How are the Bulgers going to make ends meet now that their $200-million wrongful-death suit against the Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has been laughed out of federal court in West Virginia?
Let’s make it clear, the Bulgers weren’t looking for yet another obscene handout from the taxpayers, not after their decades of selfless, ahem, labor in the public sector.
No, the first family of South Boston were merely seeking justice for their noble kinsman, James J. “Whitey” Bulger, the serial-killing, cocaine-dealing, bank-robbing pedophile extortionist who was beaten to death in the federal prison in Hazelton, WV, back in 2018.
Cut down in his prime, at age 89.
The ruling to toss the case was made by Judge John Preston Bailey, a George W. Bush appointee who went to Dartmouth College. Dartmouth is also the alma mater of Brian Kelly, the former assistant US attorney who was one of the prosecutors who convicted Whitey of 11 murders in 2013.
If Whitey were still around, you know damn well what would happen next.
This year’s Dartmouth Winter Carnival, which begins Feb. 10, would have been blown to smithereens, like they did with Joe Barboza’s lawyer’s gold Cadillac.
All the Bulgers wanted was another payday, and a mere $200-million one at that.
You think it’s been easy since Whitey took it on the lam, back in 1994? They never won another election. Nobody’s been buried in a shallow grave by a Bulger this entire century.
Jackie Bulger, the youngest brother was stripped of his hack state pension after lying to a grand jury about visiting one of Whitey’s cash-stuffed safe-deposit bank boxes in Florida. Like Whitey, Jackie ended up in custody of the Bureau of Prisons – 23986-038.
Whitey’s nephew and namesake, Jimmy Bulger, is thisclose to Hunter Biden, the president’s crack-addled, stripper-chasing alcoholic son who is now an “artist.” Google their names and “Thornton Group” for more information from Hunter’s laptop.
So at least one member of the family is still cashing in bigtime. Well, two actually. Jimmy’s dad, William M. Bulger, is the patriarch. Billy is Whitey’s little (in more ways than one) brother, the Corrupt Midget as he was known back in the day when he was president of the Massachusetts state Senate.
He’ll be 88 in two weeks. Since 2003 Billy has been scrapping by on a state pension that is now$272,719 a year, or $22,727 a month.
There’s an old saying, it’s one thing to feed at the public trough. It’s another thing to lick the plate.
The Bulgers are all about licking the plate. That’s why they loved the MBTA – Mr. Bulger’s Transportation Authority. After nationwide searches, two of Whitey’s nephews ended up at the T – Patrick Bulger went out with a full pension at age 43 and Mark Bulger had to wait until he turned 45.
One of his nieces, who is still on the Senate payroll for $86,920 a year, married a guy who got his own job on the T, but being a mere in-law, he had to wait until age 52 to start collecting his full pension.
Their lawyer immediately announced he will appeal because… Bulger.
This lawsuit was always going to be a tough sell, claiming victimhood status for a mass-murdering cocaine dealer. So on the appeal, perhaps his family should stress Whitey’s humanity, his charitable instincts.
For instance, the man loved Christmas. It was the most wonderful time of the year. Remember his memorable words as he sat in the back room of the South Boston Liquor Mart every Yuletide, stuffing envelopes full of cash for all the crooked cops – mostly FBI agents – that he was paying off.
“Christmas,” he would say, “is for cops and kids.”
Whitey took great joy in playing Santa Claus. One November, he murdered Paul McGonagle, the brother-in-law of his girlfriend, Catherine Greig. He’d already murdered her other brother-in-law, Donald McGonagle.
Paulie left behind a couple of young sons. The family was destitute, couldn’t collect on any life insurance because Whitey had made his body do the Houdini, down on Tenean Beach. One day just before the holiday, Whitey called the McGonagle household and got his 11-year-old son on the phone.
“Your father’s not coming home for Christmas,” Whitey rasped.
“Who is this?” the little boy asked.
“Santa Claus!” Whitey yelled.
That was testimony in federal court. This is the avuncular presence the Bulgers have been deprived of by a cruel twist of fate. Then there were Whitey’s pals. He always remembered them at Christmas too.
Stevie Flemmi, for example. He and Whitey were partners in crime. When they were murdering “bleepsters,” as Whitey called anyone who crossed him, everyone in the mob had their own job. Whitey strangled or shot the victims. Kevin “Two” Weeks dug the hole in the basement, a guy named Phil Costa brought the lime to make the flesh decompose more quickly.
Stevie’s job was pulling the teeth of the victims, so that their bodies couldn’t be identified from dental records. He had a pair of trusty pliers, but they got rusty. Plus, he and Whitey had begun strangling young women – Stevie’s girlfriends – and it was hard to force the pliers into those smaller mouths.
Stevie was griping about his lack of proper equipment. So Whitey went to his gal pal Catherine Greig (the McGonagle kid’s aunt). She was a dental hygienist, so he told her to go to her boss’ dental catalogue and purchase a pair of the most modern tooth extractors available.
“Merry Christmas pal,” Whitey said as he presented the state-of-the-art upgrade to Stevie. It was a holly jolly Christmas all around at Triple O’s that year.
At Whitey’s trial, it was Stevie who pointed out how much he liked to give presents to all the children of Southie, whether it was Christmas time or not.
“He had a young girlfriend, 16 years old, that he took to Mexico. That’s a violation of the Mann Act.”
One man’s perv is another man’s benefactor. Bulgers, you can have that line. Consider it a belated Christmas gift, in honor of you-know-who.