“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” Kahlil Gibran
The Well-Meaning Mister Carlson.
A short story
John William Tuohy
* This is a work of fiction. Any comparisons between persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
With the company’s blessing, they met once a month for a five mile stroll around Georgetown. He and the Old Man. He was called the Old Man, behind his back, because it was how the Old Man referred to virtually everyone. “Now listen here, Old Man.”
The Old Man knew about the title and didn’t dislike it. The moniker appealed to the large streak of snob in him.
The Company is what the agency, the CIA, is called, although the newer breed prefers to call it “The Farm”, a reference to the Virginia apple orchard that once occupied the massive plot of land on the banks of the Potomac where the company sits.
The Old Man had been a power in the company once until his fall from grace after the
Operation Corrective Vision fiasco. The plan was to overthrow Leonidas Trujillo, AKA El Jefe, the president for life of the Dominican Republic, who was insane. Truly a madman. It was also agreed by the powers that be, from the White House to the Kremlin, that El Jefe would die in a coup. It was just better that way.
On the day of the coup, the Old Man leaked news of the assassination through a series of reporters the company owned who reported that Trujillo had been assassinated by his own military at 4:30 in the afternoon on May 30, a Tuesday, as he was driven from the capital to his beach home. Junior officers had shot him twice through the head. That was how the story ran.
Unfortunately for the Old Man, due to a series of mishaps, the assassination actually took place two hours later. Upon learning of his impending death, Trujillo barricaded himself in his office in the Presidential Palace with a machine gun. A well placed hand grenade killed him.
Critics, the Latin and European press and eventually the US Congress, demanded to know how the media was able to predict the assassination two hours in advance. The American media, a mechanism designed to exonerate itself from all culpability and faced with the choice of blaming itself or hanging the Old Boy in the public square chose the latter.
As a courtesy, for there were many in the company who felt the Old Man had done no wrong, he was placed on the payroll of a company owned sugar export company and
unofficially kept in the loop. This was why he and the Admiral took their five mile stroll around Georgetown once a month, although the frequency of their walks depended on many factors. The route was always the same. They met on the corner of M and 28th Street and walked west up 28th, stopping at the corner market at P and 28th for a carry out coffee.
The Admiral disliked The Old Man. He found him to be a boor and when allowed, a subtle bully. There was rarely any small talk between them as they strolled the rain soaked streets looking like two older, well dressed gentlemen engaged in civil conversation.
“So,” the Old Man began, “what’s the word from the front lines?”
“Henrik Carlson?” the Admiral said. “Henrik Carlson is news from the front lines.”
“One of ours?” the Old Man asked.
“No,” he answered quickly. He always answered quickly. “A civilian. Dirty business”
“So what of Mister Carlson?” the Old Man asked.
“Mr. Carlson” the Admiral began slowly, “made a fortune. Three times. And with every fortune he made the less interested he became in being wealthy. We took care of his money concerns. We spent it for him.”
“Background?” The Old Man asked without looking at him.
“He was 64 years old when he came onto our radar,” the Admiral answered. “Native of Edina, Minnesota. Episcopalian. Private school education. He referred to himself as ‘an imperfectly socialized person’ and he was right, he was. Stood 6-feet-2 and walked with a forward tilt. Had a light, nasally voice. Brilliant in many ways but his train of thought was lost on a regular basis. Wore his hair long, giving him that aging-hippie-with money look. His shirt pockets were stuffed with pens, most of which did not work apparently. When he wore ties, they were distinct in their ugliness.”
They passed under a leafy elm towards the top of the hill.
“Political leanings?” the Old Man asked.
“We know that he served for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Nicaragua when he was an undergraduate.”
“Left of center,” the Old Man dismissively said. It was an opinion not shared by the Admiral. “Where did he study?”
“MIT,” the Admiral answered. The Old Man stuck out his lower lip and tilted his head. MIT was safe. The company recruited from MIT. The company funds MIT projects.
“His area?” the Old Man asked.
“R and D,” he answered. “He held several well-paying jobs as an engineer, but had a habit of getting himself fired from each place he ever worked. Then he struck it rich, about 50 million dollars. The first fortune came from inventing an early word-processing system and then made an even bigger bundle, about 100 million from the stock he got for selling his software company, which had developed a system for connecting phone networks to the Internet. With those funds he formed an investment firm called Paperboy Investments.”
