in connection with the 1978 Lufthansa heist at JFK International Airport
Boss: Thomas (Tommy D) DiFiore , reportedly connected to the Bonanno crime family, is escorted by FBI agents out of a federal building in Brooklyn, New York on Thursday after being charged in connection with the Lufthansa heist of 1978
Pinched: Two of five men arrested by the FBI this morning in connection with the infamous Lufthansa heist of 1978 leaves the court in Brooklyn
Bowed head: This morning 78-year-old Vincent Asaro, 55-year-old Jerome Asaro, 70-year-old Thomas Tommy D DiFiore, 52-year-old John Bazoo Ragano and Jack Bonventre were arraigned in Brooklyn for the 1978 Lufthansa heist
Tough guy: A man connected to the Bonanno crime family is escorted by FBI agents today in Brooklyn. Court papers unsealed in New York charge that the men were members of the Bonanno crime family
This is the first time any accused member of the mafia has ever faced charges in connection with the crime. The arrests of the five men follows a discovery by the Federal Bureau of Investigation of human remains at a New York property tied to James 'Jimmy the Gent' Burke last summer. Burke, the suspected mastermind of the heist, died in prison in 1996 while serving time for the murder of a drug dealer. Actor Robert De Niro played a character based on Burke in the film. Vincent Asaro, identified as one of the leaders of the Bonanno gang, was charged with the theft of $5 million in cash and $1 million in jewelry from the Lufthansa Terminal at Kennedy on December 11, 1978. At the time, it was the biggest cash heist ever in the United States. The stolen $5 million would be worth $17.9 million in 2013 dollars, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. The crime stumped investigators for years, but a break in the case came last summer during a search that turned up human remains buried at the former home of Burke. The indictment charges Asaro with the murder of Paul Katz in 1969, as well as robbery, conspiracy and other charges tied to the 1978 heist. The Asaros, both alleged captains in the Bonanno organized crime family, also were charged together in a 1984 robbery of $1.25 million worth of gold salts from a Federal Express employee. Information on their attorneys was not immediately available.
Iconic: More than $5 million in cash and $1 million in jewels were netted in the heist, which took place on Dec. 11, 1978 and was made famous in the 1990 film Goodfellas
Burke owned Robert's Lounge, the saloon that a fellow Lucchese associate, the late Henry Hill - played by Ray Liotta in Goodfellas - described as Burke's private cemetery. 'Jimmy buried over a dozen bodies ... under the bocce courts,' Hill wrote in his book, 'A Goodfella's Guide to New York.'
Law enforcement have said that the arrested are Bonanno crime family members Vincent Asaro, 78; Jerome Asaro, 55; Thomas 'Tommy D' DiFiore, 70; John 'Bazoo' Ragano, 52; and Jack Bonventre, whose age isn't known. Two of the suspects live in Queens, two in Long Island and one in upstate New York.
Life and film: James "Jimmy the Gent" Burke is led handcuffed from a law enforcenemt vehicle in this April 1979 file photo - and (right) as portrayed by Robert De Niro in the 1990 film Goodfellas
The exact connection between the search of Burke's home in Queens and the Lufthansa heist has not been made clear by the FBI as of Thursday. Before today the only person ever convicted in connection with the robbery was airport insider, Louis Werner - who tipped off the men who stole the money. The theft occurred in the middle of the night on December 11, 1978 and netted the robbers more than $5 million in cash and $1 million in jewels. At the time, it was the largest heist ever in America and led to a huge, decades-long search for the perpetrators that until now has been fruitless. Six masked gunman took 64 minutes to steal the packets of cash, toss them into a van and escape. The FBI has always agreed with the plot of the movie Goodfellas about all loose connections to the robbery being killed off by paranoid mob bosses.
Anger: The character of Jimmy Conway - played by Robert De Niro - becomes angry in the aftermath of the Lufthansa robbery and begins to kill those associated with the heist
Iconic: The 1990 Martin Scorsese movie Goodfellas is considered by some to be one of the best movies about organized crime in modern American history
Federal agents believe that Asaro was the key mafia overseer for JFK and as such would have been informed of Burke's plan to rob the currency shipment from West Germany. The indictment charges Asaro with the murder of Paul Katz in 1969, as well as robbery, conspiracy and other charges tied to the 1978 heist. ABC News reported Katz was killed, and his remains buried, because Burke believed he was working with law enforcement. Burke was a specialist in hijacking and was arrrested in 1982 for a parole violation and was sentenced to 12 years in prison for match fixing involving the Boston College basketball team. During his prison term, Burke was indicted for the murder of a known drug dealer whose body was found tied up hanging in a freezer truck in Brooklyn. He was sentenced to 20 years to life for second-degree murder and died behind bars in 1996, at age 64, almost two decades after the airport robbery. The cash has never been recovered from the robbery.- -
There is no appetite for terror campaign, says top dissident
A republican parade in Lodnonderry in 2011.
There is no appetite for the ongoing campaign of dissident republican violence, a leading dissident has said.
Dominic McGlinchey Jnr, 36, whose father of the same name was the notorious INLA leader before his 1994 murder, said that republicans opposed to Sinn Fein’s strategy needed to “have a conversation about the future of the republican movement”. The intervention by Mr McGlinchey comes as the latest in a lengthening line of veteran republicans at variance with Sinn Fein who have spoken out about the futility of the continuing campaign of bombings and shootings. Several former IRA men have given interviews to the News Letter in which they have urged fellow republican opponents of Sinn Fein to desist from violence. In December, former prisoner Anthony McIntyre told this newspaper: “Republicans lost the war and the IRA campaign failed and the dissidents need to be told that it failed rather than be allowed to continue thinking what they do.” Richard O’Rawe said at that time that the dissidents’ “whole campaign is insane” and should stop. Mr McGlinchey — who has vigorously denied an allegation that he had any involvement in the 2009 Massereene murders and has never been charged in relation to the attack — told the Irish News: “I don’t believe the appetite exists among the people. That’s not to say there is not considerable support among certain segments of republicanism for particular types of resistance but what is very clear is that the appetite is not there for a full-blown campaign.” He added that dissidents needed to consider if “certain tactics are holding you back from entering a new field of battle”.
Infamous art thief revisits criminal past in Ellsworth
ELLSWORTH, Maine — It has been nearly 50 years since notorious criminal Myles J. Connor Jr. stepped foot inside the old brick building at 40 State St. The last time he was there, when it was the old Hancock County Jail, he confronted a jail guard with a bar of soap he had blackened with shoe polish and carved into the shape of a gun. He used the fake firearm in a brazen escape from the jail that earned him five days of freedom — two of which he spent hiding in the attic of the Ellsworth Public Library — before he was snagged in a manhunt in the neighboring town of Hancock. Now 71 years old and a resident of Blackstone, Mass., Connor was back at the old Ellsworth jail on Wednesday with a documentary film crew, recounting his first major criminal incident in a decades-long career of flamboyantly breaking the law. Balding with gray hair, he wore a long beige winter coat to stay warm inside the chilly building. “I had no idea the commotion that I started by this stunt,” Conner said Wednesday of his daring summertime jail break in Hancock County when he was 22 years old. “And of course they had helicopters and guys with bloodhounds and the whole thing after me.” Connor first gained attention in the 1960s as leader of a Boston-area rock band called Myles and the Wild Ones. He added to his reputation over the years with several high-profile art thefts and, though he was in prison at the time, has been linked to the infamous 1990 Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum art heist in Boston. He also has been accused of assaults, drug trafficking, shooting a police officer, and of murdering two Boston women in 1975, the last of which he eventually was acquitted. On Wednesday, Connor recounted how while visiting relatives 49 years ago in Sullivan, he was captured after police caught him stealing antiques from a local dead woman’s house. A copy of his 2009 book, “The Art of the Heist,” lay on a table in the old jail booking room while cameras recorded Connor looking in a dusty jail cell and talking to relatives of Merritt Fitch, the sheriff who ran the jail at the time of his escape. Dorothy “Dot” Fitch, the wife of the now-deceased former sheriff, said she cooked hot meals for inmates at the jail, including Connor. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since I saw the back of him running out the door,” she said. Ernest Fitch, the sheriff’s son and himself a former detective with the Hancock County Sheriff’s Office, said he was in the attached house where his family lived when Connor escaped. Recalling the commotion, he said his father got on the phone and called for assistance after Connor ran down the hill and jumped into the Union River. “He said ‘Bring in the bloodhounds — we’re going to need them,’” the former detective said. Connor, whose grandfather was from Sullivan, used to travel in the summers from Milton, Mass., where his father was a police sergeant, to visit his grandfather’s family. He already had developed an interest in acquiring art and antiques when, one July night in 1965, he heard his relatives talking about a neighbor. “I was at the dinner table at my granduncle’s house and I remember them talking about how sad it was that Mrs. so-and-so had passed on and her children were going to get everything that she had and she despised her children,” Connor said. “Being aware there was this house filled with antiques and stuff, I decided to take a look.” Connor went to the dead woman’s house and was carrying a grandfather clock out to his car when a sheriff’s deputy, responding to a tip, pulled into the driveway. But it wasn’t the clock in his hands that worried Connor when he saw the officer, he said. “In the trunk of my car I had some [illegal] firearms, heavy-duty firearms that I had brought up to Maine to do some target practice with,” Connor said. “They were machine guns.” Connor got into a “tussle” with the deputy, snatching away his gun and shooting out the communications radio in the cruiser before he drove off in his own car. He was apprehended a short distance away on Route 1 by other officers responding to the call. He was taken to the Ellsworth jail but soon hatched his escape plan. Officials would not let him out on bail, he said, and he was desperate to get back to his apartment in Revere, Mass. “Back in Revere, my apartment was filled with high-quality antiques,” Connor said. Among them was a silver plate made by Revolutionary War hero Paul Revere that had been stolen from Harvard University’s Peabody Museum. He was concerned that people he knew back home would help themselves to the valuables while he was locked away in Maine. “It was paramount that I get out and get down there,” Connor said. “That was the reason for the desperate act.” So about 8 p.m. July 26, 1965, Connor sprung into action. He brandished the blackened soap at a guard, knocked him down and ran out through the booking room entrance, down the hill behind the jail and jumped into the Union River. After seeing people with flashlights on the far side of the river, he swam back to the eastern bank and ran into the library, next to the jail. “I reposed in the library for two days,” Connor said. He found a ladder and hatch that led into the attic and crawled up, kicking the rolling ladder away as he went. Two days later, he snuck out of the library, walked east a few blocks through Ellsworth and then followed railroad tracks east toward Hancock. He lived in the woods for a few more days until, after being spotted a few times, he ended up being caught in a police dragnet. This time he was taken to Penobscot County Jail in Bangor and, after posting $15,000 bail, went back to Massachusetts, where he got into more trouble that kept him from ever returning to Maine to serve time. In the decades since, Connor has been connected with a 1974 theft of Wyeth paintings from the Woolworth estate in Monmouth, Maine; a 1975 theft of paintings from the Mead Art Museum at Amherst College; and a 1975 daylight robbery of a Rembrandt painting from Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, among other capers. More recently, he has been implicated in more petty crimes — a 2011 sunglasses shoplifting attempt and a 2012 drug-related robbery of a cellphone, both in Woonsocket, R.I., and a 2011 hay theft in Mendon, Mass. Connor is free after serving time in prison for his crimes. He was incarcerated in Walpole, Mass., on assault and attempted murder charges, and in Illinois for drug offenses and illegal transportation of stolen art. When asked Wednesday about the infamous, unsolved Gardner Museum heist, Connor repeated what he has said in other previously published reports: that the theft, which netted 13 works of art now estimated to be worth up to $500 million, was his idea but that it was carried out by two associates of his who have since died. He added that he believes the stolen artworks are now in Saudi Arabia, “probably in some wealthy sheik’s basement.” FBI officials announced last year that they have identified who the thieves were, but they declined to release names, saying the case is still under investigation. Other people with highly publicized criminal records have been linked to the Gardner heist, but none ever has been charged in the crime.
Myles J. Connor Jr. (right) holds a bar of soap carved into the shape of a gun Wednesday as Al Dotoli, a longtime friend who accompanied Connor on his visit, holds up his hands in mock alarm at the old Hancock County Jail in Ellsworth. Connor, a notorious art thief, escaped from the jail in 1965 by using the fake firearm to fool a jail guard.
A bar of soap blackened with shoe polish and carved into the shape of a small gun sits in the bottom of a glass jar at the old Hancock County Jail in Ellsworth on Wednesday. Notorious art thief Myles J. Connor Jr, who was in Ellsworth this week to recount his criminal past, used the fake firearm to escape from the jail in 1965.
Myles J. Connor Jr., of Blackstone, Mass., stands in the doorway of a cell Wednesday in the old Hancock County Jail in Ellsworth. Connor, a career criminal and infamous art thief, escaped from the jail in 1965 by using a bar of soap he blackened and carved into the shape of a gun.
Myles J. Connor Jr., 71, of Blackstone, Mass., is recorded by a documentary film crew in the old Hancock County Jail in Ellsworth on Wednesday. Connor, an infamous art thief, revisited the jail to recount how he used a bar of soap carved into the shape of a gun to escape from the jail in 1965.
Infamous art thief revisits criminal past in Ellsworth
Myles J. Connor Jr., right, holds a bar of soap carved into the shape of a gun Wednesday as Al Dotoli, a longtime friend who accompanied Connor on his visit, holds up his hands in mock alarm at the old Hancock County Jail in Ellsworth. Connor, a notorious art thief, escaped from the jail in 1965 by using the fake firearm to fool a jail guard.
ELLSWORTH — It has been nearly 50 years since notorious criminal Myles J. Connor Jr. stepped foot inside the old brick building at 40 State St.
The last time he was there, when it was the old Hancock County Jail, he confronted a jail guard with a bar of soap he had blackened with shoe polish and carved into the shape of a gun. He used the fake firearm in a brazen escape from the jail that earned him five days of freedom — two of which he spent hiding in the attic of the Ellsworth Public Library — before he was snagged in a manhunt in the neighboring town of Hancock. Now 71 years old and a resident of Blackstone, Mass., Connor was back at the old Ellsworth jail on Wednesday with a documentary film crew, recounting his first major criminal incident in a decades-long career of flamboyantly breaking the law. Balding with gray hair, he wore a long beige winter coat to stay warm inside the chilly building. “I had no idea the commotion that I started by this stunt,” Conner said Wednesday of his daring summertime jail break in Hancock County when he was 22 years old. “And of course they had helicopters and guys with bloodhounds and the whole thing after me.” Connor first gained attention in the 1960s as leader of a Boston-area rock band called Myles and the Wild Ones. He added to his reputation over the years with several high-profile art thefts and, though he was in prison at the time, has been linked to the infamous 1990 Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum art heist in Boston. He also has been accused of assaults, drug trafficking, shooting a police officer, and of murdering two Boston women in 1975, the last of which he eventually was acquitted. On Wednesday, Connor recounted how while visiting relatives 49 years ago in Sullivan, he was captured after police caught him stealing antiques from a local dead woman’s house. A copy of his 2009 book, “The Art of the Heist,” lay on a table in the old jail booking room while cameras recorded Connor looking in a dusty jail cell and talking to relatives of Merritt Fitch, the sheriff who ran the jail at the time of his escape. Dorothy “Dot” Fitch, the wife of the now-deceased former sheriff, said she cooked hot meals for inmates at the jail, including Connor. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since I saw the back of him running out the door,” she said. Ernest Fitch, the sheriff’s son and himself a former detective with the Hancock County Sheriff’s Office, said he was in the attached house where his family lived when Connor escaped. Recalling the commotion, he said his father got on the phone and called for assistance after Connor ran down the hill and jumped into the Union River. Connor, whose grandfather was from Sullivan, used to travel in the summers from Milton, Mass., where his father was a police sergeant, to visit his grandfather’s family. He already had developed an interest in acquiring art and antiques when, one July night in 1965, he heard his relatives talking about a neighbor. “I was at the dinner table at my granduncle’s house and I remember them talking about how sad it was that Mrs. so-and-so had passed on and her children were going to get everything that she had and she despised her children,” Connor said. “Being aware there was this house filled with antiques and stuff, I decided to take a look.” Connor went to the dead woman’s house and was carrying a grandfather clock out to his car when a sheriff’s deputy, responding to a tip, pulled into the driveway. But it wasn’t the clock in his hands that worried Connor when he saw the officer, he said. “In the trunk of my car I had some (illegal) firearms, heavy-duty firearms that I had brought up to Maine to do some target practice with,” Connor said. “They were machine guns.” Connor got into a “tussle” with the deputy, snatching away his gun and shooting out the communications radio in the cruiser before he drove off in his own car. He was apprehended a short distance away on Route 1 by other officers responding to the call. He was taken to the Ellsworth jail but soon hatched his escape plan. Officials would not let him out on bail, he said, and he was desperate to get back to his apartment in Revere, Mass. “Back in Revere, my apartment was filled with high-quality antiques,” Connor said. Among them was a silver plate made by Revolutionary War hero Paul Revere that had been stolen from Harvard University’s Peabody Museum. He was concerned that people he knew back home would help themselves to the valuables while he was locked away in Maine. So about 8 p.m. July 26, 1965, Connor sprung into action. He brandished the blackened soap at a guard, knocked him down and ran out through the booking room entrance, down the hill behind the jail and jumped into the Union River. After seeing people with flashlights on the far side of the river, he swam back to the eastern bank and ran into the library, next to the jail. “I reposed in the library for two days,” Connor said. He found a ladder and hatch that led into the attic and crawled up, kicking the rolling ladder away as he went. Two days later, he snuck out of the library, walked east a few blocks through Ellsworth and then followed railroad tracks east toward Hancock. He lived in the woods for a few more days until, after being spotted a few times, he ended up being caught in a police dragnet.
At 1:24 a.m. on March 18, 1990, as St. Patrick’s Day festivities wound down in Boston, two men dressed as police officers rang the buzzer at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston’s Fenway neighborhood. Eighty-one minutes later, they vanished, taking eleven paintings and two artifacts with them. None of the stolen works — worth at least $500 million today — has ever been recovered. This week, On Remand looks back at the Gardner heist and another set of stolen paintings that found their way back the rightful owner — landing an attorney in prison in the process….
The Gardner heist began when two men claiming to be police officers investigating a disturbance in the courtyard were admitted to the museum without question by the on-duty security guard. The imposter policemen then tricked the guard into stepping away from his alarm button and summoning the other on-duty guard. After taping the guards’ hands, feet, and heads (leaving holes to breathe), the burglars handcuffed the guards to pipes in the museum’s basement. With the guards disabled, the burglars disconnected the museum’s video cameras. No one would discover what happened next until 8 a.m., when the morning shift of employees arrived. That morning, Gardner staff and police discovered what remains the largest property crime in U.S. history. In the Dutch room, a Rembrandt self-portrait, which the thieves had unsuccessfully tried to pry from its frame, laid discarded on the floor. Two frames — the former homes of Rembrandt’s The Storm on the Sea of Galilee and A Lady and Gentleman in Black— hung haphazardly without their contents, which had been cut out. A Vermeer and a Govart Flinck painting were missing. Elsewhere in the museum, five Degas drawings, a Manet, a bronze eagle from the top of a Napoleonic flag, and a Chinese vase were also gone. The burglary was beyond perplexing. The thieves operated with a strange mix of professionalism and amateurism. Their method of entry, treatment of the guards, and disabling of the museum’s security cameras suggested they were professionals. Yet, only amateurs would risk spending nearly an hour and a half in the museum (and, according to motion trackers still active throughout the burglary, spend only half that time stealing art). The thieves’ eclectic mix of stolen artwork — Dutch, Asian, and Napoleonic — appeared to have no connection, and they vastly devalued the two Rembrandts by cutting them out of the frames. The thieves also left the museum’s most valuable painting, Titian’s Europa, hanging on the wall. The crime remains unsolved, the theories as perplexing as the heist itself. Those theories include the involvement of the Irish Republican Army or possibly Whitey Bulger, the Boston mob boss and FBI informant. Another theory posits that New England art thief, Myles Connor, asked an associate to make the steal. Contrary to the Gardner heist, and Hollywood’s treatment of other art heists, most stolen art is taken without drama: museum employees simply walk off with artwork in storage or opportunists snag small pieces from the homes of collectors. Art thieves typically are not sophisticated criminals in bowler hats. Such was the case with a 1978 break-in in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. After Michael Bakwin left town for the Memorial Day weekend in 1978, his house was broken into and seven paintings were stolen, including a valuable Cézanne. The investigation quickly focused on David Colvin, a small-time career criminal who was already in trouble with the law on an unrelated firearms charge. The day before his hearing in the firearms case, Colvin arrived at his lawyer’s office with a bag containing the paintings stolen from the Bakwin home. According to his attorney, Robert M. Mardirosian:
He was going to bring them to Florida to fence them, but I told him that if he ever got caught with them with the other case hanging over his head, he’d be in real trouble…. So he left them upstairs in my attic in a big plastic bag.
In February 1979, Colvin was shot and killed over a $1,500 poker debt, stalling the investigation into Bakwin’s stolen paintings. A few months later, though, while cleaning the attic, Mardirosian rediscovered the paintings. He didn’t contact the authorities. He didn’t call Bakwin. Instead, he researched the best way to make a profit….
As Mardirosian quickly discovered, profiting from stolen art is not easy. Instead of selling it, thieves (or their bosses) often use valuable pieces as collateral in drug deals or hold the art in hopes of creating leverage if (or more likely, when) they are charged with other crimes. Mardirosian, who was experienced in criminal defense but not criminal fencing, sat on the paintings for twenty years. Finally, in 1999, Mardirosian, perhaps bored with his still life, tried selling the Cézanne. To remain anonymous, he set up a shell corporation and hired an intermediary in London. But when the intermediary sought insurance to ship the painting, the insurer contacted the Art Loss Register, a private organization that maintains a database of stolen paintings. The ALR effortlessly identified the art as the Cézanne stolen from the Bakwin home and notified British and American authorities. Seeing an opportunity for itself as well, the ALR reached an agreement with Bakwin to recover the seven stolen paintings for a commission. The investigation, which had virtually stopped at Colvin’s death, was back on. Meanwhile, Mardirosian blundered on, demanding $15 million from Bakwin for the return of the art. Bakwin initially refused, but then had a change of heart. To save the Cézanne, he sacrificed the other six paintings (together worth about $1 million), agreeing to convey those to the still-anonymous Mardirosian. Mardirosian, now represented by a new intermediary who was (of course) also a lawyer, agreed. Mardirosian’s attorney Bernard Vischer met with Julian Radcliffe, the founder and chairman of the Art Loss Register, in Geneva to execute the agreement. They were accompanied by experts from Sotheby’s to verify the painting’s authenticity. As recounted in the First Circuit’s later opinion:
Vischer spoke with someone on his cell phone, and then announced that he would retrieve the Cézanne and bring it to the boardroom. He left the room and headed to the front of the building, with Radcliffe and others in tow. Once outside, Vischer walked to a nearby corner. A white car pulled up beside him, and the back passenger window lowered. A passenger in the backseat, his face shrouded from view, handed Vischer a black trash bag. The car sped away. Vischer returned to the boardroom and handed the trash bag to the experts from Sotheby’s, who carefully opened it to reveal the stolen Cézanne.
With his part of the 1999 Agreement satisfied, Mardirosian received a bill of sale purportedly transferring title in the other six paintings. He also agreed to sign an affidavit — using his real name — swearing that he was not involved in the original theft. The affidavit was sealed and sent to the London-based law firm Herbert Smith for safekeeping. Mardirosian continued to work on selling the remaining six paintings. After Bakwin refused to pay $1 million for them, in 2005, working through a new intermediary (a real estate developer this time), Mardirosian offered the pieces to Sotheby’s. Sotheby’s, predictably, called the Art Loss Register to check the arts’ provenance. The ALR identified the paintings as those stolen from Bakwin, but seeing an opportunity to collect on its commission, the ALR instead told Sotheby’s that title was clear. When the paintings arrived in London, Bakwin sued to stop the sale. In the course of the case, the affidavit was unsealed, revealing Mardirosian as the seller. Soon after, Mardirosian was indicted in the U.S. under §2315 of the National Stolen Property Act, which makes it a crime to receive or possess stolen goods worth $5,000 or more that have crossed a U.S. boundary. In his defense, Mardirosian argued that the 1999 Agreement (which allegedly gave Mardirosian title to the six paintings in exchange for the Cézanne) terminated his illegal possession, and in the intervening eight years, the statute of limitations had run. In affirming his conviction, the First Circuit Court of Appeals dismissed the argument — contracts for illegal purposes are never valid:
The 1999 Agreement was illegal in that Mardirosian conditioned the return of the stolen Cézanne on Bakwin’s relinquishment of title to the six paintings. We tread no new ground in declaring that the act of demanding a fee for the return of stolen property is unlawful.
Mardirosian was sentenced to seven years, assessed a $100,000 fine, and disbarred. In a later civil case, Bakwin and the ALR won $3 million in damages from Mardirosian for all their trouble. Perhaps being both disbarred and behind bars has changed his tune, but before his 2007 criminal trial, Mardirosian had this to say for himself:
I know some things don’t look good here, but I believe I have a legitimate case to make…. I could have sold these a dozen times, but never did. My whole intent was to find a way to get them back to the owner in return for a 10 percent commission.
