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Costello's fast-paced books move like a runaway train — daring you to keep up or get left behind.
Great dialogue is the heartbeat of a story — where characters breathe, and the story finds its pulse.
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What They Might Say To Me
‘I was only trying to be of some use.
If there’s a story there… I hope it leads
somewhere kind.’
Tell him not to make me into something grand. I’d rather be remembered as I was… quiet, and doing my best.
Iwas just a farm girl trying to be of some use. If he’s found something more in that… well, that’s his gift, not mine.
If he’s writing about me, then he must be looking for where he comes from. I hope he finds something good in it.
“We never met, the boy and me… and still he’s come looking. There’s something in that. Blood has a way of calling, even across years.”
If he’s writing it true—no polish, no soft edges—then I’ll not complain. A man’s life is best told as it was lived.
“I don’t know what he’d find to write. I only did what needed doing.
I wasn’t a grand man. Just did my work and carried my share. If he’s found a story in that… well, maybe there’s more to a life than a man knows.”
Jenny Gearhart Costello
When you research someone as I have done and you follow them through their lives you develop a feeling, an intuition, about who they were and how they lived. My grandmother was a sweet, caring woman. My mother called her a saint. I believe my grandfather was a non-nonsense, hard working, creative and intelligent man. From the intuituion I developed about them I created these quotes.
Thomas Francis Costello
Virtues of the Heart
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Dialogue sharp as a seaside wind, characters built of bone and loyalty, and tales that keep the lamp burning long past midnight.
Virtues of the Heart is a novel about my grandmother and grandfather. In 1884, my great-grandfather, Thomas Costello, emigrated from Charlestown, County Mayo, Ireland, to Philadelphia and three years later brought his entire family, his wife, Mary, and five children, to Philadelphia.
This in itself was a stunning accomplishment, but a typical pattern of Irish immigration in the mid to late nineteenth century. My grandfather, Thomas Francis Costello, was 14 when he immigrated with his family. From the time he arrived in Philadelphia, the center of textile manufacturing in the United States, where huge mills produced carpets, upholstery fabrics, velvet, and plush.
As a teen, he learned to survive amid the deafening noise of the looms, the choking dust and fibers floating in the air, the long rows of machines almost in military order, the foreman walking the aisles watching for loafers or Irish immigrants with a flask of Jaminson’s hidden behind the toolbox. In his early twenties, Thomas Francis was promoted to plush weaver. The mill sent him to the Philadelphia Textile School at Broad and Pine to study the mechanized looms for six weeks. The pay was good, but it still came with the high pressure of the industrial shop and all the sweat, dust, and noise that went with it. But he learned to survivevive.
Through his sister Mary, Thomas Francis at age 28, found a job as an attendant at the Wernersville State Mental Hospital ten miles west of Reading, Pennsylvania. He worked his way up to supervisor.
My grandmother, Mary Jane "Jenny" Gearhart, grew up on a farm outside of McAlisterille, Juniata County, Pennsylvania. At the beginning of the twentieth century, farms in the Juniata Valley were hard-pressed. The Gearhart farm kept about 10 dairy cows, which they hand-milked twice a day. They grew crops for their table and fodder crops for their stock: pigs, chickens, cattle, and dairy cows. It was hard, unglamorous work. Jenny knew it was not the life meant for her.
At the age of 21, she took a job as an attendant at the Wernersville State Mental Institution. Why there? In 1908 farm girls with little schooling had few chances elsewhere. A poster in the general store might have drawn her; the institution was recruitedd in small, rural towns for steadiness and labor. At the time it was also testing “path gardens” as a form of therapy for its patients. It was the perfect job for the Juniata County farm girl who wanted to make a difference and help those who needed help the most.
From there the story twists and turns as Thomas Francis and Jenny marry and move to Philadelphia., eventually buying a house on the Hill—Belmont Hills, then called West Manayunk—facing the river and the hills of Roxborough: At 144 Ashland Avenue.
Truly, a tale from the heart.
A colorized version of the original
photograph of my grandmother and grandfather.
"The Board thinks that it's too much to put on the shoulders of one person.("Especially her, she's dumber than a sack of bricks.)"So, we've created a new position, Supervisor of Attendants, and Thomas, we'd like to offer the position to you, if that is something you would like."
Before Costello could answer, Dr. Bennett, the staff psychiatrist, spoke. "We've all watched how well you work with our patients, Thomas. They like you, even those who have lost their ability to speak or reason. They light up when you approach them."
Heading 3
"She grabbed his sleeve.
“Well, well, well, ain’t you a sight to see,” she said. “I got a little nook where you can get out of them clothes and relax a while.”
