April 1972. One week after Joey Gallo was gunned down at Umberto’s Clam House. The words came from Victor Riesel — the hard-hitting columnist who lost his sight after a mob-ordered acid attack in the ’50s.
“There is the fact that ‘Crazy’ Joey, 42-year-old leader of the dissidents in the so-called Joe Colombo family, was a man ahead of his time. First, though, you may think that all godfathers are Sicilian. Well, Joey Gallo, who left this world with a lethal case of lead bullet poisoning early Friday, April 7, had an Arab counsellor. Who else had an Arab as a godfather? Who else tried to integrate the Mafia? Who else was the symbol of young Turks anywhere in the Mafia? Who else, by sheer existence, threatened the security of the polished Dons because the younger men weren’t getting enough ‘bread’? Who else, though dead, symbolizes the wave of the future in every big Mafia-laden city?”
That Arab counselor? Wasn’t a myth. His name was Ali Hassan Waffa — but everyone called him Ali Baba. And this is his story.
Beginnings
Hassan “Ali Baba” Waffa was an enigmatic figure whose life blurred the line between real-world crime and myth. Born on May 8, 1915, in Egypt, he might have made multiple trips to the U.S. prior, but the first concrete record we have is from August 13, 1943, when he arrived aboard the Leslie M. Shaw, a merchant marine ship. He was 29 years old, working as a second cook—his trade for most of his life.
But Waffa wasn’t just a guy with a ladle. He cooked across the globe — Guatemala, Italy, Wales — drifting between merchant ships and luxury liners, logging more miles than most mobsters ever dreamed of.
Though he had a wife back in Egypt, Ali Baba built his life in Brooklyn, where his brother also lived. He first settled at 25 Schermerhorn St. before moving to 361 Warren St. in the early ’60s. He stood 5 feet 7 inches tall, weighed 170 pounds, and according to newspapers of the time, was a “swarthy, stocky character.”
How he and Joe Gallo crossed paths is murky. Some say prison, but there’s no hard proof of overlapping sentences. It’s one of those mob mysteries wrapped in rumor — but it’s not a stretch to think Gallo had Waffa on his radar long before bullets started flying.
One clue? The FBI once floated that Waffa might’ve been a cook at the infamous Apalachin meeting in 1957. That’s likely fiction, but some believe Gallo — who may have been involved in the Anastasia hit on orders from Joe Profaci — could’ve vouched for him. And considering Carmine Persico, later boss of the Colombos, briefly aligned with the Gallos during their war with Profaci, it’s not out of the question.
Gallo started out as an enforcer and hitman for Profaci, but was involved in other ventures too.
The Gallo brothers — Joey, Albert “Kid Blast,” and Larry — were entrenched in Brooklyn’s jukebox racket. They even formed a vending machine association, aiming to tighten their grip. The brothers even ran nightclubs and restaurants across the city — industries where Waffa eventually played a role.
He wasn’t just a sidekick. Ali Baba was Gallo’s driver, bodyguard, and closest confidant when he wasn’t away working on ships. His nickname? It wasn’t just playful—it came from his larger-than-life personality and wild reputation.
Waffa reportedly served as best man at Gallo’s wedding to Jeffie Lee Boyd, a former Vegas showgirl, in 1960. He also fought beside Gallo during the Gallo-Profaci war and once survived being shot three times in the abdomen. That kind of grit earned him serious respect.
But Waffa’s resume went well beyond cooking and chauffeuring. He allegedly ran guns — possibly even supplying Gallo during the war — and was suspected of trafficking hashish internationally. Some reports even claimed Waffa introduced Gallo to the drug trade and to Islam.
Maybe he wasn’t a formal “counselor” in the Cosa Nostra sense, but he was undoubtedly one of the few Gallo trusted. He was undoubtedly part of Crazy Joey’s inner circle.
(Side note: Riesel’s column may have glorified things a bit too much. After Gallo’s murder, media and columnists swooned over the legend of Crazy Joe. But the talk of him integrating the Mafia? That’s pure Riesel flair. There’s no hard proof Gallo ever had those kinds of ambitions.)
