My untold relationship with the FBI in the Jimmy Hoffa murder case (Part 3)
The FBI calls six months after Frank Cappola dies
Pictured in distress: Frank Cappola at our final meeting on January 10, 2020. (Copyright © Dan E. Moldea 2020)
* November 26, 2023: My untold relationship with the FBI in the Jimmy Hoffa murder case: “Working on the FBI’s ‘one-way street’” (Part 1)
* December 10, 2023: My untold relationship with the FBI in the Jimmy Hoffa murder case: “Frank Cappola enters the fray” (Part 2)
* January 14, 2024: My untold relationship with the FBI in the Jimmy Hoffa murder case: “The FBI calls six months after Frank Cappola dies” (Part 3)
Introduction to Part 3
This is the third in a series of columns about my relationship with the FBI during the murder investigation of Jimmy Hoffa who disappeared from a Detroit suburb on July 30, 1975.
It features updated excerpts from my memoir, Confessions of a Guerrilla Writer, along with articles, essays, and reports I have also published. Having specialized in investigations of the Teamsters and the Mafia since December 1974, I hit the ground running and began my research about this case the day after Hoffa vanished eight months later.
From the outset, the Bloomfield Township Police Department appeared ill-equipped to handle the magnitude of this investigation, causing U.S. Attorney General Edward Levi to arrange for the FBI to move in and take control of the case.
Using telephone threats against the last known person to speak with Hoffa and another against Hoffa’s attorney-son, the U.S. Department of Justice devised the justification for federal intervention. The legal authority—written by Assistant Attorney General Antonin Scalia, who later became an associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court—was the first official document in what quickly became a blizzard of paperwork within the federal bureaucracy, detailing one of the most widely-discussed mysteries in American history.
A quick summary
* In November 1975, federal witness Ralph Picardo revealed to federal agents that Jimmy Hoffa was 1) murdered in Detroit, 2) stuffed into a 55-gallon oil drum, 3) loaded onto a Gateway Transportation truck, and 4) shipped to New Jersey. . . . Based on his experiences with the mobsters who engineered the killing and at the request of the FBI, Picardo speculated that Hoffa was buried at “Brother Moscato’s Dump” in Jersey City.
* Between 2007 and 2014, Phillip “Brother” Moscato, a soldier in the Vito Genovese Mafia family, told me that Picardo “basically had it right” and that, indeed, Hoffa was buried at his landfill, which was co-owned by his business partner, Paul Cappola.
* In September 2019, Frank Cappola, the oldest son of Paul Cappola, told me that his father, at the direction of Moscato, had buried Hoffa. However, in retaliation against Moscato for assigning him the task of committing this criminal act, Frank said that his father secretly buried Hoffa offsite on state property adjacent to the dumpsite—in an alcove under the Pulaski Skyway. . . . Frank gave me a personal tour of the area on September 29, 2019, which I filmed. Also, at my request, he executed an affidavit on October 7, 2019, attesting to the details of what his father had told him in 2008 before his death.
Resurrecting my FBI contacts
In late November 2019, I publicly revealed a general overview of my numerous interviews with Frank Cappola. However, protecting my story, I held back the specific details of the exact location of Hoffa’s body.
Frank had authorized me in writing to cooperate fully with the law-enforcement community, which I was prepared to do with enthusiasm. In fact, I hoped that I could deliver the entire story to the FBI in a neat package.
Over the years, I had maintained my connections with a half dozen FBI special agents, all of whom were retired by the fall of 2019. One was Tony Daniels, a former assistant director who was also a friend of mine. Among other jobs, Tony was the former special agent-in-charge of the FBI field office in Washington, D.C.
Respecting the traditional “one-way-street” ritual between reporters and the FBI, none of my FBI sources, including Tony, had ever spoon-fed information to me. But I could always depend on them to ensure that I never went off track with my investigations. If I did, they would nudge me back onto the proper path without violating their oaths, sparing me wasted time and money.
Notably, one of my FBI sources expressed total shock when I told him what Frank Cappola had revealed to me. Stunned, the FBI special agent blurted out that an indicted underworld figure had proffered the same location to the FBI in an attempt to plea bargain. But, catching himself before saying too much, the special agent gave me no further information—although he was clearly impressed with what Cappola had disclosed to me.
