The Twilight Years of a 'Black Book' Legend: Joseph Cusumano's Fight for Freedom After 34 Years

There are names, and then there are names – the kind that echo through the hushed halls of power, the kind that carry a certain weight. Joseph “Joey” Cusumano’s name, for some thirty-four long years now, has been etched into a particularly infamous roster: Nevada’s “Black Book.” Officially, it’s the List of Excluded Persons, but in truth, its popular moniker carries a far more potent sting. And for nearly three and a half decades, it has meant one thing for Cusumano: no entry into any Nevada casino. No dice, no cards, no slots. Just a permanent, public ban.

He’s 85 years old now, you see, a man undoubtedly looking back on a life that has seen its share of twists and turns. He was placed on that dreaded list way back in 1989, a consequence of his rather undeniable, if you can say, association with figures tied to the Patriarca crime family. There was also a conviction, a federal one, for interstate travel in aid of racketeering – not exactly a trivial matter. But doesn't time, honestly, change things? Don't circumstances evolve?

This isn't just about gambling, though. Oh no. For Cusumano, as the twilight of his life approaches, this fight is about something far more profound: dignity. He wants his name cleared. He wants, quite simply, to be removed from this public ledger of undesirable individuals before his final curtain call. It’s a poignant request, really, born from a desire for some measure of peace, perhaps even a sliver of redemption.

His lawyer, Marc Wasserman, put it rather succinctly before the Nevada Gaming Control Board: “He’s 85, he’s not doing well, he has no interest in gaming, and he’s no threat to gaming.” It feels like a common-sense plea, doesn't it? An elderly man, facing health issues, seemingly past his days of any nefarious involvement. What harm could he possibly pose now to the gleaming casinos of Las Vegas or Reno?

Yet, the Board, quite understandably, operates on a different wavelength. Their job, after all, is to protect the integrity of Nevada’s gaming industry. And their stance, for now, remains unyielding. Michael Meczka, a senior deputy attorney general representing the Board, argued against Cusumano’s removal. The Black Book, he emphasized, isn't some reward system for good behavior over time. It’s a shield, a mechanism to keep out individuals whose past conduct, frankly, poses an ongoing perceived risk, or whose associations could tarnish the industry’s reputation.

Cusumano’s counsel tried to underscore the stark reality: his client is an octogenarian, frail and removed from the world of organized crime that once defined his entry into this ignominious registry. He reportedly told the Board members he had “made mistakes” in his life and now merely sought to “die in peace.” A powerful sentiment, certainly, and one that resonates on a human level.

But the Board isn't swayed by sentiment alone. They point to the original reasoning for his inclusion: his connection to crime figures, his prior conviction. They seem to suggest that the taint, once applied, is difficult, if not impossible, to scrub clean. And that, in essence, is the core of this ongoing drama: the clash between a man’s plea for an end-of-life reprieve and a system designed for a kind of permanent vigilance.

So, the battle continues. Will Joseph Cusumano, after nearly 34 years, finally see his name struck from Nevada’s notorious Black Book? Or will his past, no matter how distant, remain an unshakeable shadow, even in his twilight years? It's a question that, in truth, speaks volumes about the nature of justice, forgiveness, and the indelible marks left by a life lived on the edge.