When Louis Tramunti’s wife called 911, she wanted EMTs to save her husband’s life after a heart attack. Instead, two policemen threw him to the floor and broke his back. It was just one of those things; didn’t even make the papers.
Louis, an old friend of an old friend of mine, called me nearly a year later because “people need to know about this, bro,” which didn’t thrill his attorney.
“I’m not typically a p.r. lawyer,” said Steven Falkoff when I called. “It’s a basic fact pattern and excessive force case. I don’t know how much sexiness there is for a broader story.”
To Louis — a good-natured if foul-mouthed 37-year-old Bernie-supporting son of Whitestone, a corner of Queens untouched by gentrification or even integration — it’s the only story.
He’s been married seven years to Szilvia, a lovely Hungarian immigrant whose calmness evens out his off-the-walls hyperactivity, and he’s worked for more than 15 years as a plumbing surveyor, making good union wages mapping out where the sleeves go as new high-end Manhattan buildings rise up. Wherever Louis works now, he etches the name of their two-year-old son, Marco, behind where the wall will be on each floor. The job puts him on top of half-finished buildings, Manhattan stretched out before him. Being up there, he says, is what made him fear thunder.
The family lives 40 miles and a world from Henry Hill or Archie Bunker’s Queens, in a split-level house in leafy Yorktown Heights, Westchester, just past the Donald J. Trump State Park (yes, no kidding; Trump donated the land in 2006) and down the road from the Elk’s Lodge. Before that, they lived for eight years in an apartment a few miles away in Hartsdale.
That’s where they were on April Fool’s day of 2016, a Saturday, as Szilvia drives her car into Greenburgh to have an officer do a safety check on the child seat, since Marco — a big kid, like his dad — needs to be facing front now. Goes out to dinner with them, puts…