“So named because he delivered newspapers as a child,” the Admiral answered as they topped the hill and looked past the high black Victorian style fence into the Oak Hill cemetery where the city’s leading citizens were laid to rest.
“He made his third fortune on a company called Aimlin Pharmaceuticals,” the Admiral continued. “It was a tiny, struggling firm that caught his eye while he was evaluating drug treatments for his wife, who has diabetes. Aimlin had been dong innovative diabetes research. Carlson poured $6.2 million into Aimlin’s research office, patented several new drugs and made two hundred million in two years. The wife died a year later. Heart attack.”
“Net worth?” the Old Man asked. Mention of the wife had no effect on him.
“At that point, $300 million. Almost all of it available cash” he answered. “His money and willingness to foot the bill for far left causes allowed him to globetrot with celebrities, although he was, truly, oblivious to pop culture. He just wasn’t in the universe with the rest of us. He didn’t care. He drove badly, a 15-year-old black Honda Accord with a coat hanger for an antenna. He never owned a television. In as far as we could tell he owned one pair of shoes. Loafers. Anyway, he and his money eventually stumbled their way into Honduras.”
They continued their stroll up R Street, past the Dumbarton Oaks Mansion that sat gracefully on a finely manicured lawn. It was here in 1944, that the delegation from the Soviet Union, Britain and the United States drew up the plan that decided how a post-war world would look and then conceived and chartered the UN.
“And what motivated this stumbling into Honduras?” the Old Man asked.
“Our ambassador at the time motivated it,” the Admiral replied.
“Who was he? Remind me,” the Old Man asked curtly.
“White,” the Admiral answered. “Nathan White.”
“Oh God help us all,” the Old Man moaned.
“Carlson met him at a fundraiser of some sort and told White essentially, 'I'm immensely rich, and I want to spend my money fighting poverty in Central America. Over a three year period, our Mr. Anderson poured tens of millions of dollars into building libraries and underwriting reading programs for the poor throughout the country. The Pope wrote him letters of encouragement. The UN named a day in his honor. There was talk of building a statue to him in the capitol city. It would have been fine if he had left it at that but Ambassador White changed Mr. Carlson’s agenda. He refocused him on bringing democracy to Honduras.”
“Well that’s not good,” the Old Man injected. “We can’t have that. Can’t have that at all.”
A light rain started in as they rounded Wisconsin Avenue.
“Didn’t we own a man down there?” the Old Man asked.
“We did” the Admiral replied. “Pepe. Remember Pepe?
“Ah yes” he said with a smile. “Pepe Lobo.”
“Right,” the Admiral replied. “Pepe the wolf. Reliably corrupt, wonderfully greedy, brutal and completely ignorant. Basically everything the company needs in a dictator. Henrik Carlson’s problem with Pepe the wolf was that Henrik was a tree hugger and Pepe, being Pepe, had raped the country’s precious hardwood mahogany forest through illegal logging operators who handed him a ten percent cut of everything. In the process, the chopping decimated indigenous communities and when the locals rose up, he used the military to put them back down. In the meantime, the well-meaning Mister Carlson, with the urging of Ambassador White, was using his millions to search for a candidate to run against Pepe the Wolf.”
“Did he find one?” the Old Man asked as they stopped on the corner of R and Wisconsin. The Old Man pointed his black umbrella to the left side of the street and they crossed. A light drizzle was starting.
“He did,” he answered. “Actually, the meddling Ambassador White found him. A man named Zela, Manny Zela. A longtime member of the National Senate. Zela billed himself ‘A man of the people.’”
“Oh God help us,” the Old Man said. “Not another man of the people.”
“The problem was,” the Admiral continued “that Manny Zela was competent. With Anderson’s millions behind him he ran one hell of a campaign against our man Pepe. Zela spoke publically about the country being owned and managed by multinational corporations. He promised to do away with a class based educational system and raise the minimum wage. He promised that if elected he would crack down on illegal logging and would improve human rights and generally, as they say, spoke with the voice of the people. Even those who didn’t agree with his politics liked him because he said things they knew were true but that no other presidential candidate had said before.”
The rain increased and both men opened their identical black umbrella with maple handles and continued their walk.
“Carlson was everywhere during the election,” he said. “He didn't trust the local media because he said it was almost completely controlled by various oligarchs, which is true enough of course. So, he took over a small newspaper, El Libertador, and encouraged the reporters to write tough stories about Pepe the Wolf.”
