JerseyManissue2

Bear Hunt!
Who Won?
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Volume 1 • Number 2
CAGE FIGHTING
IN NJ NOWHERE
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jerseymanmagazine.comjerseymanmagazine.com
TEXAS HOLD’EM ROUNDUP
PLUS: BAT BOY MEMOIRS

FEATURES
6
COVER STORY
GEORGE ANASTASIA, THE MOB WRITER
10
COOL LIGHTS GET HOT
THE LED REVOLUTION
12
STEP INTO THE CAGE
CASINOS FUEL MMA FIGHTING BOOM
34
AS THE CARDS TURN
A LOOK AT THE BORGATA’S
TEXAS HOLD’EM POKER TOURNAMENT
38
PHILLY BAT BOY
TALES FROM THE ON-DECK CIRCLE
44
THE BEARS ARE STILL WINNING
NEW JERSEY’S BLACK BEAR HUNT
The Thinking Man’s Guide to an Active Jersey Life
DEPARTMENTS
5
JERSEY JOTTINGS
16
JERSEY HISTORY
GHOST RIDERS IN THE PINES
20
JERSEY SPORTS GUYS
GALLOWAY GOLF PRO MIKE KILLIAN
36
WHAT WE WEAR
GOT HANKIE?
50
FREE TIME
HOOKED ON ORCHIDS
53
TECH TIME
AWESOME MOBILE APPS
56
WHERE WE EAT
BLUE2O, CHERRY HILL, NJ
JerseyMan Magazine, a product of the partnership of Joe LaGrossa, Ken Dunek, and Lou Antosh, is published by New Opportunity Publishing, LLC, with offices
at 7025 Central Highway, Pennsauken NJ, 08109. Copyright 2011.
Ken Dunek
PUBLISHER
Lou Antosh
EDITOR
Emily Givnish
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Steve Iannarelli
ART DIRECTOR
Jeremy Messler
COVER PHOTOGRAPHY
Editorial
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Letter from the Publisher
There was an old Rod Stewart song
withthetitle,“TheFirstCutistheDeepest.”
But after giving birth to JerseyMan
Magazine, the name of this column
could be “The First Issue is the Hardest.”
Don’t get me wrong, it has truly been
a labor of love and a dream come true to publish a regional
men’s magazine that covers the topics we JerseyMen are
interested in. I do want to know why a mob writer chooses
this as a career path, how a junkyard magnate can make
money out of smashed up cars, and what motivates an ulti-
mate fighter to get in the octagon. This is all important stuff for
guys to know!
What has been so incredibly encouraging is the recep-
tion we’ve received after people have seen the inaugural
issue, from both men and women alike. Advertisers seem
to love the concept and are signing on fast and furious.
We’ve shown JerseyMan to executives from other large
local periodicals who are impressed with the layout, the
journalism, and the quality of the reproduction. People
who received their initial copy in the mail have requested
subscription information to make sure they get the next
one. Our website www.jerseymanmagazine.com has had
thousands of hits already, and we have been viewed on
the web in 10 countries so far. There was a line out the door
when we promoted my old Coach Dick Vermeil and his line
of wines at Traino’s in Marlton. It seems that JerseyMan’s
time is here.
So please continue to give us feedback on what you
would like us to be. You can do this by sending an
email to me at ken@jerseymanmagazine.com, or to Lou
at editor@jerseymanmagazine.com. You can also leave us
comments on the website, or call me directly at the office
(856) 813-1153.
If indeed the “first cut is the deepest,” our pledge to you is
to make JerseyMan Magazine’s “next issue the finest.” Just tell
Rod it’s the way we roll here.
Ken Dunek
Publisher, JerseyMan Magazine
Letter from the Editor
Imagine scaling back your family
possessions so they could fit into a
wooden wagon four feet wide, 12 feet
long and a couple feet deep. I often
think about the 19th century pioneers
who did that in order to travel west in
search of a better life. Pushing their horses, pushing their
bodies and straining their spirits every hour of every long
day as wilderness enveloped them.
Oh my God, what, no seat belts?
I thought of those brave souls again recently during a
flurry of public comment about American “exceptionalism.”
Are those pioneers not an example of that very quality that
some critics say is too chauvinistic in this global village?
JerseyMan Magazine is dedicated to the proposition that
rugged individualism still deserves a place on the list of ad-
mirable American qualities.
True, there are 20-somethings in this country who begin
a job interview by asking about retirement benefits. But
even in this age of victimhood and institutionalized pater-
nalism, we know that the high-risk, high-reward spirit of
American exceptionalism survives.
In this issue’s special section, we offer examples of Type-
A, pedal-to-the-metal entrepreneurs who are rolling the dice
in a jolted economy whose dangers loom large on the trail.
Among them are a high school graduate who forsook
“higher” education to crawl under cars that needed towing,
and an ex-convict who believes customers will give him a
second chance (Those long-ago wagon trains were not
entirely peopled by preachers, you know).
We think you’ll enjoy learning how and why these
JerseyMen put their untested ideas into a flimsy wagon
and chose the path untaken.
And please, puh-leeze, give us feedback on our JerseyMan
experiment. Send your comments, carps, story and feature ideas
and requests our way at editor@jerseymanmagazine.com.
Thanks for checking us out.
Lou Antosh
Editor, JerseyMan Magazine
The Thinking Man’s Guide to an Active Jersey Life
www.jerseymanmagazine.com

4 jerseymanmagazine.com
JerseyMan Magazine
Greeting Coach
Vermeil are, from
left, Rex McWilliams
and Russ McConnell,
of Omni Diagnostics.
The Phillies Ballgirls were a big attraction at
the 24th Garry Maddox-Drew Katz Celebrity
Bowling Tournament for charity. Shown with
the girls are, from left, Camden Riversharks
Manager Von Hayes, Katz and Maddox.
JerseyMan tech guru Anthony Mongeluzo, president of
Pro Computer Service, met legendary coach (and wine
producer) Dick Vermeil during a tasting of Vermeil
Wines at Traino’s Wine and Spirits.

Jersey
Jottings
JerseyMan Magazine
Visit: www.jerseymanmagazine.com
Issue 1 - Volume 2 • JerseyMan Magazine 5
The Billion Dollar Lottery Scratch-Off
Lottery Winner No-Shows on the Rise1
Unclaimed Prizes* in 2010: $42.3 Million (Up from $33.9 million in 2009)
1) Prizes unclaimed after 1 year from machine purchase or 1 year from clos-
ing of instant game closing are forfeited by state lottery law. 30% is con-
tributed directly to education and institutions, 70% is reserved for prizes,
unless lottery chief decides to contribute it to education and institutions
2) More than 200 different versions of instant game tickets appeared in 2010.
These two types sewed up the Top 10 Revenue List. (Crosswords took 11 of
the Top 20 spots.)
3) Aid to Education and Institutions.
4) More than 6100 lottery retailers received 5% commission on tickets sold
and 1.25% on winning tickets they validate. Top prize tickets sold earn
bonuses up to $10,000.
5) The Division of State Lottery spent $7,038,893 for advertising in fiscal 2010,
well below the $10,230,662 spent in 2009. Yet, ticket sales increased by
more than $100 million. Inevitable result of a weak economy? Not neces-
sarily. Some states – Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and North Carolina among
them – saw sales drop, while others, Illinois and Ohio, for example, experi-
enced a sales rise like New Jersey's. Source: Division of State Lottery 2010 audit
Instant Games Are HUGE
Crossword Games Are the Instant Kings
Where the $2.6 Billion in Revenue Went (In Millions]
Ticket Sales Up, Advertising Costs Down
Instant Games Are HUGE
Scratch-Off Tickets Raise Half of Lottery Revenue
Instant Game Sales: $1.3 Billion All Other Tickets: $1.3 Billion
Crossword Games Are the Instant Kings2
Crossword Games (5 versions): $192,690,435
Big Money Spectacular (5 versions): $172,465,762
Prize Money . . . . . . . . . . $1,512
Contributions3 . . . . . . . . . . 924
Retailer Commissions4 . . . 145
Vendor Fees . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Administration Expenses. . 18
Networking Fees . . . . . . . . . . 4
Ticket Sales Up, Advertising Costs Down5
Ticket Sales Up More Than $100 million in 2010
Advertising Expenses Down $3 million in 2010
Where the $2.6 Billion in Revenue Went (In Millions]

Despite the Dangers, He Still ‘Gets Close’ to His Sources,
Especially When They Go Straight
George Anastasia
The Mob W
Photography by Jeremy Messler

Grenades through
my window are
very personal.
ARTICLE BY LOU ANTOSH
When John Stanfa was head of the
Philly/South Jersey mob, he’d occasionally be
at his food distribution business in South
Philly and pick up a ringing phone to hear:
“Mr. Stanfa, George Anastasia, Philadelphia Inquirer…”
Click.
That’s as far as the reporter got. In more ways than one,
Stanfa had a fast trigger finger when it came to Anastasia,
the long-time mob writer who back in the early ‘90s was
covering the war between Stanfa’s troops and Joey Mer-
lino’s rebels.
“Stanfa was born and raised in Sicily, he had that true
Sicilian mob mentality,” said The Philadelphia Inquirer’s
Anastasia. “They kill judges and prosecutors over there. If
you’re not with them, you’re against them.”
And so it came to pass, after one particularly annoying
Anastasia phone call, that Stanfa put the word out: “Find out
where that $##*& lives and throw grenades in his window.”
The boys found out that the South Philly-born Anasta-
sia lived in South Jersey, where his family moved when
he was four years old. And they pinpointed his home.
The hit contract, unfulfilled, was unknown to Anastasia
until a few years later, when the thug who secured the
grenades, Sergio Battaglia, called him from prison.
Battaglia was cooperating with the feds and knew the con-
tract on the reporter would become public.
“He said he had to tell the FBI everything and tells me
the story,” said Anastasia, whose soft voice revs up to a
rapid pace as he relates mob tales. “He said by the time
they got the grenades, the war with Merlino was so hot
they stopped looking for me. Sergio says to me ‘It’s noth-
ing personal.’ I said ‘Sergio, I’ve got a wife and two kids.
Grenades through my window are very personal’.”
Aside from that near-miss, Anastasia has toiled without
incident on the sidelines while the goodfellas on both sides
of the Delaware River go about their illegal ways. He says
wiseguys who didn’t like him (Stanfa and Nicodemo
“Little Nicky” Scarfo) wouldn’t ever engage him. But he
has had a fair share of meets and lunches with Philly mob
figures over the years and his opinions vary.
“What the mob has done is taken traditional Italian-
American values – honor, loyalty and family – and bas-
tardized them to their own ends,” he said. That said, he
doesn’t condemn all wiseguys as violent, brutish and de-
void of redeeming values. Especially the ones who have
fessed up and shaped new lives.
He speaks with obvious affection about some others,
several of whom are featured among his eight published
works dealing with organized crime. Of Italian American
extraction, Anastasia said he was fascinated with mob
tales as a youth, and after graduating from Dartmouth
College he wound up covering the dawn of the gambling
era in Atlantic City for the Inquirer in the 1970s. The hook
was set. He was destined to be the Mob Writer.
“Like it or not, it’s part of the American Experience,” he
said. “My name heped me when I started out. For exam-
ple, when I first met Caramandi [hitman Nicholas Cara-
mandi] we connected, we were from the same place,
talking about the neighborhood and how my Uncle Joe
and his Uncle Tony were almost the same people. The eth-
nicity helped and I see that now as I try to write about the
drug gangs and the Russian [gangs] and I don’t have the
same familiarity on a cultural level as I have with these
[mob] guys.”
After 30 years on the scene, Anastasia knows some
stuff, including the whereabouts of some “four, maybe
five” convicted mobsters who were given new identities
and locales via witness protection programs. He speaks
with some amazement at the leniency of some of the deals
given goodfellas.
W
riter

