Showing posts with label St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Show all posts

15 February 2020

"A Killing in Capone's Playground: The True Story of the Hunt for the Most Dangerous Man Alive" Foreword

St. Joseph Police Officer Charles Skelly, 1929

“Merry Christmas, Officer Skelly,” bellowed Santa Claus, the treasured character aptly portrayed by a local merchant. It was a Saturday evening, December 14, 1929, in downtown St. Joseph, Michigan. Police officer Charles Skelly smiled and waved at the well-padded jolly man in red. It was just above freezing and clouds hid the fiery sun sinking into Lake Michigan. Officer Skelly had bundled up in his duty coat to stave off the elements. Southwesterly winds blew in from Chicago, much different from the “pea soup” treachery of the previous two days. Dealing with the elements was part of Skelly’s job. Most recently, the elements were in the form of fire and water, since he had been serving as the assistant chief of the St. Joseph Fire Department during the last year. Deep down he was a boy in blue, so when the opportunity arose in June, Skelly stepped off the fire engine and onto a motorcycle. That winter night, though, he was on foot, walking his beat, passing by garland-decorated lampposts and shoppers struggling to carry bulky packages.

Christmas was on the minds of everyone, and maybe a few other things, too. That night was the opening of the Class D high school basketball season for Benton Harbor’s St. John’s Irish who faced the Gaels of the Berrien County community of Galien. Those seeking to cozy up at home could listen to WGN Radio’s “Radio Floorwalker” at 8:00 p.m. News around the state showed that liquor law violations were down, and Detroit’s new police radios were proving to be highly successful in the fight against crime.2 Nationally, the U.S. Senate was about to pass a 1 percent income tax cut resolution, and the date marked the 130th anniversary of George Washington’s death. There was so much to celebrate and be grateful for. It was Christmastime and almost the end of a decade.

Among the crowds on the streets and sidewalks were people familiar to the young officer. Fred and Leona Ludwig noticed Officer Skelly when they exited one of the downtown stores. Mingling for a moment, the three continued walking for the distance of a pleasant conversation and then went their separate ways, offering a wave to each other as they did. At 25-yearsold and still a bachelor, the ruggedly fetching Charles Skelly worked 12-hour shifts, sometimes seven days a week, which made romance difficult. Bevies of beauties were always within sight around a man in uniform, yet Skelly had become aware of a special girl, Mildred Thar, a 20-year-old brunette with a smile that could make any male “dizzy with a dame.” Mildred shared an apartment with her sisters, Belle, Caroline, and Gladys, at 607 Broad Street in the Freund Building, across from the police and fire station. Skelly could not help gazing at Mildred any time she was around. The attraction must have been mutual because the two began a courtship. Mildred worked at the Williams Box Factory just a few blocks away and looked forward to running into her handsome boy in blue. On that busy night, he walked his beat, the ashy flame from his cigarette visible as he took sight of others walking hand in hand. He may have  thought about the day when he would marry…maybe Mildred.

The atmosphere of downtown St. Joseph was magical that night. A Christmas tree adorned the corner of State and Pleasant Streets where Santa Claus hollered his greetings. Storefronts displayed the latest fashions to entice the ever so tempted consumer. Men in overcoats and fedoras noticed a group of young women who were pointing out the newest lingerie that you “step into.” Who could resist the “silken wisps of loveliness,” as Gilmore Brothers described their stockings? They cost $2 a pair.

By 7:00 p.m., darkness covered the city, but flickers of candlelight and sidewalk lamps lit up the streets. The whistling wind wafting around lampposts created dust swirls on the sidewalks and ripples over the wool-adorned shoppers. A jettisoned piece of velvet ribbon floated to the ground and curled, as if seeking a package to adorn. The dull roar of Lake Michigan only two blocks away grumbled like a machine, dark and ominous. Officer Skelly kept watch, like the lighthouse stationed at the end of the pier to keep all who enter the harbor safe. He lifted a cigarette to his lips and inhaled, the bright amber glow reflected in the store window on the corner where he stood, just as the lighthouse beacon illuminated the harbor. Skelly heard the giggles of several young boys and girls approaching. He pointed out Santa Claus, much to their delight and his own.

As the clock hands pointed to 25 minutes past seven, the sudden blaring of a car horn drowned out the distant sounds of sleigh bells. Skelly turned toward the sound and saw a man driving a Chevy Coach, hailing his assistance.The vehicle pulled up along the southeast corner of State and Broad Streets where Skelly had been walking his beat. Listening to the excited story of the driver, Skelly had no idea he had just stepped into a role in a Shakespearian tragedy about to unfold.

Skelly approached the car and leaned in to the driver, who rambled the numbers six, five, seven, one, zero, six. While reaching for his notepad, Skelly interrupted, “Sir, please calm down and start at the beginning.” The man explained that they had been involved in a fender bender on U.S. Highway 12 back by Cleveland Avenue and said the man driving the car that hit them was very drunk. Taking notes, Skelly interrupted once again to ask some basic questions. The driver finally identified himself and the occupants of the car, apologizing for being flustered.

