“Uncle Frank”
“A Woodstock Weekend Lunch with the godfather and his goddaughter”
(an offer I could not refuse) 
Mugshot of Frank Costello
Born
January 26, 1891(1891-01-26)
Lauropoli, Calabria, Italy
Died
February 18, 1973 (aged 82)
Manhattan, New York,
United States
It is summertime 1969 on Long Island and the living it is easy, it is sweet. I am 23 Yrs old and own a kick ass Rock and Roll Bar named “Mothers” on Route 110 in Huntington. The clubs entertainment venue features live Rock bands and Mother’s is a live music cult hit on L.I. with a very hip clientele. Mothers is also L.Is first topless a go- go bar long before pole and lap dancing become considered tart forms..
Large Al at 6’ 4” and 320 lbs and Mark the Dwarf at 4’.2” and 80 lbs are my former high school mates and Mothers most trusted multi functioned employees. Al is a doorman-bouncer and Mark is a waiter- bar back. They also do some topless go-go dancing , another story.
On vacation that spring of 1969, I travel to Miami Beach, the playground of choice for the well to do New Yorkers who aided by aluminum sun reflectors lend serious doubt to the adage that one cannot be too tan. My first pit stop in Miami Beach is the world famous Wreck Bar at the Castaways Hotel on Collins Avenue. The Wreck Bar offered an unfettered windowed view directly into the depths of the swimming pool that is located one floor above and adjacent to the Bar. One could feign idle conversation with one of the bartender’s and sneak a peek through the windows that were located directly behind their obstruction to your view. 
Swimming ballerina style in this world wonder pool is my soon to be new girlfriend Joan. She is of course oblivious to the fact that she is appearing on a water stage for me and the other bar patrons. Long story short, I play Jeffrey the body and lifeguard and we hit it off.
Joan is a New Orleans native, drop dead gorgeous and is gainfully employed as a stewardess for Eastern Airlines. In those days air travel is an almost formal dress affair and not for the minions. This is long before wide bodies became part of your flying experience. Stewardesses in the sexual culture are considered only one little bunny dip behind the bunnies at the Playboy Club. They're air born supervisors are want to be Bunny Mother’s.
Narrow bodied Joan and I party the week away Miami Beach style. Joan and I then regretfully return to our separate lives and careers but make plans to meet upin New York in August the same weekend as the Woodstock Music Festival
Several weeks after returning to N.Y and the club life I purchase a flashy British automobile from a recently divorced Lloyds Harbor L.I. socialite, aka: the rich lady. As it turns out the automobile was part of her divorce settlement and had been her ex husband’s favorite possession. It is a Rolls Royce Vanden Plas 4 Liter R Princess. As it turns out the automobile is very British, it is pompous without circumstance, as is the wealthy Lloyds Harbor socialite seller who is originally from Queens.![] (Vanden Plas 4 liter R Rolls Royce Princess)(
As Woodstock weekend is soon to be, my game plan is to surprise Joan that weekend with my new royal coach. Sensing that to drive your own Rolls Royce would be a sign of bad breeding, I decide to add chauffeur to Large Al’s employment resume, and as a kicker Mark the Dwarf is to be my limousine travel bodyguard. Mark took his new employment position very seriously, and as he will be riding shotgun in the Rolls, he insists on the same firearm as a fashion accessory, and he insists it be loaded, which I see being no problem somehow.
Emulating his hero Paladin, the handle that he now goes by is: Mark-Have Shotgun- Will Travel. Mark though smaller in stature than Richard Boone has a bigger gun and is better looking.
There was no way I was going to miss the Woodstock scene, or so I thought.
Woodstock weekend arrives and it is early morning after a long club night. The Rolls, Al, Mark and I hit Southern state Parkway, three young men going west to Idewild Airport to pick up Joan, and then north to Woodstock.
