alone in a motel room, later in his parents’ home, each year between fall and winter while his parents were in New York—an arrangement made necessary by his eviction at the age of fifteen from his boarding school dormitory because one day he had led a group of classmates, who were supposed to be visiting a museum, into a film house showing the controversial Forever Amber . He remembered how embittered he was by the punishment, which permitted him to attend classes but prohibited his remaining on campus at night. He was also surprised by his father’s lack of influence with the headmaster, who had accepted generous gifts from the Bonannos in the past, including large shipments of cheese for the school from the factory in Wisconsin, and also butter when it was scarce because of World War II rationing. His parents, remaining in New York because of his father’s activities, could do nothing after the eviction but arrange for him to stay at the Luna Motel, which was owned by a friend of the elder Bonanno and was close to a bus stop where Bill could get a ride to school.
In angry response to his punishment, Bill withdrew his horse from the school’s stable. He kept the animal in a yard behind the motel. The horse and a miniature Doberman pinscher, the same type of dog that was in his car now as he drove upstate, were his main companions during those months his parents were away, and he became very independent and self-reliant. Each morning he got up by himself and made his own breakfast. He spent many evenings alone in the motel room listening to the radio. He remembered the sound of the fast-talking Gary Moore on the Jimmy Durante show and the reassuring voice of Dr. Christian. Occasionally at sunset he took long rides on his horse through the Arizona desert, passing the ranches of the rich, the smoking mud huts of the Zuñi tribesmen, the dusty wranglers and bronco riders who nodded toward him as he passed.
He had first ridden a horse as a three-year-old boy in Long Island, riding on weekends with his father and the other men. Many of Bonanno’s men were superb horsemen, having ridden as small boys in Sicily where horses and donkeys were the main means of transportation; and Bill had many photographs of himself galloping with the mafiosi on weekends through the woods in Long Island. His father insisted from the beginning that he ride a full-sized horse, not a pony, and his pride in his equestrianship compensated to a degree for his lack of achievement as an athlete when he got to high school.
It was not his ear ailment so much as his parents’ travel schedule that limited his participation in organized sports. He wanted to join the football team at Tucson Senior High School, but he was with his parents in New York when football practice began in August. In the winter and spring, when his parents were in Arizona, he spent considerable time with his father after school hours. His life was one of extremes: either he was entirely alone, or he was encircled by his family and his father’s friends. There were times when he wanted to escape the extremities, and not long after his eviction from boarding school he took some money and ran away. He boarded a bus for New York, a five-day journey, and on arriving at the terminal on Forty-third Street off Broadway he took another bus upstate to the family farm in Middletown, which was close to where he was driving at this moment on the New York State Thruway, and he was tempted now to pull off the main road and briefly revisit the farm that his father had since sold. He resisted the temptation, although he continued to think about his visit to the farm many years ago, remembering how upset the farmers were when he arrived, saying that his father had telephoned and had just flown to Tucson in an attempt to find him.
Within a few days the elder Bonanno arrived at the farm, angry at first, but then his anger subsided. He admitted that he had also run away at fifteen, in Sicily, and
In angry response to his punishment, Bill withdrew his horse from the school’s stable. He kept the animal in a yard behind the motel. The horse and a miniature Doberman pinscher, the same type of dog that was in his car now as he drove upstate, were his main companions during those months his parents were away, and he became very independent and self-reliant. Each morning he got up by himself and made his own breakfast. He spent many evenings alone in the motel room listening to the radio. He remembered the sound of the fast-talking Gary Moore on the Jimmy Durante show and the reassuring voice of Dr. Christian. Occasionally at sunset he took long rides on his horse through the Arizona desert, passing the ranches of the rich, the smoking mud huts of the Zuñi tribesmen, the dusty wranglers and bronco riders who nodded toward him as he passed.
He had first ridden a horse as a three-year-old boy in Long Island, riding on weekends with his father and the other men. Many of Bonanno’s men were superb horsemen, having ridden as small boys in Sicily where horses and donkeys were the main means of transportation; and Bill had many photographs of himself galloping with the mafiosi on weekends through the woods in Long Island. His father insisted from the beginning that he ride a full-sized horse, not a pony, and his pride in his equestrianship compensated to a degree for his lack of achievement as an athlete when he got to high school.
It was not his ear ailment so much as his parents’ travel schedule that limited his participation in organized sports. He wanted to join the football team at Tucson Senior High School, but he was with his parents in New York when football practice began in August. In the winter and spring, when his parents were in Arizona, he spent considerable time with his father after school hours. His life was one of extremes: either he was entirely alone, or he was encircled by his family and his father’s friends. There were times when he wanted to escape the extremities, and not long after his eviction from boarding school he took some money and ran away. He boarded a bus for New York, a five-day journey, and on arriving at the terminal on Forty-third Street off Broadway he took another bus upstate to the family farm in Middletown, which was close to where he was driving at this moment on the New York State Thruway, and he was tempted now to pull off the main road and briefly revisit the farm that his father had since sold. He resisted the temptation, although he continued to think about his visit to the farm many years ago, remembering how upset the farmers were when he arrived, saying that his father had telephoned and had just flown to Tucson in an attempt to find him.
Within a few days the elder Bonanno arrived at the farm, angry at first, but then his anger subsided. He admitted that he had also run away at fifteen, in Sicily, and
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