the new york crimes
Fatal stabbing in New York was ‘practice’ for more attacks on black men, police say
The Maryland man was charged with murder as a hate crime on Thursday.

A day after police say a white man admitted to fatally stabbing a black man in New York City and intending to kill many more, authorities charged him Thursday with murder as a hate crime, even as prosecutors were also urged to pursue federal charges.

Police say James H. Jackson, 28, of Baltimore told detectives that he traveled to New York from Maryland on a bus last week “for the purpose of killing black men,” according to a complaint filed in New York Criminal Court.

The complaint elaborates on what the New York Police Department had said Wednesday, when they described Jackson as violently acting out on what Assistant Police Chief William Aubry described as long-standing “feelings of hate towards male blacks.”


                                   NIKOLAI SELWYN ;; UNDERBOSS AU. The Selwyn crime family operates mainly in Manhattan, The Bronx, Brooklyn, & New Jersey. The family also maintains influence in Queens, Staten Island, Long Island, Westchester County, Rockland County, Connecticut, Massachusetts, & Florida. The Selwyn Family is one of the five families that dominate organized crime activities in New York City. 

                                   Prominent Members ;; Julius Selwyn ( Boss ), Nikolai Selwyn ( Underboss ), Evan Rosier ( Consigliere ), & Antonin Dolohov ( Capo ). 

The DEATH EATERS consist of New York’s major crime families, each operating in specific territories & owning a seat on The Commission. Established in 1938, when Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boss of the now defunct Riddle crime family, formally organized the previously warring factions into what are now known as the Avery, Black, Lestrange, Malfoy, Riddle (no longer extant), & Selwyn crime families, each with demarcated territory, organizationally structured in a now-familiar hierarchy, & reporting up to the same overarching governing entity. Despite resistance from his fellow bosses, Riddle declared himself boss of all bosses, reneging on a deal he had made with Arcturus Black III, the then boss of the Black crime family, that would establish the two bosses as equals. Riddle was murdered in the summer of 1945. His murder is said to have been the result of an agreement between Arcturus Black III, Armand Malfoy II, & Caius Selwyn. The Commission, the governing entity which continues to govern Death Eaters activities in the United States & Canada, was established soon after. 

A white man drove to NYC to kill black people. The ‘Daily News’ reported his victim’s arrest record.

  • The New York Daily News published a story Wednesday about James Harris Jackson, a 28-year-old white man from Baltimore who allegedly traveled to New York City, encountered a 66-year-old black stranger named Timothy Caughman and stabbed him to death Monday night.
  • Police said the crime was racially motivated, and that Jackson surrendered at a New York Police Department substation in Times Square two days after the killing. “I’m the person you’re looking for,” Jackson told officers Wednesday, according to WNBC.
  • “He knew what he was doing when he was coming up here,” Det. William Aubrey added, citing Jackson’s history of hatred toward black people. 
  • Yet the Daily News’ report — co-authored by Rocco Parascandola, Aidan McLaughlin and Graham Rayman — went out of its way to highlight the arrest record of Caughman, the black victim. Read more (3/22/17)

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Black transgender subway rider stabbed after offering a woman his seat

  • Ijan Jarrett, 44, was taking the NYC subway home Sunday when he was stabbed by a woman who didn’t want to sit next to him because he was black, the New York Post reported.
  • Jarrett, who identifies as transgender, told the Post the woman stormed over to him, punched him and stabbed him under his left eye, on the back of his hand and on his left arm. 
  • The woman, identified as Stephanie Pazmino, was charged with assault as a hate crime, the New York Daily News reported. Read more

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3 alarming hate crime numbers that have emerged this week:
  • Using data from the beginning of the year through Nov. 6, Politico New York showed there have been more hate crimes in 2016 in New York City compared to all of 2015. Two areas of continued concern: anti-Semitic attacks and targeting based on sexual orientation.
  • The Southern Poverty Law Center is one of America’s premier organizations for tracking and monitoring hate groups. Three days after the election, the group announced reports of more than 200 incidents of “hateful harassment and intimidation.” NBC News reported Monday the tally had risen to more than 300 incidents reported directly to SPLC.
  • On Monday, the FBI released its annual Hate Crimes Statistics report. The report noted a 6% overall increase in hate crimes in 2015. But more dramatically, anti-Muslim attacks grew by 66% in 2015. According to the Washington Post, such attacks are at their highest rate since after 9/11. The FBI report also looked at anti-black and anti-Semitic hate crimes.
Hillary worked on HIV/AIDS medicine for gays as First Lady, adding LGBTQ to hate crime laws as New York Senator, and passed the first ever U.N. resolution on gay rights as Secretary of State. But tell me more about how you want to demonize her for being against gay marriage when Obama, Biden, and Bernie were all against it, too.

