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Salvatore Avellino said he took an oath to "an organized crime family" in the 1970's, a decade before he drove his way to infamy and fortune as chauffeur/bagman for his boss, Antonio (Tony Ducks) Corallo.

In violating omerta – the Mafia's sacred vow of silence – he testified that he retired from the mob in the second half of 1993. Except for cooperating turncoats, like Gambino underboss Salvatore (Sammy Bull) Gravano, (right) this is something that just never happens, not even on "The Sopranos."

"You come in alive, you go out dead," has been the rule of law since Genovese soldier Joe Valachi described the Mafia's induction ceremony in 1963. And except for cooperating witnesses, Gang Land knows of no "made man" other than Avellino to testify publicly that he took an oath of allegiance to a crime family, or that the mob even exists.

During a New England Mafia induction ceremony that was tape recorded by the FBI, capo Biagio DiGiacomo was heard translating Italian words to new inductees: "You can never say anything to anybody about this   organization", "no resigning." An unidentified mobster added: "No turning in our membership."

Avellino, now 63, testified that he retired in 1993, a few months after he was hit with racketeering charges involving the Long Island garbage business. 

Avellino claims he pleaded guilty only after prosecutors promised him "coverage" for all crimes he had ever committed and therefore a racketeering indictment that accuses him of crimes including murder, arson and extortion which occurred before 1993 should be thrown out.

"At the time of my guilty plea in 1994, I was retired," Avellino (left) testified under questioning by assistant U.S. attorney Paul Weinstein. "I am still retired. I have no intentions of ever coming out of retirement."

Right after pleading guilty, Avellino sold his garbage companies for a cool $22 million. All he wants to do when he gets out of jail in 2002, is play golf in Florida, was a constant refrain from Avellino and his lawyers. Left unsaid was Avellino's obvious desire for a different fate than Tony Ducks, who died in prison last month.

He said he was testifying truthfully and that he had no reason to lie.

"I told you (Weinstein) that I would never lie to Judge (Denis) Hurley or to the judicial system. I take it very seriously," he said. "Yes, I did take that (Mafia) oath."

Q. In the organized crime life, are you permitted to retire by the rules of an organized crime family?
A. Why not?

Q. I'm asking you, are you?
A. I say yes.

Q. When did you cease to be bound by that oath?
A. Well, sir, every day in life, life becomes a learning experience, and sometimes what your priorities are .... It wasn't done in one day. It was done

Q Now, the oath to an organized crime family includes the oath to not give the business of that family, correct?

A. That's correct.

Because of objections by his lawyer, Avellino did not name his crime family, or explain exactly how, or to whom, he submitted his resignation.

Avellino also disputed assertions by Weinstein that the Mafia oath prevented him from telling the feds "about crimes they don't know about."

"I don't know where this rule came from," said Avellino. "In other words, there was no rule, there was no book. What you're saying, I never heard of it before....  The oath is that you're not supposed to inform upon someone else and become an informant against someone else committing a crime."

So far, Avellino's defense team of Jay Goldberg, Larry Bronson (right) and Brian Linder, as well as Gerald Lefcourt, a past president of the National Association of Criminal Defense lawyers, have testified in his behalf.

"I would say I probably employed half of the bar of New York City," said Avellino.

His remark prompted an outburst of laughter that was cut short by the judge. "I don't want anybody laughing. This is not humorous and it's not to be viewed that way by anybody," Hurley stated sternly.

Arthur Ave. Meets Pleasant Ave.

Acting Luchese boss Steven Crea was already in a bad mood on Jan. 7 when cops raided his business office during an investigation that ended last week with state labor racketeering charges against Crea, capo Dominic Truscello, and 36 others.

A few weeks earlier, on Nov. 4, 1999, he was busted for violating his federal supervised release conditions by having a plate of spaghetti with Truscello, a lifelong buddy, at a Manhattan restaurant.

To make matters worse, those charges were filed three days before his federal supervision for an earlier labor racketeering bit was to end. And now, Crea (right) complained to Detective Robert Callus, cops were targeting his son for crimes he had nothing to do with, according to court papers filed by the Manhattan District Attorney's office.

"I am ready to pay for my sins. You got me, put the cuffs on me now and I'll go," said Crea, citing his upbringing on Arthur Avenue, an Italian American enclave in The Bronx as evidence that he played hard, but by the rules.

"I understand what you're saying," said Callus. "My roots are from Pleasant Avenue, (a similar Manhattan neighborhood in East Harlem.) So don't worry, if there's nothing there, there is nothing there; if I have you, I have you. But I'll never jam you for going to dinner with Dom."

Of course, Callus didn't need to; the FBI had already done that.

Two months later, in March, Truscello, 66, (left) and Crea, 53, were each sent back to federal prison for nine months for associating with known felons -- each other -- for about 45 minutes at an eatery on Manhattan's west side.

"Nine months for a bowl of spaghetti!"exclaimed Crea's lawyer Murray Richman. "It's outrageous government overreaching. Imagine what he could have gotten if he had had a full meal."