Latest news with #Tekiela
Yahoo
16-02-2025
- Yahoo
Firefighter paramedic led secret life as mafia hitman before family fell apart: son
In 2013, Ken Tekiela revealed a secret to his son that he had been keeping for over 20 years. At the time, he had been battling a crippling heroin addiction for about a decade and had been estranged from the 28-year-old for about five years. But his firstborn, who believed things were worsening for the patriarch, put him in a detox facility to help him get clean. "He relapsed a few times, but his journey to recovery was positive," Kyle Tekiela told Fox News Digital. "Once he felt like he had recovered . . . I think that opened up some doors for him. And I think it gave him the confidence to tell me. But it was a huge shock. It was like, 'Did I hear that correctly?'" Massachusetts Man's Deathbed Confession Rattles Family After Decades On The Run: 'It Wasn't A Weird Dad Joke' Tekiela, a celebrated firefighter paramedic and father of two, confessed that he had led a secret double life as a hitman for the Chicago mob. Kyle is now detailing his father's story in a true-crime podcast titled "Crook County," a co-production of iHeartPodcasts and Tenderfoot TV. Read On The Fox News App It explores how Tekiela, known as "The Kid," reportedly rose through the ranks of the Chicago Outfit and its lasting impact on his family. It features candid sit-down interviews with Tekiela and other loved ones. "These are family secrets that probably should have stayed buried," Kyle admitted. "But they've come to light, and it's not easy to digest. "It took a long time for me to process it before I was confident enough to share it with others. But I did have to ask myself, is this something we bury forever? Or do we own it and say, 'This is who we are,' and make the best of it and maybe learn some lessons from it, too?" Growing up, Kyle saw his father as "a local hero" who was revered in his community. Working 24-hour shifts and being away from home was normal for Tekiela and his family. However, he always remained devoted to his most important role – that of father. Follow The Fox True Crime Team On X "That was his job," said Kyle. "We thought we had a super dad growing up. He was a firefighter paramedic, and their schedules are typically somewhere around 24, 48 hours or somewhere in between. That gave him a lot of time away from home." Tekiela's dedication to duty stemmed from tragedy. In 1979, American Airlines Flight 191 crashed near Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. A total of 273 people died. Tekiela was about 23 years old at the time. "Watching all these first responders, firefighters and paramedics go and try to get control of the scene inspired him," said Kyle. "That's what made him go, 'I want to be that. I want to help people.' At that point, he had been working for the mob, not helping people." But before duty called, Tekiela described having a tumultuous childhood. He said he was kicked out of his house by his mother at age 16. Struggling to find a way and living out of his car, a desperate Tekiela robbed a drug dealer, who turned out to be the nephew of a capo. The FBI describes a capo in the mafia as a ranking made member who leads a crew of soldiers, similar to a military captain. Tekiela was 17 at the time. Kyle said the capo found his father and questioned him. Then he made an offer that the patriarch couldn't refuse. Sign Up To Get The True Crime Newsletter "It was the wrong place, wrong time, wrong decision," Kyle explained. "But he had spunk. And the capo saw that. So they brought him in. He had nowhere else to go, so he had no choice. . . . He was the little guy under their wings. He was 'The Kid.' And he wanted to impress them." According to Kyle, Tekiela's role in the Outfit was to "take out the people that the mob wanted out of the mob." "People who were f-----g up and being selfish, or stealing from the organization," Kyle explained. Kyle believes that the secret to his father's survival – not getting killed or thrown in jail – was "not asking too many questions." In 1982, Tekiela became a firefighter paramedic, making him an asset to the Outfit. "It was about just doing your job, doing it well, and going home – not doing anything extra," said Kyle. "A lot of these guys did stuff on the side to get extra money. They're selling drugs, which you're not supposed to do. They were running girls. They