An attractive young woman in a black business suit and trench coat approached them and he stopped talking. When she passed, he continued speaking. “Then Anderson funded an investigation by the Environmental Investigation Agency, an international organization that had ferreted out illegal loggers in Asia and other places.
“Let me ask the obvious,” the Old Man said, “Why do we, the company, why do we give a damn about this?”
“We were partners with Pepe the Wolf in the logging operation. The money from that operation funds the peasant revolt in Tibet. I think it’s Tibet.”
They crossed at R Street and crossed over 34th and then 35th Street as the rain increased.
“This watchdog group, the Environmental Investigation Agency, the EIA” he continued “had one of its investigators posing as a lumber buyer secretly videotape a meeting in Miami with a Honduran congressional candidate who told the investigator that to ensure the steady flow of lumber they would have to kick back to Pepe the Wolf.”
They turned right onto 38th Street.
“Carlson got the tape and pounded the illegal logging story on the front pages of his newspaper and booked $200,000 of advertising time on the Nicaraguan television networks. He saturated the air waves with the tape, and even had operatives show it on screens set up in parks. Carlson estimated he had spent $2 million trying to influence the outcome. His boy Zela won, by a squeak, but he won and our boy Pepe the wolf was out.”
“And our skeletons were left hanging in the closets?” the Old Boy asked.
“They were,” the Admiral said as they turned left on S Street. “Zela alienated the Honduran elite by cultivating leftist allies in Central and South America. He enacted some of his reforms which resulted in the country becoming even more profoundly polarized between. There was tension in the air. Then he made a speech in which he called for ‘an insurrection’. A poor choice of words in a nation where seven of 10 people live in poverty. That same day the company heard from all of our friends, the conglomerates that own hydroelectric plants, coffee interests, and the fast-food market, and they were not happy. The problem was that Zela still had Carlson’s mountain of cash behind him and they were using it to popularize their programs. So we had no choice but to drain his bank accounts.
They turned left on 39 Street.
“How much?” the Old Man asked with interest.
“Where was it reinvested?”
They turned right on to Reservoir Road where tall trees protected them from the persistent drizzle.
“That is out of my area but I understand the company put the bulk of it in an oil drilling project in Iran, I think. I don’t know for sure, or maybe it was a shoe factory in China. You hear things. Anyway, in a wonderful little bloodless coup the Honduran Army ousted Zela -- in his pajamas – and we had our boy Pepe the Wolf back in office the next day. The Honduran army backed the move.”
“And the well-meaning Mr. Carlson?” the Old Man asked. “What of him?”
“Our people in the Army took him as well. He was living in his own suit in the Presidential palace. Apparently he slept in the nude. They took them both out to the jungle and executed them, buried them under a rubber tree or a coconut tree or something.”
“Our involvement?” the Old Man asked.
“Minimal,” he said. “We handled the PR on Zela as being alive and well and living in Miami on the fortunes he stole from the people of Honduras.”
“No one asked about Carlson. He had no family. No friends. He was an odd duck. Almost no one knew about the role he played in the national election and how he almost single handedly elected Manny Zela President.”
“Well good,” the Old Man said. “Let’s keep it that way.”
At 35th Street they took a right and the rain started to fall harder. They fell into silence for a few seconds. This was the end of the stroll. They would part company now.
“It’s a shame really,” the Admiral said.
“Shame?” the Old Man asked as he turned to look at him for the first time.
“The whole mess,” the Admiral answered. “It’s too bad.”
The Old Man stopped walking, looked at him and asked, “Why?”
“Well,” the Admiral replied searching for his car keys, “were Carlson not planted under a coconut tree he would have spent a fortune for higher causes like making the world a better place. The Honduran poor would have a slightly better life and the Honduran rich would be slightly less rich.”
“And how do you know that?” the Old Man asked. “You can’t answer that because you don’t know. And that was why we had to make his money evaporate. Because we don’t know either. What we do in the world is to ensure that there are no unknown factors. We iron out the risks. And it is a damn good thing we do. What if Zela had succeeded in his plans? Then what? The price of coffee goes up by a nickel or a dime? Maybe, maybe not. Fast food chains increase the price of a burger because Honduran lettuce cost more? Maybe, maybe not. This Henrik Carlson fellow, yes, he could have changed things. But he had to be a kingmaker. All you see is a man without greed, and all I see is a man drunk with power. We didn’t kill Henrik Carlson. Henrik Carlson killed himself. He doesn’t make kings. We do. That is our job in the world. That’s what we do when we must do it. Because if we don’t others, far worse than your beloved Henrik Carlson, will.”