He rattles them off. “Caramandi committed four murders, he
got five years. [Andrew Thomas] DelGiorno admitted to eight
murders and got five years. They’re both out now, they’re in the
wind and they’re not doing well because they just can’t adapt. A
guy like [Phillip “Crazy Phil”] Leonetti, 10 murders, he’s recre-
ated himself, I know what he’s doing right now, he’s got a busi-
ness, a whole different persona.”
The deals are made because the mobsters broke omerta, the
Mafia’s traditional code of silence, he said. “Omerta in Philadel-
phia is like the Liberty Bell – it’s cracked.”
Anastasia knows best the mobsters he has written books about,
including one wiseguy who received a new name and identity but
refuses to leave the area like most witness protection program vet-
erans. The writer found the bald, massive (300 pounds) ex-cop
named Ralph Previte to be literate, funny and enjoyable to be
around, in a word, “fascinating.”
“He has the wherewithal to go anywhere, but one of the rea-
sons I think he stayed in the area was that he grew up in Ham-
monton and likes it. The other thing is, he still wants the adrenalin
rush. Every morning he gets up and the only way he can get that
now is he always has to be looking over his shoulder because he
is still in jeopardy. Psychologically I think that’s what going on.”
Another mob soldier-turned-informant, George Freselone, a sol-
dier in the Jersey branch of the Philly mob under Scarfo, used to
call Anastasia from his sheltered new life in California.
“I can say this now because he passed away,” said the writer.
“He went to California, near Hollywood, and went to work for a
maintenance company, ended up buying the company and he was
cleaning the homes of the stars. He would call me from time to
time and one day he called and said ‘You’ll never guess where I
am. I am buffing Cher’s floor.’
“He called me from time to time, he had turned it around, but,
sadly, he had a heart attack and died.”
Anastasia, who has seen many of his contemporaries take retire-
ment from the newspaper, has no intention of slowing down his
mob writing wheels. In addition to his many meetings and phone
calls with mob-related sources, he has studied countless reams of
transcripts of surveillance tapes unearthed during wiseguy trials.
Tapes of disjointed conversations are difficult to listen to, but the
transcripts reveal nuggets of colorful language. “They’re wonderful
pieces of unguarded moments talking the way they talk,” he said.
When a jury hears a tape of a mobster saying he’s going to
whack a guy, cut out his tongue and send it to his wife, “it is what
it is,” said Anastasia. “The defense attorneys will tell you this –
you can’t cross examine a tape.”
The Mob’s Gene Meltdown
“The best and the brightest in the Italian-American community
today are doctors, lawyers and educators, and so you are kind of
scraping the bottom of the gene pool with this third generation of
organized crime. They’re not as intelligent, sophisticated,” Anas-
tasia said.
The past generation leaders, Philly’s Angelo Bruno and New
York’s Carlo Gambino, made wrong career choices when they
imigrated here, said Anastasia. “But in another time and
another place they could have been CEOs of companies. They
ran organizations in a way that was financially rewarding and
efficient.”
While Bruno used finesse and viewed violence as a last resort,
wiseguys who succeeded him prompted fireworks, he said.
“Scarfo, I think, was a psychopath and Stanfa was another dan-
gerous one. When Scarfo became the boss, murder became the
calling card of the organization. It destabilized things, he would
go to the guns whenever anything went wrong. It’s been steadily
out of control since then.”
Anastasia said the current Philly mob boss, Joseph (Uncle Joe)
Ligambi, seems intent on keeping a low profile, with good rea-
son: the feds are always watching, even more closely now with
new high-tech surveillance tools. “The Philadelphia family is one
of the most recorded families in the United States.” He smiled at
the dialogue on the tapes, saying, “You can’t make it up any
better than it is.”
The Mob Writer’s Newest Book:
Great Mobster Movies
With WIP radio personality Glen Macnow as co-author, Anastasia
is writing a book presenting the top 100 gangster movies of all
time, from The Godfather all the way back to the flicks of the late
Edward G. Robinson.
“One of the sidebars I had a lot of fun with is about gangster
movies in which somebody sings,” he said. “Sinatra sang in Guys
and Dolls, one of the classic gangster movies. My all-time favorite
is Some Like It Hot. People forget that movie begins with the St.
Valentine’s Day Massacre. They (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon) go
on the run in Florida and Marilyn Monroe sings I’m Through with
Love. It defines the word voluptuous.”
To hear a one-hour podcast of the interview with George Anastasia,
go to www.jerseymanmagazine.com.

One of his favorite lines came from a goodfella who tried to
stop another wiseguy from suing his partner. The mobster
explained, as the feds were listening in: “Goodfellas don’t sue
goodfellas; goodfellas kill goodfellas.”
Princess Di at 10th and Shunk?
The mob has “devolved” in the last decade or so, barely more
than a collection of hoods from different corners, said Anastasia.
Philly boss Ligambi has “two or three capos and maybe a dozen
soldiers. It’s not that big an organization.”
And the hoods have engaged in “petty high school kind of bick-
ering, jealousies, upmanship,” he said. Example: When former
Philly boss Ralph Natale came home after 17 years in jail, he took
up with a young woman, a friend of his daughter’s. The young
hoods complained about the relationship and the respect Natale
expected for his girlfriend. Said one: “She’s a broad from 10th and
Shunk and he wants us to treat her like Princess Di.”
The hoods around Merlino, said the writer, “weren’t the brightest
lights and yet they had positions of authority. A guy like [Ron]
Previte looks at that and says, you know, it’s over. You gotta be
Ray Charles not to see it. This organization is going nowhere.”
With the watering down of leadership, some of the traditions
are easing as well, including the criterion for becoming a “made”
member of the mob organization, Anastasia said. “Now if a guy
is a big moneymaker that might be enough for him to get his but-
ton, but in the past he would be made an associate. Unless you
killed somebody or set somebody up or got rid of a body – par-
ticipated in a murder – you were not eligible.”
Joseph S. “Fat Joey” Merlino
A cousin of former Philly mob boss, Joseph S. Merlino co-owns
a company (Bayshore Rebar Inc.) that installs rebar in new com-
mercial construction projects, but the firm was twice denied a li-
cense to work on casino-related work by the state Casino Control
Commission.
Anastastia has written several articles about the “other” Mer-
lino, “who doesn’t like being called Fat Joey because he lost a lot
of weight.” The commission denied the license because of Merlino’s
alleged associations with mob figures,
Cooking Up a Book with
Merlino’s Ex-Chef
George Anastasia is rooting for the success of Angelo Lutz, a for-
mer aide to former Philly mob chieftain Joseph Merlino, who now
operates a restaurant in Collingswood. Anastasia and Lutz said
they are working together on a new cookbook playing on Lutz’
reputation (“I’m a cook, not a crook”) as a member of the Mer-
lino team. Lutz spent seven years in jail on bookmaking charges.
(See Lutz article on Page 31).
[continued on page 54]

YOU SEE THEM EVERYWHERE
– in flashlights, iPods, iPads, laptops, bill-
boards, even high-end car headlights. Ef-
ficient, cool-to-the-touch light-emitting
diodes, or LEDs, promise eventually to
replace almost all of the lighting you use
today – from car headlights to living
room lamps.
“The future is all going to go toward
LEDs,” said Nisa Kahn, president of LED
Lighting Technologies, an engineering
consulting company based in Red Bank.
“The market will easily double in a couple
of years just on the electronic gadgets
alone,” she said.
Here’s a blinking sign that her predic-
tion may come true: LEDs have been a re-
cession-proof business, growing at a 5
percent clip in 2009 into a $5.3 billion
market force despite the dim performance
of the rest of the economy.
But don’t count out Thomas Alva’s
beloved incandescent light bulb just yet.
It turns out that LEDs are not quite A-OK
for every situation. And while LED head-
lights front some premium autos – the
priciest Cadillac, Audi and Lexus models
among them – don’t expect to see them
on smart cars anytime soon.
One problem holding back the LED rev-
olution relates to a fact of simple physics
that Christopher Columbus confirmed
more than five centuries ago: The world
is not flat, nor are most things in it.
Yes, said Kahn, LEDs excel when illumi-
nating flat surfaces, which is why they’re
so popular for backlighting iPads and other
electronic gadgets. But for lighting up
rooms and creating subtleties and atmos-
phere, incandescent and fluorescents still
do a better job than flat LEDs, she said. “I
have a 3D head, not a flat
head,” she said. “If an LED
is illuminating me, it won’t
do a very good job.”
True, designers can com-
bine lots of tiny LED chips
(say, 1x1 millimeters) to
make a more shapely 3D
light source. “But because
they’re little tiny chips, you
would use a million of them
to put them in a ball and make them illu-
minate in every direction,” Kahn said.
“You can make a hunk of LED light like
that and it’ll look nice, but if you start to
compare what you can get with neon or
florescent, you’re not going to find a whole
lot of reason to switch because of cost and
material scarcity.”
But the U.S. Department of Energy is
hoping to accelerate solutions, offering an
“L Prize” of as much as $10 million to
whomever creates an LED alternative to the
most common household lighting – the 60
watt bulb. The winning bulb must be U.S.-
made, consume 10 watts or less, have a life-
time of at least 25,000 hours, light fully
within half a second and
meet a retail price ranging
from $22 the first year to $8
the third year. (A $5 million
prize may be offered in a
competition for an LED al-
ternative to halogen lighting
in retail use.)
Philips Electronics has
submitted a 60W bulb it
says meets the require-
The LED Revolution May Transform
All Lighting, But Not Quite Yet
LED Traffic Lights a Sno Go?
In a cruel twist, the very efficiency that makes LEDs so attractive is causing problems in one popular
application of the technology. In Philadelphia and parts of the Midwest, new LED traffic lights have been
criticized because they generate little heat, so snow and ice don’t melt off the faces and can obscure the
lights, causing perplexing rush-hour confusion and even accidents.
Kahn
BY AARON KASE