were stealing. . . . He didn't want to be like those other guys. And I think mentally, that took him a long way." "Who knows what would have happened if he didn't become a firefighter," Kyle reflected. "And I think selfishly, the mob realized that, as a first responder, he's an asset. They've got someone going to crime scenes. . . . He can have a family, be a civilian, but [the mob] also has a guy on the inside who can do their bidding – or their beating, I should say." GET REAL-TIME UPDATES DIRECTLY ON THE True Crime Hub Tekiela's wife never suspected that her husband may have had a double life. They married in 1984 and Kyle was born a year later. "For my mom, ignorance was bliss," said Kyle. "She believed everything he told her. She didn't dig. She wasn't suspicious. And if she's not suspicious, the kids are not suspicious. "He was able to keep that whole world away from our little home that he kept outside the city in the suburbs. It was just a regular middle-class town. And because of his career as a firefighter, he had respect in the community. And he had that time away from the house to do whatever he needed to do for the Outfit." Things took a turn when Kyle was in high school. When he was about 16 years old, his parents began fighting frequently. He noticed that his father's inflamed veins "were terrible" and that he acted "erratic." "When I was 14, he got into an accident," said Kyle. "He was holding a ladder for a firefighter who was going up into the attic of a tall ceiling warehouse during a fire. . . . The ladder kicked out, and it fell on top of the firefighter. "The ladder and firefighter fell on top of my dad. . . . It almost killed him. He had a bunch of surgeries, and the doctors were prescribing opiates. . . . Then he just started using [heroin]. In his words, 'I took a liking to those painkillers, but after a while it wasn't enough.' He got addicted, and it just became out of his control." The podcast details how Tekiela ultimately lost his job, and "everything fell apart pretty quickly" with the mob. It was during Tekiela's recovery at a detox facility, and a yearning to rebuild his relationship with his son, that he started opening up about his past. WATCH: SAMMY THE BULL GRAVANO: MAFIA IS LIKE BOY SCOUTS, COMPARED TO POLITICIANS "I think . . . he feels relief and has accepted his reality, his history," said Kyle. "He hasn't lived a very good life over the last 10, 15 years. . . . It's been hard. . . . I pay his rent. I just bought him a car. He's like a child. And I think everyone knows my dad f---d up big time and destroyed our whole family. But they didn't know why." "Even though the context is horrible, it's still his story, and his story has meaning," Kyle reflected. "I think for him, he thought, 'Am I going to be a drug dealer or a drug addict who ruined my family, or am I going to finally tell people who I was, how I got there, how I tried to get out but couldn't and how it fell apart?' "Even after he told me all this stuff, even after all the pain and struggle we went through with his addiction, I still love him," Kyle continued. "And I respect him more now that he finally told me everything. . . . Now I know there was a reason why he was keeping secrets. There's a reason why he was on drugs. It's hard to keep a secret, and he had to deal with the pain somehow." Kyle, himself a husband and father to a 10-year-old son, said that speaking to Tekiela for the podcast has been "a healing experience." Today, Kyle and Ken speak on the phone "occasionally." Kyle said he assumes his father is "still using in some capacity." "I can see the real remorse in him," said Kyle. "When he tells these stories – these awful things he had to do – there's real remorse. He's ashamed of it all." Today, Tekiela has "zero fear" of speaking out. Kyle feels the same way. Former Mob Boss Finds God In Prison, Walks Away From 'Evil Lifestyle': 'My Faith Is Rock Solid' "This is not just another story about the mob," said Kyle. "It's a journey of discovery between a father and a son. . . . There's a lot of growth. And the thing is, a lot of people don't want to talk about their feelings. They feel it's weak to talk about your feelings or to seek therapy. But by watching my dad essentially treat me like a therapist and tell me everything – I could see the weight lift off of him." "I think it's so important for families to talk about hard truths," said Kyle. "As soon as you start keeping secrets, that's when it all falls apart."Original article source: Firefighter paramedic led secret life as mafia hitman before family fell apart: son
