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 Here you have the first actual photo- 
 graphic story ever published of the 
 world famous beer wars of Chicago 
 Gangland. It begins with the 
 murder of "Diamond Jim" Colo- 
 simo at the dawn of prohibition, 
 and it continues on up through the years, death by death, until the killers of Gangland finally gradu- 
 ated from murder to massacre on St. Valentine's day, 1929, and more recently hit one below the belt 
 by assassinating Alfred "Jake" Lingle, a newspaper reporter. ^ With the country-wide publication of 
 the massacre photograph, public indifference to Gangland's crimes came to an abrupt end. The work 
 of destroying organized crime in Chicago began determinedly, coldly, sternly. To use a phrase borrowed 
 from Gangland, the exponents of the "gat" and the machine gun are today being "pushed around" by 
 fcency and Integrity, and they must surely fall into the abyss of oblivion. ^ What has brought about 
 uprising? More than any other single factor has been the wide and unceasing publicity given to 
 Gangland's activities, t It was this fact that gave the authors the idea for this book. Newspaper 
 reporters of long Chicago police experience, they realized that any book showing the criminals of Booze- 
 
 !dom MS they really are would necessarily be one of brutality and blood and horror. Only in such a 
 Book could it be done. ^ X Marks The Spot is the result. In its terrible Truth, this book will become 
 bf tremendous value in obliterating gangsters from the Chicago scene. The publication of death 
 pictures in newspapers is becoming more common every day. Editors have at last realized the terrific 
 torce a death picture can exert, particularly in driving home the lesson that the underworld has present 
 day civilization in its grip. ^ The ultimate good of the death picture far outweighs the shock that it may 
 have on a certain delicate emotional segment of the newspaper readers. A famous New York news- 
 paper editor commenting in Editor & Publisher recently on the publication of the Valentine massacre 
 picture, declared that "it was a more powerful example of the defiance of law and order by the under- 
 world than could be drawn by twenty-five columns of editorials." f In Chicago the tendency to pub- 
 lish death pictures, particularly of slain gangsters, :s definite and growing. And the result is the pass- 
 ing of the gangster. It is interesting to speculate on what the effect might have been on crime in Chicago 
 if this tendency had manifested itself on page one four or five years ago. Jf X Marks The Spot publishes 
 those pictures for the first time. The body of the gangster which was blotted out and an X substituted 
 is restored as the camera saw it. You have read the story in countless volumes, now, for the first time 
 you can see it. You will see Chicago crime "put on the spot." 
 
 m 
 
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 ^ 
 
 Copyright 193u by The Sput Publishing (. onipati>- 
 Printed in U.S.A.
 
 "HIS FAVORITE POSE 
 
 Here is an excellent likeness of Alphonse Capone, the Big Boy of 
 Chicago Gangland, and the greatest gangster that ever lived. JVhen 
 King Al poses for a photograph ivhich isn't often, he always turns 
 his right cheek to the camera. The left one is disfigured by an ugly 
 scar. Legend has if that Capone was struck by a machine gun bullet 
 when he was a soldier in France. 

 
 When you look at organized crime in Chicago 
 you first see Alphonse Capone. aptly and accu- 
 rately described by his vassals of the underworld 
 as the "Big Fellow." You may be sure he is that 
 to them. Gangland's phrases are as full of mean- 
 ing and as expressive as they are curious and 
 original, and to be the Big Fellow is to be king. 
 
 Capone's rise to his present position of un- 
 disputed leadership has been swift, remarkable 
 and inevitable ; and the complete story of the beer 
 wars of Chicago is his story, his biography. Other 
 more picturesque figures have emerged from the 
 shadowy realm of Gangland since prohibition and 
 the Volstead Act threw it into bloody strife. Dion 
 O'Banion stands out a gaudy figure, and so does 
 "Little Hymie" Weiss, both of whom challenged 
 the rule of Capone for a short violent time, and 
 they looked like Big Fellows while they lasted, 
 but they didn't last. Today it is quite plain that 
 nothing either of them ever achieved in Gangland 
 history possessed finish and perfection in the same 
 degree as did the deft and artistic method by 
 which they were eliminated and laid away. 
 O'Banion and "Little Hymie" and all the others, 
 living and dead, are but thrilling paragraphs and 
 chapters in the rise of Capone. With each suc- 
 cessive death Capone stepped on closer to the 
 position where Gangland was compelled to call 
 him the Big Fellow. 
 
 Whether you like it or not, and probably 
 you don't. Capone has become a figure of na- 
 tional and even international 
 interest. Reach for your daily 
 newspaper, and you'll find him 
 duly chronicled along with 
 Lindbergh, Will Rogers, Henry 
 Ford, William Scott ^IcBride, 
 Bishop Cannon, Charlie Chap- 
 lin, John Gilbert and all the 
 others who romp daily across 
 the front page. 
 
 At thirty-three his position 
 has become so firm and secure 
 as the Big Fellow of the under- 
 world that his vast affairs move 
 machine-like even when he 
 
 of becoming 
 can't be on the job. When the Philadeli^eir t'-ucks 
 gathered him in and laid him away in a ''^ ' " 
 in the county jail in 1929 his henchmen, (..^.g g^. 
 to him and trained in his methods carried cWer in 
 when he was freed and had returned to Chi*?^^'^ 
 there was a great celebration in Gangland in hoign!! 
 of the Big Fellow. From every province of ft's 
 underworld came representatives to a great meet* 
 ing and when it was over they all departed to 
 their rackets crying "All for Al, and Al for All." 
 With no intention of eulogizing him, Capone 
 unquestionably stands out as the greatest and 
 most successful gangster who ever lived. What is 
 significant is that he is really a gangster, as much 
 so as the celebrated Monk Eastman and Big Jack 
 Zelig of New York. As a youth he was himself 
 a member of their notorious Five Points gang, 
 and the diflference between him and all other gang- 
 sters is that he is possessed of a genius for organ- 
 ization and a profound business sense. It was 
 Edwin A. Olsen, United States District Attorney, 
 who stated in 1926 that Capone operated on a gross 
 basis of $70,000,000 a year which takes in only 
 his illicit liquor business. What he profits from 
 his prodigious gambling and vice syndicates can 
 only be a speculative matter. 
 
 This book looks at King Al purely from an 
 objective standpoint. What goes on under his hat, 
 or under the hat of any of his ilk, is a profound 
 mystery as far as this book is concerned. And, aS' 
 Capone's public utterances have been few and 
 brief, they have been of little service in revealing 
 his mental pi'ocesses. Neither is this book inter- 
 ested in the conditions which have made him a 
 supreme sniffler of law and order. 
 
 But he is a glamorous figure, an actual part of 
 the American scene. Legends already are springing 
 up around him, fiction writers have found him the 
 inspiration for a vast production of current litera- 
 ture. The magazine stands are aflame with under- 
 world stories and Gangland stories about the man 
 with the gat who wears a tuxedo and has a liver- 
 ied chauff'eur. Over in England Mr. Edgar Wallace 
 has just evolved another thriller, this time in 
 dramatic form, from material hastily gathered 
 during a visit to Chicago. The 
 visit included a crime tour of 
 _ the city with Commissioner 
 
 |!^^3^ Stege of the detective bureau 
 
 at his side calhng out the spots. 
 
 And so this book will take 
 you along the journey traveled 
 by Mr. Capone in reaching his 
 present height. It will show 
 you What and When and How 
 and Where, but not Why. Ca- 
 pone is the world's outstanding 
 gangster and for that reason 
 well worth writing about and 
 looking at. Let's have a look. 
 
 - - -" 
 
 [3] 
 
 \
 
 
 ID 
 
 (apon e s 
 
 ^underworld 
 
 DEBUT 
 
 "... ello. Iss dis the Beeg Jim Colosimo who is spik ? 
 ... I am ver' glad. Dis iss lettle Jimmy. I am jus callin' 
 you to tell you that I am goin' to keel you someday . . . 
 I don't know just when it will bee, but it will come. 
 Goobye." 
 
 The telephone clicked and "charming" Vincenzo Cos- 
 mano, perhaps the most perfect type of killer ever pro- 
 duced by Gangland before prohibition and the machine- 
 gun era, had cordially announced to "Big" Jim Colosimo, 
 Chicago's first great underworld king, that the "finger was 
 
 ^-on him." 
 
 In the picturesque argot of the half-world to put the 
 finger on a man is to mark him for death. "Big" Jim 
 
 , Colosimo had had many fingers put on him, but never 
 before had the knowledge affected him like this. It had 
 
 i come at a time when everything seemed going wrong, 
 
 ' and he trembled and began to perspire. 
 
 Verging on emotional stampede "Big" Jim got in touch 
 with his lieutenant, Johnny Torrio, who, for three years 
 
 , , had been handling these matters in a relentless and high- 
 handed manner. When Colosimo had brought Johnny out 
 from New York to be his body guard, he had been able to 
 enjoy a measure of peace and security. The black-handers 
 
 L Jiad been beaten back; now again their sinister corre- 
 
 B^spondence appeared in his mail. "Big" Jim didn't admit 
 
 [ it cT himself, but he was afraid. Johnny Torrio knew that 
 "Big" Jim was afraid when, on that morning, he called 
 
 ' and said to him, "Johnny, perhaps you would like to 
 
 ,* have another good man to help you ? " And Johnny under- 
 
 ^ stood and said, "yes." 
 
 - And so "Big" Jim left Chicago a few days later for New 
 
 York. Shortly after he returned bringing with him two 
 burly Italians, both of them young men and graduates of 
 the celebrated Five Points Gang of New York, an organi- 
 
 1 zation of which Little Johnny Torrio was an alumnus. 
 One of these men was a quiet, furtive chap who called 
 
 ' himself Alphonse Capone, and the other was Frankie Yale. 
 Alphonse had come to stay; Frankie 
 would leave just as soon as he had 
 
 ' finished a special assignment. Well, 
 the special assignment had to do 
 with Signer Cosmano, the boy who 
 always called his shots. 
 
 A few days later a big automo- 
 bile whirled round a corner at high 
 speed. On the corner Jimmy, fool- 
 ishly enough stood taking the air. 
 There was a terrific roar, and 
 Little Jimmy fell to the cement. 
 his body full of lead. Writhing in 
 pain he was taken to the hospital 
 by the police, who camped outside 
 his door, intending to grab him if 
 death didn't, and death didn't. But, 
 neither did the cops. 
 
 Little Jimmy was a Sicilian and 
 he had many Sicilian friends who 
 thought well of his talents and 
 were distressed that the law might 
 store him away. In desperation 
 they took the matter up with one 
 "Big Tim" Murphy, a powerful 
 union official and underworld char- 
 acter from the "back-o-the-yards" 
 iistrict. 
 
 '.•4 
 
 Meet Mr. Ike Bloom, manager of "The Mid- 
 Hig'lit Frolics" a popular whoopee joint in 
 Chicago located just around the corner 
 from Colosimo's cafe. Ike was an 
 friend of "Big" Jim Colosimo. 
 
 j [4] 
 
 "What can we do for Little Jimmy?" implored the 
 agitated Italians. Mr. Murphy was silent for several 
 minutes thinking. Then he said curtly and without a 
 smile: "Go up and take him." And they did. 
 
 And there you have the debut in Chicago of Alphonse 
 Capone who was to rise to a towering position as the 
 "Big Fellow" of the underworld in less than a decade. A 
 great many of the local citizenry will tell you today that 
 the debut of Capone together with the advent of prohibi- 
 tion was the worst "break" sustained by Chicago since 
 the great fire. 
 
 His first job then was that of a body guard for Colosimo. 
 In order to better understand him it is necessary to examine 
 the new background in which the vice lord had established 
 him. "Big" Jim laid the foundations upon which Capone was 
 later to build his mighty undei-world empire. At the time 
 of young Capone's arrival Colosimo was the master of 
 the" notorious old levee district. His principal interests 
 were syndicated vice, syndicated prostitution and syn- 
 dicated gambling, a fact unknown by many who believe 
 organized crime to be a recent phenomenon in Chicago. 
 Colosimo's first appearance in the old levee district had 
 been twenty years before when he was only seventeen 
 years old. His first job was as a street-sweeper. It was 
 the cleanest he ever held. More cunning than intelligent, 
 something of a fist fighter and, above all, peculiarly 
 talented in the art of making friends, young Colosimo 
 soon became immensely popular with his countrymen who 
 represented a majority of the population. The politicians 
 in the old levee soon found Colosimo and marked him for 
 their own. Smart "wops" like him were much in demand 
 to keep political machines running smoothly. From then 
 on young Colosimo's rise in the underworld was rapid. 
 The step from street-sweeper to bawdy house proprietor 
 had been easy and within a few years he had gathered in 
 a half-dozen such places together with a few gambling 
 dives and two cafes. The secret of it all was that he could 
 sway the voting population at will. Politicians curried his 
 favor, the big shots among them soon heard Colosimo 
 telling them, instead of asking them. No one dared molest 
 the brothels, the gambling hells and opium joints owned 
 or controlled by him, and as early as 1915, the year he 
 summoned Johnny Torrio from New York, he had become a 
 law unto himself, a maker and breaker of political aspira- 
 tions, a man of countless friendships and, alas, of countless 
 enemies. 
 
 As he acquired wealth the black-handers began to tor- 
 ture him with their demands and threats. Torrio, as we 
 have said, was effective in dealing with these sinister 
 groups, and he not only brought a measure of content and 
 security to "Big" Jim, but his presence in the underworld 
 seemed to cause another wave of prosperity to sweep over 
 the underworld domain. "Big" Jim's evil business interests 
 began to expand. Vice and crime 
 crept slowly into new territory, 
 principally the great steel and in- 
 dustrial centers of the South Side. 
 With the adept Johnny at his 
 side plus the heaviness of advanc- 
 ing age, Colosimo began to mani- 
 fest symptoms of indolence. Feel- 
 ing safe once more from stray bul- 
 lets and powder bombs, he took 
 things easy. Important matters 
 were left entirely to capable John- 
 ny. Colosimo did not stir himself 
 even in the great reform period 
 when the battering ram of public 
 sentiment began tearing wide holes 
 in the old levee district. But Johnny 
 took care of matters pretty well, 
 and continued to operate by the 
 simple expedient of retiring into 
 the buffet flat and the call house. 
 
 Colosimo was plainly in decline, 
 and his inactivity was regarded 
 with a cold eye by his companions 
 and the politicians. Lassitude took 
 firmer hold on him as the days 
 passed, and Colosimo spent most of 
 his days just sitting in his huge 
 ornate cafe dreaming contentedly. 
 
 old
 
 i 
 
 People began to talk, and what they said, in effect, was 
 that Colosimo wasn't really so hot after all and that the 
 real smart guys, the brains behind the throne were really 
 Johnny Torrio and that relentless aid who was always 
 with him, Alphonse Capone. And they were right. 
 
 The Golden Era. otherwise known as prohibition, went 
 into effect on July 30, 1919. It made a swell law to break, 
 the very best one on the book. Torrio and Capone were 
 just pushing Colosimo into this highly lucrative business 
 and showing him some excellent methods by which the 
 law could be smashed when the end came for him. 
 
 This unhappy event brings us back to Colosimo's tend- 
 ency to take life easy, to keep his eyes closed. It takes 
 us to his cafe which operates to this day at 2126 South 
 
 h 
 
 onfofthe'lTer ^^ '^'"'^ requires that v^'^^S 
 one of the loveliest women who ever had the j,g,. fjjdn't 
 
 to have her name mentioned in connection with " 
 world. Miss Dale Winter, church singer, musica 
 star, and, for a few days, Mrs. Jim Colosimo. 'ss, eni- 
 The underworld lord found Miss Winter a s?^*^'' '" 
 actress, ambitious to further her vocal studies, and \ have 
 to sing in his cabaret in order that she might make ei.'?^*'' 
 money to realize her dream. Her appearance in his '?"]' 
 was a disagreeable sensation in the undenvorld. Obviou*'^ 
 she didn't belong there and what did the king mean £* 
 thus associating with respectability? 
 
 But Colosimo was more than interested in the beautiful 
 singer who stood nightly beside the piano and the orchestra 
 and sang to panders, dope peddlers, bootleg- 
 gers, thugs, and plug uglies. Colosimo was 
 in love with her and, for the first time in his 
 life, decent impulses began to stir in his 
 curious and contradictory nature. 
 
 The presence of Miss Winter in Colosimo's 
 cafe had its effect, for the gentry of the 
 underworld who had used it for years as 
 their favorite rendezvous began to absent 
 themselves as vermin before an extermi- 
 nator. She seemed to renovate the place by 
 her very presence and, more important, she 
 seemed to renovate Colosimo himself. More 
 and more absorbed did Colosimo become in 
 his love for the tiny flower of a woman. 
 He had broken definitely with his wife, de- 
 spite the importunities of his friends and 
 countrymen. 
 
 Under the delicate hand of Jliss Winter 
 the cafe, once a perfect example of what 
 money without taste can perform, was trans- 
 formed into a place of beauty. It became 
 a popular and delightful place in which to 
 spend an evening after the theater. The 
 food was excellent, the music good and the 
 singing of Miss Winter, the hostess, mar- 
 velous. 
 
 A decent element soon occupied the tables 
 and chairs where once the denizens of the 
 underworld were to be seen, and Colosimo's 
 Cafe became a show place, visited by many 
 celebrities including Enrico Caruso, the great 
 tenor, Florenz Ziegfeld. and opera singers 
 from the Chicago Civic Opera Company. 
 The reputation of Colosimo's Cafe extended 
 far and wide, and it became one of those 
 places in Chicago you simply couldn't afford 
 to miss seeing. 
 
 A rare photograph of "Big" Jim Colosimo and 
 his wife, Dale 'Winter, taken shortly after their 
 marriage. Note the laced shoes. Colosimo, 
 over-lord of the Chicago underworld for twenty 
 years, engaged Capone as his body guard when 
 Alphonse wag only a youngster. 
 
 [5]
 
 "Big" Jim Colosimo as the photographers and police found him a few minntes after an expert Uller 
 deposited several bullets in his head. The assassination took place in Colosimo's ornate cafe. 
 
 Colosimo changed too, but not so definitely as did the 
 cafe. Dale Winter, devoutly in love with him, worked 
 long and assiduously to make a fine gentleman out of him 
 and she did wonders, considering the material. But even 
 in riding togs, in evening clothes, "Big" Jim retained some 
 of the odor of the underworld. 
 
 The transformed Colosimo lost caste with the under- 
 world. It was plain that the king had gone wrong, and in 
 the dumps and dives honeycombed throughout the old 
 levee district there were whispers that the finger was again 
 on Colosimo. And it was. And this time neither Little 
 ^/Johnny nor Capone could avail him anything. 
 
 On March 29, 1920, Colosimo divorced his wife, Victoria, 
 and on April 16 he was married to Dale Winter. The cere- 
 mony was performed in Indiana and the undenvorld lord 
 vrith his bride went honeymooning at an Indiana resort. The 
 newspapers smoked with the story of his marriage and there 
 was a great flare of excitement, except of course in the 
 underworld. Colosimo's new found happiness lasted how- 
 
 ever only twenty-five days. He met his doom on May 11, 
 shortly after he and his bride had returned to Chicago. 
 
 Death came mysteriously and suddenly in the lobby of 
 his cafe on a sultry afternoon whither he had gone hur- 
 riedly in response to a mysterious telephone message. The 
 mystery of his assassination has not been solved to this day. 
 Thirty persons were questioned at the time and among them 
 were Capone and Torrio. It was all a waste of time, even 
 the long session the police held at headquarters with Little 
 Jimmy Cosmano who came forward voluntarily. Miss Win- 
 ter dropped out of the underworld at once without making 
 any claims even to the estate of her husband. 
 
 And so King Colosimo who was growing respectable 
 came to an inevitable end. Johnny Torrio stepped forth. 
 As Johnny had eclipsed his boss, soon too was Capone to 
 eclipse Torrio. The end of Colosimo, you might say, was 
 the beginning for Capone. He and Torrio began doing 
 things in a big way as we shall see. 
 
 A 
 
 [6]
 
 BEEK FKONT 
 
 Johnny Torrio and Al Capone soon had the prohibition 
 law looking silly. All the power built up by "Big" Jim 
 Colosimo over a period of twenty years was inherited or 
 appropriated by them and, in their hands, it became an 
 excellent instrument with which to make the city all wet. 
 Under Colosimo the politicians had done business with the 
 dapper Johnny and they had put him down as a "right 
 guy," and so Johnny had no trouble in placing large hands- 
 ful of dough here and there where it would mean some- 
 thing. As for personnel, Johnny and Al could muster a 
 small army of pimps, panders, thugs, come-on men, 
 bouncers, pick-pockets and other vermin already employed 
 in the dives and bawdy houses owned or controlled by 
 them. This t-alented array was available at a moment's 
 notice to exert themselves in the beer cause, provided, of 
 course, the beer belonged to Johnny and Alphonse. 
 
 The next step in the beer scheme was to acquire a few 
 breweries. Johnny laid hold of two or three, but they 
 weren't enough. He went shopping again, this time north- 
 ward to the Gold Coast where respectability slumbered. 
 At the magnificent residence of a respectable gentleman, 
 ostensibly a retired brewer, Johnny presented his proposi- 
 tion, emphasizing his political pull, and, most of all the 
 fact that if he, the ex-brewer, would contribute the half- 
 dozen or more idle breweries o\\Tied by him, nobody need 
 know a thing about it. The ex-brewer could retain the 
 "ex" as far as the straphangers would ever know for, in 
 case of any trouble, Johnny would take the rap. 
 
 While Johnny was forming this famous partnership he 
 was not a little dismayed to learn that two other ambitious 
 gentlemen who were not at all averse to turning a hot 
 dollar here and there in the new racket had got a running 
 broad jump on him. These were Frankie Lake and Terry 
 Druggan, products of the Old Valley District, who were 
 to become famous in the annals of Gangdom as the Damon 
 and Pythias of the beer barons. 
 Buddies as boys, they had got 
 their early training under the 
 tutelage of the notorious Paddy 
 "The Bear" Ryan and had be- 
 come adept as wagon thieves, 
 which is to say they could pry 
 merchandise loose from trucks 
 and deliverj- vans while these 
 were in motion. When the Golden 
 Era of proliibition dawned 
 Frankie had become respectable 
 and was holding down a job of 
 putting out fires as a city fire- 
 man. At the time Torrio, with 
 only one or two beer manufac- 
 tories of his own, was tiying 
 to annex enough to make a good 
 showing, Terry and Frankie 
 were operating as many as six 
 or seven. Their first brewery 
 had been acquired through one 
 Richard Phillips, a partner in 
 Colosimo's Cafe aft3r the death 
 of "Big" Jim. From the afore- 
 mentioned ex-brewer they had 
 acquired a little later the Gam- 
 brinus. the Standard, the Hoff- 
 man, the Keiffer and the Stege 
 Brewing Companies. 
 
 And so Frankie and Terry 
 must be remembered as the boys 
 who administered prohibition in 
 Chicago its first swift kick in 
 the hip pocket. They produced 
 the first barrel of amber after 
 Volstead and they owned the 
 first trucks and vans that moved 
 over the streets. Thev were 
 
 One of the few photograplis in existence of Johnn; 
 Torrio, successor to "Big" Jim Colosimo. This one was 
 ta^en shortly after Torrio had found Gangland toe 
 tough for him. A settled chill in his feet inspired him 
 to scamper off to Italy where he could be out of 
 range of the automatics and machine guns of "Iiittle 
 Hymle" Weiss. 
 
 smart, too, and were horrified at the prospect of becoming 
 embroiled in any rough stuff. When one of their tracks 
 was appropriated, as occasionally happened, they didn't 
 oil a gat or reach for a machine gun. 
 
 When the toughest beer-runners in the business, em- 
 ployees of theirs, wanted to explode an automatic over in 
 the O'Donnell territorj-, Terry and Frankie would have 
 none of it. "Klondike" O'Donnell bought most of his beer 
 from them an^'^vay, so why not let him steal one occasion- 
 ally. "What the hell," chorused Terry and Frankie, "It's 
 only one load anyhow, so why bother about it. We'll just 
 draw a lot of heat on ourselves if we rap those guys. 
 Let 'em get away with it this time." And so no blood was 
 shed for which Frankie and Terry were responsible. They 
 continued on pleasant terms with "Klondike" O'Donnell, 
 and shook hands with him when he backed up his trucks 
 to their breweries and bought his beer for distribution. 
 Even when the war broke out Terry and Frankie made 
 desperate efforts to preserve neutrality, and in a measure 
 succeeded. 
 
 Torrio's vast political drag under the administration 
 was a convincing argument, and he induced the ex-brewer 
 to sign on the dotted line, stipulating however that he 
 was to retain the title of "ex" which meant that Torrio 
 was to be the front. He would remain incognito behind 
 Torrio's coat-tails should there be any trouble. It will 
 be interesting to tell you that there was trouble and a 
 long time later the ex-brewer was yanked from behind 
 the aforementioned coat-tails. It required the combined 
 efforts of two great newspapers to perform this feat, 
 however. One of them, an afternoon newspaper, appeared 
 one fine day with a mystery thriller in which the where- 
 abouts of the ex-brewer was suggested although his 
 name was not mentioned. This so iiTitated the Chicago 
 Tribune that Mr. Joe Stenson was unceremoniously un- 
 covered and tossed roughly right out onto page one where 
 he was well fried on both sides. 
 
 But to return to earlier and happier days for Mr. 
 Stenson, it may quite possibly be that he regarded the 
 partnership with Johnny Torrio with misgivings and a 
 sinking heart. Johnny had an unsavory reputation, and 
 Mr. Stenson might have had an impulse to tell Johnny to 
 go straight to our beautiful 
 lower regions. Instead of thus 
 speaking however, he did the 
 next best thing which was to 
 stipulate that there was to be 
 no gun-powder competition be- 
 tween him and the Druggan- 
 Lake interests. Torrio acquiesced 
 and all gentlemen, Frankie, 
 Johnny, Terry, and Joe, walked 
 hand in hand up to the beer 
 front. 
 
 Before long a score of brew- 
 eries were operating day and 
 night as in the good old days. 
 Hoodlums, armed with auto- 
 matics, sawed-off shot guns and 
 other weapons, aided sometimes 
 by the police guarded great con- 
 voys as they rumbled over the 
 cobble-stones. So rapidly were 
 they brought up to the beer 
 front that Chicago soon found 
 itself dotted with seven or eight 
 thousand speakeasies, and the 
 customers were lapping 'em up 
 at twenty-five cents a stein, 
 proving again that the public 
 pays and pays and pays. Access 
 to these thirst clinics sometimes 
 involved short walks down alleys 
 and the presentation of creden- 
 tials, but more often all that 
 was involved was a thirst and a 
 quarter. 
 
 Johnny and Al charged fifty 
 dollars a barrel for beer and 
 protection, the latter item being 
 most important because no 
 
 C7]
 
 33 sy afen 
 es wiffhou 
 
 speakeasy ofen exist for fifteen 
 minutes wiflhout full knowledge 
 and consent) of the police captain 
 in whose precinct it may be lo- 
 cated. And Johnny and Al, great 
 contributors to the administra- 
 tion's war chest, were in a posi- 
 tion to sell protection. They 
 soon had the entire city mapped 
 out in a systematic way, with 
 certain definite territories al- 
 loted to the various groups. Pun- 
 ishment came swiftly to those 
 who were unwise enough to vio- 
 late any of the rules, for Johnny 
 and Al established their own en- 
 forcement agencies, and there 
 were skull-cracking crews, beer- 
 ininning contingents, and regular 
 staffs of killers. It was a great 
 system, and when Johnny or Al 
 told you to "laugh that one off" 
 you didn't laugh. Even when the 
 organization was operating with 
 a maximum of smoothness and 
 order there was always a little 
 killing or beating up job to be 
 taken care of, and Johnny and 
 Al had it done as a routine 
 matter. But despite all this per- 
 fection of organization the busi- 
 ness was getting tougher every 
 day, and Little Johnny looked 
 upon the tell-tale signs with mis- 
 givings. His booze syndicate was 
 causing him more trouble every 
 day, and he began to wonder if 
 someday these persistent little 
 flares of revolt might not grow 
 into a consuming conflagration. 
 The booze business had brought 
 him into contact with a different 
 breed of tough guy from the pimp and the pander and 
 the pickpocket associated in the vice business. An occa- 
 sional murder was all right, but the casualties brought on 
 by this new business were too many. Johnny's weekly 
 payroll, estimated at more than $25,000, included a breed 
 of individual who had personal courage and plenty of it. 
 Burglars, second story men, safe-crackers, sluggers for 
 labor unions, had gone into the liquor business feeling 
 that it afforded them a chance to go straight for the first 
 time in their lives. The obvious rewards lured them to a 
 frenzy comparable to that of the adventurous spirits who 
 joined the gold rush of '49. Johnny knew that the money 
 they were making was bad for them, but there could be 
 no salary reductions. A hoodlum with a thousand bucks 
 loose on the community was a dangerous man, especially 
 when he went out to play. 
 
 Alas, Johnny saw that conditions were not the same 
 as in the old days, when he could slap a pimp in the face 
 with his fist and get away with it. Let him try that stuff 
 on such vassals as Dion O'Banion over on the North Side, 
 or Frankie MacEarlane and his barb-wire kid brother, 
 Vincent, or Joe Saltis, or Lefty Koncil, or "Little Hymie" 
 Weiss, or Schemer Drucci or Red Hoban. Oh yes, let him 
 
 The Bie Boy doesn't seem to be disturbed If you believe 
 the smile on his face in this picture. It was snapped 
 down in Miami, Florida, just after he had bounced out 
 of a courtroom. "It's persecution, not prosecution," 
 says Al. 
 
 forget himself with those lads! 
 Except for the O'Donnell 
 gang on the South Side, led by 
 the astute "Spike" O'Donnell, 
 the underworld realm seemed 
 fairly content under the iron 
 rule of Johnny and Al. Their 
 toughest lieutenant, Dion O'Ban- 
 ion, operating on the North 
 Side, seemed to be a "right guy," 
 but Little Johnny secretly ex- 
 pected a break with him any 
 day. The powerful Genna broth- 
 ers over in Little Italy were a 
 surly, vain-glorious lot but still 
 loyal. Joe Saltis and Frank Mac- 
 Earlane also on the South Side 
 were desperate babies and had 
 already caused Torrio much em- 
 barrassment with the loop poli- 
 ticians with their battles against 
 the O'Donnells. The newspapers 
 had sizzled with accounts of the 
 killing of Jerry O'Connor, one 
 of "Spike's"boys, which had hap- 
 pened on September 7, 1923. Of 
 course Jerry had to go; he had 
 been raising too much hell with 
 good customers and that was 
 why Torrio's tough boys put him 
 in a horizontal position during 
 a surprise affray in the saloon 
 of Joseph Kepka. It was too bad 
 that "Spike" had been missed, 
 for the shooting of Jerry seemed 
 rather to intensify matters. 
 Torrio regretted, for business 
 reasons, the slaying of George 
 Bucher and George Meeghan.who 
 were O'Donnell men, but then it 
 couldn't be helped. They had 
 been talking too much about re- 
 vealing the slayers of Jerry, so there was more banging 
 and these boys folded up in death after a cloud of lead 
 had cracked into their automobile. That was on September 
 17, and Torrio had a most uncomfortable time of it when 
 a few weeks later the state's attorney, Robert E. Crowe, 
 brought about the indictments of Frank MacEarlane, 
 Thomas Hoban and Danny McFall. But the most disturb- 
 ing murder was that of Thomas (Morrie) Keane, on 
 December 1, 1923. "Morrie" and a companion beer-runner 
 William "Shorty" Egan, for "Spike" O'Donnell were re- 
 turning from Joliet with a truck load of beer. "Spike" 
 had been backing his trucks up to the breweries of Frankie 
 Lake and Terry Druggan, both Torrio boys as we have 
 seen, but the $45.00 price was too high, and Keane and 
 Egan, were merrily returning to Chicago with seventj^ 
 barrels of brew from a brewery which "Spike" was trying 
 to purchase when they were hi-jacked. Ordered to get 
 into an automobile, Keane and Egan dutifully did so. 
 They were bound securely and sat in the rear seat for a 
 few minutes as the car speeded down the lonely highway 
 wondering at their fate. Suddenly they got it. One of the 
 men in the front seat, believed to have been Frank Mac- 
 Earlane, turned round, and emptied an automatic into them. 
 
 FOI.ICE BTTII.SINGS IN CHICAGO 
 
 Maxwell Street Station. 
 