“I’m Forrest Kool from Buchanan and this here’s my wife, Laverne, with our three-month-old daughter, Joyce,” he said, while gesturing in the direction of each person. “In back is my mother-in-law, Hattie Carlson, and brother-in-law, Harold.”

Skelly took note that Harold was only about 10 years old. He nodded and then asked Kool to tell him what happened.

The 22-year-old Kool explained that they had been Christmas shopping and were on their way home to rural Weesaw Township, driving south on U.S. Highway 12, when he noticed a Hudson coupe driving toward them in the same lane, near the intersection of Cleveland Avenue. Seeing that the oncoming vehicle was not moving back into its own lane, Kool abruptly swerved his Chevy off onto the shoulder but still took a direct impact in the side rear fender, jarring his passengers. After making sure everyone was safe, he turned around to see the Hudson slow and pull over about a quarter mile down the road behind them. Kool managed to pull his car, which was no longer drivable, into the driveway of the home belonging to Dr. Charles W. Merritt. Kool got out of the car and waved down a couple in a passing Chevy, who he figured had seen the accident. The driver pulled over and introduced himself as Edward Rupp of Union Pier. Kool hopped onto the running board of Rupp’s Chevy and they drove the short distance to the Hudson, which had come to a stop near the St. Joseph Auto Camp, across from LaSalle Street.

Rupp pulled in front of the Hudson and Kool stepped off the running board. The Hudson appeared to be new, and Kool took note that it had an orange Indiana license plate, number 657-106. The car had slight scuffing and a small dent in the front quarter-panel, where it had hit Kool’s fender. He walked up to the driver’s side, boldly opened the door, and confronted the man sitting inside, “What do you mean by running into me like that?”

“Hit your car?” the man slurred, looking puzzled. Kool realized the driver was clearly intoxicated. “Well, why don’t you drive it over here so I can look at the damage,” he mumbled.

“Well, the fender is bent in against the tire so I can’t drive it,” Kool explained. “Why don’t you come with me and see for yourself?”

The intoxicated driver attempted to get out of his car but hesitated for a moment as if getting his bearings. It was then that he apparently noticed Rupp standing next to Kool. This seemed to make him nervous because once again he asked Kool, “Why don’t you drive yer car over?” apparently forgetting that he had already suggested that.

Not interested in dealing with the intoxicated man, Rupp drove away. The man seemed quite relieved. Just then, another car slowed down and stopped. The driver, William Lohraff of Berrien Springs, asked if they needed any help. Kool waved him off, and Lohraff continued on his way.

The intoxicated man managed to struggle to his feet. He took a few steps, stopped, and turned to look at his car for a moment, but then joined Kool, who was walking south toward his Chevy, where his family still sat. The intoxicated man seemed to stagger more than walk the quarter-mile distance. Kool took note that he wore a cap, light buff-colored sweater, and dark pants, but no coat. His face was rosy from inebriation and he reeked of alcohol. He was all of 200 pounds, tall, with a small dark mustache and manicured nails; he was well groomed but missing a front tooth. Kool thought the man acted polite, but noticed that he talked somewhat brokenly. Kool wondered if he was from another part of the country, but considered that perhaps the missing tooth was the cause.

The man then said, “You know, I was on my way to pick up my wife at the train station.”

Trying to avoid being downwind of the foul-smelling man, Kool showed him where he had swerved and finally where the car ended up. Laverne and her mother peered through the car windows at the tall stranger. Their piercing shouts penetrated the windows, even when rolled up. Worried that they were agitating the man, Kool quickly interrupted, “Shut up. I’ve got this under control.”

Looking puzzled, both women complied. The man glanced at the women as he tried to keep his balance but hardly reacted to them. He let out a belch and rocked back on his heels.

Both men looked over the damage. Kool asked the man if he would help pull out the fender so he could drive home. With a few tugs, they managed to wrench the fender from the tire.

“You know, there’s a repair shop up the road,” the intoxicated man managed to say. “I’ll show you where. Follow me.”

Kool sighed, knowing that a repair shop would be closed on a Saturday night. “Look,” he replied, “I’ll have to get a new fender and probably a new tire, so I’ll settle for $25.”

Calling him to the side of the road near some trees, the intoxicated man reached into his pocket and pulled out a large roll of bills. He thumbed through them, telling Kool, “Sorry, but I don’t have ‘nuff small bills to make change.”

Frustrated, Kool backed away from him. “If you’re not interested in settling this, it really doesn’t matter. Either way, you are not fit to drive in your condition and I am going to have to report this to the police.”

“Do whatever you have to do,” the man unsympathetically replied as he put the roll of bills back in his pocket.

Being a proper gentleman, Kool offered the other driver a ride on the running board, back to his Hudson, so that they could make their way to the police station. However, it became clear that the man was too drunk to manage that, so Kool was satisfied that he chose to walk. Kool turned his Chevy around, drove ahead of the Hudson, and waited. Once the intoxicated man reached his car, Kool watched as he fell into the driver’s seat and—remarkably—was able to start up the vehicle and pull forward. Driving by the St. Joseph Auto Camp, he blew the horn, and then passed Kool’s Chevy. Then he blew his horn again, apparently signaling Kool to pass. Kool pulled around him and turned onto State Street in hopes of finding a police officer, but the intoxicated man in the Hudson kept blowing the horn. Unsure whether something was wrong or the man had suddenly reconsidered paying for the damage, Kool stopped about two blocks south of the Caldwell Theater on State Street to find out what his problem was. Laverne urged him to stay in the car, but instead Kool got out and walked up to the driver’s side of the Hudson. The window was already rolled down, and the stench of alcohol wafted out.