Sexism is alive and well in the USA.

Man charged with hate crime in beating of 2 transgender women at NY McDonald’s

  • A Long Island man who beat two transgender women Friday outside a McDonald’s in Queens, New York, has been rrested and charged with a hate crime.
  • According to DNA Info, 38-year-old Patrick O'Meara was reportedly heckling passersby at random before he spotted the women, who were entering a McDonald’s in Queens’ Jackson Heights neighborhood late Friday afternoon.
  •  O'Meara allegedly called them “bitches” and “faggots,” throwing one woman to the ground before proceeding to punch and kick her.
  • DNA Info reported O'Meara “briefly left the scene and returned with a cane,” which he used to hit the other woman, cutting her hand. One of the victims also fractured her ankle during the attack, per the report.
  • Upon his arrest, O'Meara told the police the women had “assaulted” him, but one witness disputed that account. “He was harassing everybody that was walking by, but when the trans women walked by he clearly was infuriated,” Maria Munoz told DNA Info. Read more (3/19/17 6:36 PM)

New York man charged with hate crime for placing gun to Muslim cab driver’s head

  • Two days after Donald Trump’s inauguration, a white man threatened a Muslim cab driver at gun point in New Paltz, New York. 
  • Now, he has been charged with two felony hate crimes.
  • New York State Police said Andrew Plachecki, 26, placed the gun to the taxi driver’s head and called him a “motherfucking piece of Muslim shit” early Sunday morning. 
  • Plachecki, reportedly intoxicated, pointed the gun during a cab fare dispute with the driver.
  • The cab driver, who works with Jon’s Taxi, called his dispatcher and signaled a state police cruiser. 
  • Soon after, New York state troopers found Plachecki at a nearby gas station and arrested him.
  • On Monday, the Daily Freeman reported that Plachecki received two felony charges: “menacing, displaying a weapon as a hate crime and reckless endangerment as a hate crime.” Read more

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A Story to be Told -Criminal!Negan x Dancer!Reader AU

This is probably not any good, but I have so many ideas boiling in my head from who knows where. 

Might even make it a series if people like it so much, but I doubt that it will be that popular.

Originally posted by leeslygonzalez

You had luckily never had ever had the opportunity to meet Negan. He was a wealthy man, charming, intelligent, he owned nearly half of New York City. He owned restaurants, miniatures shops, some of the subway system, and even the Metropolitan Opera House where you danced. You were happy that you had never met him before, although some of the dancers had and claimed that he was worth the while. You saw Negan owned his people too. He would give them safety and reward them with cash and gifts, if only they gave him half of their profits. Businesses were forced to bow down to his rule, or else they would face the brutal legend of Lucille. You didn’t really believe it much, probably just ghost stories to get people to fully cooperate. The story goes like this, simple and to the point: Negan had a bat named Lucille, wrapped in loads of barbed wire and used to strike fear into its victims. If someone fucked Negan the wrong way, Lucille would surely be the last thing they’d see.    

There were only three reasons one would ever confront Negan, or vice versa; money, sex, or because he wanted you dead. There, of course, were the few girls in your ballet group that had spent plenty of time with him. In fact, Sherry had just recently returned from his company with new ballet shoes and lingerie. There were five women in your group that loved to busy themselves with Negan the most, they would give themselves to him as often as he saw fit and he was not far from directly seeking them out. Because the truth was, Negan owned every last one of them. He even owned you.   

 You, who struggled to pay rent and put food on your table and in your dog’s food bowl. You who worked two jobs, including the one at the theatre as a ballet dancer. You, who had worked your ass off to get to where you were, who no one helped, who had no family. Madame Argonne, the dance instructor, had always ended up making you the lead but in some way or another your other two jobs would interfere with practice and another dancer would get it. Particularly the five that fucked Negan. You would never go to such extremes to keep your status as the best, Madame knew that you were the most talented of the entire dance company and that was enough for you. However, things were becoming tight and it was all because of Negan.