Sadly though, as 2020 rolled in, none of my FBI sources could arrange an audience for Frank and me with those overseeing the Hoffa cold case, even though I warned them that Frank was ill and had nearly died the previous year.
“Frank, are you okay?”
In early January 2020, Frank Cappola was in New Jersey, visiting his longtime girlfriend, Joy DiBiaso, a legal assistant for a law firm in New York City. Joy, whom I had met during my first visit with Cappola in September 2019, adored him and was very protective of him. Tough-guy Frank and sweet Joy, both in their early sixties, looked like a couple of carefree school kids when they were together. They were in love.
With Joy’s upcoming retirement, she and Cappola were making plans to live together in Florida. But Frank was still ailing after a serious bout with pneumonia.
Before he returned to his home in Florida from this trip, I called and invited Frank and Joy to dinner on Friday, January 10. I took the train to Secaucus and checked into a hotel that was near a sushi buffet that Frank and Joy liked, a place we had visited before.
I was first to arrive at the restaurant. While I was standing in the lobby and Joy was parking her car, Frank slowly walked through the front door with a breathing apparatus in his nose and a small tank of oxygen slung over his shoulder.
Shortly after the hostess seated us, Frank became very weak—so much so that he couldn’t even get up to go to the buffet table. I knew that he liked oysters on the half-shell and shrimp cocktail. So, while he rested, I went to the seafood bar and fixed him a small plate of food. He ate three of the six oysters and three of the six shrimp before pushing his plate away.
When I looked at him, he had a glassy gaze. I reached across the table and placed my hand on his shoulder, asking, “Frank, are you okay?” Moments later, Cappola, breathing irregularly, went headfirst into the table, clearly suffering from some sort of respiratory event.
Joy immediately sprang out of her chair and adjusted his breathing equipment so he could get more oxygen.
“Jesus, Frank,” I exclaimed, “let me call an ambulance!” Joy, almost on the verge of tears, agreed.
Cappola shook his head, saying he just needed to go to bed, adding that he was extremely tired.
Joy ran out of the restaurant to get the car. While Frank and I sat together in the lobby, I snapped a photograph of him, looking almost peaceful. (See the picture above.)
I helped Frank to Joy’s car, repeating that we should go to the hospital. But he refused again, saying that he just needed to get some sleep.
That was the last time I saw Frank.
In the days that followed, Joy took him to a local hospital that was not equipped to deal with his condition. Consequently, the facility moved him to the Hackensack University Medical Center where he was fitted with a ventilator and placed in a drug-induced coma.
Although he briefly opened his eyes from time to time, he never fully regained consciousness, and he never spoke another coherent word.
On March 16, 2020, Frank Cappola died. The FBI never made contact and, thus, did not administer the polygraph test. It was a missed opportunity for all of us.
I blogged out the news of Frank’s death, writing in part:
Now—with Frank gone and assuming that he was right—I am the only person in the world . . . who knows where Hoffa is buried. . . .
In my 45 years of researching this bizarre case, Frank Cappola’s information is the best lead I have ever seen or heard. And I’m sorry that Frank will not be here to see this investigation to its conclusion.
I immediately found a safe place for the videotapes of my September 29, 2019, tour with Cappola at the PJP Landfill, as well as for the films of our interviews.
Determined to discover whether Frank was right or wrong, I mapped out a strategy with a team I had assembled of old friends, trusted associates, and new contacts that we hoped to execute immediately. However, when the worldwide pandemic struck with its full force shortly after Frank’s death, everything was frozen and put on hold.
My appeal to the FBI
After publishing two articles about Frank’s information for The Mob Museum in Las Vegas on July 8 and July 21, I released a third on July 30 for Deadline Detroit in which I complained about the FBI’s inaction. Consequently, I listed several reasons why the FBI or some other law-enforcement agency should step up and obtain a search warrant for that particular alcove under the Pulaski Skyway.
After revealing the exact location of the alcove in my July 21 story, I wrote on July 30:
Today is the 45th anniversary of Jimmy Hoffa's disappearance.
With regard to pinpointing the exact location of Hoffa’s unmarked grave at the PJP Landfill in Jersey City, N.J., here is an inventory of evidence the FBI has or can be given:
1) An FBI-302 report (Nov. 6, 1975) about convicted killer Ralph Picardo, who had an Aug. 4, 1975, prison visit from Steve Andretta, an alleged Hoffa murder co-conspirator. He reportedly told Picardo that a) Hoffa was murdered in Detroit; b) stuffed into a 55-gallon drum; c) loaded onto a Gateway Transportation truck; and d) shipped to New Jersey.