 
 Detective Headquarters Old Criminal Court Building The New Criminal Court Building. 
 [8]
 
 They were then tossed out into a ditch, 
 in a locality known as Beer Cemetery. 
 Keane was dead probably before he hit 
 the earth, but Egan, with half a dozen 
 wounds, crawled for miles crying for help. 
 Finally he got into the Palos Park Golf 
 Club just at dawn. Believinar himself dy- 
 ing Egan told the only employee there 
 at that hour that he was a bootlegger in 
 the sen'ice of "Spike" O'Donnell. Mac- 
 Earlane was arrested and held in a hotel 
 for a few days before being released. 
 Under pressure, however, indictments were 
 returned in which were named Joe Saltis. 
 Willie Channel, Johnny Hoban, Ralph 
 Sheldon and Willie Niemoth and Mac- 
 Earlane. Incidentally they were tossed 
 into the wastebasket four months later. 
 
 All this was bad business and Torrio 
 shuddered to think of the future with all 
 of these tough boys doing their stuff. 
 Johnny made no public estimate, but if 
 he had it is doubtful if he would have 
 fixed the number of gangsters to bite the sawdust in the 
 ne.xt couple of years at more than 300. 
 
 "Spike" O'Donnell could not be brought into the fold, 
 although peace was offered him. "Spike" had come from a 
 fighting family back-o-the-yards district and had a few 
 friends in the city hall himself, but his drag was puny 
 and insignificant compared to that of Little Johnny. But 
 he would not be brought to terms, and for a long time 
 this word could be heard in Gangland: " 'Spike' O'Donnell 
 will never make another dime in the racket. He's ruined 
 everybody else, and now they're going to gang against 
 him." 
 
 In the investigations that followed the murder of Keane, 
 charges were made that the police were persecuting "Spike" 
 and his bovs, while the Torrio mob went undisturbed. But 
 
 George Meegban, early casualty 
 Sontb Side Beer Wars. 
 
 "Spike" had some influence, and, although 
 he and his brothers were arrested and 
 jailed several times, and two of them in- 
 dicted, there was to come a change in 
 their fortunes. As we have seen the great 
 factor in Torrio's power was the vast politi- 
 cal influence he wielded, but in 192.3, the 
 people of Chicago, becoming bored with 
 William Hale Thompson, blew him out of 
 office, placing in his stead William E. 
 Dever. This brought panic to the under- 
 world; the vast system was shot to pieces; 
 no speakeasy proprietor knew just 
 whether he was "in" or "out"; Torrio 
 worked desperately and frantically to 
 "fix" the situation, and he went about 
 with great handsful of dough in an effort 
 to bring order again to his realm: he was 
 only partially successful. 
 
 This change in the administration and 
 its consequent disaster to Torrio's machine 
 gave "Spike" O'Donnell the break he 
 needed, and he again instituted terroristic 
 proceedings in the realm of Torrio. His particular field 
 was that controlled by Joe Saltis and Frank MacEarlane. 
 Saltis and MacEarlane, now that Torrio's power was a 
 doubtful quantity, operated on the South Side for them- 
 selves. As a matter of fact conditions were so precarious 
 that every man or rather every gang realized that until 
 Torrio could "fix" things, every man was for himself. 
 Torrio was working to bring about the fi.xing, but he 
 realized that he was up against the greatest job of his 
 vicious career. Over on the North Side Dion O'Banion and 
 his inseparable companion, Samuel "Nails" Morton were 
 growing in strength and power, and Torrio could see that 
 unless he could get a better grip on his connections, there 
 would be trouble from that source. At this period the 
 government annoyed Torrio by "knocking off" a brewery 
 
 The Samon and Pythias of Boozedom and their playgrounds. (1) A typical "Valley" district scene where Terry Omggan 
 and Prankie rose to fortune in the beer business. (2) Franbie and Terry themselves. (3) In manufactories like this one, 
 the Beer Barons made it for $3.50 a barrel and sold it for $45. (4) Where "Spike" O'Donnell used to appear with his trucks. 
 
 £9]
 
 ft. .-w •-m ' 
 
 from time to time. In October, 1923, he was fined for 
 illegally manipulating a brewery transfer, and the strain 
 was too much on his over-taxed nerves. Incidentally it was 
 in this period that Mr. Joe Stenson, aforementioned, was 
 shocked to find his name and address published on page 
 one of the newspapers. 
 
 The harassed Torrio began now to show definite signs 
 of weakening. Instead of remaining on the job at this 
 period as he had planned, he decided to tiks a vacation. 
 And, for the next six months he was out of the city. Part 
 of his vacation was spent in Europe and in Italy, the place 
 of his birth. In Italy he purchased a great villa for his 
 mother. 
 
 He returned in March. This period marks the date of 
 his decline, just as it marks the beginning of the rise to 
 power of his lieutenant, Al Capone. As Torrio had grown 
 superior to Colosimo, so had Capone grown superior to 
 Torrio. It is extremely doubtful that Torrio would have 
 bothered to return to Chicago if he had known what awaited 
 him. The beer war was about to begin. Blood was to be 
 poured into the beer. The shooting that can still be heard 
 round the world was to break out in the Beer War. 
 
 BEEK 
 
 jm^i 
 
 The "heat" in Chicago during those days of cold Mai'ch, 
 1924, was intense for all gentlemen of the gat and the 
 machine gun. When Johnny came slinking home there 
 were no processions or celebrations in honor of the event. 
 Matters in the Torrio-Capone camp were too grave for any 
 display. Newspapers were smoking with propaganda 
 against their rule. "The man with the gat" must go, 
 they cried; Chicago must wrench itself free from the grip 
 of crime. The attitude of Mayor Dever was conducive to a 
 cleanup. His chief of police, Morgan A. Collins, was a fear- 
 less man of the highest integrity. He was anathema to 
 Torrio, w^" 'Se strongest point of political contact was in 
 the state's 'attorney's office. 
 
 Immediately after his return to Chicago Torrio sum- 
 moned his adherents to a meeting place in the Metropole 
 Hotel on South Michigan Boulevard, where the most im- 
 portant matter discussed was that of holding their own 
 in Cicero whither Torrio had moved headquarters some- 
 time earlier by comparatively peaceful methods. Cicero, 
 a western suburb, soon found itself completely over-run 
 by the underworld element. Torrio made it the base of his 
 gambling and beer-running interest, and the town leaped 
 into national fame as one of the toughest spots on earth. 
 
 Ingress into Cicero had not been entirely without diffi- 
 culty however, for now they encountered the West Side 
 O'Donnells, also Valley boys with Terry Druggan and 
 Fi'ankie Lake, who looked with envious eyes upon this 
 territory. The squabbles between the Torrio-Capone and 
 West Side O'Donnells were of comparative unimportance 
 however until late in 1925 when William McSwiggin, an 
 assistant state's attorney was murdered one evening when 
 spending an evening with the O'Donnells. But there were 
 frequent disturbances, splitting of skulls, bombing af 
 speakeasies, and general trouble over customers. Another 
 obstacle in the path of Torrio was Eddie Tancl, a native 
 of Cicero, who dabbled in the illicit liquor traffic and was 
 the proprietor of a cabaret in Cicero. Eddie regarded the 
 advance of the O'Donnells and the Capone-Torrio outfit 
 with hostile eyes, and he was to die for his unfriendliness 
 a few months later. 
 
 On the eve of the Cicero election a second meeting of 
 the Torrio-Capone gangmen was held, this time in the 
 Four Deuces Saloon, 2222 South Wabash, owned by Capone. 
 Every-ready Al stepped forward with the request that the 
 business of swinging the election be placed in his capable 
 hands. And it was. The election became a riot, the day 
 was saved for Gangland, but Al lost his kid brother Frank 
 Capone, in the smoke of a pistol battle with the police. 
 The particular bullet which ended young Capone's career 
 
 came from a weapon owned and wielded by Sergeant 
 William Cusiack, of the Chicago Police force. 
 
 Gangland mourned the passing of Al's brother the 
 next day, instead of celebrating their technical victory 
 at the polls. Torrio with others important in the high 
 councils of his organization visited at Capone's home. 
 Every one of the 123 saloons in Cicero locked its doors 
 by order of his majesty, Johnny, and it was the dryest 
 day in the history of the town, before or after prohibition. 
 
 The slaying of Capone together with the hell raised 
 generally during the election, inspired another cyclone of 
 words from the public officials, particularly from State's 
 Attorney Robert E. Crowe. Inquests and investigations 
 tripped up as usual. Alphonse himself testified at the 
 inquest, but after some curious sign language between 
 him and Charles Frischetti, companion of Frank at the 
 time of his death, Alphonse suddenly suffered a loss of 
 memory. 
 
 Despite this technical victory, Torrio found conditions 
 in his realm growing increasingly unpleasant. A month 
 after the election another one of his breweries was knocked 
 ofi' and, surprisingly and significantly enough, this time 
 it was done by Chief of Police Morgan Collins and Captain 
 Matthew Zimmer. The brewery was the Sieben Brewery 
 on the North Side. The police attack on it was one of the 
 most beautifully executed jobs which ever a gangster 
 looked upon with dismay. Nobody except the leaders, 
 Collins and Zimmer, knew what was going to happen, 
 hence there was no tip-ofi". With their uniformed men 
 wondering where and what, Chief Collins and Captain 
 Zimmer led them after midnight to the big brewery where 
 they swooped down on men guarding thirteen truckloads 
 of beer, ready to be convoyed through the streets. The 
 convoy, composed of gang leaders, was arriving in auto- 
 mobiles, and, as each automobile deposited its cargo of 
 gangsters, the police gathered them up. It was a great 
 aggregation and made a swell "who's who" of Gangland. 
 All the big shots were there. King Torrio, Dion O'Banion, 
 "Three-Gun" Louie Alterie, Hymie Weiss and others. 
 
 State's Attorney Robert E. Crowe was the logical 
 public official to receive this prize, but, significantly enough 
 Chief Collins delivered it instead to United States Attorney 
 Olsen, a great pain in the neck to all gentlemen of the 
 underworld. When asked why, this ace of policemen, 
 responded vagely that . . . Attorney Olsen had promised 
 prompt cooperation, and despite the fact that it was a 
 police raid, pure and simple, the government was to do 
 the prosecuting. 
 
 A curious thing about gangsters is that they never 
 venture out of doors without first "heeling" themselves 
 with plenty of money. Angelo Genna, whose gaudy career, 
 was to end in a few months, was "heeled" to the extent of 
 
 Sergreant William Cusiack, of the Central Police Station, one 
 of the outstandings foes of grangrsters. Serg'eant Cusiack fougrlit 
 in the battle of Cicero and won a great victory by eliminating' 
 Frank Capone from this life. 
 
 [10]
 
 $30,000 when the coroner went 
 through his pockets as he lay dead in 
 a basement room whither he had fled 
 from police. But King Torrio, on this 
 occasion, strangely enough only carried 
 about S23,000 in cash, but it was enough 
 to bail himself and his companion, 
 James Casey, out of custody. O'Banion, 
 caught short remained in jail until pro- 
 fessional bondsmen. William Skidmore 
 and Ike Roderick, long associated with 
 gambling and vice in Chicago, could 
 rise earlier than their wont and pry him 
 out with the requisite So, 000.00. Wonder 
 was expressed at the time over the fact 
 that Torrio had not peeled off the 
 S.5.000 for Dion. Later events proved 
 that the flamboyant Irishman was in 
 extremely bad odor with the king, and 
 the Sieben fiasco served to bring their 
 long association to just about the break- 
 ing point. O'Banion, walking out of the 
 Federal building with Skidmoi'e and 
 Roderick, spoke in no uncertain terms 
 of this man who supposedly told him 
 what was what. "He's a god-dam 
 double-crossing wop," exploded Dion, 
 "and he's turning yellow all over." 
 O'Banion explained that Torrio had 
 
 Jerry O'Conner 
 
 bailed Casey out of jail in order to have 
 a body guard en route home. It was 
 quite plain that O'Banion was in revolt. 
 
 For the next few months Torrio en- 
 gaged himself in Cicero where matters 
 were far from ideal. The O'Donnells 
 were helping themselves to a lot of his 
 customers, Eddie Tancl was defiant to 
 all propositions and overtures, and. on 
 top of it all, the Genna brothers over in 
 Little Italy were whispering at the top 
 of their voices that O'Banion was con- 
 tinuing his efforts to "muscle in" on 
 their territory. Elsewhere in his realm 
 was sporadic warfare. Joe Saltis was 
 having a great time with "Spike" 
 O'Donnell's marauding bands of hi- 
 jackers, terrorists and killers. Gang- 
 sters were being taken for "rides" from 
 which there was no return, saloons and 
 roadhouses were being bombed with in- 
 creasing regularity. Torrio probably 
 shed no tears during this period when 
 he learned that Walter O'Donnell, was 
 arrested and charged with the murder 
 of Alfred Dickman. Waltsr, brother of 
 "Spike" virtually clubbed Dickman to 
 death with his fists. 
 
 rr^tjer) Jerry OConner, owner of the deserted g^mhling jDint in which Patrick Kin? was killed (l""" P^^^°>- . "F^* 
 '^ Valentine Massacre. 
 
 [Hi
 
 Even the happy and carefree Terry Druggan 
 and Frankie Lake took it on the chin during this 
 troubled period. Having been enjoined by Federal 
 Judge Wilkerson from operating one of their brew- 
 eries this inseparable pair said "Oh, Yeah" and 
 proceeded to remove large quantities of amber 
 fluid therefrom. One night a squad of prohibition 
 officers descended upon them and Damon and Py- 
 thias were brought up before the judge and he told 
 them to go to the county jail for a year. Losing an 
 appeal to a higher court Frankie began serving the 
 sentence, but Terry couldn't see it that way. He 
 set out blithely for California where, months later, 
 he was gathered in and returned to Chicago. He 
 walked through the portals of Sheriff Peter B. 
 Hoffman's lodging house in November. 
 
 At this time spies from the North Side reported 
 that O'Banion, in addition to violating the terri- 
 torial rights of the Genna brothers, was "running 
 off the chin" on the subject of 'Torrio's power. 
 O'Banion's slogan at this time seems to have been 
 "To Hell With Torrio." The Gen- 
 nas were summoned and methods 
 devised to punish the revolting 
 vassal. 
 
 After the Cicero election riot. Man 
 In the cap is Charles Frischetti, 
 companion of Frank Capone, (upper 
 rig'ht) who was killed in a gran 
 battle with police. Frank was a 
 brother of King- Al. 
 
 
 Smiling "Spike" O'Sonnell's g'ang' of hoodlums before Joe Saltis beg-an thinning them out. (1) "Spike" O'Donnell and Chief 
 
 WUllam Shoemaker, (2) Attorney Frank McDonnell, (3) VTalter O'Donnell, deceased, (4) Gimp Rosenbaum, mlssingr, 
 
 (5) "Spike" O'Donnell, (6) James Bucher, deceased, and "Steve" O'Donnell. The tin-can object is one of "Spike's" cars. 
 
 [12]
 
 Bid Shot 
 
 Ldhd 
 ITTLE 
 
 Shot 
 
 BIO SHOT AND I.ITTI.I: SHOT 
 
 Here's an interesting study in elimination as practiced by the killers of Gang-land. Eddie Davis (above) a small-time gang- 
 ster, apparently was punished for his many sins on the spur of the moment, as he stood in a thirst clinic hoisting a beer. 
 On the other hand the e l i mi nation of Myles Canavan (below), big shot gambler, came as the result of long and careful plan- 
 niag. "They" finally caught up with Myles one evening behind his luxurious apartment house on the south side of Chicago. 
 
 11^ 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 [13]
 
 '*■»■' 
 
 BAN ION of 
 
 \s\o\s dnd 
 
 po/ie/ 
 
 The underworld lost its most fantastic and picturesque 
 personality and Johnny Torrio lost his most persistent 
 pain in the neck on the morning of November 19, when 
 Dion O'Banion's body, heavier by six balls of lead, fell 
 crashing among the chrysanthemums of his little flower 
 shop at 738 North State Street. This flower shop, inti- 
 mately connected \\ath some of the most thrilling chapters 
 in the long and bloody story of Boozedom, stands intact 
 today, and the proprietor, William Schofield, stands many 
 customers on the spot where O'Banion fell while he takes 
 orders for flowers. O'Banion, in partnership with Schofield 
 and Samuel "Nails" Morton, used the little shop as a 
 blind for his prodigious criminal activities. 
 
 A glad hand artist, an expert at throwing the bull, 
 this paradoxical mixture of ferocity and sentimentality 
 stepped high wide and handsome through the shadowy 
 realm of the underworld for a dozen years, cracking safes, 
 shooting up saloons, terrorizing polling places, figuring in 
 newspaper circulation wars, hi-jacking liquor and thumbing 
 his nose at public prosecutors. 
 
 His ability to thumb his nose at public prosecutors, 
 ascribable to his own more or less valuable services to 
 certain North Side political leaders, first attracted the 
 attention of Johnny Torrio when Johnny was looking about 
 for breweries and talented gentlemen to aid him in what 
 was a new and inviting racket. 
 
 O'Banion, a typical neighborhood gangster from boy- 
 hood, had assembled a formidable gang in the persons of 
 such men as Samuel "Nails" Morton, Louie "Three-Gun" 
 Alterie, "Little Hymie" Weiss, George "Bugs" Moran, 
 Schemer Drucci, George and Pete Gusenberg and other 
 lesser individuals. Torrio and O'Banion came to an under- 
 standing and O'Banion's territory was established on the 
 North Side. Presently he had, to use his own expression, 
 stepped up into the bucks. O'Banion's power resulted from 
 the application of methods quite unlike those of Johnny 
 Torrio and Capone. His realm was built on friendship, 
 with pecuniary considerations secondary. O'Banion de- 
 pended upon his pals, and his pals depended upon him. 
 His death however proved conclusively to the interested 
 spectator, that the almighty dollar furnishes a stronger 
 basis for the relations between organized crime and ma- 
 chine politics than brotherly love. O'Banion was ever-ready 
 to aid and protect anybody in his neighborhood and he 
 knew everybody. The poor looked upon O'Banion as a great 
 and good man, and he never forgot them. Across the street 
 from his flower shop stood Holy Name Cathedral in which 
 O'Banion had been an altar boy. Samuel "Nails" Morton 
 was one of O'Banion's closest friends from boyhood. Mor- 
 ton was dubbed "Nails" when quite a lad because he was 
 that hard. "Nails" served in the World War and emerged 
 with several decorations for bravery and a commission. 
 
 Sammy was a great influence on O'Banion's intellectual 
 development, if any. He took his blustering buddy by the 
 hand and led him down the booze trail to prosperity and 
 big dough before Torrio completed the job. In the little 
 floral shop together these two men sat among the carna- 
 tions and the lilies and plotted such booze robberies as the 
 removal of 5,000 gallons of excellent liquors from the 
 Royal Drug Company on forged permits. Ah! What a 
 swell job that was! Six unifonned policemen aided in the 
 work of loading the liquor onto trucks, and, when the 
 last quart of Old Taylor had been gathered in, Sammy gave 
 the signal and the cops blew whistles and you and me, 
 scurring down the street in our Model T stopped with 
 screeching brakes, while Sammy and O'Banion moved out 
 > into the traffic. A great yowl, heard all over town, resulted 
 I from that job. The permits had looked all right enough, 
 
 and they had read all right, but, too late, somebody dis- 
 covered that they were phony. 
 
 "Nails" taught O'Banion to wear dinner jackets and 
 to live in fine hotels and how to use his knife and fork 
 and to be a gentleman. He is given credit for also teaching 
 the blustering Irishman that political pull is more potent 
 tor a racketeer on occasions than pistols. "Get the politi- 
 cians working for you" was a complicated principle which 
 Samuel pounded into O'Banion's head. It is said that 
 "Nails" invented the famous phrase "take him for a ride" 
 by which is meant that traitors, spies, squealers and stool 
 pigeons, were disposed of by being placed in the front 
 seat of an automobile and shot by somebody in the rear 
 seat. Curiously enough "Nails" himself was taken for a 
 ride one Sunday morning, only it wasn't that kind of a ride. 
 "Nails" in riding togs was en route from a stable one 
 Sunday morning to Lincoln Park for a canter. The horse, 
 not knowing what a tough guy "Nails" was, became unruly 
 before they reached the bridle path and "Nails" was thrown 
 violently to the pavement. 'The horse then stepped on 
 Mr. Morton's head. A few hours later, legend has it, Louie 
 "Three Gun" Alterie, again rented the horse, rode it to a 
 remote spot and then pumped a bullet into the horse's head. 
 
 A new story used to appear every day about O'Banion's 
 loyalty to a pal, his bravery, his great love for gun play, 
 his love for his mother and wife, and his "Robin Hood" 
 methods. Here is one on the "pal" theme. In the days 
 before the Golden Era of prohibition O'Banion was not at 
 all averse to sensational holdups. Once he and his mob 
 planned to "take" a certain race track which was about 
 to open, on the West Side. Wind of this came to the pro- 
 moters, one of whom knew a newspaper man who was 
 friendly with O'Banion. All being native Chicagoans, 
 instead of informing the police, the promoters went to the 
 newspaper man. O'Banion was called by telephone and 
 the newspaper man said, "Say Deany, I want you to do a 
 favor for me." It was okey with O'Banion, even when the 
 newspaper man informed him that the favor meant assem- 
 bling some of his boys and working as a guard over the 
 till at the race track. Sure enough on the day of the race, 
 O'Banion with a gang of his hoodlums, all armed, stood 
 around the box oftices ready for war if anybody attempted 
 to spring anything. Later O'Banion learned from the 
 newspaper man that a fast one had been put over on him 
 but he received the news with great relish. 
 
 It will serve to illustrate the important position 
 O'Banion occupied to mention a party given in his honor 
 several days prior to his death. The hosts included the 
 commissioner of public works, the county clerk, half a 
 dozen police lieutenants, and the chief of detectives, 
 Michael Hughes. A diamond studded watch was presented 
 to O'Banion on this occasion. When news of the party 
 got out, there was a great noise and Detective Hughes 
 explained that he had come to the party thinking it was 
 to be given in honor of another, Jerry O'Conner, secretary 
 of the Theater Janitors' Union. "I was framed," said 
 Hughes, "and I got out as quickly as I could." 
 
 The unwillingness of O'Banion to take orders from 
 Torrio, plus his ambition to extend his activities into 
 forbidden territory brought about his break with Torrio 
 and — his sensational and sudden death. It is likely that 
 Torrio took O'Banion under his wing as a matter of policy. 
 Torrio put as many boards in his political fence as he could 
 lay hands on and O'Banion represented a wide plank on 
 the North Side. But O'Banion's flamboyant style was irri- 
 tating to Torrio, and he felt that O'Banion would bring 
 trouble into the realm with his high-handed methods. Torrio 
 was a business man first and a gangster second. O'Banion 
 was a gangster. Torrio would rather bribe a policeman 
 than kill him. O'Banion would rather bribe him too if 
 he didn't want too much. Two policemen once appropriated 
 a truck load of beer belonging to O'Banion and Torrio. 
 They demanded $300 to release it. When he was told this 
 over the telephone by one of the beer-runners, detectives 
 listening in on a tapped wire, heard him say, "Oh, to hell 
 with them guys. I can bump 'em off' for half that much." 
 Later, the same voice, told O'Banion that Torrio in the 
 meantime had instructed that the cops be paid the money. 
 "We don't want no trouble," Torrio had said. And there 
 you have the essential difference between Torrio and 
 O'Banion. One didn't want trouble; the other was always 
 looking for it. 
 
 [14]
 
 O'Banion first began straining the ties that held him 
 to Torrio by muscling in on the territory allotted to the 
 Genna brothers on the West Side. Warned repeatedly 
 he continued to defy them. O'Banion believed in free 
 speech. He talked often and loudly. He liked to sing too, 
 and no doubt regarded his alley tenor as something quite 
 fine and beautiful. The most injudicious remark he ever 
 made in his long and useless life was directed to Torrio 
 and his Italian henchmen. "To hell with them Sicilians," 
 he said when warned directly from headcjuarters to stay 
 out of the Genna territory. "You (meaning Torrio) have 
 got your ideas, and I got mine. We'll quit." 
 
 And so the inevitable happened. The finger was put on 
 O'Banion, and they killed him and now, six years later, 
 his pals are still trying to avenge him. The death of 
 O'Banion brought more attention to Chicago's underworld 
 
 The "It" boy of Gang-land, Dion O'Banion. and 
 his wife. This is a rare picture of Boozedoui's 
 personality boy, taken on the day of his inarriagre. 
 (Upper right) X niarSs the spot where O'Banion 
 was killed in his little flower shop on North State 
 Street. (Lower photo) Crowd ontside the floral 
 shop just after O'Banion's assassination. 
 
 and the beer wars than any other dozen deaths. 
 Whereas the other victims of the warfare reached 
 page one of the local prints, O'Banion's murder and 
 funeral filled the wires of the press associations and 
 landed on page one of the newspapers all over the 
 country. 
 O'Banion was standing in the center of the flower shop 
 busily engaged at the pious business of trimming roses. 
 In the rear of the shop a Negro porter, William F. Crutch- 
 field, was unpacking a crate. Crutchfield later testified 
 that O'Banion had just called to him to sweep up a litter 
 of flower petals at the front of the shop. Fortunately 
 William delayed, probably thus saving his life. For, just 
 as O'Banion uttered these words, three men entered the 
 front door. Crutchfield relates that he heard O'Banion 
 greet them with, "Hello, you boys from Mike Merlo's?" 
 As he uttered these words O'Banion, holding a large pair 
 of shears in one hand, walked toward the three men, one 
 hand outstretched. One of the men, in answer to the 
 greeting, said that he was from .Mike Merlo's home. Merlo, 
 an Italian political leader, had just died and it is assumed 
 that O'Banion expected these men there for the purpose 
 
 [15]
 
 Outstanding- members of Slon O'Banion's North Side g-an^ as they looked in the i^ood old days when O'Banlon flashed a g-at. 
 (1) Georg-e "Bngfs" Moran, present leader, (2) "Iiittle Hymle" Weiss, killed. (3) Dapper Dan McCarthy, still up and abont. 
 (4) Iiouie "Three Gun" Alterie (sometimes called State and Madison Street Alterie) now living- on a ranch in Colorado. 
 
 of buying flowers for the funeral. As he reached to shake 
 O'Banion's hand, his companions whipped out revolvers and 
 began firing at O'Banion. The porter relates that there 
 were five shots in rapid succession, then a short pause, 
 and a sixth shot. The sixth shot, fired into O'Banion's head 
 at close range after he had fallen, was extra good measure 
 just to make sure. 
 
 Crutchfield relates that he tore out into the front room 
 at top speed, just in time to catch a glimpse of the fleeing 
 assassins. An automobile awaited them, they jumped in, 
 sped to Ohio Street, turned West and disappeared into the 
 maize and blur of traffic. To this day no one has ever 
 caught up with that car. 
 
 Earlier in this book it has been related that when 
 Al Capone came to Chicago he was accompanied by Frankie 
 Yale, of New York. Frankie, a tough killer from the Five 
 Points gang, frequently came to Chicago on contract kill- 
 ings. He was adept. So proficient was he as a murderer 
 that he did a lot of it on the side, probably just to keep in 
 practice as he didn't need the money. Anyhow, if you came 
 well I'ecommended, you could buy Frankie's services. All 
 you had to do was to point out the guy you didn't want 
 and slip Frankie the dough. 
 
 We bring this up because a lot of the "wise" money main- 
 tain to this day that the tall, heavy-set individual who 
 ■walked up to O'Banion, hand outstretched, was Frankie 
 Yale. Frankie was detained by the Chicago Police a few 
 hours later as he was about to board a train bound for 
 
 New York. But Frankie had a good alibi. He became a 
 part of the wall of silence against which the words of the 
 police banged in vain. Other parts of this wall, incidentally, 
 were Alphonse Capone and Johnny Torrio. Chief of Police 
 Morgan Collins, explaining why no solution of the murder 
 was forthcoming, stated that O'Banion had been responsible 
 for at least twenty-five deaths in his short career, and that, 
 as a result, a great many people appreciated the fact that 
 he had been put out of the way. Certain it is that the police, 
 including Mr. Collins, wept not over O'Banion's bier. But 
 other thousands did. His funeral set a high mark for 
 those that came after. Nothing had been seen in Chicago 
 quite like it since the final obsequies -were made for "Big" 
 Jim Colosimo, when the business of laying him away drew 
 out so many judges and politicians that the affair took on 
 the external aspect of a political pow-wow. O'Banion's 
 funeral scandalized the public. The cortege was made up 
 of twenty-four automobiles all loaded with flowers, one 
 hundred twenty-two funeral cars, and with private cars 
 stretching for blocks. As it -wended its way through the 
 streets toward the cemetery a squad of police on motor- 
 cycles cleared a path through traffic. The grief-stricken 
 survivors of the O'Banion gang who had been crying their 
 eyes out for days, could hardly -wait until the services were 
 over and the $10,000 casket dropped into its hole, in order 
 that they might devote themselves to avenging lovable 
 Dion's death. Louie Alterie, quite beside himself, made a 
 particularly hot remark and one that burned official ears. 
 
 
 [16]
 
 "I invite the slayers of my pal to shoot it out with me," 
 cried Louie. "They can name any place, even State and 
 Madison Streets." 
 
 Louie who was, as you might infer from this, quite a 
 loud noise, was discovered a few weeks later in the Mid- 
 night Frolics' Cafe by Captain Stege of the Detective 
 Bureau. Louie was in his cups and somewhat louder than 
 usual so you can estimate just how loud he must have 
 been. At any rate Captain Stege went up to him and 
 slapped his face. 
 
 Let us rush to add however that despite this humiliation 
 which he took without any retaliating gesture, Louie was 
 really a tough guy. He was smart enough to know how- 
 ever, that it just wasn't his play to slap back. 
 
 EDDIE TANCL 
 
 BITES THE 
 
 idwduxt 
 
 The flowers on O'Banion's grave had hardly withered 
 and dropped away from their tinsel frames when another 
 picturesque tough boy of the underworld bit the sawdust. 
 He was Eddie TancI, a native son of Cicero whose place 
 of refreshment, the Ha^^thome Inn was highly popular 
 with his Bohemian countr>"Tnen. They assembled in 
 droves there to lift a few and to hear thick-necked 
 Edward discourse authoritatively on the refined pro- 
 fession of prize-fighting in which he, in his salad days, 
 had been engaged with moderate success. The Hawthrone 
 Inn dispensed more beer probably than any fifty of the 
 1-50 other thirst clinics in Cicero which was why the 
 O'DonneU boys lay awake nights thinking up ways in 
 which Eddie could be induced to become a stop on their 
 beer-runners' rounds. Eddie however had reluctantly signed 
 up with Johnny and Al, both of whom he regarded with 
 hatred and as tyrants in his own realm. But Johnny and 
 Al had told Edward that he could either buy their stuff or 
 else and so he bought. 
 
 "Klondike" O'Donnell, leader of the horde had been 
 quite successful in pushing himself into the preser\-es of 
 Al and Torrio during the political depression in Gangland, 
 a fact largely ascribable to the talents of the toughs who 
 called him boss. Most of them, like "Klondike" himself, 
 had been labor racketeers before prohibition, and weren't 
 exactly foreigners to Rough Stuff. Some of "Klondike's" 
 boys who were healthy and feeling well at this particular 
 period included his brothers Myles and Bernard, Fur 
 Sammons. James Doherty, Thomas Duffy, Mike Quirk. 
 Johnny Ban-y and "Rags" McCue. Also, most of 
 these boys are now departed this vale of tears but my, 
 my. what hell they raised before lea^-ing. All of them 
 were tough, but William "Klondike" was tough enough 
 to hold the leadership, although there were times when he 
 had to demonstrate the fact in grisly emphatic ways. 
 There was the sad case of "Rags" McCue who had worked 
 
 long and faithfully for "Klondike" hustling beer out in 
 the warm Cicero country where a machine gun bullet 
 might have found him any minute. When "Rags" wasn't 
 working he liked to plaster himself with whisky in evil 
 places. Once, on a bender, he found himself with about 
 §1,600 in collections which he had not yet turned over to 
 "Klondike." After the party, which was of several days 
 length, "Rags" reported for work, broke but hostile. He 
 had "spilled" the grand, but what of it? William saw his 
 duty quite plainly. "Rags" must be punished, just as a 
 lesson to his fellow tribesmen. And so "Klondike" whaled 
 in and when he had finished "Rags" was bleeding and help- 
 less. Both arms were broken. Several days later "Rags" 
 appeared at headquartes with his arms in casts. The sight 
 touched William and James Doherty so deeply that they 
 inveigled him into an automobile and took him for a ride 
 and "Rags" never came back. Nice fellows. Four of his 
 henchmen finally became so tough that "Klondike" had to 
 dispose of them in the usual way as we shall see in due 
 time. At this period however he had them pretty well 
 under his thumb. 
 