To be sure, some things don’t look good here for Mardirosian. But they are looking up for Bakwin, who sold his Cézanne for $29 million shortly after reacquiring it in 1999. Meanwhile, because Mrs. Gardner’s will requires the Gardner to remain exactly as it was the day she handed it over, empty frames and blank spots greet the museum’s guests where the Rembrandts and the other stolen works used to hang. Last year, on the heist’s anniversary, the FBI issued a press release announcing that it knew the identities of the thieves, as well as the arts’ location in the years immediately after the theft. The arts’ current location remains unknown, however, and the Gardner’s $5 million reward for information leading to the return of its stolen works is unclaimed. The field is crowded, so bring your “A” game and join the professional art investigators, petty criminals, psychics, and the rest of the motley crew hoping to capitalize on the Gardner’s misfortune. Inside The Gardner Case [ARTnews] Ripped From the Walls (And The Headlines) [Smithsonian] Samantha Beckett (not her real name) is an attorney with more than ten years of experience working in Biglaw. When not traveling back in time, she is most likely billing it. Her writing has been featured in state and federal courts across the nation and in the inboxes of countless clients, colleagues, and NSA analysts. She can be reached at OnRemand@gmail.com.
FILE 1990: Security guard Paul Daley stands guard at the door of the Dutch Room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Twelve priceless works of art were stolen from the museum.Reuters
The FBI agent in charge of the investigation into the theft of $500 million worth of masterpieces from a Boston museum nearly a quarter century ago says the bureau has confirmed sightings of the missing artwork from credible sources. The art, including works by Rembrandt, Vermeer and Manet, was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990 by two men disguised as city police officers. The missing artwork has vexed the city and there is a $5 million reward. FBI Special Agent Geoff Kelly, the lead investigator, told MyFoxBoston.com the trail for the missing artwork has not grown cold. He identified three persons of interest in the Gardner case, all reportedly with ties to organized crime: Carmello Merlino, Robert Guarente, and Robert Gentile. Merlino and Guarente have died. Gentile has denied any knowledge of the missing work, the report said. Kelly said in the late 1990s, two FBI informants told law enforcement that Merlino was preparing to return Rembrandt's Storm on the Sea of Galilee, in an effort to collect the reward. However, Merlino and his crew were soon arrested in an aborted armored car heist and the painting was never returned, MyFoxBoston.com reported. Kelly suspects Guarente somehow passed control of the stolen Gardner artwork to Gentile, the report says In 2012 Gentile's home and property in Manchester, Conn. were searched, but no sign of the stolen Gardner artwork was located. However, Kelly said authorities recovered police paraphernalia, including "clothing, articles of clothing with police and FBI insignias on it, handcuffs, a scanner, two way radios, and Tasers" and these are not common items. Gentile, through his lawyer, denied having any connection to the Gardner art heist or with moving the artwork after the fact.
Art Hostage Comments: The intrigue and stand off prevents the Gardner art being recovered. Ego's prevail and no-one is giving an inch.
Uncle Joe Ligambi, having beat the wrap yet again this January 2014 would organise the recovery of the Gardner art, but as with all previous attempts, there are problems with immunity and the reward offered. Every time anyone has stepped up and offered help it seems they have ended up being indicted to be used as leverage, which has failed time and time again.
George Borgesi recently said if the immunity deal offered was for real, cast iron and did not require anything other than the Gardner art being recovered, then they could be handed back.
The reward offer of $5 million for the recovery of ALL the Gardner art in GOOD condition is also another problem because the condition was never good from the get-go, as when they were stolen some were cut from their frames and over the years some Gardner art has deteriorated.
From jail David Turner, Stephen and Mark Rossetti & William Merlino have all tried to offer help as part of a proposed deal but failed to agree and to be truthful, perhaps they do not have the ability to order the Gardner art to be handed back, unlike Uncle Joe Ligambi, who retains the ability, if so disposed, to demand the Gardner art be returned. Robert Gentile is no fool and will not put himself or his family at risk by revealing anything about the Gardner case because he has been warned by George Borgesi that Uncle Joe Ligambi has final say.
Mind you, if a deal was worked out and monies were paid, then I am certain the Gardner art, in whatever condition it is, would surface. Robert Gentile, on pain of death threats to himself and family awaits the go-ahead, from Uncle Joe Ligambi via George Borgesi to offer up, via his lawyer, what he knows on securing the recovery of the Gardner art. Lurking in the background is the in-fighting between Uncle Joe, Scarfo and Joey etc for control and the Gardner art has become just another piece of potential business.The smokescreen of a mistrial for Anthony Nicodemo has also made the subject of the Gardner art take a back seat.
We must not forget we are only talking about some, I repeat some of the Gardner art, not all is within the gift of Uncle Joe Ligambi or Robert Gentile to surface.
Lets step back and consider the facts. The much maligned FBI have only been doing their job in trying to recover the Gardner art and make arrests. The Criminal Underworld have also only been doing their job, trying to extort a ransom for the recovery of the Gardner art. Twenty Four years have passed and no-one has broken rank on either side that has led to recovery of all the Gardner art. To be continued...................................................
By Alexander Boyle | August 2014 March 18, 1990, saw the biggest museum heist take place in American history as the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston was robbed by thieves dressed up as police officers. Since that time numerous stories have surfaced with the result being the same—nothing found, nothing recovered, and a museum, still bound by deed of gift, hangs empty frames on the wall where once hung masterpieces by Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, and Degas. In the year 2001 this writer was handed an extraordinary letter from a confidential FBI informant outlining how the job was done, who the “players” were, and how the paintings were spirited overseas, first to Italy then France where they were sold via the connivance of a New York dealer for upward of $25 million. One small problem: Despite this writer being flown abroad in February 2005 in the company of the FBI to meet the French National Police on the Isle de France in Paris—nothing was found. Noted FBI Agent Robert Wittman gave his best efforts on his trips to France in 2006 and 2007. He came close, but again, aside from Corsican mobster innuendo, nothing was found. In 2013 this writer started to write the outline of a TV series on the project, then tentatively titled “Raiders of the Lost Art,” and the first item on the agenda was revisiting the Gardner Heist. The joy of a complete reboot is that one can go in the past and start over how one looks at a story, which helps because the original story development was so convoluted by wise guys seeking to cover their tracks, that a writer in the center of this story might be forgiven for getting vertigo or the spins. Two names from the start remained of interest, and while the paintings were long since gone, getting a lock on the guys who did the job might help get closure for Boston, and put the story back on the right track, and hopefully confirm what the informant stated in 2001. But the FBI refused to help when a Freedom Of Information Act request was put in for one William Merlino. This would take some doing to get around. In 2008 a friendly writer named Ulrich Boser sent me the first photo of the other suspect, David Allen Turner, and that really matched the initial police sketch. It would take another five plus years for the William Merlino photo to show up. As the reader can now see, it was worth the wait. Who are these guys and where are they now? William Merlino is 53 years of age and serving out the remained of an armored car conspiracy case in Lee Federal Prison, Pennington Gap, Va. According to Federal prison records, he is due to get out on Aug. 6, 2025. His cohort, David Allen Turner is now 47 year of age in Danbury Federal Correctional Institute in Danbury, Conn. and he is scheduled for release on March 25, 2025. William Merlino’s uncle, Carmello, supposedly the “made guy” in the family, and the link that could have confirmed the organized crime connection to this story, died in federal prison on Dec. 7, 2005. All three were sent away for lengthy prison stints from an arrest made in 1998 for a job they never got a chance to pull off, but conspiracy remains a valid charge in federal courts.
Money Trail
Assuming the photos of Merlino and Turner match the Gardner Heist suspects, this corroborates the story heard years ago, that William Merlino was behind the heist. In underworld structure of the Boston, William was affiliated with uncle Carmello Merlino, a known La Cosa Nostra member. Carmello Merlino was known to be in a crew under former boss of the Boston Mob, Francis P. “Cadillac Frank” Salemme.
Now when a crew in La Cosa Nostra (LNC) does a score, they have to kick upstairs to the boss, or else they get clipped, and along those lines the story provided to this writer in 2001 it implicated Francis P. “Cadillac Frank” Salemme and his brother Jackie Salemme. That too followed the respected pattern of doing business. There would be a problem if the Merlinos went off the LCN reservation. A sideways development in this convoluted story was that somebody in the Department of Justice put Francis P. “Cadillac Frank” Salemme in the federal witness protection program, presumably in exchange for Salemme agreeing to testify in court against his Boston enemies Stephen Flemmi and James “Whitey” Bulger. It all goes to show that local problems with law enforcement, compounded by strategic errors made in the Justice Department contributed to the perfect storm that enabled the heist to become the perfect crime. So many distracting elements kick in to convolute the Gardner Heist story that it is best to keep it simple. Look at the photos. Do they match? If so one has to ask why was this buried for so long? Even though much of the insider story had been heard, the evolution of the official story raises even more disturbing questions. If Merlino et al worked for Salemme, why was Salemme given immunity and put into witness protection? That is just the tip of the iceberg, but it illustrates the problems inherent to this case. Alexander Boyle is a graduate of Trinity College, Hartford, Conn., where he majored in history. He has worked for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, PBS, galleries, and an auction house as well as having published articles on 19th and 20th century American painting. This article was originally published in AAD, art-antiques-design.com Art Hostage Comments: Alex Boyle has been consistent over the years in his theories about the Gardner Art Heist. Alex Boyle said that after the Gardner Art Heist there was a "Sit down" at Friar Tucks where the deal for the Gardner art was struck for an alleged $25 million. From there the art was moved via Halifax Nova Scotia to Genoa by New York Art Dealer & Sexual deviant Andrew Crespo. From Genoa the Vermeer and possibly Rembrandt's Storm on the Sea was sold to none other than Hans Henrik (Hans Heinrich "Heini") Ágost Gábor Tasso Thyssen-Bornemisza de Kászon who hung the Vermeer at his Swiss villa until his death in 2002. After Heini died his widow Carman passed the Vermeer and possibly the Rembrandt to Jean Marie Messier the French financier, via the Art Dealer Simon De Pury. Alex Boyle led FBI Agents to Paris to search the home of Jean Marie Messier back in 2005 to look for the Vermeer etc but sadly the French authorities did not co-operate with the FBI but did make a search of the Jean Marie Messier Paris mansion and found some stolen fresco's looted from Italy and recovered them. According to ex-FBI Agent Robert Wittman the Corsican Mafia have possession of at least some of the Gardner art and he was trying to smoke them out before he retired, but was thwarted by in-fighting at the FBI and a distinct lack of etiquette by the then Boston FBI Head Richard Des Lauriers towards the French authorities.
Robert Wittman said in an interview with the Huff Post: The Gardner Heist Two events that erupted in 1990 forever changed Wittman's, and America's, outlook regarding art crime. The former was a dreadful, painstaking experience. The latter was a pivotal moment in how art crime would be viewed by law enforcement, the media and the American public. A car accident with Robert Wittman at the wheel in a South Jersey suburb would take the life of his friend and FBI Special Agent Denis Bozella. As if his four broken ribs, the guilt, grief and loss of his friend weren't enough, a prosecutor went through with a case he knew he would lose in court. The ordeal by trial, drawn out over five years for Wittman to clear his name, became the impetus to dedicate his career in solving art crime, which is what he considers to be crimes against society, history and the heritages of people. A decade later, it would also place the agent in an even more special role, as he became the FBI's pointman in dealing with grief victims, primarily families suffering traumatic loss in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. At the time, that was hard on Wittman, the person, but it became valuable when he would begin to investigate and solve international art crime cases and go undercover as "Bob Clay," art broker and financier. The grief counseling -- "All I had to offer was empathy" -- and his own loss allowed him to see the other side of the good, bad and ugly in people, and put him in the perps' shoes and minds of master thieves. On March 18, 1990, two robbers dressed as Boston Police gained access to the locked down Gardner Museum with a fake bench warrant. They duct-taped two young guards in the cellar and then spent an astounding 81 minutes rifling through the museum. They cut out ten priceless paintings -- a Vermeer, five Degas and three Rembrandts -- and three lesser art objects that included a gilded Corsican eagle finial and a Napoleonic War banner. The latter two were no "red herrings," but a clue to law enforcement as to where the stolen bounty would end up: in the organized crime orbit of Corsica, France and Spain. With little to go on except police sketches and the data from the motion-detecting cameras, the trail went cold, fast. On the 23rd anniversary of the greatest art crime in history -- valued at 500 million -- the FBI's Boston Office (not the Art Crime Team) held a press conference, announcing the reward for the recovery of the stolen art was 5 million, and that they had fresh leads on the case "in Philadelphia and Connecticut." Wittman said point blank: "It's definitely not in Philadelphia." That press conference wasn't anything more than a reminder to the public on the reward and that that the famous case remained unsolved. It also served as a smoke screen, as those paintings are clearly in Europe -- with Wittman confirming: "We know who they were with, based on the French police wiretaps of the criminals I dealt with." That was 2006 to 2008. Or two years that Wittman as Bob Clay went undercover in a sting operation that can be found in detail in his New York Times bestselling book Priceless: How I went Undercover to Rescue the World's Stolen Treasures (Random House/Broadway Books). Unfortunately, human nature intervened. "Too many chiefs," the French Police pointman told Wittman. "Solving the case by committee doesn't work," Wittman later wrote. Like the failed launch of the Obamacare website, throwing more people to fix a poorly designed platform doesn't work. Same with an undercover sting operation. The sting teams need to operate small to allow for "flexibility, creativity and to take risk," he stated in Priceless. The human side to the promising undercover operation-turned-debacle was the FBI turf war, infighting with the Boston Office -- they knew nothing about art -- the Art Crime Team and the bureaucrats in FBI headquarters in D.C. The same problem emerged in France. The French split their police groups in two with a new undercover unit called SIAT, producing evermore "chiefs." All of those competing factions, instead of working in harmony, wanted to micromanage aspects of the case, while clamoring to take credit for solving the biggest art theft case in history in a press conference that would never materialize. Robert Wittman's investigation into the Gardner Heist led him to the south of France by the way of Miami. "Although we didn't solve the Gardner case," Wittman said, "we did recover four valuable paintings stolen from the Nice Museum."
There’s art theft, there’s law enforcement, and, somewhere in between, there’s Turbo Paul.
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I stumbled across Turbo Paul Hendry M.A., above, somewhere in the gray areas of the Internet. He runs Art Hostage and Stolen Vermeer, two happily abrasive sites dedicated to speaking the truth about art thefts around the world. The proprietor, a former “knocker” himself, sees his position as an advocate and a go-between, providing the true story behind the investigations to recover stolen art. “Maybe I’m just a sucker for Dickens and silver-tongued nutters,” Virginia Heffernan wrote about Hendry a few years ago, “but it’s people like Turbo Paul who, to me, exemplify the possibilities of the open Web.” We spoke over instant messenger, which is how he prefers to communicate. Why start Art Hostage? Was/is the goal to be an informational source, to drum up work for yourself, or something else? I saw the reporting of art crime by the MSM [mainstream media] in a way like yellow journalism so I wanted to tell it like it is. I agree I can be toxic, but I am at least even-handed with my toxic views about the criminals and those who pursue stolen art. A paradox is sometimes the so-called good guys act like foxes guarding the hen house. When it comes to negotiating the recovery of stolen art, the bad guys want to deal and tell the truth, the so-called good guys lie and prevaricate to avoid any payments, even if those who provide vital information have nothing to do with the theft or subsequent handling of the said stolen artworks. Do you see yourself as a middleman? You’re open about your past as a “knocker,” which I would imagine establishes some level of credibility with the so-called bad guys. Noah, we live in a propaganda-filled world and sadly, journalists have to temper their articles a bit because of fear of being blackballed if they reveal too much truth. I don’t set people up and do act as a middleman for stolen art when all other avenues have been exhausted. Kinda like The Equalizer for stolen art so to speak. I like that. How many cases have you been directly involved with? Can you give me an example of one?
“It must be said, however, I am not all bad, as I do advise law enforcement on how to prevent art theft and act as a conduit between law enforcement and the underworld. But being an honest broker means I cannot sting people, otherwise I would lose 30 years of trust built up.”
I have been involved in too many cases to mention but the Da Vinci Madonna case is a fascinating case I was directly involved in. Also, I have consulted in most high-profile cases in recent years. My best work is done when I dance in the shadows and allow others to claim the limelight. Very little stolen art is recovered these days, and I do get offers of stolen art every day but, sadly, law enforcement won’t allow many deals to happen, so I walk away and tell my contacts to walk away. Does the visibility your site has gained surprise you? Not really, because there are only a handful of art crime experts in the world, say six or seven, and I am the only one with the background of being a former trafficker. Also, being a character and being able to articulate myself helps get over my message as the other experts are ex-law enforcement, insurance loss adjusters, etc., and they are one-dimensional and wooden. My academic chops, having an M.A., B.A., Hons, etc. helps me and gives me some credibility, but I retain my street cred because I don’t do stings and set people up. Think about it: Where can you read about art crime other than the usual spin in the MSM? I am the only alternative who shoots from the lip. That’s fair. How has what you do changed in the seven years you’ve had the site? Also, were you doing the same type of work before you started the site? I got to the top of the stolen art world and retired. I then went to university, rather than play golf or go fishing. In the seven years since I started the site the amount of stings and recoveries has been reduced markedly. People with information have grown wise to the old stings and double-dealings of insurance loss adjusters, etc. so the flow of information has dried up for those investigating art-related crime. However, the dumb crooks still fall for the ruses of ex-law enforcement art crime investigators and loss adjusters, but most seek my council first. It must be said, however, I am not all bad, as I do advise law enforcement on how to prevent art theft and act as a conduit between law enforcement and the underworld. But being an honest broker means I cannot sting people, otherwise I would lose 30 years of trust built up. Look, when I comment that a case might be a set up or rewards are bullshit, I am not revealing a secret as most criminals can research the past cases of stings, although they may be referenced on my site. Before the Internet, law enforcement and insurance agents could use and abuse informants and threaten them with exposure. All of this would happen in secret. Nowadays, the Internet provides a database of previous cases where stings have happened so less recoveries and less information is passed through. The Gardner case proves the point of credibility. Every time anyone has stepped forward they have been hounded and threatened and even jailed to try and lever them to reveal all. The underworld firmly believes the Gardner museum reward offer of $5 million is bullshit. Think about it: The offer is for all the Gardner art back in good condition, even though when stolen back in 1990 it was cut from the frames therefore it is impossible to be in good condition, another get out clause to prevent payment of the reward. The immunity offer has conditions: Anyone offering help loses their right to take the Fifth and has to reveal all and be prepared to testify against those who have the Gardner art. Therefore, anyone with knowledge stays quiet. The $5 million Gardner reward offer was made back in 1997 and not raised since so raising it may help? If authorities really wanted just the Gardner art back, they would offer pure immunity for help and the reward would not have any conditions. So, until then we have to hope the Gardner art is found by authorities stumbling upon it, perhaps during another investigation, but that has been the hope for over two decades. How can you help get it back? When I say pure immunity I mean immunity only regarding the Gardner case, not any other cases, etc. Give me a real immunity deal and concrete proof the reward will be paid, then I could help. I have stated many times I seek not one dime of the reward, but if I could guarantee the reward would be paid and immunity offered to those who could help, then the Gardner art would come home. I also said the Gardner art should be left in a Catholic church confession box to prevent a sting and that would be a kind of absolution for the art. The deal in place would need to be legally watertight so the post-recovery reward would be paid. Again, I seek none of the reward. Where is the so-called reward? All we have is cheap talk. Why not put the Gardner reward in an escrow account? Why not announce the immunity is blanket and those stepping forward do not have to reveal anything other than the location of the art and then collect the reward. Of course, whomever stepped forward would have to stand the scrutiny of not being involved in the Gardner theft or handling of the art, but I am sure someone could be appointed to take point. But up until now anyone stepping forward gets hounded. You see the MSM never ask these questions about the Gardner art, just make bullshit repeating the spin about reward and immunity. What would it take for that to change? I must say if law enforcement does not want the reward to be paid and want arrests, fine. But don’t try to bullshit all the time. Each case is different. It depends on what gets stolen and if the desire to recover it overrides the desire to make arrests, then deals can be made. Case in point: the Turners stolen in Germany, which were on loan from the Tate gallery U.K. This is a classic buy back. By the way, buy backs are not illegal, go check. It is not illegal for a victim or an insurance company to buy back stolen art. They try to spin that line, “it’s illegal,” but in reality buy backs are perfectly legal. Noah, you know the MSM play the game, and in a post-9/11 world, the MSM are terrified to really conduct investigative journalism. Step out of the MSM line and your career is over. I agree with some of that, but also I think stolen art is pretty low on the priority list of most MSM organizations. I am not saying rewards or fees should be paid all the time and encourage art theft, but art theft happens because thieves can and will continue regardless. But if someone has information that helps recover stolen art, then they should be paid. Information is a salable commodity but sadly authorities expect it for free. What does that have to do with MSM and investigative journalism? I agree with you and much reporting on art crime is one of lazy journalism, therefore just trot out the usual spin under a banner headline. Take the Jeffrey Gundlach case in L.A. He offered a huge reward and got his art back within weeks, and the informant got paid. Why has the MSM not questioned the Gardner case more? Why not seek answers to the immunity offer and reward offer to smoke out the truth. Then perhaps by firming up both immunity and reward offers people may believe it and come forward? I see your point. I thought it was interesting that you used Google for everything. Do you trust them with your information despite the sensitive nature of some of it? Noah, Google guys are great. They provide me with their security so hackers cannot disrupt my site like they may be able to do with an independent site. To hack my blog, hackers would need to bypass Google security and being in California I get the benefit of freedom of speech, so I can be toxic. I mean less about hackers and more about Google themselves. They have shown in the past that they will work with law enforcement to turn over emails, etc. I’m not saying you’re doing anything illegal—I don’t think you are at all—but I can imagine a situation in which you might have some information like that which someone sends you. I love Google, America, and of course Israel. You can say, however, I am even-handed with my toxic viewpoints. I am a thorn in the side of crooks and law enforcement, as well as the insurance industry. I say what journalists would love to say, I do not have the burden of office.
Degas, Program for an Artistic Soirée, Study 2, 1884 Has the Above Degas been recovered recently, was it recovered a long time ago but kept top secret, is it in play as a taster to test the water???????????? Art Hostage loves the smell of Gardner art in the morning !!
All sorts of rumours, whispers, allegations and accusations abound.
Set ups, stings, broken promises, false dawns, 2015 is already proving to be a watershed year as the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Gardner Art Heist approaches on March 18th 2015.
Art Hostage may be many things, but reckless is not one of them. Details to follow......................................
In the meantime here is the latest from the mainstream media.
Does a Connecticut shed hold the secrets of the Gardner heist?
On the theft’s 25th anniversary come never-before-revealed details of an aging con man and the FBI’s search of his property.
The FBI searched the shed in Robert Gentile’s Connecticut backyard, believing artwork stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum was kept there.
Instead, during the time he had been helping them, the same federal agents were arranging to bust him for selling more than 300 tablets of Oxycontin, Dilaudid, and Percocet — all pain relievers he had been prescribed by doctors for his back pain — to an undercover informant. That way, if he backed out of cooperating with them on the Gardner score, they could arrest him and pressure him to talk anyway.
The room in the US attorney’s office in downtown Hartford was chaotic, crammed with prosecutors, FBI agents, and investigators that day in April 2012. They knew they had Gentile in a tight spot. Gentile had just been indicted on drug charges and, even though there may have been extenuating circumstances, he was well into his 70s and still faced the real prospect of a long prison sentence, one that in his health he might never return from. To Gentile and his lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, it seemed the only way around those charges was to submit to a lie detector test. If Gentile could pass the test, he thought, it might just convince the federal agents and prosecutors bearing down on him that what he had been telling them — that he didn’t know anything about the whereabouts of the Gardner artwork — was true and they would drop the drug charges against him, or at least let him off easy.
The whole thing had started two years before, in 2010, when the widow of Gentile’s old friend Robert Guarente told investigators that before her husband died in 2004 he had given two, maybe three paintings to Gentile for safekeeping. They may have been from the theft at the Gardner Museum.
“Sure, I knew Bobby Guarente,” Gentile had told the investigators when they originally approached him. “And yeah, maybe we did talk about the Gardner case. But it was only to talk about how great it would be to get that $5 million reward. Guarente never had any of those paintings, and he certainly never gave me any of them.”
As Gentile walked into the interrogation room at the Hartford federal building and surveyed the determined faces, he thought to himself, The only way of getting them to drop these charges against me is to convince them I’m telling the truth.“Go ahead,” he told them. “Hook me up.” And they did. Ronald Barndollar, the retired FBI agent who was called in to conduct the polygraph exam, began things on a serious note, advising Gentile of his need to tell the truth. Then he asked the first question: “Did you know beforehand that the Gardner Museum was going to be robbed?” asked Barndollar. “No,” Gentile answered.
In an adjacent room the polygraph machine registered that Gentile’s answer was a lie.
Gentile was shown pictures of the 13 stolen works of art. With each one he was asked: “Did you ever have possession of any of the stolen artwork?” “No,” Gentile answered again, and again the polygraph machine registered each time that Gentile was lying. “Do you know the location of any of those paintings?” “No,” Gentile answered. And again, the polygraph machine registered the likelihood that Gentile was lying.
