He Was John Gotti’s Best Friend for 30 Years — And an FBI Informant the Whole Time – Ht
August 29th, 1988, Brooklyn, New York. Wilfred Johnson walked out of his home on a summer morning heading toward his car parked on the street. He was 52 years old, a large man with broad shoulders who had spent his entire adult life working for the Gambino crime family as John Gotti’s closest friend, bodyguard, and enforcer.
For more than 30 years, Johnson had been at Gotti’s side through robberies, conflicts, and the rise to power that made Gotti the most famous mob boss in America. But Johnson had been living with a secret that no one in the organization suspected. For 19 years, from 1966 until 1985, he had been providing information to the FBI about Gotti and the Gambino family.
Three years earlier, a federal prosecutor had revealed Johnson’s cooperation in open court. And although he had refused to enter the witness protection program and publicly denied everything, everyone knew the truth. If you want to understand how John Gotti’s best friend became the FBI’s most valuable informant and paid the ultimate price for his betrayal, subscribe and tell us where you’re watching from in the comments.
Wilfred Johnson was born on September 29th, 1935 in Canarsie, Brooklyn, one of five children in a family struggling with poverty and dysfunction. His father, John Johnson, was of partial Lenape Native American descent, a member of a tribe that had once inhabited the area around Staten Island and the Narrows.
John Johnson worked as a construction worker for the International Association of Bridge, Structural, Ornamental, and Reinforcing Iron Workers, performing difficult and dangerous labor on building sites throughout New York City. But despite having steady employment, John Johnson had a serious problem with alcohol.
He was an abusive man who spent his entire paycheck on drinking and frequently became aggressive toward his wife and children. Wilfred’s mother was Italian-American, and she struggled to hold the family together in the face of her husband’s behavior. The situation became even more unstable when she would periodically leave her husband and children, only to return weeks or months later.
This pattern of abandonment and return created deep insecurity in the Johnson children. The family eventually settled in Red Hook, Brooklyn, >> >> a tough waterfront neighborhood where Italian and Irish immigrants live side by side with other working-class families. Red Hook was a place where organized crime had a visible presence, and young people growing up there were exposed to the mob lifestyle from an early age.
Wilfred Johnson’s childhood was marked by violence and instability. At the age of nine, he was arrested for the first time after being caught taking money from a candy store cash register. This early brush with the law was just the beginning of a criminal career that would span his entire life. At the age of 12, Johnson got into a confrontation at school that ended with him being pushed off the roof of the building.
He survived the fall but suffered head injuries that gave him chronic headaches for the rest of his life. These early experiences of violence, both at home and on the streets, shaped Johnson’s worldview and prepared him for the brutal world of organized crime. By the late 1940s, Johnson had become involved with street gangs in East New York, a neighborhood in Brooklyn known for its high crime rates and mob presence.
He was a physically intimidating young man, standing about 5 ft 9 in tall but weighing well over 200 lb, with massive hands and a neck that measured 21 in around. His build was more like that of a professional wrestler than a typical street criminal, and his physical strength made him particularly suited for enforcement work.
By 1949, when he was just 14 years old, Johnson was running a gang of young criminals who worked for the Italian Mafia, collecting debts and using intimidation to ensure that people paid what they owed. On the streets, Johnson was known by several nicknames. Some people called him Indian or half-breed because of his mixed heritage, though these terms were often used in a derogatory way.
The nickname that would stick throughout his criminal career was Willie Boy, which became his primary identity within the mob world. In 1957, Willie Boy Johnson met a 17-year-old high school dropout named John Gotti. Gotti came from a large Italian-American family in Queens and had already begun getting into trouble with the law.
The two young men struck up a friendship based on mutual respect and shared ambitions. Johnson saw in Gotti someone with charisma and intelligence, while Gotti recognized Johnson’s physical capabilities and loyalty. When Gotti began working his way into the Gambino crime family under capo Carmine Fatico, he brought Johnson along with him.
Johnson became Gotti’s enforcer, bodyguard, and closest friend. They worked together on robberies, collections, and various illegal schemes, building a partnership that would last for decades. However, there was one significant obstacle that prevented Johnson from advancing within the organization.
In La Cosa Nostra, only men of full Italian descent could become made members. Johnson’s father was Native American, which meant that regardless of how much money he earned or how loyal he was, he could never be inducted into the family as a made man. This created a permanent ceiling on his status within the organization.
While Gotti and other Italian members could rise through the ranks, Johnson would always remain an associate, >> >> someone who worked for the family but was never truly part of it. Despite this limitation, Johnson was given a modest but steady income through a bookmaking operation, taking bets on sporting events and other gambling activities.
He made enough money to support himself and his family, though he was never wealthy by mob standards. In 1966, Johnson’s life took a dramatic turn. He was arrested and convicted of armed robbery and sent to prison. In the world of organized crime, there is an unwritten rule that when a member of a crew is incarcerated, his capo is responsible for making sure that the man’s family is taken care of financially.