 "Klondike"had just about lost patience with Eddie Tancl. 
 
 The tubby little Bohemian wouldn't listen to reason, 
 threats, pineapples, or gunpowder. One night as William lay 
 awake trying to find an idea which would bring Eddie around, 
 two of his prized henchmen, James J. Doherty and Myles 
 O'Donnell, dropped into the Hawthorne Inn for a beer. Eddie 
 greeted them affably enough and motioned them to a table 
 which, from his vantage point behind the bar, he could 
 cover with a sharp and alert eye. After about two hours 
 and twelve or fifteen "shells" of the amber fluid, plus 
 several "shots" of whisky, their voices had developed 
 from quiet, gentlemanly, well-modulated tones into what 
 we shall describe as rather loud noise. Eddie, himself, 
 catching the gala spirit and not altogether without a little 
 glow induced by the small ones he had been having with 
 the customers all evening, came over and sat down with 
 Jimmy and Myles. Well, there were a few more drinks, 
 compliments of Eddie, when the conversation drifted into 
 plain shop talk. Jimmy and Myles insisted on deploring 
 the fact that Eddie was getting his stuff from the "grease 
 ball" meaning Mr. Capone or Mr. Torrio. 
 
 Maybe Eddie tried politely to change the conversation 
 for they sat there for a long time; but the old subject 
 would return, and, just as the bleak country was growing 
 into rugged outline against a tinted sky, the Sabbath day 
 at Cicero was heralded by a succession of revolver shots. 
 If you had been strolling down the street that morning 
 at that time you would presently have seen two young 
 men, rushing out from the Hawthorne Inn, cursing and 
 brandishing smoking revolvers, and, a few seconds later 
 you would have beheld another individual as he staggered 
 determinedly out of that door. You would have watched 
 Eddie Tancl, more dead than alive, trying to over-take 
 those men, and. horrified you would have watched the little 
 ex-prize fighter's steps grow slower and slower until fin- 
 ally they would move no more — even for a guy as tough 
 as Eddie Tancl. 
 
 All of Eddie's shots however did not go awry. A few 
 minutes after it was all over Mr. O'Donnell discovered to 
 his intense surprise that several slugs of lead were imbedded 
 in his tough person, and he was forced to hold long and 
 serious sessions with a surgeon, for many months to come. 
 
 The murder of Eddie Tancl was good news to Johnny 
 and Al. although the crude method by which he was dis- 
 patched probably illicited contemptuous sniffs from them. 
 
 BATTIiE 7IEI.DS IIT CICEBO 
 
 The Ship 
 
 Mr. Snffey'8 Thirst Clinic Cicero Inn 
 
 [17] 
 
 Hawthorne Smoke Shop 
 
 Capital Cafe
 
 . . . My, my, what a tough guy was Eddie Tancl! Eddie bnsted more skulls than John Ii. Sullivan, Bob Fltzslmjnons, and 
 
 Jim Corbett combined. VThen Capone and "Klondike" O'Donnell came to Cicero, however, the first fighting' period came to an 
 
 end, and you see in the photograph Mr. Tancl as be appeared in the ring, in his saloon, and in the morgnie. 
 
 The O'Donnells and the O'Banions and their breed never 
 could learn murder nicely and cleanly. They lacked style 
 which, incidentally, was extremely fortunate for Johnny 
 and Al although maybe they didn't see it that way. 
 
 The murders of two beer barons, O'Banion and Tancl, 
 in the space of a few days was too much gunpowder for 
 the town to take in one dose, and to reduce and soothe 
 the ensuing high temperature of public indignation Messrs. 
 Doherty and O'Donnell were indicted by one of Mr. 
 Crowe's grand juries. The public was assured that these 
 desperadoes would hang. Mr. Crowe pointed to the fact 
 that he had assigned his ace assistant, the "hanging 
 prosecutor" to the case. The assistant's name was WilUam 
 E. McSwiggin. 
 
 But there was other gunpowder to be sniffed, this time 
 out on the South Side where the Saltis-MacEarlane and 
 
 "Spike" were still having at each other on every possible 
 occasion. Several pot shots had been taken at "Spike" 
 and he had missed death so narrowly but so neatly so 
 many times that already the feature writers were making 
 something of the detail. To return the compliment, "Spike" 
 and some of his boys had unsuccessfully tried to do away 
 completely with Mitters Foley, one of Joe's outstanding 
 hard boys. Frankie MacEarlane, finding the town too 
 quiet for his tastes, had gone over into Indiana, where he 
 had got himself indicted for the murder of a roadhouse 
 owner who had done business with "Spike." But Frankie 
 "beat the rap" after a complicated trial. On December 
 19, two weeks after Tancl's death, the Saltis mob revenged 
 themselves plenty for the attempt on the valuable life of 
 Mr. Foley. They killed two more of "Spike's" boys, Leo 
 Gistinson and Jack Rapport. 
 
 CIS]
 
 EXIT 
 
 MrTorrio 
 
 We now come to the last days of Johnny Torrio, the 
 Big Boy who wasn't quite big enough. His song and dance 
 are just about over, and we shall see him presently as he 
 bounces out of his own show, leaving the spotlight entirely 
 to Al Capone who is plenty big, and growing bigger. 
 
 After paying his respects to the memory of Dion 
 O'Banion by slinking after midnight into the North Side 
 funeral parlor where the body lay awaiting burial on the 
 morrow, Johnny returned to his bungalow on the South 
 Side with a feeling of uneasiness as to the success of his 
 plans for bringing peace and quiet to gun-shot Gangland. 
 The grieving survivors who had sat around the room in 
 which O'Banion's coffin stood heavily banked with flowers 
 seemed deliberately to ignore him as he had stepped fur- 
 tively into the room. Maybe they resented the fact that 
 Casey and another body guard of swarthy-complexion 
 were with him. At any rate Johnny, awkward and un- 
 comfoilable, had mumbled some asininity to the eifect that 
 it was tough that "Deany" had to go, and then had bowed 
 out. Johnny knew his visit had been a complete flop. 
 He had kidded no one, not even the pompous politicians 
 whom he had met there and who had seemed as uncomfort- 
 able as he, although for entirely difl'erent reasons. His 
 own floral offering, a modest wreath which read simply 
 "From Johnny" had been booted out into the 
 alley, and Al Capone's gaudy tribute too had 
 been kicked to pieces. The spies had rushed 
 to him with this information. Not a single 
 word had been exchanged between him and 
 those chief mourners. But there had been a 
 reply, louder than words. It glittered from the 
 eyes of "Little Hymie" Weiss, and Louie Al- 
 terie and "Bugs" Moran, and Vincent Drucci, 
 and Leo Mongoven, and Frankie Foster and 
 all the rest of that surly mob. What it said 
 to Torrio's presence at O'Banion's wake was 
 this: OH, YEAH? 
 
 The ancient cynicism that every man has his 
 price had been cherished and worked for a 
 it was worth by Johnny Torrio during his long 
 and successful career as an underworld leader. 
 But keen as was his understanding of human 
 nature, until right now he had never understood 
 so poignantly that alliances formed by Dion 
 O'Banion had been built on something stronger 
 than a bankroll. It was 
 friendship, loyalty and affec- 
 tion. In his ability to inspire 
 affection from his thugs and 
 murderers O'Banion had never 
 been equalled by any leader 
 in Gangland, although Capone 
 himself was later to sur- 
 round himself with a group of 
 loyal and devoted henchmen. 
 
 The murder of O'Banion 
 had struck deeper than Torrio 
 had expected, for nov.' the 
 heart of every follower of the 
 amazing Irishman burned 
 with a consuming fire of re- 
 venge, and the result of it 
 was the spectacular elimina- 
 tion of the Gennas and the 
 precipitate flight of Torrio 
 himself to the safety of a 
 jail cell. 
 
 Meet "Iilttle Hymle" Weles, successor to Dion O'Banion, 
 In the days when he was a mere bank rohher and touerh 
 guy. "Iilttle Hymle" possessed a hlow-torch personality 
 as yon ought to be able to see from this photograph. 
 "I'll kill you for this," was only part of what he said 
 when this picture was being made. 
 
 And now we come to the little blow-torch who stepped 
 up to leadership in the North Side gang. At the grave 
 "Little Hymie" Weiss had wept and vowed revenge, and 
 had said that there would be no leader. "We'll just carry 
 on as one gang," he had said. Of course thi.s was apple- 
 sauce. Every O'Banion successor knew that "Little Hymie" 
 was something of an extraordinary fellow, brainy and 
 with "guts" and that whatever he might say would go. 
 
 Well, "Little Hymie" lost no time in getting into 
 action. A few hours after the funeral he inaugurated the 
 first of what was to be a long series of punitive expedi- 
 tions into the preserves of Torrio and Capone and the 
 doomed Genua brothers. To the end of his days he always 
 referred contemptuously to them as "grease balls," a phrase 
 he persisted in using even when discussing them with 
 O'Banion. It was Weiss who was the neculi of revolt in 
 the first place, for he nourished a deadly hatred for the 
 Italians which he could ill-conceal. Legend has it that 
 he ordered an expedition of vengeance into Capone-land 
 immediately on his return from the cemetery and before 
 the tears had vanished from his eyes. The tale is probably 
 apocryphal, but "Little Hymie" was capable of impulsive 
 action. It was his ability to get things done in a hurry, 
 that enabled him to swell the profits of his gang until 
 they were all enormously wealthy. In many respects this 
 sardonic Pole was Gangland's most amazing personality 
 and, had he lived he would surely have become the Big 
 Fellow. Weiss was a man of tremendous courage despite 
 his slight stature. He was capable of unbelievable rages, 
 and long periods of moody silence. From the floral .shop, 
 above which he had elaborate offices, he could stand on the 
 spot where O'Banion had fallen, and, looking through the 
 huge plate-glass window, see the beautiful facade of 
 Holy Name Cathedral and the famous corner-stone which 
 read : 
 
 At the name of Jesus every knee should 
 Bend in heaven and on earth. 
 For long periods he would gaze moodily at it and then, 
 turning suddenly on his heel shout a 
 blasphemous order which would send 
 his henchmen scampering into action. 
 "Little Hymie" who had a premoni- 
 tion of an early death, once said that 
 although he didn't expect to live 
 long, he did expect to live long 
 enough. His premonition was a good 
 one, for he was to live but twenty- 
 two months and fifteen days, count- 
 ing from O'Banion's death. 
 
 For more than forty days "Little 
 Hymie" failed to find an opportunity 
 to take a shot at either Signor Ca- 
 pone or Torrio, although he ^nd 
 his men toured their territory almost 
 constantly. And they toured in the 
 finest automobiles that money could 
 buy, and every automobile was 
 equipped like an arsenal. On January 
 12 spies in the Capone terri- 
 tory whispered to "Little 
 Hymie" that the "grease- 
 ball" was pruning himself in 
 front of his hotel, the Haw- 
 thorne Arms. Eleven power- 
 ful limousines and touring 
 cars glided by the hotel, and 
 from every one of them came 
 a volley of gunfire. But no 
 one was injured, except an 
 old lady who was passing and 
 a small boy, neither seriously. 
 It is said that Al sent $5,000 
 in bills to the old lady. Every 
 building in the block, how- 
 ever, was sprinkled with lead 
 and neitherTorrio nor Capone 
 had to scratch their heads 
 to think who might have 
 made the attack. Hymie had 
 failed, but he still had about 
 19 months more to live. He 
 
 [19]
 
 Here is the car in which Johnny Torrio and Mrs. Torrio rode as they were being fol- 
 lowed and fired upon by Cfeorgfe "Bug's" Moran, "Little Hyniie" Weiss and Schemer Druccl, 
 
 got busier than ever, and on January 24, 1925, just twelve 
 days later, he and George "Bugs" Moran who were cruising 
 on the South Side, spotted Johnny Torrio and Mrs. Torrio, 
 his Irish wife, driving down the Boul Mich in their limou- 
 sine with a chauffeur at the wheel. This was sweet! George 
 and Hymie, instructed their chauffeur, "Nigger" Pellar, 
 not a Negro, to make for the "grease-ball." The automobile 
 darted crazily in and out of traffic in an effort to get into 
 a position to "let him have it" but Johnny, who had 
 become cognizant of their presence, was trying to escape. 
 He kept well in front until his automobile finally drew up 
 in front of his little bungalow at 7011 Clyde Avenue, a few 
 blocks from Chicago's aristocratic South Shore Country Club. 
 Johnny jumped from the car, literally dragging his wife 
 out after him. But the savage gangsters were upon him 
 before he had taken a dozen steps. A dozen shots or more 
 were fired. George Moran, afraid he might miss, had placed 
 himself on the running board, and, as the car slowed down 
 he leapt out and, with a gun in each hand, poured lead 
 at the underworld lord. Torrio fell to the cement walk. 
 People were beginning to appear on front porches, heads 
 were sticking out of the windows of apartment buildings. 
 The killers, believing that Torrio was dead, made away 
 at top speed, taking a corner on two wheels. 
 
 But Little Johnny Torrio was not dead. As 
 his hysterical wife bent over his prostrate body, 
 he opened his eyes and moaned for a doctor. 
 When one came Johnny again brought himself 
 to consciousness long enough to whisper that 
 the wounds be cauterized. Little Johnny thought 
 of everything. Half-dead and in agony he could 
 remember that the balls of lead which burned 
 in his body might have been rubbed with garlic 
 and that, though the bullets themselves might 
 not kill him, the poison from lead and garlic 
 would. "Cauterize it! Cauterize it!" he moaned 
 everytime he could bring himself up to the 
 marginal of consciousness, and, all the way in 
 the ambulance to the Jackson Park Hospital, the 
 attendants heard this order again and again. 
 
 And, as they took him in the hospital on the 
 stretcher. Little Johnny had another bright idea, 
 proving again that he could think of everything. 
 The idea this time was that he be placed in a 
 room away from a window, and far removed 
 from a fire escape. Later he insisted that his 
 own body guard be increased. And it was. 
 
 Gangland's favorite 
 
 Undertaking parlor 
 
 — a prosperous 
 
 business. 
 
 The newspapers blazed with the 
 story of the attempted assassination. 
 The police came to Johnny's bedside 
 with questions and so did representa- 
 tives from the office of the "state's 
 attorney. "Who did it," they 
 asked, wasting good breath, for 
 Johnny, coward though he was at 
 heart, would not violate law No. 1 
 in Gangland's code, namely that you 
 must never squawk to a policeman. 
 But they persisted with the question- 
 ing. "Don't you know who they were," 
 asked John Sbarbaro, an assistant 
 state's attorney. "Oh, hell," replied 
 Johnny in exasperation, "Of course I 
 know, ril tell you later." But he never 
 did. Neither could Attorney Sbarbaro 
 prv anv information from Capone nor 
 from Mrs. Torrio. "Why should I tell," 
 replied Mrs. Torrio "It wouldn't do 
 any good." Mrs. Torrio knew her Chi- 
 cago. The amiable Al who stood out 
 in the corridor of the hospital room 
 parrying questions with reporters 
 found it more difficult to repress him- 
 self, and once, his emotions bubbled 
 over. "The gang did it, the gang did 
 it," cried Al impulsively and then, 
 as if to kick himself, snapped his 
 mouth shut. When reporters pressed 
 him after this, he too said "I'll tell 
 you later." And he did, but in a curi- 
 ous way as we shall see. 
 
 A small boy who had witnessed the 
 shooting of Torrio was shown a picture, taken at the 
 funeral of O'Banion, and he pointed out George "Bugs" 
 Moran as one of the assassins. George, along with other 
 gangsters, was gathered in and again identified by the boy 
 who picked him out from a group of men. Eventually 
 Moran was released on $5,000 bonds (small change to 
 Gangland) and nothing came of the case. 
 
 "Little Hymie" had failed to get the "grease-ball" but 
 his attempt had not been in vain. Though he had not 
 killed Torrio, he had killed Torrio's career. What's more 
 he had caused the complexion of Signor Torrio to turn 
 a definite yellow. He had had enough, quite enough. When 
 his wounds had healed, Torrio left the hospital by a side 
 entrance. A vast body guard engulfed him. Torrio had 
 thought of a way by which he could keep clear of any 
 more attacks from "Little Hymie" Weiss. Torrio thought 
 of everything. This time he thought it would be fine if he 
 could go to jail and let the law protect him. You will 
 remember that Little Johnny and O'Banion were arrested 
 together one cold morning in front of the Sieben brewery ? 
 Well, there was a Federal "rap" awaiting Johnny on that, 
 and he had decided that it would be useless and wonderful 
 not to contest it further. Indeed, he induced the authorities 
 to let him begin serving his year's sentence on February 
 7, instead of February 27, the date set by the 
 government originally. And so Little Johnny 
 crept into a jail cell and he "selected" a jail as 
 far away from Chicago as possible. It was in 
 Waukegan, Illinois. The doors of his cell slam 
 shut and we shall see him no more. 
 
 Johnny Torrio, the boy who had been known 
 on the old east side of New York as "Terrible 
 Johnny" was terrible no longer. He had had 
 enough. What kind of a life did Johnny lead in 
 the Waukegan cell ? He asked and received an 
 "inside" room, and he contrived to lay himself 
 down at night in such a position as to make him 
 inaccessible to the naked eye (and the garlic 
 bullet from the outside). At the end of his sen- 
 tence, ten months later, he dropped completely 
 out of sight and nothing has been heard in 
 Chicago of him since. One rumor has it that 
 he is somewhere in New Jersey, another that he 
 is in Italy. Our guess is that he is in Italy. 
 It is farther away from Chicago's Gangland. 
 
 [20]
 
 THEME ford 
 
 OPERA 
 
 Let us now regale ourselves with a performance of 
 Chicago's most famous municipal comic opera, otherwise 
 known as the Cook County jail sentence of Terry Druggan 
 and Frankie Lake. It will be remembered that Terry and 
 Frankie had been assigned to the custody for one year of 
 Sheriff Peter B. Hoffman by Federal Judge James Wilker- 
 son. Well, they have, at this time, been serving that 
 sentence for several months. 
 
 How are the merry alchemists who made a million 
 dollars or more over there in the old Valley District bearing 
 up under this affliction ? Are they languishing in cells, 
 wondering if the long dull hours will ever pass? Are 
 they trying to endure the teri-ible monotony of existence 
 by scrubbing the long marble corridors and offices of this 
 municipal institution? 
 
 Don't be silly! Terry and Frankie have been granted 
 special privileges by Sheriff Hoffman and his warden, Mr. 
 Wesley Westbrook. It is true that they must undergo the 
 nuisance of answering roll call every morning, but from 
 then on their time is their own and they may come and 
 go as often as they please. Everything was plenty dandy 
 for these princely inseparables until Mr. Druggan, who 
 always had a hasty temper anyway, made one of the 
 gravest errors in his career. Mr. Druggan smacked a 
 newspaper reporter on the nose for making a wise-crack 
 about these privileges, and the newspaper reporter hit 
 him right back with a newspaper article which precipitated 
 a great big investigation in which Sheriff Peter B. Hoff- 
 man was probed and pryed, and pryed and probed and the 
 prying and probing was done by none other than Federal 
 Judge James Wilkerson. 
 
 When Chicago was first informed of these "special 
 privileges," Sheriff Peter B. Hoffman went out and bought 
 himself a false-face of indignation and surprise. And then, 
 publicly and on page one, he fired Mr. Westbrook, his 
 old friend and warden. So grieved was Mr. Westbrook that, 
 in Judge Wilkerson's courtroom, he broke down and told 
 all, which was plenty. The theme song of his testimony 
 was a waltz to the effect that "the sheriff is to blame." 
 
 According to Mr. Westbrook the Sheriff was greatly 
 exercised over the fact that poor Terry and Frankie had 
 to serve a jail sentence at all and he set out, therefore, 
 to make it as easy as possible for them. Special passes 
 at first were issued to friends of the two liquor lords and 
 the jail was an open house to them most of the time. The 
 ex-warden said that Sheriff Hoffman sent word to him that 
 Terry was to be permitted to transact his business while 
 in jail. Other prisoners were not permitted to transact 
 business of course, but, according to the Sheriff, Terry was 
 a fine fellow and lots of men worse than he were running 
 loose around town. 
 
 "How did you do it?" asked attorneys when Terry 
 and Frankie were put on the stand. "It was easy," testi- 
 fied Frankie, "we paid for it and we paid plenty." When 
 Frankie said this Judge Wilkerson ordered the arrest of 
 Mr. Westbrook, Hans Thompson, former jail guard who 
 also had been fired, and Henry Foerst, who was secretary 
 to the Warden. It was to these officials, said Frankie, that 
 much money was paid and often. 
 
 Thompson, sitting in the courtroom at the time, readily 
 confirmed Frankie's story. "Everybody else got his and 
 I got mine," he said naively. Frankie went on in greater 
 detail. He said that he and Druggan paid $2,000 a month 
 
 for quarters in the jail hospital which are more desirable 
 quarters than the ordinary cell. The beer barons placed 
 $1,000 in an envelope on the 16th and tiie last days of 
 each month and left the envelope in a certain room. Then 
 they walked out. 
 
 "Once I peeked," testified Frankie, "and I saw Warden 
 Westbrook come in and help himself to the dough." Frankie 
 said that each and every privilege cost them plenty. He 
 said that he paid $100 for permission to attend the funeral 
 of his sister; that it cost him $1,000 to get out of jail 
 for "good behavior" several months before his sentence 
 expired. 
 
 Terry and Frankie insisted that neither of them had 
 ever paid any money personally to Sheriff Hoffman, but 
 their gallant gesture didn't mean a thing. Judge Wilkerson 
 regarded the hospitality of Sheriff Hoffman as being in 
 comptempt of court and in a crisp way of his he consigned 
 Sheriff Hoffman to a jail cell for thirty days — without 
 privileges. 
 
 The sentence seemed a light one, but it was a sentence 
 of death to Mr. Hoffman as a politician. He entered the 
 jail cell in due time and he has not been heard of around 
 this town since. 
 
 Messrs. Druggan and Lake on the other hand sallied 
 forth from the courtroom to freedom and increased riches. 
 Although the production of beer on a vast scale as had 
 been practiced in the old days had become an uncertain and 
 perilous business, they had already made enough money to 
 enable them to live in luxury. But, once a racketeer always 
 a racketeer, and Terry and Frankie were presently trying 
 to find outlet for their vast talents in the gambling racket. 
 Terry who had acquired himself a beautiful estate in the 
 North Suburbs amused himself with a stable of horses. In 
 June, 1927, betting in Illinois was virtually legalized in a 
 statute approving the pari-mutual. In July Mr. Druggan 
 attracted some attention to himself by rushing into court 
 seeking injunctions against several race tracks. 
 
 Terry charged a conspiracy to monopolize racing in 
 violation of the Interstate Commerce Law in the shipping 
 of race horses, but by the time the petition came up fo* 
 argument the racing season was over and the matter was 
 dropped. Terry's move was one of the many incidents 
 which presaged the great gambling war, of which you shall 
 presently hear. Except for this mad rush for the protec- 
 tion of the law — a pronounced characteristic of the true 
 gangster — Mr. Druggan and Mr. Lake were comparatively 
 quiet after their sensational appearance as comic opera 
 stars. 
 
 The business of manufacturing beer had pretty well 
 petered out. But Terry and Frankie should worry! As we 
 have seen they had jumped into the business at the begin- 
 ning. By the time the "heat" from the law was settling over 
 the town, these princely inseparables had made enough 
 money to cause the government to attack them from another 
 angle". Consequently, they are now worrying about the 
 income tax men, and are now facing trial for income tax 
 violations. Terry and Frankie will go down in the records 
 as the Damon and Pythias of Gangland but at this writing, 
 alas, alas, trouble had come between them, and they are 
 so mad at each other that they do not speak on the street. 
 A red-headed mama, it is said, had brought the inseparables 
 to a parting of the ways. 
 
 This was revealed recently when Captain William F. 
 Waugh asked leave of Federal Judge Wilkerson to with- 
 draw as counsel for Frankie Lake in the income tax 
 troubles. The Judge appeared surprised. 
 
 "Oh, they're not the good friends they used to be," 
 explained Captain Waugh. 
 
 Frankie pulled what Terry regarded as an unforgivable 
 offense to their long friendship when he was arrested at 
 a tea dance in company with the aforementioned red-headed 
 mama. Frankie carried the customary gat. 
 
 "If you haven't got any more sense than to put yourself 
 in the coppers' way, inviting arrest and causing all of this 
 bum publicity for both of us, we're all through. You might 
 just as well get a soap box and dare the cops to pick you up. 
 
 Lake is now in Detroit, doing well in the ice business. 
 
 [21]
 
 LITTLE HYMIE 
 
 WIPE5 OUT 
 
 QimAS 
 
 "Little Hymie" Weiss had got off to a flying start by 
 eliminating Johnny Torrio and he still had about nineteen 
 months left in which to besmear the town with blood, before 
 the "Big Fellow" Alphonse Capone, was to blast him into 
 eternity. Capone, however, who could always appreciate 
 a good man had come to admire fei'ocious "Little Hymie" 
 despite all the nasty things he had said and done; and, 
 as one of his first royal acts, offered pardon to Weiss 
 if he would promise to behave himself and return to the 
 fold. While "Little Hymie" was considering the Big 
 Fellow's proposals, the Big Fellow was having a tough 
 time of it right in his own home precincts. 
 
 A courageous editor of a Cicero newspaper had under- 
 taken the ambitious project of relieving his town of the 
 presence of King Capone and his numerous business activ- 
 ities. He used pitiless publicity which, true enough, is a 
 swell weapon. The editor, Mr. Arthur St. John, made one 
 grave error however. He neglected to acquire the services 
 of a few platoons of infantry. For some time his paper 
 appeared regularly with fine attacks upon King Capone 
 urging the good people of Cicero to get behind the cam- 
 paign and push. Mr. St. John's immediate rewards were 
 rather terrible. One fine afternoon early in March, some 
 tough gentlemen who had warned him repeatedly to keep 
 his mouth shut, picked him up and went off with him. 
 When he returned to his friends a few days later, they 
 could hardly believe he was the same man, for Mr. St. 
 John had been severely beaten in all visible places. This 
 treatment inspired another throaty yell from Mr. Robert 
 E. Crowe, but why go into it? He ordered that King 
 Capone be haled before him forthwith which was done. 
 
 The king came down to the Criminal Courts Building 
 in the style that befitted his exalted position. He appeared 
 in a new automobile, the like of 
 which had never been seen before 
 on the streets and boulevards of 
 the fourth metropolis of the world. 
 It weighed about seven tons, four 
 tons more than your automobile, 
 its windows were fitted with bullet- 
 proof glass, and it was plastered 
 with large sheets of armor-plate. 
 Mr. Capone still uses this dis- 
 guised tank whenever he is in 
 Chicago. To those of us who did 
 not know at this time that King 
 Capone was offering peace to 
 Hymie Weiss, the big automobile 
 was taken as overt proof that Ca- 
 pone intended to stay on his 
 throne and to hell with those who 
 didn't like it. 
 
 King Capone's call on the 
 state's attorney came to nothing. 
 So did his overtures for peace. 
 The peace proposal had been made 
 at a banquet held in a famous 
 restaurant just off Wacker Drive 
 which still operates under the 
 same Italian name. It was pro- 
 posed that Gangland should be 
 divided in half with Madison 
 Street the dividing line. For a 
 couple of months "Little Hymie" 
 
 who had certain definite misgiv- -Mike" Genna, toughest 
 
 ings as to the sincerity of King saying- a mouthful. His 
 Capone's peaceful impulses, be- to Idck an ambulance 
 
 Angrelo Oenna, youngest of the G-en- 
 
 nas, and the first to he murdered by 
 
 the North Side gangsters. 
 
 haved himself and 
 strictly observed the 
 terms of the pact. 
 He was busy any- 
 way, with the gov- 
 ernment who had in- 
 sisted on his stand- 
 ing trial in the Fed- 
 eral building on a 
 booze charge. With 
 him on the same 
 charge was Dapper 
 Dan McCarthy, a 
 member of his gang. 
 During the process 
 of this trial "Little 
 Hymie" discovered 
 that the peace ban- 
 quet had been merely 
 an attempt to throw 
 him off his guard 
 and the discovery 
 brings us to ac- 
 ([uaintanceship with 
 two of the most sin- 
 ister figures who 
 have ever skidded 
 
 across blood-streaked Gangland. Signer John Scalice and 
 Signer Anselmi. Killers de lu.xe, these men had 
 been summoned from far off Sicily by Mike and Angelo 
 Genna shortly before the death of O'Banion. How long 
 they had been in town is not certain, but "Little Hymie" 
 discovered them one day during the progress of his trial 
 up there in the Federal building. A member of "Little 
 Hymie's" gang — they were all in the courtroom — 
 noticed a stool pigeon for the Capone gang in earnest 
 conversation with two strangers — Scalice and Anselmi. 
 The stool pigeon was "fingering" every North Side 
 gangster in the courtroom. Why did these two strange 
 Italians appear so interested in learning the iden- 
 tities of the Weiss henchmen ? The observant North Side 
 gangster hurriedly dispatched another one of his com- 
 panions down stairs and outside to determine whether or 
 not any of the Capone boys were about. Sure enough, 
 outside the gangster came upon Al's big armor-plated 
 Lincoln parked around the comer on Adams Street. He 
 examined the car quickly and found that it was well- 
 stocked with sawed-off shot-guns and other artillery. In a 
 few minutes Scalice and Anselmi, 
 together with a chauffeur who had 
 sprung up from somewhere, got 
 in Al's car and drove away. 
 
 All this meant but one thing 
 to "Little Hymie" — war. He soon 
 determined that Scalice and An- 
 selmi spent a great deal of their 
 time in Cicero, although they ap- 
 peared to be body guards for 
 Mike and Angelo Genna. "Little 
 Hymie" resumed his expeditions 
 into the Genna territory; he began 
 "absorbing" speakeasies which be- 
 longed to the arrogant brothers. 
 For several weeks Gangland was 
 comparatively quiet, except for an 
 unimportant and mysterious"ride" 
 murder here and there. The South 
 Side O'Donnells were still battling 
 Messrs. Saltis and MacEarlane on 
 occasions and there was much 
 muscling and double-crossing in 
 every quarter. "Spike" O'Don- 
 nell's greatest personal blow came 
 on April 17 when his foolhardy 
 brother, Walter, was mortally 
 wounded during an attempt to 
 terrorize and hold-up a roadhouse 
 in the Saltis country. Walter died 
 on May 9. 
 
 Every police official in Chicago 
 as well as those "in the know" 
 looked forward to an unprece- 
 
 of the Gennas, which is 
 last act in this life was 
 attendant in the face. 
 
 [22]
 
 Anthony Genna the "fix" 
 Genna brothers. 
 
 for the 
 
 dented display of 
 fireworks from 
 Gangland any day. 
 It came on May 26. 
 Angelo Genna, out- 
 standing of the six 
 Genna brothers, was 
 the first to die. 
 Angelo who had 
 built up an "alky" 
 business on the 
 West Side in Little 
 Italy, enjoyed pro- 
 tection from the 
 police, particularly 
 from the police of 
 the Maxwell Sta- 
 tion in his district. 
 He had once staged 
 a great party in a 
 loop hotel attended 
 by State's Attorney 
 Robert E. Crowe 
 and four of his de- 
 tectives. Other pub- 
 lic officials had at- 
 tended, including a 
 judge of the superior court. Crowe made the principal 
 address to the sleek Italian gangsters, many of whom are 
 now dead. Sticky with wealth, and power the Gennas were 
 a ghastly mob at the time O'Banion and his boys began 
 to push them around, and they strengthened their ties 
 with Capone as well as smuggling a number of their 
 countrj-men into Chicago purely for killing purposes. An- 
 gelo had married a daughter of a prominent Italian and, 
 foolishly enough, had established her in a beautiful apart- 
 ment far up north on Sheridan road. Angelo was 
 driving from this apartment westward over Ogden Avenue 
 in his long powerful "sport" model automobile on May 
 26 when an automobile containing four men darted along 
 side his machine and deposited a dozen or more slugs 
 into his body, killing him instantly. Angelo was given a 
 great funeral, greater even than O'Banion had been given. 
 More flowers, more politicians, costlier casket. It may 
 have been that the remaining Gennas wanted to impress 
 "Little Hymie." K so, the gesture was futile. 
 
