By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
Amid little fanfare, one of New York's most powerful labor racketeers was packed off to an upstate federal prison this month to begin a six-and-a-half-year sentence for bribery and conspiracy. Only a single tabloid squib marked the occasion when Louis Moscatiello pled guilty to six counts of bribery and racketeering, including his participation in the Genovese crime family. Prosecutors said that Moscatiello, 67, served as the mob's point man in no less than three vital construction unions. He regulated who held top union posts, who got the best-paying jobs, and which contractors were allowed to cheat on wages and benefits, thus allowing them to win lucrative contracts by making artificially low bids.
Unions representing the city's carpenters, operating engineers, and plasterers all followed Moscatiello's instructions on those matters, law enforcement authorities asserted, making him one of the most influential, if unheralded, figures in the city's multibillion-dollar construction industry.
In the early 1990s, before new leadership took over, Moscatiello was also the power in the plumbers' union, the Manhattan district attorney's office declared in a series of successful criminal cases at the time.
But while most gangsters rely on a combination of bullets, brawn, and bluster to assert their dominance, Moscatiello, who was ranked by the FBI as an acting captain in the Genovese family when he was arrested last year, never brandished such tactics himself. "He was really a nebbishy kind of person," said one who knew him. "Not a throw-his-weight-around character."
If he wasn't a genuine tough guy, however, Louis D. Moscatiello was a decidedly innovative racketeer.
In one of the most audacious labor swindles in a city that has seen them all, Moscatiello managed in the late 1970s to snatch away the livelihood of several hundred workers whose job was to tape up the seams between drywall boards used in interior construction. The move came in the wake of a months-long strike by the tapers' union that increased wages for the members, thus aggravating many drywall contractors. As court testimony later showed, it was at the urging of an influential mob builder named Vincent DiNapoli that Moscatiello formed Local 530 of the Operative Plasterers & Cement Masons International Association, which promptly asserted union jurisdiction over all drywall work.
The technical basis of the jurisdiction claim was that while the tapers applied the standard three coats of joint compound over wallboard seams, members of the new plasterers' local used a special thin "skimcoat" spread over the entire wall. The advantages of the thin glaze were unclear. Workers derisively called the process a "pisscoat" since it was barely visible and had no visible effect. But because the new local's wages were a fraction of those included in the tapers' contract, and welfare benefitswhen anyone bothered to collect themwere negligible, contractors flocked to sign up with the new local.
Most everyone knew the local was bogus, designed to accommodate mob-tied contractors like DiNapoli, who didn't want to use the legitimate, but more expensive, tapers' union. But when the tapers challenged the job thefts to a panel of the AFL-CIO building trades, top officials there ruled for Moscatiello. The dispute went into federal court, where the two sides have wrangled ever since. Two years ago, in a decision blasting the skimcoat claims, Brooklyn federal judge John Gleeson stated that "Local 530 is an employer-dominated union."
Gleeson ruled that the local had violated prior court orders that Local 530 could be employed only at job sites where architects had specifically called for the skimcoat. Instead, in what the judge termed "quasi-extortion," the local's officers had pressured contractors to employ its members, even if the special skimcoat wasn't used. This went on, Gleeson found, at many of the city's biggest construction projects, including those at Baruch College, LaGuardia Airport, Columbia-Presbyterian hospital, and Penn Station.
The judge ruled the union in contempt, but monetary damagesthe most powerful deterrenthave yet to be assessed. To this day, the union Moscatiello founded still dominates the drywall trade.
"It was the wiseguys' union," said John Alfarone, the former leader of Local 1974 of the tapers' union, who spent 20 years trying to expose Moscatiello's fraud, watching his membership plummet from 1,600 to 300 in the process. "Everybody knew who they were: the government, the builders, the other unions. Still they allowed it to happen."
To do so, Moscatiello needed friends, and powerful ones at that.
Before he got into the labor game, Louis Moscatiello's everyday business was running an insurance and real estate brokerage practice on Bruckner Boulevard in the Bronx's Pelham Bay section. There, he was so adept at backslapping and handshaking that he formed his own Democratic political club in the late 1970s. He helped elect several district leaders, and threw his own hat in the ring for an open City Council seat in 1982. He lost that race, but remained a power to be reckoned with in the north Bronx, so much so that his support was sought by anyone seeking elected office from the district.
When he wasn't dealing with the upper echelons of organized crime and sorting out various labor schemes, Moscatiello was as likely to be found chatting with otherwise upstanding elected officials.