Pin Action: Small-Time Gangsters, High-Stakes Gambling, and the Teenage Hustler Who Became a Bowling Champion by Gianmarc Manzione Page B
Authors: Gianmarc Manzione
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just before he picked up his ball to throw the shot, he felt the gun of Feely’s backer nudged in his belly and received his orders: “Miss this spare, and you’re a dead man.”
Russo grabbed his ball and stood on the approach, facing the spare that was about to bring on his demise. Then he dropped his ball to the floor, clutched his chest, and collapsed.
Russo was older than most action bowlers. Most action bowlers were in their teens or twenties. But Russo was in his forties, a guy known by neighbors as a mild-mannered family man with kids and a job. The people who populated the life Russo lived by day had no clue about this other Russo, the one who descended into the underworld of action bowling at night. And no one who populated that underworld had any idea what, exactly, Russo did during the day. Fewer could understand how a married family man could also live the life of an action bowler. When did the man sleep? Or did he sleepat all? At his age, though, the probability of a heart attack at least seemed likely enough to be taken seriously. Someone called an ambulance. Paramedics carted him off on a stretcher.
Action bowling’s preeminent escape artist had decided to fake a heart attack.
And that is where tales of the most infamous heart attack ever to occur in a New York City bowling alley diverge. Some say Russo jumped out of the ambulance at the first red light. Others say he made the trip all the way to New York General before skipping out on the doctors. Most of them, though, say the gangsters either torched his car to a crisp or poured sugar in the gas tank. Nobody saw Russo’s face at Avenue M Bowl for months after that, but it was not the only time Russo pulled his heart attack trick. This became the ace up his sleeve he resorted to in similarly desperate circumstances at other bowling alleys throughout the five boroughs, and it is the primary reason why those who witnessed this shyster at work never understood how he always made it out alive.
Russo may have screwed a lot of people in his day, but some of his victims asked for it. One night Russo was bowling for $1,300—a minor fortune in the early 1960s—against a kid who stepped over the foul line on almost every shot, which should result in a score of zero for that shot. With the foul lights not turned on and no foul-line judges in attendance, the kid likely figured no one would notice. Russo felt the kid was doing it on purpose to get a half-step closer to the pins. But he said nothing about it for most of the match, and continued to let the line-step happen. After leaving a 10 pin in the 10th frame, Russo picked his ball up from the rack, strolled down the entire bowling lane, laid out on his stomach, and knocked over the pin with the ball at point-blank range. After he stood up again, he walked back down the lane to the scorer’s table and picked up the $1,300. Splotches of lane oil smudged his shirt.
“You fouled, I fouled!” Russo squeaked in his falsetto to his surprised opponent.
You did not have to be a hustler with a clown act to provoke the wrong man. One night, Johnny Petraglia got the idea to take Mike McGrath, his buddy from California, for a taste of the Brooklyn action. Petraglia knew McGrath was one of the most talented bowlers on the west coast. When McGrath came to visit Johnny in 1963, Johnny smelled an opportunity to score an easy buck. Both later would go on to bowl the PBA Tour. In 1963, though, they were just two more kids looking to turn the thing they loved into the thing they did for a living. Avenue M Bowl was just the place for kids like that. That, at least, was what Johnny thought.
Some who witnessed what happened next would remember gun shots fired through the ceiling. Others would remember shylocks in sharkskin suits standing at the doors with bowling balls in their hands, daring anyone to leave. No matter who told the story, though, the details made it clear that McGrath had seen enough that night—both before
Russo grabbed his ball and stood on the approach, facing the spare that was about to bring on his demise. Then he dropped his ball to the floor, clutched his chest, and collapsed.
Russo was older than most action bowlers. Most action bowlers were in their teens or twenties. But Russo was in his forties, a guy known by neighbors as a mild-mannered family man with kids and a job. The people who populated the life Russo lived by day had no clue about this other Russo, the one who descended into the underworld of action bowling at night. And no one who populated that underworld had any idea what, exactly, Russo did during the day. Fewer could understand how a married family man could also live the life of an action bowler. When did the man sleep? Or did he sleepat all? At his age, though, the probability of a heart attack at least seemed likely enough to be taken seriously. Someone called an ambulance. Paramedics carted him off on a stretcher.
Action bowling’s preeminent escape artist had decided to fake a heart attack.
And that is where tales of the most infamous heart attack ever to occur in a New York City bowling alley diverge. Some say Russo jumped out of the ambulance at the first red light. Others say he made the trip all the way to New York General before skipping out on the doctors. Most of them, though, say the gangsters either torched his car to a crisp or poured sugar in the gas tank. Nobody saw Russo’s face at Avenue M Bowl for months after that, but it was not the only time Russo pulled his heart attack trick. This became the ace up his sleeve he resorted to in similarly desperate circumstances at other bowling alleys throughout the five boroughs, and it is the primary reason why those who witnessed this shyster at work never understood how he always made it out alive.
Russo may have screwed a lot of people in his day, but some of his victims asked for it. One night Russo was bowling for $1,300—a minor fortune in the early 1960s—against a kid who stepped over the foul line on almost every shot, which should result in a score of zero for that shot. With the foul lights not turned on and no foul-line judges in attendance, the kid likely figured no one would notice. Russo felt the kid was doing it on purpose to get a half-step closer to the pins. But he said nothing about it for most of the match, and continued to let the line-step happen. After leaving a 10 pin in the 10th frame, Russo picked his ball up from the rack, strolled down the entire bowling lane, laid out on his stomach, and knocked over the pin with the ball at point-blank range. After he stood up again, he walked back down the lane to the scorer’s table and picked up the $1,300. Splotches of lane oil smudged his shirt.
“You fouled, I fouled!” Russo squeaked in his falsetto to his surprised opponent.
You did not have to be a hustler with a clown act to provoke the wrong man. One night, Johnny Petraglia got the idea to take Mike McGrath, his buddy from California, for a taste of the Brooklyn action. Petraglia knew McGrath was one of the most talented bowlers on the west coast. When McGrath came to visit Johnny in 1963, Johnny smelled an opportunity to score an easy buck. Both later would go on to bowl the PBA Tour. In 1963, though, they were just two more kids looking to turn the thing they loved into the thing they did for a living. Avenue M Bowl was just the place for kids like that. That, at least, was what Johnny thought.
Some who witnessed what happened next would remember gun shots fired through the ceiling. Others would remember shylocks in sharkskin suits standing at the doors with bowling balls in their hands, daring anyone to leave. No matter who told the story, though, the details made it clear that McGrath had seen enough that night—both before
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