 "Little Hymie" continued his forays into the Genna 
 country around Taylor Street, determined to wipe out the 
 entire mob. Illustrative of his courage and recklessness a 
 police squad came upon him and George "Bugs" Moran 
 one evening as they strolled nonchalantly dowTi Taylor 
 street. "Wliat are you birds doin' here?" asked one of 
 the friendly officers; "don't you think its pretty hot over 
 here for you?" A volley of oaths greeted the query. 
 "Hell no," declared Moran, "I wish one of these 'wops' 
 would show himself. I'm nuts to blow off some grease- 
 ball's head." 
 
 Well, the next Genna to die 
 was Mike, most ferocious of 
 them all which is sajing a lot. 
 He departed this life on June 
 13, 1925, just eighteen days 
 after Angelo became defunct. 
 Along with the two masters of 
 murder, Scalice and Anselmi, 
 Mike was touring about his 
 domain looking for "Little 
 Hymie" and Moran who were 
 i-eported in the neighborhood. 
 Somewhere, the spot has never 
 been marked, there was an en- 
 counter in which, apparently, 
 the North Side men got the 
 worst of it. At any rate Mike 
 and his murderers sped on at 
 a terrific pace, thinking that 
 they were being pursued when, 
 as a matter of fact, Hymie and 
 "Bugs" retired to their o\\-n 
 preserves, possibly with a 
 wounded henchman in their 
 
 Death Corner in Chicag'O — Milton and Oak Streets. At 
 
 least fifteen gr^ngrsters have been put on the "spot" at 
 
 this corner. 
 
 automobile. But the most ferocious of all the Gennas 
 raced on at crazy speed. The pavements were wet and 
 slippery for there had been a sudden downpour early that 
 morning. As their automobile shot down Western Avenue 
 at Forty-Seventh Street, Mike was recognized by Detective 
 Michael J. Conway, who, with two other officers, sat in a 
 parked automobile. They pursued the automobile, with 
 gong sounding and hora roaring. At 59th Street, a truck 
 turned directly into the path of the on-coming Genna 
 automobile, now going faster than ever, and there was a 
 terrific screeching of brakes as Mike attempted to avert 
 a collision and death. His automobile swerved around like 
 a top and then skidded into a concrete lamp post, com- 
 pletely wrecking the machine. At this moment the police 
 drew "up. "What's the big idea," demanded Officer Olson, 
 leaping out of the automobile, "didn't you hear our gong?" 
 For answer there was a roar from the revolver of Scalice 
 and Anselmi, and the top of Officer Olson's head was blown 
 off, and an aged mother who was deaf and four young 
 brothers were left to mourn him. 
 
 Almost before 
 the officers could 
 draw their revolv- 
 ers there was a 
 second blast and 
 Officer Walsh died; 
 a third blast and 
 Officer Conway, 
 terribly wounded, 
 fell to the pave- 
 ment. Scalice and 
 Anselmi began to 
 run down the street 
 which by this time 
 was filled with hor- 
 ror-stricken people. 
 Mike Genna fled 
 in a different di- 
 rection across a va- 
 cant lot. 
 
 Officer Sweeny 
 selected the Genna 
 to pursue, and 
 across the lot he 
 went, firing his re- 
 volver every few 
 paces. Sweeny was 
 gaining on the sav- 
 age Genna when 
 suddenly Mike 
 
 turned in his tracks, took careful aim and pulled the 
 trigger. Fortunately for Sweeny the cartridge did not 
 explode, and Mike turaed to resume his flight. Sweeny now 
 stopped and took aim, and a bullet tore into Genna's leg, 
 severing an artery. Genna, bleeding to death, continued to 
 run, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He jumped over 
 a fence and rushed for the doorway of a basement into 
 which he disappeared. In the meantime unexpected help 
 
 had come in the person of 
 Officer Rickett who had been 
 passing on a street car and 
 had seen the running battle. 
 Both officers dashed into the 
 basement. Mike lay in the 
 darkness of a comer. More 
 dead than alive he raised his 
 weapon, pointed it at the men 
 and again pulled the trigger. 
 There was an explosion this 
 time but the man was dying 
 and his aim had been unsteady 
 and the bullet went wild. 
 Death had Mike Genna in his 
 cold grip by the time two am- 
 bulance attendants arrived 
 with a stretcher to bear the 
 wounded bootlegger off to a 
 hospital. As they laid gentle 
 hands on him, Mike again 
 brought himself to conscious- 
 ness. With a great and last 
 effort, Mike raised his leg and 
 
 Pete Genna, one of the two living- 
 
 Genna brothers. He isn't in Chlcaero 
 
 however, for he was chased out of 
 
 town by "Uttle Hymie" Weiss. 
 
 [23]
 
 WHOOPEE SPOTS IN CHICAGO NIO-HT I.IFE 
 
 The Wigwam 
 
 Hawthorne Hotel Midnight Prolics 
 
 Cotton Club 
 
 Green SUll 
 
 kicked one of the men in the face. "Take that you bastard," 
 said Mike. And thus died the most ferocious of the Gennas. 
 
 Meanwhile Scalice and Anselmi raced on, down streets, 
 througli alleys, beneath elevated railway structures. A 
 mob followed them and the mob grew in numbers every 
 block and Scalice and Anselmi knew there was no escape 
 for them. When they were arrested they had turned into 
 a clothing store. They offered no resistance as they were 
 led out of a building into a squad car. You may be sure 
 that the reception these terrible men received at the nearest 
 police station was one that Scalice and Anselmi carried 
 with them for a long time. Indeed, the only punishment 
 Scalice and Anselmi really ever received at the hands of 
 the law was administered during those few hours as guests 
 of the police. 
 
 The deaths of the police oflicers inflamed the public 
 as none of the crimes of Gangland had ever before inflamed 
 it. What Mr. Crowe said this time was that Scalice and 
 Anselmi ought to be taken out and hanged by the neck 
 without the formality of a trial. As events proved, this 
 would have been a swell thing, not only for< Scalice and 
 Anselmi but for Mr. Crowe and for the Maxwell Station 
 police. For during the long and futile trial of Scalice and 
 Anselmi, an attorney for them was to rise to his feet one 
 day and, flourishing a little red note-book in his hand, 
 shout: "I have here, the names of the policemen that Mike 
 Genna paid every month. Two hundred of them belonged 
 to the MaxAvell Street Station, two squads came from 
 the central office, and one from the state's attorney's oflSce." 
 Well, the defendants were acquitted eventually. A detailed 
 story of the long and laborious legal machinations would 
 require more pages than are to be found in this book. 
 It is interesting to note however that all the "alky" cookers 
 in the Maxwell Street district rallied to their defense, 
 feeling, as they did, that their countrymen were being 
 discriminated against. A vast fund was collected. Strangely 
 enough the collection of this fund was a great factor in 
 finally wrecking the Genna rule altogether, for there was 
 
 much double-crossing and pocketing of funds and the 
 "alky" cookers finally began to war among themselves. 
 It was all very fine for "Little Hymie" to look upon, and 
 all very sad for King Capone to look upon. 
 
 The burial of Mike Genna was a great spectacle, and 
 one of the last. The public became bored with it all, and 
 twenty-five days later another automobile, equipped with 
 a police gong (Hymie Weiss had thus equipped one of 
 his machines) drew up to Anthony, youngest of the Gennas, 
 who stood unsuspectingly on the sidewalk, and killed him 
 neatly and without undue waste of ammunition. The last 
 rites were performed hurriedly, ominously and without dis- 
 play. Only a few mourners were there; wild-eyed men and a 
 dozen or more crying women and children. And Tony was 
 buried at night. 
 
 The Gennas now saw the hand of doom stretching 
 into their domain. Jim Genna, panic-stricken disappeared. 
 It is said he returned to Italy. Five years later, as we 
 shall see, he was again to return and his presence again 
 drenched Gangland with blood. Only one Genna remained, 
 who to this day is occasionally caught in the police drag- 
 net; and is led out at the regular show-ups along with 
 the pickpockets, bums and unimportant characters to be 
 laughed at. 
 
 Amid all this chaos King Capone was compelled to 
 permit the killing of three "alky" cookers who had thought 
 the demoralized state of afi'airs in Gangland would enable 
 them to get away with some effective and profitable double- 
 crossing. The penalty for this unpardonable offense was 
 first paid by Tony Campagnia on July 10; five days later 
 Sam Lavenuto and James Russo kicked in. Sam was 
 murdered in the forenoon; James got it after lunch. 
 
 The swift punishment meted out to these insignificant 
 henchmen brought more terror to the "alky" cookers and 
 the beautiful result of it all was that for a long period 
 lasting until well into the New Year, 1926, the disturbances 
 in Little Italy were few and unimportant. 
 
 HOLEES, HAUNTS AND HEADQUABTEBS 07 FAMOUS 
 CHICAGO GANGSTERS 
 
 left to right: The Bednzi Hotel, frequented by "Little Hyliue" WeisB 
 
 and Druccl; Metropole once headquarters for Capone gang, and the 
 
 Iiesington Hotel, present headquarters. 
 
 [24]
 
 TWO 
 
 A\EET 
 
 "Little Hymie 
 wrought to the 
 
 Weiss was proud of the havoc he had 
 grease-balls. More confident of his 
 strength now than he had ever been, he devoted himself 
 to drumming up more business, to tightening his forces 
 and to adding more and better murderers to his gang. 
 During this period he enlisted the services of the infamous 
 Gusenbergs, Pete and Frank, who were to die a few years 
 later in the Valentine Massacre. Frankie Foster, a dapper 
 chap was also a new member, as was Terrible Teddy New- 
 berry, the big bourbon boy. At the same time "Little 
 Hymie" spent a great deal of time trying to woo Big Joe 
 Saltis and his mob away from their loose-connection with 
 Capone. "Little Hymie" knew such an alliance would be 
 a mortal blow to Capone, and so he picked out the precise 
 psychological moment in which to effect so desirable an 
 alliance. Joe was having a tough time of it out south. Mac- 
 Earlane was too restless to confine his activities to the 
 South Side, and the O'Donnells continued to make inroads 
 into their domain. 
 
 When Big Joe began turning an attentive ear to the 
 seductive proposals of "Little Hymie" the germ of discon- 
 tent within his gang developed into open revolt. Ralph 
 Sheldon, tubercular but tough, favored remaining with the 
 Big Fellow, and a complete break followed just about the 
 time Angelo Genna was living his last days. Sheldon 
 seceded taking with him such formidable gorillas as John 
 "Mitters" Foley, Danny Stanton, Big Karl Bates, Hugh 
 McGovern, William McPadden, Frank De Laurentis, John 
 Tuccello, Danny McFall, Ed Lattyak, Hillary Clements, 
 Benny Butler, Stink Bomb Donovan and others, most of 
 whom are now dead. 
 
 Big Joe now had two tough gangs to battle besides the 
 possibility of having the Sheldon forces augmented by 
 killers from the Big Fellow's staff. Frankie MacEarlane. 
 worth a hundred ordinary gangsters, still remained loyal 
 
 to his Polish chief however, although Frankie looked upon Big 
 
 Joe's association with one John 
 "Dingbat" Oberta with marked 
 
 disfavor. He didn't mind the 
 
 fact that Pollack Joe liked to 
 
 read a book occasionally and 
 
 went in for grammatical nice- 
 
 ites and never let go by an op- 
 portunity to correct his choice 
 
 and original English. Every- 
 
 time Frankie would say some- 
 thing like "to hell with them 
 
 bums, they ain't got no guts," 
 
 Joe would hasten with rebuke 
 
 "Don't say 'them bums' Frankie 
 
 and don't say 'ain't got no'." 
 
 Frankie could endure this, but 
 
 John "Dingbat" O'Berta who 
 
 wore spats and played golf and 
 
 talked like a book, was too 
 
 much, and Frankie was sure 
 
 that "Dingbat" was a wrong 
 
 guy. It may be that Saltis was 
 
 attracted to "Dingbat" not so 
 
 much for the reason that he 
 
 was a Pole as that he could 
 
 make fine political speeches at 
 
 gatherings back-o-the-yards, 
 
 and looked like a gentleman 
 
 whether he was or not. Except 
 
 for the sniffling at "Dingbat" 
 
 however, affairs were fairly 
 
 well ordered in Joe's camp. 
 The first casualty in the 
 
 new shake-up along the South 
 
 "Gentleman" Joe Saltis noc louKing- for "Spike" 0*Don- 
 nell. Joe has a well-trained smile. It does its stuff on 
 all occasions — even when Joe is exploding' cartrldg'es In 
 the direction of gentlemen he doesn't care so much for. 
 
 [25] 
 
 Side beer front was George "Big Karl" Bates a Sheldon 
 man. In addition to taking his life, the Saltis killers also 
 helped themselves to his sizable bankroll of .$2,000. The 
 next month, August, another Sheldon "traitor" died at the 
 hands of the Saltis' killers. He was William "Buddy" 
 Dickman, a close friend of Bates. Buddy's life was particu- 
 larly desired. He had been close to Big Joe Saltis and he 
 knew too much to live. Saltis lived in terror that Buddy 
 would squawk, sooner or later. 
 
 And so, as you can see, affairs were going nicely with 
 Polaek Saltis and Frankie MacEarlane. For a few weeks 
 they took things easy, except for one more unsuccessful 
 attempt on "Spike" O'Donnell's life. In this affray, staged 
 in front of the O'Donnell home during the luncheon hour, 
 the O'Donnell automobile was reduced to the outward aspect 
 of a battered tin-can. October 4, 1925, a spectacular attack 
 was made on the Sheldon headquarters in the Ragan Colts' 
 Athletic Club, a notorious spot for a quarter of a century. 
 Hundreds of bullets were f^red, but none of the Sheldon 
 hoodlums were injured, although a hangeron Charles Kelly, 
 was killed. A few days later indefatigable Joe added 
 another scalp to his belt, this time it was his old employee, 
 Ed Lattyak, a Sheldon gangster. During this pleasant pe- 
 riod the alliance between Big Joe and "Little Hymie" was 
 completely effected, and two of Chicago's toughest Poles 
 now strode, arm in arm, across the realm of Boozedom, 
 shouting "Kosciusko here we come!" To celebrate the fact, 
 the Saltis boys, staged a great robbery at the International 
 Harvester Company's offices, and so great was public indig- 
 nation that the police, armed with search-warrants, set out 
 in the back-o-the-yards district looking for Mr. Saltis. 
 While they were looking Joe and "Dingbat" helped them- 
 selves to another pot shot at "Spike" O'Donnell on October 
 16. Three days later they gathered in one of "Spike's" men, 
 Pasquale Tolizotte and took him for his last ride. A month 
 later both gangs staged a free-for-all battle on a busy 
 street and, for the first time, Joe came out with an O'Don- 
 nell bullet in one of his broad shoulders and, for almost two 
 weeks, Joe settled down to inactivity. On December 3 
 matters continued and the Saltis gang murdered two more 
 "traitors" just for practice. The life of one of the victims, 
 "Dynamite Joe" Brooks, was rumored to have been de- 
 manded by the chief Saltis bomber, "Three-Finger" Pete 
 Kunski out of professional jealousy. "Three-Finger" Pete 
 was a rare bird and most efficient in blowing away the 
 speakeasys of those who did not use Saltis beer. It is sad 
 to relate "that Pete himself came to an end in keepmg with 
 his profession. He always carried a tube of nitro-glycerin 
 in his vest pocket (although against orders) and one day 
 
 while running away from an- 
 other fuse, he stumbled and 
 fell. There was a loud explo- 
 sion and they couldn't find Pete 
 anywhere. Finally some one 
 discovered a hand two fingers 
 of which were missing. It was 
 "Three-Finger" Pete. However, 
 the other victim to die with 
 "Dynamite Joe" Brooks was 
 Edward Harmening, an inde- 
 pendent operator who had been 
 shining up to the Sheldons. 
 
 If you think that this i-s war 
 you ain't seen nothing yet. The 
 shooting was yet to begin in 
 earnest. Joe and Frankie could 
 not sleep well at night because 
 of the fact that they knew their 
 pet hatred, John "Mitters" 
 Foley, was well and healthy. 
 John "Mitters" however was a 
 deft duck and he was to live 
 for a long period before their 
 bullets found him. In the mean- 
 time a New Year, 1926 had ap- 
 peared on the calendar. Over 
 in* Little Italy Samuzzo Ama- 
 tuna, an ambitious chap, was 
 trying to rally the old Genna 
 forces. This, together with the 
 grafting of the collectors of the 
 Scalice and Anselmi fund, 
 brought another flare-up.
 
 meet 
 
 MR 
 
 ^CURN 
 
 The once powerful and blood-thirsty Genna brothers 
 were now only a bloody memory in Little Italy, but the doom 
 which had hovered over them had not been dispelled by 
 successive blast of gunfire. It remained, casting its long 
 and sinister shadows over that accursed domain, in the 
 persons of John Scalice and Albert Anselmi, still in the hands 
 of the jailers, and still being tossed from one court to 
 another by adept attorneys who were being paid for every 
 appearance at a bar of justice and ready and anxious to 
 make as many appearances as possible. The "alky" cookers 
 over on the West Side were paying and paying and paying. 
 Even honest men over there were contributing to the bot- 
 tomless fund in order, so the "collectors" said, that no 
 ignorant helpless man of Italian blood might be discrimi- 
 nated against because of his nationality. Ah! What a 
 grisly crew these collectors were. Henry Spingola, a 
 brother-in-law of the Gennas who kept himself clean 
 through a long and honorable legal career despite his 
 relationship with the Gennas, soon found out that he was 
 paying thousands of dollars to blackmailers, extortionists, 
 bombers and killers, and that he had been unwise in con- 
 tributing at all. Henry decided that he would play no more 
 with Orazzio Tropea, known pleasantly as "The Scourge," 
 or Vito Bascone, or Eddie Baldielli, "The Eagle," or Tony 
 Finalli. And so Henry Spingola, despite the utmost precau- 
 tions he took with his life, was placed on the spot, which 
 is stepping into a coffin. His murder on Januray 10, 1926, 
 focused attention again on troubled Little Italy and two 
 weeks later, before the police had assembled a plausible 
 theory, Chicago strap-hangers gasped at front pages smok- 
 ing with the murders of Augustino and Antonio Moreci, 
 wealthy and respectable Italians. 
 
 All this had been forseen by the Italians of integrity and 
 wealth on the West Side who understood far better than 
 the police the methods of their conscienceless countrymen, 
 and they had taken steps to combat it in their own way. 
 And this brings us, for the first time, to a sleek, athletic, 
 well-mannered little Italian named James Gebardi, the son 
 of an "alky" cooker who had been murdered long before by 
 Signor Tropea, "The Scourge." Young Gebardi, at that 
 time, spent most of his time around the Maxwell Police 
 Station where he was plenty 
 efficient with his fists and 
 often appeared in the West 
 Side boxing shows as an 
 amateur. A few days after 
 his father had been placed 
 on the spot young Gebardi 
 appeared at the station in a 
 highly emotional state with 
 a letter, written in Italian 
 and signed with the dreaded 
 black-hand. The letter ad- 
 vised Young Gebardi, whose 
 popularity with the police 
 was looked upon with dis- 
 favor by certain of his 
 countrymen, to rid the town 
 of himself, to disappear; 
 the penalty would be death 
 if he failed to obey. Lieu- 
 tenant William Stapleton 
 advised the terrified Gebardi 
 to go away for a while. And 
 Gebardi went away, adopted 
 another name, and became 
 a professional prize-fighter. 
 
 Mr. Peter Fullazi, a 
 
 But now he was back. He was prosperous. He 
 drove a fine Cadillac automobile, and he called himself Jack 
 McGum. Where had the money for all this "front" come 
 from ? One of the wealthy and influential Italians was be- 
 hind Jack now. This individual whom we shall not name 
 had revealed to Jack the name of his father's slayer, and 
 Jack quickly agreed to the proposals held out to him. 
 And so, on February 15, the long and terrible career of 
 Orazzio Tropea came to an end. He fell on the spot where 
 McGurn's father had died, and on the same spot where 
 suave Henry Spingola had come to his unhappy end. In 
 quick succession three other "collectors" died. On February 
 21, Vito Bascone walked to the spot which had been marked 
 for his death. On February 23, Eddie Baldielli, known as 
 "The Eagle" met a similar fate, and on March 7, Tony 
 Finalli was murdered. 
 
 Thirteen days later another ambitious Italian's death 
 that of Samuzzo "Samoots" Amatuna, interrupted the effi- 
 cient reprisals against collectors for the Scalice-Anselmi 
 defense fund. Samoots had lived long and had prospered 
 as an overseer of the "alky" cookers in the employee of the 
 Genna brothers. He had mourned the old days when his 
 employers were alive and for several months preceding 
 his death had been busy in a grim effort to rally the sadly 
 depleted "cookers" and to again stabilize the "alky" busi- 
 ness. Everything was going smoothly when an earlier sin 
 found him out. Samoots had hi-jacked a truck load of booze 
 belonging to "Klondike" O'Donnell. The booze, billed as 
 paint, had, in turn been re-hijacked by two tough youths 
 who loafed around Bootleggers Corner in the Valley District, 
 and the rage of Samoots knew no bounds. For months he 
 talked at the top of his voice on all occasions about what 
 he would do to Wallie Quinlan and Bummy Goldstein, 
 neither of whom belonged to any certain gang organization. 
 On March 19, Samoots dropped into his favorite barber 
 shop where he spent a great deal of time. Samoots was the 
 Beau Brummel of Little Italy and many amusing tales are 
 told about his fastidiousness and his sartorial splendor; 
 he owned more suits of clothing than the King of Spain, 
 he had a great passion for socks and shirts and often made 
 a great nuisance of himself by insisting on supervising the 
 laundering of them. A dozen customers lounged in chairs 
 while Samoots, lying back in the chair, garrulously in- 
 structed the barber as to how the shaving should be effected. 
 When the towel was spread over Samoots' visage two men, 
 Wallie Quinlan and IJummy Goldstein, stepped into the 
 room and quickly seated themselves near the door. Samoots 
 arose presently from the chair, stepped to the hall-tree and 
 was busily engaged with a gaudy tie when, through a 
 mirror, he saw his enemies. But it was too late, and before 
 Samoots could reach for the gun he carried in an especially 
 created, leather-lined pocket, Bummy and Wallie let him 
 have it. And Samoots, fell dying to the floor with two 
 bullets in his body. He died before he could get the 
 correct knot in his tie. A few months later, Quinlan and 
 Goldstein were killed. 
 
 With the elimination of 
 Samoots from the scene the 
 "alky"cookers lost their best 
 chance of a restoration of 
 the Genna house, unless Pete 
 or Jim should return which 
 seemed extremely probla- 
 matical especially now. The 
 last of the vicious horde of 
 "collectors" to die at the 
 hands of the smartly 
 dressed killer was Joseph 
 Nerone, known as Spano the 
 Cavalier, whose name had 
 been whispered by Anthony 
 Genna before he died. The 
 police had been looking for 
 "The Cavalier" ever since 
 they had overheard that 
 whisper, but when they 
 found him he was cold and 
 dead on a marble slab in 
 the morgue, and an X 
 marked the spot where the 
 new homicide artists had 
 
 „ . ^ , found him. 
 
 booze collector, cashes in. 
 
 [2C1
 
 ^^killedN 
 
 M^SWIdOINr 
 
 The scene now shifts to the West Side where "Klondike" 
 O'Donnell and his horde of homicidal hoodlums, inspired 
 by their elimination of Eddi Tancl. have been continuing 
 a sporadic but ruthless warfare against the growing power 
 of King Capone in Cicero. To the "Big Fellow" it is appar- 
 ent that drastic action must be taken against these enemies 
 who are now reported to be trying to rob him, not only of 
 his liquor customers, but of his political protection. 
 
 At this tinie police were confronted with what the news- 
 papers called the Beauty Shop Mystery. This institution of 
 beautitication at 220S S. Austin Ave. in Cicero was bathed in 
 machine-gun tire on April 24, 1926. and Miss Pearl Wilson, 
 the proprietress, could not. for the life of her. explain to the 
 police why such a thing could have happened. The police 
 wondered whether or not a new racket had started, say a 
 beauty shop war. when their attention was attracted to an 
 automobile which was parked around the comer. On tracing 
 its license it was learned that it had been registerd by one 
 John Burns. This was one of the numerous aliases em- 
 ployed by James "Fur" Sammons. and so a hunt for him 
 was made but without success. It was even rumored that 
 "Fur" had been terribly wounded in the machine-gun fire 
 and either dead or in the hands of one of Gangland's physi- 
 cians — men who treat wounded gangsters for a price and 
 
 (1) WUliam "Klondike" O'DoimeU looking' pleasant before a can; 
 
 (2) Buildingr in wlucU was located a beauty shop which stopped ui 
 Intended for "Pnr" Sammons. one of "Klondike's" henchmen. (3) 
 
 another "Klondike" O'Oonnell ace. 
 
 do not notify police. If their patient dies his gang dis- 
 poses of the body. But "Fur" could not be located and 
 finally the police ceased to look for him and the incident 
 of the Beauty Shop Mystery was abandoned as insolvable. 
 During these days there were rumors that political 
 protection in Cicero was about to shift from Capone to the 
 O'Donnell gang, a rumor which was worked for all it was 
 worth by "Klondike" in his sales talks to the roadhouse 
 owners and dive keepers. To some of them the rumor 
 took on the aspect of truth when it was reported that 
 William McSwiggin, ace prosecutor, in the office of State's 
 Attorney Robert E. Crowe had been seen frequently in 
 Cicero in company with members of the O'Donnell gang, 
 two of whom, curiously enough, he had unsuccessfully pro- 
 secuted for the murder of Eddie Tancl. Other old-timers 
 in Cicero scoffed at this however and pointed to the fact 
 that McSwiggin was merely out in Cicero having a good 
 time, some of the O'Donnell gangsters had been his class- 
 mates in high school. Anyway it was strange that a public 
 official should chum around with the undenvorld gentry, 
 and it certainly was embarrassing to Al Capone, the Big 
 Fellow whatever the reason for it might be. The good 
 people of Chicago who did not know of these strange asso- 
 ciations between hoodlums and prominent public officials, 
 were, therefore profoundly shocked when, in the early 
 street editions, of the morning newspapers they read that 
 William H. McSwiggin was one of three men killed by 
 machine-gun bullets in front of the saloon of John Madigan 
 at 5613 West Roosevelt road. The other two victims, his 
 companions were James Doherty and John Duffy, the men 
 he had tried for the murder of Eddie Tancl. 
 
 In this murder the public saw a climax to the killings 
 of Gangland, and the question "Who Killed McSwiggin" 
 was on the lips of every strap-hanger for weeks. Indigna- 
 tion and excitement were intense. Demands for an answer 
 to the question persisted and. in the endless columns of 
 newspaper space devoted to the murder, a vast number of 
 different theories were advanced and discussed in detail. 
 One of the stories related that as "Klondike" O'Donnell, 
 his brother. McSwiggin, Doherty, and Duffy rode into 
 Cicero a Sicilian, standing in the shadows of a building 
 
 they had passed, raced to Ca- 
 pone's headquarters, where the 
 Big Fellow was at dinner. 
 He listened to the messenger's 
 
 news as he ate and. when he 
 
 " had finished, he calmly walked 
 
 to the rear of the hotel, took 
 out the machine guns from a 
 closet, and went out, followed 
 by three men. 
 
 An eye witness to the mur- 
 der, said that a great automo- 
 bile sped past the four men as 
 they walked out of the road- 
 house and that "fire spit out 
 of what seemed to be a tele- 
 phone mouthpiece projected 
 through the rear curtain." 
 McSwiggin fell mortally 
 wounded at the first blast, 
 while Duffy and Doherty 
 walked for some distance be- 
 fore they fell in pools of their 
 blood. More than two-hundred 
 bullets were fired. "Klondike" 
 pulled McSwiggin's body into 
 his automobile and had it taken 
 to the O'Donnell home, but 
 later it was again placed in the 
 oar and taken and dumped on- 
 to a spot in a street of a suburb 
 adjoining Cicero so, as "Klon- 
 dike" later explained, that no 
 one would know that McSwig- 
 gin was with gangsters. 
 Another storv has it that 
 •Klondike" had paid $40,000 to 
 McSwiggin and wanted to get 
 it back again. 
 
 "I know who killed my son," 
 said Sergeant Anthony Mc- 
 Swiggin, of the Chicago police 
 
 tile Detective Bureau. 
 
 achuie grun bullets believed 
 
 Three-finger" Jack White. 
 
 [27] 
 
 >%.«.V«.. . > 1 t.-'mr^TM/t M m ^ ■
 
 A Qangrland Victim — William E. McSwig-gin, assistant state's attorney, as he looked wben earning' his repntatlon as 
 "the hanging- prosecutor." He was shot by machine g^n ballets while In company with members of the O'Donnell mob. 
 
 department, shortly after the long series of investigations 
 had begun into the mystery: "It was Al Capone, together 
 with three of his henchmen, Frank Rio, Frank Diamond, 
 and Bob McCullough." Sergt. McSwiggin was positive. 
 He had inside information, he said, which he had given 
 to the authorities. Two material witnesses were also named, 
 Edward Moore and Willie Heeney. Moore proved, however, 
 that he was in the loop, and nothing of value was gained 
 from questioning Heeney. 
 
 But the dead man's father's charges inflamed the public 
 still more, and the question "Who killed McSwiggin?" was 
 now linked with another one, "Where is Capone?" But 
 Al was nowhere to be found. The atmosphere was entirely 
 too much for him, and, shortly after the first smoking 
 headlines announcing the murder appeared, Alphonse was in 
 his great armor-plated automobile, speeding over the high- 
 ways to a secret hide-out somewhere in Indiana. 
 
 But he came back. He came back a few days later in a 
 grand manner which must have been impressive to "Little 
 Hymie" Weiss. Capone dictated the terms by which he 
 would surrender to the detectives from Mr. Crowe's office, 
 and he was met at the Indiana state line. Capone is not 
 a great talker, but he says plenty when the public is occa- 
 sionally favored with his utterances. And this time it got 
 dynamite. 
 
 "Of course I didn't kill McSwiggin," he said. "Why 
 should I? I liked the kid. Only the day before he got 
 knocked off he was over at my place and when he went 
 home I gave him a bottle of Scotch for his old man. If 
 I'd wanted to knock him off, I could have done it then, 
 couldn't I? We had him on the spot. I'm no squawker, 
 but get a load of this. I paid McSwiggin and I paid him 
 plenty, and I got what I was paying for." 
 
 Mr. Capone's precipitate flight had looked bad but he 
 had a good answer for that question, too. "I was afraid 
 that some saphead copper would plug me on sight, just to 
 get himself promoted." Capone was released three days 
 after his surrender. At this time it was reported that 
 "Fur" Sammons, having fallen out with "Klondike," had com- 
 mitted the murders out of revenge. And so, one day, "Fur" 
 
 limped into Crowe's office on crutches. "See these legs," 
 he said, pointing, "Well, I was over calling on my 'sweetie' 
 at the Beauty Parlor, when some of these 'grease- 
 balls' let me have it." The McSvidggin murder continued a 
 mystery, but the mystery of the Beauty Shop shooting 
 had been solved. 
 
 As an aftermath of the McSwiggin murder there were 
 a series of raids in Cicero with such outstanding haunts 
 of vice being temporarily knocked off as "The Ship," "The 
 Stockade," and "The Hawthorne Smoke Shop," all Capone 
 institutions. Despite this gesture on the part of the police 
 the McSwiggin case pointed very definitely to the fact the 
 Big Fellow of Gangland was not "Little Hymie" Weiss, 
 or William "Klondike" O'Donnell or any of the others. The 
 Big Fellow was Al Capone. "When I wanted to open a 
 saloon in Cicero," said Harry Madigan, owner of the saloon 
 in front of which McSwiggin fell, "I got a visit from Al 
 Capone. He told me I couldn't go into business there. But 
 I finally got some political pressure myself and opened 
 up anyway. Al came around shortly after and told me 
 that I would have to buy my beer from him, and not the 
 O'Donnells. So I did." 
 
 King Al could see the handwriting on the front pages 
 however, and he knew that peace in Gangland was about 
 as desirable to Chicagoans as good beer. 
 