When the exam was over, Barndollar excused himself and came back in a few minutes with the results: Gentile had been lying in response to every question. The investigators let out a howl in unison. “This guy is gonna rot in jail if he doesn’t give us something,” Gentile recalls one saying.
McGuigan asked if he could have a little time with his client. When they were alone, he shot Gentile a stern look that said, What the hell are you doing?McGuigan’s hope that the polygraph test might do Gentile some good had disappeared fast. Gentile reached over and grabbed McGuigan’s arm. “I’m telling the truth; it’s that goddamned machine,” Gentile told him. “They’ve rigged it to make me look like a liar. Tell them I want to take it again. I’ve got an idea. You’ll see.” Gentile’s idea: In taking the test again, he would concoct a story that he had seen one of the stolen paintings.
Within minutes, the whole procedure was repeated. The images of the stolen pieces were again shown on a screen. As each one scanned past, Gentile was asked if he had ever seen the piece after it had been stolen. Vermeer’s The Concert? No. Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee? No. Rembrandt’s Lady and Gentleman in Black? No. The miniature self-portrait by Rembrandt? There was a long pause. The room suddenly went still. “Yes,” said Gentile. And on this question, the polygraph registered he was telling the truth.
“What are you talking about?” one of the investigators asked Gentile, with an almost manic sound in his voice. “When did you see this? Where did you see it?”
Like criminals of all stripes, Gentile prided himself on never snitching, especially not in front of a room full of feds. But Elene Guarente had dragged him into this by implicating him in hiding three paintings, so he figured the least he could do was return the favor.
“Elene Guarente showed it to me,” Gentile said, referring to the widow of Robert Guarente, the mob soldier whose reach extended from Boston to Maine. “It was a long time ago. It was tiny. Like a postage stamp. She pulled it out of her bra, where she was hiding it, to show me. She told me it was going to provide for her retirement. Maybe get her a house in Florida with it.”
The FBI agents and federal prosecutors looked at each other in disbelief. Barndollar excused himself and retrieved the results from the other room: It showed that Gentile had answered honestly when he told them he had seen the miniature Rembrandt self-portrait. As far as the machine was concerned, Gentile was telling the truth.
Vermeer’s “The Concert” was stolen, too.
THE NAME ELENE GUARENTE wasn’t new to federal agents. In fact, just two years before, she’d told them that her husband had handed Gentile several paintings in the parking lot of a Portland, Maine, restaurant. The feds had dug into Gentile’s background and discovered he had deep ties to organized crime figures in Connecticut and may have been operating a loan-shark business there. After that they’d tracked Gentile’s activities closely, waiting for the right moment when they could put pressure on him to find out more about his mob dealings. But now, in the face of Gentile’s stunning admission, federal agents who had labored on the Gardner investigation for more than two decades had in their midst a suspect who was at the very least involved in hiding the artwork.
Following the test, McGuigan, who had been a prosecutor before joining his father’s law firm in Hartford, remained convinced that Gentile’s disastrous showing had more to do with the raucous setting in which the exam was given than with Gentile’s veracity. He asked for one final meeting in the US attorney’s office to try to convince federal investigators that Gentile was being honest. Gentile would be brought in from the state prison where he had been held since his February 2012 arrest, along with his wife, Patricia, son Bobby, and daughter Donna. To try to make the atmosphere more amenable for his client, McGuigan ordered special sandwiches from Gentile’s favorite Italian restaurant. The feds brought their own sandwiches — from a local Subway.
From the outset, McGuigan did most of the talking, stressing to Gentile that this was his last chance to assist the investigators in their search for the missing Gardner paintings.
“They are convinced you’re not telling them everything, and I’m telling you that this may be your only way out,” Gentile remembers McGuigan saying. “These people are serious. With these charges you’re facing and the condition of your health, if they get a conviction, they can put you away for the rest of your life.” If he knew what happened to the paintings, this was the time to come clean. “This is more important than just paintings, Bob. This is about history. This is about humanity. There have been millions of Bobby Gentiles and Ryan McGuigans on this Earth and there will be millions after us . . . but there’s only one Rembrandt,” McGuigan continued.
Gentile looked sadly over at his wife and grown children, and McGuigan picked up on it. “You’ll never get to hug your wife again, or your kids or grandkids,” he said. “Give these people what they want. Tell them what you know about the paintings.”
Gentile put his hands, big and rough from a lifetime of working in the paving industry, over his face. The room fell silent for a few seconds as he sobbed. “In your right mind, do you think I would hold out if I knew something?” Gentile asked. “I know there’s a $5 million reward here. Do you think I would deny my family $5 million and get these charges off my back if I could? I’ll tell you again, I don’t know anything, and whoever is telling you different is lying.”
Gentile went back to prison and waited to head back to court to face the drug charges.
A FEW DAYS LATER, a squad of FBI agents descended on Gentile’s house in Manchester, a few miles east of downtown Hartford. More than two dozen agents surveyed his front and back yards, looking for signs of recently dug holes or anything else that might point to hidden treasures. They did likewise inside the house, going through every room, every drawer, and every nook and cranny — the basement included — looking for any clues that would prove Gentile had any association with the stolen paintings.
The search gave the investigators proof that they were on the right track. Down in the cluttered basement, among a pile of old newspapers, investigators found a Boston Herald that reported on the extraordinary theft. A sheet of typewriter paper was tucked into the newspaper. On the sheet was written the names of the 13 pieces that had been stolen. Alongside the names was scratched the amount that each might draw on the black market.
The find surprised even McGuigan. Even though he was never convinced Gentile had anything to do with the stolen masterpieces, McGuigan thought to himself, maybe it had been a good idea that he had signed a separate contract with Gentile. It stated that he would represent Gentile as he cooperated with the authorities, and if it led to a recovery, McGuigan’s office would receive 40 percent of the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner.
McGuigan was returning from court on another case when he got word about the FBI raid on Gentile’s house. When McGuigan arrived, he quickly sought out Brian Kelly, then the assistant US attorney from Boston who was overseeing the Gardner investigation. Inside, McGuigan saw Gentile’s wife, sitting quietly on the living room sofa as agents walked briskly throughout the house. One agent handed McGuigan the warrant that had been signed that morning by a federal judicial officer to authorize the search of the house and backyard. Realizing that a backyard shed had not been included specifically in the search, the agents had gotten a second warrant that authorized that search.
On May 10, 2012, federal agents raided Robert Gentile’s home in Manchester, Connecticut.
Gentile’s son shared McGuigan’s confidence that his father knew nothing about the paintings’ whereabouts. He assured the agents that while his father was a pack rat, he did not have the connections or the wherewithal to hide such priceless art. The only place he could imagine his father hiding anything valuable was in his shed. Whereabouts in the shed, one agent asked him casually. And Robert Jr., who shared his father’s softer side, gave him a straight answer — his father had placed a false floor in the front of the shed, and beneath it, he had dug a deep pit, and inside the pit there would be a large plastic, Tupperware-type container. Whatever’s important will be in a plastic container inside that pit, the younger Gentile told the agents.
His instructions set the agents off into a mad scramble, in which they tore up the false floor inside the shed, and found the deep pit under it and the big plastic container inside — a big empty plastic container. Shown the container, young Gentile had one more piece of compelling information: A few years before, there had been a severe rainstorm in the area; water had flooded their backyard and gotten into the shed and even into the ditch beneath the shed’s false floor. Whatever had been in the ditch had been destroyed, Gentile’s son told the agents, adding that he had never seen his father as upset in his life as he was about the loss. When I asked Gentile about it, he said he didn’t recall the incident but thought it could have involved a couple of small motors getting wet.
A few days later, federal agents and Anthony Amore, the Gardner Museum’s security director, brought Gentile back to the Hartford federal building where he had taken the lie detector test a month before. One of the FBI agents got right up in Gentile’s face. “We know what happened,” he said. “Your son told us about the shed and how the pit got flooded.”
“Tell us where those canvases are,” Amore pleaded, assuming the role of “good cop” in the situation. “Even if the paintings are damaged or destroyed, I’ll see to it that you get a share of the reward money. Just show us the canvases.”
Gentile had been thrust into the middle of what federal investigators believed was their biggest break in their long, arduous pursuit of the stolen masterpieces. Perhaps too ashamed to acknowledge that the paintings had been ruined while in his possession, or more likely worried about the consequences that might stem from such an admission, Gentile held firm. “I don’t know anything,” he said.
On the scene were Anthony Amore (blue shirt), security director of the Gardner museum, and Brian Kelly, then assistant US attorney.
“THAT DAY RUINED MY LIFE FOREVER,” Gentile told me, sitting in the living room of his modest ranch-style home that he’s lived in for years with his wife and two children. He had been home from federal prison for a week, and our conversation was the first time he has ever spoken publicly. I’d written to Gentile while he was serving a 30-month sentence in federal prison in Otisville, New York, and had asked him if I could visit him in prison to talk about his case and the authorities’ interest in his ties to the Gardner heist. He wrote back: “Wait until I get home in January, and call my house.”
In fact it could have been a lot worse for Gentile. Assistant US Attorney John Durham had asked that Gentile be sentenced to 46 to 57 months in prison, a term recommended by the sentencing guidelines. But US District Court Judge Robert N. Chatigny appeared to heed McGuigan’s insistence in court that investigators had focused on Gentile to squeeze him on the Gardner investigation. As a result Chatigny said that Gentile’s poor health and that of his wife deserved to be considered. He set Gentile’s prison term at 30 months. Emerging from the courtroom, McGuigan said, “Mr. Gentile is pleased with the sentence. He thinks it is fair.” Durham refused comment.
In late January 2014, I drove to Gentile’s Connecticut home and introduced myself. Although he still walked with the help of a cane, he looked more rested and cleareyed than when I’d seen him in court. Gentile said he needed the cane because he was still in pain from a long-ago back injury. He wore a bracelet on his ankle to ensure he complied with the terms of his probation, that he remain inside his house for three months after his release.
We talked for a long time. Gentile answered all of my questions, casting doubt on the FBI’s belief that he was the last person to know the whereabouts of the Gardner masterpieces. “They set me up, and they ruined my life,” he said. “My daughter died while I was in jail. Prison officials wouldn’t even let me visit her before she died. And when I got out I found out the $950 a month I’d been receiving in Social Security benefits had been cut off because I’d been convicted of a federal crime.”
Gentile gave me the key to his shed. Yes, he admitted, he kept valuables in containers in the ditch beneath the false floor. But only pieces of equipment or small motors that he had bought. Nothing illegal or stolen, and certainly not the Gardner paintings. I bundled up and crunched through the snow in his backyard and opened the shed’s doors. A new wooden floor had replaced the one the feds dug up, but the large plastic bins his son Bobby had described to the investigators were still inside. Some were filled with hoses, others with yard equipment. None seemed large enough to have held the tubes that could have contained large paintings.
ALTHOUGH ROBERT GENTILE was never identified by name, it was clear he was at the center of the bombshell announcement that Richard S. DesLauriers, then head of the FBI’s Boston office, made in March 2013, on the 23d anniversary of the Gardner Museum theft. “With a high degree of confidence we believe those responsible for the theft were members of a criminal organization with a base in the mid-Atlantic states and New England,” he told the assembled press.
DesLauriers stressed that while his agents had had no good leads about the artwork in more than a decade, their investigation had made them certain the works had been brought to Connecticut and then Philadelphia. DesLauriers’s remarks made front-page news around the world. For the first time since the 1990 theft the FBI had given details, scant though they were, about what their years of investigation had uncovered. After more than 20 years of chasing false leads, whether provided by outright liars or others chasing the reward of the century, the FBI finally had information they felt strong enough to announce to the world. That they had determined who the robbers were and had tracked the stolen artwork to Connecticut and Philadelphia was remarkable. That they weren’t releasing more details of the identities of those involved, they said firmly, had more to do with the sensitivity of the investigation than its certainty.
While no one had been named as a suspect at DesLauriers’s press conference, newspapers including The Boston Globe and Hartford Courant were soon quoting sources familiar with the investigation, putting names to those said to be involved: David A. Turner, orchestrating the theft; Robert Guarente, in charge of hiding the stolen masterpieces; and then Gentile as the fence.
Ample information allowed enterprising reporters to connect the dots DesLauriers laid out. Turner, a Braintree High School graduate with ties to the Rossetti criminal gang of East Boston and to Boston thief Louis Royce, who used to sneak into the Gardner to sleep, knew of the museum’s vulnerability to theft. Turner had appreciated that Guarente had treated him like a son and had great respect for the aging mobster’s deep ties to organized crime. Guarente and Gentile were close, and Gentile readily acknowledged that he’d cooked for weekend high-roller card games that Guarente organized at a house in Waltham, but did not know that Guarente had used the place as a base for his cocaine-trafficking operation in the late 1990s.
As for the FBI, DesLauriers hoped the announcement would have two immediate reactions that might lead to a breakthrough. First, that the public would take his advice and look in their attics and garages to see if anything had been hidden there. And second, that someone in the underworld, who might have had secret information on the paintings, would make a call that would be picked up on one of the FBI’s many standing wiretaps.
On March 18, 2013, Richard DesLauriers, then head of the FBI’s Boston office, announced that agents knew who had pulled off the theft. He asked for the public’s help in recovering the art.
The announcement created tremendous media attention and brought numerous calls to Boston’s FBI office. But within a month all had been followed up to no avail, and the sense of an inevitable recovery soon faded. By that time the public’s attention, not to mention that of DesLauriers and every other FBI agent assigned to the Boston office, had rightfully shifted to another case: the Boston Marathon bombing. The FBI’s press person began referring to the Gardner announcement as a “publicity event,” and both DesLauriers and the head of the FBI’s criminal division declined to answer questions on how credible the information in their “significant investigative process” had actually been.
In fact, the lines connecting the dots set out by DesLauriers were blurry and full of gaps. And the most important unexplained link was Philadelphia. Only a circumstantial case could be built that would tie Gentile to Philadelphia, though, I found, it did involve his ties to Guarente.
The cocaine that Guarente was indicted for trafficking in 1999 had allegedly come from the Merlino crime family in Philadelphia, and both Guarente and Robert Luisi Jr., his partner in the cocaine ring, were alleged to be made members of the Merlino crime family. Luisi himself was entrenched in Boston’s mob scene. In a grisly public scene that ranks among the nastiest in Boston’s history, Luisi’s father, half brother, and cousin were gunned down by another reputed mob member in 1995 while having lunch at the Ninety Nine Restaurant in Charlestown. Several years later, Luisi and Guarente were indicted for being part of a ring that was selling cocaine throughout Boston. “I drove Luisi to Philadelphia,” Gentile admitted to me that day at his house. But it had nothing to do with any cocaine dealings, he said.
Gentile said he had driven Luisi to Philadelphia on several occasions as Luisi was looking to expand his loan-sharking operations — but not cocaine — to Philadelphia, and he needed permission of Carmello Merlino, whose Dorchester auto body garage was investigated for possible ties to the museum heist, and his top guys. Could the topic of the Gardner paintings have come up while he was in the car with Luisi or meeting with the Merlino gang in Philadelphia? I asked Gentile. “I didn’t speak to Luisi — or anyone else in Philadelphia — about the Gardner paintings during our drives,” Gentile said. “Why would I talk to them about that?”
But there is little doubt that Luisi was talking to the federal authorities about his conversations with Gentile. When called before a federal grand jury, Luisi testified that Gentile had spoken to him about the possibility of putting a crew together to knock over armored car deliveries to and from the Foxwoods casino. Did he also talk about the Gardner case and Gentile? Luisi isn’t saying. After initially agreeing to continue to cooperate with federal investigators in their probe of the Boston underworld, Luisi pulled back, testifying that he had “found Jesus” and wanted to serve out his time in prison counseling others. Luisi was later released when his conviction was overturned on appeal, but whether he had spoken about the Gardner paintings with Gentile and mob leaders in Philadelphia could not be determined, as he did not return phone calls.
Gentile has stayed mum and since being released from federal prison in early 2014 hasn’t assisted the authorities or the museum in its quest to regain its stolen paintings. He’s bitter over his treatment by federal investigators after he declined to cooperate with them.
Although hopes for a recovery ran high in 2013 — after the FBI announcement that agents knew who had pulled off the theft — the call for the public’s help has led to no breakthrough. Instead, the likelihood of returning the paintings to their still-empty places within the museum seems as remote today as it did in 2010, when the lead FBI agent on the case told me that “in the last 20 years, and the last eight that I’ve had the case, there hasn’t been a concrete sighting, or real proof of life.”
Stephen Kurkjian, a former Globe investigative reporter and editor, has been covering the Gardner heist for nearly 20 years. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.
Isabella Stewart Gardner Heist: 25 Years of Theories
The frame marking its empty spot on the wall of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston where Rembrandt’s stolen “Storm” had been displayed.
BOSTON — The hallway in the Brooklyn warehouse was dark, the space cramped. But soon there was a flashlight beam, and I was staring at one of the most sought-after stolen masterpieces in the world: Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee.”
Or was I?
My tour guide that night in August 1997 was a rogue antiques dealer who had been under surveillance by the F.B.I. for asserting he could secure return of the painting — for a $5 million reward. I was a reporter at The Boston Herald, consumed like many people before me and since with finding the “Storm,” a seascape with Jesus and the Apostles, and 12 other works, including a Vermeer and a Manet, stolen in March 1990 from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a cherished institution here.
The theft was big news then and remains so today as it nears its 25th anniversary. The stolen works are valued at $500 million, making the robbery the largest art theft in American history.
Which explains why I found myself in Brooklyn, 200 miles from the scene of the crime, tracking yet another lead. My guide had phoned me suggesting he knew something of the robbery, and he had some street credibility because he was allied with a known two-time Rembrandt thief. He took me into a storage locker and flashed his light on the painting, specifically at the master’s signature, on the bottom right of the work, where it should have been, and abruptly ushered me out.
Rembrandt’s stolen “Storm.”Credit Rembrandt/Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum
The entire visit had taken all of two minutes.
Call me Inspector Clouseau — I’ve been called worse in this matter, including a “criminal accomplice” by a noted Harvard law professor — but I felt certain I was feet from the real thing, that the Rembrandt, and perhaps all the stolen art, would soon be home. I wrote a front-page article about the furtive unveiling for The Herald — with a headline that bellowed “We’ve Seen It!” — and stood by for the happy ending.
It never came. Negotiations between investigators and the supposed art-nappers crumbled amid dislike and suspicion. Gardner officials did not dismiss my “viewing” out of hand, but the federal agents in charge back then portrayed me as a dupe. Eighteen years later, I still wonder whether what I saw that night was a masterpiece or a masterly effort to con an eager reporter.
Federal agents today continue to discount my warehouse viewing. (They say they have figured out the identity of my guide, but I promised him anonymity.) Still, the authorities are intrigued by some paint chips I also received in 1997 from people claiming to control the art. I wrote at the time that they were possibly from the Rembrandt, but the F.B.I. quickly announced that tests showed that they bore no relationship to the “Storm.”
A bound museum guard after the robbery.Credit Boston Police Department
In a recent interview, though, F.B.I. officials told me that the chips had been re-examined in 2003 by Hubert von Sonnenburg, a Vermeer expert who was chairman of painting conservation at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Mr. von Sonnenburg died the next year.)
His tests determined the chips were an exact match for a pigment known as “red lake” that was commonly used by the 17th-century Dutch master and had been used in the stolen Vermeer (“The Concert”). The crackling pattern on the chips was similar to that found on other Vermeers, Mr. von Sonnenburg concluded, according to the authorities.
Such have been the vicissitudes in my coverage of the case for nearly two decades, during which I have gathered hundreds of investigative documents and photos, interviewed scores of criminals and crackpots, and met with dozens of federal and municipal law enforcement officials and museum executives.
Geoff Kelly, the agent overseeing the investigation of the Gardner break-in for the F.B.I., in the museum courtyard.Credit Gretchen Ertl for The New York Times
In 2011, I wrote a book about art theft with the Gardner’s chief of security, Anthony M. Amore. We omitted the Gardner case because Mr. Amore said the hunt had reached a delicate phase.
Four years later, his quarry remains elusive. But it turns out that the assumptions that he and the F.B.I. special agent now overseeing the case, Geoff Kelly, were forming then became their active theory of the heist. The short version: It was the handiwork of a bumbling confederation of Boston gangsters and out-of-state Mafia middlemen, many now long dead.
Admittedly, that is far less startling than other theories floated over the years, which attributed the theft to Vatican operatives, Irish Republican Army militants, Middle Eastern emirs and greedy billionaires. And new deductions pop up all the time, like those in a book due out this month that combines elements of the F.B.I. theory with a few twists.
Before I get into the theories, though, some background: The Gardner museum was created by Isabella Stewart Gardner, a wealthy Boston arts patron who amassed a world-class collection of paintings, sculptures, Asian and European antiquities, and curiosities like letters from Napoleon and Beethoven’s death mask. In 1903 she arranged her 2,500 or so treasures inside a just-finished Venetian-style palazzo that became her home and as well as a museum open to the public. Her memorable fiat was that upon her death (in 1924), not one item could be moved from the spot she had chosen to display it.
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Denuded frames on March 18, 1990.Credit Boston Police Department
But after midnight on March 18, 1990, as St. Patrick’s Day festivities from the day before were winding down, her edict was broken. Two thieves dressed as Boston police officers persuaded a guard to let them in to investigate a “disturbance.” They handcuffed him and another watchman in the basement, duct-taped their wrists and faces and, for 81 minutes, brazenly and clumsily cut two Rembrandts from their frames, smashed glass cases holding other works, and made off with a valuable yet oddball haul.
It included the Rembrandts, Vermeer’s “Concert,” Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” Degas sketches, a bronze-plated eagle, and a Shang dynasty vase secured to a table by a bulky metal device that by itself probably took 10 minutes to pull apart. Left behind were prizes like a Titian, some Sargents, Raphaels and Whistlers, and, inches from the Degas works, a Pietà sketch by Michelangelo.
Anyone who expected the art to appear rapidly on the black market or to be used for some kind of ransom was disappointed. Instead, there was dead silence. Seven years later, the museum raised its reward to $5 million from $1 million. After a quarter-century, empty frames still mark where the missing “Storm” and other works once were on display.
Early on, investigators focused on Myles J. Connor Jr., a career Massachusetts art thief who, in 1975, had stolen a Rembrandt from the Museum of Fine Arts here and used it to bargain himself out of prison time. Mr. Connor himself came forward in 1997 with an associate, William P. Youngworth III, to say he had planned the Gardner heist. Though he had been in jail when it took place, Mr. Connor insisted it mirrored a scheme he devised in the 1980s. He said he had cased the museum with a fellow thief, telling him he wanted to own the Chinese vase that was so laboriously stolen.
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George A. Reissfelder, seen here in 1982, whose relatives say had one of the stolen paintings on his wall.Credit Mike Grecco/Associated Press
Information from Mr. Connor and Mr. Youngworth ultimately led to my dark trip through that Brooklyn warehouse, and later to the puzzling paint chips. But when Mr. Connor left federal prison in 2005, he failed to produce the paintings and investigators have long ruled him out.
Even easier to dismiss was the notion that the Boston crime boss James (Whitey) Bulger was involved. Mr. Bulger was a predictable target for suspicion because of his decades of involvement in murders, drug running and funneling arms to the I.R.A. But there was nothing to connect him, the authorities say.
In a book due out this month, “Master Thieves,” Stephen Kurkjian, a Boston Globe reporter who has tracked the case as long as I have, says that another lifelong Boston crook, Louis Royce, dreamed up the robbery. Mr. Kurkjian interviewed Mr. Royce and quotes him as saying his criminal associates stole his idea. The investigators say Mr. Royce’s tale is unsupported by the evidence. In his book, Mr. Kurkjian says he provided other information to the investigators including a possible motive for the theft — to exchange the masterpieces for the release from prison of a Boston mob leader.
Anticipating a wave of interest, and possible criticism, on the eve of the robbery’s 25th anniversary, the investigators, Mr. Amore and Mr. Kelly, recently showed me a PowerPoint presentation that detailed their best sense of what happened.
The museum's exterior.Credit Gretchen Ertl for The New York Times
Though the efficacy of their efforts remains unclear, Mr. Amore, who was hired by the Gardner in 2005, and Mr. Kelly, who has his own museum identification badge, have spent a decade sharing tips and chasing leads. In one peculiar instance, they said, they approached the producers of the television show “Monk” in the mid-2000s because a tipster spotted a painting that looked like “The Concert” in the background of a scene. The painting turned out to be only a copy used as a prop.
Mr. Amore and Mr. Kelly’s current theory dates to 1997, when informants told the F.B.I. that they had heard a midlevel mob associate and garage supervisor from Quincy, Mass., Carmello Merlino, talk about trading the stolen art for the $5 million reward.
In 1998, the F.B.I., as part of a sting, arrested Mr. Merlino and some associates on their way to an armored car depot and carrying heavy weapons, including grenades. Investigators said that they promised him leniency if he helped them find the art but that he denied knowing of its whereabouts.
Several years later, Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore said, informants drew their attention to two associates of Mr. Merlino, George A. Reissfelder and Leonard V. DiMuzio.
Paint chips sent to a reporter.Credit Tom Mashberg
Mr. DiMuzio, who was shot to death in 1991, was a skillful burglar who had long been involved with the Merlino gang. The investigators say that Mr. Reissfelder, who died of an apparent drug overdose the same year, owned a 1986 red Dodge Daytona, the same model of car that several witnesses have said they spotted idling outside the Gardner on the night of the break-in. The two passengers in the Daytona, the witnesses said, were dressed as Boston police officers.