Fox News
16-02-2025
- Fox News
Firefighter paramedic led secret life as mafia hitman before family fell apart: son
In 2013, Ken Tekiela revealed a secret to his son that he had been keeping for over 20 years. At the time, he had been battling a crippling heroin addiction for about a decade and had been estranged from the 28-year-old for about five years. But his firstborn, who believed things were worsening for the patriarch, put him in a detox facility to help him get clean. "He relapsed a few times, but his journey to recovery was positive," Kyle Tekiela told Fox News Digital. "Once he felt like he had recovered . . . I think that opened up some doors for him. And I think it gave him the confidence to tell me. But it was a huge shock. It was like, 'Did I hear that correctly?'" Tekiela, a celebrated firefighter paramedic and father of two, confessed that he had led a secret double life as a hitman for the Chicago mob. Kyle is now detailing his father's story in a true-crime podcast titled "Crook County," a co-production of iHeartPodcasts and Tenderfoot TV. It explores how Tekiela, known as "The Kid," reportedly rose through the ranks of the Chicago Outfit and its lasting impact on his family. It features candid sit-down interviews with Tekiela and other loved ones. "These are family secrets that probably should have stayed buried," Kyle admitted. "But they've come to light, and it's not easy to digest. "It took a long time for me to process it before I was confident enough to share it with others. But I did have to ask myself, is this something we bury forever? Or do we own it and say, 'This is who we are,' and make the best of it and maybe learn some lessons from it, too?" Growing up, Kyle saw his father as "a local hero" who was revered in his community. Working 24-hour shifts and being away from home was normal for Tekiela and his family. However, he always remained devoted to his most important role – that of father. "That was his job," said Kyle. "We thought we had a super dad growing up. He was a firefighter paramedic, and their schedules are typically somewhere around 24, 48 hours or somewhere in between. That gave him a lot of time away from home." Tekiela's dedication to duty stemmed from tragedy. In 1979, American Airlines Flight 191 crashed near Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. A total of 273 people died. Tekiela was about 23 years old at the time. "Watching all these first responders, firefighters and paramedics go and try to get control of the scene inspired him," said Kyle. "That's what made him go, 'I want to be that. I want to help people.' At that point, he had been working for the mob, not helping people." But before duty called, Tekiela described having a tumultuous childhood. He said he was kicked out of his house by his mother at age 16. Struggling to find a way and living out of his car, a desperate Tekiela robbed a drug dealer, who turned out to be the nephew of a capo. The FBI describes a capo in the mafia as a ranking made member who leads a crew of soldiers, similar to a military captain. Tekiela was 17 at the time. Kyle said the capo found his father and questioned him. Then he made an offer that the patriarch couldn't refuse. "It was the wrong place, wrong time, wrong decision," Kyle explained. "But he had spunk. And the capo saw that. So they brought him in. He had nowhere else to go, so he had no choice. . . . He was the little guy under their wings. He was 'The Kid.' And he wanted to impress them." According to Kyle, Tekiela's role in the Outfit was to "take out the people that the mob wanted out of the mob." "People who were f-----g up and being selfish, or stealing from the organization," Kyle explained. Kyle believes that the secret to his father's survival – not getting killed or thrown in jail – was "not asking too many questions." In 1982, Tekiela became a firefighter paramedic, making him an asset to the Outfit. "It was about just doing your job, doing it well, and going home – not doing anything extra," said Kyle. "A lot of these guys did stuff on the side to get extra money. They're selling drugs, which you're not supposed to do. They were running girls. They were stealing. . . . He didn't want to be like