“You’ve been blowing the horn the last half mile,” Kool said. “What’s the problem?”

“I’ve been following you, I don’t have any problem,” the driver replied. He then gave a few toots of the horn and smiled as if amused.

Shaking his head, Kool returned to his car, but before he reached it, he saw the Hudson speed down a side street and vanish. He realized that the drunk had duped him.

A simple Christmas shopping trip to St. Joseph had become much more complicated for the Kool family. Now with a dented fender and a drunk driver on the streets, Forrest Kool hoped to notify the authorities so the family could be on their way home once again. He started blowing his horn at the intersection of State Street and Market Street in an attempt to find a policeman and spotted Officer Charles Skelly, just a block away, standing at the corner near Broad Street.

Just as he had finished explaining their misadventure to the police officer, Laverne Kool noticed the Hudson pass by. “There he goes,” she blurted, while pointing to get the officer’s attention.
Skelly looked up in time to recognize a familiar face behind the wheel. He was the new guy in town, Skelly realized. He grabbed hold of Kool’s doorframe, hopped on the running board, and hollered, “Follow him.”

Excited to be on a chase with a police officer, Kool drove north about two blocks on State Street and then came to a stop behind the Hudson at the intersection of Ship Street, where the driver had stopped for a red light. Skelly jumped off Kool’s running board, ran a few car lengths to the Hudson, and climbed up on the driver’s side running board.

Skelly leaned his head into the open window to confront the driver. “Better pay the money and save going to court,” he suggested. This was routine business and Skelly knew the script.

Several people in the area had taken notice of the activity. Pere Marquette Bridge tender Lawrence Terry, standing in front of the Jefferson Poolroom at the corner of Ship and State, had heard Skelly blow his whistle and saw the Hudson come to a stop. St. Joseph police officer Arthur Truhn, also on foot patrol, had watched Skelly jump off the Chevy and run toward the Hudson.1 Phil Daly, Ted Lucker, and Adam Ehrenberg had all seen Skelly climb on the Hudson’s running board. Gustav Getz also saw what was taking place from his vantage point a few blocks away. Just a cop doing his job, it must have appeared to all of them.

Allowing other vehicles to pass, Skelly signaled back at Kool, motioning for him to follow. Skelly would direct the man to the police station in order to sort this all out. When the traffic light turned green at Ship and State, the Hudson and the Chevy turned the corner heading east and then made a right on Main Street heading for the police station. They passed Charles L. Miller’s Garage with Skelly still riding on the running board. The Kools followed behind by about 20 feet. As both vehicles approached the intersection of Main and Broad, just within sight of the Freund Building apartments where Skelly’s gal, Mildred Thar, lived, the traffic light turned red.

Puffs of exhaust mixed with Skelly’s breath as he glanced up toward her apartment. There in the second-floor window he saw her silhouette illuminated by a light. She must have heard the commotion. Mildred saw Charles and waved. Skelly smiled back, keeping his hands on the doorframe, but he lingered for a moment in her smile. Here he was in action for Mildred to see and he must have been proud. As the opposing traffic light transitioned from green to yellow, Skelly redirected his attention to the man behind the wheel. He pointed ahead, instructing him to pull over by the station just beyond the intersection. Mildred walked away from the window, probably impressed by the strapping Skelly.

When the light turned green, traffic began to move north and south, but the Hudson sat idling. Staring straight ahead toward the endless roadway, the driver loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Skelly bent down to look into the vehicle.

From a car length behind, Kool watched the man through the Hudson’s large glass rear window, his head fully visible. What is he waiting for? Kool thought. He then saw the man lean to his left.

With eyes blurred from alcohol, his mind consumed with fear, the driver of the Hudson grabbed for his Colt .45-caliber pistol in the side pocket of the door and took aim at his obstacle to freedom.

Officer Charles Skelly found himself face to face with the barrel of a pistol and the cold eyes of a killer. A secret kept for the last 10 months was about to be revealed along the brick boulevard.


http://in-deptheditions.com/press/?page_id=220

08 February 2020

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE CONNECTION TO SOUTHWESTERN MICHIGAN

BUNGALOW RESIDENCE IN STEVENSVILLE


Bungalow residence in Stevensville, Michigan, thought to be that of Fred Dane, however on December 14, 1929, after St. Joseph Police Officer Charles Skelly was gunned down, it was learned that Fred Dane was actually Fred "Killer" Burke. Residence is located on Red Arrow Highway south of Glenlord Road on the east side of road. Structure is still standing, however has been converted over to the business of Coldwell Banker Real Estate.

