The American dream lived in John Alessio. Son of an impoverished coal miner, he is a grade-school dropout and a onetime bootblack who became a millionaire with diverse interests in banking, real estate and restaurants in California and horse racing, dog racing and legalized bookmaking in Mexico. One of his enterprises was the erection of a twelve-story office building on the very same street in San Diego where he used to shine the shoes of C. Arnholt Smith, a fund-raising friend of Richard Nixon and Alessio's mentor and business associate. Alessio, named "Mr. San Diego" of 1964 by a local civic group, appreciates having friends in high places. In 1968, after years of contributing to Democratic campaigns, Alessio switched to the favorite and donated $26,000 to the winner.
As befits a man who attended Nixon's Inaugural Ball, "Big John" Alessio was a seemingly model citizen—president of the Tijuana Rotary Club, a director of the San Diego Convention and Visitors Bureau, recipient of an honorary doctorate of law from the University of San Diego. "I don't want to be immodest," Alessio once said, "but I've been a wonderful fellow."
Hanky-Panky. The Internal Revenue Service, which began an investigation into Alessio's financial dealings six years ago, did not think so. Despite reported special pleading on his behalf that delayed the inquiry, Big John, three of his six brothers and his son were indicted for failing to report $1.2 million of taxable income. Big John and Brother Angelo finally pleaded guilty last year (charges against the others were dropped) and received sentences of three years and one year respectively.
Hanky-panky, however, seems to have continued. Last week a federal grand jury in San Diego and Los Angeles indicted Big John and Angelo, their brother Tony and John's son Dominic for conspiring to bribe a guard and other prison officials in exchange for certain favors that made their prison stay rather fun. A week prior, another grand jury in San Diego indicted Angelo, Tony, Dominic and two prison officials for bribery.
Sent to a minimum-security "honor camp" in Lompoc, Calif., a kind of penal country club for a handful of privileged convicts, the Alessios lost no time in buttering up the guards. On different occasions, according to the indictment, the Alessios arranged a free weekend at a resort hotel in Stateline, Nev., for one parole officer and his family; they treated another prison official to a lavishly catered sojourn at the Kona Kai, a San Diego club controlled by Smith. Another time Tony Alessio hosted a fishing trip for a guard and three of his friends that ended with a surprise bonus: two nude prostitutes who came dancing out of the bathroom in their motel suite.