Large Al cruises the motorized Princess to the upstairs level at the airport and parks the royal coach directly outside the airport front entrance doors, curbside. Yes! In those days it was no problem to have your car and occupants wait curb side for you as you went inside to check on flights and arrivals and departures. I have Al and Mark wait in the car and I go directly, (no security check in those days either) to the gate to meet Joan and her flight. After affectionate kisses, hugs and hello’s Joan and I are walking hand in hand towards the front doors of the airport. Suddenly Joan sees something or someone ahead in the distance and stops mid lovers stroll and screams out: Uncle Frank! Uncle Frank! She then takes off running towards a small dapper looking older man. I am stopped mid stride in surprise. From my viewpoint the man she was calling Uncle Frank appeared to be a well dressed dead ringer for either Jimmy Durante, George Burns, or Vince Lombardi. In retrospect I am glad I never mentioned this particular thought to anyone, most especially Uncle Frank.
Just as she reached the area where this unknown to me man Uncle Frank is, Joan is surrounded by three not so gentle looking gentlemen. The thing that sticks with me in my mind’s eye today about this moment is that U.F and his three buddies looked very similar. Short, middle aged and all are wearing fedoras. Hats or no hats, this entourage of short middle aged men seem to me to be somewhat threatening to Joan in their approach. Fortunately Uncle Frank reciprocates Joan’s excited welcoming waves and screams with a warm hello and affectionate hugs. His three friends/bodyguards as it turns out, back off their guarded demeanor and disappear into the woodwork. I defrost and bop on over to Joan and the little guy with the nice silk suit and am introduced to the man Joan refers to as Uncle Frank
Joan and I and her very charming and gregarious Uncle Frank chit chat for a few moments, he tells us he is just returning from Puerto Rico where he has some Hotel- Casino business interests. U.F then us to lunch with him and his wife at his home in Sands Point L.I.
I, the I is very important here, say: No thanks but we cannot accept his gracious offer as we are planning on heading upstate in my kick ass Rolls Royce Princess, and that we will stop and eat on the road, thanks anyway. Being a sensitive person, I immediately knew that Uncle Frank did not like or accept my refusal of his gracious offer, for his very charming smile disappeared and was replaced by a somewhat sinister look. It was then that I realized that he and his three shadows had something in common. Their looks, and there looks!
Uncle Frank was not accustomed to taking no or even maybe for an answer to an invitation he had made I correctly guess, because he now takes Joan aside and has a few words with her and then makes a hand signal to his three friends aka his three bodyguards and they suddenly reappear as if by magic. Uncle Frank, Joan and I seem to be instantly cocooned as we are gently guided towards the airport front doors. .
However there was a large and a small surprise waiting at the front entrance of the airport. Al and Mark had grown impatient waiting inside the Rolls and they had decided to get out of the car and were waiting directly in front of the airport entrance when our group got outside. When Uncle Frank first saw Large Al and Mark the Dwarf he was shall I say somewhat surprised, most especially since Mark had the big shotgun at his little side! Mark was a disproportionate dwarf, his cajoles, and his heart and soul were extra large compared to the rest of his body. He was also very popular with the go-go dancers at my club and not because they were into short guys.
Sounds of course like a total B.S story, even to me, and I was there then and am now telling the story. But that is exactly what happened!
U.F laughed at the sight, In retrospect for a man who I eventually found out had seen just about all N. Y City has to offer in his time, a giant chaueffeur and a shot gun toting dwarf in full uniform at the airport entrance was extremely ballsy even by U.F. standards. He also got a kick out of my Rolls Royce Princess; after all he was in a Caddy.
Joan was shocked and surprised , excited, laughing, a great few moments in our young lives. Anyway we say what I thought were our goodbyes to U.F and his sinister looking team. U.F and his men head towards his Cadillac and Joan and I and my crew get in the Rolls to head west and then north to Woodstock, or so I thought.