Thomas Francis swallowed the impulse that rose in him. A bachelor working at an insane asylum had little contact with women. She was attractive. He could be tempted. “I can’t, deary,” he replied. “God bless you, but my time is not my own this evenin’. It’s strictly business, ahead.”
"You need my evaluation," Thomas Francis countered. "Mr. Rourke needs my evaluation. If something happens to me, it could ruin Mr. Rourke's chances of leaving Philadelphia and finding solitude at the Asylum. And I don't think Mr. Rourke would be too happy if you were the cause of that, would he now?"
Jenny Costello
Thomas Francis Costello
Hard talk and harder men, loyalities sworn in whispers, and stories that take you by the throat and don't let go.
This is what I love to write: fiction based on facts. Also called historical fiction.
We spent a month in Salerno, Italy, and I learned about the Camorra Mafia in Naples and Salerno. But a member of the Camorra I met told me that to use the Camorra in a story, I needed to come up with a unique business. They can't compete with the business's of the Sicilian mobs. "The Camorra would be crushed by the Sicilians."
Salerno is a port city on the edge of Italy's Amalfi Coast, overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. It serves as a major hub for industrial shipping, where shipping containers are loaded, unloaded, transferred, and temporarily stored between different transport modes: ships, trucks, and trains. The house we rented in Salerno sat high on a ridge, overlooking the port. As we sat on our deck looking out at the ships coming in and out of the Salerno port, the idea hit me.
Bodies. Cadavers.
This is where fiction starts—an idea like a light bulb going off in your brain, illuminating a world that didn’t exist a moment before. In the late 1960's, when Alone in the Fight takes place, medical science around the world was dealing with new diseases: heart disease, various cancers, brain tumors, strokes and hypertension, and smoking related diseases. Medical schools were under pressure to identify cures and drugs to save people's lives, and to do this, they needed cadavers for their students — donations and unclaimed bodies were not enough.
Enter the black market, or what the Camorra called, "the invisible dead." The Salerno Cammora entered the body business and set up a base in America to orchestrate this business. They didn't select New York or Chicago but a place that wouldn't draw attention; where nobody would look: the Hill. One man learned about the invisible dean on the Hill, but no one would believe him. No one except a touch Marine, a Viet Nam hero. Detective Georg Rausher of the Lower Merion police force, along with his most unusual and surprising sidekick, killer Buster Hicks, stepped into the plot with more questions than answers. The story has more twists and turns than a city street at midnight—where even Detective Rusher can’t tell who’s hunting and who’s being hunted. Hicks came home with the war still in him—drawn to the chaos, like a man who had seen too much and longed for the fight. Hicks understood violence in a way that made others uneasy—and made him invaluable to Rausher.
The Cammora team consisted of hospital orderlys, undertakers, cementary caretakers, grave diggers, and nurses with too much credit card debt.
This "On the Hill book" is another unputdownable that will pull you in fast and never give you a chance to catch your breath.
A great story, like a light bulb clicking on in Salerno, Italy.
Alone in the Fight
I I need your help. Below are three books, each with two chapters available to read. One of the books I'm going to spend the most time on and finish it by the first of January. Which one should it be? Please read them and use the form to let me know.
Butcher Hicks Hit Man From the Hill
Excerpt from Alone in the Fight
Settimo Consigliere
Heading 4
Like in all of the On the Hill Books
Hard talk and harder men, loyalties sworn in whispers, and stories that take you by the throat and don’t let go.
"Oh, one more thing. If you pull this off right, there's a three-day pass for you and a Huey ride to the Paris of the East. Know where that is, soldier?"
"No, Sir."
"Saigon, soldier, on the Dong Nai river. We'll load you up with some Saigon Tea and a few Boom-Boom girls. Can you handle that?"
"Oh, yes, Sir."
"All right. Get the hell out of here."
"But, Sir. What happens if I don't pull it off?"
The General gave Hicks a funny look. "Well, fuck, son. You'll be dead, so don't worry about it.
Butcher Hicks Battle of Lang Vei '68
“Okay, Hicks, let me see your license and registration.”
“Oh, shit, Detective, you’re a hard man to find. I’ve been looking for you cause there’s some heavy shit been going on on the Hill lately.”
“What’s that have to do with your license and registration, which I don’t see you reaching for.”
“My girlfriend, Annette, lives over on Rockland, right? And so I’m been going over there a lot, and right across the street from her, there’s these guys who live there. A few of them are old Italian-looking, know what I mean? But the type of old guys who could kick your ass,”
“And that’s unusual on the Hill, Hicks? Half the God damn population here looks like that.”
“I know, but these guys are different.”
“Uh, huh, how so?
I seen guys like that in the Nam. You don’t fuck with them, or even look crosseyed at them.
