The side of Jerry Angiulo not everybody knew

NAHANT – For most people in New England, the name Jerry Angiulo is a keyword for mob killings and underworld violence, generalities like those you might find by searching Wikipedia. It’s an image the FBI spent years cultivating, some of it based on fact while other parts are pure fabrication meant to discredit the man as the U.S. Attorney’s Office pursued its high-profile racketeering case.Back in the 1980s when Jerry was on trial in Boston, a side of his personality that only friends and family had witnessed emerged in the courtroom and in the courthouse corridors. On some days during the protracted trial that lasted for months, Jerry would enter the courtroom on Milk Street, flanked by federal marshals, singing “I’m just a racketeer, that’s all I ever hear,” to the tune of “Just a Gigolo.”Those within earshot would crack up laughing. Sometimes he’d snap his fingers with flourish and break into an abbreviated tap dance.Since he wasn’t allowed to post bail, Jerry got a taste of prison life, amused that the feds preferred he wear white socks. “Imagine that,” he said at the time with trademark sarcasm. “All these years I’ve been wearing black socks and I never knew how dirty they were getting.”Jerry died Saturday, surrounded by family and friends, after fighting renal failure and a host of other ailments. Feared, loved, loathed, admired, he was 90 years old, the last of the old-time Boston mobsters, the underboss. He had style, panache, and above all, humor.By the time Jerry’s trial was fully under way, he’d been in prison for more than two years. Coincidentally, most of the television and print reporters covering the trial were women, which gave me, as The Item’s reporter, a decided edge on getting the daily scoop. When the federal marshals escorted Jerry to the men’s room each morning and afternoon, I would follow along and there – urinal to urinal – collect the anecdote of the day. It sure beat retyping the federal government press release that seemingly never failed to describe Jerry as the Mafioso responsible for dozens of murders, loan sharking, sports betting, extortion and other forms of mayhem.It was during one of these impromptu restroom chats that Jerry elaborated on life behind bars. With his usual wry wit, he said, “Maybe I’m getting used to jail. I’ve got it made. A private room.All that attention. Guys with mattresses strapped to their backs chasing after me all the time.”At this he laughed aloud. “Actually nobody bothers me. Nobody comes over to my cell. And the heat and electricity are taken care of so I don’t need money. I’ve got it pretty good.”When I suggested his holding cell at the Charles Street Jail was a rather prestigious address, the Godfather instantly retorted, “We’re looking into buying the property.” And there was that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.Jerry had a lot of opinions on everything from cars, women and horse racing to boats, fashion and where to get a decent meal in his beloved North End. Food occasionally surfaced in news reports, but they tended to dwell on pork chops. FBI agents had arrested Jerry at Francesco’s, a North End restaurant owned by one of his brothers, months before the trial began. As the feds took him away in handcuffs, Jerry looked at the gaggle of reporters and photographers and said, “I’ll be back before my pork chops are cold.”Jerry never made it back for those chops and the press had a field day with his sensational quote. What most of the journalists missed was the man’s passion for pasta, for good-tasting Italian food without all the fanfare.As Jerry put it, “Francesco’s is just about the only place you can go anymore without having to deal with some fairy waiter coming over to your table with a cloth over his arm to ask what kind of veal you want. In the old days, you walked in and asked the owner what he was making special that day. And you ate it. Today, you got to pay the waiter for pouring your wine. You pay for the red and white table cloth. And the food you