John William Tuohy lives in Washington DC

A simple story: A short story by John William Tuohy

A simple story
A short story by John William Tuohy

   The cop took a seat at the counter, removed his hat and turned his radio down. He took a menu, glanced over it and put it back and looked into the mirror in front of him that ran the length of the counter. Without turning to look at the man to his right he said “Aren’t you one of the O’Donnells brothers?”
   “I haven’t done anything, I’m just sitting here” the man answered without lifting his head.
   “I didn’t say you did anything wrong” the cop answered defensively “I just asked a question, that’s all”
   The man lifted hi  face the cop and said “I’m Mick O’Donnell”
  The cop shrugged and made a motion with his hands that asked O’Donnell to calm down “I was just ask’n” the cop said “That’s all.”
   They stared  straight ahead at the coffee pots for several minutes, each feeling uncomfortable with the others presences.
   “Where are your brothers?”  The cop asked, “There was two of them”
  “Three” O’Donnell answered “Their dead.  They died”
   The cop turned in surprise “Dead?”
   “Yeah” O’Donnell said with a nod.
   “How?”  The cop asked genuinely surprised “What are you guys, in your forties, maybe?”
   O’Donnell spoke without looking at the cop “Rory died a few years back, lung cancer. Cigarettes. Lonny died in prison doing time on an armed robbery charge”
   “I remember that” the cop said. “In prison. What happened?”
  “Stabbed” O’Donnell said “They stabbed him on his way out the chow line. Denny….”
    He tilted his head a bit to the cop “He was the youngest” and then looked back at the coffee pots “He was shot in California. Went out there to start over and bam! That’s that….some kind of dispute with his girlfriend’s family; we still don’t know what it was all about”
  “I’m sorry. That’s hard luck.” The cop said and he meant it. He watched O’Donnell count the change in his pocket and then order a cup of coffee and Danish. When the waitress came to the cop for his order the cop said “Bacon, two eggs over, toast and home fries” and then cocking a thumb at O’Donnell he added “he’ll have the same, my check”
   “You don’t have to do that” O’Donnell.
   “I know” he answered “I don’t have too, I want too”. He thought about what he had just said and remembered his pledge to tone down his edges and to strive to be a kindler gentler person. He turned to O’Donnell and said “I guess I should’a asked you first”
   “That’s all right” O’Donnell said waving t off.
   “Still” the cop replied “I would appreciate it if you would allow me to pick up breakfast”
   “Sure” O’Donnell said softly. He was hungry.  “Any reason?”
   “Well” he answered picking up his coffee and taking the empty stool by O’Donnell “I guess it’s my way of saying thank you, without you breaking the law every other week, I’d be without a job”    
   They both grinned.
   “So what are you doing now days?” the cop asked
   “I’m a house painter” O”Donnell said happily and reached into his worn shirt pocket, pulled out a white business card and handed it to him.    
   “Kids?” the cop asked.
   “A daughter” he answered “You?  Married?”
   “Separated” the cop answered “I got a temper issue, stress related and I also have issues relating to people’s situations. What’s that…? Um…em..empa”
   “Empathy?” O’Donnell asked.
  “Yeah!” the cop answered “there you go, that’s it. I’m work’n on it, you know. One way I’m supposed to work on is to talk about my problem outloud to other people. So I’m work’n on it”
    “Hey listen” O’Donnell said “No shame in a day’s work” 

     And they fell into a comfortable silence. 

HERE'S MY BIO..........................


 In 1962, six year old John Tuohy, his two brothers and two sisters entered Connecticut’s foster care system and were promptly split apart. Over the next ten years, John would live in more than ten foster homes, group homes and state schools, from his native Waterbury to Ansonia, New Haven, West Haven, Deep River and Hartford. In the end, a decade later, the state returned him to the same home and the same parents they had taken him from. As tragic as is funny compelling story will make you cry and laugh as you journey with this child to overcome the obstacles of the foster care system and find his dreams.