Carmine Fatico, Johnson’s capo and Gotti’s boss, promised to support Johnson’s wife and two infant children while Johnson was serving his sentence. Johnson’s wife was a loyal woman who had stood by him through all of his criminal activities >> >> and legal troubles. She believed that the organization would honor its commitment to her and her children.
But Carmine Fatico broke his promise. The money never came, and Johnson’s wife was forced to apply for welfare assistance to feed her children and pay for basic necessities. For Johnson, sitting in prison and learning that his family had been abandoned by the people he had risked everything for, this betrayal was devastating.
In 1967, while Johnson was still incarcerated, FBI agents approached him with an offer. They had noticed during interviews that Johnson seemed angry and disillusioned with the mob. The agents told Johnson that they could help him with some counterfeiting charges he was facing if he agreed to provide information about organized crime activities.
Johnson was reluctant at first, understanding that becoming an informant was a betrayal that could cost him his life if discovered. But his resentment toward Carmine Fatico and the organization that had abandoned his family eventually overcame his reservations. Johnson agreed to cooperate, and the FBI assigned him a handler, Special Agent Martin Bolen.
Johnson was given the code name Wahoo, a reference to his Native American heritage. He would remain an active FBI informant for the next 19 years, from 1966 until 1985. Johnson’s approach to being an informant was careful and calculated. He rarely volunteered information on his own initiative.
Instead, Agent Bolen would present him with specific questions submitted by various FBI squads and the Drug Enforcement Administration, and Johnson would answer them. This allowed Johnson to maintain some control over what he revealed and helped him avoid being seen as overly eager to cooperate. Throughout his years as an informant, Johnson provided the FBI with valuable intelligence that led to numerous arrests and convictions.
He revealed how the Vario crew, led by Paul Vario, was avoiding FBI surveillance by conducting meetings in a parked trailer >> >> in a Brooklyn junkyard. He provided details about a large-scale narcotics operation called the Pleasant Avenue Connection that was being run by John Gotti, Angelo Ruggiero, and others.
He gave the FBI information about serious incidents involving Florida mobster Anthony Plate and details about what happened to James McBratney, who had been involved in a situation with Emanuel Gambino. All of this intelligence was used by the FBI to build cases against members of the Gambino family and other New York crime families.
But, there was one subject that Johnson was always extremely careful about, John Gotti. Despite being an informant, Johnson maintained a complex and contradictory relationship with his long-time friend. He once told Agent Boland that sometimes I love him and sometimes I hate him. Johnson would occasionally complain about Gotti’s gambling addiction, which often involved bets of up to $100,000 a week.
Some of those bets would be placed through Johnson’s modest bookmaking operation. And when Gotti lost, Johnson would be forced to absorb the financial loss. On other occasions, Johnson would speak bitterly about Gotti saying, “You know, he wears these expensive suits now, but he’s still a lot of nonsense.
He’s still nothing special. Don’t be fooled by that smooth exterior.” Underlying Johnson’s complicated feelings was resentment about his permanent inferior status in Carmine Persico’s crew. Despite all of his loyal service, despite all the work he had done, Johnson would always be treated as a helper and errand boy rather than a full member of the organization.
For 16 years, Johnson successfully maintained his double life. To the Gambino family, he was Willie Boy Johnson, Gotti’s loyal friend and trusted enforcer. To the FBI, he was informant Wahoo, providing intelligence that helped build cases against some of the most powerful mobsters in New York.
Johnson refused to discuss his childhood or personal background with Agent Boland, keeping that part of his life separate from his role as an informant. He did not ask the FBI for help in getting his own criminal charges reduced or dropped. And he did not receive regular payments for his cooperation. However, the FBI did help him collect insurance rewards for the recovery of stolen goods in cases where his information had led to the resolution of major theft cases.
>> >> In one instance, Johnson received $30,000 for information that led to the recovery of a large shipment of stolen merchandise. By the mid-1980s, John Gotti’s organization was under intense scrutiny from federal law enforcement. In 1984, FBI agents had installed surveillance equipment in the home of Angelo Ruggiero, one of Gotti’s closest associates.
The wiretaps recorded hundreds of hours of conversations that revealed extensive drug trafficking operations and disrespectful comments about Gambino family boss Paul Castellano. The tapes also captured discussions about various criminal activities that violated family rules. When members of Gotti’s crew were indicted on drug charges, federal prosecutor Diane Giacalone began building a RICO case against Gotti and several of his associates.
Giacalone was an ambitious prosecutor from Brooklyn who had grown up in Ozone Park and claimed to have walked past the Bergen Hunt and Fish Club, the social club where Gotti’s crew operated, many times during her childhood. In 1985, Giacalone made a decision that would change Willie Boy Johnson’s life forever.
In a public court hearing, she revealed that Johnson had been working as an FBI informant, hoping that this disclosure would pressure him into testifying against Gotti in exchange for a plea bargain. The revelation sent shockwaves through the courtroom and through the New York underworld. Johnson’s FBI handlers immediately urged him to enter the witness protection program, a federal program that would give him a new identity and relocate him to a different part of the country where he could live
safely. Johnson refused. He publicly denied that he had ever been an informant, and his attorneys argued in court that the allegations were false. Despite the FBI’s evidence and Giacalone’s statements, Johnson insisted that he had never betrayed his friends. Johnson’s refusal to enter witness protection led to a breakdown in the relationship between the FBI and prosecutor Giacalone.