Guns and Shakedowns
In September 1955, Waffa was arrested as the alleged ringleader of a gun-smuggling ring called “Arsenal, Inc.” The operation provided stolen firearms to street criminals and teenage hoodlums — sometimes directly, sometimes through a consignment system. Sell a gun, earn a cut. Low risk, high chaos.
Waffa’s background in shipping made him an ideal middleman. He could see ship manifests, finagle assignments to specific vessels, or tap others who had access to shipments. It’s likely the same strategy he used for smuggling hashish, though he was never arrested for drug trafficking.
In this case, a batch of Italian pistols had been stolen off an Egyptian freighter, the Mohammedan Ali el Kebir. Police later found 17 of the stolen Beretta automatic pistols during a large-scale police roundup and linked them to a shipment of 102 pistols meant for a Fifth Avenue importer named Omega Importing. The weapons vanished at sea, and part of the stolen cache was believed to have been handed off to Waffa when the ship reached New York.
Waffa had ties to the crew involved and was suspected of orchestrating what authorities dubbed “piracy on the high seas.” He didn’t say much during questioning—just confirmed he knew a few of the guys.
One of the men arrested was a man named Alfred Tabeek, who later confessed to selling 16 pistols for Waffa.
How did they get caught? A Queens resident called the police after hearing gunshots in the neighborhood one night. Turned out a couple of teens were test-firing their new inventory. One of them, Jose Constales, cracked under pressure and admitted to 14 burglaries. That led police straight to Arsenal, Inc.
Waffa’s approach was calculated. Give the kids firepower on consignment. They commit the robberies, pay him back from their haul, and he stays removed from the crime scene. It was low-profile and high-volume.
He was eventually charged with grand larceny, possession of stolen property, and illegal weapons possession. Bail was set at $50,000, but the charges didn’t stick, and he was a free man once again.
In May 1961, Ali Baba was arrested and charged with conspiracy and extortion after an attempt to shake down a Brooklyn restaurant owner. Caught alongside him? His best friend Crazy Joe Gallo and a few of Gallo’s regulars: Michael Albergo, Sidney Slater, and Anthony Leone.
The bust was part of a broader sweep — 58 suspects pulled in for questioning about Brooklyn rackets. Fifteen were charged with consorting for unlawful purposes (basically, being caught talking to Gallo), and the rest were cut loose.
This all tied back to an incident in April. Morton Rosenberg, a 44-year-old part-owner of a Brooklyn restaurant, was found shot to death on a Bath Beach street. When cops searched his body, they found documents linking him to a 28-year-old businessman named Theodore Moss — owner of three bars and a check-cashing spot.
Turns out Crazy Joey had approached Moss earlier, trying to push $48,000 worth of untaxed whiskey. Moss declined. Gallo didn’t take the rejection well.
So he made another offer: give me 50 percent of your business, or I’ll kill you.
Ali Baba was there that day as backup — the muscle. But Moss wasn’t stupid. He played along for a bit, even after Gallo and Ali Baba paid him another visit at the S and A Social Club on Park Street, where things got physical. Eventually, Moss “agreed” to Gallo’s terms, and the two set a date to hammer out the details. Gallo wanted to see the books before deciding on a final split.
But Moss had no intention of handing anything over. Instead, he went straight to the cops.
The trap was set. Later that week, Gallo showed up at Luna’s Restaurant on Mulberry Street to seal the deal. He didn’t know Moss was wearing a wire. And he definitely didn’t know over two dozen detectives were closing in — some even seated at nearby tables.
Gallo’s lookout, John Manna, spotted the unusual activity and suspected something was up. But it was too late. The takedown was already in motion.
Gallo was arrested on the spot. Bail was set at $100,000. Waffa’s bail came in at $50,000. All five men pleaded not guilty.
Assistant D.A. Paul Kelly called Gallo “the most active racketeer in New York today” and claimed he’d “turned back the clock of criminal activity 30 years.”
At a June bail hearing, Waffa collapsed into what was described as a diabetic coma. He was rushed to Brooklyn Hospital, then moved to the prison ward at Bellevue. Up until that point, he’d been living at Riker’s Island.