 The O'Donnells have been going great guns except 
 for one Federal "rap" which they could not beat in 
 the courts. This concerned their disasterous raid on 
 the Morand Government Warehouse in the Valley, their 
 old stamping ground. The warehouse contained thousands 
 of barrels of excellent whisky and it was James "Fur" 
 Sammons who conceived the bright idea of siphoning it 
 with a hose. And so one night, a watchman making his 
 rounds, discovered that bars on a window of the second 
 floor had been cut and that through a small rubber hose 
 of great length now lying on the ground, thousands of 
 gallons of the precious liquid had been siphoned. He gave 
 the alarm. When Pat Roche, ace of the investigators, 
 surveyed the scene, he gave instructions that the equip- 
 ment should not be disturbed and that the matter was to 
 
 [28]
 
 be kept quiet. Pat knew that the raiders would return. 
 They did. And, as Johnny Barry who was in a room some 
 distance away, fitting a rubber tube into barrels, gave 
 r^vo jerks on a rope, "Klondike" and "Fur" Sammons, in 
 the warehouse, began to pump and the whisky began 
 to move. And Mr. Roche gathered all three of them into 
 his automobile and drove them to the Federal building. 
 The turmoil resultant from McSwiggin caused him to 
 abandon all plans to break up the Saltis-Weiss alliance. 
 Ralph Sheldon lost two more of his gangsters on April 5 
 in Frank DeLaurentis and John Truc^cello, and had obtained 
 promises from King Al that reinforcements would be sent 
 up to the front when the McSwiggin murder caused a 
 change in Capone's plans. But he was too busy to step 
 out as a diplomat for a long time and in the inter\-al the 
 conflict continued. On the West Side the field was more or 
 less clear, for "Klondike," Sammons and Berry went to 
 jail for the booze robbery. Each had a two-year tag on 
 him. Hymie Weiss was busy aiding Saltis whenever 
 possible and in trying to get a shot at Capone. Hymie's 
 gangsters killed a Genna "alky" cooker, J. Cremaldi by 
 name, who was crazy enough to appear on the Gold Coast 
 
 with his product. On July 20 Sheldon's men made an 
 unsuccessful attempt to kill Vincent MacEarlane, tough 
 younger brother of Frank, and on July 23, made another 
 attempt. The bullets again missed Vincent, but Frank 
 Conlon, a Saltis chauffeur, was killed. The murder was 
 committed by "Mitters" Foley and the Saltis gangsters 
 were wild with rage. At this time Mr. Sheldon made a 
 public statement to the effect that if Joe Saltis dared 
 harm a hair of Mr. Foley's head, he, Mr. Sheldon, despite 
 his weakening condition due to tuberculosis, would surely 
 murder Mr. Saltis. And so, on August 6, three days later, 
 Mr. Foley was killed. The public began to wonder whether 
 or not the South Side beer war, like the babbling brook, 
 was going to run on forever. Well, as a matter of fact, it 
 was. But King Capone, beginning to get the view-point 
 of Johnny Torrio, stepped forth as a peace-maker. The fact 
 that Joe Saltis, Lefty Koncil, John "Dingbat" Oberta and 
 Big Earl Herbert, were now in a lot of legal "heat" having 
 been indicted for Foley's murder was prima facie evidence 
 of the Big Fellow's sincerity. Even "Little Hymie" Weiss 
 believed that Capone meant it when he went about saying 
 "we don't want no more trouble." 
 
 "Dynamite Joe" Brooks and Edward Harmenlng', member! cf the Balph Sheldon g'angr after Prankle MacEarlane and Jo« 
 Saltli had finished with them. Kote that Gang-land kUlers aim at the face. In this job only one bnllet mlsaed its mark. 
 
 [29]
 
 ^A^BIC FELLOW 
 
 £. TURNS 
 
 S DIPLOMAT 
 
 .4t the name of Jesus every knee should 
 
 Bend in heaven and on earth. 
 And so King Al, the Big Fellow stepped forth as an 
 emissary of peace. Unfortunately for prosperity in Booze- 
 dom he flopped. Except for one unfortunate little shooting 
 affray involving Vincent "Schemer" Drucci, one of "Little 
 Hymie's" most highly prized aids, Capone's efforts might 
 have been unsuccessful. We hurry to the facts. The 
 Schemer, paradoxically enough, went in for paintings and 
 good music and beautiful things. It was passing strange 
 how this esthetic hoodlum who wept copiously at the 
 Civic Opera could top off an evening in company with his 
 dynamic little chief and George "Bugs" Moran whose 
 artistic sensibilities had developed no further perhaps 
 than Mutt and Jeff. For in their company the Schemer 
 was often called upon to torture a stool pigeon, or in- 
 veigle a traitor to the cause into the front seat of an 
 automobile for a long, long ride. But the Schemer could 
 do it. And how! It was he who represented the class of 
 the Weiss mob, just as the aristocratic touch in the good 
 old days when O'Banion held sway was provided by Samuel 
 "Nails" Morton before he fell off his horse. The Schemer 
 was largely responsible for the fact that "Little Hymie" 
 was induced to move into more pretentious quarters on 
 Diversey Boulevard, although headquarters still remained 
 above the Schofield Flower Shop. 
 
 One sultry August afternoon "Little Hymie" and the 
 Schemer, dressed in the correct mode, strolled nonchalantly 
 down the Boul Mich. As they were passing the Harvester 
 building whom should they meet but two of Capone's 
 children, Frankie Rio and Tony "Molps" Volpe. Now when 
 gangster meets gangster, the result is that gats fly out of 
 pockets especially made and leather-lined to hold them, 
 and that is exactly what happened on this summer after- 
 noon. Many shots were fired, and many, many people out 
 there on the world's most regal street, some of them 
 visitors to Chicago, were thrown into fearful panic. And 
 those who were visitors 
 went back to Muscatine, 
 and Valley Junction and 
 Des Moines and New 
 York and told every- 
 body that what the 
 papers said about Chi- 
 cago was true and even 
 worse. But nobody was 
 killed or wounded. 
 
 The only result of 
 the bloodless affray was 
 that Capone's peace 
 conference didn't mean 
 a thing. It was held 
 shortly after the battle, 
 and all the Big Shots 
 were there — Joe Saltis, 
 Frankie MacEarlane, 
 Ralph Sheldon, Hymie 
 Weiss, Vincent Drucci, 
 Capone and some of his 
 lieutenants, "Klondike" 
 and Myles O'Donnell, 
 and amiable "Spike" 
 O'Donnell from the 
 South Side. Gats were 
 parked outside vdth the 
 top-coats as per agree- 
 ment, all enmity was 
 forgotten, whoopee was 
 
 Joe Saltis ana his aid, "lefty" Koncil with attorneys, at time of their fam- 
 ous trial for the murder of John "Mitters" Foley. They were acquitted. 
 It was reported that "little Hymie" Weiss chased two witnesses to Mon- 
 tana. 'W. W. O'Brien attorney shot with Hymie Weiss. On the right, 
 Frank MacBonnell, another attorney. 
 
 made, jokes were cracked about the "soup" on the menu 
 and the "pineapple" dessert, and a police official, there by 
 special invitation, gazed on in amazement. 
 
 Capone made the speech of the evening. What he said 
 has not, unfortunately, been preserved for posterity, just 
 as he delivered it, but the wise money had it that the Big 
 Fellow's words were freighted with sincerity on the "we 
 don't want no more trouble theme." "Little Hymie" 
 listened sullenly, remembering how Frankie and Molps 
 Volpe had behaved themselves only a few days before. 
 It was "okey" with "Little Hymie," this peace idea, but 
 he put forward one stipulation which the Big Fellow alone 
 heard. It was that Frankie Rio and Volpe be placed on 
 the spot where "Little Hymie" might transform them into 
 corpses. The conference ended without any of its repre- 
 sentatives being aware of what"LittleHymie"had demanded 
 and what the Big Fellow had replied. They learned later. 
 He said, "I wouldn't do that to a yellow dog." 
 
 And so there was no peace in Gangland, and "Little 
 Hymie" was marked for death. He was soon to be pushed 
 aside. His murder represents perfection in the art. It 
 was the most masterfully planned and executed of any of 
 Gangland's crimes including even the Valentine Massacre 
 which was to come after. 
 
 "Little Hymie" set out however to get the Big Fellow 
 first and a few days after the ill-fated conference, he and 
 "Bugs" Moran made an unsuccessful attempt to destroy 
 Capone on South Waba.sh Avenue near the Four Deuces 
 Cafe whither they had trailed him from Cicero. Capone 
 got away, miraculously enough, although his chauffeur, "Tony 
 Ross died behind his wheel. "Little Hymie," bitterly dis- 
 appointed, returned to the little flower shop and was 
 moodily silent for a long time. He stood on the spot in 
 the flower shop where O'Banion had died and, gazing 
 through the huge plate glass window, stared at the in- 
 scription in stone across the street: 
 
 At the name of Jesus every knee should 
 Bend m heaven and on earth. 
 
 Another surge of energy a few days later inspired 
 another desperate effort, this time in the very heart of the 
 Big Fellow's country. For the second time a cavalcade 
 of glistening motor cars passed slowly by the Hawthorne 
 Hotel while machine guns poured hot lead into buildings 
 and windows and furniture. No bullets found lodgment 
 in the hated Capone gangsters however. 
 
 "Little Hymie" was too busy these days to be bothered 
 by the old premonition that he would come to an early 
 and sudden end. His gang was growing in numbers and 
 
 in dollars and in pres- 
 tige. Gangland looked 
 upon him in admiration 
 and amazement. So 
 great was the respect 
 with which he was held 
 that to some he twas 
 really the Big Boy in 
 brains, class and cour- 
 age. So many hoodlums 
 wanted to go along with 
 him at this period that 
 there was a waiting 
 list; the wealthy Italian 
 on the West Side who had 
 backed Jack McGum, 
 now fearing reprisals 
 from the Big Fellow 
 bought his ambitious 
 protege a job as one of 
 Hymie's chauffeurs. It 
 cost $25,000. Unfortun- 
 ately for"Litt!e Hymie" 
 most of his time at this 
 period was spent in try- 
 ing to prevent the law 
 from catching up with 
 his ally. Big Joe Saltis 
 who with Lefty Koncil, 
 was being tried for the 
 murder of John "Mit- 
 
 [30]
 
 ters" Foley. John "Dingbat" Oberta, origin- 
 ally indicted along with papa Joe had man- 
 aged to prove an alibi and he was not tried. 
 So busy was "Little Hymie" with lawyers 
 and witnesses and jurors these days that 
 neither he nor any of his henchmen knew 
 that in the ancient old stone house just north 
 of his flower shop two swarthy-complexioned 
 men had engaged a room from whose cur- 
 tained window they could observe all that 
 took place in the street below them. Neither 
 did "Little Hymie" know that, around the 
 comer at Xo. 1 West Superior street another 
 front room had been engaged, also by a 
 swarthy-complexioned young man whose 
 only luggage was a beautiful golf bag. From 
 behind the curtain of this front room this 
 lonely "golfer" could look squarely upon the 
 rear entrance of the flower shop. The dis- 
 tance on a golf course would have been only a short chip 
 shot with a spade mashie. 
 
 "Little Hymie's" time had come. It was October 11. 
 1926, just twenty-two months since his beloved pal, Dion 
 O'Banion had died there among the flowers. Big Joe Saltis 
 and eel-like Lefty Koncil last saw their friend and ally 
 late in the afternoon after a long and tedious day spent 
 trying to select a jury. "Little Hymie" held a whispered 
 conference wth Saltis and then, shaking hands, left the 
 courtroom in company with W. W. O'Brien, the Saltis 
 attorney. With them were two of Hymie's men, Patrick 
 Murray and Sam Pellar. Benjamin Jacobs, an investigator 
 for the attorney also climbed into the big motor car out- 
 side the county building. 
 
 Pellar, who drove the car, parked it on Superior Street, 
 just south of the cathedral. The four men tumbled out 
 and started towards the flower shop. They had taken only 
 
 Red" Dan^herty in repose on a 
 slab in the county morgme. 
 
 a few steps when the quietness of the street 
 was suddenly destroyed by the harsh and 
 deadly rattle of a machine gun. "Little 
 Hymie's" twenty-two months of vengeance 
 came to an end before he knew what was 
 happening, for the men behind that curtain 
 at 742 North State street had projected their 
 fire at him, and the first bullet went straight 
 into his heart. "Little Hymie" fell face 
 downward in the gutter without uttering a 
 word. Pat Murray also died on the pavement 
 a few steps in front of his chief, but the 
 other three escaped although O'Brien was 
 terribly wounded. In agony he climbed the 
 stairs of a nearby building and collapsed in 
 a doctor's office. Pellar and Jacobs were also 
 wounded. 
 
 Thirty-eight shells had been fired, and 
 those bullets which did not find lodgment 
 in human bones and flesh, flattened out against the old lime- 
 stone comer of Holy Name Cathedral. The impact was so 
 terrific that a large hole in the inscription crumbled away, 
 destroying the sense of the famous Biblical inscription, and 
 to this day people who never heard of Dion O'Banion or 
 "Little Hymie" often pause before the facade of Holy Name 
 Cathedrai and wonder why the corner-stone reads thus: 
 
 ei'ery knt'f should 
 
 . . . /leaven and on earth. 
 
 The two men in the old stone structure at 742 North 
 State street escaped in the turmoil their fire caused; and 
 so did the "golfer" around the comer at No. 1 Superior. 
 He left behind him his golf bag. The janitor could find 
 no golf clubs, but he found a long automatic shot-gun. 
 
 The killing of "liittle Hymie" "WeiBs, Gan^land's most perfect ezecntion. (1) "Ztittle Hymie" as he appeared wlie.- 
 lientenant of Dion O'Banion. (2) Iiooking North on State Street, with white lines showinar line of machine grnn fire fr^ 
 the rooming' house which killed "Little Hymie" and his chanSenr as they and three other men alig'hted from an antomo 
 and started walking towards 'Welss's headquarters in the William F. Schofield Plower Shop (3). Photograph in the li 
 left corner (4) shows the corner stone of the Holy Name Cathedral after it was hit hy some of the ballets which 
 
 Weiss. (5) I>air of the kiUers. 
 
 [31]
 
 ^ 
 
 kV 
 
 , forgottei
 
 /'a II @ ti It i iTi €> 
 
 mdssdcre 
 
 The World Famous Gang- 
 laud Slaying* on St. Valen- 
 tine's Day, 1929, in which 
 seven members of Creorg'e 
 "Bug's" Moran's mob were 
 lined up against a wall in a 
 garage and mowed down by 
 two machine guns. This 
 picture shows two views. 
 The victims, reading from 
 right to left, are James 
 Clark, Johnny May, Adam 
 Hyer, Doctor Reinhardt H. 
 Schwimmer, and Pete Gusen- 
 bcrg. The other victim, 
 Frank Gusenberg, was alive 
 when police arrived although 
 he had twenty-seven bullets 
 in his body, and was taken 
 to a hospital where he dief'
 
 'Z 
 
 PRUCCI , 
 
 wedrf me 
 
 C ROWN 
 
 The artistically efficient homicide of Hymie Weiss drove 
 home to every ambitious hoodlum in Chicago the grim 
 lesson that the man of destiny among them was Alphonse 
 Capone, and that the best possible life insurance was a 
 reserved seat on his band wagon. The prestige of the 
 North Side gang vanished like puffs of smoke in a wind- 
 storm when news of his demise was blazoned across the 
 town. Vincent "Schemer" Drucci bowed apparently to 
 the inevitable for when King Al suggested that another 
 truce be held he was smart enough to acquiesce. But the 
 Schemer had mental reservations as we shall see. 
 
 The meeting took place in the Morrison Hotel on 
 October 21, 1926, and the size of the representation was 
 in itself a tribute to Capone. The Big Fellow himself was 
 not there, but the terms which were laid down by 
 Anthony Lombardo and Maxie Eisen, the eminent 
 Jewish racketeer, had come from him, and you may 
 be sure that no stipulations were made this time. 
 Even "Klondike" O'Donnell was represented. His delegate 
 was instructed to say yes to everything and not to sit 
 around with his fingers crossed either. Unfortunately 
 Joe Saltis, still in jail awaiting the verdict on the charge 
 of murdering Mitters Foley, could not get a leave of 
 absence, but he was represented by the Schemer and 
 George Moran. Ralph Sheldon was there, and so was 
 Edward "Spike" O'Donnell. Tony Lombardo, a big shot 
 in the Unione Siciliane, an important Italian political 
 organization, represented Ca- 
 pone as did Maxie Eisen, 
 the eminent Jewish racketeer 
 and stink bomb thrower. Lom- 
 bardo laid down the territorial 
 lines. Drucci and Moran were 
 - presented with the entire North 
 Side, limited on the south and 
 west by the Chicago river, on 
 the east by Lake Michigan but 
 extending north as far as the 
 Arctic Circle. The South Side was 
 equally divided between "Spike," 
 Sheldon and Saltis, but don't 
 you believe a word of it. No 
 peace pact in history has ever 
 stifled a congenital homicidal 
 impulse, nor did this one. The 
 League of Nations itself could 
 not alleviate the sad condition 
 of affairs along the South Side 
 beer front where, incidentally, 
 a few days before the confer- 
 ence, Mr. Saltis had ordered 
 the dynamiting of one of his 
 customer's saloons because the 
 proprietor, Mr. Joseph Kepka 
 had refused to help Joe pay 
 W. W. O'Brien's legal bill. 
 
 Another swell homicidal 
 impulse, wearing smiles and 
 saying yes all over the ban- 
 quet hall, was Schemer Drucci, 
 but it was destined never to be 
 given another good play. 
 
 On November 9 the terror- 
 ized jurors announced that 
 Saltis and Lefty Koncil were 
 not guilty of murdering Mit- 
 ters Foley and Big Joe went 
 home to fall into numerous 
 
 Hymie" 
 
 :^^J. 
 
 Vincent "Schemer" Drucci, successor to "I^ittle 
 Weiss as leader of the North Side Gan?. This is an early 
 photogrraph of the opera-lovlnf hoodlum, taken after he had 
 spent a tong-h nlgrht In a jail cell. 
 
 [34] 
 
 huddles with John "Dingbat" Oberta, as well as to read 
 his mail. There was an interesting letter from relatives 
 of Hillary Clements, the Sheldon gangster, who had been 
 missing several months, and Joe w^s implored to mark 
 the spot where he had left the body so that it might be 
 given a decent burial. But it was not until five weeks later 
 that the body was found and, would you believe it, the 
 spot was a vacant lot behind the house where Hillary's 
 survivors lived. 
 
 Gangland ushered in the new year, 1926, by removing 
 one John Costenaro, a Sheldon beer customer, from the 
 scene and, so far as this reporter can determine Mr. Cos- 
 tenaro has not yet been found. Efforts to completely do 
 away with Theodore Anton were not so successful. Theo- 
 dore, known as "The Greek," owned the Hawthorne Arms, 
 headquarters of the Big Fellow. Theodore had been a 
 pretty tough guy in his day and had come to the Capone 
 gang with a creditable career in the prize ring to recom- 
 mend him, but as the years rolled on something happened 
 to him, and he made a big nuisance of himself by de- 
 veloping the evil of his ways and the ways of his com- 
 panions and tenants. Anton earned sweetness and light 
 to the point of hinting that he was through with sin and 
 vice and that Capone's lease on the building would not be 
 renewed. And so Anton the Greek was soon missing 
 roll-call around the Hawthorne Arms Hotel, and, a long, 
 long time afterward his body, or w^hat was left of it, was 
 removed from a hole of quick-lime in a vacant lot in 
 Burnham, Indiana, near the backyard of Johnny Patton, 
 Burnham's boy mayor and a good friend of aI Capone* 
 
 On the South Side, believe it or not, Edward "Spike" 
 O'Donnell was accused of having designs on Joe Saltis, 
 Lefty Koncil and their blue-eyed boy, John "Dingbat" 
 Oberta, the eminent ward committeeman. Whether true 
 or not, Koncil and Charles "Big Hays" Hrubec, were fired 
 at on March 11 as they were touring in "Spike" O'Donnell's 
 territory. "Lefty" and Hrubec jumped out of the car and 
 were running at top speed for shelter in an apartment 
 house lobby, when, overburdened by bullets, they collapsed 
 in death. "Spike" O'Donnell did this foul murder," said 
 Joe Saltis to newspaper reporters, "I am not in the beer 
 
 racket." On the day of his re- 
 lease from the county jail, 
 "Lefty," who was a rather 
 nasty-tempered little fellow, 
 snarled on page one that he 
 had been pushed around long 
 enough by certain persons on 
 the South Side and that he 
 himself intended to go in for 
 pushing in a big way. 
 
 Meanwhile Vincent Drucci, 
 as leader of the North Side 
 gangsters, had not been com- 
 pletely paralyzed by the peace 
 conference. He had, indeed, 
 been quite busy following Al 
 Capone around, a privilege he 
 had reserved mentally during 
 the meeting and everywhere 
 the Big Fellow went the 
 Schemer was sure to follow. 
 When he went to Hot Springs, 
 Arkansas with a large body 
 guard to rest up for the ap- 
 proaching mayoralty election 
 in Chicago he did not know it, 
 but the Schemer went along, 
 too, taking with him numerous 
 sawed off shut-guns, auto- 
 matics and other instruments 
 of warfare. In Hot Springs the 
 "Schemer" made an unsuccess- 
 ful attempt to murder the Big 
 Fellow, but it was done so 
 quietly that news of the affray 
 reached the newspapers only 
 by leakage. 
 
 When King Al returned to 
 Chicago late in March the at- 
 mosphere was considerably 
 mixed with gunpowder and
 
 Soh«™.. w.= >, , t,'^„^?"*'\^"" * ^^""^ "'^ ^^ ^°'^^ S'«^ l«*d"- <^PP" Pl'Oto) The automobUe In which the 
 Schemer was shot while bem| taken to a courtroom by police. (2) Commissioner John Steg-e examining revolver which 
 
 Sergeant Healy (left) need to Mil Drucci. (3) Drncci In the morgTje. 
 
 political applesauce. William Hale Thompson, silent four 
 long years, had come out again, this time squarely against 
 King George of England. Recognizing Thompson a swell 
 skyrocket on which to shoot his own star skyward Capone 
 cheered to the extent of $200,000. Well, King George lost 
 a great battle to Big Bill and to the Big Fellow. Chicago 
 again became as wide open as it was in the good old days 
 
 of Johnny Torrio; Capone, cooped up in Cicero by Mayor 
 Dever for four years, again marched triumphantly into 
 the Loop. Ever>-thing was going beautifully for the Big 
 Fellow. Even the problem of doing something about 
 Schemer Drucci had been wiped out of his mind, for, on 
 the eve of the election, the Schemer was shot and killed 
 as he rode from the Detective bureau to a North Side 
 
 [35] 
 
 k\Wlf/j * •.4.V«"»'#'/.# •..^vT »• Tm.'^w^-m.- 

 
 courtroom in a squad car in custody of 
 three detectives. 
 
 Tragically enough for the Schemer 
 one of these detectives was a hard-boiled 
 sergeant named Daniel Healy. It was 
 Healy who had picked up the Schemer 
 and one of his henchmen, Henry Finkel- 
 stein, as they stood sunning themselves 
 on Diversey Boulevard. Picking up 
 hoodlums was a passion with Sergeant 
 Healy who thought that it brought him 
 good luck. Once he had walked into a 
 South Side saloon and helped himself 
 to an automatic belonging to Joe Saltis. 
 The automatic was in Joe's coat and 
 Joe had the coat on at the time. "Oh, 
 you're a tough guy, with a gun, eh?" 
 inquired Mr. Saltis. Sergeant Healy 
 offered to return the weapon but Joe, 
 wisely enough, flatly refused. At any 
 rate no sooner had Sergeant Healy de- 
 posited Drucci and Finkelstein in a jail 
 cell, than an attorney appeared with a 
 writ of habeas corpus. Out came Drucci 
 and his henchman, and into the squad 
 car, enroute to the courtroom. Drucci 
 occupied a rear seat, with Sergeant 
 Healy and one other officer. Finkelstein 
 sat with the driver. Enough different 
 stories have been told about what hap- 
 pened during the next five or ten min- 
 utes to stretch from the Rienzi hotel on 
 Diversey Boulevard to Melrose Park. 
 However, it is not important after all 
 these years what Mr. Drucci said to Mr. 
 Healy and what Mr. Healy said back 
 to Mr. Drucci, for the altercation came to a tragic end when 
 a bullet from Mr. Healy's revolver buried itself in Mr. 
 Drucci's heart. Instead of going to a courtroom the squad 
 car turned right around on the spot and proceeded to the 
 county morgue where Mr. Drucci's body was propped up on 
 a marble slab. 
 
 Of course there was a great hue and cry from the 
 family and from the surviving members of the Schemer's 
 gang, all of whom had become experienced in surviving 
 by now. Crying murder, murder, murder they rushed 
 to hire attorneys to see that justice was done, justice in 
 this case being the prosecution of Mr. Healy. At the 
 coroner's inquest a few days 
 later four prominent criminal 
 lawyers spat many mouthfuls 
 of choice interrogations against 
 a simple story related from the 
 stand by Mr. Healy. In effect 
 it was that Mr. Drucci had 
 called him a punk copper and 
 had reached for Mr. Healy's 
 gun, but Mr. Healy having a 
 longer reach, got there first. 
 And Sergeant Healy went back 
 to his job of picking up hood- 
 lums just for good luck. The 
 smart big city boys bespoke 
 themselves out of the corners 
 of their mouths that Sergeant 
 Healy would get his in a very 
 short while, but at this writing 
 he is still up and about arrest- 
 ing hoodlums over in the tough 
 Valley district "just for good 
 luck." 
 
 The funeral of the Schemer 
 was no shabby affair judged 
 by upper-world standards, but, 
 judged by the standards of 
 Gangland it was a terrible flop. 
 Whereas the last tributes to 
 Messrs. Weiss, O'Banion, 
 "Nails" Morton, Angelo Genna 
 and Samoots Amatuna had 
 been complete sell-outs with 
 not even standing room, the 
 final rites for Schemer Drucci 
 
 Here Is Big' Tim Murphy, Chicagro's 
 premier racketeer, and author of the 
 luscious campaigrn slogan: "Vote for Bi^ 
 Tim Murphy — He's a cousin of mine." 
 Big' Tim was slain in a eramblin^ war, 
 recently climaxed with the assassination 
 of Alfred "Jake" Iiingle, racketeer news- 
 paper reporter. 
 
 (1) Balph Sheldon, forced by tuberculosis to retire as 
 leader of the South Side gang. (2) John "Mltters" Foley, 
 shot to death by Joe Saltis. Foley, a Sheldon g'angster, 
 was "a pood boy" said his mother, "what if he did sell a 
 little beer sometimes." 
 
 [36] 
 
 were played to empty seats. No politi- 
 cians wept copious tears over him; or 
 bent over his casket to kiss him as had 
 been done for Samuzzo. In the com- 
 paratively short parade to the cemetery 
 you couldn't find a single automobile 
 draped, as at the Weiss circus, with 
 cloth signs urging you how to cast your 
 ballot. Already decent folk had become 
 weary of these displays, and the police 
 had announced that squads would be 
 in attendance to seize gangsters. But 
 Al Capone was there. And so was 
 George "Bugs" Moran, and Maxie Eisen, 
 Frank and Pete Gusenberg, Potatoes 
 Kauffman, Dapper Dan McCarthy, Jack 
 McGurn, "Dingbat" Oberta, Frankie 
 MacEarlane and Mr. and Mrs. Joe Saltis. 
 Mrs. Drucci was consoled by Mrs. Dion 
 O'Banion. The Big Fellow derived a 
 great wallop of the fact that here was 
 one of his enemies for whose death he 
 would not be blamed, and he came fear- 
 lessly, even blithely. There is no record 
 however that Alphonse wept any tears 
 on "Bugs" Moran's shoulder because of 
 their mutual loss. The Big Fellow was 
 getting all the breaks just now, and he 
 was sitting pretty on top of the under- 
 world. One fine morning the Big Fellow 
 discovered that he had become famous. 
 His position had made him quite -visible 
 to the great naked eye of the public. 
 For a time this attention may have 
 tickled his vanity, but there is "heat" 
 in the great naked eye of the public, 
 no matter whether you're a king prizefighter, king 
 aviator, king movie actor, king author or just plain 
 governmental king this "heat" grows unbearable at times 
 and you will find yourself running everytime you see a king. 
 You run for the sole reason that you want privacy, you 
 want to live your own life. Now when King Al began 
 ankling it away from the following crowds he had two 
 reasons. (1) To live his own life and (2) to live. 
 
 When King Al found himself in the Loop District after 
 walloping King George at the mayoralty election he looked 
 around carefully and was amazed to see that a lot of 
 
 little gamblers were doing a 
 great big business without hav- 
 ing a king who had a standing 
 army. This condition was ob- 
 served simultaneously by 
 George "Bugs" Moran and 
 Barney Bertsche. In their de- 
 • ' sire to levy tribute from these 
 little gamblers, Messrs. Capone, 
 Bertsche, Moran and, a little 
 later, the nine or ten Aiello 
 brothers of the North Side, 
 ushered another period of war- 
 fare into Chicago. 
 
 At the same time Bertsche, 
 Moran and the Aiello boys 
 further developed the scope of 
 this growing crime syndicate 
 by hooking up with Jack Zuta, 
 over lord of a chain of vice 
 resorts on the West Side. Jack 
 and his chief lieutenant, Solly 
 Vision, had been having a 
 rather tough time of it all by 
 themselves owing to the close 
 proximity of several of their 
 pleasure institutions to similar 
 dives owned and operated by 
 "Monkey-Faced" Charlie Gen- 
 ker, and another choice char- 
 acter, known as Mike de Pike 
 Heitler. 
 
 Mike de Pike had definite 
 Capone connections while Mr. 
 "Monkey-Faced" Charlie, 
 
 !•• ^ m -_ W"^'"
 
 Theodore Anton, owner of the Hotel In which Capone eBtahUshed headquarters, as ^^^^\°°^^^J^^^^^^\JX^^^t7^^^, 
 to eet somewhere with his flats. (2) Anton in one of his few courtroom appearances. (3) ^^'^"V^if Lt^^lTo «t^t of 
 body was found after a Ion? search. It was buried in quick-lime. Anton made a nuisance of himself trylns to get out of 
 
 the Backet. 
 
 strangely enough, operated on his own — a strange and 
 inexplicable fact. "Monkey-Faced" Charlie had been an 
 operator for many years, and maybe they tolerated him 
 purely for sentimental reasons. It will be interesting to 
 
 note that "Monkey-Faced" Charlie was a bosom friend of 
 Julius Ro.senheim, the well-known informer, who now, 
 alas, is with us no more. 
 
 [37]
 
 iL 
 
 PIN EAPPLE 
 PERIOIJ 
 
 In the warfare for control of loop gambling the great 
 discovery was made by King Capone and Messrs. Bertsche, 
 Moran and the Aiello brothers that, although pineapples 
 are not indigenous to Chicago, they flourish as niarvelously 
 here as do potatoes in Ireland, if, of course they are culti- 
 vated properly. The laboratory experiments of these rival 
 gang mobs may be said to have been made during their 
 efforts to form a gambling syndicate of the Loop gambling 
 joints and, having formed it, to gain utter and absolute 
 control. The small fellow who ran a little game behind 
 the counter was extremely averse to paying levy either 
 to Al or Moran. This and other ramifications including 
 the protracted abdication of the reigning gambling king, 
 all too involved to be discussed here, brought on the great 
 pineapple period. A pineapple, if tossed into a building 
 properly, will make an insufferably loud noise. Windows 
 bounce out of their frames, entire walls keel over, 
 people scramble about in terror and the owner or 
 proprietor of the building, surveying the ruins, re- 
 marks, "Well, well, I can't imagine who should have done 
 such a thing to me, or why." But you may be sure that 
 he is telling a big lie. It was just this sort of thing that 
 began happening to the gamblers who cried robber when 
 invited to join the syndicate, being formed by the Big 
 Fellow and the North Side mob. So prevalent did pineapple 
 cultivation become that the joke mongers the country over 
 soon began using the word pineapple as a synonym for 
 Chicago. Another reason was responsible for the fact that 
 the Aiello brothers, of whom there are nine, began playing 
 around with Moran and his new buddies, the Bertsche and 
 Zuta mob. The Aiellos, long respectable merchants, de- 
 voutly desired control of the Unione Siciliane, a powerful 
 Italian organization which at this time was under the 
 leadership of Anthony Lombardo, who, as we have seen, 
 had stepped out as an ally of Capone and had represented 
 him at the peace conference following 
 the demise of "Little Hymie" Weiss. 
 And there, roughly sketched, you have 
 the new scenery which appeared on the 
 underworld stage following the re-elec- 
 tion of William Hale Thompson. With 
 "Bugs" Moran behind them, the Aiellos 
 felt that the Big Fellow might be effi- 
 ciently opposed, and when they ap- 
 pi-oached Mr. Bugs he took the matter 
 under advisement and spent several days 
 thinking it over before he acquiesced. Big 
 George Moran must have deplored the 
 sad condition of affairs in his once proud 
 mob which compelled him to align him- 
 self with an Italian organization. For 
 years Bugs allowed himself to be widely 
 quoted as saying that his first principle 
 was never to let an Italian racketeer 
 get behind him either in an automobile. 
 a short saunter down the street, or in a 
 business enterprise. 
 