In addition, the investigators said, two members of Mr. Reissfelder’s family have said they saw the Gardner’s stolen Manet on Mr. Reissfelder’s apartment wall three months after the robbery — a brazen act, to be sure. The investigators called it a “confirmed sighting.”
The investigators said they believed there had been a second sighting of one of the stolen items, though I’m sad to say it was not my encounter in the warehouse. A tipster, they said, told them in 2009 that he had seen a work resembling “Storm” in Philadelphia.
Two years ago, at a news conference in Boston aimed a drumming up leads in the case, Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore outlined this theory but did not identify Mr. Reissfelder or Mr. DiMuzio as suspects. But on his PowerPoint, Mr. Kelly showed me that Mr. Reissfelder and Mr. DiMuzio closely resembled police sketches of the two men who had entered the museum.
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Left, a Gardner curator, Karen Haas, and the director, Anne Hawley, at a news conference the day after the heist.Credit Lisa Bul/Associated Press
Still, those men are now dead. So is Mr. Merlino, who died in prison in 2005, as is Robert Guarente, a reputed Maine mobster suspected of having once harbored some of the art.
Investigators say they are hopeful of locating the trove, even if many of their suspects are now in their graves. They were buoyed, for example, in 2009, when Mr. Guarente’s widow, Elene, told them her husband had turned over some of the stolen art to a reputed Mafia associate, Robert Gentile of Connecticut, in a parking lot in Portland, Me., in 2002.
Investigators searched Mr. Gentile’s home in 2012 and found pistols, ammunition and silencers — but no paintings. Mr. Gentile, who officials say had ties to organized crime figures in Philadelphia, has said he knows nothing about the art.
Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore say they are convinced that, based on the 2009 sighting and other information, some of the art made its way from Maine to Philadelphia, where it was shopped around.
“The art was seen as too hot, and there were no takers,” Mr. Kelly said.
What happens now? The investigators keep looking.
“Mrs. Gardner would have expected us to battle every day to get back her art,” Mr. Amore said.
Mr. Kelly said he rejected the notion that the art was destroyed by the thieves as soon as they realized they had “unwittingly committed the crime of the century.”
“That rarely happens in art thefts,” Mr. Kelly continued. “Most criminals are savvy enough to know such valuable paintings are their ace in the hole.”
The biggest art heist of all time is still a complete mystery
Security guard Paul Daley stands guard at the door of the Dutch Room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston BOSTON (Reuters) - A 122-year old Venetian-style palazzo tucked into Boston's marshy Fens section stands as one of the city's more popular tourist attractions and the site of one of its longest-unsolved crimes. It has been almost 25 years since 13 artworks worth some $500 million were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in the largest art heist in U.S. history. The statute of limitations for prosecuting the thieves has long expired but officials at the private museum and the Federal Bureau of Investigation have not given up hope of recovering the missing works, which include including Rembrandt's "Storm on the Sea of Galilee," Vermeer's "The Concert" and Manet's "Chez Tortoni." The Gardner's remaining collection is sizable, boasting some 2,500 pieces that range from a Roman mosaic of Medusa to ancient Chinese bronzes, reflecting the eclectic tastes of the turn-of-the-century collector from whom it takes its name. More unusual are the four empty frames that hang in the galleries. They are a quirk of Gardner's will that turned the building she called home in her final years over to the public as a museum after her 1924 death, on the condition that the collection not be changed. Anthony Amore, the museum's chief of security, described the empty frames as "placeholders, signs of hope" that the missing art would one day be recovered. "The investigation is very active and very methodical," said Amore, a former Department of Homeland Security official who has spent much of the past decade trying to track down the missing art. "We need those works." The mystery dates to the rainy night of March 18, 1990, when two men dressed as police officers arrived at the museum's front door and security guards let them in. The pair allegedly overpowered the guards, who were found duct-taped to chairs in the museum's basement the next morning. There have been glimmers of hope of solving the crime. In March 2013, FBI officials said they had identified the thieves and asked anyone who seen the missing work, which includes etchings and other historic objects, to come forward. This self-portrait by Rembrandt was one of the 13 stolen works But a month later Boston law enforcement's attention was refocused on the fatal bombing attack at the Boston Marathon and no artwork has been recovered. The investigation has taken FBI agents as far afield as Ireland and Japan, but in recent years has been focused on the northeastern and central United States, said Geoff Kelly, the special agent in charge of the case. "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack," Kelly said. "We've been able to narrow the haystack."
ECCENTRIC PATRON
Gardner's life was as distinctive as her art collection. A native of New York who moved north after marrying businessman Jack Gardner in 1860, she did not comport to the dour standards of the wealthy in 19th century Boston. Gardner, who had been educated in Paris, served donuts at flamboyant parties and competed with male art collectors for prize pieces. After her first and only child died at the age of 2, the Gardners toured Europe extensively, adding to their collection of art and antiques. The couple commissioned the building that now houses the museum after their art holdings outgrew their home. The museum opened in 1903, five years after Jack's death. Her orders that the museum remain unchanged means that, a quarter-century on, the theft is a raw experience for first-time visitors. "Any other museum would simply paper over the loss and take down the frames and put something else up," said Andrew McClellan, a Tufts University professor specializing in museum history. "At the Gardner, it's a haunting presence that will only ever be healed by the return of the paintings." Kelly would say little about who the FBI suspects stole the art, other than allude to the Mafia. But he contends the thieves likely were not art connoisseurs, given that they left behind some its most prized pieces, including Titian's "The Rape of Europa." "These thieves were not sophisticated criminals, as evidenced by the fact that two of the paintings were cut out of their frames," Kelly said. "The significant value of the stolen artwork seems to have elevated the status of the thieves to master criminals but that's a specious assumption."
Possible leads in $500 million Boston museum robbery 25 years later: book
The greatest art heist ever, when $500 million worth of masterpieces disappeared from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990, is still unsolved. But Stephen Kurkjian thinks he may have found the small-time gangster who masterminded the heist, he writes in 'Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist.'
Josh Reynolds/ApIn a 2010 photo, the empty frame from which thieves cut Rembrandt's 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' remains on display at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston.
The greatest art heist of all time remains unsolved, but a new book reveals that a small-time gangster may have masterminded the audacious 1990 robbery that relieved Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum of a $500 million haul of masterworks. The author of “Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist,” Stephen Kurkjian, also points the way to possibly recovering the missing masterpieces 25 years later. Paintings by Rembrandt and Vermeer were among the 13 pieces of work stolen. But Kurkjian, a 40-year veteran of the Boston Globe with three Pulitzer Prizes to his name, reports the FBI doesn’t seem all that interested in what he’s uncovered. Empty frames still hang in the galleries where Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee” and Vermeer’s “The Concert” were on display until the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, when two Boston cops buzzed the security desk at 1:20 a.m. demanding entry.
CHITOSE SUZUKI/ApThe 13 pieces were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum on March 18, 1990.
'Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World's Greatest Art Heist' by Stephen Kurkjian is out March 10.
The guard, Rick Abath, disobeyed strict protocol and let the uniforms in without calling a superior. As the “cops” handcuffed Abath before stowing him and another guard in the basement, the two were informed, “This is a robbery, gentlemen.” The thieves may have been polite to the guards, but they were brutal to the masterpieces. In 88 minutes they tore through the museum, throwing the paintings to the marbled floor as they sliced the canvasses from the frames. They knew what they liked, but they didn’t know art, snatching a relatively worthless Chinese vase while leaving behind a priceless Michelangelo drawing and the most valuable painting in the museum, Titian’s “Rape of Europa.” The FBI seized control of the investigation on the grounds that the artwork would be crossing state lines. Shutting local enforcement out was a mistake many felt. In the raging gang wars of the time, both city and state cops had developed reliable informants deep in its criminal underworld. In fact, one gangster, a player in the East Boston Rossetti gang, Louis Royce, complained to the author that he was still owed 15% for devising the plan. As a poor Southie kid, he loved the museum so much he would hide away there overnight. As a grownup gangster in the early ’80s, knowing how lax security was, he cased the Gardner with the intention of breaking in.
'A Lady and Gentleman in Black' by Rembrandt was also taken. Right, a visitor looks at its empty frame.
In gangland, it had become common to use stolen art works of value to bargain for the prison release of a “family” member or a plea deal. While Royce never got to rob the Gardner — he went to prison for another crime — he was instrumental in formulating a scenario where two “cops” show up late at night and order the door open. The playbook had been written. Over the years, tantalizing leads would surface. In 1994, museum director Anne Hawley opened a letter that promised the return of the 13 pieces for $2.6 million. If the museum was interested, the Boston Globe had to feature a prominent numeral one in a business story. The paper did so, but the letter writer disappeared after he learned a massive alert had gone out to law enforcement.
CHITOSE SUZUKI/ApVincent Ferrara (right) was rumored to be connected to the heist.
In 1997, William Youngworth, a career criminal and associate of the master art thief, Myles Connor Jr., took Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg on a long ride to a warehouse in Red Hook, where he produced a painting that looked a lot like Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” Whether or not the painting was authentic remains in question. What’s conclusive is that the FBI finally quit talking to Youngsworth when they got nowhere. Hawley was so desperate she reached out to the Vatican to ask Pope John Paul II to issue a papal appeal. She also approached William Bulger, president of the state Senate, asking that he chat up his brother Whitey to see what he knew. The notorious gangster was fruitlessly chasing leads himself. The heist had happened in his territory and he figured he was owed tribute.
Reputed New England Mafia leader Francis P. (Cadillac Frank) Salemme (left) and James (Whitey) Bulger could also be connected.
PAULA B. FERAZZI/ApWilliam P. Youngworth III is arraigned in Worcester, Mass., Sept. 5, 1997. Youngworth claims he can lead the FBI to the stolen artwork.
Two decades passed, and even with a $5 million reward, never mind the tremendous criminal bargaining power attached to the return of the paintings, no one anted up. In March 2013, the FBI held what was considered a bombshell press conference. Richard S. DesLauriers, the head of Boston’s FBI, announced they knew with certainty that the art had traveled to Connecticut and the Philadelphia area. There was, the author notes, a troubling lack of detail. The FBI didn’t name names. Catching the thieves wasn’t the point any longer. The statute of limitations had expired, and getting the art back was now the game. The FBI had seen the value of crowdsourcing after a tip led to the arrest of Whitey Bulger. This was essentially an appeal to the public to check their attics, or their neighbors’ walls, for a Rembrandt. Those in the know quickly pieced together the FBI scenario for the heist. Its investigation fingered key members of Frank (Cadillac Frank) Salemme’s gang that the Rossettis owed allegiance to. While Kurkjian doesn’t dismiss the feds’ version out of hand, he makes quick work of its many holes.
Rembrandt’s 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' is one of the masterworks stolen. The thieves also took 'The Concert' by Vermeer.
Meanwhile, Kurkjian, whose reporting helped solve two previous art thefts, took a “deep dive into the inner works of Boston’s notorious underworld and gained the trust of some of its most flamboyant and pivotal figures.” It was a netherworld the FBI hadn’t been able to penetrate. Vincent Ferrara was in the top echelon of a mob faction warring with Salemme for control of the New England underworld. But in 1992, Ferraro went to prison for 20 years on a murder rap that would later be overturned. When his wheelman, Bobby Donati, visited shortly after he’d been locked up, the future looked long and grim.
LISA BUL/ApIsabella Stewart Gardner Museum curator Karen Haas (left) and museum director Anne Hawley are seen at a news conference on March 19, 1990, the day after the heist.
A secret informant told Kurkjian the details of that visit. “I can’t let you stay here,” Donati told Ferrara. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Donati toured the museum several times in the company of the master art thief Connor. Shortly before the robbery, he also showed up at a social club, The Shack, carrying a large paper bag that ripped open, and police uniforms fell out. “Was that you?” Ferrara demanded to know when Donati visited him again after the robbery. “I told you I was going to do it. Now I got to find a way to begin negotiating to get you out.” He reassured Ferrara he had “buried the stuff.” Donati was murdered in 1991, a possible victim in the ongoing gang wars. Kurkjian turned his info over to the FBI, and with the informant’s permission, passed his phone number to the Gardner’s head of security. No contact was made, and the feds made a show of dismissing the new lead.
'Chez Tortoni' by Manet was stolen.
Kurkjian’s sleuthing then brought him around to another low-level hood, Robert Gentile, the man the FBI believed had possession of at least some of the paintings. After nailing Gentile on a drug charge, they raided his home in Manchester, Conn., finding a false-bottom floor in the shed that hid a large container. It was frustratingly empty. At one moment, Kurkjian felt Gentile was close to making an admission to him before abruptly dismissing the possibility of saying more. “The feds set me up and ruined my life,” he said flatly. Kurkjian contacted his informant to ask if Ferrara would meet with Gentile to assure him that if he produced the artwork neither he nor his family would suffer retribution. The informant was willing, but pointed out that only a judge acting on an FBI request could allow a recently released federal prisoner like Ferrara to meet with anyone convicted of a federal offense. “Despite what felt like the biggest break in the Gardner case yet, arranging a meeting between Ferrara and Gentile was not something I could accomplish,” Kurkjian writes. It was up to the FBI. So far, nothing.
Director of Gardner Museum to Step Down
Anne Hawley, who has led the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston for 25 years and oversaw an expansion that opened in 2012, more than doubling the museum’s footprint and increasing attendance, announced Wednesday that she planned to step down at the end of the year.
Ms. Hawley was appointed in 1989, only a few months before one of the most famous art heists in history occurred at the museum. In March 1990, two thieves disguised as police officers made off with 13 works, among them a Vermeer and a Rembrandt, a robbery that – despite some leads– remains unsolved as its 25th anniversary approaches.
During Ms. Hawley’s tenure, the museum – which was beloved but seen as something of a dusty relic – has become known for its historical and contemporary exhibitions and its educational outreach, as well as its music and horticultural programs. The $114 million expansion, designed by Renzo Piano, was opposed by some Bostonians, who believed it contravened the wishes of the institution’s founder to keep the Gardner preserved largely as it was at her death in 1924. But a 2009 state court ruling allowed the museum to deviate from Gardner’s will to create the addition. The demolition of a carriage house on the property, to make way for the expansion, was carried out over the protests of preservationists.
In an interview Wednesday, Ms. Hawley, 71, said that the museum had been founded “as a total work of art in itself” and that her goal as director was to “to bring back the dynamic life that its founder had made when she built this place.” After recently completing a $180 million fund-raising campaign for the expansion and the museum’s endowment, Ms. Hawley said she felt it was an appropriate time for new leadership. The museum has formed a committee to find a successor.
“It’s really surprising to me that I’ve stayed so long,” she said. “It’s just the right time for me to step aside when I feel that everything is fantastic and I’m at the top of my game.” She added that she had no desire to run another museum, but wanted to “be able to focus on projects and to study and just to have time.”
Walter Liedtke, Curator at Metropolitan Museum of Art, Dies at 69
Walter Liedtke, left, discussing Vermeer’s “The Milkmaid” with Princess Máxima and Prince Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2009.Credit Craig Ruttle/Associated Press
Walter Liedtke, who served for 35 years as a curator of European paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was a renowned scholar on Vermeer and the Delft School, died on Tuesday, one of six victims of the crash of a Metro-North commuter train in Valhalla, N.Y. He was 69.
His death was confirmed by the Met’s director, Thomas P. Campbell, who said in an interview that “he was one of our most esteemed curators and one of the most distinguished scholars of Dutch and Flemish painting in the world.”
Mr. Liedtke, who lived in Bedford Hills, N.Y., and was raised in New Jersey, intended to be a teacher, and after earning his master’s degree at Brown and a doctorate at the Courtauld Institute of Art in London, he spent four years on the faculty at Ohio State. But in 1979 he received a Mellon Fellowship to study at the Metropolitan Museum, and he never left it.
His catalog of Flemish paintings in the Met’s collection was published in 1984, and a comprehensive catalog of the museum’s Dutch paintings, presented over more than a thousand pages, was published in 2007.
Arthur K. Wheelock Jr., curator of Northern Baroque paintings at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, who knew and sometimes jousted curatorially with Mr. Liedtke for three decades, said that while Mr. Liedtke was a natural writer, “he really liked to lecture.”
“He had a wonderful way with words and engaged people through those unexpected approaches in language,” Mr. Wheelock said. “He had strong opinions about things, and he was not shy about expressing those opinions.”
Mr. Liedtke and his wife, Nancy, a math teacher, who is his only immediate survivor, raised horses, a passion that Mr. Liedtke brought to his scholarly life as well. His book “The Royal Horse and Rider: Painting, Sculpture and Horsemanship 1500-1800” was published in 1990.
“I think there is something Dutch about the way I live,” he said in a personal reflection that he recorded for the Met’s website. “To go home every day from the Upper East Side of Manhattan to the countryside is a really nice contrast.”
He added: “At the essential level, I think what’s the most Dutch about it is this constant return to immediate experience. I get up, I go to the barn, I clean the horse stalls at 6:30 in the morning.”
Mr. Campbell said that Mr. Liedtke frequently caught the train that he took on Tuesday and that he liked to ride in the first car because it was sometimes the designated quiet car, where he could read and work.
While Mr. Liedtke loved the life of the country, Mr. Campbell added, “he was one of our great characters, always immaculately turned out in his suits, and he was very much an Old World connoisseur who trained in very profound study of the object.”
In a short online discussion recorded in 2013 about Rembrandt’s “Aristotle With a Bust of Homer” (1653), Mr. Liedtke marveled at how an artist could so movingly capture the kind of existential moment the painting shows, as Aristotle, dressed like a pasha, looks at a representation of Homer and wonders whether history will remember him as well.
“The central problem of Western civilization,” Mr. Liedtke said, “is reduced to one guy who’s got to puzzle it out for himself.”
Of the meaning of the painting, which was one of his favorites, he added: “I sort of got it in my gut or my heart.”
Peggy Fogelman to Lead Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum
Peggy FogelmanCredit Stephanie Berger
The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston has chosen Peggy Fogelman, a longtime curator and museum education specialist who currently oversees collections at the Morgan Library & Museum, to be its new director, succeeding Anne Hawley, who led the Gardner for 25 years.
Ms. Fogelman will go from one storied, jewel-box, Gilded Age collection with a Renzo Piano expansion (the Morgan opened its glassy addition in 2006) to another. (The Gardner more than doubled its footprint under Mr. Piano’s guidance, opening its expansion in 2012 and significantly increasing its attendance.)
While Ms. Fogelman, 54, served for a year as acting director of the Morgan during a search for a new director, this will be the first time she has led a museum. She has previously worked in curatorial and administrative positions at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass., and the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles.
In an interview, she said she hoped to bring her experience both as a curator and museum educator to the Gardner, which long ago shook off its reputation as a kind of fusty relic but which Ms. Fogelman thinks could go even further in helping visitors to understand its varied collection, ranging from Old Masters to Islamic art to a focus on music. “This is a multidisciplinary institution, and the way that those various things connect may not always be apparent to people,” she said.
She added that she also planned to continue and perhaps to enhance the museum’s contemporary art program, which has in recent years increasingly brought living artists into the museum through exhibitions and residencies. She said she was interested in exploring collaborations with artists who might take on curatorial projects, with digitally oriented artists and with artists who straddle the line of activism, using art to try to foster social change. “It’s important to keep collections as living collections,” Ms. Fogelman said.
Gardner heist video brings in tips, but no solid leads
By Milton J. Valencia and Stephen Kurkjian Globe Staff | Globe Correspondent
It had the potential to be a breakthrough in the 25-year investigation into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist. The six minutes of surveillance footage showing a shadowy figure entering the museum after midnight — exactly 24 hours before thieves made off with $500 million in artwork — generated tips from former museum employees, Internet sleuths, even car enthusiasts who thought they could identify the vehicle seen in the clip.
A Quincy lawyer said his client was convinced the man in the video was an old associate in the antiques business — so sure that the client was afraid “of being killed” if he dared to publicly identify the man. A California woman who once worked as a guard at the Gardner is sure the man in the video was her supervisor, a belief later shared by three of her old colleagues. Now, three months after the footage was released, investigators said they still haven’t identified the man who entered the side door of the museum early March 17, 1990, leaving them unable to answer a critical question: What was he doing there, in violation of security protocol, the night before two robbers posing as police officers conned their way into the same door and made off with 13 works of art, including a Vermeer and three Rembrandts? Christina Diorio-Sterling, a spokeswoman for the US attorney’s office, said the investigation into the Gardner robbery and the recently released video “is very much active and ongoing,” though she would not discuss specifics of the case. “Since the release of the video, we have received many tips and information that continue to be vetted,” she said. “We will continue to use all resources at our disposal, including enlisting the public’s help, to solve this crime.” Though it has been discounted by investigators, one of the more promising possibilities put forward is that the man in the footage was Lawrence P. O’Brien, then the museum’s deputy security supervisor, who died in 2014 at age 77. Four former guards told the Globe they are convinced it is he, including one who has a “vague memory” of O’Brien returning once after museum hours to retrieve a wallet he had left at work. “I know that’s Larry. He was stocky, and walked like that, always with his jacket collar up,” said another former guard, Cynthia Dieges, now a chef in Atlanta who worked as a manager in the museum’s security department between 1987 and 1992. The three other former guards who believe the man in the video is O’Brien are Marj Galas, who lives in Los Angeles; April Kelley, a high school English teacher in Central Massachusetts; and Michael Levin, a Framingham lawyer. The four said they had not been contacted by investigators, though Galas said she called an FBI hot line. However, two former guards who knew O’Brien well told the Globe they do not believe the man in the video was O’Brien. His brother also disputes the ID. “Larry’s hair was shorter than the fellow shown there,” said David O’Brien, 81, of Somerville. The conflicting identifications are part of a frustrating attempt to solve the world’s greatest unsolved art heist, and they illustrate the difficulties investigators have faced as new evidence emerges amid old theories of the crime. The dark figure, who stands by the watch desk for several minutes, is difficult to see in the grainy footage. He also stays out of the view of the museum’s surveillance camera for most of the time, though he appears at one point to be fumbling through paperwork or with some other object. The old security footage was apparently overlooked and mixed in with other evidence collected at the beginning of the case. In the last year, a team of new investigators began reviewing the old evidence and discovered the video, which apparently had not been viewed before. Authorities released the video to the public in hopes that someone might know the unidentified man and what he was doing at the Gardner after hours. Was it an innocent visit? A dry-run the day before the heist? One of the only people who might be able to answer those questions is Richard Abath, the then-23-year-old guard who let the shadowy figure into the museum that night. He is also the same guard who was tied up by the robbers after he let them into the same door the following night. Twenty minutes before the robbers arrived, at about 1 a.m. on March 18, Abath opened the side door of the museum in what several security officials have told investigators was a violation of museum rules. Abath had told investigators he often opened the side door during his rounds: in fact, he had done it the night before. But he never told investigators he had let someone inside. Abath has recently told investigators that he could not identify the man in the video and that he could not recall the visit at all. He has declined to answer reporters’ questions about the video. It could be easy to discount O’Brien as the man in the video based on the memories of his brother and two former coworkers, one of whom was his supervisor. O’Brien, who was 53 at the time of the heist and had been interviewed about it before his death, also never said anything about being at the museum the night before. But the four former coworkers maintain it is he. A Globe review of state records shows that at the time of the heist, O’Brien owned a 1982 Ford Escort, one of the types of cars that enthusiasts have told investigators could be the one seen in the surveillance footage. But officials don’t seem persuaded. Kristen Setera, a spokeswoman for the FBI, said the agency “has followed up on all leads, including the one involving Mr. O’Brien.” She said she could not elaborate on the investigation. Diorio-Sterling said in a statement that “the public should be assured that we pursue all credible leads.” Shelley Murphy of the Globe staff contributed to this report. Milton J. Valencia can be reached at mvalencia@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @miltonvalencia. Stephen Kurkjian can be reached at Stephenkurkjian@gmail.com.
‘Master Thieves’ author tells tale of famous Boston art heist
Stonington — Last year, Stephen Kurkjian may have been close to a break in the decades-long mystery of the missing masterpieces from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston.
While reporting his book, the 2015 investigative thriller "Master Thieves," Kurkjian spent three days interviewing Robert Gentile, the man the FBI believes may know what happened to the paintings.
Almost 25 years earlier, in the early hours after St. Patrick’s Day 1990, two men in police uniforms tied up the night guards at the museum and made off with $500 million worth of art including Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” and Vermeer’s “The Concert.”
Gentile, just out of prison on a drug charge last year and talking to Kurkjian from his Manchester home, denies he knows where the paintings are, Kurkjian told a packed house at the La Grua Center on Sunday night.
But on a hunch that Gentile may have been a part of an effort to steal the paintings and use them as collateral to get another gangster out of jail, Kurkjian went out on a limb. He made Gentile an offer: come clean and co-write a book about the paintings, then share in the proceeds.
Gentile put his head down for several seconds, and Kurkjian thought he would have a eureka moment in the case that has tormented police and Boston art lovers for nearly 25 years.
His answer was "no," but Kurkjian, who has covered the Gardner heist for more than 20 years in his career as a reporter for the Boston Globe, had enough after three days with Gentile to add to "Master Thieves" and tell most of the story of the missing art.
