January 25, 2000

By George Anastasia

Philadelphia INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

Even in death, he did it his way.

Saul Kane, former Atlantic City wiseguy, bon vivant and close personal friend of mob boss Nicodemo "Little Nicky" Scarfo Sr., died Thursday, apparently from respiratory problems linked to a chronic heart condition, federal prison officials said.

Two days later, Kane, who was 65 and serving a drug-trafficking sentence, was tweaking law enforcement officials while enhancing his reputation as a stand-up guy and a loyal friend.

"I could see him smiling over this," said Michael McLaughin, the Camden County sheriff.

"This" was the paid death notice that appeared in The Inquirer and the Press of Atlantic City over the weekend. The notice listed Scarfo, who is in prison, as one of Kane's "brothers" and Nicodemo Scarfo Jr. as one of Kane's "sons."

Those who investigated Kane over the years saw the death notice as Kane's attempt to set the record straight for all time.

"What he's saying is that he was loyal to the end," one investigator said. "What he's saying is that, unlike some others, he wasn't a rat."

In the early 1980s, when Scarfo was at the height of his underworld power, Kane was considered his right-hand man - closer, in fact, than many "made," or formally initiated, members of the mob.

Because of his ability to make money and his role as Scarfo's financial adviser, some investigators referred to him as the "Meyer Lansky of the Boardwalk."

But Kane always insisted that he was nothing more than Scarfo's good friend.

In fact, Kane told his sentencing judge after his conviction on drug charges in 1987 that federal authorities had targeted him because he was close to Scarfo.

"They don't want me," Kane told the judge, implying that he could have made a deal to get out from under the drug charges if he had agreed to testify against his longtime friend.

Kane, who was 52 when he was sentenced to a 95-year prison term, predicted that he would probably "die in jail." But he rejected all overtures from authorities to cooperate, even after several other members of the organization, including Scarfo's nephew Philip Leonetti, cut deals with the government.

Kane's sentence was later reduced to 25 years but without any chance for parole. He had served a little more than half that sentence when he died in the intensive-care unit of a hospital near the federal prison in Lexington, Ky., federal prison officials said.

The death notice appeared in the two newspapers two days later.

"The bottom line is, he got the last laugh," said mob informant George Fresolone, who said he had met Kane two or three times in the 1980s at Scarfo's home in Florida. "From the grave, he was still busting."

"He was a bright, charismatic type of person," said Harry Goldenberg, an Atlantic City lawyer who represented Kane and considered him a friend. "People from all walks of life seemed to like him. . . . He had the ability to read people and situations very well, and he was extremely loyal to his friends and his family."

Kane's ability to laugh at himself and to turn almost any situation to his advantage was legendary. The former bail bondsman and bar owner loved to match wits with the authorities who were tracking him.

In the late 1970s, for example, law enforcement authorities alleged that the bar he opened on Pacific Avenue in Atlantic City, the My Way Lounge, was an organized-crime hangout. Kane saw the allegation as an opportunity.

He took out an ad in the Press: "Come meet the Mob at the My Way."

It was vintage Saul Kane.

Quick, clever and open to several interpretations.

"He went to his grave a wiseguy," one investigator said yesterday as he recalled the incident and laughed about the death notice, which was being circulated in law enforcement circles.

"He loved the controversy this kind of thing would stir," added McLaughin, the Camden County sheriff, who while a detective with the New Jersey State Police in the 1970s and 1980s helped make the cases that brought down Scarfo, Kane and most of the Atlantic City mob. "He loved being in the mob spotlight. He would have fit right in with the Sopranos."

In addition to listing the two Scarfos as relatives, the death notice listed another reputed mob associate, Harry Joseph, as a "brother."

Funeral services were held yesterday in Northfield, an Atlantic City suburb. Burial was in the Beth Israel Cemetery there.

Eric Goldstein of the Roth-Goldstein Memorial Chapel, through whom funeral arrangements were made, declined to comment yesterday. Goldstein said Kane's family had asked that he not respond to newspaper inquiries.

Two years ago, reacting to a newspaper article that mentioned the My Way Lounge incident, Kane wrote a letter from prison in which he described his philosophy and approach to life. In closing, he noted: "I do in fact have heroes. The heroes of my mind and heart range from my mother and father, daughter, David Ben Gurion, Dr. Salk, all people who 'stand up and do the right thing.' "

Saul Kane, a former investigator said yesterday, was many things, including a convicted extortionist and drug dealer and a close friend and associate of Nicky Scarfo, who was one of the most violent mob bosses in America.

But Kane, the law enforcement source said, was also true to a code.

"In a funny kind of way, he had a sense of honor," the investigator said. __________________________________________________

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