 The underworld began to whisper 
 early in 1927 that more and bloodier 
 warfare was imminent. Meanwhile Capone 
 had been attending to established busi- 
 ness as usual and on July 27, one of his 
 new competitors in Burnham paid for 
 his usurpation with his life. At the same 
 time he began muscling in on the 
 Near North Side beer and alcohol busi- 
 ness, thus violating the terms of the 
 
 Ike Boderick, professional bonds- 
 man. It was Ike who bailed Dion 
 O'Banion out of a jail cell follow- 
 ing' the famous Sieben brewery raid. 
 
 [38] 
 
 peace pact. A hoodlum of proven talent, Claude Maddox, 
 was placed in charge of operations, and the first blow 
 struck by the outraged Northsiders came on August 10, 
 when Anthony K. Russo and Vincent Spicuzza came to a 
 tragic end. But Capone was king and the unattached 
 "hoods" were flocking to his standards. Others were 
 deserting less powerful leaders and were casting their 
 fortunes with him. One of these, at this time, was Jack 
 McGurn. who had found himself tempermentally incapable 
 of association with such men as Moran, Pete and Frank 
 Gusenberg, Leo Mongoven, Barney Bertsche, Teddy New- 
 berry and most of the others. King Capone admired Mr. 
 McGum and saw great possibilities in him. Two other 
 gentlemen of the underworld, now famous, now devoted 
 their services to him. They were John Scalice and Albert 
 Anselmi, free at last from courtroom appearances, and 
 ambitious to get into action. The Big Fellow's criticism 
 of the new alliance on the North Side was first made 
 in October when several automobiles, all equipped with 
 machine guns, visited the Aiello headquarters which were 
 in a small bakery on Division Street and deposited several 
 hundreds of bullets all over the place, without, however, 
 causing any casualties. 
 
 The Aiello-Moran-Bertsche-Zuta mob now began to 
 make nuisances of themselves in a big way. An ambush was 
 laid in the Atlantic hotel in the loop. From their front 
 room the killers "covered" a cigar store across the street 
 in which the Big Fellow occasionally made appearances. 
 Luck was with him or else his lookouts were niarvelously 
 efficient for the Aiello killers upstairs were surprised one 
 afternoon to find themselves trapped by the police. On 
 the same day another ambush was uncovered, this one 
 across the street from the residence of Tony Lombardo. 
 Eleven Aiello boys including the leader, Joseph Aiello, 
 were soon fuming in jail cells while lawyers flew about 
 trying to obtain writs of habeas corpus. While still guests 
 at the detective bureau an observant officer spotted three 
 men loitering in front of the bureau and seized them. 
 They were all Capone men, Louis "Little New York" 
 Campagnia, Frank Beige and Sam Marcus. All earrie 1 
 light artillery and were waiting, merely to offer cond 
 Icnces to Joe Aiello and his boys. These incidents tj 
 gether with sporadic warfare in the Loop gambling countr; 
 brought more and more "heat" upon the Big Fellow. Hi 
 had bec'ome the favorite person to blame for everything 
 and now the position became increasingly intolerable. Bu 
 an election was coming on, a typical Chicago elect'.O' 
 and Capone could not yet shake himself away from tl 
 city. Chicago was stirring, the pent-up feeling again 
 the Crowe-Thompson machine, was about to vent its wrai i. 
 The atmosphere buzzed with prophecies 
 as to what would happen at the polls 
 when Judge John A. Swanson got through 
 with State's Attorney Robert E. Crowe, 
 and when Louis Emmerson was done with 
 Len Small. Crowe and Governor Small 
 had been in office for seven and one-half 
 years, and defeat was to over-take them. 
 During the campaign Chicago produced 
 a bumper pineapple crop, and the fruit 
 was dirt cheap. Senator Deneen and his 
 candidate for the state's attorney's 
 office. Judge Swanson, both received 
 pineapples at their homes on the same 
 evening. Other persons who were not ne- 
 glected include Ex-judge Barney Barasa, 
 Municipal Judge John Sbarbaro, Larry 
 Cuneo, brother-in-law and secretary to 
 Crowe, and Morris Eller, political boss of 
 the Valley District. At this time you will 
 be interested in knowning that the Gusen- 
 bergs, Frank and Pete, spotted their old 
 playmate. Jack McGum, driving on the 
 North Side. They trailed to a cigar store 
 in the McCormick hotel, a short block off 
 the Boul Mich on the Near North side. 
 When they entered, cautiously, and with 
 hands gripping gats, they found their 
 quarry busily talking in a telephone 
 booth. Now telephone booths, even in 
 Chicago are not made with bullet-proof 
 
 
 *• • •' •. • a.
 
 glass, so Frank and Pete let Jack have it, and when 
 they had reduced him to a crumpled position on the 
 floor of the booth with blood streaming from his 
 head and face, they bowed themselves out. But Jack was 
 not dead, although well punctured. When the police called 
 on him at the hospital, he told them that he did not know 
 who had shot him or why, but that he would try his level 
 best to find out just as soon as he could get around to it. 
 The election was held in a great cloud of smoke and 
 with the better element weai-ing gas-masks at the polls. 
 Judge John A. Swanson jumped out of the ballot boxes far 
 in front of State's Attorney Crowe, and Mr. Thompson's 
 machine was reduced to a feeble, sputtering 
 condition. Agitation against gang anarchy 
 continued with increasing gusto, a fact 
 which inspired King Capone to depart on a 
 long-needed vacation and when the press 
 associations carried back stories to Chicago 
 from Los Angeles, telling how detectives 
 were pushing the Big Fellow around, one 
 of the Chicago police officials declared that 
 at last Gangland was beginning to disinte- 
 grate, and that its king was a homeless 
 wanderer. The police then turned their at- 
 tention to the sad case of Mr. Ben Newmark, 
 formerly an investigator for State's Attor- 
 ney Robert E. Crowe, but now using his 
 knowledge of the underworld to do a little 
 
 muscling. Alas, alas, he didn't last long, for he was out 
 on the South Side where sweetness and light had not yet 
 penetrated. Election or no election, the boys on the South 
 Side continued sporadic warfare, and so one day as Mr. 
 Newmark sat in the front room of his little bungalow in 
 front of a window reading a newspaper, two men and a 
 machine gun got upon a soap box, took careful aim (at 
 about four feet) and there was a loud report and that 
 was the end of the latest South Side muscle. For two 
 months it was quiet on all fronts, but on June 26, the 
 newspapers duly chronicled the fate of Big Tim Murphy, 
 politician, racketeer, labor leader, robber and jail bird. 
 This famous character whom you really 
 ought to know better than you can know 
 him here had been given one of the numer- 
 ous vice-presidencies in the Capone gang, 
 just before the Big Fellow left on that vaca- 
 tion. Big Tim's duties lay mostly in the 
 gambling field. One of his most ambitious 
 ventures, a gambling house far out on Sheri- 
 dan Road, which he had promoted in con- 
 juction with Nicky Amstein, had been 
 knocked off and Big Tim, who had been out 
 of Fort Leavenworth for only a short while, 
 saw the need of making some good con- 
 nections in a hurry. He seemed to have 
 lost touch with the right guys during those 
 prison years, and so he went over with the 
 
 O'SAITION'S OLD GANG AS THEY LOOK TODAY. The dapper boy in the tipper center is Joe Aiello. head of the Uuione 
 Siciliane. On the upper left we have Leo Mong'oven, body g"uard to Georg-e "Bug's" Moran, who, at this writing" had been 
 missing' for several weeks and was believed by some to have been taken for a ride. On the upper rig'ht we have Georgfe 
 "Bugs" Moran, North Side leader. (1) "Potatoes" Kanffman (2) Barney Bertsche and (3) Jack Zuta.
 
 Big Fellow, thinking himself again securely "in." Un- 
 fortunately Big Tim no longer lived out in his beloved 
 back-of-the-yards district. His place of residence now was 
 a charming little bungalow on the North Side, in pleasant 
 Rogers Park. It was within cap-pistol hearing of another 
 bungalow in which resided Joe Aiello. One warm June 
 night the front door-bell of the Murphy domicile began 
 to ring and ring and ring, and Big Tim, who was taking 
 a nap, got up sleepily and went out. Nobody was there, 
 except a couple of bullets and so the author of the priceless 
 line, "vote for Big Tim Murphy he's a cousin of mine" 
 rolled down the concrete steps a dead man. 
 
 Capone had left the management of his empire largely 
 in the hands of Frank Nitti, known as the "enforcer" and 
 Harry "Greasy Thumb" Gusick, convicted pander who 
 had charge of a choice killing squad. Harry was ably 
 assisted by Hymie "Loud Mouth" Levine. These boys suc- 
 ceeded in convincing Mr. Aiello and Mr. Moran that they 
 could not prosper in Chicago unless drastic measures were 
 taken to get a strong hold somewhere. There is a tale, 
 probably apocryphal, that Joe and "Bugs" negotiated 
 at this time for the services of the eminent Frankie Yale, 
 whom we have met before. At any rate Frankie's greatest 
 mistake of his long life was in aligning himself with the 
 Aiello-Moran gang, for his punishment came on July 2, 
 1928 in New York. The mystery of his death still intrigues 
 the New York police and, every time a Capone man drops 
 into New York to see a tight or start one, the detectives 
 push him off to jail and ply him with questions concerning 
 the sad fate of Dion O'Banion's pet hatred. On the night 
 of Frankie's murder detectives established the fact that 
 three long distance telephone calls had been made from 
 the New York home of the mother of a Capone gangster, 
 Louis "Little New York" Campagnia, to Chicago. One 
 was to the Hotel Metropole in Chicago, known at that 
 time as the headquarters of Frank Nitti, another was to 
 the home of a prominent Chicago citizen and the third to a 
 certain garage in Cicero. With these clues you can write 
 your own thriller. 
 
 The Aiellos' felt terribly about losing Frankie and they 
 felt more terrible on July 25 when one of their own boys 
 
 was murdered. He was Salvatore Canale and he was killed 
 in front of his home one hot summer evening. But the 
 Aiello mobsmen continued to tug away annoyingly at the 
 Capone outfit, terrorizing alky cookers, throwing pine- 
 apples here and there, and taking pot shots at any Capone 
 gangster they could find. It was not until September 7, 
 1928, however, that they succeeded in making a really 
 important killing. The victim was Tony Lombardo, Capone 
 lieutenant, and head of the Unione Siciliane and the manner 
 in which he was eliminated was inexpressibly daring. The 
 scene of his assassination was in front of Raklios res- 
 taurant on Madison street, just west of Dearborn and little 
 more than a block from State and Madison streets, the 
 world's busiest corner. The time was 4:20 P. M. Countless 
 thousands of busy loop workers scurried about the streets, 
 for it was nearing the rush hour and the loop was soon 
 to be emptied of the ofliice workers. 
 
 At 4:15 the immaculate Tony with his body guards, 
 Tony Ferraro and Joseph Lolardo, left the offices of the 
 Unione Siciliane in room No. 1102 Hartford Building, 8 
 South Dearborn Street. Next door, it may be said, Tony 
 maintained an office of the Italian-American plan, a private 
 loan bank. Walking North they turned west on Madison 
 street and had not proceeded more than fifty feet when a 
 group of men detached themselves from the crowd and 
 quickly formed a circle around them. Shots rang out and 
 when the police could establish a semblance of order in the 
 panic-stricken crowd, they saw Mr. Lombardo, face in the 
 gutter, lying in a pool of his own blood. Ferraro lay dying 
 a few feet away. Lolardo was captured a block or more 
 away as he darted into a shoe store. "I was pursuing one of 
 the killers," explained Joe, "and I would have caught him 
 if you hadn't butted in." Joseph however denied that he 
 was with the slain men or that he was Tony's body guard. 
 "I just happened to be passing," he explained. Still the 
 police held heavy hands on him and they were still trying 
 to pry information from him regarding the Mafia King 
 when an attorney appeared. "Lolardo was an innocent 
 bystander," the attorney declared, "and unless he is imme- 
 diately released I will file a petition for a writ of habeas 
 corpus." One line of questioning was that Lolardo him- 
 
 AIi CAFOITII'S BIG SHOTS. (1) FranUe Romano, alias Diamond. (2) Joe "Feppi" Genaru. lu cliai^c ul Cain n.^ operations 
 in the Calumet District. (3) Rocco Fanelli, who, In Iiondon, declared that a dollar in Chicago was more powerful than 
 any police broom. (4) The boy iTith the smile is "Molps" Volpe, the boy wonder of Gangrland. (5) Al Capone. the Big: Fellow. 
 
 [40] 
 
 r ■^-•_Wa^ 
 
 •*-*>'• ■__ - '«
 
 Tony Iionibardo. Kingr of the Mafia, 
 and a lieutenant for Alpbonse Capone. 
 (Iieft) ISadison and Dearborn Streets 
 where Zionibardo was assassinated one 
 summer afternoon. 
 
 self had put his companions on the spot. At the same time 
 a report was cuiTent that King Al, en route to Florida, 
 had dropped in town and was hiding somewhere in Cicero. 
 A choice dab of apple-sauce had it that he lay in deadly 
 fear of assassins. If Capone was afraid of anj-thing it 
 was the great eye of the public. 
 
 The murder of Tony Lombardo, King of the Mafia, was a 
 great sensation, for at that time it stood out as the most 
 daring crime yet committed in Chicago by gangsters. The 
 Underworld was quiet for a few weeks while Tony was 
 being laid away. To the alky cookers for the Capone 
 gang who lived in the so-called Aiello-Moran district Lom- 
 bardo's death was a great calamity. Aiello would assume 
 control of the Unione Siciliane, they believed, and he 
 would surely begin a war of extermination among them. 
 And so, while Lombardo's body lay in its casket, the ter- 
 rified Capone henchmen began a quiet but quick e.xodus 
 from the district bounded by Division street, Chicago 
 avenue, Sedgwick and Larrabee streets. Signor Xitti, the 
 "enforcer" could not stem the wave of Italians who scurried 
 back to the old Genna district, and Signor Aiello looked 
 upon the spectacle and found it good. The Capone gang 
 held several huddles with the result that further action 
 was ordered on the principle that the best defense is a 
 swell offence. To the dismay of Signor Aiello he did not 
 become successor to Tony Lombardo as head of the Unione 
 Siciliane. Somehow that coveted position again came into 
 
 the hands of a Capone man — Pasqualino Lolardo, elder 
 brother of Joseph Lolardo, the body guard of Lombardo. 
 At the same time Mr. Nitti, acting under instructions 
 which continually came to him from the roving Big Fellow, 
 dispatched more muscle men into the Aiello temtory. 
 Some of the men who were immediately under the leader- 
 ship of the new Mafia King were such talented thugs 
 and pistoleers as John Scalice, Albert Anselmi, Claude 
 Maddox, alias Johnny Moore, who had graduated from the 
 Egan Rats mob of St. Louis, Tough Tony Caprezzio, strong- 
 arm artist de luxe, and Murray Humphreys. Headquarters 
 for this dangerous Capone group were in a dingy and 
 squalid little dive, pleasantly known as The Circus, located 
 at 1651 North Avenue. For a long time Pasqualino directed 
 these boys in a campaign of terror. Alky stills were bowled 
 over by the dozen, soft-drink parlors on the Near North 
 Side were bombed with such regularity that it sounded 
 like the Fourth of July in Ankeny, Iowa. Life became a 
 misery for those unfortunates who had aligned themselves 
 under the so-called protection of Joe Aiello, George "Bugs" 
 Moran, Barney Bertsche and Jack Zuta. Pasqualino raised 
 so much general hell on the Near North side that these 
 terrified Italians who had fled the district following Lom- 
 bardo's death now began moving in again. Well, now what 
 do you think Mr. Aiello did about this? You are right, 
 for on January 2, 1929, a second Mafia King was placed 
 beyond the aid of attorneys and legal writs. 
 
 [41]
 
 
 p 
 
 ^% 
 
 Fasqnalino Iiolardo, BuccesBOT to Tony Iiombardo, as he was found In hlB apartment after entertaining- three 
 
 Note the Bourbon and the wine. 
 
 ■friends.' 
 
 When the police were summoned to the Lolardo home 
 after an uncommonly long time, they found the Mafia King's 
 body lying in a luxurious front room. His face had been 
 shot away and he could hardly be recognized. Except for 
 a beautiful velvet pillow which she had tenderly shoved 
 under his head the body, said the widow, had not been 
 touched. She did not talk very much, but the little table 
 in the center of the room with its half-empty glasses of 
 whisky spoke eloquently on the circumstances of the 
 man's death. 
 
 With his wife Lolardo had returned to their home from 
 a loop shopping tour at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. At 
 the entrance to the stairway leading to their flat, a cheap 
 and dismal looking place outside, they were met by three 
 men whom the widow said she had seen many times for 
 several years. She did not, however, know their names. 
 All went upstairs and Mrs. Lolardo spread a lunch for 
 the three men who departed at about 3 o'clock. Five 
 minutes later however there was a knock on the rear 
 door. Mrs. Lolardo was in the kitchen ironing at the time 
 and she did not get a good look at them, she said, when 
 they were admitted by her husband. For half an hour 
 or more the \isitors made whoopee and there was much 
 clinking of glasses, joking and loud laughing. And then 
 at 4 o'clock, according to Mrs. Lolardo, the gun-play started. 
 There was a scramble for the door and when Mrs. Lolardo 
 walked into the front room she found herself a widow. 
 The pillow was slipped under his head and the widow went 
 
 to answer the door-bell being rung by her sister-in-law, 
 Mrs. Joseph Lolardo, wife of the well-known body guard. 
 
 Anna Lolardo, the sister-in-law,telephoned a funeral par- 
 lor for an ambulance and the attendants came, took one look 
 at Mr. Lolardo and summoned the police. During the ques- 
 tioning of Mrs. Lolardo it was finally extracted from her 
 that she had really got a good look at the last visitors and, 
 when a picture of Joe Aiello was pushed in front of her 
 face, she nodded that one of the visitors was he. While 
 she was still in custody an eff'ort was made to find Mr. 
 Aiello but it was unsuccessful, although eighteen or twenty 
 of his henchmen were gathered together from the dives, 
 pool-halls and bakery on the North Side. All were paraded 
 before the widow but she recognized none of them as her 
 husband's guests. Resolute attempts were made to solve 
 this murder, and it will be important to remember that 
 wires were tapped at several places and that Mr. Joseph 
 Lolardo was heard to say that he would get even with 
 a certain mob. The murder was never technically solved, 
 although it was established that Mr. Lolardo's visitors 
 were not all Italians. 
 
 The death of Lolardo again brought moving day to the 
 Capone alky cookers on the Near North Side. It also 
 brought control of the Unione Siciliane to Joe Aiello and 
 what appeared to be a rosy future for his allies. It also 
 brought a fierce and deadly determination to the hearts 
 of the Circus mob to avenge themselves. A few weeks 
 later the Valentine Massacre happened. 
 
 [42]
 
 /AASSACRE 
 
 We come now to the bloody exercises in which Gang- 
 land graduates from murder to massacre. The exercises 
 are to be held in an unpretentious little brick garage at 
 2122 North Clark Street behind whose well-concealed front 
 entrance George "Bugs" Moran has established a whisky 
 depot in charge of which he has placed two of his toughest 
 and most capable lieutenants, Frankie and Peter Gusen- 
 berg. Whisky ti-ucks are kept here when not in use. 
 Johnny May, a first-class automobile mechanic, toils over 
 them when they are off the road keeping them in tip-top 
 shape mechanically. The garage is an ideal place in which 
 to hold Gangland's graduating exercises, a fact which had 
 been established months before, and, since that time the 
 gentlemen who are to perform the exercises have been 
 awaiting the signal which will inform them that the most 
 important North Side gangsters are on the spot and their 
 time has come. 
 
 Since December 18 the "observers" who are commis- 
 sioned to make this signal have sat patiently behind tat- 
 tered lace curtains in two front rooms of the boarding 
 house upstairs immediately across the street. It is now 
 February 14, 1929, and finally one of the many ruses 
 employed by the masters of ceremonies has succeeded for 
 the big shots of the North Side gang are assembling in 
 the whisky depot. Pete and Frank Gusenberg are first to 
 slip into the little door. Johnny May, the mechanic comes 
 a few minutes later. Adam Heyer and James Clark turn 
 into the door with Dr. Reinhardt H. Schwimmer, the 
 physician with the hoodlum complex. The "obsers'ers" 
 glance nervously at their watches, mumbling a few words 
 perhaps about the failure of George "Bugs" Moran to 
 keep this rendezvous. At this time they bend forward to 
 see still another caller entering the garage. He is Al Wein- 
 shank, the small-time bootlegger who has stepped in to buy 
 some "goods" for his "respectable" little speakeasy at 
 4207 Broadway. Al has his big police dog, High-ball with 
 him. The "observers" are chagrined because George "Bugs" 
 has not arrived, but believing that he will be along at any 
 moment, decide to make the long-awaited signal. One of 
 them slips away to a telephone. End of scene one. 
 
 It is now shortly after 11 o'clock — about fifteen minutes 
 since the telephonic signal was made. A youth, George A. 
 Brichet, loitering at the mouth of the alley behind the 
 garage, obser%-es a "squad" car glide noiseless up to 
 the rear entrance and stop. Three men are in the car. 
 
 two of them are in the uniform of policemen. Each carries 
 a large box-like contraption wrapped roughly with news- 
 papers. Curious young Brichet thinks that he is about 
 to witness a raid, the first one he has ever seen in his life, 
 and he races around to the front entrance, just in time to 
 see what appears to be another "squad" car stop in front 
 of the garage. Another group of armed men enter. Young 
 Brichet pauses. He would like to "bust" right in after 
 them, but the chauffeur of the big Cadillac growls at him 
 to move on. Hurrying northward the youth selects a spot 
 several hundred feet away from where he can at least 
 steal glimpses and, maybe, when the "pinch" is made there 
 ^\^ll be a crowd and he can slip up to the entrance again 
 when the "cops" bring 'em out. End of scene two. 
 
 Inside the garage six men are all busily engaged in a 
 conversation. Two of them sit on a little bench in the 
 comer. Four are standing a few feet away. Johnny May, 
 the mechanic, is do\\Ti there under the truck tightening 
 its bolts. High-ball, the great police dog, is leashed to a 
 wheel of the truck and, from the six or seven feet of free- 
 dom thus accorded him, he barks and leaps playfully 
 around. 
 
 The telephone rings sharply in the little office which 
 is built directly in front of the window, thus obstructing 
 the rear %new "from people passing along the street. One 
 of the men turns and walks rapidly into the office. Presently 
 he comes back again, saying that Al Weinshank is wanted 
 on the wire. Weinshank speaks repeatedly into the mouth- 
 piece, but there is no answer. He clicks the instrument 
 impatiently and. finally the operator informs him that the 
 party hung up. Weinshank, a little mystified, returns to the 
 floor. Gangland has placed seven men on the spot, and 
 the graduating ceremonies are about to commence. 
 
 A door-knob turns. The men in conversation turn to 
 look. Two "policemen," one holding a large package, walk 
 easily toward them, followed by two men in street garb — 
 probably "dicks" think the men who are on the spot. A 
 few seconds later and the rear door swings open and t\vo 
 more men enter. Hard-boiled Pete Gusenberg begins to 
 snarl. Frankie makes a wise-crack. Just another goddam 
 raid by some punk coppers. How'd they get here. Some- 
 body is going to get a swell ride for this bum rap. Oh, 
 well fortunately there's nothing in the joint now. That's 
 one good break. 
 
 The intruders quickly tear newspapers from their 
 "packages" revealing two machine-guns, and now, perhaps 
 for the first time it dawns upon these six men here that 
 this is no time for defiant words or -wise-cracks. It may 
 be even that Frankie and Pete or one of the others recog- 
 nize some of these men beneath their coppers caps and 
 uniforms, and that with recognization comes swift and 
 awful realization that their hour has come at last. 
 
 There is a command from one of the intruders, empha- 
 sized perhaps by a choice bit of blasphemy. Defiantly the 
 two men who have been sitting on the bench rise slowly 
 to their feet. All turn round, hands raised heavenward, 
 to the wall. At this moment Johnny May, is spotted 
 lying beneath the truck. Another command and an oath 
 
 Four of the seven Victims of the Valentine Day Massacre. (Left to right) James Clark, Albert Weinshank, Frank QuBen- 
 
 berg and his brother, Fete Onsenberg. 
 
 [48]
 
 brings him scrambling- to his feet and he too takes his 
 place in line. High-ball is no longer barking. Now he 
 leaps ferociously at the intruders, his white teeth showing, 
 but alas Al Weinshank has tied that leash too securely. 
 It all happens in a few minutes and yet there has been 
 ample time for Pete Gusenberg, standing at the right of 
 the line, to realize that this is a mission of murder, and 
 that his only chance to beat back death is the little auto- 
 matic revolver in his hip pocket. With a fierce cry and an 
 oath his hand drops like a plummet to that hip pocket, 
 and his fingers are just closing upon the butt of it when 
 the address of the graduating ceremonies commences. It 
 is delivered quickly, artistically, and with masterful effec- 
 tiveness. Approximately 150 bullets pour from those ma- 
 chine guns and only a few fail to find lodgment in the 
 doomed men standing there against the white-washed wall 
 of brick. With the first outburst of fire the doomed men 
 begin to scream and curse, but the steady rattling stream of 
 lead plays upon them so expertly that only one moves out 
 of line in an effort to escape. The steel "bullets tear into 
 the heads of these men, splintering skulls, splattering 
 brains. Except for the man on the end who had tried to 
 escape and collapsed on a chair in grotescjue posture, 
 they fall to the floor in the order in which they had stood. 
 Now that all are lying on the blood and grease streaked 
 floor, a second stream of death plays over them, again 
 tearing into bone and flesh. 
 
 Six or seven minutes ago Arthur Brichet had been 
 ordered to move along. Now, standing against the wall 
 of the building two or three hundred feet away, he can 
 hear a low rumble from within the garage. Presently 
 the group of "policemen and detectives" emerge casually 
 from the building, step into the automobile, and are driven 
 smoothly away towards North Avenue. He sees the 
 "squad" car weaving in and out of the traflic traveling 
 rapidly, but not too rapidly. He walks toward the garage. 
 He can hear the loud continuous barking of a dog. End of 
 scene two. 
 
 Mrs. Jeanette Landsman, who lives at 2124 North Clark 
 street which is just next door to the garage, hears rattling 
 gun-fire, voices of men screaming and swearing. She 
 rushed down stairs to the sidewalk and peers through the 
 window of the garage, but, because of the office cannot 
 see what has happened behind. She is afraid to enter. At 
 this moment a pedestrian passes. She turns to him, saying 
 that she heard shots in there. "I'll see if anything's 
 wrong," says the man smilingly. And, in a most un- 
 Chicagoan like manner, steps into the garage. A few 
 seconds later he bursts out again, shaking, his face ghostly 
 white. He can scarcely speak. "There's dead men all over 
 the place," he finally cries as he runs away shouting "I'll 
 call the police." 
 
 And the police come. In horror they pause before the 
 shambles. Both officers have seen service in the World 
 War but there is something about this sight that 
 is inexpressibly more awful than war. In the dim- 
 ness of the room their eyes fall upon the figure of a man 
 crawling upon his hands and knees across the floor. Re- 
 covering from their first shock they now rush to his aid. 
 It is Frank Gusenberg. 
 More dead than alive 
 he mumbles something 
 pretty strange for 
 him. It is that he 
 hopes no one will ever 
 suffer as he suffers. 
 The officers, realizing 
 that Frank is dying, 
 ply him with questions 
 as they move him 
 carefully towards the 
 door, but Frank is 
 true to the code of 
 the half-world in 
 which he has lived so 
 long and he will say 
 nothing . . . Squads 
 of police and detec- 
 tives appear in auto- 
 mobiles, horns honk- 
 ing, gongs clanging. 
 Taxi-cabs draw up 
 
 and photographers and newspaper reporters pour out. The 
 street becomes jammed and the Clark and Broadway street 
 cars are stalled in long lines in the narrow street. Up- 
 stairs behind the little frayed lace curtains the masters 
 of ceremonies sneak out and downstairs and, singly, dis- 
 appear into the surging crowd. Their job is done and done 
 well. The ceremonies are over. In a morning newspaper 
 office far away in the direction of the Loop District, a re- 
 write man who has heard the first story of this holocaust, 
 sits himself calmly at a typewriter and begins a matchless 
 story. He taps out the story in a single line, namely that 
 Gangland has graduated from murder to massacre. 
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 Map showing route believed to have been traveled by automobile carrying- 
 
 Valentine Massacre killers from g-arai^e, in which their automobile was later 
 
 found, to 2122 Mortb Clark Street, scene of the slaying. (Insert) Front view 
 
 of 2122 North Clark Street. 
 
 The whole world reeled before this one in horror and 
 unbelief. Newspapers everywhere published the amazing 
 crime and the Valentine Massacre of Chicago was di.scussed 
 in the far corners of the earth. Defenders of Chicago's 
 reputation looked on the atrocity helplessly and in dismay. 
 Here was a crime which even the cynical Chicagoan could 
 not dismiss with a superficial gesture. It seemed absurd 
 now to say that since Gangland murdered only those who 
 belonged to (langland why bother about it? George "Bugs" 
 Moran disappeared shortly after the crime but before he 
 left one newspaper obtained one crisp comment from li'i:.. 
 It was this: "Only one gang kills like that — the Capone 
 gang." This line was carried over the wires to Al Capone 
 who was in Florida and he had one all ready for it. "They 
 don't call that guy 'Bugs' for nothing," was what the Big 
 Fellow said. 
 
 With each successive smoking edition of the Chicago 
 newspapers for a solution of the crime and punishment 
 for its perpetrators swelled in bitter intensity. Thoughtful 
 persons filled column after column with suggestions as to 
 how the said conditions which made such a thing possible 
 might be remedied. Not since the unsolved murder of 
 McSwiggin, the "hanging prosecutor" from the state's 
 attorney's office, had public indignation developed such a 
 temperature. William E. Russell, commissioner of police, 
 commanded to run the murderers to earth, summoned 
 Deputy Commissioner of Detectives John Stege home from 
 a vacation to work on the case. Commissioner Stege at 
 that time was spending a vacation in Florida and Cuba 
 vrith a group of friends among whom was included Alfred 
 "Jake" Lingle, veteran Chicago Tribune police reporter, 
 who was later to be put on the spot by Gangland. 
 
 During the relent- 
 less series of investi- 
 gations instituted by 
 Commissioner Stege 
 every Capone gang- 
 ster in Chicago was, 
 at one time or another, 
 haled into detective 
 bureau headquarters 
 and passed in review 
 before eye-witnesses 
 whose names were, 
 for a long time, with- 
 held from the public. 
 Three men were posi- 
 tively identified. Jack 
 McGurn, and John 
 Scalice. At the same 
 time one of the eye- 
 witnesses identified, 
 Fred Burke, notorious 
 criminal, from a pic- 
 ture in the rogues gal- 
 
 ^IMiM^^^fc WC. 
 
 OQDDW 
 DOODn 
 
 Li 
 •J u d1] „ [ji 
 
 DnQODD 
 
 nllnnnn 
 
 [44]
 
 lery. Burke did not confine his 
 activities to any one gang or city. 
 Formerly a member of the notori- 
 ous Egan Rats of St. Louis, Burke 
 had been a machine-gunner with 
 the American Expeditionary Forces 
 during the World War, and was 
 wanted in five American cities for 
 as many murders at the time of 
 the Valentine Massacre. This choice 
 criminal is still at large. Shortly 
 after the massacre he narrowly 
 escaped capture in Benton Harbor. 
 Michigan, where he posed as a re- 
 spectable citizen. When his little 
 bungalow was raided, after the 
 precipitate flight of Mr. Burke, 
 police discovered three machine 
 guns and several hundred bullets. 
 In escaping Mr. Burke shot and 
 killed a traffic cop who wanted to 
 bawl him out for running through 
 a traffic light. Incidentally the re- 
 ward for his capture now stands at 
 the substantial total of §100,000. 
 