Kurkjian was a founding member of the Globe’s Spotlight investigative reporting team and is briefly portrayed in the new movie "Spotlight," about the group’s work to uncover widespread sexual abuse by local Catholic priests.
The tale of the Gardner museum heist had captured his imagination for many years, he said Sunday.
“This is a hell of a story,” he said to a crowd that spilled out of the lecture hall’s doors.
Despite a $5 million reward and two decades of work by federal investigators, the paintings’ frames still hang empty on the museum’s walls.
Their loss is a tragedy, Kurkjian said, largely because it violated the vision of Isabella Stewart Gardner, the Boston aristocrat and art collector who traveled all over the world to bring high-quality art back to Boston.
“She wanted to bring that appreciation to us, Bostonians,” Kurkjian said. “She wanted to have America have a great tradition in art.”
But Gardner’s will included a demand that nothing be changed in the museum following her death, so the security system was rudimentary. The two security guards – a member of a rock band who was often drunk or high at work and a music student who used the empty museum to practice trombone – didn’t help things, either.
The thieves smashed the paintings, cut them out of their frames, and put them with several other pieces of art into a getaway car and escaped. The FBI agents investigating the case haven’t had a single glimpse of them since, Kurkjian said.
Whether it was a scheme among Boston gangsters to exchange art for lighter prison sentences, as Kurkjian believes, he said the art won’t be found unless an appeal is made to the Boston public to pass along tips.
Whoever may know the paintings’ fate, he said, is likely a member of the city’s working class, uninterested in the work of the police or museum directors.
Someone like Boston Mayor Marty Walsh or Cardinal Sean P. O’Malley, respected figures among Boston’s “have-nots,” need to make it clear what the city is missing in those empty frames – the gift of public art that Gardner gave the city when she started the museum, he said.
“That loss has to be felt by all of us,” he said. “We have to feel this loss like it was taken from us.”
Kurkjian’s book doesn’t solve the mystery, but he seemed confident Sunday night that the answer would be found.
“The last chapter needs to be written, and that’s the recovery,” he said.
Guard who opened the door to robbers in notorious Gardner Museum heist under suspicion 23 years later
Former Gardner Museum night watchman Rick Abath is pictured at an undisclosed location on Feb. 21. Twenty-three years later, investigators are still interested to know if Abath was in on the never-solved theft. (Matthew Cavanaugh for The Boston Globe)
For The Boston Globe
By Stephen Kurkjian
Globe Correspondent | 03.10.13 | 6:32 PM
Night watchman Richard Abath may have made the most costly mistake in art history shortly after midnight on March 18, 1990. Police found him handcuffed and duct-taped in the basement of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum seven hours after he unwisely opened the thick oak door to two thieves who then stole 13 works of art valued at more than $500 million.
For years, investigators discounted the hapless Abath’s role in the unsolved crime, figuring his excessive drinking and pot smoking contributed to his disastrous decision to let in the robbers, who were dressed as police officers. Even if the duo had been real cops, watchmen weren’t supposed to admit anyone who showed up uninvited at 1:24 a.m.
But, after 23 years of pursuing dead ends, including a disappointing search of an alleged mobster’s home last year, investigators are focusing on intriguing evidence that suggests the former night watchman might have been in on the crime all along — or at least knows more about it than he has admitted.
Why, they ask, were Abath’s footsteps the only ones picked up on motion detectors in a first floor gallery where one of the stolen paintings, by French impressionist Edouard Manet, was taken? And why did he open the side entrance to the museum minutes before the robbers rang the buzzer to get in? Was he signaling to them that he was prepared for the robbery to begin?
No one publicly calls Abath a suspect, but federal prosecutors grilled him on these issues last fall. And one former prosecutor in the case has written a recently published novel about the Gardner heist in which the night watchman let the thieves into the museum to pay off a large cocaine debt.
“The more I learn about Rick, the more disappointed I get in him,” said Lyle W. Grindle, the former director of security at the Gardner who hired Abath in 1988.
Now, for the first time, Abath is discussing publicly what happened and admitting that some of his actions are hard to explain, but insisting he had nothing to do with what is regarded as the biggest art heist ever.
Abath, then a rock musician moonlighting as a security guard, said he opened the doors that night because he was intimidated by men dressed as police officers who claimed to be investigating a disturbance. His own uniform untucked and wearing a cowboy hat, Abath knew he looked more like a suspect than a guard.
“There they stood, two of Boston’s finest waving at me through the glass. Hats, coats, badges, they looked like cops,” Abath wrote in a manuscript on the robbery that he shared with The Globe. “I buzzed them into the museum.”
Abath, now 46 and working as a teacher’s aide in Vermont, pointed out that his explanation passed two lie detector tests right after the crime. However, he admits he can’t explain why motion sensors in the gallery that housed the Manet detected footsteps only at the two times Abath said he was in the room — and not later when Abath was bound in the basement and the thieves were looting other galleries.
“I totally get it. I understand how suspicious it all is,” said Abath in a recent interview. “But I don’t understand why [investigators] think . . . I should know an alternative theory as to what happened or why it did happen.”
Now that FBI agents have captured elusive mobster James “Whitey” Bulger, the fate of the Gardner’s stolen masterpieces by Rembrandt, Vermeer, Degas and Manet has replaced “where’s Whitey?” as Boston’s most enduring mystery.
No one has ever been charged in the crime and seemingly promising leads, like the one that led to the search of alleged mobster Robert Gentile’s Connecticut home last May, have invariably fizzled. With no sign of the art works, investigators are left to wonder if the thieves died and took their secret to the grave, or if they are in prison and unwilling to cooperate out of fear of retribution by other conspirators.
But US Attorney Carmen M. Ortiz said the investigation — carried out by her office, the FBI, and Gardner security director Anthony Amore — remains “active, and, at times, fast-moving” even though the statute of limitations for prosecuting the robbery ran out in 1995. Ortiz could still charge anyone possessing the stolen paintings, but she said her office would consider immunity in return for help recovering the masterpieces.
“I am optimistic, and in fact everyone involved in this investigation is optimistic, that one day soon those paintings will be returned to their rightful place in the Fenway,” said Ortiz in a statement.
Abath, who agreed to speak to the Globe to gain publicity for a book he is writing about the robbery, said he first realized he was under suspicion four years ago when FBI agents asked to meet him at a Brattleboro, Vt., coffee shop.
“After 19 years of not hearing a word from the people charged with the task of solving the Great Museum Robbery, they popped up; they wanted to talk,” Abath wrote in the manuscript he shared. To his surprise, one agent told him, “You know, we’ve never been able to eliminate you as a suspect.”
And, he said, they told him they had been watching his bank accounts for years for any signs of sudden wealth.
But if Abath was part of a $500 million art heist, his lifestyle in Brattleboro certainly doesn’t reflect it. He lives with his wife in a modest apartment outside the center of town, where he moved in 1999 to be close to his two children from an earlier relationship.
But investigators say that Abath’s partying lifestyle during the two years he worked at the Gardner could have brought him in contact with the kind of people who might plot a major art theft.
In 1990, Abath was a Berklee School of Music dropout and a member of the struggling rock group Ukiah, and sometimes showed up for the midnight shift at the Gardner drunk or stoned. In a 2005 interview with the Globe — under a grant of anonymity — Abath admitted using marijuana and alcohol before work. In the recent interview, he said he sometimes took LSD and cocaine, too.
The 23-year-old was chronically short of money — the Gardner paid just $7.35 an hour, and his band had to scrape for gigs — so he staged monthly keg parties in Allstonthat drew hundreds of college-age kids, most of whom were strangers, to raise funds.
On several occasions, he recalled, others who worked as Gardner guards or night watchmen would show up, and invariably the conversation would turn to the inadequacy of the Gardner’s security system, which was plagued by false alarms and featured just a single panic button in case of emergency, located at the front security desk.
“Could someone who had friends who were robbers or in the underworld have heard us complaining how awful the security system was? Absolutely. We were talking about it in the open all the time,” Abath said. “But did I know someone picked it up and used it to rob the place? Absolutely not.”
But investigators are reluctant to rule out the possibility that the thieves had help from the inside since studies show that nearly 90 percent of museum robberies worldwide turn out to be inside jobs. And they’ve questioned Abath closely about his circle of friends and acquaintances in 1990.
On the night of the robbery, Abath said he showed up for work completely sober, having just given his two-week notice to quit the boring job. He and one other watchman would take turns patrolling the museum and staffing the security desk.
Coincidentally, the nearby Museum of Fine Arts had adopted a new security procedure that required night watchmen to get a supervisor’s permission before admitting people after hours — the guards had refused entrance to real Boston police officers who came to the door a few months earlier.
“The museum was at its most vulnerable during the night shift,” explained William P. McAuliffe, the former top State Police commander who instituted the policy after taking over MFA security in 1989. “The entire security rested in the hands of one or two people.”
The Gardner took no such precautions, leaving Abath to make his own decision when the faux police officers rang the buzzer at the entrance on Palace Road at 1:24 a.m. They had been sitting quietly for at least an hour in a civilian car — witnesses recalled it as a hatchback — perhaps trying to avoid the glances of several tipsy college-age people who had emerged from a St. Patrick’s Day party in a nearby apartment building.
About 20 minutes before the thieves came to the door, Abath did something that prompted investigators to ask whether he was signaling the robbers: He opened and then quickly shut the Palace Road door after he had toured the museum galleries and was about to replace his partner at the security desk.
Gardner security officials say that their guards were not supposed to open doors as part of their patrol, and federal investigators have told Abath that none of the other watchmen they interviewed did so.
But Abath vehemently denies he had any bad intentions in opening the museum door.
“I did it to make sure for myself that the door was securely locked,” Abath said. “I don’t know what the others did, but I was trained to do it that way.” He said security logs would show that he tested the door on other nights as well. The FBI seized the logs, but has declined to comment on what they show.
Abath said he knew he wasn’t supposed to let uninvited guests inside, but he was less clear on whether the rule applied to police officers. With his partner patrolling the galleries, Abath decided to buzz inside the men dressed as police officers.
As the pair walked into the Gardner, Abath was at the security desk with quick access to the panic button that would have notified a security firm of an emergency. But one of the thieves — who Abath said was about 5 feet 7 inches tall, with gold-rimmed glasses and a “greasy looking mustache” — asked him to step away, saying, “I think there is a warrant out for your arrest.”
In quick succession, Abath said the officers asked for his ID, put him up against the wall and handcuffed him. Abath said he thought it was just a misunderstanding until he realized the officers hadn’t frisked him before he was cuffed — and the officer’s mustache was made of wax.
“We were being robbed!” Abath wrote in his manuscript.
Abath and his partner, who was also handcuffed as soon as he arrived at the security desk, were wrapped in duct tape and taken to different areas of the basement where they remained until police found them eight hours later. By then, the thieves — along with Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” Vermeer’s “The Concert,” and the other art works — were long gone.
Although the masterpieces the thieves stole are valued in the millions, they left behind what is considered Boston’s most prized painting, Titian’s “Rape of Europa,” leaving investigators to wonder about their sophistication. The brutishness with which they treated the art, cutting two Rembrandts from their golden frames while breaking the frames on two Degas sketches, convinced investigators that the men were common criminals taking advantage of a “score” rather than experts commissioned to steal particular works.
Perhaps most baffling is why they spent only 81 minutes inside the museum, mostly in the Dutch Room and Short Gallery on the second floor, when they could have continued undetected for hours.
Equally perplexing, motion detectors that tripped as the thieves made their way through other areas failed to record them entering or leaving the first floor’s Blue Room, where “Chez Tortoni” by Manet was taken. There, the only footsteps detected, at 12:27 and again at 12:53 a.m., matched the times Abath said he passed through on patrol.
Adding to the strangeness, police found the frame from the Manet on security chief Grindle’s chair near the security desk. Was this the gesture of a disgruntled employee sending a message to the boss?
Abath said investigators all but accused him of stealing the missing Manet.
“They wanted to know if I had taken the painting and stashed it somewhere,” Abath said. “I told them as I’ve said a hundred times before and since, I had absolutely nothing to do with the robbers or the robbery.”
Abath’s denials did not deter James J. McGovern, who worked on the federal investigation for the US Attorney’s office in 2006, from writing a novel that portrays a night security guard as an accomplice in the Gardner heist.
In 2012’s “Artful Deception,” McGovern writes that the watchman let the thieves inside to pay off a large cocaine debt. The character with whom the night watchman makes the deal closely resembles David A. Turner, the 1985 Braintree High graduate who has long been considered a suspect in the robbery.
Turner was sentenced to nearly 40 years in prison for involvement in a 1999 scheme to rob an armored car warehouse in Easton, a plot that he has contended in court was set up by the FBI to force his cooperation in solving the Gardner crime.
But Abath said he never had any connection to Turner — and has no recollection of buying cocaine from him — though he does say that Turner looks vaguely like the younger, more stocky of the two thieves.
Despite the lingering suspicions about his conduct on the night of the robbery and the admitted excesses of his lifestyle at the time, Abath said he does not feel ashamed that his actions led to the greatest loss of art masterpieces in world history.
“I know I wasn’t suppose to let strangers into the museum after hours, but no one told me what to do if the police showed up saying they were there to investigate a disturbance,” Abath said. “What was I supposed to do?”
The Scandalous Legacy of Isabella Stewart Gardner, Collector of Art and Men
Long before the gallery she built was famously robbed, Isabella Stewart Gardner was shocking 19th-century society with her disregard for convention.
The first time I encountered Isabella Stewart Gardner was the way most people do: through her museum. The Isabella Stewart Gardner museum is located near Fenway Park in Boston, just a short walk from the Museum of Fine Arts. Gardner loved the Red Sox; her feelings about the MFA were a little more complicated. I initially visited the museum in April of 2014—shortly after Gardner's birthday, which is celebrated each year in the Episcopalian Chapel in the museum as stipulated in her will. I walked through the museum with my friend, marveling at the art and at the museum itself, which Gardner had built as her legacy. She had a heavy hand in the design of the building, and her biographer Louise Tharp Hall recounts how she would visit the construction site once a day, often jumping in to show the workers exactly how she wanted things done.
Gardner acquired and arranged each piece of art in the museum and then put it in writing that if anyone were to move anything, the museum would have to give everything to the MFA and shut down permanently. This was a lady who knew what she wanted. The arrangement is an enigma—style, artists, eras and countries collide in each room. Eventually, my friend and I separated and I found myself alone in Raphael Room. It's a space strewn with religious iconography, white-faced Virgin Marys clinging to their sons. But the centerpiece of the room is Botticelli's The Tragedy of Lucretia. The painting tells the story of a virtuous noble woman who was raped. She then commits suicide, taking the narrative of her life into her own hands.
The museum is predicated on three layers of mystery.
The room overwhelmed me. From scanning a brochure quickly before exploring the museum, I knew that Isabella's son died only a few months before he turned two. I had only recently given birth to my son and witnessed a dear friend lose hers. With that constant jerk and slack on the rope of life—loss and gain—I felt like I understood Isabella, and I related to all those pictures of mothers holding their doomed sons. A few moments later, though, a kind security guard told me that the key to understanding the rooms was looking at where the eyes in the paintings were directed. I learned later the guards here all have their pet theories about the art and Isabella; this theory was the guard's alone. But it was enough to make me think that maybe I had been wrong. I am not the only one confused. The museum is predicated on three layers of mystery. The first mystery is the mystery of art itself—what does this painting mean? Why this scene? What are the symbols in the art? The second mystery is Isabella—why did she put these paintings together? What was she up to? What does this say about her and her legacy? And the third mystery is the art heist.
Early Life
Isabella Stewart was born in New York City on April 14, 1840 to David Stewart and Adelia Smith. Her father made his money trading textiles and iron. Young Isabella was reportedly a spirited child who got into trouble frequently. Once, she tried to run off to watch the circus and had to be dragged back home, sobbing, by a servant. She attended schools in New York and Paris and traveled with her parents to Italy, where she lost herself in the world of art and wrote to a friend that one day she too hoped to fill a home with art and antiques so others could enjoy them.
A few years later her school friend, Julia Gardner, introduced Isabella to her brother John Lowell "Jack" Gardner, a banker and a staid member of Boston's upper class. He was rich enough to pay someone to fight for him in the Civil War. They married in 1860. Their son, John Lowell Gardner III, was born on June 18, 1863. He died two years later and Isabella was bereft. On the advice of a physician, her husband took her to Europe. The story is that she had to be carried onto the ship on a mattress. During this time, as you may notice from the dates, America was losing sons by the legion during the Civil War. Body for body, it was America's deadliest war. But Isabella never mentioned this time in her life. In an effort to control how she was remembered she spent a lot of time burning letters and documents about herself. In her later years, she once famously noted that she was "too young" to remember the Civil War. Patricia Vigderman, in her book The Memory Palace of Isabella Stewart Gardner, speculates that Isabella's reluctance to discuss that time in her life may be more because she was consumed by personal tragedy at the time. While Vigderman doesn't excuse her silence about a tumultuous time in America's history, she does note that "it does reflect an ability to keep renewing oneself in difficult circumstances." And that is exactly what art helped Isabella do. Together, she and her husband toured Norway, Russia, Austria, and France and began collecting art.
Isabella Stewart Gardner in Venice (1894), by Anders Zorn. Image via Wikipedia.
The Great Men
Isabella began collecting other things too—namely men. She created herself a coterie of artists and writers such as John Singer Sargent, James McNeil Whistler, and Henry James. Most of her biographers agree that her relationships were all intellectual—her relationship with F. Marion Crawford, a popular Victorian novelist, caused quite a stir, but nothing besides the tongue-clicking of Victorian ghosts remain to suggest any sort of true scandal. (Isabella did burn all her letters, after all.) In her biography Mrs. Jack, Louise Tharp Hall relates a scene in which Isabella and Sargent played sort of tag down the hall with one another. Crawford's letters recount that she and Sargent read Dante together.
Gardner once remarked, in response to gossip about her, "Don't spoil a good story by telling the truth."
In The Art of Scandal: The Life and Times of Isabella Stewart Gardner, Douglass Shand-Tucci pieces together old rumors, scandals, and whispers from long-dead pearl-clutchers to argue that Isabella was an early champion of gay rights. Many of the men she surrounded herself with were gay. In 1875, she and Jack adopted their nephews after their father, Jack's brother, committed suicide. Years later, the older son would commit suicide as well. Shand-Tucci offers evidence that this was over his love for another man. True or not, Isabella would have loved the gossip. She obsessively saved newspaper clippings of her exploits and once remarked, in response to gossip about her, "Don't spoil a good story by telling the truth." Vigderman offers another sort of explanation for Isabella collecting men like she collected art—access. She writes, "To enjoy the wider world, women needed links to men who were conversant with it." And Isabella was hungry for the world.
Courting Scandal
Isabella smoked cigarettes, and the newspaper ran stories claiming she had taken zoo lions for a stroll in the park. A dahlia bears her name, and so does a mountain peak in Washington. She once shocked all of Boston Society by showing up to the Boston Symphony Orchestra bearing a headband that declared, "Oh you Red Sox." She invited the Harvard Football team to her home after they beat Yale. She hosted a boxing match at her home and, while the men fought, she danced. She had two large diamonds attached to wires and wore them bouncing in her hair. At the opening of her museum, she served champagne and donuts. The woman courted the world, and the world courted the woman.
Henry James, a member of her coterie, once remarked that Isabella "is not a woman, she is a locomotive—with a Pullman car attached." James often made such underhanded compliments about Isabella, yet he constantly found himself drawn to her. He didn't think she was particularly intelligent. He found her to be a little too forceful, yet he wrote, "how fond of her one always is for the perfect terms one is on with her, her admirable ease, temper and facilite a vivre." As Vigderman told me in an interview, "Whatever else she was, Isabella was fun." The essayist John Jay Chapman described her as "a fairy in a machine shop." The famous Sargent painting of her—in a long black dress, with just the hint of cleavage and a patterned background that lends her both a halo and a crown—shocked Bostonians so much that her husband asked that she not have it displayed. After he died, she put it up in the Gothic room, where it looms high over all the other paintings. Her glowing skin seems to hover away from the canvas.
Detail of Isabella Stewart Gardner (1888), by John Singer Sargent. Image via Wikipedia.
But that is Isabella through the eyes of others—men. Her art and her museum are the only way to see her the way she wanted to be seen. "C'est mon plaisir" is the motto that sits above her museum: This is my pleasure. This is my delight. And yet, her narrative thread of whatever story she is telling is hard to follow. Vigderman writes in her book, which seeks to access and understand Isabella, "Isabella Gardner appears not to wish me to complete her. Burning her private papers, exerting control over the future of each piece in her collection, she does not want to be a character in my story." And in this way, Isabella resembles the modern woman. While we edit our narratives through social media, Isabella carefully curated her life and her presence though gossip and through her museum. Vigderman noted that everything she left behind was part of a performance. "Isabella was both flamboyant and private," she said. Searching for clues about Isabella in the museum is a bit like discussing the nature of Lady Gaga based solely on her meat dress or Kim Kardashian on her Instagram feed—it's both compelling and off-putting, intimate and tightly controlled. Even as I sat in the Raphael Room and felt a connection with a woman who had died 90 years before I walked into her home, I felt foolish for defining her on my terms alone. There was so much more to all of it. John Singer Sargent's El Jaleo hangs in a nook on the first floor of the museum. It takes up the whole wall. The painting is breathtaking and coy: a woman dancing alone to the accompaniment of men. It's off kilter. The dancer's arms are loose and wild. I don't think I could move my arms that way. I've tried over and over. Although her face lies mostly in the shadow, her mouth gives off an expression that crosses centuries. It's a woman who has no fucks to give. El jaleo means "the ruckus."
El Jaleo by John Singer Sargent (1882). Image via Wikipedia.
Empty Frames
And Isabella was a ruckus. Even today, Isabella can raise some eyebrows. Her art collection was acquired through the art broker Bernard Berenson and many individual pieces were smuggled into the country. She looted the treasures of other nations to build her own collection. She viewed it as "saving the art"—an attitude that's at best a cultural condescension, at worst imperialism. She isn't easy to love sometimes.
She flaunted convention, but burned her letters. She wanted to be remembered but on her own terms. She was bold and a lover of reinvention, but her museum remains static, frozen forever in place. Like Lucretia, she turned on herself. I can understand why. She wanted to tell her own story. Not Henry James' version, nor Crawford's, nor even Sergeant's or Whistler's, but her own. As a result, she invites intimacy, but only up to a point. Just try looking for clues to the exact nature of her relationship with F. Marion Crawford. She is both inviting and inscrutable, just like the art that hangs on her walls. And then, there is the robbery. In 1990, two thieves stole what is estimated to be $500 million in art from her museum—including five Degas, two Rembrandts and a Vermeer. The art has never been recovered and remains one of America's most enduring unsolved mysteries. The frames now hang in the museum like orbless eyes, and the story of the heist dominates the story of Isabella.
In 1990, two thieves stole $500 million in art from her museum. The art has never been recovered and remains one of America's most enduring unsolved mysteries.
Like so many people, I am obsessed with the Gardner Heist. But I hate talking about it in relation to the woman. It seems just another way of defining a woman by what was taken rather than what remains. While the heist of the Gardner museum is the largest art heist in America. In his book The Gardner Heist, Ulrich Boser argues that the theft is felt deeply and personally—not only by the staff and the city of Boston but by art lovers everywhere. And yet, it was those empty spaces that allowed Isabella to become who she became. Vigderman notes that while Isabella the person and the museum have suffered greatly, what is more telling is how they transformed. Isabella used the power of art to transform herself into more than just a motherless son, or the center of society gossip. Similarly, in 2012 the museum transformed itself by opening a 70,000-square-foot addition designed by Pritzker Prize-winning architect Renzo Piano. So what are we left with? The same mystery that started this. That's Isabella though. Even years after her death, no matter how you piece her together, the only narrative she fits in is her own.
Prosecutors Reveal More Evidence They Say Ties Robert Gentile To $500M Gardner Museum Robbery
HARTFORD — A federal prosecutor revealed more evidence tying Hartford gangster Robert "Bobby the Cook" Gentile to a notorious Boston art heist after Gentile claimed in court Wednesday that he is being falsely accused and that the FBI contrived gun charges to force him to reveal the location of $500 million in masterworks. The government disclosures persuaded U.S. District Judge Robert N. Chatigny to reject Gentile's argument that the weapons charges he faces should be dismissed because they are the product of "outrageous government misconduct." During a strained hearing in Hartford, prosecutor John H. Durham neutralized Gentile's misconduct claim with a rare recitation of some of the evidence collected by the FBI team working the baffling robbery a quarter century ago at Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. •Durham said Gentile and mob partner Robert Guarente tried, but failed, to use the return of two stolen Gardner pieces to obtain a reduction in a prison sentence imposed on a Guarente associate. Durham revealed no additional detail, but knowledgeable sources said the beneficiary of the effort was to have been David Turner, who is serving 38 years for conspiring to rob an armored car.
•While he was confined in a federal prison in Rhode Island on drug and gun charges in 2013 and 2014, Durham said Gentile told at least three people that he had knowledge of the stolen Gardner art. Durham suggested in court that Gentile and one of the people drafted some sort of contract involving the art, but would not elaborate outside court.