John William Tuohy is a writer who lives in Washington DC. He holds an MFA in writing from Lindenwood University. He is the author of numerous non-fiction on the history of organized crime including the ground break biography of bootlegger Roger Tuohy "When Capone's Mob Murdered Touhy" and "Guns and Glamour: A History of Organized Crime in Chicago."
His non-fiction crime short stories have appeared in The New Criminologist, American Mafia and other publications. John won the City of Chicago's Celtic Playfest for his work The Hannigan's of Beverly, and his short story fiction work, Karma Finds Franny Glass, appeared in AdmitTwo Magazine in October of 2008.
His play, Cyberdate.Com, was chosen for a public performance at the Actors Chapel in Manhattan in February of 2007 as part of the groups Reading Series for New York project. In June of 2008, the play won the Virginia Theater of The First Amendment Award for best new play.
Contact John:

From Professor William Anthony Connolly

This incredible memoir, No Time to Say Goodbye, tells of entertaining angels, dancing with devils, and of the abandoned children many viewed simply as raining manna from some lesser god.
The young and unfortunate lives of the Tuohy bruins—sometimes Irish, sometimes Jewish, often Catholic, rambunctious, but all imbued with Lion’s hearts— is told here with brutal honesty leavened with humor and laudable introspective forgiveness.
The memoir will have you falling to your knees thanking that benevolent Irish cop in the sky, your lucky stars, or hugging the oxygen out of your own kids the fate foisted upon Johnny and his siblings does not and did not befall your own brood.
 John William Tuohy, a nationally-recognized authority on organized crime and Irish levity, is your trusted guide through the weeds the decades of neglect ensnared he and his brothers and sisters, all suffering for the impersonal and often mercenary taint of the foster care system.
Theirs, and Tuohy’s, story is not at all figures of speech as this review might suggest, but all too real and all too sad, and maddening. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get into a time machine, go back and adopt every last one of them. I was angry. I was captivated.

The requisite damning verities of foster care are all here, regretfully, but what sets this story above others is its beating heart, even a bruised and broken one, still willing to forgive and understand, and continue to aid its walking wounded. I cannot recommend this book enough


Sugar Pimps: 

Okay, I admit the photo is little bit over the tops  BUT.....food companies make enormous profits…which is fine…I want them to make a lot of money…..but they have to take responsibility for what they make and offer to the public. Sugar laden junk has poisoned us and made diabetes a major illness in the US, particularly among children and in low income neighborhoods. Food companies refuse to change their wicked ways so let’s tax the bad foods out of existence. We place major taxes booze and cigarettes, so we should do the same with the foods that are killing us.

Lawmakers propose soda tax to avoid raising income, property taxes
WIAT staff Published: July 6, 2015

WIAT) – If you’ve needed a reason to cut back on soft drinks, you may soon have a new one. Alabama lawmakers are hoping to cash in on the popularity of sodas by adding a new five cent tax on every 12 ounces of soft drinks you buy.
Governor Bentley is calling this proposed tax hike on sodas part of his plan to add “user taxes.”
These will help him avoid raising income and property taxes.
Alabama lawmakers have not agreed with the governor on a plan to address the states $200 million budget shortfall.
WIAT asked people on the street what they thought of the soda tax.
“It wouldn’t affect us, if it was just five cents more and we bought a soda there,” Abby Rensink said.
WIAT talked to a man who said, “I would like to see where it’s going, the tax would affect the poor a lot more than people with money.”
Alabama already has a four percent tax on soda.
Legislators are expected to continue working in special sessions until a new budget is passed.

Vermont Soda Tax Goes into Effect
 In addition to 6% tax on sodas, vending machine purchases now taxed at 9%.
July 7, 2015

BURLINGTON – Beginning July 1, Vermont residents can expect to pay more when they get the urge to snack, with the introduction of a new 6% sales tax on soft drinks and a 9% meals tax on vending machine items.
The taxes are part of a $30 million package of tax increases that took effect this month, intended to help close a total $113 million gap between projected state spending and revenue. The sales tax on soft drinks is estimated to generate $7.9 million in revenue, while extending the meals tax to vending machines is estimated to yield $1 million.
One controversial aspect of the new law is that customers who use food stamps are exempt from the sales tax on soft drinks. Many are saying that those consumers who use food stamps now have no incentive to make healthier choices and goes against the initial intention of soft drink tax, which was to discourage consumption of unhealthy products.
The vending machine tax applies only to items sold in the machines, not to those same items if purchased elsewhere, such as a grocery store. According to local news reports, the tax department has been conducting outreach to notify businesses about the new taxes, but word had failed to reach everyone in time.
The Vermont Retailers and Grocers Association has also played a leading role in notifying businesses of their obligation to collect the new taxes, inviting members to participate in webinars on the tax change. A guide to the Vermont sales tax on soft drinks is available at http://bit.ly/vtdrinktaxes.