    The pizza restaurant you served at was low on their payments to Negan, business was declining for some reason and your paycheck began to fall. You would need to get another job, which meant that you would have to drop ballet. But ballet was your life, you had been dancing since you were seven and it was the only thing that your dead parents had ever really invested in. At that moment you knew you had no choice but to plead with Madame that you needed to come in at a different time for practice. You even mentioned moving the time to twelve o'clock at night you were so desperate. You would give up blood, sweat, and tears for the theater, you had already. You needed to stay in this, but you couldn’t risk losing it because of a fourth wheel job.

“Please Madame, you know how I feel about ballet. Please let me come in at a later time.”

“I am afraid I can’t grant you those perks, no matter how good a dancer you are. If you do not have time for dance class, I cannot promise there will continue to be a place for you in this company.” Madame Argonne was as strict as could be with you that day, the other girls were prepping for the latest Matinee.

“Madame,” Your voice was hoarse, you were exhausted and your body was trembling. “Please, I live for this.” The Madame sighed, she shook her head in response to your words.

“I cannot.” Your head dropped, chin touching your chest and you were shaking everywhere. You could feel the stinging of tears, threatening to flood over from your eyes. “Oh Dear, no crying in my presence." 

"Yes, Madame.” You turned around and sulked away to continue a meaningless practice. There was no way you could keep this job, no way you could continue as a dancer if you brought in a fourth job. You stretched at the beginning of that practice with the other girls, who knew of your predicament and were smiling to themselves over it. The competition was leaving them, permanently. Then…

“Oh Negan, you came!” Amber exclaimed with such ferocious excitement, you ignored the commotion and continued to practice your routine as the girls swarmed their boss and new led at his beck and call.

“Negan, you are here to take someone to the fundraiser. Take me.” One woman said.

“No, he is taking me. Ain’t that right babe?” Another said, by that point you were the only other one practicing in front of the mirror. Not even looking to see the image through a clear scope. You did a Grand Jete, En pointe, with each graceful step was another more challenging and precise movement. 

“Very good, (Y/N). Next time you raise for your Grand Jete, lift your toes.” And as your routine proceeded, you bled into the dance. You crumbled to the ground and twisted your body into a raise and a jump. You didn’t pay attention the silence that followed your individual stage, the filthy and jealous looks of the others as you worked your heart out. You finished the dance in allegró, a quick and fast paced set of jumps before halting your body with a curve to its back. 

“(Y/N), if only you would stay.” You glanced at your instructor in the mirror, she looked so proud. “You would make a magnificent professional.” You were never one for being shy, but another pair of eyes was overtaking your figure and it was creating a brilliant warmth in your cheeks. 

“And who is this, Madame?” His voice was like honey, dripping into your ears and forcing a sinful and invisible drool from your lips. It was husky, yet refined and with an undertone of dominance. 

“My best dancer.”

“Really? Then why hasn’t she had a leading role?” Madame always had a way of leaking her way into the lives of her dancers and at this point you had plenty of cracks for her to squeeze into.

“She works two other jobs, can’t afford to lose them and her time at the theater is restricted on occasion. That’s why she will be leaving soon, she needs a fourth job.” You were panicking inside, too afraid to look in Negan’s direction through the mirror.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Your eyes unconsciously found his, his that were like golden pools of water reflecting into the mirror and entrancing you entirely. “(Y/N), right?” You could hear his shiny shoes as they connected with the hardwood of the floor. They were black, the rest of his body covered in a finely tailored white suit, a red rose hanging from the rest pocket of his suit coat. His black hair was slicked back and his face was smooth and chiseled. He was like a god before you, the mirror the only version of him you ever wanted to really see. He was a dangerous man, a criminal, the devil in his most tempting form. Your mother always worried about men like him in the city of lights, the reason was because they were the heart breakers. The ones who lavished you in gifts until that moment where you were theirs entirely, then they would toss you aside and throw you to the wolves. 

“Are you going to answer me?” He was beside you, the heat from his body engulfing you and the strong scent of his cologne flowing into your nostrils.

“Yes.” You finally did answer him, it came out in a shallow huff, forced by your will to survive. You didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t answer, you didn’t know if he would take out Lucille.

“Are you going to answer my question then? Are you (Y/N)?”

“Yes.” The lump at your throat was thick and antagonizing, you gulped it down and shifted on your black slippers. 