Once inside the Rolls, which at this point was the very least of surprises to Joan, she reiterates to me that we have been invited to Uncle Frank’s house in Sands Point for lunch, and that we are going to do just that, have lunch at U.Fs home this lunch day, Woodstock or no Woodstock Musical festival
I am then informed with Joan’s tear ducts wide open that U.Fs wife, Lauretta , is Joan’s deceased dad Teddy Geigermanns sister and that the man that Joan called Uncle Frank was also Joan’s godfather, a bond they both took very seriously, U.F. Had no children, Joan told me that she had not seen U.F her godfather or Aunt Lauretta(but always called Bobbie) in years, and she was not going to miss the opportunity to spend time with her closest relatives to go to some silly music thing upstate.
Long Island story cut short, Joan hinted that it would be in my best interest to do this lunch thing with her, so I acquiesced and off we went to have lunch at Sands Point. U.F gave my chauffeur L.A directions to # 5 Barkers Point Road, his home address and ended by saying that his house was the one near Perry Como’s home, and that everyone in the neighborhood knew where Perry lived, so if we got lost, just stop and ask for directions to Perry’s house, and the house near Perry’s would be his. Simple! Be there!
During the brief car ride to Sands Point Joan casually mentions to me that her long deceased dad, Teddy Geigerman, had been in the vending business with U.F in New Orleans many years ago when Joan was still a young child. At the moment this is all I know about U.F. and his career choices.
Following U.Fs directions and his Cadillac Large Al rolls the rolls into a driveway on Barker Road, Sands Point that to me seemed longer than the midtown tunnel.
Uncle Frank’s three friends once again seem to disappear and Joan, my crew and I are invited inside to greet and meet U.Fs wife Aunt Bobbie. After fond family hello’s, hugs and kisses for Joan, and formal introductions to me and my crew Aunt Bobbie and Joan disappear somewhere in the large house, (the dining room is bigger than the home I live in) Al and Mark are left to entertaining themselves in U.Fs backyard, and U.F and I are on our lonesome in the grand living room watching a ballgame on the TV.
U.F. is not shy about himself, in fact sometimes he seemed almost to be bragging, but without the arrogance braggarts usually have. U.F. is also probingly curious about my life and my bar business. He tells me he was once in the nightclub business and had owned or was a silent partner in a few gin joints in Manhattan. One of these “Gin Joints” was called the Copacabana, another the Stork Club, which were indeed gin joints I had heard of, but they're best days were long before my time, and I gave the comment no further thought.
U.F is giving me business advice from everything about how much liquor to pour in a drink, to how to deal with employees and unions. He then tells me he is in the gaming business, and advises me to follow his career choice, as it is far more lucrative then the booze business, the legal booze business that is. He mentions that in the 1930’s the booze business was better than it is now and that he had been partners and friends with Joe Kennedy, JFK’s dad, in the bootleg booze business. Therefore I assume that U.F is in politics, or perhaps related to the American royal family, a casino accountant, or maybe a double for Vince Lombardi on football Sundays.
U.F and I hit it off big time Woodstock weekend. I like the man with the raspy voice and the beautiful suits, (he has more suits in his closet than Saks 5th Avenue has in stock), and he likes me and my Rolls Royce attitude. He and his wife Aunt Bobbie have no children and Joan I later find out was like a daughter to U.F and Aunt Bobby.
While U.F and I are shooting the breeze about life and the pursuit of money the phone rings in another part of the house, U.F excuses himself for a few minutes to answer the call and returns to proudly tell me that the call was from his friend John Lindsay, the mayor of NY at that time. As my sphere of interest and attention in those days was mainly in topless dancers, sports and topless dancers, I was not overly impressed at this time. However later in the afternoon another phone call comes in, this time it was another friend of U.Fs, Frank Gifford the New York Giant's runnig back, and a hero to me . This time I was impressed by his friends in high places. As I mentioned go-go dancers and sports are my passions, but if Gypsy Rose Lee had called it would not have had the same effect on me.