ments. The company has one bulb on the
market, EnduraLED, which it says draws
only 12 watts and will save consumers
more than $125 over 25,000 hours. The
cost is $35 and up.
Ella Shum, director of LED research at
Strategies Unlimited, a California-based re-
search company, commented on such
products, saying: “People who have
bought the top quality LED 60W replace-
ment light bulbs at Home Depot marveled
at the beauty of the light. When that $40
bulb comes down in price to around $10,
mass adoption will happen.
“LED will take over traditional lighting.
It is just a matter of time. Compared to
other lighting technologies, it offers high-
est potential for energy savings.”
Car manufacturers are working to over-
come another LED quality and cost hur-
dle, which stems from another LED fact of
life explained by Kahn: Not all LEDs are
created equal. That’s because compounds
used to create LEDs are rare, expensive
and of erratic quality. Not all LEDs last
100,000 hours.
“For a specific example like car head-
lights, you pick the best and brightest
LEDs, they’re the most expensive.” she
said. “LEDs are known for lasting forever
– that’s not true. If you pick the brightest
LED, it doesn’t last as long. Car manufac-
turers are putting them in very high end
cars; they know these cars don’t need to
last 20 years; they need to last only four
to five years. If you look at the lifetime of
the best car LED headlights, they’re about
a fifth of what other LEDs are going to
last. They’re not going to be ubiquitous in
all the cars any time soon.”
(One highly effective use of LEDs is in
strobe-incapacitators for police work, a
tool also known as a “puke ray” that emits
a blinking light that causes targets to be-
come disoriented and nauseous.)
For all this talk of limitations, however,
few would deny that upcoming LED
takeover of lighting. One study concluded
that once consumers begin seeking
knowledge about the savings provided by
LEDs, they will zoom in popularity. LEDs
are even making inroads in such environ-
mental uses as lighting for streets and
parking lots. Though they cost up to five
times as much as conventional lighting
for street installations, the savings even-
tually offset the initial price. And the di-
rectional focus of the LED street lamps
controls light pollution by illuminating
very specific areas.
Despite her cautions about the need to
overcome LED hurdles, Nisa Kahn is all-in
professionally for LEDs. Kahn was part of
the stellar scientist lineup at the famed
AT&T Bell Labs in Murray Hill, a facility
that eventually lost some of its top scien-
tists to academia in the heat of competi-
tion. Kahn, who left Bell in 1999, decided
she liked inventing too much to settle
down and teach.
Once on her own, she decided that
LEDs, just starting to grow into their
own, were the next big thing. Now, her
research promises several huge break-
throughs in function and reliability over
the next few years.
“The whole field of illumination is won-
derful, a wonderful science,” she says,
confident in the future and brandishing a
new motto appropriate to her new career:
“I don’t communicate, I illuminate.”
By lighting up our screens and streets and
becoming an ever greater part of our day-
to-day lives, LEDs are poised to do both. I
There are 10,584,064 LEDs in the $40 million, 160’ x 71’ screen at Cowboys Stadium.
Exactly What Makes an
LED so Flatly Efficient?
Exactly What Makes an
LED so Flatly Efficient?
LEDs are flat-shaped semiconductors
created from compounds that, when en-
ergized with electrical current, directly
convert much of that energy into light.
The quantum mechanics of LEDs are
based on the light energy given off by
subatomic particles – namely electrons –
that orbit around the nucleus (a planetary
model that goes back 100 years) and re-
lease their extra energy gained from the
inserted electrical current.
LEDs are an example of electrolumines-
cence, another phenomenon discovered
a century ago. Unlike incandescent light,
which requires heat, electroluminescence
is light generated by other causes, in the
case of LEDs, electric current.
LEDs are made from compounds, such
as gallium arsenide and indium phos-
phide, whose electrons release light en-
ergy (photons) when electricity gets
pumped through them. You can think of
them as the opposite of solar cells, which
absorb light and create current. LEDs ab-
sorb current to create light.
Researchers learned in the 1960s how to
harness electroluminescence at a low
level and the result was low-intensity red
lights most commonly seen as on-off in-
dicators in appliances. Since then, new
advances have created LEDs which give
off more intense light at cheaper cost.
LEDs are rock stars in the Green Move-
ment because they offer big savings in ef-
ficiency and energy costs over traditional
incandescent or Edison bulbs. Unlike tra-
ditional incandescent lights, which lose
up to 90 percent of their energy though
heat, LEDs coolly convert their energy to
light, not heat.
A well-made LED will use one-tenth the
wattage of an incandescent and may last
more than 40 times as long. Over a year
of normal use, the LED will be responsi-
ble (indirectly, by using power from en-
ergy plants) for only one-tenth of the
carbon dioxide emissions related to an
incandescent bulb.
PhotographbyDaveKozlowski

ARTICLE BY T. JORDAN WOMPIERSKI
ashington Township’s Dan Holmes
works as a kickboxing instructor to
pay the bills, barely. But his other
job, his really big, 24/7/365 job, is
building a dream.
A fighter’s dream.
Every day of the week Holmes trains in the ring or on
mats or, worst of all, he runs hills in Washington Township
for stamina. (“I hate it, but I gotta do it.”) His goal is to be-
come a name in the world of mixed martial arts (MMA),
known to fans as “ultimate fighting” or “cage fighting.” As
a competitor in the Asylum Fight League (ASL), a
Williamstown-based amateur fight league, Holmes is just
getting his feet wet in competitive MMA.
“I’ve been in two Asylum fights so far and I’m 2-0,” he
said. “In my debut, I knocked a kid out in nine seconds in
the main event.” The official record is sparse, but Holmes
is no stranger to confrontation. “I was a bouncer,” he said,
“and I’ve never lost on the street either.”
On March 26, he fights for the ASL light heavyweight
championship at Trump Marina and hopes to climb another
rung toward the well-paying professional leagues. The Ul-
timate Fighting Championship (UFC), the oldest and dom-
inant MMA organization, stages televised events that attract
nearly 2 million viewers. So Holmes dreams while he trains,
shedding some 40 pounds before each event. “I work with
champions every day,” he said. “This is what I love to do.
When you train with so many great people, you get great
things from them all.”
And he puts up with the hills that leave him gasping, and
the two-and-a-half-hour training sessions, and the skimpy
paychecks (“every month some bill doesn’t get paid”), to
find his dream and its $100,000 payday.
Ninety minutes travel time from Holmes, Ricardo
Almeida, 34, is painfully recovering from a December UFC
victory and preparing for his next fight on March 19 at the
Prudential Center in Newark, NJ. The Bordentown resident
made it to the big-time UFC in 2001 when the sport was
just gaining national traction. He calls UFC “competition at
the highest level.”
His unanimous decision late last year boosted his record
to 13-3, and he dominated in the fight. Yet, he said, “there
are still aches and pains that I really didn’t even remember
how they happened until I go back and watch the video
and go, ‘Oh, wow. He hit me here.’
“During the fight, you don’t really feel much. The ur-
gency of having someone in front of you trying to punch
you, kick you, take you down, choke you unconscious, it
just demands so much focus and attention that your body
just kind of blocks a lot of things out.”
The painful spots appear later, “and sometimes they take
a long time to go away.”
Born in New York but raised in Brazil, where he became
a jiu jitsu champion, Almeida is a husband and father of
three. He runs a jiu jitsu academy in Hamilton, using free
time for intense workouts in boxing, wrestling and kick-
boxing, all preparation for around four bouts a year.
W
STEP INTO THE
CAGECasinos are fueling the growth of ultimate fighting and its “Nowhere to Hide” cages

Photography by Tom Shoener
Holmes

Holmes and Almeida are just two of a growing band of Jersey-
based MMA fighters competing under the auspices of a grow-
ing number of MMA leagues popping up in this state. (Why
New Jersey? See sidebar.)
The popular UFC organization is studded with New Jersey
fighters. Toms River native Frankie Edgar, who trains with
Almeida, is current UFC lightweight champion. Nick Catone is
from Brick; Kurt Pellegrino grew up in and fights out of Point
Pleasant; brothers Jim and Dan Miller are from Sparta; and
Almeida’s friend and jiu jitsu master Renzo Gracie fights out of
Holmdel.
Lou Neglia, a three-time world kickboxing champion, runs
the professional Ring of Combat MMA league. The organiza-
tion, which has fed more than a dozen fighters to the larger
UFC, is based in New York, but because New York does not
allow ultimate fighting, Neglia holds his shows in Atlantic City.
Neglia, who just ran a February bout at the Tropicana hotel
in Atlantic City, said MMA fighting “is the most exciting sport
in existence today, and that’s why people love the shows. Peo-
ple just love fighting. I mean, they go to hockey games to
watch fighting sometimes.”
Organizations such as Ring of Combat can afford to pay the
fighters relatively well because the fans can’t get enough of
the action and will keep paying to see it. Neglia said his fight-
ers get paid anywhere from a few thousand to $20,000 just for
appearing, plus available win purses.
Neglia said that while not everybody is made to be a fighter,
“by training hard, you develop a tough personality. Tough
training makes tough fighters.” And training for MMA is as
tough as it gets, he said.
The payoff? “Fighters can better deal with life in general. A
fighter needs to have a certain type of mentality, a very re-
silient type of person in general.”
The amateur Asylum Fight League (AFL) is staging Holmes’
light-heavy title fight at Trump on March 26. AFL founder Carl
Mascarenhas was working to get the event televised, but on
TV or not, he said the place will be jammed. Turnersville res-
ident Stephen Cristelli, 22, makes his amateur MMA debut the
same night.
Mascarenhas also is running a new professional organiza-
tion, the DaMMAge Fight League, which ASL fighter Holmes
hopes to reach by winning and keeping an AFL title for the
205-209 pound class.
“The shows are so exciting that people are dying to get in
there,” Mascarenhas said. “We have such a strong fan base
that if people come to one show, they’re going to come back.”
Where casual observers see brutality in the sport, such ex-
perts as Mascarenhas say MMA is a strategic, calculated sport.
Critics may scream “violence, violence, but it’s the most im-
pressive matchup of chess you’ll ever see and with the slight-
est mistake, the match is over,” he said.
Ring of Combat operator Neglia agrees that “there is a sci-
entific approach to fighting an opponent and you have to
fighter smarter instead of harder sometimes.” The reason?
“There are so many different ways to win or lose in MMA,
which is what makes it so exciting,” he said. “A guy could be
winning a fight and all of a sudden he gets elbowed, or he gets
taken down and submitted, or he gets slammed to the floor, or
he gets punched, kicked, elbowed, or kneed.”
Unless the downed fighter recovers quickly, he may wind
up being “submitted” or “tapping out.” (See sidebar.)
“I’ve been submitted, I’ve been dazed, I’ve been choked out,
and I’ve been submitted again,” Dan Holmes said of MMA train-
ing bouts. “But it’s all educational. The only fight that counts is
the one in the ring, and the trick is that you’re reacting to your
training. You have been in that situation before because you
should have trained to be in that position many times.”
Diverted by a knee injury from high school football, Holmes
first got serious about kickboxing and then found his way to
the cages for the ultimate brand of confrontation. He sees re-
lentless training as his ticket to glory, and maybe cash, as an
MMA fighter. Some days he trains twice, at Budo Full Range
Martial Arts in Voorhees, at Liberty Boxing in Turnersville, or
at the training studio in his Washington Township home.
Of course, training is not fighting in the big leagues.
Mascarenhas said he has seen more than a few prospective
ultimate fighters who are gung-ho on the idea of battling in the
cage, right up until the point they step into the ring and are over-
whelmed by the lights, crowd, and music. Then, they aren’t so
keen on fighting.
But Holmes said he hasn’t been fazed by that. “A fight is a
fight, whether it’s in front of people or whether it’s in the back-
yard with just you and your kid brother,” he said.
Bordentown’s Almeida said fighters can tune out both their
pains and their surroundings in the heat of battle.
“It’s not something you can do without your body being
conditioned,” Almeida said, “but at the same time, it’s so short
and it goes by so fast it’s almost like a roller coaster ride. Re-
ally, when you get hit, for the most part you don’t feel it at all.
I just keep my mind focused on scoring points and winning
rounds and matches.”
And how does the family deal with the sport?
“My wife gets really scared the week of the fight, but during
the preparation she is very supportive,” Almeida said. “My par-
ents have a tough time dealing with it, as far as watching it. They
always get nervous. Both my parents were very good athletes, so
they know what it is to compete and to sacrifice your body for
something you believe in, so they support me tremendously.”
Promoter Neglia said many fighters participate for money
and fame, but “if there is one common goal between all of
these fighters out there, it’s that they love the sport and they
“A fight is a fight,
whether it’s in front
of people or whether
it’s in the backyard.”