those other guys. And I think mentally, that took him a long way." "Who knows what would have happened if he didn't become a firefighter," Kyle reflected. "And I think selfishly, the mob realized that, as a first responder, he's an asset. They've got someone going to crime scenes. . . . He can have a family, be a civilian, but [the mob] also has a guy on the inside who can do their bidding – or their beating, I should say." GET REAL-TIME UPDATES DIRECTLY ON THE TRUE CRIME HUB Tekiela's wife never suspected that her husband may have had a double life. They married in 1984 and Kyle was born a year later. "For my mom, ignorance was bliss," said Kyle. "She believed everything he told her. She didn't dig. She wasn't suspicious. And if she's not suspicious, the kids are not suspicious. "He was able to keep that whole world away from our little home that he kept outside the city in the suburbs. It was just a regular middle-class town. And because of his career as a firefighter, he had respect in the community. And he had that time away from the house to do whatever he needed to do for the Outfit." Things took a turn when Kyle was in high school. When he was about 16 years old, his parents began fighting frequently. He noticed that his father's inflamed veins "were terrible" and that he acted "erratic." "When I was 14, he got into an accident," said Kyle. "He was holding a ladder for a firefighter who was going up into the attic of a tall ceiling warehouse during a fire. . . . The ladder kicked out, and it fell on top of the firefighter. "The ladder and firefighter fell on top of my dad. . . . It almost killed him. He had a bunch of surgeries, and the doctors were prescribing opiates. . . . Then he just started using [heroin]. In his words, 'I took a liking to those painkillers, but after a while it wasn't enough.' He got addicted, and it just became out of his control." The podcast details how Tekiela ultimately lost his job, and "everything fell apart pretty quickly" with the mob. It was during Tekiela's recovery at a detox facility, and a yearning to rebuild his relationship with his son, that he started opening up about his past. WATCH: SAMMY THE BULL GRAVANO: MAFIA IS LIKE BOY SCOUTS, COMPARED TO POLITICIANS "I think . . . he feels relief and has accepted his reality, his history," said Kyle. "He hasn't lived a very good life over the last 10, 15 years. . . . It's been hard. . . . I pay his rent. I just bought him a car. He's like a child. And I think everyone knows my dad f---d up big time and destroyed our whole family. But they didn't know why." "Even though the context is horrible, it's still his story, and his story has meaning," Kyle reflected. "I think for him, he thought, 'Am I going to be a drug dealer or a drug addict who ruined my family, or am I going to finally tell people who I was, how I got there, how I tried to get out but couldn't and how it fell apart?' "Even after he told me all this stuff, even after all the pain and struggle we went through with his addiction, I still love him," Kyle continued. "And I respect him more now that he finally told me everything. . . . Now I know there was a reason why he was keeping secrets. There's a reason why he was on drugs. It's hard to keep a secret, and he had to deal with the pain somehow." Kyle, himself a husband and father to a 10-year-old son, said that speaking to Tekiela for the podcast has been "a healing experience." Today, Kyle and Ken speak on the phone "occasionally." Kyle said he assumes his father is "still using in some capacity." "I can see the real remorse in him," said Kyle. "When he tells these stories – these awful things he had to do – there's real remorse. He's ashamed of it all." Today, Tekiela has "zero fear" of speaking out. Kyle feels the same way. "This is not just another story about the mob," said Kyle. "It's a journey of discovery between a father and a son. . . . There's a lot of growth. And the thing is, a lot of people don't want to talk about their feelings. They feel it's weak to talk about your feelings or to seek therapy. But by watching my dad essentially treat me like a therapist and tell me everything – I could see the weight lift off of him." "I think it's so important for families to talk about hard truths," said Kyle. "As soon as you start keeping secrets, that's when it all falls apart." New episodes of 'Crook County" are available for streaming weekly.