Realizing that he had become emotional the Old Man cleared his throat, paused and then continued, “The problem was that your Mister Carlson actually succeeded at it and he succeeded at it without us. We just can’t have that. As for the rest, well, it’s human nature, the oppression of the poor. I don’t like it any more than you do but it’s a tradition as old as the earth. It’s wrong of course, but for the time being, in the way the world is now, at this moment, it is often in our interest to stand on the side of the oppressor. Have a good day Admiral. Please see that you are not here for the next briefing. Have them send someone else.”
“I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.”Helen Keller
Latin Profanity: How to Swear in Latin
Posted on 13. Jan, 2015 by Brittany Britanniae in Latin Language
With the beginning of the New Year, I know many people have started about learning a language for a resolutions. While last week’s post discussed the top ten posts to help inspire and teach the language to beginners.
Courtesy of Mememaker.
WARNING: This post is not for the faint hearted. Romans were swearing and cursing in literature, poetry, and graffiti at the beginning of Western Civilizations. Since profanities are informal (and should not be used in public) and more often spoken than in literature, it is worthwhile to note several written sources of Latin profanity:
Courtesy of ecards.
The satirical poets (Catullus and Martial) use the words in literary texts.
The orator and lawyer Cicero’s Epistulae ad Familiares (“Letters to My Friends”) confirm the “profane” or “obscene” status of many Latin words.
Graffiti from the Roman period, scrawled notably on the walls of Pompeii and Herculaneum. We have a post on entitled: Ten Ancient Roman Graffiti Inscriptions.
BASIC CURSE WORDS: EXCLAMATIONS!
“faex” – sh*t
“cane” – bitch (this is actually referring to a dog, however, and not the female derogatory)
“deodamnatus” – dammit
“Irrumator” – Bastard
“Bovis stercus” – Bull sh*t
“Lupa” – Slut
“Leno” – Pimp
filius canis” – son of a b**ch (literally ‘son of a dog’)
“futuere” – get f**ked
“futue te ipsi” – f**k you
“ede faecam” – eat sh*t
“Flocci non faccio” – I don’t give a damn
“Stercus accidit” – Sh*t happens
SWEAR WORDS & INSULTS:
“Es stultior asino” – You are dumber than an a**
“Es scortum obscenus vilis” – You are a vile, perverted whore
“Te futueo et caballum tuum” – Screw you and the horse you rode in on
“Es mundus excrementi” – You are a pile of sh*t
“Es stercus!” You sh*t!
“Moecha Putida” – Dirty slut
“Podex perfectus es” – You’re a complete a**hole
“Potes meos suaviari clunes” – You can kiss my a**.
“Futue te ipsum!” – Go f*ck yourself!
“Perite” – F*ck off!
“Vacca stulta” – You stupid cow
fututus et mori in igni” – f**k off and die in a fire
“Vescere bracis meis” – Eat my shorts
“Morologus es!” – You’re talking like a moron!
“Puto vos esse molestissimos” – I think that you are very annoying
“Qualem blennum!” – What a doofus!
“Qualem muleirculam!” – What a bimbo
Mater tua tam obesa est ut cum Romae est urbs habet octo colles!
Your mama is so fat when she goes to Rome it has 8 hills!
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
Visit our Shakespeare Blog at the address below
Was Shakespeare as popular in his own time as he is now?
By Laura Estill
09 June 2015
Shakespeare, in the words of Ben Johnson, is ‘not of an age, but for all time.’ Image ©
tonynetone, licensed under CC-BY-2.0 and adapted from the original.
Hamlet is Shakespeare’s most popular play in modern times, but how did Shakespeare's contemporaries rate his works? Professor Laura Estill of the World Shakespeare Bibliography looks at how attitudes to Shakespeare have changed over time.
Nearly 400 years after his death, the best-known of all Shakespeare's lines is ‘To be or not to be’ from Hamlet, his most popular play in modern times. Hamlet has been translated into more than 75 languages (even Klingon), and performances are always taking place across the world. The Globe-to-Globe Hamlet production, for example, is currently on a two-year tour. It will have performed in every country in the world by 23 April 2016.