However at this moment I am still clueless to exactly who U.F. is, other than thinking that he must be a very important person to have these famous and influential people as friends. I am thinking this charming elderly man could be a former politician, a retired professional football coach, or perhaps an accountant for one of the Hotel-Casinos in Puerto Rico he had mentioned in our afternoon conversation. I later found out he was indeed retired, from a career that only a chosen few are permitted to retire peacefully from.
A few moments later Aunt Bobbie announces that lunch is ready, but first asks L.A. and M.t.Dwarf. to do her a favor and bring some lunch outside to the men in the car parked across the street. I look outside and can see that these are different, very different guys then U.Fs other friends I had already encountered. They were young, in a used Chevy, dressed in Sears and Roebuck suits and sporting crew cuts. They could have been college students. After making their delivery my crew came inside and whispered to me: Cops! I thought that was strange, very, but let it slide. Later U.F divulged to me that the two men outside in the car were FBI agents whom he had become 'friends' with over the years, that were assigned to follow his him and make sure he was o.k. I guess he assumed I knew who he was, but not yet, so it sounded very strange to say the least , but I let it slide,again I am thinking this man must be a big time politician, bag man for a casino, or involved in professional sports, after all Lindsay and Gifford him called him, he didn't call them.
We had a great lunch and a good time was had by all, the larger than life and the smaller than usual. Only after my crew and I left Sands Point and were on the road home did I bother to ask Joan, who the hell was her Uncle Frank, and why would he have F.B.I agents protecting him? I was so not in the know. She said only that his last name was Costello and added rather tersely that she had already mentioned that U.F. had been in the vending business with her dad in New Orleans. End of story and information as far as Joan was concerned.
What I later found out and Joan did not bother to mention was that her godfather U.F indeed had been in the vending business aka slot machine business in New Orleans. He had gone in business in New Orleans only because the former mayor of NY, Fiorello LaGuardia had bounced him and slot machines out of Manhattan years before Joan was born. This I only discovered when I mentioned my meeting with U.F to my mom and dad. They were more or less dumbfounded when I told them who I had met and where I had been. I had met Frank Costello and been to Sands Point! The North Shore setting for Fitzgerald’s novel the Great Gatsby, my mom’s favorite read and the place where the rich people lived. My mom was more impressed because I actually had been in the neighborhood of Perry Como, her and most of America’s housewives TV heartthrob of the moment. My dad was impressed because he was a horse player gambler of sorts and told me that U.F was the gambling czar of the mob. He was known by those in the know, which obviously excluded me, as the Prime Minister of organized crime. His control of the mobs bribe money to Tammany Hall politicians and judges earned him respect and friends in high places and with his peers.
My mom and dad hoped to take my new friendship with U.F. to their advantage. My dad was hoping for a few good tips on the ponies, my mom only wanted to meet Perry.
Besides being of a different generation than those in the know about U.F. and his reputation in New York, I was more impressed with myself than with U.F. He seemed like a nice enough man, but he was short and old, I was tall and young, he used to own a few nightclubs, I owned one now, and most importantly in my mind anyway, he was being chauffeured around town in a Caddy while I was being chauffeured around town in a Rolls. You were your car in my new rich world.
Joan and I spent many weekends with U.F. and Aunt Bobby at their Sands Point weekend home. U.F liked to reminisce about the good old days, and I was an avid listener. He was a wonderful raconteur, generous and charming.
Years later I was at the cinema watching the movie the Godfather. There is a famous scene in it where Marlon Brando playing the godfather has a heart attack while tending his garden. I realized I had been in that same garden many times, and with the same man and at the same house that was represented in the movie.
So although I may be one of the few New Yorkers of my generation to admit that I was not at Woodstock in the summer of 1969, my memories of that weekend are much truer.
This much I know, I had a good reason for not being there.
I was given two offers’ I couldn’t refuse, one by the Godfather, and another by the Goddaughter. (