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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." 




Copyright 193u by The Sput Publishing (. onipati>- 
Printed in U.S.A. 


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. 

- - -" 




(apon e s 



"... 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. 

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" 


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 

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. 



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 


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 

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- 

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. 


"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. 




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 

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 

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 

Johnny and Al charged fifty 
dollars a barrel for beer and 
protection, the latter item being 
most important because no 


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. 


Maxwell Street Station. 

Detective Headquarters Old Criminal Court Building The New Criminal Court Building. 

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 

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. 


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 

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. 



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 

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. 


$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. 


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 

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. 


Bid 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. 






\s\o\s dnd 


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. 


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 
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 


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. 


"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. 




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. 


The Ship 

Mr. Snffey'8 Thirst Clinic Cicero Inn 


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. 




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 


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 


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. 


THEME ford 


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 

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 

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 

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. 





"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. 


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. 



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. 


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. 




"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. 


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. 




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. 




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. 


>%.«.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 

"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 


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. 





.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 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- 


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 

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. 




, forgottei 

/'a II @ ti It i iTi €> 


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' 



wedrf me 


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 



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. 


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 


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 

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." 


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 

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. 




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. 


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. 


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. 




Fasqnalino Iiolardo, BuccesBOT to Tony Iiombardo, as he was found In hlB apartment after entertaining- three 

Note the Bourbon and the wine. 


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. 



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 

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. 


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. 


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. 


•J u d1] „ [ji 




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. 


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- 


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 

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. 


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- 


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 


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. 


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, 


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. 


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 


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. 




.-^■» ■ _ - •••' 

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 

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- 



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 


_• •• • •' 

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. 


*»•»•••.#/."."",• A. !'••''•'#'-* * •.^Vk'A'r'^ » u.^^ • w ■ 


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." 




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 



»^\».*.*»^.*."«~^ ^'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 

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. 


■ •^••.•»».- • - - »*-*-^'» • • '^ '• < 





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 

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 

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. 



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- 


iiniir r 


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- 

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. 


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 

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" 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. 



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 

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 

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 home Zuta had been hiding 
and 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. 





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;,, ,„,,--. 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 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' 

WALTESe r'ueuu- 

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