For nearly 30 years, it seems that no one in law enforcement or the press knew what the hell was really going on at the top of the Bonanno crime family.

Since July 12, 1979, for example, everyone from hero undercover FBI agent Joe Pistone to Rudolph Giuliani to The New York Times, believed that Carmine (Lilo) Galante was the family boss when he was killed in a storied New York rubout.

In his book, “Donnie Brasco,” Pistone wrote: “The Bonanno boss when I went undercover (in 1976) was Carmine Galante.” On Feb. 20, 1977, The Times reported in a front page story that acting boss Philip Rastelli had “eagerly turned over leadership to him” in 1974, and that Galante was “moving to merge the five New York families under his own leadership.”

And in 1985, then U.S. Attorney Giuliani, with FBI Director William Webster at his side, announced that the Mafia Commission had sanctioned the execution of one of their peers, Galante, the boss of the Bonanno family.

But it seems that the only thing we can be absolutely certain of is that Galante is dead. The murder was immortalized in the celebrated picture of Galante lying on his back on a bloody outdoor patio of Joe & Mary Italian-American Restaurant in Bushwick, Brooklyn still clenching a cigar in his teeth.

But Galante was never the boss, Gang Land

has learned. He was merely an arrogant, steel-willed capo who thought he could bully his way to the top after serving 12 years for heroin trafficking, and 17 more months for parole violation. His correct rank has been supplied in new intelligence from longtime family underboss Salvatore (Good Looking Sal) Vitale (right) and other turncoats.

“Despite everything you may have seen, heard or read before, he was never the boss of the family,” said one knowledgeable law enforcement source, confirming that the feds had amassed an astounding amount of misinformation about the Bonannos in the past, and that a more accurate history will emerge at the racketeering and murder trial of Joseph Massino. (left)

But not everyone is convinced. An otherwise in-the-know law enforcement official contacted about the revelation by Gang Land, said: “My information, today, is that when Galante was killed he was boss of the family. Not the pretender, the boss.”

In fact, the rewriting of Mafia history by the Bonanno family defectors was forecasted in opening statements by opposing lawyers in Massino’s trial, and testimony by government Mafia expert, Kenneth McCabe. Turncoat capo Frank (Curly) Lino, (right) who took the witness stand yesterday afternoon, will expand on it before he leaves, as will defector Frank Coppa Sr., who became the first Bonanno “made man” to break the family vow of silence in late 2002, triggering an avalanche of copy cats.

Galante was born on the Lower East Side, but as a first generation Italian American – his father was a fisherman from Castellammare del Golfo in Sicily – he had close ties to the family’s Sicilian faction, often called “Zips.” As an eager young gangster, (left) Galante is believed to have been the hit man in one of the mob’s only political assassinations, the execution of anti-Mussolini journalist Carlo Tresca in 1943. He later rose to become underboss to Joe Bonanno, the legendary gangster for whom the family was named, and was dispatched to Montreal in 1953 to establish an outpost there. Deported as an undesirable in 1956, he was indicted in New York for heroin trafficking in 1959, ultimately convicted in 1962 and imprisoned for 12 years.

After his release in 1974, Galante began flexing his muscles. Bonanno had been deposed while he was in prison. As his former underboss, Galante felt entitled to

the top spot, and was not shy about it. He renewed old alliances, and badmouthed Rastelli, who was preoccupied with a 1973 extortion indictment that landed him in federal prison in 1976. Galante surrounded himself with “Zips” who were eager to latch onto him, and began acting like the boss. In March, 1975, the FBI began referring to him as boss.

The prevailing wisdom was reflected in a front page story in The New York Post on Jan. 3, 1977 (written by yours truly.) The New York Times made the same mistake six weeks later.

In October of 1977, with authorities following Galante everywhere, the inevitable occurred. He was jailed for parole violation, saving him for a while. A year later, he was placed in solitary confinement after prison officials heard his life was in danger. In March of 1979, he was released and, attended by bodyguards Baldo Amato (left) and Cesare Bonventre, began asserting himself as the “rightful” heir to the departed Bonanno, with whom Galante reportedly had meetings in Las Vegas and San Jose.

Meanwhile, assistant U.S. attorney Robert Henoch told the jury in his opening remarks, Massino was “made” in 1975, and began visiting the jailed Rastelli, eventually bringing back the order to whack Galante, who was shot to death by three ski masked gunman, and sources said, Galante’s bodyguards, who turned their guns on him too.

In his opening remarks, Massino’s lawyer David Breitbart labeled the historical changes as sneaky, underhanded efforts by frustrated FBI agents to get his client “because they think he is the boss of the Bonano family,” the same title they thought Galante had in the 1970s.  “I don’t think someone should be framed for murder” for those reasons, he said.

Through seduction, bribery and torture, said Breitbart, (right) prosecutors convinced life-long gangsters facing life – sometimes the death penalty – to cooperate and get out from under the same way Salvatore (Sammy Bull) Gravano did, with a twist. “If you say, ‘Joe told me to do it’ you don’t have to go to jail for the rest of your life, you can go home,” he said.

Kenneth McCabe, a criminal investigator for the Manhattan U.S. Attorney’s office, spent several hours on the witness stand Tuesday identifying photos of wiseguys and wannabes he has investigated and surveilled during his 37 years as a fed and an NYPD Detective.

One by one, McCabe put names on the faces of a litany of Massino’s cohorts, living and dead, as well as prosecution witnesses and the many victims they killed. The testimony was like a TV quiz show that could have been called, “Name That Wiseguy,” with prosecutor Greg Andres trying to stump a contestant, who was answering his rapid fire questions without any notes.

Only once, as Andres led him through 57 headshots, photo after photo, did McCabe hesitate for a second and utter a long “uh” as he tried to summon up a name. But the buzzer never sounded. McCabe reached back and pulled out Al Embarrato, (top, left) known as Al Walker, a Bonanno soldier who died three years ago.

McCabe had no trouble recalling the name and rank of the last photo that Andres showed him: capo, Carmine Galante, (right) re-iterating his rank again, when Breitbart asked him about it later. “He was never the boss. Rastelli was the boss until the day he died.”