Big Boy was driving his new ’64 Buick through an industrial area of Secaucus with a long-time friend, one of Tony Pro’s Business Agents.
As they approached the entrance of a small trucking outfit, “Big Boy, pull in here. I been meanin’ to stop by this place.”
Big Boy proceeded as directed. After parking in front of the firm’s office, figuring that this was some Teamster Union business, he did not get out of the car .
“Nah, don’ stay out here. C’mon inside with me.”
Big Boy got out of the car and entered the building with his friend. The Business Agent walked right past the receptionist’s desk. Ignoring the now yelling woman, he went into the owner’s office and then closed the door. The startled man began to get up. The Union official shoved him in the chest, pushing him back into the chair.
The Business Agent took out his Union ID, “I’m with the 560 Teamsters, Tony Pro? You know about Tony Pro?” Looking out the window then around the office, “You got a good little thing goin’ here, about a dozen trucks right? RIGHT? I could shut this place down in 10 minutes. You’d havta start payin’ Union scale, benefits, pensions . . . Things wouldn’t be so rosy then, right? RIGHT? Yeah, well, I’m not here to give ya a hard time. I’m here to help ya. I’m a businessman, you’re a businessman, right? RIGHT? I’m a businessman, you’re a businessman . . . Yeah, well, every week you’re gonna give this guy $300 and things’ll just keep on bein’ rosy.”
Assuming only agreement, the Business Agent turned and walked out with Big Boy following behind him.
Getting back in the car, “Big Boy, every week, half of that $300 is yours.”
“I kept quiet ’cause I din’t wannna screw up y’r deal, but I don’ want no part of this. He calls cop and we got an extortion rap. And, if they ever even delivered a case of anythin’ to New York, it goes Federal: interfering with interstate commerce.”
“Nah, nah, nuttin’ like that ever happens. Y’r worryin’ abou’ nuttin'”
“That’s OK, but I ain’t helpin’ ya wid dis. I’m gonna keep stickin’ wit’ what I know.”