F. Scott Fitzgerald slept here: Summit Ave. row house on the market

By Andy Rathbun
St. Paul home where F. Scott Fitzgerald lived for a time during his younger and more vulnerable years is now up for sale. 
The three-story row house at 593 Summit Ave., where Fitzgerald lived with his family for a couple of stretches beginning in 1914, was listed for sale Tuesday. With 3,441 square feet, four bedrooms and three baths, the brownstone will get the buyer a piece of literary history. 

While not as closely associated with Fitzgerald as 599 Summit Ave., another of the eight row houses that make up what's known as Summit Terrace, the home is where Fitzgerald wrote "The Spire and the Gargoyle," a short story he called "the beginning of mature writing," according to "F. Scott Fitzgerald in Minnesota: His Homes and Haunts" by John J. Koblas. 
Fitzgerald first lived in the home when he returned from his schooling at Princeton University for Christmas vacation in 1914, according to Koblas. He lived on the third floor and later returned to the house for a period while battling an illness. 
Fitzgerald would go on to finish his first novel, "This Side of Paradise," while living at 599 Summit. 
The current owner of 593 Summit has lived there for 34 years and is moving to northern Minnesota, said real estate agent Sarah Kinney. 
"He has restored it to its original beauty," Kinney said. "It really is an unusual row house, even for St. Paul, and we're lucky that it's still in overall excellent condition." 
Kinney noted that the house, which was built in 1889 and is listed for $665,000, is a single-family attached home and not a condominium. 
The listing can be found at bit.ly/1dm3E1v. 
Andy Rathbun can be reached at 651-228-2121. Follow him at twitter.com/andyrathbun.

F. Scott Fitzgerald Conjugated The Word "Cocktail," And You're Welcome For Your New Favorite Words


F. Scott Fitzgerald gave us a lot over the course of his life and even beyond, including great literature (obviously), fabulous heroines we seek to emulate, a realistic portrayal of mental illness, and, indirectly, another chance to get a look at Leonardo DiCaprio’s crying face. One of the celebrated author’s lesser known contributions, however, is his advocacy for the importance of a very special verb — one that you need to start using immediately, if you haven’t already. It’s so simple that I’m still wondering why I didn’t think to use it sooner: to cocktail. Genius.
Fitzgerald recognized how essential this use of the word was, which frankly, isn’t surprising, considering how near and dear to him the topic of alcohol was. In a letter to Blanche Knopf, the wife of publisher Alfred A. Knopf, the Great Gatsby author gave the noun-turned-verb its due by conjugating it out for her. 
“As ‘cocktail,’ so I gather, has become a verb, it ought to be conjugated at least once,” he wrote. He proceeded to list all of its forms, and lucky for us, it’s not an irregular verb with tricky conjugations. Nonetheless, Fitzgerald gets really deep into the grammar of it. Gold star if you can rattle off all of these verb forms off the top of your head.
Present: I cocktail, thou/you cocktail, it cocktails, we cocktail, you cocktail, they cocktail.
Imperfect: I was cocktailing.
Perfect/past definite: I cocktailed.
Past perfect: I have cocktailed.
Conditional: I might have cocktailed.
Pluperfect: I had cocktailed.
Subjunctive: I would have cocktailed.
Voluntary subjunctive: I should have cocktailed.
Preterite: I did cocktail.
Imperative: Cocktail!
Interrogative: Cocktailest thou?
Subjunctive conditional: I would have had to have cocktailed.
Conditional subjunctive: I ought have had to have cocktailed.
Participle: Cocktailing
If I’d have had to have conjugated these verbs without Fitzgerald’s help, I would have had to have cocktailed. And now that I’m done, I will cocktail.

Fitzgerlad is buried in Rockville Maryland, the county seat of Montgomery County. It’s only a few miles from my house so I went by there several years ago and took these photographs.   
F. Scott regularly visited his father's relatives in Montgomery County, and played a small part in (“Ribbon holder”) in his cousin Cecilia wedding at her home at  Randolph Station, (A part of Rockville, Maryland) on April 24, 1903. Rockville had a special place in Fitzgerald’s heart and memory. His father was buried at Saint Mary's Church in 1931.
When Scott died at age 44 on December 21, 1940, in Hollywood, California, and his body was shipped to Maryland and on December 27 a small group of family and friends attended the simple service. (As he specified in his will.) at Pumphrey's Funeral Home in Bethesda, in the rain, to Rockville Cemetery.  (Not St. Mary’s where he is buried now) He was reinter at St. Mary’s on November 7, 1975. 
The Fitzgerald’s daughter, Scottie, is buried there with her parents.