love the excitement,” he said.
To Almeida, it is all about winning.
“The will to win under pressure and the
will to win against someone who is try-
ing to take you down is the most appeal-
ing aspect,” he said.
Injuries? Sure, they happen, said Asy-
lum’s Mascarenhas. “You’re not playing
badminton.
“People get black eyes, a broken nose,
that happens. It’s part of the sport. We
had one fight where a guy got cut on the
top of his forehead. Have you ever
nicked your head before? The worst
place in the world to get a cut is your
face or your head because it won’t stop
bleeding. It was just dripping down his
face. It made for a great scary picture,
but it was just a quarter-inch cut that
happened to bleed crazily.”
Minor injuries aside, the sport averts
major injury because of the respect fight-
ers have for each other, he said. “It’s the
safest place in the world to be. There’s a
lot of respect, honor, and dignity in MMA
that you don’t see anywhere else.” I
MMA (mixed martial arts) is a hybrid style of
unprotected fighting, incorporating the skills
and techniques used in multiple disciplines
of combat, both standing – like boxing and
jiu jitsu – and on the ground, like wrestling.
Participants are armed with nothing more
than their bodies and a skimpy pair of mixed
martial arts gloves to protect their hands as
they go to war with fists flying against their
opponent. There are three five-minute rounds
in non-title MMA bouts, five in title bouts.
New Jersey was the first state to adopt
an official set of MMA rules, and Carl Mas-
carenhas, founder of the Asylum Fight
League, credits Nick Lembo, counsel to the
state Athletic Control Board. “He was the
gentleman who actually devised the rules
to allow this to actually be a sport,” said
Mascarenhas.
The first UFC fight sanctioned by a state –
New Jersey – occurred in 2001. Prior to that,
said Mascarenhas, ultimate fighting had few
rules and was controversial. “In the begin-
ning, it was like anybody could get in the cage.
Today, they’re highly trained athletes. It’s not
just two people pummeling each other.”
Mascarenhas said the cage fighting scor-
ing system is based on the number of con-
nected strikes as in boxing. A knockout can
win a fight, as can taking an opponent down
in the dominant position.
“You can win by scoring points, like a 10-
9 round just like it would be in boxing, and
there’s also submitting the person where he
taps out after a joint lock or choke. A joint
lock is like an arm bar or a knee bar, where
you’re actually putting their body in a posi-
tion where you start to hyper-extend an
elbow or a knee.
“If there’s a guy getting consecutively
punched like six, eight, nine times, they’re
gonna stop the fight. If an elbow is bowing
where it shouldn’t be bowing, the referees
absolutely will call the fight.”
A former pro kickboxer who won a gold
medal in the 1995 World Cup, the Por-
tuguese-born Mascarenhas picked New Jer-
sey as the home for his new MMA league
because it provides a nurturing environment
for the sport. The Asylum Fight League aims
to give new fighters, such as Dan Holmes of
Washington Township, a start.
“New Jersey is one of the top places for
MMA. We have a hot bed of MMA gyms
here,” said Mascarenhas.
Young fighters are well aware that New
Jersey’s MMA future is bright. Atlantic City
casino venues are scheduling more and
more MMA bouts. Said young fighter
Holmes: “The sport is growing and the East
Coast is starting to get hit hard with it. At-
lantic City is gonna blow up with MMA. It’s
gonna be real cool.”
What is MMA Fighting and Why Here?
Holmes demonstrates
a choke hold on his
trainer

HistoryJERSEY
“Listen, Friend: Have you ever ridden
100 miles an hour in an open race car
no bigger than a bath tub with the
sun frying your brain, the wind
crushing you against the back of
your seat, your ears splitting with
the staccato music of the motor that
is ever hurling you into the blinding
glimmer of the stretch ahead –
always AHEAD?
If you have, you’re a NUT.”
– Perry Lewis, The Philadelphia Inquirer, as printed
in the May 27, 1927, Official Souvenir Program,
Speedway, NJ
OK, here goes.
You’re not going to believe this.
Once upon a time, amidst what is now a serene pine
forest in South Jersey, race car driving legends from
the dawn of motorsports once fiercely and loudly bat-
tled each other for supremacy at a race course that ri-
valed the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.
See, I told you.
To look at the site now, nestled in the pines, it’s
nearly impossible to imagine. And the race car driv-
ers who drove here were the greatest of their time.
The same guys who drove at Indianapolis, as well as
ARTICLE BY GEORGE R. BRINKERHOFF
Special thanks to Robert Benner,
as well as the folks at www.3widespicturevault.com

Ghost Riders in the Pines
other top racing circuits, drove here – their
generation’s Dale Earnhardt, and Jeff Gor-
don, Mario Andretti and A.J. Foyt – all
fighting for bragging rights and glory in
the South Jersey pines.
The evidence is here, hidden in the
woods near a main thoroughfare just out-
side Hammonton. A dirt road in the shape
of an oval. Built in 1926, the Atlantic City
Motor Speedway (aka, the Amatol Speed-
way, or simply the Atlantic City Speed-
way) was a marvel of 1920s era human
engineering and industry. Four and a half
million feet of lumber (brought in by 253
rail cars) created an oval board track of
two by fours, 1.5 miles long and 50 feet
wide with banked turns on a 45 degree
angle (The boards were placed length-
wise, two inch side up, for the racing sur-
face), and grandstands with a capacity of
40,000 people (there was room for an-
other 250,000 in and around the track).
The place was built and financed by
Charles M. Schwab, steel magnate and
president of, consecutively, Carnegie Steel
Company, US Steel, and Bethlehem Steel.
It was heralded by newsmen of the day as
a new Roman Coliseum.
It also was called “the fastest track in
the world,” allowing for speeds up to 160
mph. In fact, the single lap track qualify-
ing record of 147.7 miles per hour was es-
tablished by Frank Lockhart in May 1927.
(This single lap qualifying speed record
would not be eclipsed again in competi-
tion until the 1960 Indianapolis 500, 33
years later.)
Board track racing truly was a mad
idea. Cobbling together an incredible
amount of lumber, fashioning huge, one-
to-two-mile-long circular or oval bowls
with steeply banked turns, with few or no
Atlantic City Motor Speedway, 1926
When 80,000 Fans Watched “Human Bullets” on the Boards
Pre-race activities in pit lane on the front straightaway in preparation for
the first race ever held at the Atlantic City Motor Speedway, Speedway, NJ,
May 1, 1926. Harry Hartz, of Pomona, California, driving the Miller #3 in
the foreground was the winner of the event, in record time.
Photo from the Collection of Robert Benner

guardrails, and allowing racers in motor-
cycles or open cockpit cars, without so
much as a seat belt, to drive as fast as hu-
manly possible, battling each other for the
privilege of priority. And the board tracks
themselves possessed many safety haz-
ards including deterioration, holes in the
racing surface, splinters propelled in the
air from other vehicles, and road rash with
splinters if you crashed and were thrown
from your vehicle onto the track. Oh, and
flammability. You know, gasoline and oil
on wood? In 1928, for example, during a
30,000-mile endurance test of Studebak-
ers, driver Norman Batten was stopped for
fuel when something exploded under the
vehicle, igniting both it and the track.
Somehow the car was moved, the fire ex-
tinguished and both Norman and the track
were spared.
oard tracks began in the late
1800s as wooden velodromes
constructed for bicycle races.
Wood was plentiful, cheap and
easy to craft, so why not use it for the
emerging automobile and motorcycle
competitive battles? The heyday of the
board tracks, or motordromes, ran roughly
from 1910 to the early 1930s, with a few
lasting into the 1940s. Many tracks were
built all across America. Some were small,
very high-banked affairs built for motor-
cycles only, while others were more
lengthy with slightly more subtle banking
suitable for both autos and motorcycles.
Motorcycle races were especially danger-
ous due to the lack of brakes on the ma-
chines, the high speeds on the steeply
banked tracks, and the absence of barri-
ers between riders and crowds. Auto races
were nearly as risky. The use of a wooden
surface and steep banks meant the drivers
achieved significantly higher speeds than
on dirt tracks or the bricks at Indianapolis.
And so, the board track races led to
both racer and spectator injuries and
deaths, which generated negative public-
ity, which eventually spelled their doom.
It didn’t help that drivers had none of
today’s safety features – seat belts, roll-
bars, or fireproof suits. They wore the
thinnest of leather helmets (and neckties!).
Their shoulders often extended above the
cockpit, and they looked through goggles,
not a windshield.
Despite the risk, or maybe because of it,
board racing was one of the most com-
pelling spectator sports of its era. Newspa-
pers anointed the drivers as “speed kings,”
“human bullets”, and “daredevils.” They
lauded the driver’s bravery and skills, de-
scribing in detail the incidents and crashes,
the injuries and deaths. Such racing was
fiercely defended as one of the boldest,
most fearless and epic of human endeav-
ors. In hindsight, that seems right.
Though billed as the “fastest track in
the world,” the Atlantic City Motor Speed-
way apparently suffered from less re-
ported carnage than other board tracks,
whose spectator seats lined the steeply-
banked curves. Grandstands here were lo-
cated in the long front straightaway. There
were no reported deaths and only a few
notable injuries, mostly to drivers.
If the injury levels were low at the
speedway, the quality of racing was the
best of the best. It included what is now
referred to as open-wheel racing (lighter,
faster, fenderless vehicles built exclusively
for the race track); true stock car racing;
motorcycle racing; and even airplane
racing. By my count, no fewer than seven
winners of the Indianapolis 500 competed
here in South Jersey during the four years
that the Speedway functioned.
In the very first race held at the Jersey
venue in May of 1926, an open-wheel
event, winner Harry Hartz, driving a
Miller, set a new race record for 300 miles
in 2 hours, 14 minutes and 14 seconds.
The NY Times headline announced, “Six
Auto Marks Fall; 80,000 Watch Race,” in-
dicating six automobile speed records for
various distances were set. The Times
said Hartz clipped nearly five minutes
from the 300-mile record and took
$12,000 of the race’s $30,000 purse.
(British-produced newsreel film footage
from this very race can be seen at
http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?
id=25285. The newsreel indicates that the
race was at “America’s Brooklands” in
New Jersey. Brooklands was a major race
track in England. Though the winner’s
name is misspelled Harry Hart, the time
and distance match, along with enough
other details to allow me to confirm this
was the inaugural Atlantic City Motor
Speedway race. The film captures the spec-
tacular scene: grandstands and infield
buzzing with spectators; the speed of the
flimsy-looking open-wheel cars; and the
bravery of the “wheel twister” pilots hang-
ing it all out on the ragged edge.)
This first race was an international
HistoryJERSEY
B
Harry Hartz, one of the top racers of the 1920s.
Atlantic City Motor Speedway was also
used as an endurance testing ground for
automobile manufacturers, including a
non-stop, 20 day, 19 night, 30,000 mile
marathon for Studebakers.
Fromtheauthorscollection

