As federal prosecutor Steve Lapham starts investigating the grape-switching scam permeating California’s vineyards, one name keeps popping up: Jack Licciardi. The long-time grape broker has a reputation for facilitating vast shipments of fruit around the state. His legendary deals could make or break a winery. But that also suggested he was perfectly positioned to mastermind a crime spree…Listen to Blood Vines on the Wondery app or wherever you listen to your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting www.wondery.com/links/blood-vines.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
Chapter 1: What happened in the previous episode?
Previously on Blood Vines Pretty in pink, blush is the word many people use to describe the wine of the 1980s, White Zinfandel.
White Zinfandel was an inexpensive wine, and the economics of it were difficult if your grape pricing got much above $500 a ton.
He was murdered with a .22 caliber bullet to the head, which is a very mafia-type way of doing it. I could see that it involved a fraud on a pretty large scale, a multimillion-dollar fraud.
Picking up where we left off last episode, White Zinfandel was taking over the wine world. By 1987, it was flying off shelves more than 8 million cases a year, and marketers recognized a cash cow when they saw one. They continued pushing White Zin as America's gateway wine, the pink drink that could lure in millions of new initiates. Hey, Mike, I really like this white Zinfandel.
Well, good, good. Now put it down. I'm going to try another one.
He loves to do this. This one's great.
Yeah, I like it better. With revenues crossing 350 million in 1987, over 51 wineries jumped on the white Zin train, making it California's top exported wine. This meant wineries needed as much of the Rosé's namesake grape, Zinfandel, as they could possibly get their hands on. And the reality was, demands for all kinds of grapes were shooting up.
The entire industry thrived as Americans switched over from beer and cocktails to wine.
As Sutter Homes' Barry Wiss told me... If there was any kind of reference to good wine, really great wine, it had to come from Europe. It had to come from France. You know, there's no way to produce great wine in the United States. But I think White Zinfandel introduced people to, hey, this is just something that tastes good. Wine just tastes good.
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Chapter 2: Why was White Zinfandel so popular in the 1980s?
And so the godfather of grapes sent word that he wanted to meet the young winemaker who'd respected him enough to settle his debts. And moreover, Jack wanted to meet Scotto in person. He calls. I go to visit him in Stockton. Scotto drove to the address. But hold on, was this the right place? Jack lived in a humble little abode.
Here was a guy doing millions a year in business, and his 1,400-square-foot house looked like it hadn't had an upgrade or coat of paint in 30 years. It certainly didn't appear to be the home of a grape baron. But Scotto brushed it off. What's wrong with living frugally? He straightened his shirt, took a deep breath, and entered the house. His two sons are there.
Two sons that Jack had brought into the family business a couple years earlier.
Robert, who I never met, he was there. And he had a fatigue, an army fatigue on, with army boots. And the guy looked like he was a paramilitary kind of guy. And Michael was there. Michael's a nice enough guy.
Nice enough, but kind of standoffish, with dark hair and tinted glasses. The two stood like bodyguards around their 63-year-old father, who sat in the center of a sagging couch. Jack didn't so much as rise, and Scotto felt uneasy, a little intimidated and unsure of what to say.
So I go to shake Jack's hand. It was the longest 30 seconds I ever felt. Because I'm there trying to shake this guy's hand. I put my hand out. He couldn't move. And I did not know that. So, you know, the son, Robert, he can't move. That was his comment. And Jack says, Anthony, I have MS. So I really wish I could shake your hand, but I can't.
Actually, it was muscular dystrophy. But now Scotto understood why people rarely saw Jack outside his home, why Michael's nickname was Jack's legs. The disease made the grape broker's every move painful.
But despite that hardship... He was the kind of guy that grew on you because he was a good listener. He wasn't a salesman. He really took interest in people.
So we developed a friendship. More than a friendship. Over time, Jack would become like a father figure to Scotto. He had all the attributes my father didn't have. And Scotto grew as close as an adopted son. But Jack's real sons? Scotto didn't trust them. Something seemed off.
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