Here's my blogspot on Fitzgerald: http://followingfitzgerald.blogspot.com

“Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.”  Natalie Goldberg

PONDER THIS: (That sound so pushy doesn't it? Ponder if you want to...how's that?) 

“Books aren’t written - they’re rewritten. Including your own. It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn’t quite done it.” Michael Crichton

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: We all want everything to be okay. We don’t even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for okay, because most of the time, okay is enough.” David Levithan, Every Day

“Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and in the workers’ homes.” Vladimir Mayakovsky

 “People wears a mask of lie so they look attractive , so be careful.”  Muhammad Saqib

 “Excellence is not a skill. It is an attitude." - Ralph Marston


The Forgotten Man Behind William Carlos Williams’s ‘Red Wheelbarrow’


Thaddeus Marshall, the owner of the most famous red wheelbarrow in literary history. Credit Teresa Marshall Hale. Courtesy Mark Giordano.

For decades, much has depended on his red wheelbarrow, streaked with rain, next to some white chickens, even if no one has known — or perhaps even wondered — exactly who he was.
But now, the owner of the humble garden tool that inspired William Carlos Williams’s classic poem “The Red Wheelbarrow” will finally get his due.
On July 18, in a moment of belated poetic justice, a stone will be laid on the otherwise unmarked grave of Thaddeus Marshall, an African-American street vendor from Rutherford, N.J., noting his unsung contribution to American literature.
“When we read this poem in an anthology, we tend not to think of the chickens as real chickens, but as platonic chickens, some ideal thing,” William Logan, the scholar who recently discovered Mr. Marshall’s identity, said in an interview.
The discovery doesn’t change the meaning, he said, but “knowing there was a man with a particular wheelbarrow and some chickens does help us understand the world the poem was embedded in.”
Williams’s 16-word poem, first published in 1923, was hailed as a manifesto of plain-spoken American modernism. Williams himself declared it “quite perfect.” A staple of classrooms and anthologies, it has inspired endless debates about its deeper meaning — how much of what, exactly, depends on the red wheelbarrow? — not to mention provided the name of an English-language bookstore in Paris, a craft beer from Maine and an episode of “Homeland.”
But Mr. Logan, a professor at the University of Florida who has contributed to The New York Times Book Review, may have taken the poem’s fullest measure yet. His roughly 10,000-word essay on the poem, published in the most recent issue of the literary journal Parnassus and titled simply “The Red Wheelbarrow,” considers the poem from seemingly every conceivable angle.
There are discussions of Williams’s aesthetic influences and composition habits. (Williams, a medical doctor by profession, sometimes wrote poems on prescription forms.) Mr. Logan also considers the history of hyphenation in the word “rainwater,” previous literary references to painted wheelbarrows, New Jersey ordinances concerning handcarts, and early-20th-century poultry trends.
“Who knew there was a fad for white chickens?” he said.
His most notable detective work, however, concerns Mr. Marshall, about whom Williams offered some clues but never fully identified.
In a note quoted in a 1933 anthology, Williams said he had seen the wheelbarrow “outside the window of an old negro’s house on a backstreet” in Rutherford, where Williams also lived and regularly paid house calls to patients in the African-American neighborhood.
 “The sight impressed me somehow as about the most important, the most integral that it had ever been my pleasure to gaze upon,” he said.
In an essay in Holiday magazine in 1954, Williams (who died in 1963) gave the man’s last name as Marshall, noting that he had once made a living fishing for porgies off Gloucester, Mass.“I liked that man, and his son Milton almost as much,” he wrote. “I suppose my affection for the old man somehow got into the writing.”
Mr. Logan looked in the 1920 census and found only one possible candidate: Thaddeus Marshall, a 69-year-old widower who lived with a son named Milton at 11 Elm Street, about nine blocks from Williams’s house.
With the help of Rod Leith, the borough historian of Rutherford, Mr. Logan tracked down a detailed 1917 fire insurance map of the neighborhood that showed a large chicken coop at the rear of the property
While Mr. Marshall’s house still stands, the coop is long gone. As for the wheelbarrow, Mr. Logan found no concrete trace of it, though not for lack of trying.
He discovered that Rutherford, unlike other cities in New Jersey, did not require that carts used for commercial purposes be registered. Besides, by the time Williams saw the wheelbarrow, both it and Mr. Marshall may have been retired.
The 1910 census listed Mr. Marshall’s occupation as “street huckster,” or vendor, but by 1920, no profession was listed. Mr. Logan cautions against finding definitive meanings in the poem’s “Rorschach blot,” but he speculates that for Williams, “the barrow might have stood for a way of life recently vanished.”
Mr. Logan also thinks he sees Mr. Marshall, sans wheelbarrow, in Williams’s poem “St. Francis Einstein of the Daffodils,” which refers to
the bare chickenyard
of the old negro
with white hair who hides
poisoned fish-heads
here and there.
Meanwhile, Mr. Leith, the Rutherford historian, has tracked him a bit farther in the real world. He located a great-granddaughter, Teresa Marshall Hale, of Roselle, N.J., who grew up in the house on Elm Street and recalled family stories about her great-grandfather selling eggs and vegetables.
Growing up in Rutherford, she had learned about Williams (who was the doctor at her father’s birth and also signed her grandmother’s death certificate) in school, but was unfamiliar with the poem.
“I’m in awe,” Ms. Hale, 69, a compliance officer for the New Jersey Turnpike Authority, said of the connection. “To think that the real person who inspired it was my great-grandfather, and that I lived in the same house he lived in, and looked out the same windows at the same yard, is overwhelming.”
Ms. Hale will deliver a brief eulogy on July 18, when the marker will be put on Mr. Marshall’s grave at East Ridgelawn Cemetery in Clifton, N.J., where he was buried in 1930 without a headstone. Mr. Leith raised nearly $1,000 for the marker, with donations from Ms. Hale and Daphne Williams Fox, a granddaughter of the poet, who lives in Rutherford, among others. A red and white wreath, signifying the red wheelbarrow and white chickens, will be laid beside it.
Mr. Leith said the marker was a tangible link between Williams and the African-American fellow citizens he frequently treated but rarely wrote about explicitly.