affair, featuring both Count du Marguenat
from France and Baron de Rachewsky,
from Russia. Both a count and a baron,
racing on a board track in South Jersey
against the lowly American commoners –
and the commoners beat them! (The
count couldn’t start the race and the baron
lasted only 11 laps.)
major event in honor the na-
tion’s sesquicentennial (150-
year) celebration lit up the track
on July 17, 1926. Racing prizes
of nearly $50,000 that day were called by
The Hammonton News, “the richest fi-
nancial plum the world of speed has ever
offered.” Three 60-mile races and a 120-
mile feature were offered, with Hartz
again winning the main event.
At a May 1927 race, just 20,000 fans
watched Dave Lewis win the open-wheel
event and then witnessed a crash in the
stock car event. The driver of a Stutz and
his ride-along mechanic (standard practice
for many races run at this time) were se-
riously hurt when they “rolled off the
northern embankment and their car was
smashed to pieces.” The driver in the fol-
lowing car jammed on his brakes and
skidded down the track.
Due to increased publicity and lower
ticket prices, some 75,000 fans attended
the September 1927 stock car races.
Then, just two years after its inaugural
race, the speedway launched what would
be its final season of automobile racing on
May 30, 1928, with great fanfare. The
Hammonton News wrote about “the
biggest board speedway in the east.” It
gushed: “Motorcycle, airplane and auto-
mobile races will dominate the program,
which will be embellished with parachute
jumping acts and trapeze stunts thou-
sands of feet in the air.”
Hopes were high but the year’s atten-
dance figures begin to tell the story. The
May 30, 1928, stock car races drew a re-
spectable 26,000, considering it was on the
same day as the Indy 500 in Indianapolis
that drew many of the best drivers. Two of
three auto races were won by the 1915
Indy 500 winner Ralph De Palma. The pro-
gram also called for professional and am-
ateur motorcycle races. “Wild” Bill
Minnick, known for racing with his sidecar
motorcycle, won the 20-mile professional
race, besting another motorcycle riding star
of the day, Joe Petrali.
At the July 4, 1928, race, the open-
wheel race cars were back. This contest
was won by Fred Winnai in a Duesen-
berg, and drew only 15,000 fans. For the
final automobile race, a mere 2000 peo-
ple watched as Ray Keech, the then
owner of the world straightaway land
speed record at 207.55 mph set the pre-
vious April, won the 100-mile event on
September 16, 1928. The races sched-
uled for October were cancelled.
A last dismal event was held in 1929.
Both professional and amateur motorcycle
races had been scheduled. The spectators
erupted in anger with cries of “Fake!” and
“We want our money back,” and “de-
scended on the ticket booth” when the
professional racers refused to race because
they had not been paid up front by the
promoter. State police “quieted them in
about twenty minutes after several tus-
sles,” said one report. The amateurs did
race, but the promoter was arrested.
Most of the track was eventually torn
down, and in 1933 the Hammonton Fire
Department burned what remained. The
Atlantic City Motor Speedway of the Roar-
ing Twenties remains a fascinating, if
brief, page in the annals of both local and
national motorsports history. I
George R. Brinkerhoff is an attorney, a race fan and
an avid outdoorsman, with an interest in unique
local history.
Such racing was fiercely defended as one of the boldest, most fearless and epic of human endeavors.
A
Racers zoom past the packed grandstands at Atlantic City Motor Speedway.
Photo from the Collection of George Koyt

he nickname just didn’t fit.
Mike Killian looked anything but a “Killer.”
This head golf professional and Director of Golf at Galloway
National Golf Club in Galloway Township has a pleasant grin and
a calm demeanor, hardly the characteristics of someone with such
a ruthless nickname. But when he talks about his life in golf, his
eyes take on a steely glaze as he relates to the countless victims
he has left in his wake.
Born in Syracuse, NY, in 1950, Killian’s family relocated to St.
Petersburg, Florida, in 1960. Mike favored baseball back then, but
a fractured ankle sent him to the links to quench his competitive
thirst. It might have been the best break he ever had.
Under the tutelage of golf professional Irv Schloss (who, by the
way, invented the two-piece golf ball and the graphite shaft), at the
age of 10 Killian went from shooting around 100 to being a plus-six
handicap in two and a half years – and that was only just the be-
ginning. At the age of 15, he narrowly lost the Florida State Cham-
pionship to future golf professional and current ABC golf analyst
Bob Murphy. At 16, he was nosed out in the same tournament by
another familiar golfing name, Calvin Peete. And at 18 years of age
he won the Florida men’s junior title. Not bad for a kid that wanted
to shag fungoes and play pepper just a few years earlier.
He gave the University of Houston a try for one semester but
soon realized he longed for his home and transferred to the
University of Florida, where he joined a golf team consisting of
future PGA stars Andy North, Gary Koch, and Andy Bean,
among others. To tell you a little of how likable a guy Killian
is, he had to sit out more than a year due to NCAA transfer
rules, and the following season he was voted captain of the
golf team without having yet played a match. Killian played
number 3 for the Gators behind North and Koch. This crew
made it to the finals of the NCAA tournament twice before los-
ing to a University of Texas Longhorn team that featured a cou-
ple of guys named Ben Crenshaw and Tom Kite.
In 1971, Killian joined Bardmore Country Club in Largo, Florida,
and became friendly with another member there, the tempestuous
touring professional Tommy Bolt. Bolt was friendly with Ben
Hogan, and offered Mike the opportunity to caddy for one of the
greatest the game has ever seen the following day in an exhibition
match. He immediately agreed and asked Bolt what time he should
show up for the 1 p.m. tee-off time. Bolt replied, “You had better get
here at 7:30 a.m. Ben likes to hit a few balls.” The following day,
Hogan was waiting for his caddy at 7:30 sharp and hit golf balls
until the match began five and a half hours later. As Hogan
used to say, “The secret to golf is in the dirt.” He certainly
made a believer out of his caddy.
Killian’s Top 8 finish in the 1972 National Am-
ateur earned him a spot at Augusta, where years ear-
lier his father had taken him as a spectator, and a
young Mike Killian had boldly and correctly predicted
he would someday play in the Masters. His playing
partner for the practice round was none other than the
JERSEY
SPORTS
GUYS
T
Mike Killian,
Head Professional,
Galloway National Golf Club
ARTICLE BY KEN DUNEK
he golf man of

legendary “Squire” Gene Sarazen. “Mr. Sarazen was a captivat-
ing figure,” Killian related, “but his caddy told us to make sure
we let him make it to the green first so he could reap the ap-
plause from his adoring fans. He also didn’t have much to say to
me, so it made for a long, quiet round of golf.” Killian played
well in the tournament that year, missing the cut by a single shot.
The following year he again qualified to compete for the green
jacket, and found himself playing a practice round with Jack
Nicklaus. “Nicklaus was as friendly and helpful as Sarazen was
aloof and is the ultimate ambassador for golf,” he stated. But
when the competition got heated, Jack hit a drive 40 yards past
the former two-time long-drive champ, gave him a wink and a
smile, and told him, “I’ve got another gear, you know.” Again,
Killian gave a good account of his skills and missed the cut that
year by only three shots.
In 1973, Killian was named to the prestigious Walker Cup team,
where he played with teammates Koch, Dan Edwards, Vinnie
Giles, and Jim Ellis, among others. They were victorious that year,
and Killian relates the story with relish. “It’s hard to play golf with
tears of pride in your eyes,” he said. “But somehow I found a way
to hold it together.”
At this point, you might be asking why you haven’t heard more
about “Killer” Killian reaping fame and fortune on the PGA tour
with many of his contemporaries. “I had some chances,” he
stated. “Had a Top 10 finish in a tour event in Phoenix and missed
the US Open cut by one shot, but I grew weary of the life of a
‘rabbit’ on tour and lost my motivation and competitive edge. So
I went into the bond brokerage business for about six years before
the lure of golf came calling once again.”
Taking an opportunity to become a teaching professional, he
worked at Wood Holme (MD) CC from 1983-1990 and then at
Hollywood (NJ) CC from 1990-2000. He was then offered the po-
sition of Director of Golf from club owner and local banking leg-
end Vernon Hill at Galloway in 2001 and has called it his home
ever since. “Galloway is a flat-out jewel,” Mike said of the Tom
Fazio-designed layout that is a par 71 and plays 7,104 yards from
the tips with a 74.5 rating and a slope of 146. “And we are start-
ing to gain some national recognition.” To attest to its difficulty,
Killian points to last year’s regional US Open qualifier held there.
“To even try to qualify for an Open, you have to be about a 1.2
index,” he said. “Our average score for that qualifier here was
83.7 by players that normally shoot around par. What does that
tell you about the difficulty at Galloway?”
And some of the biggest names in golf have teed it up there in
recent years and commented about it:
Hale Irwin – “I’d love to play it all the time.”
Ben Crenshaw – “This course has unique greens like Augusta
National.”
Tom Watson – “Galloway is a fine course but probably too
difficult for the average golfer.”
Lee Trevino didn’t like it…. “greens are too tough” he said. But
Annika Sorenstam broke par from the forward tees and has a
fondness for the course. Killian adds about Sorenstam, “I’ve been
around some great players, but she is as good as a ball striker as
I’ve ever seen.” Coming from a guy who caddied for Hogan and
played with Nicklaus, that is indeed high praise.
Rocco Mediate, Lorena Ochoa, Lanny Wadkins, and Nancy
Lopez – they’ve all given this monster at the Shore a try. And they
keep calling him to come back.
This golf gangster Killian also mentors a solid group of under-
bosses, including sharpshooters such as former Philadelphia and
New Jersey Amateur Champion Mike Hyland from Marlton, and
Haddonfield’s own three-time New Jersey Mid-Amateur Cham-
pion Tom Gramigna. “I love Mike Killian’s teaching style – less
technical, more feel,” said Hyland. “Anyone with high aspirations
in golf would be well served to take lessons from him.”
So Mike Killian, his wife of 33 years, Linda, and their children,
Blaine and Jackie, have found their hideout down at the Jersey
Shore. And the man they call “Killer” has taken up residence at a
course that can be fatal.
It sounds like a deadly combination to me. I
“I’ve been around some great players,
but Annika Sorenstam is as good as
a ball striker as I’ve ever seen.”
GallowayGalloway