•Durham confirmed a Courant report that Guarente's wife told Gardner investigators early in 2015 that her husband once had possession of stolen Gardner art and transferred two paintings to Gentile before Guarente died from cancer in 2004. •Durham said Gardner investigators had reason to suspect Gentile since 2015, when he submitted to a polygraph examination and denied having advance knowledge of the Gardner heist, ever possessing a Gardner painting or knowing the location of any of the stolen paintings. The result showed a likelihood of less than 0.1 percent that he was truthful. Gentile claims the examination was conducted improperly.
Chatigny's speedy ruling from the bench Wednesday was a blow to Gentile, 79, who is accused of two weapons charges for selling a gun to a friend and associate who had been convicted of three murders. The associate was one of two men the FBI recruited to join the Gardner investigators as confidential informants. Gentile claims he was duped into selling the gun by federal prosecutors and FBI agents who wanted to use weapons charges and the prospect of a long prison sentence to leverage him into helping them recover the missing art. In spite of Durham's claims, Gentile denies knowing anything about the robbery or what became of the art. "It is my client's contention that if he did commit a crime, he was cajoled to do it by two government agents," A. Ryan McGuigan argued. McGuigan described Gentile as a tired old man who was trying to live out his final years in peace and quiet when two old friends began goading him to commit crimes, one of which was selling a gun. Gentile, white haired and overweight, was seated next to his lawyer in a prison wheelchair and nodded in agreement. But Durham blasted the notion of Gentile as a suburban retiree, eking out an existence on a monthly Social Security check. It was Gentile, Durham said, who pressed the informants to commit crimes. Almost as soon as he was released from a prison sentence in 2014, Durham said Gentile — who the government claims is a sworn mafia soldier — was looking for help unloading truckloads of hijacked cigarettes. During his first meeting with the informants, Durham said Gentile, who has not been charged in the museum heist, was bragging that the FBI had failed to confiscate all of his guns during an earlier search of his suburban ranch home in Manchester. Durham said a recording made by the informants picked up a series of mocking, profane assertions by Gentile about his view of the competency of the FBI. "He says, 'The FBI got some of my guns, they didn't get all of my guns,'" Durham said. There was no reason on the part of the FBI to contrive a crime against Gentile to force him to talk, Durham said. The agents needed only to pick one from the recordings the informants enabled them to make. Ross wrote:
Ross 22209
If I were FBI Boston’s new head Harold Shaw, I would have the FBI do a consent search of residence where Bobby Guarente and David Turner would stay in Revere, MA. I believe the address was/is 21 Roosevelt, Revere, MA.
Last I knew, it was still owned by Bobby Guarente’s younger friend, Jean Marie Wilson.
Bobby Guarente and Jean W. had lived at the farmhouse in Madison, ME with Bobby’s wife, Elene, for a while until it got weird. Elene then asked that she move out. (They had been former roommates in Boston).
I believe Jean W now lives at 6 Belmont St., Saugus — having shared for years a duplex with her daughter Amy and maybe still Amy’s husband, who was Bobby Guarente’s nephew. The nephew is Michael James Guerriero. He may at least know who knew Bobby Guarantee as “Unk” or “Unc.” Michael and his wife Amy (Jean’s daughter) have lived in the other unit of the duplex..
None of the residents would have had anything at all to do with the heist and so I expect they would just grant the FBI to consent to bring in equipment that could see through walls.
Or perhaps they would speak to a reporter and correct any misapprehensions or misstatements of facts above.
@Ross 22209
A note was left at the 6 Belmont St. last year, Saugus address to further corroborate the information provided by Elene and Mr. Berghman but the residents did not respond. Daniel W. lives at the Revere address and so he or Jean likely perhaps could consent to a search — in view of the $5 million reward.
But the hearing yesterday answered a question that had been part of puzzle: why hadn’t Bobby Guarente sprung “bad boy” David Turner . According to Earle Berghman, Bobby G. viewed David “like s son."
From Mr. Mahony’s follow-up article today (Jan 7) and the prosecutor’s comment yesterday, it is unclear to me whether the prosecutor was referring when such an attempt was made in 1992 (through attorney Marty Leppo with the state rejecting) or in the late 1990s. Or maybe even Mr. Berghman’s, Elene’s and daughter’s Jeanine’s attempt to return the paintings in 2004.
Maybe the prosecutor was referring to 1992 atttempt to return the paintings. Maybe by the brilliant FBI armored car sting in the late 1990s, Bobby G. had just decided that such an offer would again be rejected and that authorities would find a way to prosecute anyone who had been involved in the theft.
Bobby had his own legal troubles and was getting out of prison about the time of the armored car sting prosecution and moving to Vermont.
Given Jean W’s total non-involvement, maybe the insight she could shed would advance things.
A Pulitzer awaits whoever gets the next article as fascinating as Mr. Mahony’s article this past week about “Unk."
Jean W. could collect the reward given her bona fides and general niceness.
@Ross 22209 I think the FBI is doing a great job — even though I think counterterrorism should remain a far higher priority.
At the end of the day, I think it represents the heist represents the greatest act of vandalism in history — I think the two main paintings were destroyed by a flood under Gentile’s shed.
Respectfully, I think those who want to write a big Hollywood ending (like the investigative reporters, FBI and the security director) are in denial in not admitting that.
It was Bobby Gentile’s son who described how upset he was when he realized that the flood had destroyed what he had hidden in a tupperware container under his shed.
p.s. I think it’s a hoot that the defense counsel and journalist and prosecutor are treating the polygraphs the way they do. There is not close to the reliability that they claim — and I am simply amazed to see a defense counsel even indirectly suggest that there is.
Defense counsel’s father’s contingency for 1/3 of the reward for return of the paintings belies defense counsel’s claim that he believes his client when his client claims that he does not have sufficient information leading to access.
-Art Hostage Comments: Ross, above, raises some good points, not least the allegation Mr Gentile's lawyer A. Ryan McGuigan has a stake in any recovery of the Gardner art, therefore raising suspicion that even he believes there is a chance Gentile could provide assistance in recovering at least some Gardner art. Furthermore, I wonder if the alleged A. Ryan McGuigan deal applies to other Gentile family members, Elene Guarante etc?
As regards the advice offered by Ross, I am certain Anthony Amore is fully aware of these details and would never leave any stone unturned. The possibility of two Gardner paintings being destroyed, either by water damage, or by fire has to be considered and can be argued as to why the reward clause of "Good condition" has been so rigorously enforced? Indeed, to be fair to Anthony Amore, he did say to Art Hostage a very longtime ago: "We don't want to pay a reward for a pile of ashes"
The FBI have been much maligned during the Gardner art Heist investigation, they have been in the uneviable position of being dammed if they do and dammed if they don't, but to be fair, they have only been doing their job and any deals for recovery must be the decision of Prosecutors in the end.
Aside from the two Gardner paintings which may or may not have been damaged beyond repair, there still remains the rest of the Gardner art to consider.
Sadly, what little trust there was historically seems to have disappeared with the recent events and until trust is rebuilt a Mexican stand-off will prevail. Having said that, the FBI will continue to try to recover the Gardner art and prosecute those responsible, not out of any malice aforethought, but because simply put, "it is their job description" and anything less leaves the FBI open to the criticism they could be encouraging further art thefts if they succumb to making deals.
The whole Gardner case is a complete mess, with much blame to go around and has evolved into a poison chalice of sorts.
Reputed Mobster's Associate Adds New Mystery To Gardner Museum Art Heist
How A CT Man Is Helping The FBI Solve Gardner Museum Heist
For five years, investigators have focused on a once-obscure gangster from Hartford as perhaps the last, best hope of cracking history's richest art heist, the robbery a quarter century ago of $500 million in paintings and other works from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. But what put Robert "The Cook" Gentile at the center of the mystery and why authorities have pursued him relentlessly has never been explained – until now. In a series of interviews with The Courant, a longtime Gentile associate who agreed to work with the FBI said he told agents Gentile has acted for years as if he had access to the missing art, has talked about selling it and, for a time, kept what appeared to have been a lesser-known Gardner piece – a 200-year-old gilded eagle – at a used car lot he owned in South Windsor. Sebastian "Sammy" Mozzicato delivered the astonishing account of Gentile and the world's best known stolen art to the FBI a year ago after agents, dangling a $5 million reward as a lure, enlisted him and a cousin as secret cooperators in the recovery effort. Investigators have suspected for years – and Gentile has denied for just as long – that he is withholding information about the art. Agents recruited the cousins, their confidants for decades, as participants in a sting that agents hoped would shake loose enough information to locate the art.
The sting failed when Gentile grew suspicious, Mozzicato said. But before Gentile walked away, the cousins enabled the FBI to record him committing to the sale of multiple paintings for millions of dollars. Mozzicato said he believes Gentile has had access to the art since the late 1990s – which is when investigators suspect he was part of a Boston gang that gained control of the art from whoever stole it.
Sources close to the investigation said Mozzicato's account to the newspaper is consistent both with what he told the FBI and with what agents have collected elsewhere. His story of the art, from the mob's perspective, is now at the heart of the investigation. A federal prosecutor has even claimed – during a proceeding in an unrelated case – that Gentile "specifically suggested" he has two of the paintings. But, suspicion aside, none of the art has been recovered, and no one has been charged with stealing or hiding it. The government's assertion and Mozzicato's inside account enrage Gentile, 80, whose health problems have reduced him to rolling around a federal jail in a wheelchair while awaiting trial on weapons charges. He has been locked up on drug and gun charges for most of the last five years. In repeated interviews over the past year and a half, Gentile has spat angry denials at suggestions that he knows anything about the heist or missing art. But he can be vague, too. He shrugs and smiles when told that people who know him argue that he is a swindler who made himself a top Gardner target by claiming – falsely – that he could obtain the art to cheat would-be buyers. In a court filing, defense lawyer A. Ryan McGuigan implies Gentile's con is so slick that he duped the FBI. McGuigan argues that Gentile was running a "scam for all it was worth in hopes of getting some quick cash" and "proceeded to lead his merry band of informers and double agents on a merry hunt for nonexistent paintings."
In an interview, McGuigan dismissed Mozzicato's claims. "Apparently, the government is relying on sources which include murderers, drug dealers and career criminals," McGuigan said. "Not exactly fine company to keep." One aspect of Mozzicato's account is undisputed: It explains how someone, who for years had law enforcement convinced that he was a second-rate crook, became the potential key to recovering some of the world's most revered art. It doesn't answer why – if Gentile knows anything – he continues to turn up his nose at the reward and submit to continuous investigation and arrest. Federal prosecutors contend he is a sworn Mafia soldier, and some in law enforcement speculate he is enjoying the consternation he is causing by adhering to the mob's oath of silence. Gentile denies being a member of the Mafia. Mozzicato played a leading part in the failed FBI sting in 2014 and '15. But he has told agents that he believes Gentile was involved with the art at least 15 years earlier, beginning in the late 1990s. Among other things, Mozzicato said he told the FBI how:
In the late 1990s, he was instructed to move a package of what he suspects were paintings between cars outside a Waltham, Mass., condominium used by him, Gentile, fellow mobster Robert Guarente and other partners of their Boston gang, which was a faction of the Philadelphia Mafia. A day or two later, Mozzicato said Gentile and Guarente drove the purported art to Maine, where Guarente owned a farmhouse.
Not long afterward, Mozzicato said he listened to an animated discussion between Gentile and Guarente about whether they should give what they referred to only as "a painting" to one of their Philadelphia mob bosses as "tribute." Mozzicato said Gentile argued that the painting was "worth a fortune" and told his old friend Guarente "You're out of your (expletive) mind" to give it away.
Also in the late 1990s, Mozzicato said Gentile gave him photographs of five stolen paintings and asked him to act as an intermediary in recruiting a buyer. Mozzicato said the potential buyer was shocked by the paintings and complained, half jokingly, that they could be arrested just for talking about them. Mozzicato said Gentile then cut him out of the deal, but acknowledged later that it fell through.
Mozzicato said he and his cousin saw, on repeated occasions, what he believes was the gilded eagle, cast two centuries ago in France as a finial for a Napoleonic flagstaff. He said they saw it often on a shelf at Gem Auto, the used car business Gentile formerly owned on Route 5 in South Windsor. Mozzicato said he thinks Gentile later sold the eagle. Mozzicato said he identified the finial from a photo provided by the FBI.
There have been intriguing, if murky stories about the missing art, but Mozzicato's is one of the more remarkable to emerge since the robbery on March 18, 1990. Early that morning, as St. Patrick's Day celebrations wound down across Boston, two thieves disguised themselves as police officers, bluffed their way into the Gardner, an Italianate palazzo in Boston's Fenway. They bound the guards, battered and slashed some of the world's most recognizable art from walls and frames, and disappeared.
The thieves took 13 pieces, including "The Concert" by Vermeer and two Rembrandts, one of them his only known seascape, "Storm on the Sea of Galilee." The art was uninsured under the terms of the bequest that created the museum and empty frames now hang where art was displayed. In spite of the reward and promises of no-questions-asked immunity for anyone returning the art, the investigation has run down repeated dead ends, in many cases because promising targets are dying off among the aging circle of New England mobsters. Nonetheless, a federal grand jury in New Haven was actively investigating last summer and fall. An Unlikely Break
It was not was until decades after the robbery and the events described by Mozzicato at the Waltham condo during the late 1990s that Gentile moved to the center of the Gardner investigation. It happened entirely by chance early in 2010. Gardner investigators were in Maine, tracking Guarente, who they believed had managed to take control of at least some of the art. He was a well-connected Boston bank robber and drug dealer who was known by the nickname "Unk." Guarente's farmhouse was in the woods north of Portland. After his last arrest for cocaine distribution in the late 1990s, he flirted with the idea of cooperating with drug investigators. He didn't. He went to prison, moved to Maine upon his release and died from cancer two years later, in 2004. Gentile acknowledges that he and Guarente had been friends since the 1970s when he said they met at a regional automobile auction near Hartford. Law enforcement and other sources said the two were sworn in, with others in their Boston gang, as soldiers in the Philadelphia Mafia in the late 1990s. A search by the Gardner investigators of Guarente's farmhouse turned up empty. But they got a break when they returned the keys to his widow, Elene Guarente. She declined to discuss the encounter with The Courant. But a person with knowledge of the event gave the following account: After first denying even being aware of the Gardner museum, she blurted out, inexplicably, "My Bobby had two of the paintings." In ensuing interviews, she said that her husband kept the paintings in Maine and, after his release from prison for the last time, he decided to pass them to an associate. She said Guarente put the paintings in their car and they drove to Portland, where Guarente had arranged to meet another couple at a downtown hotel. After the couples sat down for a shore dinner, she said the men left briefly and walked outside. She identified Gentile as the man who took possession of the two paintings. Gentile Cooperates
Gentile claims he is the victim of lies or speculation by hustlers competing for the museum's $5 million reward. Elene Guarente, he said, is chief among them. "Everything is lies," he said. "They got no proof." He admits meeting the Guarentes at the Portland hotel. He said he met the couple regularly. Guarente was sick and broke and Gentile said he was supporting him. Gentile said he and his wife liked to drive and enjoyed arranging weekend getaways or day trips around promising restaurants. He said Portland's vibrant waterfront was a favorite destination. "Bobby Guarente always needed money," Gentile said. "One day he calls me. He said he needed $300 for groceries. That's what he used to call it, 'Groceries.' He was sick at the time." "I helped him out," Gentile said. "I've helped a lot of people." Gentile said he remembers picking up the check because Elene Guarente ordered the most expensive item on the menu – the lobster special. "I'm a sucker," Gentile said. "I'm the one picking up the check." He claims Elene Guarente implicated him out of spite. When her husband died, Gentile said he told her that he had health problems of his own and could no longer help her financially.
Complain as Gentile might, Elene Guarente's spontaneous statement early in 2010 invigorated the investigation and brought its weight down on Gentile. To disprove her allegation, he said he decided to cooperate himself. It did not go well. He submitted to a polygraph examination, during which he denied having advance knowledge of the Gardner heist, ever possessing a Gardner painting or knowing the location of any of the stolen paintings. The result showed a likelihood of less than 0.1 percent that he was truthful, according to a government filing in federal court. Gentile and his lawyer claim the results are skewed because the test was improperly administered. The FBI next recruited a cooperating Hartford mobster "to engage (Gentile) in general conversation," according to the same filing. Gentile boasted to the cooperator that he and Guarente were soldiers in the Philadelphia Mafia. He said Guarente "had masterminded the whole thing," and had "flipped" before he died – a reference to Guarente's flirtation with cooperation. When the informant asked Gentile if he had the paintings, Gentile "just smiled," according to the filing. Prosecutors withdrew Gentile's cooperation agreement early in 2011, claiming he lied when testifying before the Gardner grand jury. A year later, they were preparing to indict him for selling prescription painkillers. When agents searched his small, suburban home in Manchester, they discovered the cellar was packed with money, drugs, guns, ammunition, silencers, explosives, handcuffs and a couple of odd pieces – a stuffed kestrel and a pair of enormous elephant tusks.
Significantly, they also found a copy of the March 19, 1990, Boston Herald, the edition dominated by the Gardner heist. With the newspaper was a handwritten list of the pieces the thieves stole and corresponding values. As with just about everything else turned up in the Gardner case, the list of paintings and prices has a murky provenance. Massachusetts art thief Florian "Al" Monday, who orchestrated the robbery of a Rembrandt from the Worcester Art Museum in 1972, said in an interview with The Courant that he wrote the list and that the values were his estimates of what the Gardner pieces were worth on the black market. Monday said he gave the list to Paul Papasodero, a forger, thief and hair stylist from Milford, Mass. Gentile said he and Papasodero were friends. When Papasodero died in 2010, Gentile said he attended the funeral. Gentile said in an interview he got the list from Papasodero when, about a dozen years ago, he found himself – inadvertently and entirely innocently – in the middle of a scam by Guarente to sell paintings he believes Guarente did not have.
Based partly on what the FBI dragged out of his cellar, Gentile was charged with drug and gun offenses and sentenced to 2 1/2 years in prison. The government told him he could skip prison and go home with the reward if he led the FBI to the art. Gentile said he knew nothing and served the time. When he was released in April 2014, Mozzicato and his cousin were waiting. The Sting
Neither was what could be called a model citizen. Mozzicato had been charged with crimes repeatedly, but had avoided conviction on charges such as racketeering, extortion and assault. Ronnie Bowes had been convicted of murder. Mozzicato said he had reformed and was selling cars at a suburban Hartford dealership and said his cousin was selling antiques from a shop in Charlton, Mass., when the FBI tracked them down and offered a crack at the $5 million. The two men, through their families, had known Gentile most of their lives. Bowes had been diagnosed with cancer and, at the time, had been told he had only months to live. Bowes had left Connecticut years earlier, in the early 1980s, to try his hand at the drug business in South Florida. Something went wrong one night in 1983 after he agreed to sell 50 pounds of marijuana to four men from Tennessee on a swampy key in the Florida Straits, according to court records. When the smoke cleared, the Tennesseans were dead, and someone had shot off one of Bowes' thumbs. The police caught him in Vernon. He was extradited to Key West, convicted on three murder charges and sentenced to death. An appeals court agreed with his claim of self defense and released him after 14 years. He was back in Connecticut in the late 1990s. By the time of Gentile's release, Mozzicato said he was persuaded by events dating to the late 1990s and the events at the Waltham condominium that Gentile had access to the Gardner art. Incidents that, years earlier, appeared to be insignificant or unconnected, seemed to have fallen into a pattern, he said.
There was the transfer of suspected paintings between cars and the argument about a painting as tribute to the Philadelphia mob. Mozzicato said he had been baffled initially by the frightened reaction of the potential buyer to whom he showed five photographs of paintings. He said he became convinced when, pressed by the FBI to identify the gilded eagle he said he saw at Gentile's used car lot, he selected a photograph of the stolen Gardner finial from an FBI photo array. "I'm no art expert," Mozzicato said. "But I know this is bigger than me. It's bigger than Bobby. This is about the people who can't see those paintings hanging on the wall. That art should be returned. Of course, the $5 million reward doesn't sound too bad either." The FBI arranged to have the cousins be among the first to welcome Gentile home from prison. Mozzicato said he was sitting on a bench at a shopping plaza in South Windsor when Gentile, understated as ever, drove up in his old Buick. Bowes was his passenger. Mozzicato said he jumped in back. Gentile was so heavy he couldn't fasten his seat belt. Since the Gardner heist had made him a hot FBI target, Gentile was afraid any arrest, even a seat belt violation, could jeopardize his parole. "He's got bungee cords he's got to use for the seat belt," Mozzicato said. "He says, 'I can't get arrested. The seat belt don't fit. They told me to buy this thing. I'll use this.' He's in the car. He can barely turn." Mozzicato said he began making Gardner references immediately. He complained that he and Bowes, well-known to law enforcement as Gentile associates, were being harassed by the FBI's Gardner team. He said he told Gentile that the agents knew Gentile had enlisted him in an attempt to sell a Gardner painting. Gentile growled that the FBI didn't know what it was talking about, but referred specifically to the prospective buyer, Mozzicato said. Mozzicato said agents were listening to and recording the conversation – and those that followed – over concealed transmitters the cousins wore. He said he and Bowes were soon meeting regularly with Gentile, handing him cash provided by the government, a supposed acknowledge that Gentile, a made member of the Mafia, was the boss. "We're giving him envelopes. 'Here Boss. How you doing?'," Mozzicato said. "He'd look inside and say, 'Hey kid. You did good today, kid. Who would have thought? This is like old times. Let's go get lunch.'" The money was meant to reinforce a fiction the FBI hoped would induce Gentile to produce the art. Mozzicato said he and Bowes were claiming that they had created a marijuana distribution network and were flush with cash. More to the point, they told Gentile they had a way to earn even more – the rich New Jersey dealer who was buying their pot had devised a foolproof plan to cash in on the Gardner art. Mozzicato said the cousins told Gentile that the dealer would pay $500,000 for a painting. The painting would be delivered to a lawyer in Seattle, who would arrange to return it to the museum anonymously and collect a reward under the museum's no-questions-asked offer. Gentile was promised "two ends" of the transaction – the $500,000 up-front and a piece of whatever the reward turned out to be for a single painting. Mozzicato said he told Gentile: "'If it goes good, the first one, you can do it again, for all the paintings. Everyone's got a chance to make a lot of money.'" Gentile seemed intrigued, Mozzicato said, but would not act. Over spring and summer in 2014, Mozzicato said the cousins pressed and complained that he was missing a chance at big money. He said Gentile waved the subject aside or ignored them. The reaction was not unexpected, Mozzicato said. Gentile could be obstinate when pressed and suspicious when pressed harder. Gentile told the cousins that he finally agreed to test the plan with one painting. Mozzicato said he committed over a lunch with the cousins at La Casa Bella in South Windsor. Mozzicato said the FBI listened to the conversation from the parking lot. "Bobby starts going, 'If that goes over good, we could probably do others'," Mozzicato said. "My cousin and I are thinking: 'Bobby's dead in the water. This is all on tape.'" Bowes wanted to leave the restaurant that minute to get a painting, Mozzicato said, but Gentile applied the brakes again. Mozzicato said Gentile wanted five days, maybe a week, to put the deal together. On one of those days, Gentile said he would have to take a five-hour drive, one way. "Here he is saying, 'Yes. I'll get it. We'll do it for half a million. Set it up. I need a week.' My cousin says to Bobby, 'I'll go with you .' Bobby says, 'No, no, no. Me and Sammy got to go. Sammy knows the guy we got to see.'"