Laurence Olivier, Kenneth Branagh, David Tennant, Jude Law, Maxine Peake and Ethan Hawke are just some of the famous actors who have played Hamlet in the last 50 years. It is perhaps the most iconic role in all theatre.
By looking at the number of publications of, and about, each Shakespeare play recorded in the World Shakespeare Bibliography, we can see that in the past 50 years, people have gravitated towards the tragedies. Among those, Hamlet is the most popular.
But this was not always the case.
In early modern London, Shakespeare’s most sought-after plays were not the tragedies but the histories
According to the Database of Early English Playbooks, the two most published plays (and likely the most popular) from the 1590s to the 1630s were Henry IV Part I – published 11 times – and Richard III, which was published ten times.
Shakespeare wrote ten history plays over his lifetime. He began with a tetralogy – a series of four plays that told the story of English Kings Henry VI and Richard III. He then, like Stars Wars creator George Lucas, went back in time to tell the stories leading up to that, with a focus on Richard II, Henry IV, and Henry V. (The ‘Henriad’, as these plays are known, seems to have been better received than the Star Wars prequels.)
Although we can only guess at why early audiences were so drawn to the histories, it could be that the histories held an importance that is hard to imagine today. England’s ruler at the start of Shakespeare’s career was Queen Elizabeth I. As she grew older, the people of England wondered who would be her heir. They were no doubt mindful of the uprisings and usurpations that preceded her reign – many of which were dramatised in Shakespeare’s plays.
At one point in her reign, the queen allegedly said ‘I am Richard II’, comparing herself to Shakespeare’s most famous deposed king. In a country where power was centred on the throne, the issues of sovereignty and power, dramatised in Shakespeare's history plays, would have been at the centre of society, affecting everyone within it.
Although Richard III and Henry IV have always been favourites, recent productions have helped rekindle a popular appreciation of these sometimes overlooked history plays. The Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) is running the whole Henriad, featuring the stories of Richard II, Henry IV and Henry V in a ‘King and Country’ season. The recent BBC television series The Hollow Crown, with Jeremy Irons as King Henry IV and Tom Hiddleston as Prince Hal (who eventually becomes Henry V), has created a new generation of fans. It's unlikely that Henry IV Part I will outpace Hamlet’s popularity anytime soon, though.
Historic notes can tell us a lot about early attitudes to Shakespeare
We can tell what Shakespeare’s contemporaries thought about his plays by looking at their manuscripts. These were handwritten documents where they would jot down notes, accounts, poems, and snippets from plays. According to the Catalogue of English Literary Manuscripts, early readers didn't prefer Shakespeare over other popular writers of the time, such as Christopher Marlowe or Ben Jonson. It wasn't until the late 17th century, roughly 80 years after Hamlet was first performed and published, that readers copied out the ‘To be or not to be’ speech.
One mid-17th century commentary on Hamlet is found in Abraham Wright’s notebook (now held at the British Library). Wright criticised Hamlet as 'an indifferent [mediocre] play, the lines but mean [average].' Wright went so far as to claim that the gravedigger scene in Hamlet was 'since bettered in The Jealous Lovers', a play by Thomas Randolph that few people today have heard of. Wright did, however, enjoy Othello, which he deemed 'a very good play', and particularly liked the parts of 'villainous' Iago and 'jealous' Othello.
One of the earliest commentaries we have on Shakespeare comes from Gabriel Harvey, a scholar and writer, who noted in the margins of one of his books that 'the younger sort take much delight in Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis; but his Lucrece and his tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, have it in them to please the wiser sort'.
These notes also show us that Shakespeare originally became popular as a poet, not a playwright. To many early readers, Shakespeare was known not as a distinguished dramatist, but as a poet, whose most important works were The Rape of Lucrece, Venus and Adonis, and the Sonnets.
There are more opportunities to enjoy Shakespeare’s works today than there were in his own time
In Shakespeare’s time, his plays were performed at the Globe Theatre in London (recreated in today’s Shakespeare’s Globe). Entrance to the Globe cost only a penny for entrance to the ‘pit’ – an outdoor area in which people would stand to see the play. This cheap price meant that trade workers and merchants could afford to see plays at the Globe, while wealthier audience members paid more to sit in the gallery.
Shakespeare’s playing company, The Lord Chamberlain’s Men (later the King’s Men) also performed at the Blackfriars theatre, an indoor theatre where audience members sat on benches to see performances. At sixpence, admission to the Blackfriars was more expensive than the cheapest entrance to the Globe.