“Well (Y/N), how about you go to the fundraiser with me tonight?" 

"I can’t, i’m working.” You finally tilted your head to look at him beside you, his expression was strict and his eyes were scrutinizing your expression. 

“I will pay you ten thousand dollars to go with me.” Your jaw dropped and you gasped, to what extent would you continue to fight this. Selling yourself out to a man so that you could manage yourself, he was the devil. “Twenty thousand? Thirty?” Your lunges were burning, your body frigid with shock. He was offering real money. “What’s your price, doll?” You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to answer, but you knew your response and you knew it wasn’t going to be what he wanted. Turning down that much money, were you insane? 

“I don’t have one.” Your voice was almost mute and you had to clear your throat as if it was flooded with pure anxiety and fear. “And I don’t want one.” His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned on his left leg, in the mirror you could see the criticism in everyone’s eyes. You just turned down the most powerful man in all of New York. “I have a job. I would like to keep it.”

“Are you fucking serious, right now?” His voice was low and damned, with slight hints of aggravation and surprise. “I just offered you a free ticket onto the wealthy side of the street and you turn me down.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“(Y/N),” Madame, a tender hand at your shoulder and a soft whisper of worry. “Please accept it.” You weren’t sure if it was because he might kill you for it, or he might ruin your life, or everything in between.

“I won’t.” It wasn’t because you were stubborn. It was because you were a daddy’s girl and your father always told you that money was earned, not given. You had worked hard for what you had, no one controlled that. It would only make you feel terrible if you accepted his money, no matter how high his price was, or how luxurious the outcome would be.

“It’s alright Negan.” Sherry slithered up around him, her arm wrapping his own. “You can take me.” The bickering started in the background again, but your eyes would not leave his. He was looking at you deeply, intensely as if you were the only living thing in the room, the only living thing on the earth. 

“You’ll do it for free then?” His words wrought the room into silence again. “I will pick you up after work, what time do you get off? Where can I pick you up?”

“I never said yes.”

“I’ll find you anyways.” His lips quirked up slightly and a bundle of emotions ran through your stomach. His eyes flickered with a keen amount of handsome and jovial spirit. 

“Joe’s Italian Pizza on 54th in Brooklyn. I get out at nine.”

“That’s fine.” He held his hand out, grinning at this point. You took his hand, the rough pads of his palm and fringed prints raveling around your small fingers. They were lifted up to his lips, which were surprisingly soft and gentle. “I will be there to pick you up, sweetheart.” Negan released your hand and backed away, the girls opening a path for him to exit. No one talked to you for the rest of practice aside from Madame and since it would most likely be your last time dancing with her you said your goodbye in the form of a hug. Still none of the other girls had taken care to notice you as you left and went home to prepare for your job. 

  That night you were anxious as you moved about the busy tables in Joe’s Italian restaurant, serving drinks and plates of pizza and pasta. You were about to fall over from exhaustion, having not slept since four this morning. Nine approached quicker than you expected and it was a heavy cloud that monitored your usual work efficiency. You were both waiting tables and taking over the cash register, swiftly moving from table one to three and four. The other waiter that was to take up your shift was late that night, your shift was supposed to be over five minutes and she hadn’t even walked through the door yet.   You were cleaning off tables when a familiar face came in through the door, two men in black suits standing alongside him. It was Negan. He was ready to take you to the fundraiser, yet you still smelled of pizza and you looked like trash. Your hair was in a messy bun and your black shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a stained up whit tank top. Negan glanced you up and down, a mutual understanding between you both took place and he sat down at the nearest table that was vacant. At this point the restaurant was starting to clear up, only two more tables to finish serving. You walked over to the table Negan was sitting at and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I am not ready yet. The girl in the third shift after hasn’t showed up yet.”

“Pizza twenty four hours right? She might never show up and that means overtime.” More money. Perhaps he was right, but his chill attitude about the fact that you might be working here for the rest of the night was tiring. In all honestly, you didn’t even feel like going to the fundraiser and then you remembered with a sad feeling overtaking you.

“Well, I clocked out already. He can’t afford to pay me more than what is expected.” Negan shook his head in disappointment, you felt a bit embarrassed considering the situation and your current state. 

“Sit down. We’ll have dinner here. I don’t feel like going to the fundraiser anyways.”