“Williams is celebrated as by far the most important person to come out of Rutherford,” he said. “But this part of the history has been lost.”

A hunchbacked mutt named Quasi Modo (First photo below)has been crowned the world’s ugliest dog. The crossbreed, which has a shortened spine that makes it resemble a hyena, beat 26 other finalists

Good Words to Have:

Interpellate   \in-ter-PELL-ayt\ : to question (someone, such as a foreign minister) formally concerning an official action or policy or personal conduct. Interpellate refers to a form of political challenging used in the congress or parliament of many nations throughout the world, in some cases provided for in the country's constitution. Formal interpellation isn't practiced in the U.S. Congress, but in places where it is practiced, it can be the first step in ousting an appointed official or bringing to task an elected one. The word was borrowed from the Latin term interpellatus, past participle of interpellare, which means "to interrupt or disturb a person speaking." The "interrupt" sense, once used in English, is now obsolete, and interpellate should not be confused with interpolate, which means "to insert words into a text or conversation."

 I'm trying to teach myself Spanish and this is what I learned Today

Noche toledana: sleepless night
Example sentence: Anoche pasé una noche toledana.
Sentence meaning: Last night I had a sleepless night.

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Visit our Shakespeare Blog at the address below

Half the lies they tell about me aren't true.”


Compiled by

John William Tuohy

Statements made during interviews

"I never get hungry."

"I know who is responsible for most of my troubles."

"Sometimes I feel like smashing things."

"My legs are really hairy."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"Women should not be allowed to drink in cocktail bars."

"What is the company motto?"

"Why aren't you in a more interesting business?"

"What are the zodiac signs of all the board members?"

"Why do you want references?"

"Do I have to dress for the next interview?"

"I know this is off the subject, but will you marry me?"

"Will the company move my rock collection from California to Maryland?"

"Does your health insurance cover pets?"

"Would it be a problem if I'm angry most of the time?"

"Does your company have a policy regarding concealed weapons?"

"Do you think the company would be willing to lower my pay?"

"Why am I here?"

"I have no difficulty in starting or holding my bowel movement."

"At times I have the strong urge to do something harmful or shocking."

"I feel uneasy indoors."

"I think that Lincoln was greater than Washington."

"I get excited very easily."

"Once a week, I usually feel hot all over."

"I am fascinated by fire."

"I like tall women."

"Whenever a man is with a woman he is usually thinking about sex."

"People are always watching me."

"If I get too much change in a store, I always give it back."

 "Almost everyone is guilty of bad sexual conduct."

 "I must admit that I am a pretty fair talker."

 "If the pay was right, I'd travel with the carnival."

 "I would have been more successful if nobody would have snitched on me."

Applicant Additional Information:
Let's meet, so you can ooh and aah over my experience.

