Somewhat counterintuitively and despite all that bruhaha broiling in other realms, this much is true: If you wanna know what’s really going down, keep your eyes on The House. Or, more precisely, The Houses. As was widely reported for instance (in this space and elsewhere), the Brady Shrine trading flat a few weeks ago, which I interpret as falling short of a unilaterally encouraging sign.
But now, an even bigger test emerges, as 177 Benedict Road, Staten Island, NY – offered by Connie Profaci Realty, at the sacrificial price of $16.8M, hits the market:
https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/177-Benedict-Rd-Staten-Island-NY-10304/32294383_zpid/
But the sales history, location, comps, amenities, etc., fail to tell the whole story on this here piece of The Rock — as: a) the listing agent is none other than Connie Profaci, daughter-in-law of the late founder of what is now known as the Columbo Crime Family; and b) it was constructed as the palatial residence of the successor to Carlo Gambino himself – Paul (Big Paulie) Castellano. It’s a round trip for Connie, who brokered the last sale of the property – for ~$3M, in 2000.
When Big Paulie took over for his brother-in-law Don Carlo, a lot changed, and not much of it for the better. For one thing, Carlo lived most of his adult life in a modest track house in Brooklyn, a home that stands in dignified contrast to the inappropriately showy digs constructed by Big Paulie:
And by all accounts, Carlo was the better Don. Ran his eponymous outfit like a Special Forces Unit. Maintained an improbable but uber-effective low profile. Served as capo di tutti capi to the 5-family Commission for more than two decades – until his death (of natural causes) in 1976.
Because of Omerta I am not at liberty to mention too much about his reign; suffice to say it was a marvelous time to be a made guy, or even just a connected guy, and that it ended all too soon.
He probably committed his only major error of judgment at the very end of his life, as he prepared for that Big Sit-Down in the Sky, when he failed to appoint his successor from the ranks of the meritorious. Instead, he plucked, from the relative obscurity of the semi-legit meat business his wife’s brother: one Constantino Paul Castellano, and elevated him to the top spot.
History shows that it all unraveled quickly after that. Paulie hired the entirely unreliable Westies as his enforcers, began shaking down his capos in highly indecorous fashion, built himself the above-pictured garish palace, allowed his home/HQ to be bugged by the Feds, engaged in an affair with his Filipino housekeeper, got himself RICO’d, and was facing a few centuries in the can.
Then, just before Christmas in 1985, he took that meeting at Sparks Steakhouse in Midtown, but never made it to the front door.
The guy that did him landed, unsurprisingly, in his seat, and nuance was not his strong suit. Wars ensued. Guys ratted. Most notably his underboss, dropping the dimes on everyone, including Don Carlo’s own son, who left us last week at the advanced age of 94. The Dapper Don eventually landed in jail, where he died, his legend fully intact. But the Gambino Family, and indeed the entire Commission structure, crumbled, and is now a shell of its former formidability.
And the fellow who sits in the White House a few hundred kilometers south of Big Paulie’s manse somehow reminds me of Big Paulie himself.
He was nobody’s choice for the job, and only succeeded because enough of the crew believed the alternatives (basically either DJT or Bernie) were worse. Won the post by staying in his basement and letting his handlers deal with the dirty business of electing him. He blusters and prevaricates. Listens to the wrong people. Quite often makes the wrong decision for the wrong reasons. Demands excessive vig from the ranks – most of which lands in the pockets of his family, cronies, and rent-seeking supporters. In the process, gives comfort to his enemies and ours. All like Big Paulie.
And, in result, though he is rattling his octogenarian bones manfully to retain his spot, he stands every chance of being taken out by perhaps the most thuggish Don in the Lower 48 (who, like Castellano’s brutish replacement, was born in Queens) – blowhard 45. If Biden wins, I believe, it will only be due to our collective fear of turning 45 into 47.
Plus, like Big Paulie, it’s not like 46 doesn’t have legal problems of his own. All that cash flowing into the hands of family members, and nothing for The Big Guy in the White House? Please.
There is barely concealed discontentment among his capos and front-line crew, and, meantime, he’s physically fading in front of our very eyes. His underboss is disliked. To top it all off, given the events of the last fortnight, he faces more pressure to go to the mattresses than at any point during his reign. And, like Big Paulie, he hates going to the mattresses. Doesn’t mind putting guys to bed one at a time, but hates the mattresses, because cannot conceivably benefit from any attendant outcome.
He can perhaps take his greatest comfort from the disfunction emanating from rival crews, most notably the Republican House, which is leaderless, and, as such, takes its instructions from Mitch (The Chin) McConnell, who reminds me of Vincent Gigante – albeit with a better wardrobe.
But for the rest of us, the mattresses beckon. My gut tells me that what we have witnessed in the Middle East is more prelude than afterword. You don’t send a squad into a dozen cities and villages to murder civilians, completely ensuring, among other things, disproportionate retaliation – simply because the terrible return blow will make your enemies look worse than you. And certainly not without having worked out a second strike. Most likely, and as is the consensus, sending your Lebanese goons down south for another massacre of the innocents.
It appears to me that the mullahs are indeed calling the shots here, with the primary objective of creating a full-on conflict with the Western powers. I suspect that if I’m right on that score, they are likely to achieve this goal. I doubt they will derive much benefit, but then again, they didn’t ask me.
However, in terms of the markets, it all feels like suspended animation. The world’s calculus may have changed, but none of the key risk factors I track have migrated out of their current ranges. Not Equities. Not Treasuries.
And not Crude Oil, still trading at levels below where they hovered a week before the attacks. I sense this is all due to comprehensive, well-earned confusion on the part of risk takers.
Thus far, the West has done nearly nothing to counteract the Iranian threat. They continue to export as if nothing has happened. No bank accounts have been frozen. Will this continue? And, importantly, what will the Saudis do? Clearly, the Hamas attack has, at minimum, side-tracked their deal with Israel. But if the war escalates, they will not have the option of remaining silent and passive. Will they fill the Oil production/distribution gap manifested by the Iranian adventure? The market seems to be indicating a belief that either they will, or that the ayatollahs will continue to pump and dump — unimpeded by recent events.
Meantime, we have another house to watch. The House of Representatives, which lacks a Godfather, and which (among other things) cannot possibly pass a budget deal next month.
Inflation ticked up in September and could go into rocket booster configuration if geopolitics incrementally disrupt the energy markets. Q3 GDP drops this Friday and continues to look boffo.
The earnings calendar heats up. No disasters thus far. The Banks came in fine, with the only caveat being that their leadership is scared spitless about the geopolitical situation. This may be a strong earnings quarter, but nothing is likely to repair the current dysfunctionality emanating out of DC.
I am thus advising my clients that other than for the clairvoyant, there is no edge of any kind for incremental risk-taking. Perhaps Staten Island Real Estate is the best bet after all. For < $17M, you can own Big Paulie’s White House, and, while it will cost you $113K/mo to meet mortgage, taxes and maintenance, you should bear in mind that it is > a five bagger since its last sale price in 2000.
Plus, it will keep the world’s most menacing Don out of one White House, while much of the country strives mightily to block his re-entry into the other one.
A couple of words to the wise, though. Don’t even think about stiffing Connie Pro on her commission, as she is likely to take it personally. And do something about it. Which she can.
And, most importantly, if one of your crew invites you for a holiday dinner at Sparks this December, it may be just as well for you to send along your regrets.
TIMSHEL