 WEAPONS CACHE


When Deputies made entry into the residence of Fred "Killer" Burke, they forced open a locked upstairs closet and found:
Two Thompson machine guns w/ Nine ammunition drums - One gun was assembled, loaded and ready for instant use while the other was in a black suitcase
Five 100-shot .45 caliber drums loaded, many other smaller drums
Three 20-shot clips
Two high powered rifles, one was Winchester .350 automatic, other was Savage .303
One sawed off shotgun with pistol grip
Two bags of ammunition estimated at 5,000 shells
½ dozen fruit jars and tin cans filled with misc. ammunition, including smokeless shotgun shells, shells loaded with iron slugs and small shot.
½ dozen tear gas bombs
In addition to the arsenal, deputies found trap doors, several disguises, well-thumbed detective novels and $390,000 worth of stolen bonds from a Jefferson, Wisconsin Bank.

Sheriff Fred Bryant and Deputy Charles Andrews pose wearing bulletproof vests from the Burke residence and brandishing two weapons also confiscated, including one of the Tommy Guns.
WANTED MAN

Wanted Poster put out by the Michigan State Police for Fred "Killer" Burke in 1929.
FORENSIC INNOVATIONS

Colonel Calvin H. Goddard, first Director of privately funded scientific crime detection laboratory which later became the Chicago Police Department Crime Lab as a result
of St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
Calvin Goddard examining a weapon

HISTORY TODAY

Berrien County Sheriff's Office Historian and 911 Quality Assurance Supervisor Chriss Lyon holding one of two Thompson Sub-Machine Guns seized from the Stevensville
residence of Fred "Killer" Burke on December 14, 1929. 
Photo by John Madill, The Herald-Palladium, October, 2006.

Fred "Killer" Burke house in 2008, now home of Coldwell Banker.
 Photo by Chriss Lyon, 2008
One of the Thompson sub-machine guns, bulletproof vest and drum magazine, 2019.


01 February 2020

Death of Police Officer in 1927 finally being recognized in Washington DC

I was honored recently by St. Joseph Department of Public Safety (Michigan) Director Steven Neubecker for my contributions to the history of the department through my research and writing. My 2014 published true crime novel, "A Killing in Capone's Playground: The True Story of the Hunt for the Most Dangerous Man Alive" highlighted the story of Officer Charles Skelly, who was killed in the line of duty by St. Valentine's Day Massacre hit man, Fred "Killer" Burke on December 14, 1929. However, Skelly was not the first officer to meet his fate on the job. Officer Francis LaMunion had started his job as a motorcycle officer in the spring of 1927, where he likely took up a friendship with Charles Skelly. Both men were 23-years old and had the desire to fight the illegal bootleggers who found their way into the city. Sadly, Officer LaMunion suffered serious injuries one day in June 1927, while chasing after a speeding bootlegger. LaMunion crashed into the back of a laundry truck at 50 mph and was thrown from his motorcycle. Doctors could do little for him and he died the next day of massive internal injuries.


Francis LaMunion, 1927
 
Charles Skelly, 1929
While researching the lives of the other officers included on the Berrien County Law Enforcement Memorial, I realized that Francis LaMunion's name was missing from the National Law Enforcement Memorial in Washington DC. With the help of Director Neubecker, we were able to contact the proper officials and send them the various newspaper articles that proved his death was related to injuries suffered while on duty. Two years later, it was announced that Francis LaMunion will be included on the national memorial and revealed on May 13, 2020, in Washington DC, 93 years after his death.

Having a law enforcement background and serving 25 years as a 911 Supervisor for the County of Berrien, I could not be prouder and more honored to play even a small role in seeing this through. Officer Francis LaMunion gave his life for the purpose of keeping our community safe and making sure that the bootleggers were not welcome.

I hope that the value of our research and commitment to telling true stories of the past will educate others about the Roaring Twenties and subsequent decades.

05 December 2019

Chicago Gangster Hazed By Frat Brothers

James Clark is familiar to most crime buffs as a member of Chicago's North Side Gang during Prohibition. A capable, all-purpose muscleman and assassin, Clark joined the North Siders in the early 1920s. He acted as a pallbearer at the November 1924 funeral of his boss Dean O'Banion and was suspected by Chicago police of being one of the killers (along with Frank Foster and Pete Gusenberg) of Pasquale Lo Lordo, càpu of Chicago's traditional Sicilian Mafia burgàta and president of the Italo-American National Union (formerly known as Unione Siciliana).

Chicago gangster James Clark

However, Clark is probably best known for being slaughtered in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre in 1929, when he and six of his colleagues were lined up against the north wall of the S.M.C. Cartage garage at 2122 North Clark Street and mowed down by hitmen masquerading as police officers. Most people do not know that nineteen years before Clark got his fatal love letter from a pair of Thompson submachine guns, he botched a burglary at a University of Chicago fraternity house and got a whole lot more than he bargained for in the process. The details of Clark's bungled crime are darkly funny, as if they were ripped from the pages of the script for Animal House.