“And then there’s this other guy who looks mean as shit. He don’t live there but shows up once in a while. So one time just after dark this one leaves and we’re sittin’ on the porch drinkin' and smokin'. So I tell Annette I’m going out for some Newports and I follow him. Guess where he goes?
“I have no idea.”
“To Westminster Cemetery. I shut off my lights and stay far enough behind him, and he meets some other guys, and they dig up a fuckin’ body. No, shit, Detective. I swear on my mother’s grave that’s what they did.”
“So what did you do?”
“I got my ass out of there, fast.”
“So you’re making up this story because you don’t have a license or registration. Pretty good, Hicks. Is that what you did in school when you didn’t do your homework?”
“No, Sir, I swear to fuckin’ God, Detective.”
“Rausher stepped away from the car and looked around. He shook his head, then looked back in at Hicks. “All right, I’ll tell you what. You keep an eye on them and try to get some definite information, such as a license plate number or something I can check. And get me the address on Rockland. I know you just got out of the Marine Corps, so I’m cutting you a break. But the next time I see you, I want to see some evidence that you are trying to get a license and registration. You got that?”
“No problem, Detective Rausher. No problem, Sir."
“All right, get the hell out of here. And don’t go following them again, you’ll get yourself killed.”
Butcher Hicks on Special Assignment
Excerpt From Alone in the Fight
Shirley and Knuckles Hicks lived on Old Belmont Avenue, just up from the gas station, set back. Drugs and drink ruled them. A welfare worker said they’d get twice the amount with just one kid. So they tried, and sure enough, Shirley got pregnant. But the shit hit the fan when Shirley delivered twins, a boy and a girl. They didn’t want two babies; they didn’t ask for two babies. Besides, two kids didn’t raise their welfare anymore than one. They kept the girl because they figured she’d eat less, and then they tried to sell the boy on the black market but got caught. They had a choice: jail or adoption; they chose adoption. They never gave them names or bought toys — let them play with kitchen utensils. When the caseworker arrived for the boy, Shirley filled out the form, and the boy needed a name. Shirley bit her lip, eyes pinched to the floor. The baby boy was playing with kitchen knives, especially the biggest one. He cut his baby sister twice with it and laughed until he pissed on the floor. They never bought diapers, either. So Shirley wrote on the form, Hicks, Butcher. The name followed him like a brand through four reform schools, three county jails, and either state prison or the Marine Corps. Butcher Hicks chose the Marines.
How Butcher Hicks Got his Name
Excerpt from Alone in the Fight
Oh, one more thing. If you pull this off right, there's a three-day pass for you and a Huey ride to the Paris of the East. Know where that is, soldier?"
"No, Sir."
"Saigon, soldier, on the Dong Nai river. We'll load you up with some Saigon Tea and a few Boom-Boom girls. Can you handle that?"
"Oh, yes, Sir."
"All right. Get the hell out of here."
"But, Sir. What happens if I don't pull it off?"
The General gave me a funny look. "Well, fuck, son. You'll be dead, so don't worry about it.”
Roll the Clip
Salerno, Italy
Where light bulbs click on: The port city of Salerno, Italy, on the Amalfi Coast. Ships constantly arriving and departing. Loading and unloading. Refuling. As we sat on our deck with our wine or coffee, the idea came to me like the scent of blooming lemons on a warm Amalfi breeze. Cadavers. Back then, nobody left their body to be cut up by fresh-faced medical students, disrupting the natural order of life and death. Bodies had to be gotten.
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Batting Practice inside the Phillies complex. You worked your way down the line: First underhand toss (just concentrating on your swing mechanics), next station, pitching coach firing fastballs, and the third station, pitching machines firing fastballs.
Phillies Phantasy Camp 2026
I attended Phillies Phantasy Camp in January: Five days of baseball in the Florida sun. The grit, the desire, the challenge of the competition all returned like the crack of a bat echoing through long-ago summer nights. It was a gift given to me like stepping back into a moment time forgot to take.
Those teams from my past never left me—they gave me the will and the desire to return to the field once more: exceptionally fortunate to complete again. The friendships I made at Phillies Camp with other players and coaches — all in the fight together — are inseparable. And since I survived, I'm signed up and returning in January 2027.
The Camorro — the Naples-Salerno Mob — set up their body business on the Hill. They were up and running when one detective started asking questions. No, problem, right? They'll just take him out. Well, not this detective they won't, nor do they want to take on his deputy, Buster Hicks. They wished they were back in Italy.
Alone in the Fight
In the Pipeline
Return of the Clothed Gods
Columbus's second voyage to the Americas following the first book, Darkness They Could Not See. This time, he brought 17 ships, plus soldiers, priests and the Monarchy's representatives. But was he really in charge?