Mozzicato said Gentile would not reveal why he needed a week, where he was driving to, whom he was seeing or where the paintings were or how many he could get. Bowes insisted that the cousins be allowed to tell the fictitious New Jersey pot buyer to get ready for a painting, Mozzicato said. Mozzicato said the FBI recorded Gentile answering, "Yes, I'll do it." 'The Deal Sounds Good'
But the next time they met, Gentile was stalling again, Mozzicato said. To prod him, Mozzicato said the FBI arranged to have the cousins introduce him to an undercover agent posing as a representative of the New Jersey pot dealer. Over another lunch, the agent told Gentile that his boss might shut down the pot business if Gentile did not sell a painting. Gentile responded with a threat of his own. Federal prosecutor John Durham described the exchange during a bail hearing in court earlier this year, providing a rare public statement about the government's interest in Gentile. "Mr. Gentile specifically stated to the FBI undercover operative that he, Mr. Gentile, is a made member of La Cosa Nostra," Durham said. "Mr. Gentile had specifically suggested that he had two particular paintings that had been stolen in the Gardner incident many years ago. Mr. Gentile became furious with the FBI undercover person because he wouldn't engage in the marijuana deal with Mr. Gentile, at which point Mr. Gentile told the undercover agent, do you know who I am, and stated that he could have people killed and make them disappear." Frustrated by the delays, Mozzicato said his cousin offered Gentile a way to save face on the chance that the paintings had been lost or destroyed. The FBI knew that someone had dug a hole beneath a shed in Gentile's backyard, apparently as a hiding place. If the art had been buried, it could be ruined, "Ronnie says to him, 'If you don't have the paintings anymore, if you destroyed them, if you don't want to do it anymore, just tell me. So we don't look stupid. Because the guy in New Jersey is asking. I told him I'd ask you. Sammy said he would ask you. So, if you don't want to do it, just say so.' And then Ronnie says to Bobby, 'If you're just doing this to steal the half a million, that's fine too.'" "Bobby says, 'No. No. No. I'd never do that,'" Mozzicato said. "And then he goes, 'Let's do it. The deal sounds good. We can all use the money.'" Into The Woods Not long after, in August 2014, Mozzicato said Gentile called with instructions. He was to drive to a pay telephone in South Windsor and wait for a call. From the pay phone, Mozzicato said Gentile directed him to a truck stop on I-84 in Ashford. At the truck stop, he said Gentile ordered him to leave his cellphone and car behind. He said Gentile drove the two of them through the woods for a half-hour or so to a house on the Massachusetts side of the state line. Inside, Mozzicato said a man was seated in a corner and a couple of guys were standing apart, as if waiting to be told what to do. Mozzicato said one of them frisked him. "So I look at Bobby," Mozzicato said. "He give me the look, like, 'Go with it.' Then, the guy in the corner says, 'So Sammy. How ya doing? I heard about you from Unk." Unk was Guarente's nickname. Mozzicato said the man refused to identify himself, which did not seem to bother Gentile. Mozzicato said Gentile told him to explain the plan to sell a painting for $500,000. Mozzicato said he did. He said the man considered for a while and responded with a couple of questions. "So the guy just comes out with all these hypotheticals," Mozzicato said, "He says, 'Let's just say, hypothetically, not that I have them or anything, these pictures. But hypothetically,' he says, 'Bobby is saying, you got a guy. So, hypothetically, if I had one, or two, or maybe three, if I had them, you could get me this money and do this deal?'" The man wanted the identity of the buyer. Mozzicato said he told him it was none of his business. Mozzicato said Gentile ordered him to wait outside. A few minutes later, he said Gentile came out and drove them back to the truck stop. A few days later, Mozzicato said Gentile told him to rent a commercial storage unit and a car. Then, Mozzicato said, Gentile canceled the car. Mozzicato said he accompanied Gentile when he picked up a supposedly indestructible German lock from a used car lot in Hartford's South End, where Gentile used to pass the time with a handful of aging Hartford gangsters. Then, Mozzicato said, Gentile went silent again. Mozzicato said he believes Gentile had grown suspicious. Mozzicato said: "Now this kind of conversation starts: He says 'Something ain't right.' He's talking with Ronnie one day, 'You know, Ronnie?. We've been through a lot. You and Sammy are all I got left. But something ain't right.'" "Then he started with me. 'Sammy boy. Sammy boy. These paintings bring nothing but heartache. They are nothing but a problem.'" Mozzicato said Gentile complained that, even if he were to cooperate with the government and turn in the paintings, he was convinced the FBI would figure out a way to prevent him from getting the reward. Mozzicato said, "He says, 'The feds will never let me spend the money. I don't care what deal my lawyer tells me.'" Six months later, on March 2, 2015, the FBI watched as Bowes used $1,000 in FBI cash to buy a .38 Colt Cobra revolver and six rounds of ammunition from Gentile. Within weeks, Bowes was dead of cancer and Gentile had been indicted on weapons charges. The FBI gave Gentile another opportunity. If he cooperated, he would avoid a long prison sentence and perhaps collect a reward. He cursed at the agents and claimed again to know nothing about the art. A federal magistrate declared him a threat to public safety, again, and denied him bail while awaiting trial and the likelihood of another prison sentence. He is arguing that the charges should be dismissed because of prosecutorial misconduct. He said the gun case was contrived to force him to give up information about the art – information he doesn't have.
Suffolk Downs Was Searched For Gardner Heist Paintings
BOSTON (CBS) — The search for the paintings stolen in the 1990 Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist led authorities to Suffolk Downs a few months ago. Acting on a tip, the FBI searched a couple of locations at the racetrack in September for some sign of the thirteen paintings, worth hundreds of millions of dollars. But Suffolk Downs CEO Chip Tuttle said their search didn’t come up with anything. “Obviously, we cooperated fully with the FBI,” Tuttle told WBZ NewsRadio 1030 Monday. “It was actually very impressive, they had a big team, they were very serious, they went through the entire facility sort of with a fine-toothed comb. But the paintings are not at Suffolk Downs.” Tuttle said the call from the FBI came as a surprise for the staff–that nobody could imagine the long-missing works by Rembrandt, Degas, Manet, and Vermeer could be stashed at the track. “At first, it was almost humorous,” said Tuttle. “You laugh it off, the idea that these famous paintings that people have been looking for for years might be right underneath your nose.” But Tuttle said authorities had a theory that, when explained, seemed plausible–that someone may have stashed the paintings there while the facilities were closed in the early 90s, around the time of the heist. “The track, of course, was closed in 1990 and ’91,” said Tuttle. “It closed at the end of 1989 and reopened in ’92. So, the way they explained the premise was, perhaps someone had stashed them there when the track was closed. Then it made a little more sense that they would be interested in taking a look around.” Areas of the building that had been closed for more than 20 years were searched, and the FBI teams even opened a couple of old safes that nobody in the track’s current administration could ever remember opening. They found nothing. The paintings were stolen March 18, 1990, when the FBI says two white men disguised in Boston police uniforms were able to enter the museum by telling a security guard that they were responding to a disturbance. Once inside, the thieves handcuffed two security guards and kept them in the museum’s basement. The FBI has said in the past that they know who took the paintings, and that those people are now dead–but the feds have never said who the suspects who pulled off the heist were. In August, the FBI released new surveillance footage from the night before the heist, showing a security guard letting in an unauthorized visitor 24 hours before the art was stolen. Days later, a Quincy attorney said a former client of his had identified the visitor in the video.
Here we are after 26 years still awaiting the recovery of the Gardner art. Trust needs to be established and demonstrated by all sides. Dispense with the guarded, broad brush offers, lets see all the cards put on the table once and for all. Those with the ability to recover the Gardner art lay out clearly what they want to allow the Gardner art to surface. Those in authority need to publicly set out the terms and conditions of the immunity deal, clearly and with transparency. The reward offer by the Museum needs to be laid out in specific detail, a tarriff list of exactly how much for each and every stolen Gardner artwork. The reward was raised back in 1997 from $1 million to $5 million, thats nearly twenty years ago, so time for another look at the amount, consider raising the amount, doubling the amount? A trial run of a lesser valued Gardner artwork being recovered to test the waters and see how sincere all sides are in reality. If a lesser Gardner artwork can be recovered and payments made to those providing the location of recovery and who have had nothing to do with the actual heist or subsequant handling of the Gardner art, no arrests, then that would be a foundation to build upon.
The Gardner Museum Heist: Who’s Got the Art?
Twenty-six years after the artwork was stolen, the museum’s security chief thinks he knows who did it. What has him stumped is where the paintings are now.
Sometimes, when Anthony Amore gets frustrated by his 11-year hunt for the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum’s stolen paintings, he and the FBI agents on the case will talk each other through the ways that other museums’ stolen masterpieces have come home. If the 13 Gardner artworks swiped in 1990 are ever returned, will it be thanks to an old crook, ready to deal at last? A family member, sorting through inherited bric-a-brac in some long-locked New England attic? Or a tip from the public, someone who sees or hears a final clue? “We often say, ‘When will one of those scenarios come our way?’” says Amore, the Gardner’s director of security since 2005. But after more than a decade of searching, after compiling 30,000 pieces of information about the crime, he no longer feels the homecoming is so far away. “One small piece of information could end this tomorrow,” Amore says. The biggest art theft in world history struck Boston 26 years ago this week, on March 18, 1990, when two thieves dressed as police bluffed their way into the Gardner and made off with masterpieces by Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Manet. Though a generation has passed, the investigation is no cold case. Amore and the FBI marked the heist’s 23rd and 25th anniversaries by sharing their leading theory of the case—a tale of petty thieves in Dorchester and Mafia men in Connecticut and Philadelphia. This year, as the 26th anniversary of the theft approached, Amore sat down with Boston for a more forward-looking conversation: on how the case might end. None of his comments, Amore stressed, were intended as hints about specific suspects. “I don’t want you to think I’m making a commentary on the Gardner criminals in detail,” he said. “For instance, his name’s in the paper all the time: Robert Gentile.” A federal prosecutor has alleged that Gentile, a 79-year-old alleged Connecticut mobster, may have some of the paintings in his possession. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to tie Robert Gentile to these profiles.” In his publicity photos, Amore, 49, looks like the federal counter-terror agent he once was, sharp and polished in a suit and tie. The day of our interview, he chose a more bookish look, including a fleece pullover and glasses. He’s tackled parts of his work more like an art historian than a federal investigator: he’s collected the details of 1,300 art heists from around the world. Though the Gardner hired Amore 15 years after the thefts, they have come to define his work; he carries a copy of one of the 13 lost pieces, Rembrandt’s etching “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” in his wallet as a reminder of the crime. Amore spoke about how past art heists may hold clues about both the thieves who robbed the Gardner and the prospects for cracking the case, as well as ways the public might help. An hour after the end of St. Patrick’s Day 1990, a merrymaking band of students walked past the Gardner Museum and noticed something odd: two men in police uniforms, sitting in an unmarked hatchback. One student noticed the car didn’t have a police license plate, but he and his friends, not wanting to get busted for underage drinking, moved on. At 1:24 a.m., the car pulled up to the museum’s employee entrance. One of the uniformed men pressed the buzzer, told guard Richard Abath they were investigating a disturbance, and convinced Abath to let them in. Hours later, Abath and a second guard were found in the basement, handcuffed and tied up with duct tape. Missing were 13 works of art, five of them by Edgar Degas and three by Rembrandt van Rijn, including Rembrandt’s only known seascape, “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” “People say this was so elaborate,” Amore says. “It’s not elaborate!” If Abath had followed protocol and called the Boston police, the fake cops would never have gotten into the Gardner. “It was kind of a flimsy plan that worked.” The thieves’ haul included Johannes Vermeer’s masterpiece “The Concert”—“the most valuable stolen thing in the world,” Amore claims, with a value as high as $200 million. But their other choices have helped convince Amore that, like nearly all art thieves in history, they were common criminals, not experts in art crime. The thieves left behind the Gardner’s most valuable painting, Titian’s “Europa,” but took a Napoleonic finial, a gilded bronze eagle, off a French flagstaff. “The idea of a professional art thief, a cat burglar who goes and steals masterpieces, is fiction,” says Amore. “It has nothing to do with people who want art for their collection. It’s people stealing these things for money.” In 2011, Amore spun off his historic art-crime research into his book Stealing Rembrandts, co-authored with journalist Tom Mashberg. Hardly any thieves who steal a masterpiece ever do it again, Amore says, because they quickly discover they’re stuck with it. “If you steal hugely recognizable art, you can’t fence it,” Amore says. In fact, Amore only knows of two thieves in history who stole art more than once. One was Adam Worth, a 19th-century crook who inspired the character of Sherlock Holmes’ archenemy, Professor Moriarty. The other is Massachusetts’ master art burglar, Myles Connor, who stole a Rembrandt from Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts in 1975, then used it to negotiate a reduced sentence for stealing N.C. Wyeth and Andrew Wyeth paintings from the Woolworth estate in Maine the year before. “He’s the greatest art thief who’s ever lived,” says Amore. However, he adds, “Myles Connor did not rob the Gardner Museum. If Myles wasn’t in prison at the time, it would have to have been him. But we know it was not him.” Connor has sometimes bragged that he inspired the Gardner heist, claiming that associates of his pulled off his tentative plans to rob the place. Yet Connor’s late-1990s offers to try to find the missing paintings all came to naught. Amore, who’s met Connor, shrugs off his claims. “I do feel confident that if he had access to them today, we’d have them back.” The thieves’ ruse of dressing as policemen was common in Massachusetts robberies around 1990. So Amore says he wants to hear tips from “people who might know a criminal who could’ve been involved, who used these sorts of ruses”—for instance, a crook who owned a police uniform. “We’re looking for who the mastermind of the theft might’ve been,” he says. But what Amore wants even more is a tip that leads to the paintings, not the thieves. On the 23rd anniversary of the theft in 2013, FBI agents, with Amore at their side, announced that they believed “with a high degree of confidence” that they had identified the thieves, and that the paintings had been passed to organized crime figures in Connecticut and Philadelphia. Last year, before the 25th anniversary, Amore and the lead FBI agent on the investigation shared more about their theory of the case. It revolves around the late Carmello Merlino, a mobbed-up Dorchester car-repair shop owner, and his associates, including George Reissfelder and Leonard DiMuzio. Both Reissfelder and DiMuzio died in 1991, and both resembled police sketches of the thieves. Reissfelder drove a red Dodge Daytona, similar to the car the students saw outside the Gardner. “We’ve said in the past we know who the thieves are,” Amore says, but “knowing that hasn’t led us directly to the paintings.” For years, the Gardner has offered a $5 million reward for information that leads to the safe return of the 13 artworks in good condition. Last year, it announced a separate $100,000 reward for the Napoleonic bronze eagle, on the possibility that it may have been separated from the paintings since the theft. “It may have been stolen as a trophy piece,” Amore says. “Someone could have that in their home right now, or in their antique store.” According to a January story in the Hartford Courant, the eagle may have been seen years ago at Robert Gentile’s used car lot in Connecticut. (Amore won’t comment on that report. “I don’t want to give it too much or too little credibility,” he says.) Tips about the Gardner art’s whereabouts have been few and sketchy. “That kind of tells us they haven’t moved around a lot,” Amore says. Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee” was offered for sale in Philadelphia around 2003, according to an FBI witness. A federal prosecutor in Hartford has claimed in court that Gentile tried to sell some of the Gardner paintings to an undercover FBI agent last year; Gentile’s lawyer has said his client was bluffing and doesn’t have the paintings. “People assume that because a quarter-century has passed, those things are long gone,” Amore says. Not necessarily. “Whoever the paintings went to could still be in possession of all or some of them.” In May 1980, Boston violin virtuoso Roman Totenberg lost his Stradivarius to a thief. After performing in a concert at the Longy School of Music in Cambridge, Totenberg, the school’s director, left his prized 1734 violin in his office to attend a reception. It was gone when he returned. Totenberg, the father of NPR correspondent Nina Totenberg, died in 2012 at age 101, without seeing the violin again. After 35 years, the Stradivarius came back. Violinist Philip S. Johnson, a longtime suspect in the theft, left it to his ex-wife when he died in 2011, and four years later, she brought it to an appraiser, who recognized it as Totenberg’s. Last August, the FBI returned the violin to Nina Totenberg and her sisters during a ceremony at the U.S. Attorney’s office in Manhattan. If a masterpiece violin can return home, so can masterpiece paintings. Like Totenberg’s violin, Amore says, stolen art is often recovered a generation after a theft. By then, “the scariest person involved in the crime has died or is not so scary anymore,” he says. “Now [someone] can come forward.” Often, a tip from the public leads to the return of stolen art: “Somebody who comes forward and says they’ve seen something, they’re aware of something.” Such tips most often come from a friend or family member of the person who has the art. “Unfortunately, it’s never a guy who walks down the street and sees a painting through a window,” Amore says. “These paintings are not hanging on people’s walls. They’re hidden.” Sometimes, a criminal informant provides the tip, or the person who has the art cuts a deal. “Sometimes, stolen art is used to negotiate your way out of trouble,” says Amore. “Some people will even steal them ahead of time, to hold as a get-out-of-jail-free card.” Like Totenberg’s Stradivarius, the Gardner’s artworks may have ended up with someone who didn’t steal or hide them. “I would be concerned some innocent person might have them right now,” Amore says, “and is afraid to come forward because they fear some sort of danger from the outside world.” It’s a crime to knowingly possess stolen property, but the U.S. Attorney’s office in Boston has offered the possibility of immunity for anyone who helps return the Gardner’s art. Amore says the museum could protect a tipster’s identity and deliver the $5 million reward anonymously, through an attorney. Since he’s not a law-enforcement agent, he adds, he can ensure the art’s return is completed without fear of arrest. “Speaking for the museum, we just want our paintings back,” Amore says. “I would work as hard as can you can imagine to make sure that the people who come forward, that their names are never exposed. We have methods to do that, to pay the reward, so the person who gets it isn’t named publicly.” That raises the possibility that Boston’s greatest mystery could end mysteriously, that Bostonians could someday see the lost paintings on the Gardner’s gallery walls again, but without the whodunit thrill of learning who stole and hid the paintings and how they came back. “When a piece is recovered, oftentimes the info is murky and scarce,” says Amore, “because there are parts of the story that just can’t be told.” That’s okay with him. “I am far more interested in the recovery than the story,” he says. It’s also possible the Gardner mystery will never be solved. Perhaps the artworks have been destroyed, or are too damaged for anyone to collect the $5 million reward, or they’re lost—hidden by a crook who died without revealing their location. But Amore doesn’t dwell on worst-case scenarios. About 80 percent of stolen masterworks, he says, are eventually returned. “So many people are interested in the theft,” Amore says. “If people want to help, they should acquaint themselves with the images. That’s how this will be solved.” The Gardner’s website hosts a virtual tour of the stolen art, and images of each piece are posted on the FBI’s webpage about the case. Any little bit of information can help. “I’m not looking for someone necessarily to call me and say, ‘Go to Locker 3 in this storage facility,’” he says. “It’s like you put this puzzle together, you start with the borders, and people are giving you pieces. “If you do puzzles, most of the time, there’s this one piece that’s just like—hoo, okay!—now you hit this arc, now it’s falling together. So I’m not necessarily looking for the big aha! moment. I’m looking for the small aha! moments that I can piece together.”
Guns Found In 3rd FBI Search Of Mobster's Manchester Home; Mystery Of Missing Art Remains
Federal agentsfound more guns — including a machine gun — during a search earlier this week of Robert Gentile's house, giving law enforcement more to use as pressure against an aging gangster many believe holds the key to learning the fate of a half billion dollars in missing art, sources said. A caravan of FBI agents descended on Gentile's suburban ranch in Manchester Monday, searching behind walls and cutting open oil tanks in the hunt for clues to a fortune in rare art that vanished mysteriously 26 years ago after a midnight heist at Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. What the agents found was not art, but a Mac 11 machine gun, a .22 caliber handgun, a small Walther handgun, a silencer, ammunition and what was inexplicably noted on a law enforcement report as a piece of wood. The purported target of the search warrant was the art — 13 masterpieces including two Rembrandts and a Vermeer stolen by thieves disguised as police officers, one of the sources said. The U.S. attorney's office said it will not discuss the search. Gentile's lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, said it is part of the FBI's effort to pressure Gentile into providing information about the missing art — information the lawyer said Gentile does not have.
It was the third time FBI agents searched Gentile's home over the last four years, hauling away truckloads of items that included a list of the stolen Gardner pieces with corresponding black market values, cash, drugs, a rare stuffed kestrel and a pair of enormous elephant tusks. Agents found guns and ammunition during each search, causing a judge, after one of the searches, to exclaim that the tidy little home on Frances Drive contained "a veritable arsenal."
Gentile — overweight, in declining health and confined to a wheelchair — is being held in a federal jail outside Providence while awaiting trial in July on charges that he sold a gun and ammunition to a convicted three-time murderer. The newest search is certain to lead to new charges and additional prison time if he is convicted. As a previously convicted felon, Gentile faces enhanced sentencing if convicted of a weapons possession charge. Gentile has been a law enforcement target since 2010, when the widow of a fellow gangster said she was present when her husband gave two of the stolen Gardner paintings to Gentile before his death about six or seven years earlier. The unexpected admission made Gentile, until then viewed by law enforcement as an unremarkable Hartford swindler, the subject of extraordinary law enforcement pressure. Since 2010, information from a variety of sources, including Gentile's own words in secret FBI surveillance recordings, has contributed to an investigative theory that Gentile is a member of a dwindling number of aging New England gangsters who had some association with the art after the March 18, 1990, heist.
FBI search does not uncover stolen Gardner paintings, attorney says
MANCHESTER, Conn. — The FBI did not recover any of the 13 masterworks stolen from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum during a search Monday of a Connecticut mobster’s home and an old oil drum buried in his yard, according to the man’s lawyer. However, after ripping up carpeting, wall paneling, and part of the ceiling in Robert Gentile’s ranch-style house on Frances Drive, agents found several guns, ammunition, and a silencer, according to several people familiar with the search. The discovery could lead to new charges against 80-year-old Gentile, who has been identified by authorities as a person of interest in the heist. He is in jail awaiting trial in July in federal court in Hartford on charges of selling a gun to a convicted felon. “I spoke to my client today and, again, he has no information about any paintings,” Gentile’s attorney, A. Ryan McGuigan, said Tuesday. A search warrant provided to Gentile’s wife, who was at home during the search, indicated the FBI was looking for the 13 pieces of artwork stolen from the Gardner Museum in 1990 and also for firearms, McGuigan said. “As far as I can tell, they found nothing from the Gardner Museum,” said McGuigan, noting that none of the artwork was included on an inventory list provided to the Gentiles following the search. Kristen Setera, a spokeswoman for the FBI’s Boston office, declined to comment Tuesday on the search or what led to it. It was the third search by the FBI of Gentile’s home since 2012. According to McGuigan, during Monday’s day-long search agents pulled up carpeting, tore paneling from the walls in the basement, cut holes into studs throughout the house and removed portions of the ceiling. “The house is torn apart,” McGuigan said. “This has been a four-year odyssey with no foreseeable end.” The FBI also dug up an old oil tank next to Gentile’s house. Agents were observed lowering a camera inside the tank on Monday in an apparent effort to determine whether anything was hidden inside. A neighbor said the Gentiles disposed of the tank after they converted their home from oil to natural gas about 10 years ago. A prosecutor revealed in court earlier this year that authorities believe Gentile knows the whereabouts of the $500 million worth of masterworks stolen from the Gardner Museum because he has been plotting for more than a decade to try to sell them. Two men disguised as police officers talked their way into the museum on Boston’s Fenway in the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, tied up two guards, and disappeared with 13 masterworks. They include three works by Rembrandt, a Vermeer, a Manet, and a Flinck. In January, a federal prosecutor told a judge in Connecticut that Gentile told at least three people he had access to the paintings. McGuigan said Gentile was “just pretending” to have the paintings. Federal prosecutors have alleged that Gentile offered to sell the paintings to an undercover FBI agent, who was posing as a drug dealer, for $500,000 apiece in 2015, but that deal collapsed. As a result of that sting, Gentile was charged with the weapons charge he is now facing. The FBI began focusing on Gentile in 2009 when the wife of another person of interest in the theft, Robert Guarente, told agents that her late husband gave two of the stolen paintings to Gentile before he died in 2004, according to the government. Gentile flunked a polygraph in 2012 when the FBI asked if he knew about plans to rob the Gardner Museum beforehand and whether he had possession of the stolen paintings or knew where they were, a prosecutor said in court. However, McGuigan has said that if Gentile knew where the paintings were, he would return them and collect the $5 million reward being offered by the museum for their safe recovery. One of Gentile’s neighbors said Tuesday that she was annoyed by the disruption caused by the latest search. “This is a big waste of taxpayer money,” said the neighbor, Linda Gilbert, who had been on hand when the FBI arrived and raided Gentile’s home twice before. She first thought the commotion Monday was a wedding, then realized it was another visit from the FBI. “Just leave these people alone. They’re elderly. Just stop,” she said, adding she was particularly concerned about Gentile’s elderly wife. “I feel sorry for her because this is the third time now. Something like this could make the poor lady have a heart attack.’’ FBI Searching Mobster Robert Gentile's Manchester Home
Numerous unmarked law enforcement vehicles surrounded the Frances Drive home of reputed gangster Robert Gentile. Authorities suspect Gentile has information about the irreplaceable art that vanished in a sensational theft from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
FBI Searching CT Home Of Mobster Tied To Gardner Museum Case
MANCHESTER – FBI agents Monday were at the home of gangster Robert "Bobby the Cook" Gentile, the top person of interest in the quarter-century effort to recover masterpieces stolen from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
Agents set up a tent in the front yard of the Frances Drive home, where they have previous spent time digging. Local police blocked off the street, where Gentile owns a small brown ranch.
Agents arrived in about 15 cars, with two search dogs and three trucks with heavy equipment. The U.S. Attorney's office in Connecticut had no comment on the search.
Gentile's lawyer, Ryan McGuigan, said FBI has not showed him a warrant or give him a reason for the search.
Gentile is currently facing a federal gun charge that he claims the FBI contrived to force him to reveal the location of $500 million in masterworks.
In January, federal prosecutor John H. Durham recited in court some of the evidence collected by the FBI team working the baffling robbery at the Gardner Museum.
Ryan McGuigan, attorney for Robert Gentile, discusses the FBI search of his client's home.
Durham said Gentile, 79, and mob partner Robert Guarente tried, but failed, to use the return of two stolen Gardner pieces to obtain a reduction in a prison sentence imposed on a Guarente associate. Durham revealed no additional detail, but knowledgeable sources said the beneficiary of the effort was to have been David Turner, who is serving 38 years for conspiring to rob an armored car.
While he was confined in a federal prison in Rhode Island on drug and gun charges in 2013 and 2014, Durham said, Gentile told at least three people that he had knowledge of the stolen Gardner art.
Durham confirmed a Courant report that Guarente's wife told Gardner investigators early in 2015 that her husband once had possession of stolen Gardner art and transferred two paintings to Gentile before Guarente died from cancer in 2004.
Also, Durham said Gardner investigators had reason to suspect Gentile since 2015, when he submitted to a polygraph examination and denied having advance knowledge of the Gardner heist, ever possessing a Gardner painting or knowing the location of any of the stolen paintings. The result showed a likelihood of less than 0.1 percent that he was truthful. Gentile claims the examination was conducted improperly.