Albert Rudolph Kachellek was born in Krojanke, Germany (present-day Krajenka, Poland) on February 25, 1889, and landed in America with his mother Anna and siblings a month after his fourth birthday. While growing up in Chicago, he quickly fell in with the wrong crowd. By the age of sixteen in 1905, he did a four-month jail sentence in the Bridewell for robbery. That same year, he also drew a four-year sentence for burglary. By this point, Kachellek started calling himself "James Clark"; his sister stated that "he did not want to hurt my mother's feelings." While he was destined to eventually become a professional gangster, James Clark in the winter of 1910 was a twenty-one-year-old ex-convict who was firmly planted at the bottom of Chicago's criminal totem pole. Clark began setting his sights on houses in the affluent South Side neighborhood of Hyde Park which bracketed the University of Chicago. A few of the stately homes in the district acted as rooming houses for fraternities at the nearby college. For a tough skel who had done hard time at Joliet, surely those college kids would be easy marks.


Alpha Tau Omega was established at the Virginia Military Institute on September 11, 1865 by Otis Allan Glazebrook, Erskine Mayo Ross, and Alfred Marshall as a means of using Christian brotherly love as a way of fostering reconciliation after the Civil War. The fraternity is noted for holding several retreats and training conferences; Altitude, Encounter, Valiant, President's Retreat, and Emerging Leader's Conference. All had specific goals; Altitude was meant to challenge members physically, mentally, and emotionally and currently entails a rigorous hike into the Rocky Mountains and the attainment of a 14,000 foot summit; Valiant puts roughly 100 members through a values-based curriculum that emphasizes effective leadership, communication, ethics, goal setting, and teamwork.

By the winter of 1909-10, Alpha Tau Omega had over one hundred chapters all over the United States and outside many major universities. The University of Chicago's chapter featured about twenty young men from such diverse states as Iowa, Indiana, Ohio, North Dakota, Texas and Louisiana. Most of the young students who were members of the fraternity lived in a house at 923 East Sixtieth Street that fronted Midway Plaisance Park. It was a quiet residence in a generally quiet neighborhood that houses one of the best colleges in the state of Illinois. It was towards this house that James Clark went in the early morning hours of March 6, 1910.

Although it was still technically winter in Chicago, the weather was quite mild and a harbinger of the coming spring; the temperature peaked at sixty-three degrees earlier that afternoon. Around five-thirty on that Sunday morning, Clark approached Alpha Tau Omega frat house on Sixtieth Street. Standing outside the dark and silent building, and with no one to be seen or heard in the pre-dawn stillness, Clark jimmied open a downstairs window. Whether Clark acted on impulse or pre-planned the burglary is unknown; the former seems likely, as he brought nothing to hold his loot. Once inside the quiet frat house, Clark moved with the noiseless stealth of the long-term burglar.

As the Alpha Tau continued their slumber, Clark's nimble fingers pocketed an array of loot such as brushes, neckties, change purses, gloves, spectacles, a knife, fountain pen, and an open-faced gold watch. With his pockets crammed to capacity, Clark reached for a packet of love letters tied with a maroon ribbon. Just as he was putting the letters in his jacket, Clark's heart leaped up into his throat at the unexpected sound of an angry voice asking him just what he was doing. The voice belonged to Henry Brown, the "porter" of the frat house. The sight and sound of the frightened, muscular Black man seemed to have caused Clark to freeze. In the blink of an eye, Brown struck Clark with a stick and quickly went away to find a gun.

On the third floor of the house, pajama-clad frat brothers were aroused by the commotion and began spilling from their beds. Loud footsteps and numerous voices bombarded the concussed Clark, who despite his befuddlement at the sudden wrong turn the evening's burglary had taken had enough presence of mind to make way. Clark managed to hop right out the window that he had originally entered no more than fifteen minutes earlier. The fleeing thief found his legs and sprinted across the street and down Midway Plaisance with porter Henry Brown hot on his heels.

The roused Alpha Tau frat brothers saw the beginning of the chase and promptly burst out the front door of the frat house and joined Brown in persuing the suspect. While James Clark was in reasonable shape, he wasn't exactly a track-and-field star, and Brown and the Alpha Tau brothers ran him down in the park, about a block and a half away from the house. Clark was pinned into the grass and pummeled with curses, fists, feet, and general righteous indignation. And the Alpha Tau were just getting started.

The frat brothers hauled the dazed and bleeding Clark to his feet, and with Brown marched him back to the house. The adrenalized youths began singing their college songs loud enough to wake residents of the surrounding homes. Once they reached the stone steps of their frat house, the youths punctuated their songs with a unison bellow of "CHICAGO!" They then proceeded to haul their prize catch up the steps and into the house. Said prize catch was probably wondering by this point just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

Exactly what the Alpha Tau brothers did to James Clark in the frat house may never be known. An anonymous Chicago Tribune scribe, tongue planted firmly in cheek, wrote, "…did they place Mr. Burglar in a large leather chair? No. On second thought, they took Mr. Burglar upstairs and put him in the bathtub. They gave the treatment usually accorded unwilling and recalcitrant freshmen. They then called up a doctor to 'fix up' Mr. Burglar. Lastly, they called the police."