Yahoo
08-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Turkey turnaround: Birds were once a rare sight
Turkeys used to be found on the dinner table more often than in the Minnesota wild. 'It used to be there were no turkeys, and the first time I saw some I was like 'wow,'' said local naturalist Stan Tekiela. The avid bird watcher was guiding a group of people, who were also amazed to see a flock of turkeys. That was sometime after 1971, when the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources began to trap and transport wild turkeys from out of state into Minnesota. Over time, the department confined the trapping part of the project to wild turkeys living within the state. In 2009, the DNR released the last group of turkeys and now estimate there are over 30,000 turkeys living in Minnesota. What used to be a rare sight, is now common for Tekiela and his Victoria neighbors. Some residents like to leave feed for the animals in their backyards and count how many pass by. Tekiela said the animals are commonly found in the suburbs, in part because hunters don't stake out near homes. Additionally, the Minnesota River Valley has a lot of oak trees that produce acorns – a food item wild turkeys survive on during the fall. The trees in the area are also good places for turkeys to 'roost' and sleep in. BIRD ATTACK Problems can arise when humans wearing bright colors approach gobblers (male turkeys) during the spring, said Nicole Davros, upland project game leader for the DNR. The birds will jump on a human and try to hurt them with their spurs – claws on their legs. According to Davros, those spurs are like small knives and can cause injuries. During the spring season, gobblers show their bright feathers to attract a female. So when a human sports bright colors, turkeys believe they're a competitor, she explained. Davros recalls seeing a video of a turkey attacking a red car and added that turkeys see color very well. Problems in rural areas arise when wild turkeys find their way into stored grains on farms. But usually turkeys will forage for waste grain on agricultural lands, she added. APPRECIATION There's also a plus side to turkeys, Davros said. 'It can bring a community together and give them an appreciation for wildlife,' Davros said. 'We don't want to encourage people to do that type of thing, but if that's the bit of nature that people experience, that's a good thing.' For Tekiela, turkeys are still an amazing sight. 'It's wonderful to see the species come back as part of our natural occurrence of birds nowadays,' Tekiela said. 'Most people like having wildlife around their homes, that's why bird feeding is (popular). That's one of those things that deep inside of us – we like to have animals around.' ENDANGERED Turkeys are fitting for a Thanksgiving dinner, because they symbolized the New World, much like corn and pumpkins. 'Turkeys are a native species to North America and being a big ground bird they've always been important to humans because turkeys were abundant,' said Steve Merchant, DNR wildlife populations program manager. The pilgrims and Native Americans probably hunted them because they were big and easy to catch, he added. However, due to unregulated hunting and the loss of forested habitat, turkey populations declined in the state. According to the DNR website, the last native turkey in Minnesota was spotted in 1880. Repopulation efforts initially began in the 1920s, but it wasn't until the 1971 transport and transplant project, that their numbers started to notably increase. The birds – that were originally native to the southeastern corner of the state – have now spread as far as northern Minnesota. Their limiting factor was initially thought to be cold temperatures, Tekiela said. However, it turned out that snow cover limited how far the turkeys spread, so turkeys stick to areas with less snow so they can forage for food during the winter, he explained. HUNTING Wild turkey hunting has been a tradition for those living in the southeastern part of Minnesota for a number of decades, however since the turkey's increased population, that tradition is spreading to other parts of Minnesota. The DNR issues a limited number of permits during the spring season – the traditional time hunters look for turkeys in the state. 'Springtime hunting is a different type of hunting. You can call them in with a call, that's what makes it exciting,' Merchant said. Usually male turkeys are hunted during that season, he added. 'You have to be in the woods before the sun gets up,' Davros said, adding that hunters have to be very still. 'To see the forest come alive – I think that's what keeps people coming and hunting.' During the spring, hunters will imitate a female turkey's call to attract a gobbler to lure the birds. Hunters typically purchase a turkey permit in the fall just in case they see one while hunting deer, Davros and Merchant said. They noted that in the fall, turkeys tend to not wander from their flocks. The DNR restricts hunting to one turkey per year. The spring season goes from about mid-April to the end of May, Merchant said. The fall permits only allows hunting in the month of October. When it comes to hunting wild turkeys, the DNR is still taking a 'cautious approach' to the once-rare species in the state. 'It's similar in nature to the deer hunting,' Nelson said. '[Traditionally] both animals were important for humans. In order for people to survive they needed to harvest animals like that, and that tradition continues today through the tradition of hunting.'