The
Neatest
Junkyard
in
America
S P E C I A L J E R S E Y M A N B U S I N E S S S E C T I O N
ARTICLE BY LOU ANTOSH
Tom Stalba started with one tow truck,
now owns the super-tidy AA Auto Salvage
in Williamstown.
Business
Braveheartsow many startup businesses fail in the first year? Who cares, ask bold entrepreneurs driven by the power of their business
ideas. In saluting all of the state’s entrepreneurs, JerseyMan Magazine spotlights five business owners who illustrate the
startup spirit and courage-under-fire exhibited by Business Bravehearts who fuel the nation’s economic growth.
H
Photograph by Jeremy Messler

“…meaner than a junkyard dog”
That lyric in Jim Croce’s Bad, Bad Leroy Brown triggers an
inner cascade of images in men of a certain age, the grease-
under-the-nails guys who toiled for hours in garages and
driveways. Cars were cool, but the ones teenagers could afford
usually needed work before you could cruise in them. And
so, certain rituals developed.
Hey, man, this car needs a starter. Let’s go over to the junk-
yard and get one Saturday. Maybe that dirtball dog’ll finally
get a chunk of you. Hah!
The junkyard looked like a tornado aftermath, sort of a big-
ger version of your room, only in metal. Uneven mountains of
mashed-up, born-in-Detroit bodies offered a maze of both de-
struction and hope. There was the Harley-Davidson growl of
the mangy dog. And the cynical stare from the weather-lined
guy in charge. It was a mess, but a mess that very likely could
deliver that part you needed.
Tom Stalba was one of those teenage parts-seekers. He re-
members the old guys with the rusted-out voices who would
jab a greasy finger vaguely toward a distant pile of carcasses.
“Look at a Chevy over there, kid.”
Smart and ambitious, Stalba was all over old cars when he
was a student at Williamstown High, rebuilding them with
his dad, Tom Sr., hanging around junkyards, repair shops,
towing yards. The plan was to attend a technical school after
graduation in 1985, get some book knowledge in the auto-
motive field, then find a decent job.
But fate got in the way, and 43-year-old Stalba today is
wheeling a golf cart around AA Auto Salvage in Williamstown,
a massive, eight-acre testimony to what a high school grad with
smarts, passion and drive (but little cash) can do within two
decades in the good, old U.S.A. More than 1,000 mostly totaled
cars roll into his yard each year and more than 100 customers
show up daily or call in for parts big and small. “They line up
outside on Saturdays,” he said. “Saturday mornings are BIG.”
What he purchased as an empty, four-acre lot is now a
sprawling metallic empire, featuring: row after row of dis-
carded cars stacked three-high on vertical racks, each stretch-
ing two football fields or longer; a 36-foot-high, two-level
building housing thousands of engines, transmissions, rears
and other parts; 15 employees, five of them order-takers who
sit all day in front of computers to service the repair shops,
body shops and average Joes who need parts; and... wait,
Tom, where’s the dog?
“No dog,” he said. “Surveillance.”
And there’s more. Yes, the towing business continues. (“I’ve
been doing police towing since 1990.”) And Stalba now owns
a 50-acre nursery a mile away on Black Horse Pike; he bought
it partly for the business, partly for expansion space. He’s got
“a couple other properties around.” And whenever the
weather turns and he can get away from squeezing every last
part out of the 25 smacked-up cars arriving daily, he travels
around the East Coast, sometimes California, to zoom 190
miles an hour down drag tracks in his dragster. (He was
runner-up in the world championship two years running.)
Tom Stalba, who wound you up, man?
“I guess I just had a drive and a list of things I wanted to
do,” he said, inside the headquarters building on East Piney
Hollow Road road in the Pinelands a few miles from the
Atlantic City Expressway. “I was 19 and sat down with my
parents and said I just know I can make a business go.”
He worked as a Trump casino waiter after graduating, got
to like the money, scrapped school plans and eventually set up
a part-time towing business that exposed him to lots of ex-
perts in the auto salvage and parts business. He soaked up
their wisdom. The part-time towing business became full time
and then, at 25, he jumped at a chance to buy the
Williamstown lot.
“I was in and out of a lot of junkyards and I was liking it,”
said Stalba, whose wide mouth often alternately accompanies
a grin or a squint, giving him a perpetually upbeat look. “The
cars, the parts, the crusher, all that stuff that was going on. I
thought the parts end was really neat and decided to try it.”
AA Auto Salvage looks nothing like the junkyards Jim Croce
knew. Stalba has his men strip vulnerable parts from salvage
cars to get them indoors. He climbed two sets of stairs in the
main workshop (100 by 50 feet) and pointed to shelf after
shelf of transmissions and rears. Five mechanics work there,
some spend each day taking out parts that have been ordered,
then remove everything but the crushable carcass.
Efficiency is something Stalba often mentions in conversa-
tion. He doesn’t mention neatness, but it shows. In the com-
bined office/showroom, used radios hang together on a
display rack. Two nicely upholstered seats look just about
new. Shiny wheels catch the eye. Very unjunkyardy.
He witnessed the tail end of the era when junkyards were
a disheveled environmental disaster-in-waiting. “The days are
over when they would roll a car over, torch it and let all the
fluids go into the ground,” he said. State and federal environ-
mental laws have forced many changes and his operation
Each spring, Stalba and his father travel the East Coast drag racing circuit.

houses auto fluids in concrete holding areas, that the EPA
checks twice annually.
Stalba needed no authority to tell him how to run a tidy
ship. “I can tell you exactly where everything is,” he said.
“When a car comes in, it is inventoried and given a stock
number, all the racks are numbered and color coded. Every-
thing is on the computer.” As he explains the system, it was
hard not to wonder if he lines up the peas on his dinner plate.
Friend Marty Kirsch, who also is Stalba’s investment broker,
says there is no doubt that his buddy “is a driven individual.”
Kirsch was a couple years behind Stalba at Williamstown
High, got closer to him about 10 years ago.
“He’s a man’s man,” said the broker. “Loves hockey, base-
ball, which he played in school. Likes to play cards. And then
there’s his drag racing. He is exactly what you expect to find
in a business executive, a very confident person, and that op-
eration of his is like a well-oiled machine.”
Stalba has come a long way since high school, and so has
the salvage industry. He reports that the uninstall-it-yourself
days of salvaged parts are over. Back when amateurs were al-
lowed to spot a part and strip it off the car, they often broke
several other parts in the process. Very inefficient. Now a
buyer can call up during the week, order the part and have it
waiting at the counter.
“If they come in and want to see a part on a car, we will es-
cort them into the yard, show them the part. Do you want
this? Yes? OK, have a seat and we will bring it to you. It’s like
going to McDonald’s. Order it and a couple minutes later, here
it is,” he said.
Stalba hasn’t lost any of the passion that fostered his busi-
ness. He logs plenty of forklift hours. On this day, he goes
outside and stops by a cracked-up 2010 Camaro, its driver-
side window covered with plastic. His company purchased it
at an auction for $2,000. “This came in yesterday from a
wreck. Believe it or not, it still has a lot of parts on it, they
will go back on the road.”
It’s a theme he states time and again, recycling. On the
second level of the workshop/storehouse, huge pallet-sized
boxes are brimming with various parts, items that have been
on hand for more than several years. “This is inventory
cleanup, there is a company that buys this stuff, reconditions
them and sells them.
“It’s unbelievable all the parts of a car, everything gets used.
Even the old bodies, they get shredded and it all goes over to
China and they make cars out of it.”
And will there be any recycling of Tom Stalba, or is the
young Tom’s passion for the business still simmering? He feels
a bit hemmed in by the physical dimension of the yard, which
he expanded by purchasing adjacent land. But because of
Pinelands protection regulations, he has nowhere to build but
up at that location. He is consumed with finding the most ef-
ficient ways to store items to acquire some extra space. He
may build a 10,000-square-foot building at the nursery nearby
to store transmissions, engines and other parts.
RunningaJunkyard,PedaltotheMetal
The AA Auto Salvage Stats
Year Founded. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1994
Yard Size . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nearly 8 acres
Cars on Site. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1400
Cars received . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 a week
Sales . . . . . . . . . 100 transactions a day, approx. five engines
Surefire items sold daily . . . . . Tail lights, mirrors, headlights
Engines in stock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1800
Radios in stock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . More than 500
Prices. . . . . . . . . . Motors, rears, transmissions, $250-4000,
depending on mileage/installs $350-2000/
mirrors, tail lights, $25-500
Warranty . . 101 days on motors, rears, transmissions, parts,
6 month warranty on installed major parts
Employees. . . 18 (Includes five order takers, five mechanics)
Bays for repairs, installations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Client breakdown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Repair shops 60%
Body shops 30%
Public 10%
Repair shop backlog . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 days
Crusher activity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 cars weekly, crushed to
less than 18 inches high
Crushed cars per trailer load out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 cars

Meanwhile, he attends to his growing family. Son Paul is
four, and daughter Emily is one. There are also drag racing
trips, often with his dad, using the motor home and trailer
bought for that purpose. Stalba was Rookie of the Year in 1990
and has made a name for himself in the sport. Two times he
was leading the World Championship Tour until the last races
in California. “I lost the last race of the year. Twice.”
And what does wife Karen think of all of this? Stalba smiled,
left the room and returned with a framed photograph of Mrs.
Stalba, though it was hard to see her features because of the
helmet, which was very small because the wide-shot photo
showed the high-end dragster she was steering.
“Listen,” he said. “I go like 7.0 seconds at 192 miles an hour
for the quarter mile. She goes 5.7 seconds at 260 miles an
hour. She’s in a whole different class. You can watch her on
TV on Sundays.”
For fast-driving Tom Stabla, that matchup sounds about
right. I
Karen Stalba has reached 260 mph in her Top Alcohol Dragster.

