The New Yorker:

No one in my family wanted to talk about Harold’s life as a contract killer for the Mob. Then one day he called me.

By Eric Konigsberg

This is how my family made its money. In May, 1955, my grandfather Leo Konigsberg started a wholesale food business in Bayonne, New Jersey: one delivery route, one driver, and two trucks. He added an afternoon route and drove it himself, dropping in on his high-volume customers—grocery stores and restaurants—to see if anyone was running low and needed something on the spot. That was what Leo liked most about being a butter-and-egg man, getting out and seeing clients.

At first, Leo ran his business out of his home, storing nonperishables—pickles, mayonnaise, and shortening—in his garage, and perishables in two walk-in coolers he rented in Jersey City. In time, he was able to pay his father rent on a space he used as a warehouse and office. As he frequently reminded his children, the only free thing he ever accepted from his relatives was a driveway for his trucks. He built a successful outfit, and if you drove through Hudson County in the nineteen-sixties or seventies you probably saw the red trucks with “Leo L. Konigsberg Foods” lettered in cursive across the front.

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