“B-But…” Your words trailed off at the warning his eyes sent in your direction.

“Waiter!” Your head snapped into the direction of the other table, where a customer was waving his empty beer around. “Where the fuck is my beer?” You chest heaved and you wiped your eyes with your hands before turning to go tend to his needs. You came back to the man’s table with a beer, one of his buddy’s smacking your ass when you turned to walk away. 

“Hey,” Joe defended from his place behind the counter. “If you do that again, I am kicking y'all out.” You stumbled back over to the other table and began cleaning up its contents. The door swung open and in walked your fellow employee. She was chewing on a profound amount of gum, her chest popping out of the tank top she wore and booty shorts.

“Can you finish the rest sweetheart? I am gonna go have another smoke.” She said obnoxiously with a swing of her hair, not even acknowledging any response you had made. You sat down at the table you were cleaning and your forehead hit the table with a thud as you crossed your arms. 

“Hey bitch, here’s your cash.” You didn’t think whoever it was was talking to you until a dollar bill hit the table in front of you. The boy and his friends laughed at you as they went to walk away, their path obstructed by the two men in black.

“Get out of my way bud.” Negan stood up from his table, stood up to those assholes. 

“Why don’t you pay the beautiful young woman what she deserves.” The man snorted at Negan’s demand.

“I did.” Negan placed a hand on his shoulder, the man gulped and looked down, Negan was holding one side of his suit coat open to reveal a gun holster inside, the silver shun violently in the dim light of the restaurant.

“No, you didn’t.” At the sight of Negan’s superiority over him, the man and his buddies reached into their pockets and pulled cash out of their pockets as if it depended on their lives. Your hands shakily encompassed hundred dollar bills, quarters and twenties as the boys leaked all of their money onto the table. You watched as the boys were allowed leave, Negan taking up their spaces beside the table when they went.

“Come on, doll, you look tired. Let’s get out of here.” Negan helped you collect the money, shoving it into the pockets of your waitress apron. He was close as he did it, you could feel his breath fanning at your face. Your lips parted at the darkness you clipped in his eyes when you looked up. You didn’t say anything as you squeezed past him to gather up your things, you gave Joe a wave as you left, Negan opening the door for you on the way out.   

Outside was a luxurious Cadillac limousine, long and slender and black with silver accents. Negan guided you towards the vehicle on the curb with a hand at your lower back, your eyes catching the moon reflecting off the moist street. Negan opened the door for you into the limousine, you had never sat in something so expensive before. Negan entering in after you and polishing himself along the white leather seats. There was a miniature fridge and a large assortment of wines and alcohol. It was dark in the limousine, until Negan took the action of turning the light on at the ceiling of the car. You couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, you had never experienced the rich life like he had. It was weird sitting on leather, being lavished with the presence of a handsome man.

“T-Thank you.” All that money that you got from that one batch of rude customers summed up to be enough for groceries. You usually never had enough for groceries.

“No problem. People shouldn’t treat like that, you work too hard.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of vodka, taking two of the glasses that were sitting on the wooden folded out table. “Want some?” You shook your head and crossed your legs, holding your black bag against your chest.

“I don’t drink, sorry.” The glasses clinked harshly

, starting you from your loose state.

“You say sorry an awful lot.”

“I’m so-” You stopped yourself, Negan poured himself a glass, he took a sip then put it down. The vodka was put back into the fridge, Negan adjusted the opening of his coat and he leaned back.

“So where do you want to go? I’m sure the fundraiser is definitely out of the question at this point.” Your eyebrows furrowed and you cocked your head at him. 

“You mean we can go anywhere?”

“Yeah, sure. Anywhere you want.” What were his motives? Why does he want to spend any time with you? You aren’t anything special, you aren’t Sherry or Amber-

“Hey.” He waved his hand and you blanked, taking a deep breath as you rubbed your temple. “You okay? Fucking blanked out on me for a second.”

“Um… I’m fine… McDonald’s?” You really weren’t in the mood for anything big, but you were starving and a Big Mac sounded delicious at that moment

“Jesus,” He smirked. “I haven’t had a McDonald’s in a long, long time.” You couldn’t help, but smile back. He tapped at the glass separating you both and the driver, it slid open and Negan gave the destination. “Not exactly your romantic destination, doll. How often do you eat there?”