At six-thirty that morning, Lieutenant John L. Hogan and Officers Curtin and Loey arrived at 923 Sixtieth Street from the Woodlawn Station. According to the same Tribune reporter their arrival, "saved Mr. Burglar from further punishment à la college." James Clark was booked for burglary while eight of the frat brothers donned buttoned-up sweaters and Dutch trousers to come down to the Woodlawn station in order to identify some of their property if they could. Louis T. Curry claimed a knife and a muffler; Dwight Hill a watch and a change purse; J.M. Sutherland of Marlin, Texas a $5 watch and fifty cents in change; M.E. Seeley from Ohio reclaimed two pairs of eyeglasses while D.T. Long of Indiana claimed his $30 watch and two neckties.

Suddenly the mood turned sour when Lieutenant Hogan decided to hold all the stolen property as evidence against Clark. Young Seeley protested, "…if you don't give me back those glasses, I'll have a deuce of a time. One pair is for reading and the other is for seeing where I'm going. If you don't give 'em back to me, I won't be able to study or find my way back to the frat house." Seeley's pleas went for naught. The only piece of property that the lieutenant failed to get his hands on was the packet of love letters tied with the ribbon. They had mysteriously disappeared in the commotion of the hazing and arrest. The youths pointedly declined to reveal which one of them had written the letters.

James Clark was eventually convicted of burglary and, because this was his so-called "third strike," was sentenced to a term of one year to life in the state prison at Joliet. Clark would not be paroled until 1914.

Six of the seven victims of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Lying perpendicular at the base of the wall is James Clark.
History does not record what became of Henry Brown and the rest of the Alpha Tau Omega frat brothers who made Clark's life a living hell during a burglary gone wrong in the winter of 1910.

Sources:

Chicago Tribune, March 7, 1910.

Keefe, Rose. The Man Who Got Away: The Bugs Moran Story. Nashville, Cumberland House, 2005.

World War I Selective Service Draft Card, Albert Kachellek.

Ellis Island passenger arrivals, 1893.


14 February 2019

Moran's men massacred

On this date in 1929...

Disguised as law enforcement officers, gunmen murdered seven members and associates of George "Bugs" Moran's North Side gang at 10:30 in the morning of February 14, 1929.

Chicago Tribune, Feb. 15, 1929.
The North Siders were assembled at the SMC Cartage Company garage, 2122 North Clark Street. A team of professional killers, two of them dressed as police officers, entered the building. Believing they were being raided by authorities, Moran's men cooperated and lined up facing a wall of the garage.

The helpless gangsters were then slaughtered in a hail of machine gun and shotgun fire. The killers escaped.

Belvidere Republican, Feb. 14, 1929.

Decatur Herald, Feb. 14, 1929.

Uniontown PA Standard, Feb. 15, 1929.

Boston Globe, Feb. 15, 1929.
Gang boss Moran, said to be the primary target of the attack, also escaped. Lookouts working with the hit team mistakenly believed Moran was present in the garage and initiated the attack too early. According to reports, Moran was just approaching the building when he observed what looked to be a police raid and decided on a different course. When he learned of the massacre, he went into hiding.

Minneapolis Star, Feb. 14, 1929.
The victims of the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre":
  • James Clark, 42. The top lieutenant of George Moran (and often referred to in the press as Moran's brother-in-law), Clark (born Albert Kachellek) had been imprisoned several times for robberies and parole violation.
  • Frank Gusenberg, 36. Often a suspect in burglaries and robberies, he served one jail sentence for disorderly conduct. He was considered an enforcer for Moran. He was the only one of the seven victims still living when police arrived. He died hours later.
  • Peter Gusenberg, 40. The brother of Frank Gusenberg, he was the top enforcer of the Moran bootlegging operation. He served several prison terms for robberies and parole violation.
  • Adam Heyer, 40. He had been in and out of prison since 1908, convicted of robberies, confidence games and parole violation. It was reported that Heyer managed the gang finances and ran the S.M.C. Cartage Company.
  • John May, 35. A former thief, he was an associate of the Moran gang and worked as a automotive mechanic.
  • Albert Weinshank, 35. A member of the Chicago cleaning and dying association, authorities believed he joined the gang when Moran was scheming to take control of that industry.
  • Reinhardt Schwimmer, 30. An optometrist, he often socialized with the Moran gang and bragged of his underworld association.
New York Times, Feb. 15, 1929.
Out-of-town gunmen working with Al Capone's Chicago Outfit are generally believed responsible for performing the massacre.


Sources:
  • "Doctor in massacre," Chicago Daily Tribune, Feb. 15, 1929, p. 1.
  • "No one brought to trial for goriest gangland hit," Bloomington IL Pantagraph, Feb. 13, 1979, p. 6.
  • "Police records tell lives of gang slain gangsters," Chicago Daily Tribune, Feb. 15, 1929, p. 2.
  • Binder, John J., Al Capone's Beer Wars, Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 2017.
  • Gomes, Mario, My Al Capone Museum, myalcaponemuseum.com.
  • Helmer, William J., Al Capone and His American Boys, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2011. 
  • Helmer, William J., and Arthur J. Bilek, The St. Valentine's Day Massacre, Cumberland House, 2006.
  • Kobler, John, Capone: The Life and World of Al Capone, New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1971.
  • Koziol, Ronald, and Edward Baumann, "Chicago's grisly wall," Chicago Tribune, Feb. 13, 1987, p. 5-1.