>> >> The FBI agents who had worked with Johnson for nearly two decades were furious that Giacalone had exposed their informant without ensuring his safety first. The FBI withdrew its cooperation from the Gotti prosecution, and the case eventually resulted in an acquittal for Gotti and his co-defendants.
For John Gotti, the trial ended in victory, and he emerged with his reputation enhanced as the Teflon Don, the mob boss who couldn’t be convicted. But for Willie Boy Johnson, the situation was much more dangerous. Even though he had denied being an informant, everyone in the mob world knew the truth.
The only question was, what would happen next? For 3 years, Johnson continued living in Brooklyn, apparently hoping that his long friendship with Gotti and his public denial would be enough to protect him. He stayed in his home, >> >> went about his daily routine, and tried to maintain some semblance of normal life.
But behind the scenes, the situation was deteriorating. In the summer of 1988, word reached Gotti that Johnson had also provided information about the son of Carmine Persico, the imprisoned boss of the Colombo crime family. Alphonse Persico reportedly confronted Gotti asking, “What are you waiting for?” The message was clear.
Johnson’s continued existence was an embarrassment to Gotti >> >> and to the entire New York Mafia. If Gotti didn’t take action, other families would question his authority and his commitment to the rules of La Cosa Nostra. Gotti discussed the situation with Salvatore Sammy the Bull Gravano, his underboss.
Gotti was concerned about the possibility that if an attempt on Johnson’s life failed, the FBI would immediately put him into protective custody where he could provide even more damaging information about the Gambino family. The decision was made to ensure that the operation would be successful.
Gotti reached out to the Bonanno crime family and arranged for professional individuals to handle the situation. Thomas Petera, known for his expertise in such matters, and Vincent “Kojak” Giattino were selected for the assignment. The operation was planned carefully with attention to timing and location.
On the morning of August 29th, 1988, >> >> Willie Boy Johnson walked out of his Brooklyn home and headed toward his car. As he approached the vehicle, Petera and Giattino emerged from their positions and opened fire. They discharged 19 rounds at Johnson, striking him multiple times in various parts of his body.
Johnson collapsed on the street. After completing their assignment, the two individuals dropped sharp metal objects on the road to prevent anyone from following them as they left the scene. By the time emergency services arrived, Johnson had passed away. He was 52 years old. The incident outside Johnson’s home sent a clear message throughout the New York underworld.
Cooperation with law enforcement would not be tolerated. And even the closest friendships meant nothing when someone broke omerta, the code of silence. In 1992, Thomas Petera and Vincent Giattino were indicted and tried for Johnson’s involvement in the incident. Giattino was found guilty. Petera was acquitted of the specific charge, but was later convicted of six other serious matters and received a life sentence.
Willie Boy Johnson was buried at Saint John’s Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens, not far from where he had spent most of his life. Looking back at Willie Boy Johnson’s story, it’s difficult not to see it as a tragedy shaped by circumstances largely beyond his control. >> >> Johnson was born into a dysfunctional family marked by his father’s problems with alcohol and his mother’s periodic absences.
He grew up in a neighborhood where organized crime was one of the few paths to financial stability and respect. His mixed heritage prevented him from ever becoming a made member of the Mafia, creating a permanent barrier to advancement regardless of his loyalty or contributions. When the organization that he had served faithfully abandoned his family during his imprisonment, Johnson made the decision to cooperate with the FBI, a choice that would define the rest of his life.
For 19 years, Johnson lived a double life, maintaining his friendship with John Gotti while providing information that helped the FBI build cases against the Gambino family. His relationship with Gotti was genuinely complex. There were aspects of Gotti that Johnson admired, and moments when he felt genuine affection for his friend.
But there was also resentment about his inferior status and frustration with Gotti’s behavior. Johnson’s refusal to enter the witness protection program after his cooperation was exposed remains one of the most puzzling aspects of his story. Perhaps he believed that his decades-long friendship with Gotti would protect him, or perhaps he simply couldn’t imagine leaving behind everything he had ever known.
Whatever his reasoning, the decision to stay in Brooklyn ultimately cost him his life. Willie Boy Johnson’s legacy in the history of organized crime is as one of the most significant FBI informants ever to operate within the mafia. His information contributed to numerous arrests and convictions and provided the FBI with detailed intelligence about the inner workings of the Gambino family during a critical period in its history.
But his story also serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of living a double life and the harsh realities of mob justice. In the end, neither his years of service to the Gambino family nor his decades-long friendship with John Gotti were enough to save him. The day Diane Giacalone revealed his cooperation in court, Willie Boy Johnson’s fate was sealed.
And it was only a matter of time before the organization caught up with him. He was buried in Queens, just a few miles from where he was born, having spent his entire life in Brooklyn and never escaping the world that had shaped him from childhood.