On the night of March 18, 1990, two thieves disguised as Boston police officers entered the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and stole 13 works of art valued at about $500 million. The FBI and the U.S. Attorney's Office continue to investigate, and the museum offers a $5 million reward for information leading to the artworks' recovery.
MANCHESTER — The FBI is once again investigating at the home of reputed mobster Robert Gentile. Gentile is suspected of having knowledge about the largest art heist in U.S. history. Monday afternoon FBI agents and Manchester Police Dept. blocked off the street at Frances Drive and Niles Drive. There is no word yet on how long they will be out there. Robert Gentile claimed federal authorities entrapped him into illegally selling a gun to pressure him into cooperating in the investigation of the 1990 theft at Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. In January, he lost a bid to get his weapons case dismissed.
One of the paintings stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990
Thirteen pieces of art worth an estimated $500 million were stolen and never recovered, including paintings by Rembrandt and Edouard Manet. No one has been arrested. Gentile denies knowing anything about the missing artwork. Federal prosecutors said they have evidence Gentile has told others he has access to some of the paintings for potential sales.
Notorious Boston mobster-turned-pastor has clues about Gardner heist
Karen Pulfer Focht for The Boston Globe
Alonso Esposito, a former Boston mobster, reflected on the spiritual conversion he experienced that led him to establish his ministry. He was photographed in his Memphis, Tenn., home on June 27.
By Stephen Kurkjian and Shelley Murphy Globe Correspondent | Globe Staff
MEMPHIS – A notorious Boston mobster who disappeared into the federal witness protection program has resurfaced in Tennessee with a new identity, a new life, and a tantalizing clue involving the world’s largest art heist. In this city on the Mississippi, he’s known as Alonso Esposito, a tall, charismatic man with graying hair and a Boston accent who self-published a paperback about the Bible and volunteers as a pastor at a nondenominational church. But in the 1990s, as Mafia capo Robert “Bobby” Luisi Jr., he ran a crew of wiseguys, based in Greater Boston, that included two men suspected by the FBI of stashing $500 million worth of masterworks stolen from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990. In a series of interviews from his Memphis home, the 55-year-old Luisi revealed that one of those associates, Robert “Unc” Guarente, told him years ago that the stolen Gardner paintings were buried beneath a home in Florida. The two were alone in the late 1990s at a Waltham apartment they used as a “safehouse,” watching a television segment about the Gardner theft, according to Luisi, when Guarente confided that he knew where the artwork was. In Florida, he said, under a concrete floor. “He wanted to know if I knew where we could sell it,” Luisi said. Luisi, who was running a lucrative cocaine trafficking ring at the time and involved in a bloody turf war with rival mobsters, said he told Guarente that he didn’t know anybody who could fence stolen artwork. “I knew I couldn’t move it,” Luisi said. “I didn’t want to get involved in it.” Guarente, who died in 2004 at age 64, never offered the precise Florida location where the masterworks were supposedly buried, according to Luisi, and the pair never discussed it again. Luisi said he told FBI agents about Guarente’s claim in 2012 when they visited him in prison, where he was serving 15 years for cocaine trafficking. He said they questioned him about the possibility that Guarente and another mobster, Robert “The Cook” Gentile, tried to sell the stolen artwork in Philadelphia years earlier. An FBI spokeswoman declined to comment on Luisi’s account or whether it prompted any digging in Florida for the stolen masterpieces, citing the ongoing investigation focused on recovering the artwork. A year after the FBI interview, Luisi finished his prison term and entered witness protection in exchange for testifying against a former Boston mob associate.
Karen Pulfer Focht for The Boston Globe
Alonso Esposito prayed with the congregation at Faith Keepers Ministry in Memphis on June 26.
The Gardner theft remains unsolved decades after two men dressed as police officers talked their way into the elegant museum on the Fenway shortly after midnight on March 18, 1990, tied up two guards and disappeared with 13 masterworks. None have been recovered, despite a $5 million reward and promises of immunity. They include three Rembrandts — including his only seascape, “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” — and a Vermeer. In 2013, the FBI announced it was confident it had identified the two thieves, both now deceased, but declined to name them, citing the ongoing investigation. Gentile, 80, is in jail while awaiting trial on federal gun charges. Authorities said they believed some of the artwork changed hands through organized crime circles, and moved from Boston to Connecticut and Philadelphia, where the trail went cold in 2003.
‘I am certain that we’d have noticed if we’d come across anything valuable, like paintings by Rembrandt.’ Robert Thornley, on the home his company demolished
Sitting in the kitchen of his ranch-style home on a quiet street with manicured lawns, Luisi, who was affiliated with the Philadelphia mob family, spoke freely in late June about his notorious past and about the dream of a new life that prompted him to leave the safe haven of the witness protection program. “I’m just not afraid,” said Luisi, who said he wanted to come out of hiding so he could promote his ministry and religious book, The Last Generation. “My faith is so strong in God.” Luisi, who grew up in Boston’s North End and East Boston, has his own website, alonsoesposito.com, and is on YouTube and Facebook. He’s also working on an autobiography, “From Capo to Christian,” and said he hopes his transformation might inspire others. Luisi’s path from Mafioso to government witness was a tortured one. After his 1999 arrest on drug charges, he agreed to cooperate against mobsters from Boston to Philadelphia and confessed to ordering the 1997 murder of a rival Boston gangster. But Luisi changed his mind about cooperating and was sentenced to 15 years and eight months in prison for cocaine trafficking. Luisi said he was, nevertheless, happy to talk to the FBI about the Gardner. He said he told them that Gentile, of Manchester, Conn., never discussed the stolen artwork with him, but as a soldier in the Philadelphia family, Gentile would have had the authority to negotiate a deal with organized crime figures in that city. The FBI has searched Guarente’s property in Maine, and Gentile’s property in Connecticut, repeatedly. During a brief telephone conversation, Guarente’s widow, Elene, said she was unaware of any Florida property connected to her husband, “but he was always traveling one place or another without telling me where he was going.” Maine State Police records indicate that Guarente listed a lakeside home in Orlando as his residence for several years in the early 1990s. The single-family home, built on a concrete slab in 1980, was torn down in 2007. “I am certain that we’d have noticed if we’d come across anything valuable, like paintings by Rembrandt,” said Robert Thornley, whose company did the demolition. A developer, John Gigliotti, who removed an underground pool from the property last year, said he didn’t turn up anything memorable during the excavation.
Karen Pulfer Focht for The Boston Globe
Esposito checked himself in a mirror before leaving for church.
Federal authorities have been focusing on Gentile since 2010, when Elene Guarente told the FBI that her husband gave two of the stolen paintings to Gentile during a rendezvous in Maine before his death. Gentile, 80, was ensnared in an FBI sting last year and is scheduled to stand trial Sept. 13 in Hartford on the gun charges. He insists he doesn’t know anything about the stolen artwork, though he acknowledged in a 2014 Globe interview that he and Guarente talked about trying to recover the paintings so they could collect the reward. But, a federal prosecutor revealed in court that Gentile last year offered to sell the paintings for $500,000 each to an undercover FBI agent. He also flunked a polygraph exam when he denied that he knew about plans to rob the Gardner museum beforehand and when he denied that he had the paintings or knew where they were, according to the prosecutor. “He is a sick old man and in my opinion showing signs of dementia,” said Gentile’s attorney, A. Ryan McGuigan. “He sincerely wishes the paintings to be returned to the museum, but he simply had no information as to their whereabouts.” Brian T. Kelly, a former federal prosecutor who worked on the Gardner theft investigation until 2013 and is now a partner at Nixon Peabody, declined to comment on information provided by Luisi, but said, “He certainly would be in a good position to know about the Guarente crew, as well as the Philly mob.” The New England Mafia was in disarray in the 1990s, battered by prosecutions and a violent power struggle between warring factions. Luisi was even feuding with his own father, Robert Luisi Sr., who was shot to death by two rivals in 1995 in the infamous 99 Restaurant massacre in Charlestown, along with Luisi’s brother, cousin and another man. Luisi said his bid to become a “made man” in the New England Mafia was blocked by a capo. In a rare and bold move, Luisi asked to join the Philadelphia family, which made him a capo in 1998 and let him operate his cocaine trafficking business out of Boston in exchange for tribute. Luisi’s goal was to create his own family in Boston, with Guarente as his underboss and Gentile as his consigliere. Luisi said he was staying at the Waltham “safehouse” with Guarente on weekdays in the late 1990s, when he introduced him to Gentile, and that Gentile frequently stayed there and did the cooking. Guarente and Luisi used the two-story townhouse to hide from their mob rivals before going home for weekends. When Luisi was released from prison in 2013, he was placed in the witness protection program in exchange for testifying later that year against Enrico Ponzo, a former Boston mob associate. Luisi described himself at the trial as a man who had found God in March 1998, but said he felt he couldn't shed his mob ties at that time. “How could you go out and say, ‘I’m with Christ,’” Luisi said in an interview. “They’ll kill me.” Luisi credits God with leading him to his new life in Tennessee, where he settled three years ago. He has a new wife, Julie, a mother of three who works as an IT manager. She said she was flabbergasted, but undaunted when Luisi revealed his past on their second date. She married him 21 months ago and calls him the love of her life. Prophet Gerald Coleman Sr., the bishop at Faith Keepers Ministries in Memphis, which has about 300 members, said he has known Luisi for more than a year and felt comfortable making him a pastor at the church several months ago. “He’s told me something of his past but I know I don’t know everything bad that happened with him,” Coleman said. “But I do know that he is a man of God who has studied God’s word.” Coleman, who was impressed by Luisi’s 210-page book, “The Last Generation,” said, “I consider myself a good judge of character, and everything I see with Alonso tells me he wants to serve this church and its members and he has our interests closest to his heart.” Luisi said he began working on the book when he was still in prison, earning his theology diploma online and teaching Bible courses to fellow inmates. And even though Luisi said he wants his past identity to be known, so people understand his journey, he plans on keeping his new name. “I like Alonso a lot better than I like Bobby,” he said. “He’s a much better person.”
Empty frame at Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum (CBS)
HARTFORD, Conn. (AP) — A reputed Connecticut mobster who authorities believe has information about the largest art heist in U.S. history remains hospitalized after being injured in jail, and his trial on weapons charges has been postponed. A lawyer for Robert Gentile of Manchester said Friday that Gentile remains hospitalized “in bad shape” after he fell last month at the Wyatt Detention Facility in Central Falls, Rhode Island.
The lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, says jury selection that was scheduled to begin Tuesday in federal court in Hartford has been postponed indefinitely.
A tent set up by the FBI outside Robert Gentile’s home on May 2, 2016.
Prosecutors believe Gentile knows something about the still-unsolved, 1990 theft of $500 million worth of artwork from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, because another gangster’s widow claimed her husband gave Gentile two of the paintings. Gentile has denied knowing anything about the theft.
Accused mobster, near death, denies ties to Boston art heist-lawyer An accused mobster on what may be his death bed once again denied knowing anything about the whereabouts of paintings stolen from a Boston museum in the largest art heist in U.S. history, his lawyer said on Saturday. Robert Gentile, 80, faces charges of selling a loaded firearm to a convicted killer. His attorney contends the case was brought to pressure him into leading federal agents to paintings stolen from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990. Attorney Ryan McGuigan said he visited Gentile in South Carolina this week after being advised by federal officials to tell Gentile's wife, also 80 and in ill health, and son, in his early 50s, to prepare for the possibility of the man's death. "I told him that if there ever was a time to give up some information that you haven't yet, that I don't know, this would be it," McGuigan said in a phone interview. He said he believed that if Gentile were to offer up new information about the paintings, federal officials would allow him to see his family in Connecticut.
"He said, 'Yeah, but there's no painting,'" McGuigan said. "His story has never changed in the six years that I have represented him." A spokesman for federal prosecutors in Connecticut declined to comment. McGuigan said he could not provide more detail on where Gentile is being held. Gentile had been due to stand trial last month on the gun charge, but his failing health delayed proceedings. He has repeatedly denied knowing the whereabouts of any of the art taken in one of the longest-unsolved high-profile crimes in Boston. The theft was carried out by two men dressed in police uniforms who apparently overpowered a night security guard who had buzzed them in a back entrance. None of the 13 artworks, which include Rembrandt's "Storm on the Sea of Galilee" and Vermeer's "The Concert," has been recovered. Due to a quirk in Gardner's will, the empty frames that held the paintings remain on the walls of the museum she built to house the collection she amassed with her husband. The art must be displayed the way it was during her lifetime, preventing curators from hanging new works and leaving a constant reminder of the theft.
At a court hearing last year, federal prosecutors said Gentile was secretly recorded telling an undercover FBI agent he had access to at least two of the paintings and could sell them for $500,000 each. A 2012 FBI search of Gentile's home turned up a handwritten list of the stolen art, its estimated value and police uniforms, according to court documents.
Art Hostage Comments: What Bobby Gentile's Lawyer, Attorney Ryan McGuigan, fails to reveal is the signed deal he has with his client Bobby Gentile, giving him personally at least 40% of the $5 million reward if the Gardner paintings are ever recovered. Bobby Gentile knows this full well and therefore, he might pass away without revealing what he actually knows about the whereabouts of the Gardner art. However, I am sure Bobby Gentile has made provisions for his nearest and dearest to have those facts, so they may be in a position to utilise them after Bobby Gentile leaves this mortal coil. Whether the remaining members of the Gentile family are bound by the signed agreement between Bobby Gentile and Attorney Ryan McGuigan remains to be seen, but the 40% plus demands of Attorney Ryan McGuigan could be counter productive and be the very reason why Bobby Gentile, or his family would not be willing to expose themselves to Law Enforcement scrutiny in pursuit of the Gardner art reward.
Today marks 27 years since the Gardner Art Heist, more to follow.............
Six theories behind the stolen Gardner Museum paintings
Globe Archive Photo
An empty frame where Rembrandt's “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee” was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
By Shelley Murphy and Stephen Kurkjian Globe Staff and Globe Correspondent
Twenty-seven years after two thieves disguised as police officers talked their way into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, tied up the guards and fled with masterpieces worth an estimated $500 milion, it remains the world’s largest art heist and one of Boston’s most baffling mysteries.
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, File / AP
"The Storm on the Sea of Galilee" by Rembrandt, one of more than a dozen works of art stolen by burglars in the early hours of March 18, 1990 from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. For 81 minutes during the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, the thieves pulled and slashed treasured works from their frames. They stole 13 pieces, including three Rembrandts, among them his only seascape, “Storm on the Sea of Galilee”; Vermeer’s “The Concert”; and works by Flinck, Manet and Degas. In a puzzling twist, they walked by more valuable pieces, yet swiped an ancient Chinese vase and a bronze finial eagle from atop a Napoleonic flag. None of the works have ever been recovered, despite the offer of a $5 million reward for information leading to their safe return and promises of immunity. And nobody has ever been charged with the crime. The FBI announced two years ago that it was confident it had identified the thieves -- two local criminals who died shortly after the heist -- but declined to name them. The FBI said it believed the artwork was moved through organized crime circles to Philadelphia, where the trail went cold around 2003.
The investigation remains active and ongoing, according to Kristen Setera, a spokeswoman for the FBI’s Boston office, who urged anyone with information about the whereabouts of the missing works to contact the FBI, the museum, or a third party. “We have determined that in the years since the theft, the art was transported to the Connecticut and Philadelphia regions, but we haven’t been able to identify where the art is right now,” Setera said. Anthony Amore, the museum’s security director, said he remains hopeful that the artwork will be returned. “We are still receiving tips and we really hope the public will send us what they know,” Amore said. “What we’re hoping for are facts, as opposed to theories.” The heist has generated countless theories, involving a dizzying array of suspects, from Irish gunrunners and Corsican mobsters to a Hollywood screenwriter and petty thieves. Here are some of the most intriguing theories considered by investigators over the years: The Merlino crew: The FBI has focused heavily in recent years on the theory that local criminals with mob ties were behind the heist, and said it believes that the two thieves who entered the museum died a short time later. The suspects frequented a Dorchester repair shop operated by Carmello Merlino, a mob associate who boasted to two informants that he planned to recover the artwork and collect the reward. Instead, he was caught in an FBI sting in 1999 and convicted of trying to rob an armored car depot. Despite offers of leniency in return for the stolen artwork, Merlino never produced it and died in prison in 2005. The theory, outlined by the FBI in a PowerPoint presentation a couple of years ago, is that Merlino’s associates, George Reissfelder and Leonard DiMuzio, who both died in 1991, were involved in the theft, along with David Turner and possibly others. Reissfelder, 51, of Quincy, died of a cocaine overdose. DiMuzio, 43, of Rockland, was found shot to death in East Boston. Turner, 49, of Braintree, was convicted in the armored car robbery case with Merlino and is scheduled to be released from prison in 2025. The FBI believes the stolen artwork ended up in the hands of Robert “Unc” Guarente, a convicted bank robber with ties to the Mafia in Boston and Philadelphia, who died in 2004. In 2010, Guarente’s wife, Elene, told the FBI that shortly before her husband’s death, he gave two of the stolen paintings to a Connecticut mobster, Robert Gentile, during a rendezvous in Maine, according to authorities. Eighty-year-old Gentile, who is in failing health and currently in jail awaiting trial on federal gun charges, was ensnared in two FBI stings and promised leniency in exchange for the stolen artwork. He insists he knows nothing about the stolen artwork. But authorities allege that he offered to sell the paintings several years ago for $500,000 each to an undercover FBI agent.
An inside job? Richard E. Abath, the 23-year-old night watchman who buzzed the door to let the thieves inside, has said he believed their claim that they were police officers, investigating a disturbance. He said he knew there were St. Patrick’s Day parties in the neighborhood and thought pranksters could have climbed the iron fence and gotten onto the museum’s property. Once inside, the thieves handcuffed and duct-taped Abath and the other guard on duty and left them in the basement while they robbed the museum. Abath steadfastly maintains that he played no role in the heist and said he felt honored to be guarding the museum’s priceless art. But he told The Globe in 2013 that he had been told directly by a federal investigator several years before, “You know, we’ve never been able to eliminate you as a suspect.” His actions the night of the theft and his lifestyle at the time have raised questions. He was a music school dropout and a member of a rock band. He acknowledged in prior Globe interviews that he often showed up at work drunk or stoned, and, in a major security breach, ushered a small group of friends into the museum after hours for a New Year’s Eve party. Authorities have said the museum’s security protocol prohibited entry of unauthorized personnel, including police, but Abath said he was unaware of that. When the purported officers ordered Abath to step away from the back of the security desk, he complied — removing himself from the museum’s only emergency alarm to the outside world. Abath said he followed orders to avoid being arrested, because he had tickets to attend a Grateful Dead concert later that day in Hartford. Motion sensors that recorded the thieves’ steps as they moved through the museum indicate they never entered the first-floor gallery where Manet’s Chez Tortoni was stolen, according to the FBI and Amore. Only Abath’s steps, as he made his rounds before the thieves arrived, were picked up there, they said. The sensors also revealed that Abath briefly opened the side door to the museum on Palace Road shortly before he buzzed the thieves in at the same entrance. Two years ago, federal authorities released a six-minute video taken by the museum’s security system, which shows Abath allowing a man identified by investigators as an “unauthorized visitor” into the museum the night before it was robbed. The man, who has not been identified, spoke to Abath for several minutes at the security desk before leaving. Law enforcement officials said the video raises questions about whether the man was conducting a dry run for the robbery, which occurred just over 24 hours later. When confronted by authorities about the video a couple of years ago, Abath said he didn’t recognize the man and had no recollection of the encounter, according to those familiar with the investigation. Abath has declined to comment on the video.
Globe File Photo
California screenwriter Brian McDevitt had relocated from Boston to the Hollywood Hills, where he was working as a screenwriter, when his past came back to haunt him. The FBI eyed him as a possible suspect in the Gardner heist in the early 1990s because he was involved in a bungled art robbery in New York a decade earlier that had striking similarities. McDevitt, a Swampscott native, and an accomplice hijacked a Federal Express truck in 1980 and knocked out the driver with ether. Dressed in Federal Express uniforms and carrying duct tape to bind museum employees and tools to cut paintings from their frames, the pair planned to rob the Hyde Collection in Glens Falls, N.Y. The plan was foiled when they got stuck in traffic and arrived at the museum shortly after it closed. They were later identified by the Federal Express driver and confessed. McDevitt, who was 20 at the time, served a few months in jail for the attempted robbery. McDevitt was living in a Beacon Hill apartment when the two thieves dressed as police officers entered the Gardner museum, tied the two guards up with duct tape, and cut some of the masterpieces from their frames. He was interviewed by the FBI a couple of times in 1992, then questioned before a federal grand jury in Boston the following year. At the time, his lawyer told the Globe that McDevitt knows “absolutely nothing” about the Gardner heist and couldn’t provide any information that would help investigators. McDevitt died in Colombia in 2004. He was 43. The Myles Connor and William Youngworth saga It looked like the breakthrough investigators had been waiting for. On Aug. 27, 1997, under a front-page headline that screamed “We’ve Seen It!” The Boston Herald wrote that reporter Tom Mashberg had been shown Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” “Under the soft glow of a flashlight, the painting was delicately pulled out and unfurled by the informant and shown to a reporter during the predawn hours of Aug. 18,” the article said. Although Mashberg later said he had apparently been shown a replica, the article sparked months of negotiations between federal authorities and William P. Youngworth Jr., the informant, in an effort to turn the alleged sighting in a Brooklyn warehouse into a recovery of all the missing artwork. Youngworth, a Brighton antiques dealer, sought several concessions: the $5 million reward; immunity from any prosecution related to the theft; the dismissal of state criminal charges pending against him; and the release of his friend Myles Connor Jr., a notorious art thief from Milton then serving a 10-year prison term on federal drug charges. Connor was in prison at the time of the heist, but investigators had long speculated he was cunning enough to get his hands on the stolen artwork. US Attorney Donald K. Stern demanded that Youngworth provide “credible and concrete evidence” that he could deliver the stolen artwork if his demands were met. Youngworth produced a vial of paint fragments that he said were from one of the stolen Rembrandts. In December 1997, Stern and the FBI announced that the fragments were not from a Rembrandt and the deal fell apart. Yet, in an intriguing twist, an analysis of the fragments done years later indicated they were consistent with paint used by other 17th century Dutch artists, including Vermeer, whose masterpiece, The Concert, was another of the paintings stolen from the Gardner. Youngworth, now living in western Massachusetts, for years has rejected requests for interviews about the saga to recover the Gardner artwork. Mashberg said he now believes that whatever Youngworth showed him for a few seconds in the soft glow of a flashlight was not Rembrandt’s, “The Storm” but a replica. Why? Because the priceless seascape, before the theft, had been covered with protective coating to help preserve it, which would have made it impossible to roll up.
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum / AP
"Chez Tortoni" by Manet.
Notorious South Boston gangster James “Whitey” Bulger The Gardner heist happened at a time when Bulger was Boston’s preeminent gangster, working covertly as an FBI informant. The South Boston crime boss oversaw a sprawling criminal enterprise that rivaled the Mafia and there was widespread speculation that even if he didn’t have a hand in the heist, he likely knew who did. But the FBI and US Attorney’s office said there’s no evidence linking him to the crime. One of Bulger’s closest associates told the Globe during a 2010 interview that Bulger and his sidekick, Stephen “The Rifleman” Flemmi, were not involved in the theft, but made their own unsuccessful search for the artwork. “He was trying to find out who did do it,” said Kevin Weeks, adding that Bulger wanted the paintings to use in the future as a “get out of jail free card.” When Bulger was captured in Santa Monica, Calif. in 2011 after more than 16 years on the run, the FBI found $822,000 in cash and 30 guns stuffed in the walls of his apartment. There was never a whiff about the stolen artwork, and Bulger is now serving a life sentence for 11 murders. Robert Donati and Mafia capo Vincent Ferrara Once one of Boston’s most feared Mafia capos, Vincent Ferrara is at the center of another theory on why the Gardner theft took place – to spring him from federal prison. According to a person familiar with the account, Ferrara’s close associate, Robert Donati, visited him twice in prison shortly after the Gardner heist and confessed that he had stolen the artwork and planned to use it as a bargaining chip to win Ferrara’s release. However, Donati said he was worried about the intense FBI manhunt for the thieves. He said he was going to hide the stolen treasures and lay low for a while before reaching out to negotiate an exchange for Ferrara’s freedom. Donati’s death came before any overture was made, according to authorities. His body was found in September 1991, stuffed in the trunk of his white Cadillac, parked on a street about a half-mile from his Revere home. He he had been viciously beaten and stabbed. The theory involving Ferrara, who was released from prison in 2005, is not the only time Donati’s name has surfaced as a possible suspect. Myles Connor Jr., the renowned art thief, says he and Donati often talked about flaws they perceived in the Gardner museum’s security system and would climb trees around the perimeter of the museum, to try to figure out a possible robbery scheme. One time he said they cased the museum and he told Donati he wanted the Chinese vase, the same one that was stolen in 1990. In his 2009 biography, “The Art of The Heist: Confessions of a Master Art Thief, Rock-and-Roller and Prodigal Son,” Connors wrote that an old friend, David Houghton, visited him in federal prison in California after the heist and told him that Donati was one of the thieves. But, Houghton, who died of a heart attack the year after the heist, said Donati planned to use the stolen masterworks to bargain for Connor’s release from prison.
