Colacurcio: No Regrets -- `I'll Never Be Retired Retired. Not Until I'm In The Grave'

For decades, his name conjured up a seamy underworld of handshake deals, bare-breasted women and bundles of cash.

Millions of dollars, several prison terms and dozens of headlines later, what's most striking about Frank Colacurcio Sr. is what he's not: ominous, regretful or totally retired.

Now banished to the sidelines by the terms of his probation for a tax-fraud conviction, Seattle's former topless-dance king, now nearing 80, is not allowed to work for or even frequent the adult-entertainment clubs he once ruled.

Still, he spends nearly every day at Talents West, the cramped, cluttered Lake City hiring headquarters for the clubs. He says he plays cards, dabbles in real estate and gives advice to his son and other associates who run the strip joints.

"I'll never be retired retired," says Colacurcio, 78. "Not until I'm in the grave."

Out of the spotlight for several years, the Colacurcio name has resurfaced in recent weeks with the opening of two adult-entertainment clubs, Papagayo's in Bellevue's Overlake area and Babe's in that city's Factoria neighborhood.

Colacurcio's only son, whom everyone calls Frankie, pleaded guilty in the same 1991 case that prohibited his father from working in the business. His parole officer said a plea agreement designed by his lawyer ensured that Frankie, now 33, would be allowed to run the clubs once he was released.

Still, in divorce papers filed in 1993, Frankie's mother, Jackie - Colacurcio Sr.'s wife of 36 years - said she believed her ex-husband was still running the show.

"Because in my opinion, he's the one that has all the authority," she said in a deposition. "It's 36 years of being with him that I've watched. . . . I feel like Frankie, if he had to run it and his father wasn't around, I don't think he's capable of doing it."

The Colacurcio name still reverberates in the cash-rich world of nude women three decades after Colacurcio and his brothers, William and Sam, started a jukebox business. That is a source of outrage to some and frustration to others.

"It's not for lack of trying," says former vice-unit supervisor for King County Police, Sgt. Frank Kinney, who tracked the Colacurcios and their associates for years but was never able to deal the blow that would knock them out. "In adult entertainment, the beat goes on."

At one time, the Colacurcios dominated the topless-nightclub industry in the Puget Sound area and were financing clubs in Alaska, Arizona, Texas, Oregon and New Mexico. Some in law enforcement believe Colacurcio's time in prison opened the door to competition, and today the Detroit-based Deja Vu chain has the edge on the number of local strip clubs.

Kinney believes the Colacurcios have no connection to East Coast crime families but are "their own variant of organized crime" - a notion Colacurcio has long scoffed at.

"Mafia malarkey," he said recently. "The majority of the attention we got wasn't deserved."

The attention began in 1943. Colacurcio, the eldest son in a family of eight children, was convicted of "carnal knowledge" with a 16-year-old girl. He was 25 at the time and worked as a truck driver, hauling fruits and vegetables from local farms to wholesale distributors. He was paroled a year later.

The trucking business was so good he took on a partner and set up an office at Western Avenue and Madison Street in Seattle. In the 1950s, Colacurcio and his brother Bill were distributing vending, slot, pinball and cigarette machines.

In 1959, Colacurcio was subpoenaed by the U.S. Senate Rackets Investigating Committee to testify in a nationwide probe of the coin-machine industry. At the same time, the local prosecutor said the Colacurcios' business efforts had "all the earmarks" of a well-financed attempt to take control of the jukebox business in Seattle.

Charges were never filed, but when rival operators claimed the brothers threatened them with bodily harm if they didn't join the Colacurcio Bros. Amusement Co., the Seattle City Council refused to renew William Colacurcio's operating license.

By 1962, Colacurcio had an interest in several bars, restaurants or nightclubs, including a beer garden at the World's Fair, and had brought topless dancing to Seattle.

The mostly cash businesses kept investigators close on his trail, trying to expose crimes associated with the strip clubs. During a 197O trial, in which Colacurcio was found guilty of assaulting a former bartender who was a police agent, a detective testified that the nightclub operator also was being investigated for vice, narcotics, dangerous drugs, assaults and prostitution.

But the detective acknowledged that nothing could be substantiated.

Other Colacurcio brothers had run-ins with the law. Bill was convicted in 1980 of racketeering and gambling in New Orleans. In 1988, Sam pleaded guilty to profit skimming, Daniel pleaded guilty to obstructing an investigation by providing false information to investigators and prosecutors, and Patrick Colacurcio pleaded guilty to attempted trafficking in stolen property, all related to the operation of topless bars in Arizona.

Besides the assault and tax-evasion convictions, Frank Colacurcio was convicted in 1971 of racketeering for bringing illegal bingo cards into the state.

During the bingo-card trial, U.S. attorneys exposed Colacurcio's role in an extensive payoff and extortion system, in which Seattle and King County police were getting paid in return for tolerating illegal gambling. A nightclub owner testified he paid Colacurcio $3,000 a month for police protection.

