[clevfan]

Sun, Jun. 11, 2006



Gambling-ring brothers are folding
The Mastronardos will plead guilty to misdemeanor charges and won't contest the seizure of $2.7 million cash.

By George Anastasia
Philly Inquirer Staff Writer

Joe and John Mastronardo, the bookmaking brothers from Montgomery County, have made a fine living over the years taking bets and playing the odds.

Their fancy homes in Meadowbrook and Blue Bell, their expensive cars, and their comfortable lifestyles are testaments to their success.

But last month, with $2.7 million on the line, the self-described professional gamblers folded. They decided to walk away rather than take a shot at getting their money back.

In a deal negotiated with the Montgomery County District Attorney's Office, the Mastronardos have agreed to plead guilty to misdemeanor gambling charges and not to contest the seizure of the cash District Attorney Bruce Castor claims came from their "multimillion-dollar" gambling network.

In exchange, Castor has agreed not to file more serious felony charges against the two.

The case offers a glimpse inside the world of high-stakes sports betting, a world where Joseph "Joe Vito" Mastronardo, 56, is a legend. In that regard, the $2.7 million hit is an indication of how lucrative his bookmaking operation is.

Call it a cost of doing business.

But there was a second element at play in the case: family.

"Some things are more important than money," said attorney Dennis Cogan, who represents Joseph Mastronardo and who is a friend of Joe and John, 50.

The Mastronardos decided not to fight the charges or try to recoup the cash seized during a series of raids on April 24, because Castor's office was threatening to arrest several other family members.

The list of potential targets in the investigation included the Mastronardos' elderly parents, Joseph and Lucy; their businesswoman sister Cindy; and Joe Mastronardo's wife, Joanna, and their 23-year-old son, Joey.

Joanna Mastronardo is the daughter of the late Mayor Frank Rizzo. Joey Mastronardo is Rizzo's only grandchild.

Whether there was enough evidence for the charges to stick was immaterial. The Mastronardo brothers didn't want to risk setting off the media frenzy such allegations could have generated. Think of the headline: "Rizzo's daughter and grandson charged in bookmaking probe."

"I think this was a good deal for everybody involved," said Castor, who by law can spend the $2.7 million on law enforcement activities that otherwise would require taxpayer dollars.

In an interview Wednesday, Castor said the case against the Mastronardos was solid, built primarily around wiretapped conversations. But he also conceded that the threat of charging family members may have helped negotiations along.

"There was some value in not having your wife and family members arrested," he said.

Free on bail, the Mastronardos face possible jail terms when sentenced, although probation is also a possibility. Their business, for now, appears to be shut down. A Web site they used - with ties to a gambling operation in Costa Rica - was not in service last week.

At a hearing following their arrests, both brothers described themselves as "professional gamblers." Cogan said that has never been in dispute.

But what he does dispute is the insinuation that the Mastronardo operation was somehow tied to a Vietnamese gambling ring and a series of assaults that were the catalyst for the county investigation.

In fact, a member of the Vietnamese ring was bringing gambling bets to an associate of the Mastronardos. A wiretap on the associate's phone led investigators to the brothers.

Both Castor and First Assistant District Attorney Risa Vestri Ferman said in response to Cogan's complaints that there was no indication that the Mastronardos were involved in or even had knowledge of the alleged beatings.

Joe Mastronardo's reputation always has been that of the quintessential nonviolent businessman gambler - a sports betting entrepreneur, whose use of the Internet is a sign of how he has adapted with the times.

Fifteen years ago, Mastronardo was cutting-edge, with his use of toll-free phone lines, recorded betting orders, and computerized billing statements. Now, according to the current investigation, he's got off-shore betting through a Web site accessed by passwords issued to customers.

Then, as now, Cogan emphasized, customers were never harassed. Those who failed to pay their debts in years past were simply denied the right to bet with the Mastronardos.

On the Internet, those who didn't bring enough action, the investigation showed, simply had their passwords canceled.

The bottom line, however, was this: While the technology may have changed, the game - and the action - were still the same.

In just three weeks of wiretapped conversations that began on April 5, detectives in Montgomery County heard discussions about payouts and collections of significant sums of cash - $190,000 in one instance, $201,000 in another, and $279,000 in a third, according to documents in the case.

On the day Joe Vito was arrested, he was returning from Florida. In his Cadillac, authorities seized $500,000 in cash. A raid on his home netted another $1 million, and raids at other locations, including John's home, turned up $1.2 million more.

That's the money the brothers are willing to walk away from.

It may be one measure of their success.

Another is found in Montgomery County property records, where Joe Mastronardo's home is assessed at $1.1 million.

The two-story, tan and green European-style villa is on a corner lot in the exclusive Meadowbrook section of Huntingdon Valley.

John Mastronardo's home in Blue Bell is a somewhat more modest property for which, records show, the former Villanova University football star paid $491,845 in 1997.

Both brothers apparently have rebounded from federal gambling convictions back in 1987 that landed Joe in jail for 18 months and John for three.

In fact, in gambling circles the perception has always been that the Mastronardos were open for business.

"They've been booking for the past 20 years," mob associate Angelo Lutz said in a telephone call from a federal prison last week. Lutz, serving an eight-year sentence on gambling and extortion charges, said he'd happily trade his legal problems for those facing the Mastronardos.

"For me, they make gambling a federal offense," the rotund former street-corner wiseguy said. Then he paused, and added, "Maybe that's because I didn't have $2 million to give up."


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