Philadelphia Daily News (PA); 1354 Words Published: 1984-09-17
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THE NO. 3 MAN IN A DEADLY BUSINESS By ANN W. O’NEILL, EDWARD MORAN and KITTY CAPARELLA, Daily News Staff Writers (Reporter Maria Gallagher contributed to this report.) Source: Philadelphia Daily News (PA); 1354 words Published: 1984-09-17 Section: LOCAL I Page 5 I Edition: 4STAR I Memo: THE TESTA HIT At the tender age of 28, Salvatore A. Testa was a not-so-tender millionaire who had risen hard and fast into the top ranks of the family business. Bold and ambitious, Testa was being touted as the No. 3 man in the business, which in size rivaled some of Philadelphia’s biggest corporations. His rise, accomplished in just three years, was duly noted in April on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. But Testa’s position brought perils with the perks because the business was organized crime, and the "family" was the Bruno-Testa-Scarfo faction of the warring Philadelphia mob, law enforcement officials say. "He was a young rookie playing a man’s game and it caught up with him. He didn’t fear anybody and he relished the image of macho man," said Gino Lazzari, an investigator with the Pennsylvania Crime Commission. "He used to tell people he was going to live high and hard, because he was certain he wasn’t going to go natural." In the end, Testa’s star fell as quickly as it had risen. In his line of work, a South Philadelphia neighbor observed, "You don’t get laid off. You get laid out." With Testa’s departure, "There is an opening in middle management at least," said one law enforcement official, who asked not to be identified. Three times since 1981, Testa showed his knack for dodging occupational hazards - they came in the form of bullets. The most brazen attempt came in broad daylight on July 31, 1982, when shots were fired from a moving car as Testa sat outside a rowhome at 9th and Christian streets, near the Italian Market. Testa was hospitalized in critical condition with eight buckshot wounds to the abdomen, arms and legs. Two low-level rival mob figures, Joseph Pedulla and Victor DeLuca, were later convicted of the shooting. The bullets finally found their mark on Friday. Testa was shot at close range once behind each ear and dumped in a ditch along a two-lane highway in a semi-rural section of Gloucester Township, Camden County. He became the 23rd mob figure to die in the violence fueled by the internal struggle for control of Philadelphia’s organized crime family. "They say a cat has nine lives. Well, it looks like he had four," Testa’s lawyer, Robert F. Simone, said yesterday. Testa’s body bore the scars of the previous attempts on his life, and Dennis Wixted, assistant Camden County prosecutor, called it "a well-traveled road map of mob violence." As he stood Saturday on the marble steps of Testa’s twin house on Porter Street, in the Girard Estates section of South Philadelphia, Simone offered the simplest, most obvious reason for the execution-style slaying of his highly visible client: "Somebody was mad at him." Inside the house, investigators with the FBI, the Philadelphia police and the New Jersey state police were searching for clues to the slaying. Testa, a 1974 graduate of St. John Neumann High School, had been sheltered from organized crime activity as a youth. He attended Temple University for a year, then went into the real estate business. His real estate experience apparently served him well; in 1982 Testa sold to a New York developer for $1.1 million an Atlantic City bar he and a partner - son of slain mobster Frank "Chickie" Narducci - had purchased in 1977 for $195,000. Before the sale, Frank Narducci Jr. had transferred his share of the bar to Testa for $1. In 1981, Testa was initiated into the mob by his father, Philip Testa, successor to the slain Angelo Bruno, who had ruled the family for 20 years. The elder Testa was killed by a nail bomb that exploded on the front porch of the Porter Street house, 12 months after he had taken control of the Philadelphia mob. Salvatore Testa immediately and angrily vowed to avenge his father’s death, and, in fact, he was questioned in connection with the slaying of Rocco Marinucci, who police believe detonated the remote-control porch bomb. But Testa never was charged. As mob-watchers expounded their theories yesterday on why Salvatore Testa was slain, people who knew him gave varying descriptions of the second- generation mobster. He was variously portrayed as personable and polite - "He was nice, very nice° He always showed me a lot of respect," a neighbor said - and brash, ambitious and ruthless. One thing was clear from the accounts: Sal Testa was a walking contradiction. The law enforcement officials who observed his activities described Testa as a high-profile mob "capo," or captain - a cocky wise-guy with a volatile temper and a penchant for bragging. They said he wore open- collar shirts, leather jackets and lots of gold jewelry. He rode around in a late-model Cadillac, surrounded by bodyguards, and had a 34-foot cabin cruiser anchored in Ventnor, N.J. Yet unlike other organized crime figures, Testa had no nickname, a clean police record, and didn’t have "front" occupation. He hung around a variety store at 9th and Christian streets and he played tennis. He once bragged that he had scared the nephew of a rival mob figure into committing suicide. Lazzari, the Crime Commission investigator, said Testa boasted after the suicide: "I don’t have to ’hit’ anybody. I just have to tell them I want to talk to them and they’ll do the job for me." "He had some connections because of his father," Lazzari said. "He had a bit of leadership instinct in him. He didn’t fear anyone. He was a fearless guy° ~I think he got more macho after his father was blown away°" The people who knew him outside the ranks of organized crime found Testa sociable, mannerly and generous. What the law enforcement officials viewed as sneers, those who say they knew the "real" Sal Testa claim, were actually smiles. The guy had a dry sense of humor, they said. About 18 months ago, Testa took up tennis and during the winter, he took $24-an-hour private lessons and played about three times a week at the Pier 30 Tennis, Racquet and Fitness Club, Bainbridge Street and Delaware Avenue. There, he was known as a competitive singles player and a "hard-hitter" on the court. Ray I~lirra, manager of the club, described Testa as personable and well- liked by the tennis pros and other members. He frequently attended staff birthday parties and contributed money for gifts. Although he sometimes joked about his organized crime connections, Testa seemed the opposite of his flashy mobster image; he wore understated tennis whites and bought a $135 racket - not an expensive model. Testa wore no jewelry and drove to the club in a nondescript mid-size car, I~lir~a said. Testa took his tennis seriously, I~li~ recalled. He joined the club as a beginner and rapidly progressed to the rank of advanced intermediate. "He was quite good to move up that fast," l~li~r~ said, and in April the club’s pros awarded Testa a trophy for being the "most improved" player. "He said it was the first trophy he had ever won for anything. It was the best he had done in any sport. I know he was pleased." Testa last played at the club on Tuesday, l~li~ said, and he seemed "more relaxed than usual." He confirmed that Testa had broken up last spring with his fiancee, Maria I~erlino, the daughter of Scarfo underboss Salvatore "Chuckie" Merlino, "but he didn’t talk about it much." The reasons for the break-up are not known,.but lawyer Simone said Testa stayed on good terms with his ex-fiancee and her family. Simone said Testa seemed "in good spirits" when he last saw him Thursday evening at 17th and Chancellor streets. "He felt good, he looked good, and he didn’t seem to have anything serious bothering him." He added, "Look what happened to him in the past few years: He was shot at Virgilio’s (a Bank Street restaurant owned by his father) over parking cars. His mother got sick and died. His father died. He was shot at 9th and Christian, then there was another attempt on his life . The last several years of his life were hell. "He had a lot of property, he had a lot of money from legitimate sources and from money he earned himself. He didn’t need this bull .... He could have gone anywhere. He could have lived an entirely different life . ¯ I feel very bad about it because he was a nice kid." © Philadelphia Daily News (PA) All content is copyrighted and may not be republished without permission..