The extent of Colacurcio's involvement in the nightclub industry may never be known. Thanks to a host of associates, Colacurcio was often able to remain a silent partner in the clubs.

In his 1974 federal court tax-evasion trial, Colacurcio conceded he had interests in a number of establishments but said he often kept his interests secret to avoid being denied liquor licenses by the state Liquor Control Board. His conviction in that case was reversed on appeal.

A report issued by the State Patrol Organized Crime Unit to law-enforcement agencies in 1979 alleged that Colacurcio controlled a crime group operating topless taverns and other businesses in the state. Colacurcio strongly denied it.

In 1991, Frank Sr. and Frankie were back in court. The elder Colacurcio pleaded guilty to two counts of aiding and assisting in the preparation of false income-tax returns in 1984. Frankie pleaded guilty to a single felony tax charge. Prosecutors said the Colacurcios had skimmed profits at two Alaska topless bars.

The key to this case: testimony by Gilbert Pauole, the manager of one of the Alaska nightclubs, who is now in the witness-protection program.

Though Colacurcio admits he isn't a "straight arrow," he hesitates when asked if he is a criminal.

"How do you define criminal?" he counters with a sly smile. "I don't break the law, but who knows? We've all done things that weren't right up to kosher."

Colacurcio says he doesn't spend much time wondering how things might have been. In fact, he credits the trouble with making the good times seem better.

His prison time, mostly spent reading westerns, did him some good, he reasons. He was behind bars for a total of about six years on separate convictions.

"I have a conscience like everybody else," says Colacurcio, who shows his age not in his lively step or his solid handshake but in the deep creases that line his face. "I don't think I did anything that would deliberately hurt anyone."

Exactly how much the family and its associates reaped in profits over the years remains a mystery. In depositions, Colacurcio has said he often had $100,000 in cash on hand.

Still, after all the money Colacurcio earned - his 1993 divorce records listed more than $2 million in assets - he hardly lives in luxury. His house is jammed between its neighbors on a busy strip of Bothell Way Northeast in Lake Forest Park. He dresses in golf shirts and a simple gold chain and drives a used Lincoln worth $1,500.

"I've never been an extravagant person," he says, quickly adding, "I have what I desire."

He says his one indulgence is his boat, a 38-foot Bertram called 4PLAY, worth about $80,000. He owns it with a nephew and uses it for fishing expeditions in Alaska.

After release from prison in 1985 for tax evasion, he continued to receive consulting fees from Huns Inc., one of the corporations that runs adult-entertainment clubs. According to his divorce records, he received $480,000 in wages from Huns in 1990, most of which was paid to his attorneys for legal fees.

Since the divorce settlement, ex-wife Jackie Colacurcio has lived in a modest bayfront home in Poulsbo, trying to avoid the spotlight. Aside from a brief partnership with a friend as an interior designer, Jackie Colacurcio says she dedicated her life to raising her only son. The divorce settlement left her with several properties in addition to the Poulsbo house and $3,000 a month, but she says she is hardly living in luxury.

Frankie is a different story.

"Some people would call it extravagant," the younger Colacurcio says of his lifestyle. "I call it comfortable."

Frankie lives with his wife and 14-year-old daughter in Arlington, Snohomish County, drives a 1991 Corvette and collects muscle cars as a hobby. His income has been estimated at $800,000 to $1 million a year.

Still, he professes to not even know a ballpark figure of either his income or his net worth.

"I have no way of knowing," he says. "You keep so busy, I've got so many things on my mind."

Like his father, Frankie sees nothing wrong with the adult-entertainment industry and says he doesn't understand what all the protests are about.

"I see it no differently than a Denny's, a Fred Meyer or a Hard Rock Cafe," he says. "None will last if not run properly."

The key to a good business, he says, is consistency.

Yet he is consistently vague about how many dancers he employs and how many clubs he runs.

"I never pay attention," he says every time he's asked. "To tell you the truth, my memory's really hazy."

According to legal documents, property records and what can be extracted from his memory, Frankie is connected to Sugar's, Honey's, Rick's, Fox's, Papagayo's and Babe's dance clubs. In some cases he owns the property; in others he works as a "consultant."

Frankie doesn't deny that he often turns to his father for advice.

"We've always been very close; he's always given me advice on everything," he says. "He gives me advice on what shoes to wear."

Frankie pleaded guilty in 1991 to the felony charge of tax fraud but, like his father, says it was a setup.

"I've never done anything wrong," he says, quickly adding, "Does that include traffic violations? That's been my one drawback."

He says the several months he spent in prison were "more or less a vacation."

"It didn't bug me that much except you don't have women, which is horrible," he says.

The elder Colacurcio, after talking to an unexpected visitor for an hour on a recent Friday evening, suddenly looks at his watch and stands up.

"I've got to go play," he says, ushering his guest to the door. "Naturally, being Italian and being a man my age, I do love women."

Seattle Times staff reporter Louis T. Corsaletti contributed to this report.