Age-old rumors of Northwest Montana rancher and entrepreneur Alfred J. Luciano having had close ties to the Mafia are being quashed in a new book by local historian Gary Montgomery.
“The rumor that Al Luciano was Mafia persists to this day,” the author points out over a cup of coffee. “And yet there’s no reason whatsoever to believe that he was.”
Montgomery, first introduced to Luciano in 1978, arguably knew the Eureka resident better than most: as in untold ranks of federal, state and local law enforcement officials who tried, in vain, to put the cryptic figure — and his wayward son — behind bars.
“I’d gone to his home to interview for a job as manager of his Tobacco Plains hay and cattle ranch,” the author writes in The Saga of Clyde Rector and Mike Ren and their interaction with Alfred J. Luciano. “He hired me and I have to say that it was among the best jobs I’ve ever had, and that Al was the best boss I ever had …
“Unfortunately for Al, his second oldest son, Alfie, did little to disavow the Mafia stories, perhaps reasoning that illusion to such a connection might give him special status among his local peers.”
I figured as much as a young reporter in this valley when a brazen Alfie—in broad daylight—shot up a bustling Whitefish automotive dealership.
“It’s in the book!” Montgomery exclaims.
“In late July 1981, at the time of the annual Whitefish Lake Regatta, Alfie Luciano walked into Hank Olson Chevrolet on a Friday afternoon expecting to pick up his speedboat, which he’d dropped off earlier for repair. It’s worth noting that Olson was also the mayor of Whitefish. Upon learning that a vital part had not come in Luciano went out to his car and returned with a 9mm semiautomatic pistol and proceeded to empty it—all fourteen rounds—into the ceiling of the garage.
“He then reloaded and dumped another thirteen rounds across a field toward a residential area. Twenty-seven empty casings were scattered about the floor of the mayor’s auto dealership. What’s a guy to do? Subtlety was not in Alfie Luciano’s behavioral toolbox. Of course, he was arrested and got off with probation after agreeing to attend a month-long drug treatment program.”
As its title indicates, Al and Alfie are just two of the book’s four main characters, each by their own accord—in life and in death—captivating if not mesmerizing residents from Kalispell to the Canadian border.
“It took twenty-five years for the story to unfold and by that time all the principal players died violently by shooting, suicide, or an automobile accident,” Montgomery writes. “It’s a tragic story in which only the winners were lawyers.”
Whereas the Lucianos are central to the narrative, the book is inspired by the 1978 shooting death of Montana Highway Patrolman Mike Ren, an “ardent” local cop who “tended to enforce the law on his own terms.”
“On the surface [Ren’s] appeared to be a cut and dried homicide, but when the shooter [Clyde Rector] was tried the jury found reason to reject the state’s version of the incident and set him free.”
So to speak.
“Ultimately,” the author recalls, “Rector, who was most comfortable when he was in a wilderness setting, hiked twenty miles into the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area and put a gun to his head.”
Or so the coroner determined.
The senior Luciano, among others, wasn’t convinced. Might Rector instead have been trailed after he parked his car near Spotted Bear—on or about June 28, 1981—to begin his trek into the woods.
He’d spent all of his money on grubstake, Luciano reasoned in an old conversation with the author.
And why, Luciano asked, would Clyde pack extra flour and ammunition if he didn’t plan on his intended lengthy stay in the woods?
Either way, a day or so later, a backcountry forest ranger discovered Clyde’s lifeless body in a cabin bunk—a bullet hole in the side of his head and Winchester semi-automatic .22 caliber rifle at his side.
Luciano said he didn’t recall Rector ever owning a .22.
“The circumstances surrounding Rector’s lonely death gave rise to more speculation,” the author concedes. “As from the beginning of this story, conspiracy theories developed. Early on it was suggested that Rector had lured Ren to a fatal rendezvous with another hidden gunman, a plot hatched perhaps by Al Luciano. Such a theory is preposterous at best and unworthy of a rebuttal.”
This sixth book by Montgomery, when he wasn’t publishing for three decades The Trail, an historical journal surrounding Northwest Montana, provides detailed accounts of the unlikely ties between all four men—Ren, Rector and the pair of Lucianos.
The author documents everything from Alfie’s 1988 purchase of The Hanging Tree and adjoining Cadillac Hotel in downtown Whitefish (raided by law enforcement on Valentine’s Day), to his links to a gaggle of shady Colombians, to the never-ending trials (literally) and tribulations of his father Al, who no matter how long and hard he tried “never succeeded in getting the authorities off his back.”
“Nothing about Al Luciano’s character supported a Mafia connection,” Montgomery writes. “He didn’t smoke, he rarely drank, he hated drugs, and he didn’t gamble. If he had an addiction, it was work.”
I should add that an implausible number of ironies didn’t help Al in his repeated efforts to expunge himself. Like when backing Alfie in filing a civil suit against Ren prior to the patrolman being shot and killed.
And there was occasion when the alleged triggerman himself had sought counsel from Al after the latter declared the local cop was a loose cannon who abided by his set of laws.
Add to that a prolonged federal money-laundering trial attempting to show where Al tried to hide profits from Colombian cocaine sales with his business transactions and you can see why so many people in Northwest Montana, including me, took him for a mobster.
Now Montgomery sets out “to present an accurate historical record of a series of events about which there has been rampant innuendo, inaccurate accounts, gross misinformation, false narratives, and wild speculation for far too many years.”
He tells me: “I write extensively about Al’s background, his family background. There’s nothing about it that suggests Mafia. Besides, ‘Luciano’ is like ‘Smith’ when it comes to an Italian name. There’s 10,000 Lucianos in the United States.
“He was a very nice man, a very thoughtful man. He helped people—was very quick to help people—give them a break.”
Al’s life, as with Ren’s and Rector’s, took a tragic turn in 1998 when his pickup truck careened off Highway 37 between Libby and Eureka and rolled. He had flown all night to reach Spokane after a business trip to Europe and presumably fell asleep behind the wheel.
As for Alfie?
“While the raid on the Cadillac did not result in any charges, U.S. Customs was not to be dissuaded from believing that Alfred J. Luciano was somehow involved in a money-laundering scheme and … authorities in Florida were hot on the trail of his son. Alfie was ultimately charged with criminal conspiracy and a warrant was issued for his arrest,” Montgomery recalls.
“Rather than face arrest and prosecution he simply left Eureka and disappeared. The charges are pending to this day and Alfie [who is still designated a fugitive] has never been arrested. The warrant was issued over thirty years ago.”
Does your gut tell you he’s sleeping with the fishes?
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” answers the author. “He’s the kind of guy that a lot of people would like to kill just because of his rash behavior. And it’s hard for him to maintain a low profile, it’s just not his style. So I could easily believe he’s dead—easily.
“I don’t know, though. He flew the coop. Left his dad holding the bag.”
Books are available through the author’s website, montgomerylosttrail.square.site
John McCaslin is a longtime journalist and author who lives in Bigfork.