The Origin of the Phrase “Close, but no cigar”

There was a massive mafia boss named Giovanni “Gee-gee” Russo.

Stereotypical mob guy; he was a touch heavy set, and always looked like he was sweating. The usual black slicked back hair, creepy mustache, fancy tailored suits that always seemed an inch too tight, and cursed like a sailor.

Gee-gee almost never laughed. His temper was legendary, as was his willingness to gun down his own henchman for missed assignments, lateness, or simply in a drunken rage. But when he wasn’t stringing together a “f**k you!” laced tirade, he was known for being generous. Legend had it that if you worked for him, even as one of his thug underlings, there could be big perks. He had overheard one of his thugs mentioning their mom’s birthday. He gave him $500 on the spot (relax it was the 1950s — that’s like $5000 now). Gave another young kid that cleaned the bathrooms in his mansion, $100 to take his girlfriend on a train ride. More commonly than all of that, he was known to dole out money, and even promotions, to people for simply doing what he wanted, when he wanted it…which was always now.

One day Gee-gee sauntered down the steps of his mansion, into the foyer where about a dozen of his men were packing up the weekly shipment of opium they were set to distribute. He watched the activity for a few seconds, a slight frown ever present on his sweaty face, before pulling out a cigar from his breast pocket. He then patted his pockets, searching for his lighter, before realizing he had forgotten it upstairs. He snarled before shouting:

“Ayyy! Somebody gonna gimme a light or what?”

About 10 of the men stopped packing boxes and looked up, before staring at each other. This was exactly the kind of moment that ended up with a stack full of cash, or a promotion. Almost simultaneously, they all reached in their pockets for their lighters, and raced towards the boss. One of the bigger thugs, Lorenzo, used his brawn to elbow past the others and raced toward the spot where Gee-gee stood. As he dove forward, his worn, black oxfords slid against the maplewood floor, and he glided to a stop in front of the boss. Out of nowhere, the smallest of the bunch, Petey, at the last second, ducked underneath the outstretched arms of Lorenzo, with the flame dancing off his lighter and onto the tip of Gee-gee’s cigar. “Here ya go boss!” he shouted, a little louder than he had thought.

Gee-gee stared down at Lorenzo, shaking his head left to right slowly; the frown on his sweaty face, still visible despite the growing cloud of smoke rising from the cigar.

“Close…” he said, pointing at Lorenzo’s lighter.
“…but no cigar.” He laughed childishly, pointing emphatically back at the Cuban hanging from his lips.

Petey got $300 and a promotion to start running errands directly for Gee-gee. From that day forward, every time the boss would forget his lighter, it would be the same race, and that same statement, “Close, but no cigar” to all of his thugs that didn’t get to him fast enough.

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