2) An FBI-302 report (Dec. 16, 1975) in which Picardo suggested that Hoffa might have been buried at the 53-acre PJP Landfill, aka “Brother Moscato’s Dump” in Jersey City. In its report, the FBI noted that PJP was owned by “Phil Moscato . . . and Paul Cappola.”
3) An FBI-302 report (Dec. 23, 1975) about the cursory search of PJP in December 1975 by federal agents, who did not have a specific location to excavate.
4) My exclusive interviews with Salvatore and Gabriel Briguglio, as well as Steve and Thomas Andretta (Oct. 25, 1976), alleged Hoffa-murder co-conspirators, in which we discussed Steve Andretta’s prison visit with Picardo and Sal Briguglio’s connection to the PJP Landfill via his close friend, Phillip Moscato, a soldier in the Vito Genovese crime family and co-owner of PJP.
5) My 2007 to 2014 exclusive interviews with Moscato, who admitted that Hoffa was buried at PJP and confirmed that Sal Briguglio, another soldier in the Genovese crime family, killed him.
6) My videotaped tour of the PJP Landfill with Frank Cappola (Sept. 29, 2019)—the oldest son of Paul Cappola, Moscato’s partner at the PJP Landfill—culminating with the exact location of Hoffa’s unmarked grave.
7) A video of my interview with Frank Cappola (Sept. 30, 2019), who explained how and why his father, who gave his son a deathbed confession, buried Hoffa at PJP.
8) A declaration I asked Frank Cappola to execute (Oct. 7, 2019), detailing what his father told him.
9) Frank Cappola’s pledge, also in October 2019, to both cooperate fully with the law-enforcement community and to take an FBI-administered polygraph test, which would indicate no deception in his affidavit.
10) Photos and videos of PJP Landfill, including a map of the EPA cleanup there showing that the Superfund site crews didn't get near Hoffa’s unmarked grave.
The FBI finally comes calling
On September 18, 2020, an FBI special agent and a Bureau analyst contacted me by phone and asked for my cooperation on the Hoffa case, based on recent articles I had written and television shows on which I had appeared. Inasmuch as I was in a “use it or lose it” situation and needed the FBI to perform the excavation, I was more than happy to oblige.
Assuming that the FBI was still snake-bitten from its earlier failed excavations, I told them that, from soup to nuts, my team wanted to give them everything they needed “on a silver platter,” leaving them with nothing to do but perform DNA testing on the contents of the unmarked barrel at the bottom of that unmarked grave in the alcove under the Pulaski Skyway.
Even though I was offering the two FBI people the moon and the stars, they immediately imposed the “one-way street” on me, accepting all the information I had while giving me nothing in return.
At first, I was fine with that arrangement.
Then, trying to be even more helpful, I created a protected webpage online for the FBI, providing links to almost every important document, photograph, and videotape requested, along with any other materials I thought might be useful.
But, recognizing how busy the FBI was with pending 21st-century problems—such as The Capitol Insurrection and foreign cyber-warfare, among other serious national-security threats—I understood why the Bureau was not making this 20th-century mystery a higher priority.
After my first conversation with the FBI—the details of which I shared with the members of my team—I was told by one of our civilian sources on the ground in Jersey City that the area pinpointed by the late Frank Cappola was under constant surveillance, presumably by the FBI, although we had also learned that a local law-enforcement agency had taken an interest in my work and was doing its own discreet background investigation.
If my alleged location of Hoffa’s remains was confirmed, it would vindicate the FBI’s original theory of Hoffa’s whereabouts, based on Ralph Picardo’s information.
In my opinion, the FBI deserved that. After all, from 2007 to the present—via the intelligence I received from Phillip Moscato and Frank Cappola—I had resurrected and then piggybacked on the information that Picardo had first provided to the FBI in November 1975.
If successful, all I wanted was for the FBI to give my team and me a generous public acknowledgment of our contribution to this murder case.
When the moment finally arrived to begin digging for Hoffa, I told the FBI special agent who contacted me in September 2020 that I expected and deserved to be present at the denouement to witness and to report on this monumental event.
Next. . . . Part 4: My team and our negotiations