MATT SCHICK wasn’t the first or last kid ever to get picked
on in school, but he may go down in the Annals of Kid
Comebacks for one of the more inventive turn-arounds in a
young life.
No, he wasn’t a storybook bench rider who one day came
off the pines to smack the championship-winning homer and
get carried off by adoring peers. In fact, Schick admits that
“even today if you talk to me about sports I will probably give
you a blank stare.”
As a kid completely devoid of athleticism, he learned early
on that sports was his kryptonite, one major cause for his life
as an alien among regular kids in Robbinsville, NJ. He re-
called: “I was a little bit strange, a little bit quirky, and in gym
classes I would get laughed at and picked on.”
The slight and mild-mannered Schick didn’t duck into a
phone booth to become a superhero, but he did do a disap-
pearing act of sorts to work hour after hour, day after
day, on a transformation that produced today’s confi-
dent, smiling student and businessman. On weekdays,
he is a freshman at Bentley University in Waltham, MA.
But on weekends and during summers, well, Matt
Schick is something else.
At only 19 years old, Schick is nationally-
recognized in the world of prestidigitation and
illusion – that’s right, magic. Three years ago,
Magic Magazine named him one of the Top
16 Teen Magicians in the nation. He has
traveled to magic conventions and schools
throughout the nation and studied under
some of the top names in the profession.
Matt Schick has come a long way
from that 10-year-old summer camper
who watched a DVD by magic superstar
David Blaine and told himself that is what
I have to do. For a picked-on kid, the land of
magic was healing fertile turf that promoted
positive growth.
“I didn’t have many friends in elementary
and middle school and I got laughed at,” he
recalled, “but magic was something I could
dedicate my time to so I wasn’t home moping
about school.” He spent four hours a day prac-
ticing hundreds of tricks in front of a mirror, his
parents, and the few other kids who would tol-
erate it – for a couple of minutes. He did this for
years, waiting to make his move. “I wanted to
make sure I had a fantastic product before I
went into the marketplace.”
And then, suddenly, he could do it.
“When I found that I could do magic that
would fool and impress even adults – adults
who know EVERYTHING – I got such confi-
dence, I started believing in me as a person.
thekidwho
didn’tfitin
madethose
picked-ondays
disappear
Seeing Double.
19-year-old magician and
businessman Matt Schick
shows his multiple
personalities

“By the time I got to high school and
the other kids were out partying on week-
ends, I went home to do my homework
first then traveled around New Jersey and
Pennsylvania doing magic shows –
thanks to my parents who drove me and
were amazingly supportive.”
In his last two years in high school,
Schick put together an annual charity
magic show with top level magicians at a
1000-seat theater near Robbinsville, work-
ing like a dog to market it. Presto: A full
house two years running, raising a total
of $29,000 for the Spread the Magic Foun-
dation, a New Jersey nonprofit which
donated the funds to Children’s Hospital
of Philadelphia. Other students, he now
noticed, weren’t laughing at him.
Nor was Penny Juros, CEO of Spread the Magic Foundation,
which chose Schick for its board of directors. She calls him
“not only compassionate, devoted and generous, but also a
very civically engaged and purposeful young man.”
This writer caught Schick’s act when he trudged up the
driveway of a Jersey home for a birthday party involving 15
cabin-fever-crazed seven-year-olds. Just an ordinary-looking
young man, carrying a few bags, who asked for 10 minutes
alone to set up in the living room.
When he called the kids in, they stopped short at the scene.
Somehow a wide, seven-foot-tall curtain had filled one end of
the room, and there was this guy, now in baggy pants with
suspenders, at a podium, asking them to sit in a circle right
around his feet. Schick specializes in “close-up magic,” using
coins, cards and small objects to make them disappear before
your eyes. He is all about interaction with the audience, be it
a bunch of kids in a home of a wedding cocktail party crowd
he wanders through.
For one solid hour, the magician controlled the kids like a
Pied Piper, making them shriek at slapstick antics (“You
notice I hit myself in the head a lot”) and hilarious props,
silencing them with stuff that dis-
appeared, slicing things that some-
how became whole again. Several
times the kids thought they had
doped out a trick, only to have
him do the impossible. Parents
looked at each other and raised
eyebrows. Hmm, how did that
happen? The more parents who
watch, the better; it revs him up.
Schick is a marketing major at
Bentley, is wild about business. He
gives every kid at the party a
goodie bag filled with tricks and
oddities. The birthday girl got a plastic-
wrapped magic kit, featuring Schick on
the box and tons of tricks inside. He
wasn’t done after an hour, but went to
the cake table for another 30 minutes to
produce all manner of balloon animals
and figures. “Wow, look at that ladybug,”
said a mother. “Hey, that’s a mermaid,”
said a father.
Said Schick: “I like to make a full party
out of it, so the kids walk away knowing
a little bit more about magic. To me, it’s
not about tricks. It’s about the journey as
a whole.”
Before he left, the adults engaged
him in talk. Their respect was obvious.
The self-professed “magic geek”
recently returned from another trip at the
invitation-only Magic Teen Weekend in Las Vegas, where 40
young magicians from across the world studied under big-
name magicians such as Lance Burton and Jeff McBride.
“Lance Burton takes us to his castle – he lives in a castle –
and talks to us and eats pizza with us.
“Let’s say you want to be a singer and your idols are, say,
Bruce Springsteen and Lady Gaga. What are the chances you
would even meet them, let alone study and work with them?
The magic community lets us do that; the big names are ter-
rific people. The whole magic community is like nothing else;
we talk all the time, text all the time. I can’t say enough about
my friends.”
In a few years he will have his degree. And, if all goes well,
some time after that he will have his dream job – performing
at a theater on a regular basis. He will have even more name
recognition within and outside the magic community.
The kid who had no friends knows that these last good
years, and the good ones ahead, all started when he found the
relationship that mattered most.
“I have great confidence now,” he said.
“I like me as a person.” I L.A.
Schick

FRANK AND LORI DONOHUE think people look pretty good
right before closing time. They should know. The Medford res-
idents are hanging around so many area clubs and bars at the
witching hour that somebody, somewhere should write them
a C&W tune.
I’m sinking at the bar, So come and drive my car
While the pair are low-profile drinkers (he drinks “not at
all,” she has an occasional glass of wine), they are looming
higher and higher on bartender radar
screens because of their fledgling part-
time transportation business based on
the drinking of others.
They call their gig GetuHomeSafeSJ.
And if you are sober now, you probably
already have guessed what they provide
– a designated driver service.
The Donohues both have full-time
day jobs, but their overall income took
a major hit a couple of years ago when
his operations superintendent job at
U.S. Pipe in Burlington disappeared.
(The plant closed). He now works as
maintenance manager at Shop-Rite in
Medford and she is a long-time U.S.
Postal Service employee.
“Our earnings are down 30 percent and we obviously
needed something to supplement our income,” said Frank. “I
did market research and found one area outfit that will pick
you up. But our pitch is that we will get you and your car
home safe.” (They drive their vehicle to the scene and drive
both vehicles back to the client homes.)
Donohue said the response has been “incredible” and the
demand keeps them busy two or three workweek nights and
every weekend. “We’ve never turned down a request and
we’re proud of that.” The couple relies on texting to make
prompt and efficient pickups and deliveries. Naps also help.
“If we have a ride that evening, we’ll grab a quick nap after
work,” said Frank. “This past New Year’s Eve was the first
time in 20 years of marriage that we missed the ball coming
down on TV. We slept early and got up at 12:15 a.m. because
we had a long night ahead of us.”
Lori chimed in: “Actually, the girls we picked up from a place
in Philadelphia that night were a lot of fun. One of them got out
of our truck, pointed to me and said ‘This is my new best friend.’”
Most clients are responsible professionals who appreciate
the service, said Frank Donohue. One regular client hands the
barmaid their business card and his keys, instructing her to
call them if he is obviously impaired.
“They don’t want to lose their license and pay thousands of
dollars in fines and costs,” said Lori. “They thank us but I
commend them for being responisble.”
The Donohues say they have traveled as far away as War-
rington, PA, to pick up clients; that haul meant three hours of
driving. So how much does all of this cost?
“This obviously has to be refined as gas prices go up, but for
the local region – Medford, Shamong, Tabernacle – we charge
$20 for the first 10 miles and $2 a mile after that,” said Frank.
“We negotiate prices for more distant
pickups and in Pennsylvania. We’re not
making a killing and it’s still cheaper
than a cab and your car gets home too.”
The pair tries to keep rates rea-
sonable, said Lori. “One woman told me
she was quoted $500 by a van service
to drive her and her friends. She was a
young mother and she just wanted to go
to the company Christmas party. We
were a better alternative for them.”
The business started with an inci-
dent at a home improvement store when
the pair saw a man struggling with a
large order of plywood and lumber. He
mentioned to the clerk it was doubtful
the haul would fit into his car. The Dono-
hues looked at him, mentally fit the load into their large pickup,
and Lori suggested to Frank he offer their services for $20,
enough to cover their gas and a bit more.
“The guy lit up and asked if were serious, recalled Frank,
laughing. “I guess I should have asked him where he lived
first. But he was a 15-minute drive away in Pemberton, so we
hauled it and he followed us.”
On the way home, the pair talked about offering driving
services somehow, but it wasn’t quite an “a-ha” moment.
That happened at Shop-Rite, when Frank again heard one of
his young employees complain that he spent a weekend doing
homework when his buddies planned some bar time.
“His buddies were always calling him up and asking him to
be the designated driver,” said Frank. “Then it clicked. I said
to Lori, ‘Hey, what about a designated driver service?’”
The couple say the business fits their lifestyle perfectly.
Their daughter is 31 and independent, and their 18-year-old
son is mostly self-sufficient.
“It got to the point where we are sitting around looking
at each other, wondering what to do next, and we had this
need for extra income,” Frank said. “So we get to hang out
together this way, earn some money and meet some great
people.” I L.A.
They’re Rewriting the Closing-Time Pickup Lines
Frank and
Lori Donohue
To reach the couple, send an email to: getuhomesafesj@gmail.com