Beyond professional theatres, Shakespeare’s works were sometimes played at court before the nobility, or in schools.
Today, people from around the world attend Shakespeare’s plays in parks, theatres and cinemas. From free outdoor shows to front-row seats in London’s West End, Shakespeare’s audiences in the 21st century are even more varied than in Shakespeare’s time. His works are also performed globally in many artistic disciplines and languages. In 2012, Shakespeare’s 37 plays were performed in 37 languages in London as part of the Globe to Globe festival, with companies from across the world celebrating Shakespeare within their own theatrical traditions.
Today’s Shakespeare is not the Shakespeare of his own time
Looking at early responses to Shakespeare leads us to ask why his works have been glorified over those of his contemporaries. There is ultimately not one individual answer, but many, just as there have been many responses to Shakespeare’s works. David Garrick’s Shakespeare Jubilee, an 18th century celebration of Shakespeare’s life and works, is an example of the bardolatry (praise of Shakespeare’s genius) that has grown surrounding his works. The range of responses to Shakespeare’s works across the centuries is just one reason that they are, as Ben Jonson put it, ‘not of an age, but for all time.’
The British Council is planning a year-long global programme celebrating Shakespeare’s works in 2016. Find out about the Shakespeare Lives 2016 programme of activities.
In 1962, six year old John Tuohy, his two brothers and two sisters entered Connecticut’s foster care system and were prompltyl spilit apart. Over the next ten years, John would live in more then 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 complelling story will make you cry and laugh as you journey with this child to overcome the obsticales of the foster care system and find his dreams.
SAMPLE from NO TIME TO SAY GOODBYE: MEMOIR OF A LIFE IN FOSTER CARE
One day at the library I found a stack of record albums. I was hoping I’d find ta Beatles album, but it was all classical music so I reached for the first name I knew, Beethoven. I checked it out his Sixth Symphony and walked home. I didn’t own a record player and I don’t know why I took it out. I had Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony but nothing to play it on.
At home the unique smell of the Mad River in the summer wafted into our apartment and glided unopposed into every corner, because we had no air conditioning and every door and window was open. When dark approached, we had to close and lock them all— it was a dangerous neighborhood—and let the stale, humid air get pushed around by a small fan.
Behind the smell of the river came the scent of beer that the neighbors were drinking on kitchen chairs they had carried out onto the sidewalk. And behind that came the low pulse of salsa music played from a transistor radio.
I sat at the kitchen table, stared out the open back door, and soaked in the mildly warm breeze and the street music.
“Are you hungry, Johnny?” my mother asked as she came in from the near-empty parlor. It was pointless to say no, because she always made something for me anyway.
“No, Ma, I’m okay, thank you,” I said.
She pulled liverwurst and Polish mustard from the refrigerator and started to make me a sandwich.
“I got this at the library,” I said, showing her the album. “Beethoven. This is his Sixth Symphony, so he wrote six of them. I think he wrote more, I don’t know. You know what this is about?”
“No,” she said as she piled the meat high onto black bread and slathered it in the spicy mustard. “But I heard a him. Is he dead?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He died like a million years ago, but when he was alive, he would go for walks in the woods and then write down in music the way he felt about walking in the woods and all that. He was deaf.”
She handed me my sandwich with a glass of ice water and sat down at the table with me.
“Deaf? They should have got him a different job, the poor bastard.”
I handed her the album cover. She looked at the drawing of Beethoven on the front and said, “He needs a haircut. ” She added, “He looks like he could have been a boxer.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Well, he coulda been,” she said. “Maybe that’s how he went deaf, he got hit too many times in the head.”
I took the album and read the back: “As the composer said, the Sixth Symphony is ‘more the expression of feeling than painting’.” I looked up at her and said, “It has five movements.” The smile was already on her face before I finished the sentence. “Go ahead,” I said. “Say it and get it out of your system.”
“Five movements,” she laughed. “What’s this guy eatin’ he gotta go five times?”
“Okay, Chuckles,” I said. “Are we done with that?”
“Can I continue?”
“Yeah,” she said, and then whispered, “Movements.”
“This is known,” I said, “as the Pastoral Symphony, Ma, because Beethoven, the guy who wrote this, he liked to go out into the woods and write about the way he thought a cloud would sound like, or a tree bending in the wind or even what a blade of grass would sound like on a sunny day. How wild is that?” I paused and said, “Each of the movements—I’ll wait while you giggle, go ahead,” I said, and waited.