 Arthur Brichet, the boy who 
 was told to move on. identified John 
 Scalice and Jack McGum as did 
 one woman eye-witness and both 
 
 were eventually indicted. McGum was arrested in a room 
 in the Stevens Hotel where he was holding gala with a 
 sinuous blonde, Louise Rolfe, now kno\\Ti to fame as the 
 "blonde alibi." No machine guns were in Jack's luxurious 
 quarters, but he was not entirely without protection for 
 over on the bureau within convenient reach was a .45 
 automatic pistol and a .32 revolver. The woman who iden- 
 tified Jack also said that she had seen him before with 
 a number of men who played around the Circus Cafe on 
 North Avenue. 
 
 As you might expect when the police finally came upon 
 John Scalice he was with his old partner, Albert Anselmi. 
 
 Johnny Suave "Ding'bat" Oberta, at left, with his 
 body g-aard. Sammy Malag'a, holding' an athletic 
 trophy. The "Dingbat" and Sammy were insep- 
 arable in life and when Oberta was found dead 
 in his automobile the police looked around for 
 Sammy. Sure enough there he was just a few 
 feet away, his body floating in a small stream. 
 
 Two women identified John, but 
 they couldn't remember having ever 
 met Mr. Anselmi before. The case 
 against Jack McGurn eventually 
 was nolle pressed. As for Scalice 
 a sad but inevitable fate overtook 
 him before the day scheduled for 
 his court appearance and. would 
 you believe it, he was in company 
 at the time with his old partner, 
 Albert Anselmi. These two boys 
 were always together. We shall re- 
 turn to them at the proper time. 
 
 Seven days after the Valentine 
 Massacre the police discovered one 
 of the automobiles which had trans- 
 ported one group of the '"execu- 
 tioners" to 2122 North Clark Street. 
 Discovery was made in a garage in 
 the rear of 1723 North Woods 
 Street, three blocks from the Circus 
 Cafe. The "massacre car" had been 
 dismembered with a blow-torch, 
 gasoline had been poured over the 
 parts and then set afire in an effort 
 to destroy all identifying marks. It 
 was definitely established with the 
 discovery of the automobile that it 
 had been "faked" to resemble a 
 police squad car. The garage had been rented several 
 days before the massacre, and, according to the o'wner, 
 the renters, three men, gave their addresses as the Circus 
 Cafe. An exhaustive investigation from the automobile 
 angle of the Valentine horror which took many months 
 finally left detectives with nothing more than a number 
 of fictitious names. 
 
 A raid made on the day following the massacre found 
 the Circus Cafe not open for business. Doors were locked, 
 tables overturned and Messrs Maddox, Capprezzio, Hum- 
 phreys and Rocco Belcastro, the big bombing boy, were 
 nowhere around. 
 
 Three months later, however, when public temperature 
 had dropped a few degrees, these choice gentlemen ap- 
 peared at detective headquarters where they suffered them- 
 selves to be interviewed by reporters and Cp^jnTiibsiuiifcr 
 Stege. All had nice, detailed stories as to their movements 
 
 (1) Johnny G-enaro, one of Capone's adept bomb tosiers, fell out with another Capone bomber, James Belcastro, and 
 Johnny was put on the spot. In the hospital Johnny violated Oangland's code by "squawking" that Belcastro engaged 
 two killers to do the dirty work. (2) Julius Bosenheim, an Informer of rare touch, met a fate common to all gentlemen 
 of the underworld who whisper and squawk and inform into the ears of the "wrong guys." Official attention has again been 
 focused on the life and activities of Mr. Rosenheim, since the murder of Jake Iiingle. 
 
 [■!--l
 
 nothing 
 several mo 
 Stege the 
 O' Banion 
 very plainly, 
 time, sufFerin 
 "flu." This 
 
 on the morning of February 14, 1929 and, after kindly and 
 smilingly posing for photographs, they departed. 
 
 Where was George "Bugs" Moran on the day his gallant 
 lieutenants were put on the spot? And how did it happen 
 that George himself failed to show up at 2122 North Clark 
 street ui response to the invitation that it would be to his 
 advantage as a truck load of hi-jacked liquor would be 
 offered Spr sale. All these questions were asked on every 
 hand befM-e the bodies of his men had been removed from 
 the blood \iid grease on the cement floor. Well, there was 
 tihg about the answer when it fina41y came, 
 
 later. Sitting in the office of Commissioner 
 
 who held the throne once occupied by Dion 
 
 Little Hymie" Weiss, said 
 
 at he was at home at the 
 
 with a light touch of the 
 
 ed bad for those roman- 
 ticists who had\ argued that "Bugs" act- 
 ing on a hunch, had remained away from 
 the spot at the last minute, and that. 
 as a matter of fact he was one of the 
 hundreds who packed the narrow street 
 in front of the garage when the perfo- 
 rated bodies of his men were discovered. 
 
 Moran left Chicago a few days later 
 for Canada and did not return for sev- 
 eral months. One day he suddenly ap- 
 peared at the detective bureau, pro- 
 tected by his lawyer. "Bugs" is very 
 self-conscious and nervous when in this 
 institution, but he had obviously care- 
 fully prepared himself for the ordea' 
 of saying yes and no. It may be inter- 
 esting to record that, when asked con- 
 cerning his relations with Pete and 
 Frank Gusenberg and all the other vic- 
 tims. Moran replied: " I didn't have 
 nothing to do with those guys. I wasn't 
 
 ever in that garage in my life; it looked too much like the 
 floral shop to me." 
 
 A day or so later Joe Aiello also appeared at the bureau 
 concerning a little matter of murders — the murder of 
 Lolardo particularly. "Chief, two years ago de Chief 
 O'Connor, he tell me to get out of town," said Joe, "and 
 I go, efen though I never do nothing wrong. Chief, I 
 like your Chicago. I wanta live here and be a respectable 
 man in my bakery." Before Joe left, he denied ever having 
 met anyone by the name of Moran. 
 
 One thing is certain. The police did not particularly 
 grieve over the passing of the Gusenbergs, Pete and Frank. 
 These boys had been raising hell in Chicago for many years, 
 and while news of their violent deaths 
 did not exactly inspire rousing cheers, 
 the remarks made several days after 
 the massacre by Chief of Detectives 
 John Egan concerning the average life 
 of the gangster may not be interpreted 
 as coming from a saddened heart. "The 
 average life of the Chicago gangster," 
 said Detective Egan, "is about 30 to 31 
 years, and that rate Pete who was about 
 36, had lived five or six years beyond his 
 allotted time. Frank Gusenberg who 
 was 38 years old, was about seven or 
 eight years over-due at the morgue. 
 They must have been mighty careful 
 of themselves to last as long as 
 they did. 
 
 Chief Egan said that Clark, being 
 32, was a year or two late, while Al 
 Weinshank had his coming to him for 
 the past four or five years. Johnny May, 
 said Chief Egan, was bumped off right 
 on schedule, and Adam Hyer who was 
 only 29, got cheated out of a year. 
 
 (Upper photograph) Domlnck Aiello, 
 
 minor member of the Korth Bide gang', 
 ance of Domlnck Aiello. 
 
 (I^ower photograph) The last public appear- 
 
 ed]
 
 loo DAYS and 
 
 wheto is 
 
 Mr. Saii\s 
 
 "Pollack" Joe Saltis lost a gi-eat deal of prestige 
 in Boozedom in 1928 when he submitted to capture 
 and was "settled" in the Cook County jail for two 
 months on a chai-ge of violation of the liquor laws. 
 The feat of clamping a beer baron in the "can" 
 was not accomplished with all the ease of falling 
 off a log, however, for Mr. Saltis made himself 
 scarce except to his beer clients for 139 days, by 
 actual newspaper count, before he was finally ap- 
 prehended. The newspapers made a great deal of 
 noise about the search for 'Sir. Saltis and, every 
 daj^ for 139 days, you could open up your newspaper 
 and see in very large type the numbers 102 days 
 and no Mr. Saltis or 103 days and no Mr. Saltis 
 and so on and on up until the day Joe was brought 
 in mumbling "I'm out of the beer racket, and this 
 is a bum rap." The public took a great deal of 
 interest in the newspaper count, which, until the 
 Dempsey-Tunney fight was looked upon as the 
 longest count Chicago had ever seen. It had all 
 the wallop of a serial story with the hot stuff 
 continued until tomorrow. 
 
 When Joe was emptied from the jail cell he 
 made straight for the flower shop in the back-of- 
 the-yards district where his affairs were being 
 ably directed by his lieutenants, amiable John 
 "Dingbat" Oberta and Paddy Sullivan. Joe was in 
 a tranquil condition of mind for the next few 
 weeks, but panic struck him and the "Dingbat" 
 when they came upon a newspaper story which 
 said that all hoodlums in 
 Chicago were to be submitted 
 to a mental test. If found of 
 unsound mentality, as most 
 assuredly they would be, sug- 
 gested the story, they would 
 be confined for treatment. Joe 
 and the "Dingbat" may not 
 have been afraid of machine 
 guns, pistols, automatics and 
 pineapples, but words like psy- 
 chology, phychiatry, psycho- 
 pathic, were monstrous and 
 inexplicable terrors, and their 
 first quarrel is said to have 
 been precipitated when the 
 "Dingbat," who pretended to 
 be book-learned couldn't rattle 
 off a definition of psycho- 
 paresis. But Little Johnny re- 
 stored himself in his boss's 
 estimation when he hit on the 
 scheme of having their own 
 personal psychiatrist examine 
 them and give them a certifi- 
 
 Prankie Bio, body fuard of the Blp Fellow, 
 Alpbonse Capone. Frankle was arrested in 
 Philadelphia with Al and sentenced to a year's 
 imprisonment in jail for carrying concealed 
 weapons. 
 
 cate of high and normal intelligence. And so, a 
 few days later, Chicago was treated to the spec- 
 tacle of "Pollack" Joe and Johnny "Dingbat" 
 Oberta in the office of the police commissioner 
 proudly waving certificates of mental health. "We 
 won't have to play with no blocks," said Johnny 
 and Joe as they walked away, and then, catching 
 himself, he said, "I mean we won't have to play 
 with any blocks." Safe from confinement in the 
 "bug" house Joe and Johnny and their henchmen 
 now began to look around for Edward "Spike" 
 O'Donnell. Joe hadn't had a shot at "Spike" for 
 many months and the strain was telling on him. 
 Besides rumors were reaching Joe that "Spike" 
 was about to make a great beer offensive and had 
 surrounded himself with a formidable gang of 
 muscle men. One of them, strangely enough was 
 the redoubtable Frankie MacEarlane and his kid 
 brother, Vincent. The underworld gossiped for a 
 long time about the split between Saltis and Frank 
 who had been pals from the very beginning. The 
 truth was that MacEarlane could no longer endure 
 the nasty-nice "Dingbat." As we have seen Mac- 
 Earlane was at heart a bank-robber and, just to 
 keep in practice, used to wander around knocking 
 over a safe here and there. When Saltis was in 
 jail the "Dingbat" tried to clamp down on Frankie, 
 telling him that he would spoil the real dough for 
 all of them if he persisted in the bank-busting 
 tendency. "Aw, hell," responded Frankie, "It 
 takes real brains to hoist a bank. And to hell with 
 this Sunday School outfit. I'll make some real con- 
 nections." The fact that his boss, Saltis, was in 
 jail was proof enough to Frankie that he was in 
 with a wrong bunch of guys. 
 
 Saltis saw no real obstacle from the Sheldon 
 mobsters who. it was then being rumored, were 
 having internal trouble. Sheldon, suffering from 
 tuberculosis aggravated by constant breathing of 
 gun-powder, was ordered by his physician to seek 
 strength in the purer atmosphere of Arizona. He 
 did so, leaving his mob in 
 charge of Danny Stanton, an 
 arrangement which was 
 okeyed by the Big Fellow, Al 
 Capone. Stanton, a former 
 member of the "four horse- 
 men" group of taxi-cab slug- 
 gers which also included John 
 "Mitters" Foley, had for his 
 right hand men, Hugh "Stub- 
 by" JIcGovern and William 
 "Gunner" MePadden, both 
 tough boys de luxe who had 
 been brought up from baby- 
 hood in the famous Ragan 
 Colts gang. At this time Joe 
 Saltis, finding it difficult to 
 buy beer elsewhere and im- 
 possible to manufacture it, 
 made connections with the Big 
 Fellow. King Capone wel- 
 comed Big Joe but told him 
 to behave himself and to stay 
 out of Danny's territory. 
 
 [47]
 
 Not ijassed out, bnt passed on. WllUam "Qnnner" McFadd«n, an ally of Oanny Stanton, was killed In the famous Granada 
 Cafe on the eve of the New Year, 1929, by Oeorge Maloney, killer de luxe for Michael "Babs" Qnlnlan, bonrbon baron. 
 
 As Joe was therefore able to concentrate on 
 "Spike" O'Donnell, while Danny Stanton's mob 
 enjoyed peace and prosperity until another gang, 
 headed by Michael "Bubs" Quinlan and George 
 Maloney, moved up to the beer front, doing a spe- 
 cialty business in Canadian whisky. "Bubs" 
 Quinlan first came to underworld attention as a 
 body guard for Tommy Tuit, notorious South Side 
 gambler, while Maloney, a killer of great capabil- 
 ities, had been in business for himself for many 
 years. He would work for any individual or any 
 organized gang, and his services were always in 
 demand. Maloney carried two revolvers, both of 
 .38 caliber, in leather-lined pockets. Maloney is 
 said to be the first Chicago gunman to saw off the 
 barrels of revolvers of .38 caliber. With the pos- 
 sible exception of Frankie MacEarlane, Maloney 
 was Chicago Gangland's most terrible killer. Ma- 
 loney, unlike MacEarlane, had a touch of dash and 
 romance about him, and already legends have 
 sprung up about his deeds and his strange and 
 paradoxical personality. 
 
 Meanwhile Saltis, wearying of the routine of 
 life on the South Side, was spending more and 
 more of his time in Wisconsin where he had pur- 
 chased a great estate. The "Dingbat" had proven 
 himself a capable lieutenant and Joe came to Chi- 
 
 cago seldom and then only in emergencies. On 
 October 11, 1928, while Joe was in Wisconsin, the 
 first outbreak of gunplay took place between 
 "Dingbat" and the O'Donnell mob. Little Johnny, 
 his body guard, Sammy Malaga, and a member of 
 his mob, George Darrow, were parked near 
 "Spike's" home in an automobile. What saved 
 "Spike's" life on this occasion was the timely 
 arrival of the police. "Spike," jumping out of his 
 car, had tackled Darrow and was holding him 
 when the police squad car came up. Oberta and 
 Malaga took to their heels after firing several 
 shots, and the police arrested both "Spike" and 
 Darrow. Both were charged with disorderly con- 
 duct when it became plain that "Spike" would not 
 charge Darrow with attempted murder. They paid 
 fines and "Spike" climbed onto a soap-box to an- 
 nounce formerly his re-entry into the beer racket, 
 an announcement which came as a staggering sur- 
 prise to most Chicagoans, including the police, 
 who did not know that "Spike" had ever been out 
 of it. And, as a matter of fact, he hadn't. "Yes 
 sir," said Spike, "I'm now in the beer racket. I've 
 got a bunch of blue-eyed Irish boys who won't 
 stand any pushing around either. A lot of guys 
 had better wise up to themselves and lay off"." 
 And with that "Spike" returned to his blue- 
 
 [48]
 
 Hu^h "Stnbby" McGovem, companion of McPadden, was also shot and killed by Maloney during- the New Year's celebra- 
 tion. Maloney was arrested on the spot with a smoking- pistol, but, despite this fact, he was acquitted. Several hundred 
 
 merry-makers were unable to identify Maloney as the killer. 
 
 eyed Irish boys, most of whose names had inci- 
 dentally "ski" appended to them. His companion 
 in jail for disorderly conduct, George Darrow, re- 
 turned to the South Side and met violent death nine 
 days later. Not because he needed the money but 
 because his was an exuberent nature brimming 
 over with vitality and needed expression, George 
 occasionally regaled himself by a "stick-up" or a 
 road-house hold-up and on this occasion he was 
 efficiently shot and killed. Meanwhile the Stanton 
 gang was doing a little shooting with the Quinlan 
 gang which had been prospering via the muscle 
 route into the Stanton preserves, and on October 
 14, 1928, a stray machine gun bullet intended for 
 "Bubs" reached instead his companion, Ralph J. 
 Murphy, a bartender, and Murphy was killed in- 
 stantly. The machine gun was operated by Hugh 
 "Stubby" McGovern, standing in the basement of 
 a house across the street. From that day on Mr. 
 McGovern was a marked man for George Maloney, 
 the boy with the sawed off .38 set out for him. 
 While George was "tailing" McGovern, the atten- 
 tion of the police was directed to a sensational 
 unsuccessful attempt made by Leo Mongoven and 
 Frank Foster, North Side gangster, to shake- 
 down an ex-racketeer, Abe Cooper, who had be- 
 
 come a broker and had gone straight. Abe with- 
 stood the shake-down and was being hustled 
 into an automobile, parked on LaSalle Street in 
 the loop, for a "ride" when, suddenly he whipped 
 out a revolver and began firing. Frankie disap- 
 peared into the crowds, but Leo. seriously wounded, 
 fell to the pavement. The incident stands out as 
 an excellent example of what happens to gang- 
 sters who attempt to quit and become respectable. 
 Cooper was one of the few who was able to enforce 
 his new standing but it took his old trusty "gat" to 
 do it. Quiet in Gangland for a period. On Decem- 
 ber 29 George Maloney, still trailing, "Stubby" 
 McGovern, dropped into the Granada Cafe, a fam- 
 ous South Side night club and, would you believe 
 it, across the room he spied McGovern and William 
 "Gunner" McPadden, making whoopee with the 
 aid of two young women. George figured that he 
 had spent enough time looking for "Stubby" and 
 that he would finish the job now and to hell with 
 the hundreds of merry-makers there assembled. 
 George got to his feet, walked slowly over to Mc- 
 Govern's table and, shooting from his pocket, fin- 
 ished "Stubby" with two bullets. He then directed 
 that famous .38 toward Mr. McPadden and he too, 
 with two bullets in his body, went skidding out 
 
 [49] 
 
 k%.V.V#..'. . ^ l*>'V*'#/j t A K.«-* • r-M • v.mi w ^ >.
 
 ^"^frt". ^^^^/"^''^"^'^^""^ Anselmi. two of Gangland's most sinister tgrxres. Imported to this country by Mike Genna thev 
 Tutlon they aUUd ^hems'e'lve Z\' r"" ''""» '" """^^ ""''= ^"^ *"° policemen were killed, rinllfy rele^ed from prose^ 
 tw^.,.t^h , ^'^^^^l'^^ f^^" Capone. Rumors had it that they dreamed of killing the Big Fellow with the result 
 
 that they themselves were put on the spot. (Lower picture, X marks the Spot where ^hey were found deTd in an a"to* 
 
 mobile on the Indiana State line. 
 
 onto the dance floor, very much a dead man. By 
 this time the noise had attracted the attention of 
 a policeman outside, Officer Timothy Sullivan, who 
 had been detailed to the Granada to look for auto- 
 mobile thieves. Timothy came puffing into the 
 
 cabaret just in time to see Maloney, huddled be- 
 hind an over-turned table, gently depositing his 
 .38 on the floor. Officer Sullivan took possession of 
 both Mr. Maloney and the .38. "It ain't mine," 
 said George, indignantly. "I never saw it before. 
 
 [50]
 
 Peter "Bummy" Goiastein and Ub inseparable companion, Walter Quinlan, came to an end quite in keepingr with their 
 rcti^ties^hi-iackers terrorists, muscle-men and murderers in the famous old Valley District. "Bummy" was efficiently 
 ui^Iled as this Bhotl-raph Aphically chronicles, in a drug store in the Valley which he owned as a blind for his more 
 ^emune^aUve but more dan^r^^s activities. •■Wallie" who was tried and acquitted for the murder of Paddy "The Bear" Ryan 
 bo?s Of thJ old Valley Ganff in pre-Volstead days, finally came to a full stop in a saloon shortly after he and "Bummy 
 had murdered Samuzzo "Samoots" Amatnna, Genna lieutenant, in a barber shop. 
 
 I heard the shooting and jumped behind this table 
 for protection.'" A few days later Mr. Maloney 
 regained his freedom on bonds and, just outside 
 the county jail, met his boss, Michael "Bubs" Quin- 
 lan who shook hands and gave George a fresh .38. 
 all nicely sawed-off and loaded. Now Maloney and 
 "Bubs" 'devoted themselves to a search for other 
 members of the Stanton gang, one of whom was 
 
 the deceased McGovern's tough brother, Michael, 
 who was reported to be living only for revenge. 
 On March 20, 1929, three months later, "Bubs" and 
 Maloney, driving in an automobile, came upon 
 Danny Stanton standing on a corner talking with 
 two friends, Raymond and William Cassidy, not 
 hoodlums. They stood in front of the home of 
 Miss Jewell Webb, Raymond's sweetheart. Well, 
 
 [51]
 
 Johnny "Ding'ljat" O'Berta and his body-g-aard Sammy Malag-a left a roadhouse late one nig-ht with a "friend" sitting- 
 in the rear seat of their limousine. O'Berta g-ot it first in the back of the head. Sammy tried to run away but he was 
 "plug-ged" and his body thrown into a small creek. (Picture on opposite page.) Willie Niemoth is believed to have been the 
 "friend" sitting in the rear seat. Niemoth is now in Baltimore where he was convicted and sentenced for a bank robbery. 
 
 [52]
 
 Sammy Malaga body rnard to Oberta. attempted to get away from tHe killer in the rear seat of their automobUe. He 
 Sammy majag^a. ooay „u ^,^^^ ^^^^ .^ ^^ ^^^ phctographs seem to indicate. 
 
 the shooting began, and Raymond Cassidy fell to 
 the side-walk dead, victim of a bullet intended 
 for Stanton. This dreadful marksmanship gave 
 credence to the belief that Quinlan must have 
 done the shooting, because Maloney had never 
 been known to miss his man. Neither "Bubs" nor 
 Maloney was arrested for this murder, but it in- 
 
 spired voung Michael McGovern to more serious 
 eiforts to avenge his brother's death. How many 
 attempts he made to kill Maloney will never be 
 known, but he made several. One occurred on 
 July 6, 1929, and was partly successful, for, when 
 Alaloney went on trial for the murders of McPad- 
 den and McGovern, he moved about on crutches. He 
 
 C53]
 
 Frankie MacEarlatie, Gangrdom's most ruthless killer. Once 
 
 a member of the Saltis mob, Frankie is now reported hustllner 
 
 beer for "Spike" O'Oonnell. a Saltis enemy. 
 
 was in a greatly weakened condition, but the trial 
 didn't last long. No witnesses could be produced 
 who had seen Maloney and the .38 together, and 
 he was acquitted. Although Maloney li\ed longer, 
 he did not make any more public appearances with 
 his .38, so we will bring his career to a close here. 
 Early in 1929 he was sent to a hospital as the 
 result of an automobile accident, in which he had 
 attempted to knock an interurban train oflt' its 
 track. In the hospital he contracted pneumonia, 
 an enemy which no .38 could beat back no matter 
 how deftly handled, and George Maloney, killer de 
 luxe, died on May 6, 1930, at the age of 38. 
 
 While "Bubs" and Maloney were regaling the 
 South Side with gun-play, William "Klon- 
 dike" O'Donnell was carrying on the West Side 
 tradition for toughness. "Klondike," as we 
 have chronicled, had surrounded himself with 
 men so tough that he frequently saw fit to con- 
 vince tljjem that, while they were tough, he was 
 much tougher, very much tougher. At this period 
 "Klondike" was particularly troubled over the out- 
 side activities of George "Red" Barker, Mike 
 Reilly, George Clifford, Frank "Si" Cawley and 
 Thomas McEUigot. Barker, a slugger for union 
 officials in Chicago labor wars, had served a peni- 
 tentiary sentence for his activities as a fist-slinger 
 and terrorist. On his release he joined the "Klon- 
 dike" mob and found beer-running child's play. With 
 
 plenty of extra time on his hands "Red" conceived 
 the idea of appropriating a few unions for himself, 
 an idea which he disclosed to the other afore- 
 mentioned four, who were enthusiastic. Presently 
 these five very tough boys had ousted the officials 
 of the coal teamsters and hikers union, and were 
 now laying plans for appropriating control of the 
 Mid-West Garage Owners' Association. This in- 
 volved driving out Dave Albian, alias "Cock-eyed 
 Mulligan." It was a hard job but they did it. A 
 certain garage owner decided however that he 
 would not get upon the Barker bandwagon, and 
 one night while "Red" and his playmates were 
 gunning for the recalcitrant one, they shot a gar- 
 age attendant to death and severely wounded a 
 policeman who had interferred. Eventually George 
 went back to the penitentiary, not for the murder 
 and shogting.but for violating his parole by leaving 
 the state. He had fled to California. Well, with 
 "Red" in Joliet, "Klondike" fell into a huddle over 
 the matter and decided that now would be a good 
 time to show "Red" how tough he was. He became 
 determined on this course following the crazy 
 murder on March 15. 1929, of William J. Vercoe 
 by George Clifford. The murder occurred in the 
 Pony Inn, 5613 West Roo.sevelt, scene of the Mc- 
 Swiggin assassination. Vercoe, known as "a clown 
 for the hoodlums," loved to recite blood-and- 
 thunder verse for the amusement of his gang-ster 
 friends. On this occasion, Vercoe, well-plastered, 
 stood at the bar reciting a certain verse in which 
 one line was "You're a coward." When Vercoe 
 came to this he unwittingly pointed to Mr. Clifford, 
 who with Mike Reilly was drinking at the bar, and 
 Mr. Clifford cried out, "who's a coward?" and 
 before Mr. Vercoe could say "I didn't mean you," 
 Mr. Clifford had shot and killed Mr. Vercoe. Well, 
 this was too tough, and on April 14, 1929, Clifford 
 and his bosom pal, Mike Reilly, went on a long, 
 long ride. Their bodies 
 were dumped in the alley 
 behind theHawthorneHotel 
 in Cicero. On May 29, 1929, 
 somebody else beat them to 
 Thomas McElligot. He 
 was killed in the basement 
 of a Loop saloon. On Sep- 
 tember 4, the end came for 
 Mr. Frank "Si" Cawley, 
 who was also taken for a 
 ride. George "Red" Barker, 
 released from the peniten- 
 tiary later on, was a very 
 much convinced man, and 
 he is still believed well and 
 healthy as a devoted "Klon- ^ whoopee jomt aii 
 
 dike" henchman. plastered. 
 
 ! 
 
 1'. 
 
 [541 
 
 .-^■» ■ _ - •••'
 
 ALanJ 
 for ALL 
 
 The authoi's of this pleasant naiTative have 
 introduced you from time to time to their favorite 
 enl men of Gangland — John Scalice and Albe'-t 
 Anselmi who. you will remember, were imported 
 to Chicago from Southern Italy in 1925 by the 
 Imperial Genna brothers. Scalice and Anselmi. 
 grim and mirthless fellows, were a perfect defini- 
 tion of the word sinister. You would have been 
 uncomfortable sitting in the same Yale bowl or 
 Soldiers' Field with them — more uncomfortable 
 than walking down a dark alley at midnight with 
 "Little Hymie" Weiss or Schemer Drucci. On May 
 8, 1929. the sensational long run of the terrible 
 drama called Scalice and Anselmi came to an 
 abrupt end. Pumped full of bullets, burned and 
 beaten, their bodies were found in a lonely stretch 
 of countiw in the bleak Indiana state line district. 
 Scahce and Anselmi with one, John Ginta. a Ca- 
 pone gangster, had been taken for a terrible ride, 
 and one of the stories at the time had it that John 
 and Albert had plotted to over-throw the Big Fel- 
 low himself. A coup was planned. Capone was to 
 be seized at a given signal during a banquet held 
 somewhere in Chicago. You can easily imagine 
 what Scalice and Anselmi planned to do with 
 him. The banquet began. The signal was given. 
 All Capone henchmen ai'ose but. instead of seiz- 
 ing the Big Fellow, they took possession of 
 Scalice and Anselmi. Capone, it is said, did not 
 believe the story of the treachery of these men 
 until, sitting there behind the spaghetti, he wit- 
 nessed the signal. 
 
 Eight days after the long, long ride of Scalice 
 and Anselmi, the Chicago newspapers sizzled with 
 the story of the arrest of Al Capone and his 
 aide-de-camp. Frankie 
 
 Rio. in Philadelphia 
 charged with carrying 
 concealed weapons. The 
 arrests were made by 
 detectives who had met 
 Capone in ^liami where, 
 by this time, he had 
 purchased and improved 
 to suit his own peculiar 
 needs, a vast estate. 
 There was more sizzling 
 when a day or so later, 
 AI and Frank, were 
 consigned to a county 
 jail cell for one year. 
 Along with the tidal 
 wave of economiums on 
 the efficiency of the 
 Philadelphia police and 
 courts, came the inter- 
 esting current of ru- 
 
 Balph Capone, older brother of Al Capone. as he appeared with 
 his attorneys recently during" his trial and conviction for an 
 income tax fraud. Balpb was sentenced to three years in the 
 penitentiary. 
 
 mor that King Capone had placed himself on 
 the spot for the Philadelphians in order that he 
 might have the comfort and security of a jail cell 
 until the Valentine Massacre probe, investigation, 
 "heat" or what have you had gone the way of 
 most Chicago probes and investigations of Gang- 
 land's crimes. Public temperature was so high at 
 this time that Capone did not want to be foot-loose 
 anywhere, and he probably got the idea of going 
 to jail from his old master, Johnny Torrio. But 
 even in prison, whither he was consigned for one 
 year, Capone could not entirely escape from the 
 stench of the \'alentine Massacre. Three months 
 after his conviction the prison authorities began 
 receiving letters from a garrulous and somewhat 
 foolish lady addressed to the Big Fellow. In the 
 course of prison routine these letters were opened 
 and. because of the sensational nature of their 
 contents, sent to State's Attorney John A.Swanson. 
 The letters were written by Mrs. Frank Beige, re- 
 cently wed. Her husband was sometimes described, 
 correctly or incorrectly, as the Big Fellow's per- 
 sonal executioner. Beige may have been expert 
 at handling a machine gun and in putting an 
 enemy on the spot, but he was a terrible dub at 
 handling women, particularly Mrs. Beige. Any 
 way. without his knowledge. ^Irs. Beige, rambled 
 on and on something after the following manner : 
 
 "You know what Frank has done for you. He's got 
 to get out of town pronto for the other mob are wise. 
 His life isn't safe here. So you got to get us $10,000 in 
 cash and do it quick." 
 
 Of course the Big Fellow never saw the letter, 
 a fact which never occurred to the naive Mrs. 
 Beige. When no reply came to this one. she wasted 
 more paper and wrote on the following: 
 
 "I'm asking you for the last time to send that $10,000 
 and get it to us fast. Frank's sick of you leaving him 
 to hold the bag. He can't get out of town without the cash 
 and he can't stay here without being taken for a ride. 
 You kick across or Frank will go to the police and spill 
 what he knows. Remember: everything." 
 
 In thus talking out of turn Mrs. Beige made 
 a great many wild and reckless statements about 
 
 what Frank thought 
 and would do. Frank, 
 as a matter of fact, did 
 not know how little 
 wif ey was trying to help 
 him along. When the 
 Big Fellow failed to kick 
 in the $10,000 she again 
 addressed him: 
 
 "All right. Y'ou're just 
 as good as putting Frank 
 on the spot, by leaving us 
 stranded here. Well, how'U 
 you like getting the finger 
 on yourself? Frank's going 
 to tell everything he knows. 
 He remembers fifteen shoot- 
 ings he did because you 
 ordered him to do them. 
 He's going to tell just who 
 killed McSwiggin for a 
 starter. And he's going to 
 tell about why you had him 
 bump Ben Newmark — be- 
 
 [55]
 
 \ 
 
 Frank' Del Bond, believed to have slain three 
 Capone g-ang-sters In a saloon in the famous Easter 
 Day massacre of 1930. Arrested as a suspect be 
 was indicted largely on the testimony of Chlcaifo's 
 ballistic expert, who said that a pistol found in 
 Del Bond's room was the one which fired the 
 fatal bullets. In this picture Del Bond is belnir 
 questioned by Coroner Herman IT. Bundesen. 
 Iiower photograph shows police looking* at the 
 spot where the bodies were found. 
 
 cause you'd heard that 
 Ben wanted to steal your 
 racket and had put up a 
 cash offer to the man that 
 got you. Yes, and then 
 he's going to tell about 
 your sending him to New- 
 York, along with others to 
 let daylight through 
 Frankie Yale. Of course 
 he's going to sing about 
 that Valentine day affair 
 And how are you going to 
 like that Mr. Al Brown." 
 