By October, all five men had been officially indicted and charged with conspiracy and attempted extortion. But Gallo made a play—his lawyers requested a change of venue, arguing that the publicity made a fair trial impossible.
They weren’t wrong. Gallo had been front-page news for weeks. His brother Larry had survived an attempted garroting in August, and his close friend Joseph Magnasco had just been gunned down in Brooklyn that month.
But the D.A. wasn’t budging. A trial date was set for Gallo, but Waffa was going to stand trial at a later time.
At trial, Gallo leaned into the drama. When he found out Moss had recorded their conversation, he didn’t just take it on the chin — he performed. As he was led out of the courtroom, he shouted, “You dirty rats! You’re all a pack of dirty rats!”
It didn’t help. The jury convicted him. He was sentenced to 7 to 14 years.
As he was leaving the courtroom at his sentencing, Gallo told reporters, “I don’t understand this. It’s all a mystery to me. They keep locking us up and locking us up.”
Waffa’s case took a different turn. In September 1962, a judge dismissed the charges for lack of evidence, and he walked free.
And being the loyal friend he was, Ali Baba visited Gallo in prison whenever he wasn’t out at sea.
But that freedom wouldn’t last long. Just a year later, in July 1963, Ali Baba’s luck finally ran out.
The Last Voyage
On July 24, 1963, Hassan “Ali Baba” Waffa had just returned from a 42-day voyage aboard the luxury liner Exeter, which had taken him through the Middle East. The longtime cook and seaman was paid $600 for his work. It would be the last job he ever took.
Around 2:30 p.m., the ship docked in Hoboken, New Jersey. Waffa stepped into Harry’s Dry Goods Store on River Street, bought a shirt, and asked if he could leave two suitcases and several boxes in the back while he ran a quick errand.
But he never came back.
Store owners Harry Goldman and his wife claimed they didn’t see anything — they’d been in the rear of the shop.
“We heard three shots,” Goldman said. “We thought it was fireworks at the time. That’s all we know.”
Outside the store, Waffa was ambushed. His attackers struck him in the back of the head and fired three times. One bullet missed. One tore through his chest and exited. The final bullet lodged deep in his groin.
Witnesses saw two men flee the scene in a gray 1955 Chevy. One bystander even jotted down the license plate. As the car sped away, it ran into an obstacle — a fire hydrant had been opened by neighborhood kids trying to cool off in the summer heat. So, the assailants ditched the car, fired at pursuing cops, and vanished down opposite streets.
Inside the car, police found the murder weapon. Its serial number had been filed off. Neither of the shooters was ever caught.
Waffa clung to life for two days. At one point, he regained consciousness and told police he couldn’t identify his attackers. Doctors couldn’t remove the bullet lodged in his groin, and on July 26, 1963, at the age of 53, Hassan “Ali Baba” Waffa died from his wounds.
A week later, police picked up 24-year-old Colombo associate Jerry Langella for questioning. He wasn’t charged in Waffa’s murder, but he was nailed for parole violations and a trunk full of firepower — two .45 revolvers, a rifle, a .45 automatic, and three .38s — one of which matched the caliber used to shoot Waffa.
Years later, mob hitman turned informant Harold “Kayo” Konigsberg pointed the finger at two mob heavyweights: Carmine “Sonny Pinto” DiBiase and Joe “Joe Yak” Yacovelli. According to Kayo, Sonny Pinto had cased the job for weeks, even asking Konigsberg to help scout the area for a clean getaway. After the murder, Sonny Pinto reportedly told Kayo that Yacovelli botched the job, missing his shots, so Pinto shoved him aside and finished it himself. To disguise themselves, they covered their faces in flour.
Both men went on to play pivotal roles in mob history.
Sonny Pinto would later become one of the shooters in the infamous Joe Gallo hit at Umberto’s Clam House in 1972 — and then disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Joe Yak became acting boss of the Colombo family and was the one who gave the green light to kill Gallo.
So ends the story of Hassan “Ali Baba” Waffa — the worldly cook, the streetwise smuggler, the loyal bodyguard, and a key figure in the orbit of Joe Gallo. His life was wild. His death was violent. And the men suspected of killing him? They went on to live another day.