02 June 2017

'Al Capone's Beer Wars' set for June 6 release

http://amzn.to/2s2p8w8
John J. Binder's latest book, Al Capone's Beer Wars, is scheduled for release in hardcover and Kindle and Nook e-book formats on Tuesday, June 6. It can be pre-ordered now through Amazon.com and other booksellers.

Although much has been written about Al Capone, until now there has been no complete history of organized crime in Chicago during Prohibition. This book, based on twenty-five years of research, covers the entire era, 1920 to 1933. Binder, an authority on Chicago organized crime history, discusses the bootlegging gangs in the region and examines other major rackets, such as prostitution, gambling, labor racketeering and narcotics.

Binder focuses on how the Capone gang — one of twelve major bootlegging mobs as Prohibition began — gained a virtual monopoly over organized crime in northern Illinois and beyond. Binder also describes the fight by federal and local authorities, as well as citizens' groups, against organized crime. In the process, he refutes numerous misconceptions related to the Capone gang, other organizations, the St. Valentine's Day Massacre and gangland killings.



Al Capone's Beer Wars: A Complete History of Organized Crime in Chicago during Prohibition by John J. Binder.

16 May 2017

1929: Capone meets City of Brotherly Love

Arrested with concealed weapon on his way
home from Atlantic City peace conference


May 16, 1929 - Chicago crime lord Al Capone and his lieutenant, Frank Rio, were stopped by police detectives outside the Stanley Theatre, southwest corner of Nineteenth and Market Streets in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Washington Post
May 17, 1929
The notorious gangsters insisted they were in Philadelphia to kill only time, while waiting for the next Chicago-bound train. Detectives found that both men had handguns. Capone and Rio were arrested for carrying concealed deadly weapons.

Capone gave a detailed statement to authorities describing his situation: He and Rio were returning from a Chicago underworld peace conference at Atlantic City, New Jersey. They were driving to the North Philadelphia Station to catch the afternoon Broad Way Limited train back to Chicago. Automobile problems caused them to miss their train. The next train was scheduled to leave North Philadelphia some hours later, and the two gangsters decided to relax in the theater.

Capone's surprising stay in Pennsylvania began with a night in police lockup and would stretch on to a year. Treating the charge dismissively, the next day the Chicago boss and his aide pleaded guilty to weapons possession. They appeared stunned when Judge John E. Walsh sentenced them to one-year sentences in state prison.

The U.S. press immediately began speculating that Capone orchestrated his arrest and conviction in order to escape the vengeance of underworld rivals. Chicago's St. Valentine's Day Massacre occurred only three months earlier. Some claimed that former Chicago underworld leader Johnny Torrio had come out of retirement to order Capone to have himself arrested so things in the Windy City could cool down. No known data or reasonable analysis of available data supports these notions.

Capone certainly was not a willing prisoner. His attorney tried to postpone the trial, to achieve Capone's discharge on a bond that he would never reenter the city and to arrange a suspended sentence. Capone subsequently griped over the speed of his trial and the severity of his punishment, and he actively sought his release on appeal.

 


Atlantic City convention

Other legends sprang up relating to the meeting in Atlantic City. Some books and television programs have suggested that it was an organizational meeting - called by Salvatore "Charlie Luciano" Lucania, Johnny Torrio or Frank Costello - for a nationwide criminal syndicate. Others claim it was a sort of intervention by the nation's gang bosses to break Capone of his murderous habits or a disciplinary hearing against the Chicago gang leader.

The original source of these legends is difficult to pin down, and it seems they have snowballed over time. It was reported in May 1929 that Capone personally told Philadelphia Director of Public Safety Lemuel Schofield: "We stopped at the President Hotel, where I registered under an assumed name. 'Bugs' Moran, the leader of the North Side Gang, seven of whose men were killed on St. Valentine's Day, and three or four other Chicago gang leaders, whose names I don't care to mention, participated. We talked over our troubles for three days. We all agreed at the end of that time to sign on the dotted line, bury the past and forget warfare in the future, for the general good of all concerned." (New York Times, May 18, 1929, p. 1.)

When Herbert Asbury, who had a strong tendency toward sensationalism, published The Gangs of Chicago in 1940, he basically repeated the Capone account, calling the Atlantic City event a peace conference of Chicago bosses. Asbury's sensationalist tendency was satisfied merely by inflating the number of Chicago bosses to thirty.

In the same year (1940), Thompson and Raymond's Gang Rule in New York seems to have been the first book to claim that the meeting involved bosses from outside of Chicago. They placed the convention at the Hotel President and said attendees included "most of the leaders in the national Unione Siciliane." The purpose, according to the authors, was to put a stop to Sicilian and Italian gangland feuds and arrange a system for a panel of bosses to consider and approve of killings before they were performed. The authors claimed that Frank Costello developed those ideas.

