In the Newsday interviews, which provided a deep look into his life and the mob, Franzese acknowledged the cost to his family of his absence. If there was an order, he was gonna obey it.” “He would always say he was gonna die with his boots on, a good soldier. “He put that life in front of everything,” Michael said. His inability to stay out of prison devastated his family and ultimately turned his once-loyal wife, Tina, against him. “I wouldn’t let a dog go to prison,” he said in one of several interviews he gave to Newsday in the two years before he died on Feb. In prison, he built a determined, unbowed existence in an environment where others told him what to do. It was a pattern that would repeat itself over the next 30 years, as he was caught violating parole in the most ordinary of settings - a pastry shop, a diner, a Starbucks - by associating with other felons, his friends. ![]() ![]() Yet four years later, in 1982, Franzese was back in prison for violating his parole. “And we were really going to start to make some noise in the family.” “I was up and coming, and my dad was already there,” Michael said.
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