 Of course Mrs. 
 Beige was required to 
 come to Mr. Swanson's 
 
 office, where, confronted with these letters, she 
 continued in an even higher crescendo with the 
 result that she was kept in semi-custody by 
 detectives for fear that something might hap- 
 pen to her. Her husband was eventually arrested 
 and held for three days. Strangely enough no 
 lawyers came forward to attempt his release. But 
 Frankie Beige stood up and took it on the chin, 
 which is why, maybe, that he's still a member of 
 Capone's gang. What he said in response to ques- 
 tions was, in effect, that his wifey was just trying 
 to make some easy dough, by shooting off her 
 mouth. Mr. Beige had never met Mr. Capone and 
 Mrs. Beige was crazy when she said that he used 
 to sleep out in the corridor of Capone's room in 
 the Hotel Metropole until relieved by another 
 guard, Louis "Little New York" Campagnia. 
 
 Capone and Frankie Rio did not return to 
 Chicago until March of 1930. During the interval 
 little of importance occurred in the Big Fellow's 
 realm either as regards business or blood-shed. 
 His affairs seemed, indeed, to prosper while those 
 of his enemies, the Aiello-Moran outfit, seemed to 
 be afflicted by an evil fortune. The "Enforcer" 
 of the Big Fellow's business, Frank Nitti and 
 Hymie "Loud Mouth" Levine held forth from 
 headquarters in the Lexington hotel, deciding vdth 
 finality who should be killed, who should be 
 bombed, whose trucks should be hi-jacked. One of 
 
 the more sensational, though unimportant, affrays 
 during the lull was between Tommy McNichols 
 and Jimmy "Bozo" Schupe, small time West Side 
 bootleggers. On July 31 Tommy and Bozo held 
 a duel on Madison street. Tommy standing on one 
 side and Bozo on the other. They killed each other. 
 James Walsh, a beer-runner, was murdered in De- 
 cember by Charles "Babe" Baron after a prize- 
 fight at which Walsh, during an altercation, slapped 
 "Babe" with his fists. Two days later the body of 
 Patrick King, criminal of sorts, was found in the 
 deserted gambling joint owned by Terry O'Connor 
 on South Wabash Avenue. On January 27, 1930, 
 Johnny Genaro, a grade "C" bomber for the Ca- 
 pone outfit, was put on the spot by James Belcas- 
 tro, another Capone bomber, but did not die. John- 
 ny and Belcastro have since made up and are 
 getting along nicely, according to reports. If you 
 hear any loud noises it may be Johnny and Jimmy. 
 On February 3, 1930, Joseph Cada, companion of 
 Jimmy Walsh on the night Walsh was killed, was 
 shot to death in his automobile near the Green 
 Mill Cafe, a famous whoopee joint where inciden- 
 tally, at that time, Texas Guinan was holding 
 forth. The next day Julius Rosenheim, supposedly 
 an informer, was filled with bullets and dumped 
 into a snow bank near his home, and all was quiet 
 until February 24, when Frankie MacEarlane, in 
 a hospital under an assumed name, was be-set by 
 
 [56] 
 
 
 _• •• • •'
 
 Frank Hitchcock, the Barnham bootleg'g'er who tried to operate "on his ovm" was found slain in the rear of the home of 
 Johnny Patton. the "boy mayor" of Bnrnham, and a close friend of Capone. 
 
 three "rats" (as he called them) as he lay in bed, 
 one foot propped high in the air in a cast. Frankie 
 chased them off with a couple of .45's he had man- 
 aged to conceal from the authorities. How did 
 Frankie get his foot all shot up. and how did he 
 get in a hospital for treatment without the shoot- 
 ing getting into the papers. Ti-ue enough the hos- 
 pital authorities reported that they had a patient 
 suffering from an accidental shooting. But, when 
 the police came to look over the patient, they didn't 
 recognize Mr. Frankie MacEarlane. 
 
 "Who tried to kill you?" asked the police after 
 the shooting. Frankie looked at his questioners 
 in great disgust. Instead of answering directly he 
 began a volley of oaths, half to himself. "Can 
 you imagine the rats trying to get me — me. 
 Frank MacEarlane 1" And then, looking toward 
 the police, he added: "You'll find 'em in a ditch 
 some of these days." The assailants of MacEar- 
 lane had climbed a fire-escape to get into his 
 room. While Frankie was in the Bridewell hospi- 
 
 tal, where the police took him on a charge of 
 disorderly conduct, the Gangdom and political 
 circles were startled to read in the morning papers 
 of the passing from this life of Johnny "Dingbat" 
 Oberta, on March 6, just ten days after the at- 
 tempt to kill MacEarlane. Oberta was not found 
 in a ditch, however, although his body guard, 
 Malaga was removed from a water-filled ditch. 
 Willie Niemoth, a member of Saltis mob, at that 
 time sought for complicity in a bank robbery in 
 ^Maryland, was reported to have done the job for 
 MacEarlane. Another suspect. "Big Earl" Her- 
 bert, also a Saltis mobster disgruntled over the 
 authority of the "sneaking nasty-nice Dingbat" 
 was suspected of having done Frankie a good turn. 
 During his questioning Herbert deplored the fact 
 that "Dingbat" insisted on going about in a limou- 
 sine. "He should have got himself a roadster," 
 said Big Karl. "Why so?" asked Commissioner 
 Stege. "Oh, so that his friends couldn't ride behind 
 him," replied Herbert. 
 
 Wslliam Didcman, once a member of the Saltis g'ang- was reg^arded as a traitor becanse he deserted to the Sheldon mob. 
 
 Here's how they punished him. 
 
 [57] 
 
 *»•»•••.#/."."",• A. !'••''•'#'-* * •.^Vk'A'r'^ » u.^^ • w ■ 
 
 /i
 
 What have 
 
 you got on ^ 
 ifiie Chief f 
 
 Alphonse Capone, released from a Philadelphia jail, set Chicago on its ears, when he appeared unheralded in the office of 
 John Stege, Commissioner of Detectives, and blandly Inquired if he was wanted for anything. Capone with his attorney 
 was then escorted to the Federal building- where the same question was put to the United States District Attorney. 
 On the same night Gangdom banqueted the Big Fellow and the slogan was made "All for Al and Al for All." 
 
 L58] 
 
 >J»m 
 
 ^ata
 
 While small armies of 
 newspaper reporters, 
 movie-tone representa- 
 tives and other chron- 
 iclers of the merrie 
 tayles of the day camped 
 outside the prison from 
 which Capone was to be 
 released in March, the 
 Big Fellow contrived 
 with the aid of the prison 
 authorities to slip away 
 unobserved. There was a 
 gi-eat hue and cry all over 
 the land. What had hap- 
 pened to the king of the 
 underworld? Had the 
 gangsters bumped him 
 off — yet? Where was he 
 hiding? Certainly he 
 couldn't remain undis- 
 covered for vei-y long. 
 The Big Fellow was too 
 big. Would he return to 
 Chicago? The authorities 
 hadn't asked him about 
 that Valentine dav affair 
 yet? "He's not in Chi- 
 cago, nor will he be," said 
 Deputy Commissioner of 
 Police John Stege. "I've 
 given orders to arrest 
 him on sight and throw 
 him in the can. If he 
 comes here there won't 
 be a moment's peace for 
 him, and he knows it." Four days pass. 
 
 "Hello, chief, what have you got on me?" well, 
 well, I'll be damned, if it isn't the Big Fellow 
 himself, right here in Chicago, sitting in the office 
 of Mr. Stege. With him were a couple of lawyers, 
 a group of politicians but no visible body guard. 
 After a time the Commissioner permitted the re- 
 porters and photographers to pour in. The Big 
 Fellow sat and smoked a cigar while they plied 
 him with questions, most of which elicited merely 
 a cold look from him. 
 
 Commissioner Stege accompanied Capone to 
 the office of the United States district 
 attorney where the same questions 
 were asked by the Big Fellow, and 
 apparently, received the same re- 
 sponse as from Mr. Stege, for the Big 
 Fellow went free. The reporters tried, 
 but failed apparently to keep up with 
 him, for he disappeared. A few days 
 later it was i-eported that King Ca- 
 pone's return to Chicago had been 
 principally to effect lasting peace in 
 the half-world, and that every mob- 
 ster of importance in the city includ- 
 ing the Moran-Aiello mob, had been 
 represented at a famous banquet and 
 truce, where again pacts were made 
 and agreements effected. Exactly 
 what transpired at this famous meet- 
 
 (Upper photograph) Gangrlacd's most famous widow, Mrs. 
 riorence O'Berta, married the "Dingbat" after the murder 
 of her first husband. Big: Tim Murphy. Now she mourns the 
 passingr of the "Dingbat." (lower) The blonde Alibi of Jack 
 McGurn. Iiooise Rolfe was arrested in a room in the Stevens 
 Hotel with Jack Mc&urn, believed to have operated one of the 
 machine guns which mowed down seven North Side g'ang'sters 
 in the Valentine Day Massacre. 
 
 Restaurant at 2222 South Wabash 
 
 Avenue, once a saloon and brothel 
 
 owned by Alphone Capone. 
 
 ing will never be known 
 unless the Big Fellow can 
 find time enough some 
 day between his Miami 
 court appearances to dic- 
 tate his memoirs. These 
 undoubtedly would make 
 excellent reading and 
 would probably reveal the 
 Big Fellow as much less 
 of an ogre and bugaboo 
 than he is generally re- 
 garded. The Big Fellow- 
 might turn out to be not 
 quite so big, and maybe 
 others you never heard of 
 would gi-ow and grow in- 
 to the craziest propor- 
 tions you could imagine. 
 Certainly the Big Fellow 
 frowns on a big casualty 
 list in the ordinary course 
 of operation, and who 
 can say that at the fam- 
 ous truce and party he 
 did not insist that there 
 be only one or two bomb- 
 ings per week, or one 
 killing per gang every 
 thirty days? Also that 
 these measures be taken 
 when all other less vio- 
 lent ones, had failed? 
 Business is business, 
 whether grocer or boot- 
 legger and King Al is no 
 grocer. At any rate the representatives who 
 attended the Big Fellow's banquet went away 
 with some new ideas in their heads, and a slogan 
 on their lips, ALL FOR AL, AND AL FOR ALL. 
 Within a few days the Big Fellow had disappeared 
 again to turn up finally in his palatial home in 
 Miami, Florida, where he has remained to this 
 writing. Much of his time is spent resisting the 
 authorities in their indefatigible attempts to bring 
 about his retirement from the community. 
 
 For months Gangland was more quiet than it 
 had ever been and then, over on the North Side 
 came rumors of dissention in the 
 Moran ranks. Teddy Newberry, first 
 lieutenant of Moran in charge of the 
 bourbon brigade, became embroiled in 
 a squabble over profits. Teddy com- 
 plained that he wasn't being "cut" in 
 according to his deserts, and "Bugs" 
 was unable to effect a settlement. 
 One fine summer day Teddy told 
 Moran to go to hell, and a few days 
 later Teddy discovered an attempt 
 was being made to kill him in his 
 apartment on Pine Grove on the 
 North Side. A few days later Benny 
 Bennett a tough boy just out of New 
 York received a telephone call, sup- 
 posedly from a spokesman for "Bugs" 
 to meet him at a certain place, and 
 
 \ 
 
 [59] 
 
 »^\».*.*»^.*."«~^ ^'I'aV/l * •-^V«'«'^'^ * •-V^ • • »#.t •-»' » 

 
 Benny hasn't been seen or 
 heard from since the tele- 
 phone rang. On November 17, 
 the body of Johnny "Billiken" 
 Rito, a Newberry bourbon 
 hustler, who had formerly 
 -v.'orked for the Gennas, was 
 found floating down the Chi- 
 cago river. The manner in 
 which "Billiken" had been dis- 
 posed of was unusually horri- 
 ble, for he had been thor- 
 oughly chopped up and the 
 pieces bound together with 
 hay-wire. TheNdisappearance 
 of Bennett together with the 
 later absence of anot~l}er New- 
 berry aid, Harry Higgilis who 
 hailed from St. Paul, gave 
 credence to the grim rumor 
 that Gangland killers, seeking 
 to destroy the corpus delicti, 
 had established a crematory 
 somewhere on the Near North 
 Side where business competi- 
 tors and disgruntled gang- 
 sters were incinerated into 
 the ashes of oblivion. Ah, a 
 new spirit in Gangland ! Who 
 said that killers have no imagination? \At this 
 writing New York friends of Benny BenAett are 
 running around town with long faces offering re- 
 wards for word of their missing playmate who 
 would come out west. Newberry eventually 
 stepped into the Capone inner circles, taking with 
 him Signor Frank Citro, he of the motionless 
 eyes and expressionless face, better known as 
 Frankie Foster. "AJl we ever got from 'Bugs' 
 was a reputation," explained Teddy and Frankie. 
 Well, the war was on again. Moran and the 
 Aiellos pressed northward into the great road- 
 house and summer resort area in the Northwest 
 suburbs. 
 
 The first shot in the new war, noW going, was 
 fired on May 31, and the victim, Peter Plescia, an 
 Aiello organizer and collector, fell dead in the 
 mouth of an alley. On May 31, PhiUip Gnolfo, 
 former Genna killer had been a pall-bearer at 
 Angelo's funeral, was slain in his automobile. A 
 few hours later on the same day two more Aiello 
 boys bit the bricks — Samuel Monistero and Joseph 
 Ferrari. On June 1 came deadly reprisals in the 
 sensational Fox Lake Massacre. Four men and a 
 woman, Mrs. Vivian Ponic McGinnis, wife of an 
 attorney, sat around a table in a roadhouse. Sud- 
 denly one of the men, turning his head saw a ma- 
 chine gun pointed towards him. He got up and be- 
 gan running. The rattle of the machine gun began 
 and he went down, as did two of his companions. 
 The woman was seriously wounded. One of the 
 victims was Sam Pellar, who, you will remember 
 used to work as a chauffeur and handy man for 
 "Little Hymie" Weiss and was walking across the 
 street with his boss on the famous day that "Little 
 Hymie" fell before machine gun fire. Joseph 
 Bertsche, brother of Barney Bertsche, was another 
 
 Willie Niemoth and Frankie MacEarlane may 
 have been important cogrs in Joe Saltia' beer ma- 
 chine but they were bank robbers under the skin. 
 Niemoth was seized In Chlcagro recently and hur- 
 ried under heavy g^ard to Baltimore, Maryland, 
 where he was convicted in short order of com- 
 plicity in a pay roll robbery three years ag'o. 
 Niemoth is believed to have slain Johnnie "Ding'- 
 bat" Oberta as a personal favor for McEarlane. 
 
 victim as was Michael Quirk. 
 George Druggan, brother of 
 the famous Terry Druggan 
 was terribly wounded and he 
 is at this writing in a hospital 
 fighting for his life. A few 
 hours later in Chicago Thomas 
 Somnerio, Capone leader, was 
 strangled to death and his 
 body flung in an alley on the 
 West Side. One of the mourn- 
 ers for Mr. Somnerio was a 
 Gangland Queen, Margaret 
 Mary Collins, who had been 
 the sweetie for five other 
 gangsters, all departed. Some- 
 body put Somnerio on the 
 spot, and it was said that a 
 woman had done it. More hor- 
 ror was produced by Gangland 
 four days later when a river 
 tug churned up the hay-wired 
 body of Eugene "Red" Mc- 
 Laughlin. Aloysius Kearney, 
 hard-boiled gangster doing a 
 specialty business in labor 
 racketeering, became the cause 
 of another murder mystery 
 V when his bullet-ridden body 
 
 \,was discovered on the morning of June 9. 
 
 Kearney had been a friend of "Red" McLaugh- 
 lin and an unsucce.ssful eff"ort was made to find a 
 connection between the murders. From bills in 
 his pocket it was disclosed that he was a collector 
 for the National Garage Owners' Association. It 
 was this association which, a few weeks before, 
 had inspired criticism from the then Commissioner 
 of Police, William Russell and Col. Robert Isham 
 Randolph, president of the Chicago Association 
 of Commerce, for waging a campaign to have all 
 automobiles found parked at night without lights 
 towed into garages. The cost would be $5.00 to 
 the car owners — a pleasant racket which, strangely 
 enough, didn't go over. Samuel Maltz, president 
 of the association, questioned by police said: 
 "I'm strictly a business man. There is no racket- 
 eering or hoodlumism connected with my organi- 
 zation. I didn't know Kearney very well. He had 
 worked for me only for a week. I was paying 
 him $40 a week to collect bills. Don't give me 
 any hoodlum talk. I'm a business man and don't 
 go for that." It was becoming warmer and warmer 
 in Chicago's loop at this time for those gentlemen 
 of the gat. Jail sentences instead of the customary 
 fines were being handed out. As a result of this, 
 hoodlums hit upon a practice of parking their auto- 
 matics in cigar stores, speakeasies and other places 
 just outside the loop while transacting business. 
 
 Wbat the no loop parkins' law means to g-angfsters. 
 
 [60] 
 
 
 ■ •^••.•»».- • - - »*-*-^'» • • '^ '• < 
 
 ••^«
 
 Udk 
 
 e 
 
 LINdLE 
 
 The elimination of Racketeer Aloysius Kearney 
 on the morning of June 9 was hot stuff and it 
 sizzlea on the front pages of all the newspapers 
 up until 1 o'clock — the hour when Alfred (Jake) 
 Linglej, Big Shot police reporter for the Chicago 
 Tribune, was assassinated in the midst of a 
 crowd in a subway station, just off Michigan 
 Boulevard. 
 
 After this Racketeer Aloysius Kearney's de- 
 mise ivas relegated to the inside pages or even 
 kickec out of the papers altogether. Compared to 
 the murder of a newspaper reporter, the murder 
 of a r4cketeer was absolutely insigpificant. Are not 
 rackelJeers knocked off every day in Chicago? Now 
 who h id eyer heard of a newspaper reporter being 
 put oil the spot ? 
 
 Well here it was at last. City editors all over 
 the land looked at the flashes and tOld themselves 
 that Gkngland had at last stepped over the dead- 
 line. Tpe underworld at last had tried to intimi- 
 date the upperworld ! What would those cynics 
 say now — those cynics who were always coolly 
 pointing out that gangsters never killed any ex- 
 cept gangsters? The murder of Reporter Jake 
 Lingle, thoiight the city editors, would surely in- 
 spire Chicago now ! 
 
 Well, i there you are. It seemed obvious — as 
 obvious as a bill-board that debonair Jake Lingle 
 was murdered for only one reason — that he was a 
 newspapei I reporter full of the low-down. It 
 seemed to'i/a tearful and sympathetic public that 
 Jake Lingle was just another ordinary news hound. 
 A good news hound of course, a first class one, 
 but still just an ordinary police reporter — one of 
 those seedy-looking chaps who plays cards up 
 in the press room, and comes down to work every 
 day with the ancient query — "What's doing 
 chief?" 
 
 And so, with determination in their hearts to 
 call this terrible threat from Gangland, they 
 buried Jake Lingle — the martyr. It was a marvel- 
 ous funeral. It was greater than the defiant 
 funeral the underworld had thrown for amaz- 
 ing Dion O'Banion. It was greater than the laying 
 away of "Little Hymie" Weiss or Schemer Drucci 
 or Mike Genna or "Dingbat" Oberta. It was greater 
 in every way, but it was greater most of all be- 
 cause it was a funeral on which the church did not 
 turn thumbs down. In that one respect Gangland 
 was terribly eclipsed. Jake Lingle, the reporter 
 was buried by the Church. Gangland could not 
 ignore that. 
 
 The funeral was held on June 12 from the home 
 of the "martyred reporter," at 125 North Austin 
 
 "UNorpiciAi. CHIEF OP FOi-ici: op Chicago?" — This is 
 
 the way Alfred (Jake) Jiingle, reporter for the Chicago Tribune 
 for eigrhteen years, has been described since his assassination 
 on June 9 in a subway just off Randolph Street and Michigan 
 Avenue. An investigation now under way may determine 
 whether this sinister charge is true or not. 
 
 Avenue. One newspaperman who went there to 
 weep as well as to write said that it was more 
 befitting a field marshal than a modest newspaper 
 man. Jake lay in a silver-bronze casket — better 
 than the caskets in which Frankie Yale and Schemer 
 Drucci had reposed. It was flanked by floral crosses 
 and lighted candles and draped with an American 
 Flag. Flowers ! Flowers ! They were everywhere ! 
 Jake would have liked that, for he loved flowers 
 and when he lived always had them in his lapel 
 and in his rooms. A police reporter who loved 
 flowers ! 
 
 But the most impressive touch of all — a touch 
 which had never graced the funeral of an under- 
 world king — was the long, long procession of 
 policemen which marched in the funeral. There 
 were cops everywhere, everywhere. They rode on 
 horses, they marched solemnly in line, white- 
 gloved, swinging their sticks. And behind them 
 in beautiful symmetry came representatives from 
 the fire department. Behind the fire department 
 came the bands ! What racketeer in heaven or in 
 hell could boast that a band had marched behind 
 his mortal remains? But Jake had four Great 
 Lakes Naval bands and three bands from as many 
 posts of the American Legion. And Jake, the 
 reporter who had been murdered by Gangland, 
 also had a military escort. 
 
 [61] 
 
 .A'
 
 PUT ON THE SPOT— Alfred (Jake) Linffle, Tribune reporter, was shot down in a subway, just off Randolph Street and 
 Michigan Boulevard at 1 o'clock in the afternoon as he, with a blDnd yoath, were hurried along with a crowd towards a 
 train bound for the races at Washington Park. The "blond" youth stepped back a few ^ces, whipped 
 
 volver, shot Jake in the head, killing him instantly. 
 
 out a snub-nosed re- 
 
 r62] 
 
 iiniir r
 
 tSu&iTJ 
 
 The terrible truth that the bloody hand of Gang- 
 land had struck below the belt this time came 
 upon those who saw the two beautiful little chil- 
 dren of Jake Lingle as they tried to play in the 
 sunshine on the front lawn. Big Shots from the 
 upperworld came to pay respects to Jake — Ai-thur 
 W. Cutten, the stock broker who could lose 15 
 million in a day, and Oscar E. Carlstrom, the 
 attorney general, and Samuel A. Ettelson, the 
 corporation counsel, who was said to be the power 
 behind the throne in Chicago municipal affairs, 
 KBd a small army of the toilers from the staff 
 of the Tribune where Jake had worked for eighteen 
 years. William Russell, commissioner of police, 
 headed the pallbearers. Jimmy Murphy, veteran 
 reporter, lifted his hands to the casket as it was 
 borne out of the flower-filled room, as did Eddie 
 Johnson the ace "photog" for the Tribune. The 
 long funeral cortege formed at Garfield Park and 
 Central Park Avenue and moved impressively 
 down Jackson Boulevard to Our Lady of Sorrows 
 church. Pageantry of flags. Muffled drums I Ah 1 
 Let Gangland see this and tremble! The casket 
 bearing Reporter Jake Lingle was lifted from the 
 hearse and borne into the church. Attention! The 
 etachment of Illinois naval reserves led by Capt. 
 Edward Evers and Lieutenant Commander Elmer 
 Carlson stiffened ! So did the Legion units, the 
 Peoples Gas, Commonwealth Edison, Board of 
 Ti-ade and Medill-Tribune posts, each in brilliant 
 uniform. The Very Rev. Jerome Mulhorn, a close 
 friend of this reporter whose friendships were end- 
 less celebrated the requiem high mass, and when 
 the services were over the military escort again 
 formed. Led by the mounted police the escort 
 marched again down Jackson Boulevard to Garfield 
 Park to disband. The funeral cortege proceeded 
 on the Mount Carmel, where the sailor 
 lads, standing at the grave of Jake 
 Lingle. tlie reporter, fired a salute. A 
 naval bugler sounded taps, and that 
 as the burial of Jake Lingle — re- 
 porter. 
 
 Reporter? Yes. indeed a reporter, 
 but what else? The clods of freshly 
 turned earth on Jake Lingle's grave 
 had scarcely dried and crumbled to 
 dust when Jake Lingle, the reporter, 
 scrutinized on page one, began to turn 
 into Jake Lingle, racketeer. Tragicafly 
 enough, it became increasingly appar- 
 ent that suave Jake Lingle, for eigh- 
 teen years a reporter in the shadowy 
 realm of Gangland, had himself been 
 touched by the shadows. 
 
 That "martyr" funeral had been 
 held too soon — three days too sopt. 
 ,t soon became apparent as the findVi- 
 al affairs of the sixty-five dollai' a 
 week police reporter were spread out 
 under the big headlines that Jake 
 Lingle's funeral belonged to Gangland. 
 
 f 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! The better element thig^-time had 
 given a racketeer a funeral — and the swellest of 
 them all! 
 
 It seemed incredible and yet the facts elo- 
 (luently told that it was true. In less than three 
 years the sixty-five-dollar reporter — a salary com- 
 mensurate with his ability, his newspaper said — 
 had deposited to his personal account approxi- 
 mately $60,000. An appalled and fascinated pubUc 
 — fascinated because it was felt that now the 
 mystery of Gangland was about to be dispelled — 
 saw, under those headlines, the amazing story 
 of the murdered reporter's frenzied stock market 
 speculations — how, in 1929, he had run up a paper 
 profit of $85,000. His stock market flights with 
 his friend, the police commissioner, Wifliam F. 
 Russell ! . . . The diamond belt — a gift from A] 
 Capone. Could it be true that he had been a friend 
 of the Big Fellow? Well, well, well! Now there 
 was the time during the McSwiggin case when 
 they had the Big Boy in custody over there in 
 the state's attorney's office, and the Big Boy would 
 take no food — except what Jake Lingle went out 
 and got for him. Of course he was a friend of 
 Capone. 
 
 A great moral outcry ! Imagine a newspaper 
 man, working for a nominal salary, on assignments 
 necessitating association day after day, week after 
 week, year after year, with men whose pockets 
 were stuffed with money, who could betray his 
 newspaper, who could fall before temptation. Oh, 
 well, the moralists have it ! 
 
 As an aftermath of this discovery that 
 
 JAKE I.INCI1I: BURIED WITH MILITARY HOKORS. The funeral of 
 "Jake" Iiing^le, Chlcagro Tribune reporter, slain by Gangsters, was one of 
 the most impressive ever held in Chicagro. One newspaper described it as 
 be&ttingr a Field Marshal. Iiingrle was buried a martyr. Since the funeral 
 an Investiifation has disclosed that he was murdered, not because he 
 was a reporter, but in spite of It. 
 
 [sa] 
 
 ■1 
 
 7*»'*!*A ^♦A^^/.V-'Vi'.'WV/. « kX'fcV/'v* iAV»'«VV».*A*>«-' /.«»«%» » - 

 
 Jake Lingle, reporter also was 
 Jake Lingle racketeer, and, 
 to borrow a phrase, the un- 
 official chief of police of Chi- 
 cago," the Commissioner of 
 Police, William Russell re- 
 signed his job. So did Deputy 
 Commissioner of Detectives, 
 John Stege. the brave and 
 dauntless fellow who had 
 slapped Louie (State and Mad- 
 ison Street) Alterie in the 
 face. The righteous demanded 
 that they resign. A new com- 
 missioner. Captain John Al- 
 cock was appointed. Mayor 
 Thompson told him to run the 
 crooks and the gangsters out 
 of town, and he began by 
 raising hell with the police de- 
 partment. Another shakeup 
 Deputy Commissioner Norton, ably assisted. 
 States Attorney John A. Swanson commissioned 
 Pat Roche, famous federal investigator, to solve 
 the Lingle murder. 
 
 The investigation looked good in its early 
 stages but later developments indicated rather 
 plainly that some of the many resolutions which 
 many organizations had passed concerning Jake's 
 high moral character were rather premature. 
 
 It was found that the .snub-nosed .38, with 
 which the racketeering reporter had been assassi- 
 nated, had been purchased months before by our 
 old acquaintances, Frankie Foster and Teddy New- 
 berry, the disgruntled Moran henchmen who had 
 deserted to enlist under the banner of the Big 
 Fellow. 
 
 Foster was apprehended in Los Angeles, 
 whither he had fled two days after the murder 
 with a naive e.xplanation '.'This town's too hot for 
 me." During the investigation Jack Zuta, the 
 Moran lieutenant, was taken into custody and 
 questioned at the detective bureau. When his in- 
 quisitors were done with him, he strolled up to 
 Lieutenant George Barker, who had arrested him, 
 and said, "They'll kill me before I can get to 
 Madison Street. You brought me here, now take 
 me back." 
 
 a great 
 
 Alphonse Capone. the BigT Fellow of Qangrland 
 taklngr It easy in Florida where he has 
 estate. 
 
 His subordinate 
 
 "Oh, I'll take you as fm^ 
 Madison," said Barker, and 
 they started — Zuta in the rear 
 seat accompanied by Solly 
 Vision, with Albert Bratz in 
 the front seat. 
 
 Zuta had good grounds for 
 his fears. Bullets soon started 
 to fly about brilliantly lighted 
 State Street, a street-car mo- 
 torman was killed, an innocent 
 bystander wounded, but Mr. 
 Zuta slipped away unhurt, as 
 did the attacking automobile 
 with the aid of a smoke screen. 
 
 Jack Zuta was, however, 
 living on borrowed time, and on 
 August 1st he was shot to death 
 where he had been hiding since the State Street 
 episode at a resort hotel on upper Nemahbin lake, 
 near Waukesha. His lieutenant, Solly Vision, has 
 not been seen or heard from, and it is rumored 
 that he also has been .slain. Papers taken from 
 Zuta's clothing indicated that boozedom's profits 
 are stijl good as indicated on a balance sheet of 
 July 23. 1930, which showed a profit of $35,225.00. 
 Albert Bratz, in who.se home Zuta had been hiding 
 and who.se automobile Zuta had been using, has 
 abo disappeared. Zuta's connection with t 
 Lingle slaying i.s still a mystery as far as the publ 
 IS concerned. Chicago police intimate that Zuta's 
 death might have been due to the Capone gangs 
 intention of taking control of the north side booze 
 territory of the Moran gang and some significance 
 was attached to the recent return of Alphonse 
 Capone to Chicago. 
 
 "Who Killed Jake Lingle and Why?" is as 
 big a mystery as ever. Maybe it will eventually 
 take its place up there with the other Big Question, 
 "Who Killed McSwiggin and Why?" 
 
 ERKiTUJI: Since the printing of the Chapter on 
 McSwiggjn, the authors have learned that Harry Madigas 
 former twner of the saloon in front of which William 
 McSwiggin was killed, has been incorrectly quoted on page 
 28 regarding his relations with Al Capone. 
 
 n 
 
 .-.■••"-.•
 
 "NOW I'LL TELL ABOUT IT" 
 
 By HAL ANDREWS 
 
 Author of'X MARKS THE SPOT" 
 
 (FOR SALE AF^ltR JUNE 1. -933) 
 
 ^^Hl '*T."'* *"' '"'"'" •' "^ ^'^''s The Spot" put his name on 
 ■•fcook? There *er« reasons, many of them. Now, three jears after 
 i^ aopsarance. the auioor. re.aaung his identity, tails wn,. Mia storv 
 •«» kis world -ramoii$ book in humari interest. How »«, .'i rocaived bv 
 I iwbl.c, the refornoers. the critic;,, ,„ F.ar,,--. in -..y:2nU io A^.,' 
 mc,,i a gangster learn hia kter.ri.T?' These an^ evw* i<u«s<;a„ - 
 WMci yourself are artswerej in "ivow io Ts.'i About it" In' an' 
 to coMect the narr.es ari^ addr* ■. .3, ,,.^^ ,,,^ ,„., ., ^ . 
 
 The Spot," tne pubU.hers olfe. ,.,^,«, ^,„^, g^„^ ^^^ 
 
 name, address and 10 cents. < .^jf; ,,^^3 (^5 ,4^ 
 
 prepaid ail iorbi^n cowntriei) < , ' ^ ^-"'v' 
 
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