RICHARD MASHBITZ’S JOB as a bus driver for the
Pennsauken School District is to take no risks and get the kids
there safely. But when the bus is parked for the day, Mashb-
itz’s entrepreneurial wheels start spinning like the reels of an
overworked casino slot machine.
This is a man who got into selling bison burgers only to
have a popular radio talk jockey declare on air that it was one
of the worst things he ever tasted. (Whoever cooked it botched
the burger, but when I cooked it for him the radio star’s verdict
was fine, Mashbitz said.)
About 18 years ago, Mashbitz turned a corner at a mer-
chandise exhibit and ran into a array of flashing machines that
stopped him in his tracks.
Used slot machines! Wow. People LOVE slot machines and
their bells, lights and whistles. Selling used machines seemed
a delicious idea and Richard Mashbitz bit hard. He and his
wife, Sherry, have been selling used casino slot machines ever
since and loving the taste of success.
“I was with him at that show and I thought it would be a
nice gig,” said Sherry. “I used to run payroll for a large cor-
poration and we also ran my dad’s meat business from
Philadelphia for a while, but we both always wanted our own
business.”
Don’t get the idea that Richard backs up his truck at At-
lantic City casinos and hauls used machines to the R&S
Wholesale business the couple run on Route 73 north, close
by the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge. It’s illegal to purchase modern-
era slot machines from those gambling halls; only antiques
can be sold legally, Mashbitz said.
“These machines here are from Japan, were you can find
them in the pachinko parlors that are everywhere there,” said
Mashbitz. “Gambling is illegal in Japan so these machines use
tokens that players redeem for gifts. At one time, the machines
that were used and unwanted were thrown them into landfills,
believe it or not.”
He and Sherry stood close to 40 brightly lit machines that
occupy half of the store, which also sells billiard tables and
supplies, games of all sorts and other game room must-
haves. (“For some reason Mah Jong sells big to people in
Medford.”) The machines, which range in price from $300 to
$1000, are all three-reel devices and vary in sophistication.
They are manufactured by international companies serving
the gaming industry.
“In Japan, they’re getting more into digital technology,”
Sherry said. “The Lord of the Rings machine here has ani-
mation and scenes from the movie. This Bon Jovi machine
has video from his concerts and the Bon Jovi fans go nuts
over them.
“The more expensive machines are collectibles, like
Marvel, which has scenes with the comic book characters.
Popeye is big and Rocky has video of his fights and the scene
when he runs through the Italian Market.”
Mashbitz brings the machines to this country by the con-
tainer-full, 500 at a time, but he does have growing concerns
because “it’s getting tighter now and they are talking over
there about recycling these things in the future.”
The Pennsauken location has been open for about a year;
prior to that his outlet was near the now-closed North Catholic
High School in lower Northeast Philadelphia. “The Catholics
complained at first but found we were good neighbors. The
DA’s office came in constantly but there was never an issue,
Sherry and Richard Mashbitz of R&S Wholesale
JACKPOT!JACKPOT!Spinning Wheels, from Tokyo to Pennsauken

over there or here; check with the Better Busi-
ness Bureau, no complaints.”
The signs offering slot machines outside his
storefront catch a lot of eyes, and business has
been good, he said.
“Some people buy two or three at a time for
their homes, their man caves, but it is a mixed
business with both men and women. We do a
lot with senior citizen facilities. A University of
Pennsylvania senior day care facility put five of
them in a room where the seniors go in to play
and get prizes. It keeps them active and they
enjoy it.”
The slots account for about half of the store’s business, with
billiard accessories and games selling well.
“Chess is really big right now,” he said. “Chess clubs come
in, one from Willingboro, and we have portable sets, over-
sized sets you can play at the beach or pool area. The shuffle-
board table there is 12 feet long; most homes don’t want a
24-footer.
“And because there are fewer billiard parlors, more people
have tables at home. We can install a new table cloth for $200
in a day.”
One other thing about the slot machines – buyers can
adjust the payout percentage anywhere from
65 percent to 105 percent, he said.
“You can set the odds manually, the way
they used to do in Atlantic City,” he said. “Now
they do it through mainframes that set the slot
payouts through the computer system.”
But there is no telling when the jackpot
gets hit, right?
“Well, they say results are random, but
they can control the percentage. You see one
billboard going into Atlantic City that says they
pay out 90 percent on selected machines. But
tell me how random that is, they pay 90% on
selected machines but what are the others set at? Is it that you
have 3000 machines but only five are paying out 90 percent?”
Whatever his customers decide to pay out (in tokens he pro-
vides), his company will service the machines.
Business is brisk and life seems to be good for the
Mashbitzes. As some passing cars slow down to read his large
signs, Mashbitz is asked rhetorically: Could there be a better
location? He doesn’t take it rhetorically.
“Well, maybe one,” he said. “I have another location in
mind. It’s further down on 73. I keep eyeballing it.”
Inside or out, those wheels keep turning. I L.A.

THE SOUND SYSTEM at The Kitchen Consigliere Café was
playing – what else? – Frank Sinatra. It is one of the classics
– could have been “My Way” or “Wee Small Hours.”
But, no, it is an appropriate one for Angelo Lutz. For a South
Philly Italian, maybe every Sinatra song could be appropriate,
but this one comes down on the right side for Lutz. It is “Just
in Time,” and as he smiled during a rare break in the action of
his new Collingswood red-gravy joint, Sinatra wailed, “I know
just where I’m going. No more doubts or fears.”
Ten years ago, Lutz knew where he was going, too. But it
was not such a good place. Then he was headed to prison for
his dealings with the South Philadelphia crime family headed
by Joey Merlino.
Lutz, who weighed in the mid-400-pound range back then,
had become a pop figure, but he was still a criminal. He didn’t
knock anyone off, but he did run a pretty neat little book-
making business, or so the feds convinced the jury. He got
nine years, served seven. Didn’t like it much, but what’s hap-
pened has happened, said Lutz.
He had always protested. He would say, “I’m a cook, not a
crook,” and make the media giggle most of the time.
Now he just wants to feed them. And you. The Kitchen Con-
sigliere Café opened November 15 just off Haddon Avenue in
part of the Lumberyard development in Collingswood, and the
42 seats have had a habit of filling up more often than not.
With any luck, the Café is the first of a Lutz-run empire.
His goal is to become a celebrity chef – maybe not as cute as
Rachel Ray or as bossy as Emeril Lagasse or as tall as Julia
Child. Maybe just a former federal inmate.
“Without my past, there is no Kitchen Consigliere,” said
Lutz with a matter-of-fact shrug. He said, like Sinatra, he
knows just where he’s going and, while there may be a doubt
or two, there are no fears. “I have real goals.”
He also has a real foodie past. His mom’s dad was Charles
P. Giunta, one of the founders of Giunta Brothers, one of the
big South Philadelphia noodle businesses. Charles Giunta,
Lutz said, invented one of the first hand-cranked noodle cut-
ting machines. Growing up, he worked in catering and before
his trial he was regularly the caterer for the Merlino family
events, of which there were apparently many. He also played
Santa Claus for some of them, but that is another story.
That story is about how fat Lutz got. He is only five-foot-
five, but by the time of his trial, he weighed more than 400
pounds. The Philadelphia Daily News started calling him
Prison’s Over, 160 Pounds Are Gone, and Angelo Lutz
is Getting Thumbs Up On His New Life ARTICLE BY ROBERT STRAUSS
The
Mob
Cook’s
Second
Chance
The
Mob
Cook’s
Second
Chance
The
Mob
Cook’s
Second
Chance

“Fat Ange,” and for a time, while he was awaiting sentencing,
ran a reader contest for “Fat Ange” sightings, which, said
Lutz, were more often than not pretty far afield. He does
admit, though, to enjoying playing a Buddha, spray-painted
gold and shirtless, for the Hegeman String Band in the
Mummers Parade.
“I love the Mummers and work at the pleasure of the String
Band Association,” said Lutz, 47. Collingswood Mayor James
Maley has already asked him to get Mummers to play in
Collingswood some summer nights, said Lutz. “Everyone’s
been great here. I can’t wait to do it.”
Collingswood is now replete, in its own Restaurant Renais-
sance, with Italian places, but Lutz claims the half-dozen or
so others in town tend to be upscale. He calls Kitchen Con-
sigliere’s niche “peasant” food.
“That is no slap. It’s just simpler,” said Lutz. “Mine is just
down home, down-to-earth, which is why we call it peasant
cooking. A lot of people are offended by that. It is the food that
your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother
made, and that is what it was. It is basic dishes. Open up the
refrigerator, see what is there, put something together.”
Sure enough, there is nothing on the menu more than $17
at Kitchen Consigliere, and most of it is a “your choice” kind
of thing: “pollo” with “your choice” of franchaise, marsala,
Parmesean or picatta for $15; similarly, veal dishes for $17
and pasta for $10-12.
The paninis do have cutesy mob-cum-South-Philly-family
names: Chicken Angelo, Nona Helen, The Nicky Sticks, The
Doc and, to be sure, The Consigliere, which is grilled Italian
sausage topped with Lutz’s sweet pepper mix and Romano
cheese for 12 bucks, with a side salad.
These days, too, just in time, those going to Kitchen Con-
sigliere are seeing about half a Lutz, which, as he will tell you,
is better than none, which might have been. After coming out
of prison, suffering from diabetes and a host of other ailments,
Lutz went to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania
for a vertical banded gastroplasty (VBG), otherwise known as
a stomach stapling, which basically stifles the amount of food
a patient can eat and digest at any one time. Lutz is still pretty
rotund at about 240 pounds, with a personal goal of getting to
about 200. He’s logging long, on-the-feet hours in the kitchen.
“Look, I’m never going to be 140 pounds. I am realistic,” he
said. “But the operation is the only reason I am alive, and I’m
Teaming Up Tastefully
The Mob Writer and ex-Mob Cook
Philadelphia Inquirer crime reporter George Anastasia clearly
has a fondness for Angelo Lutz, whose 2001 bookmaking trial
he covered.
“Angelo was, depending on who you talked to, the court
jester of the mob, the cook, the guy who when they had get-
togethers in clubhouses would cook,” said Anastasia. “The
feds said he was part of the organization. I think he probably
was a combination of all of those things.”
Now Lutz will have another hat to wear – book co-author.
He’s writing a cookbook with Anastasia.
“It’ll be a cookbook like none you’ve ever seen,” said Lutz.
“There will be a lot of recipes but it will be the story of my life
broken up in into menu form – appetizer, salad, pasta, entrees,
desserts. It starts with me born in South Philly, all the way
through the Mummers and everything I have done, the time in
federal prison, getting out and opening this restaurant.”
All true, said the reporter, who eats frequently at The Kitchen
Consiglieri Café. He said the publisher, Camino Books in
Philadelphia, wants it public in the Fall. He is writing a short
essay about Lutz’ life as an introduction to each chapter.
Anastasia said Lutz also is negotiating about a TV show.
“He’s got the personality and he is dynamic enough to make it
happen. But I keep telling him to stay focused on what you’re
doing, that other life is over.”
The newsman considers Lutz a smart individual with a good
sense of numbers and business. And he recalled the sentenc-
ing judge saying Angelo probably knew more about how to
run a bookmaking operation than any of his co-defendants.
“He was a South Philadelphia bon vivant, the golden Buddha
in the Mummers, a real storyteller, a funny guy, and, while he
is a big guy, he moves very light on his feet, he’s a good
dancer. He has a lot of things going for him. If he can put all
of that into his restaurant, he’s going to do OK,” said the writer.
“He’s almost a one-man show at that restaurant. He is there
every day and it’s a grind. God bless him, I hope it works out.”

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