Twenty-two years later, Bill Brennan further expanded the conference story and added details for his book, The Frank Costello Story. Brennan, apparently realizing that Costello was not a boss in 1929 and did not have the authority to call a nationwide conference of underworld leaders, portrayed the Hotel President gathering as a bit of an insurrection against old-line Mafia bosses like Giuseppe "Joe the Boss" Masseria. Providing no source, Brennan claimed that the attendees included Capone, Jake Guzik, Frankie Yale, Joe Adonis, Frank Erickson, Owen Madden, Max Hoff, George Remus, Solly Weissman, Larry Fay and members of Detroit's Purple Gang. There were problems with Brennan's account - not the least of which was the death of Frankie Yale almost a year earlier - but that did not stop other authors from picking up the ball and running with it.

President Hotel
The Chicago Crime Book of 1967, edited by Albert Halper, tried to return the story to its origins with added importance for former Chicago gang boss Torrio. A chapter written by Francis X. Bush said that the Atlantic City conference involved Capone, Torrio, Joe Aiello and Bugs Moran, along with their chief aides. The conference concluded, he said, with a formal written agreement establishing a crime syndicate in Chicago. Torrio was set up as its supreme arbiter. For some reason, Bush placed the meeting in June 1929, when Capone already was behind bars in Holmesburg County Jail (he was transferred to Eastern State Prison in August).

When Jack McPhaul took a shot at the Torrio life story in 1970's Johnny Torrio: First of the Gang Lords, he combined various elements from previous writers for his account of the convention. There was the Torrio supremacy of the Halper book, the imposed preservation of gangland peace of the Thompson and Raymond volume and the expansive guest list of Brennan. According to McPhaul, Torrio ordered Capone to attend the convention, which McPhaul viewed as a disciplinary hearing, and then ordered Capone to get himself arrested and imprisoned (apparently it did not matter to Torrio where Capone did this).

John Kobler, who handled many other phases of Capone's existence more responsibly in his 1971 book Capone: The Life and World of Al Capone, seems to have found the Atlantic City convention legends irresistible. According to Kobler, the convention lasted three days and featured numerous gang bosses from around the country, all agreeing to combine into a national syndicate run by an executive committee. "Cutting across all the old ethnic and national divisions," Kobler wrote, "there gathered around the table not only Italians and Sicilians, but also Jews, Irish and Slavs, more than thirty gangsters in all." (Big table!) The list of attendees was expanded from previous accounts to include Dutch Schultz, Nucky Johnson, Joe Saltis, Frank McErlane, Sam Lazar and Charles Schwartz.

Fred Cook largely echoed this account for his (emotionally titled) 1973 book, Mafia! But Cook, perhaps benefiting from access to the meeting minutes, said the Atlantic City convention resulted in four major decisions: 1. U.S. was carved into crime districts; 2. No boss could be killed without approval of a leadership commission; 3. Syndicate would gather a bribery fund for police and politicians; 4. A fund would be set up "to groom young gangsters for the Syndicate." The resistance of old Mafia bosses to this new syndicate, Cook wrote, made the Night of Sicilian Vespers (another grossly inflated legend) necessary.

The next year, Frank Costello: Prime Minister of the Underworld by George Wolf with Joseph DiMona stated that the Atlantic City meeting was called by Frank Costello and Johnny Torrio. The book claimed that Costello was then - in 1929 - at the height of his power (allowing him a gradual decline spread out over the next four and a half decades). The conference guest list was dramatically altered so that Chicago's Frank Nitti could be there, along with Lou Rothkopf, Moe Dalitz, Charles "King" Solomon, John Lazia, Joe Bernstein and Louis "Lepke" Buchalter. Wolf's book provided a detailed but sourceless look at the convention, referring at one point to the "crystal chandelier" that "dangled above the rich mahogany table and chairs, which gleamed from recent polishing." (Wolf neglected for some reason to explain that mahogany is an excellent wood choice for furniture at a seaside hotel, as its density makes it extremely resistant to rot.) Wolf said the convention set up a national crime syndicate overseen by a commission of leaders and arranged for Capone to temporarily serve time in prison so things could be smoothed out with his Chicago rivals.

Virgil W. Peterson further increased the 1929 Atlantic City guest list for his 1983 book, The Mob. He had Albert Anastasia, Vincent Mangano, Frank Scalise, Longie Zwillman, Willie Moretti and Meyer Lansky (honeymooning with his new bride) also meeting at the Hotel President. Peterson reported a widespread belief that Capone arranged for his own Philadelphia arrest after the convention, but he left it for the reader to decide between unlikely choices: 1. Capone was ordered to prison by other gang bosses in attendance at the Atlantic City convention; 2. Capone arranged after the convention to go to prison seeking protection from enemies. Apparently unworthy of consideration was the possibility that Capone was an out-of-area gangster caught carrying a concealed weapon and a local judge threw the book at him.

Despite decades of invention and exaggeration, the truth of the May 1929 conference in Atlantic City probably is quite close to the earliest accounts.


"Al Capone's long stay in Philly" 
in this back issue of Informer.

http://www.magcloud.com/browse/Issue/112621