“Sometimes I don’t eat at all.” His smile slowly fell as he rubbed his cheeks, you didn’t mean to be so forward about your habits; fast food, smelly clothes, messy hair, eating less, but you felt dissociated, like it didn’t matter to you at the moment. He didn’t seem to mind aside from the fact that you didn’t eat often.

“Ya'know, I just can’t help myself but ask. How many jobs do you have again?” He seemed extremely interested, even shifting over to sit next to you and wrap an arm around your neck. 

“Three, counting the new one I start on Sunday. I can’t work at the theater anymore. Madame is sending me my paycheck this coming up Friday, so I will have time to grab a forth job.”

“That’s a shame.” He pondered, almost to himself, he licked his lips. “And where are those jobs at again? I know the Pizza Place, I basically own that.”

“I work at Victoria Secret and this new job I got is at a department store.” Negan’s finger was drifting around your bare shoulder, caressing the skin and making you shiver. You were flushing at the mere idea that he could touch you so simply and still do such complex things to you. You smelled your scent, it was still pizza grease and hair conditioner, but he smelled like heaven or rather the literal embodiment of it. 

“Victoria Secret, huh?”

“Yeah, it works out in the end I guess.”

“And I own the theatre too, don’t I?” What was he thinking? You glanced up at him and he was smiling down at you, his eyes admiring all of your features.

“Yes, I think that you do.” His other hand reached over his lap to grab your knee and caress it. 

“What if I paid you more? What if I offer you half a million dollars a year just to dance at my theatre?” Your eyes grew wide and your breath hitched, his hand was traveling up and you didn’t even notice it.

“That is more than forty thousand a month.” But then you remembered he did that with the other girls, you were sure they got paid just as significantly because they fucked Negan. You didn’t want to be a whore.

“What do you think?” Your excitement at the proposal dropped suddenly and you declined with a shake of your head.

“I can’t accept that either.” Negan wasn’t smiling anymore, his hand on your leg stopped completely. 

“Why the fuck not?” His lips were closer to your ear, nearly touching the lobe and you can hear his words so damn well.

“Because I am not like them, I work for what I get. If all I am going to do is dance then the allowance you would give me is too much. I just can’t.”

“Baby doll, I have never met someone who has ever denied money from me. Never.” He sounded gravelly, but not angry, not like what he said before.

“I struggle, but at least I know I am earning my own keep.”

“I respect that so fucking much. God I don’t think you know how much more attracted I am to you right now.” He was pressing you harshly against his body and another heated blush took over, his cheek smushed against yours. “Nothing I love more than a woman that can fend for herself, but every now and then a good girl needs someone to take over…” He leaned back, forehead finding yours and you were intimately close. The longer the conversation went on, the more uncomfortable you became. “You know what I mean, doll?" 

"U-Uh yeah.” His eyes were tantalizing, dragging you with him as you gazed into them. This man was going to be your death, your downfall, all of your strength and he was your weakness. The driver’s window slid open and the car came to a halt, he peaked his head through.

“What can I get for you sir?” Negan laid back into the seat with a smirk, he nodded his head.

“Ladies first, it’s on me.” He gestured to you and your embarrassment only grew further as your hunger overtook your gigantic mouth.

“A Big Mac with a large fry, a small caramel sundae and a medium coke.”

Francis Ford Coppola signed on to direct The Godfather when he was just 29 years old. The film centers on a fictional Sicilian crime family in New York City and Coppola knew nothing about the Mafia, but he did understand Italian-American culture and tradition — and he was determined to avoid stereotypes.

Released in 1972, The Godfather went on to become an iconic American film. It won three Academy Awards — including for best picture and best adapted screenplay — and its sequel, The Godfather: Part II, won six. Coppola was nominated for another Academy Award in 1991 for his work on The Godfather: Part III.

The director tells Fresh Air’s Terry Gross that he had no idea at the time how successful the film would be. Instead, as a young director, he was focused on getting the studio to let him do it his way. “It was just the most frightening and depressing experience I think I’ve ever had,” he says. “I had no power and yet I had real opinions in how it should be done.”

As he was preparing to make the film, Coppola put together a notebook with ideas for each scene and pitfalls to avoid. It also included pages from the eponymous Mario Puzo novel the film was based on, with Coppola’s notes in the margin. Coppola has now published those materials into a new book called The Godfather Notebook.


no one ever told me chloe bourgeois is actually gwen stacy