You will want me to be Head Honcho in no time.

 At the emphatic urging of colleagues, I have consented to apply for your position.

 Have had littel luck in finding a new and challenging position.

 I am anxious to spread my wings in new directions and soar to new heights.

 I am writing to you, as I have written to all Fortune 1000 companies every year for the past three years, to solicit employment.



Architecture for the blog of it

Art for the Blog of It

Art for the Pop of it

Photography for the blog of it

Music for the Blog of it

Sculpture this and Sculpture that

The art of War (Propaganda art through the ages)

Album Art (Photographic arts)

Pulp Fiction Trash (The art of Pulp Fiction covers)

Admit it, you want to Read this Book (The art of Pulp Fiction covers)

The Godfather Trilogy BlogSpot

On the Waterfront: The Making of a great American Film

Absolutely blogalicious

The Wee Book of Irish Recipes (Book support site)

Good chowda (New England foods)

Old New England Recipes (Book support site)

And I Love Clams (New England foods)

In Praise of the Rhode Island Wiener (New England foods)

Wicked Cool New England Recipes (New England foods)

Old New England Recipes (New England foods)

Foster Care new and Updates

Aging out of the system

Murder, Death and Abuse in the Foster Care system

Angel and Saints in the Foster Care System

The Foster Children’s Blogs

Foster Care Legislation

The Foster Children’s Bill of Right

Foster Kids own Story

The Adventures of Foster Kid.

Me vs. Diabetes (Diabetes education site)

The Quotable Helen Keller

Teddy Roosevelt's Letters to his children (Book support site)

The Quotable Machiavelli (Book support site)

Whatever you do, don't laugh

The Quotable Grouch Marx

A Big Blog of Irish Literature

The Wee Blog of Irish Jokes (Book support blog)

The Wee Blog of Irish Recipes

The Irish American Gangster

The Irish in their Own Words

When Washington Was Irish

The Wee Book of Irish Recipes (Book support site)

Following Fitzgerald


The Blogable Robert Frost

Charles Dickens

The Beat Poets of the Forever Generation

Holden Caulfield Blog Spot

The Quotable Oscar Wilde

The Quotable Thoreau

Old New England Recipes

Wicked Cool New England Recipes


The New England Mafia

And I Love Clams

In Praise of the Rhode Island Wiener

Watch Hill

York Beach

The Connecticut History Blog

The Connecticut Irish

Good chowda

God, How I hated the 70s

Child of the Sixties Forever

The Kennedy’s in the 60’s

Music of the Sixties Forever

Elvis and Nixon at the White House (Book support site)

Beatles Fan Forever

Year One, 1955

Robert Kennedy in His Own Words

The 1980s were fun

The 1990s. The last decade.

The Russian Mafia

The American Jewish Gangster

The Mob in Hollywood

We Only Kill Each Other

Early Gangsters of New York City

Al Capone: Biography of a self-made Man

The Life and World of Al Capone

The Salerno Report

Guns and Glamour

The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

Mob Testimony

Recipes we would Die For

The Prohibition in Pictures

The Mob in Pictures

The Mob in Vegas

The Irish American Gangster

Roger Touhy Gangster

Chicago’s Mob Bosses

Chicago Gang Land: It Happened Here

Whacked: One Hundred years of Murder in Gangland

The Mob Across America

Mob Cops, Lawyers and Front Men

Shooting the Mob: Dutch Schultz

Bugsy& His Flamingo: The Testimony of Virginia Hill

After Valachi. Hearings before the US Senate on Organized Crime

Mob Buster: Report of Special Agent Virgil Peterson to the Kefauver Committee (Book support site)

The US Government’s Timeline of Organized Crime (Book support site)

The Kefauver Organized Crime Hearings (Book support site)

Joe Valachi's testimony on the Mafia (Book support site)

Mobsters in the News

Shooting the Mob: Dead Mobsters (Book support site)

The Stolen Years Full Text (Roger Touhy)

Mobsters in Black and White

Mafia Gangsters, Wiseguys and Goodfellas

Whacked: One Hundred Years of Murder and Mayhem in the Chicago Mob (Book support site)

Gangland Gaslight: The Killing of Rosy Rosenthal (Book support site)

The Best of the Mob Files Series (Book support site)

It’s All Greek Mythology to me

Psychologically Relevant

The Rarifieid Tribe

Perfect Behavior

The Upscale Traveler

The Mish Mosh Blog

DC Behind the Monuments

Washington Oddities

When Washington Was Irish

No comments: