| Tommy Whelan |
by Michael Domino
Copyright © 2007, 2008 by Michael Domino
| Tommy Whelan was a thief and a cat burglar. He moved like a stealth fighter through the night. Breaking and entering was an absolutely undetectable affair with Tommy. He could infiltrate the most sophisticated alarm-guarded fortresses in New York City at record-breaking speed and then disappear without a trace. His career accomplishments were monumental and included museums, libraries, banks, mansions, and penthouses. His capers were conducted with precise planning and careful attention paid to every conceivable detail of entry, recovery, and escape. If not for the disreputable nature of his career path, Tommy Whelan might have been described as a natural-born genius or superstar. In spite of his position relative to the right side of the law, Tommy had come a long way from his humble working-class roots. He associated himself, in a peripheral sense, with the movers and shakers of New York society, although that involved sneaking around their bedrooms looking for jewels and cash. As most thieves serving time will attest, the cliché "loose lips sink ships" applies ten-fold to career criminals majoring in burglary, especially members of the Million Dollar Plus Heist Club. The effort involved in not bragging about a major score is like keeping your birthday a secret or not telling anyone you’d hit the lottery jackpot. The celebration following a big score was held in solitude with a stolen bottle of Dom Perignon, admiring the merchandise piled up on a table or living room floor before carting if off to the fence. A professional thief’s delusions of grandeur can fester into phobias and character defects, surfacing in a myriad of ways. In the case of Tommy Whelan, his overwhelming desire to top his latest, greatest feat dealt him the finishing blow. You see, after being on the fringe of organized crime for almost 20 years, one day Tommy decided that the ultimate challenge of his profession would be to knock off the house of the Boss of Bosses, Big Paulie Castelano. Not only had this feat never been attempted but, most likely, the seed had never even been planted in any other cat burglar's mind. He could imagine the feelings of elation and achievement, sinking back into the comfort of his easy chair after the heist was complete. His bravado would go down in the annals of crime. The reward, if his plan succeeded, would be the ultimate self-fulfillment, not unlike reaching the peak of the world's tallest mountain. The risk, of course, would be unthinkable torture and death by the most ruthless mobsters in the land. It was brilliant and it was crazy. It was a fantasy and a nightmare all balled up into one inseparable thought. Two weeks before he planned to hit Big Paulie's house, he broke through the skylight at Ray Polidori’s house, for a dry run. Polidori was a New York City businessman and part owner of a garage-hauled business currently under indictment for price fixing and a variety of other charges ranging from extortion to racketeering. Tommy made off with about $120,000 worth of pinky rings and $76,000 in cash. Since the Polidori job went well, he decided to climb through the air-conditioning vent of a house belonging to a well- known music industry executive. Tommy, in just under 12 minutes, made off with a Rolex, custom-made brooches, art work and a fur coat. In the pocket of the coat were two theater tickets to an upcoming Broadway musical at the Imperial Theater on West 42nd Street. Considering the magnitude of the crime, the Castelano burglary was fairly uneventful. He threw the Dobermans steaks laced with pulverized Sominex and short-circuited the electric eyes on the lawn. He disabled the alarm system at the street by disconnecting phone lines at the telephone junction box. Then Tommy easily pried his way into the 75-year old mansion through the maid's window, lifted a few choice oil paintings off the mobster's wall, and went out the same way he came in. |
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