The Power Broker: Anthony Bucci’s Journey from Darkness to Light

The Kid with the Baseball Bat

When Anthony Bucci talks about the moment that set his life on a dangerous path, it comes down to a Christmas bike and an 18-inch Boston Red Sox commemorative baseball bat. He was 10 or 11 years old when an older kid took his bike. His father’s response wasn’t what you’d expect from most parents.

“He walked to a drawer in the kitchen. There was a little 18-inch Boston Red Sox commemorative baseball bat in there. And he said to me, what you’re going to do is you’re going to hide this bat. You’re going to go, go find a kid that took your bike. And you’re going to get close enough to talk to him. And then you’re going to hit him over the bridge of his nose as high as you can. And you’re going to come home with that bike,” Anthony told me.

Anthony followed those instructions. He got his bike back. But he also took the kid’s paper route money. “I was on top of the world. And it actually changed the course of my life for a long time because I like the power, the feeling of, you know, taking back what was mine and standing up for myself.”

Growing up in Massachusetts with an abusive, alcoholic father who owned nightclubs, Anthony learned violence early. His mother finally left when Anthony was six, taking him and his sister to live on his uncle’s floor with $60 in her pocket and a state police escort. While she worked multiple jobs to keep them afloat, Anthony found a mentor in his cousin, a gangster connected to the Chicago mob.

Running Envelopes at Nine Years Old

While other kids did homework, Anthony was collecting betting slips and watching what happened to people who didn’t pay. His cousin used him because a nine-year-old couldn’t go to jail. Anthony saw everything. The violence became normal.

“I witnessed a lot of stuff. Guys, they didn’t pay. He would come in and hurt. And, you know, so I was seeing things at a young age,” Anthony said. By his teens, he’d put someone in the hospital with a baseball bat.

He had two sets of friends: the burnouts who skipped school, and the older crowd doing scores. His cousin dated movie stars and hung out with celebrities like Rodney Dangerfield. Anthony was wearing different clothes than other kids his age and living a life that felt like the movies.

“I was a product of my environment, but it was very willingly,” he admits now.

The Federal Conspiracy That Changed Everything

Anthony’s first federal conviction came at 35 for marijuana distribution. He got 41 months, did his time in what he describes as “crime school,” and came out thinking he was smarter than the system. He’d stopped selling drugs and was doing well in real estate when a friend’s brother got mixed up with a Mexican drug dealer.

Anthony said no to robbing the dealer multiple times. But his sister was dying of cancer, and he’d started using drugs heavily for the first time in his life. He gave in to one favor that would cost him 21 years.

The plan was simple: park next to the dealer, have a friend in law enforcement block them in with blue lights, and take the drugs. The whole thing took three minutes. But the feds were watching with nine surveillance teams.

“I got 21 years for what I just described to you,” Anthony said. The childhood friend who begged him to do the job ended up cooperating and wearing a wire.

Seven Years of Anger and Solitary

Anthony went into that 21-year sentence bitter and violent. At mail call, he punched another inmate for picking up his newspaper. “I just walked up to him and punched him in the face and knocked him out. And then I turned to the whole pod and I said, anybody crosses me or disrespect me. This is what you’re going to get.”

Seven years in, his friends had stopped sending money. His kids weren’t speaking to him. He was selling tobacco and running card games, in and out of solitary confinement under investigation by the prison’s Special Investigative Services.

In 2010, after putting a knife to someone’s throat over an unpaid debt, Anthony found himself back in the hole for what would be six months. He’d hit what he calls his lowest point, contemplating ending his life.

Then came the knock on his door.

The Guard Who Changed Everything

A guard from Anthony’s first prison in Rhode Island had transferred to Pennsylvania and heard Anthony was in solitary. He picked up a shift just to say hello. “He knocked on my door right when I was having these thoughts. And I looked up and I couldn’t believe it,” Anthony said.

The guard was handing out paper and pens. Anthony took them and started writing what would become his book, “Infinity Crew.” “Infinity crew basically saved my life starting that book.”

During those remaining months in solitary, Anthony did serious soul searching. When he got out, he volunteered to care for sick and terminally ill inmates. He took over 50 educational courses, including paralegal training that made him good enough with the law to help other guys get released.

One dying inmate he cared for told the warden how well Anthony treated him. The warden was so impressed he offered to send Anthony anywhere he wanted when he became camp eligible.

Training Dogs and Fighting for His Mother

Anthony chose a camp in Massachusetts to be closer to his mother. He became a dog handler, training service dogs for handicapped people and courthouse comfort dogs. Having a dog live in his cell made the time completely different.

“Once I let go of that power, you know, which was difficult for me, the time got so much easier,” he said.

In 2016, his mother had a debilitating stroke that left her paralyzed. Anthony used his legal education to file a compassionate release motion for parental care. When prison reform gave inmates the right to appeal denials to federal court, Anthony wrote his own motion and found an attorney who’d visited the prison to argue it for him.

On October 7, 2019, he was granted immediate release. He had two hours to pack. “I was the first one in the United States that went a parental compassionate release. I opened the doors for many, many guys to go home and take care of family members.”

Today Anthony lives with his mother, providing daily care. He’s published his book, become a certified life coach, and launched a clothing brand called Convicted Felon. The kid who learned power through violence found a different kind of strength in service and education.