“No,” she said, giggling. “I won’t laugh; go ahead.”
“Each movement is like a journal of what he saw and then turned into a song.” I rested for a second and added, “He’s even got a storm in here, you know. What a storm would sound like.”
I looked at her and awaited her response.
“He got a girl, this guy?” she asked
“Beethoven?” I said “I dunno, Ma. Yeah, probably. He went deaf later on.”
“Some of the deaf got girls,” she said. “I don’t know what they talk about, but they got ’em.”
She stood up to make me another sandwich “You know, Johnny, you ever meet a nice girl, you want to bring her around, don’t be ashamed, I’ll clean the house up good.”
“I know, Ma, but I’m not looking for a nice girl, I’m looking for a bad girl,” I said. “Please don’t make me another sandwich. I still got this one.”
She didn’t listen. Minutes had passed without my eating something, and God forbid I should collapse from starvation.
“Why don’t you play it?” “We don’t have a record player,” I said. “But some day, I will. Someday I’ll listen to it.”
The next day, when I came home from the library, there was a small, used red record player in my room. I found my mother in the kitchen and spotted a bandage taped to her arm.
“Ma,” I asked. “Where did you get the money for the record player?”
“I had it saved,” she lied.
My father lived well, had a large house and an expensive imported car, wanted for little, and gave nothing. My mother lived on welfare in a slum and sold her blood to the Red Cross to get me a record player.
“Education is everything, Johnny,” she said, as she headed for the refrigerator to get me food. “You get smart like regular people and you don’t have to live like this no more.”
She and I were not hugging types, but I put my hand on her shoulder as she washed the dishes with her back to me and she said, in best Brooklynese, “So go and enjoy, already.” My father always said I was my mother’s son and I was proud of that. On her good days, she was a good and noble thing to be a part of.
That evening, I plugged in the red record player and placed it by the window. My mother and I took the kitchen chairs out to the porch and listened to Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony from beginning to end, as we watched the oil-stained waters of the Mad River roll by. It was a good night, another good night, one of many that have blessed my life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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.
where we are (for edward field)
by Gerald Locklin
where we are
i envy those
who live in two places:
new york, say, and london;
wales and spain;
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland.
there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope.
Gerald Locklin is a poet who is a Professor Emeritus of English at California State University, Long Beach and the poetry editor of Chiron Review. He taught at CSU, Long Beach from 1965 to 2007 and is also a part-time lecturer in the University of Southern California's Master of Professional Writing Program. He was a friend of Charles Bukowski, whom he first met in 1970, when he arranged for Bukowski to give a reading at CSU, Long Beach. Whereas Bukowski was an avatar of the "Meat School" of poetry that flourished in the 1960s and '70s, Locklin was considered a "Stand-Up" poet. According to Locklin, Charles Harper Webb defined "Stand-Up" poets as having "the qualities of directness, humor, pathos, performability, accessibility, [and] manliness...."
Despite being 20 years Bukowski's junior, they got along, despite the senior poet's aversion to "academics". I think we got along because we shared many attitudes—towards women, towards writing, towards drinking, towards sports, towards people we liked or disliked—in spite of my being an “academic,” and the 20 years difference in our ages, and the differences in our upbringings, we were not all that different at the core. And I liked his work a lot and did a lot to promote it. Locklin wrote a memoir of that friendship, Charles Bukowski: A Sure Bet, that was published in 1995. Locklin's first poem was published in Wormwood Review, which also published Bukowski. His first chapbook, Sunset Beach, was published in 1967. Locklin has published over 3,000 poems, works of fiction, reviews and articles that have appeared in numerous periodicals, he has published in excess of 125 books, chapbooks, and poetry broadsides.
“What a blessing it is to love books as I love them;- to be able to converse with the dead, and to live amidst the unreal!” Thomas Babington Macaulay, The Selected Letters Of Thomas Babington Macaulay
How to teach children happiness
Lessons in gratitude, kindness and tolerance help them have a positive state of mind, a factor that plays an important role in achieving success
BY LAUREN KNIGHT
When I think about what I want for my children as they grow up, I think of the kind of people I’d like them to become: adults who are kind, thoughtful and grateful, who laugh often and find passion in life.
I hope they surround themselves with whatever brings them joy, that they find a career they love and that they forge meaningful relationships with people who cherish them as much as I do. Above all, I want them to be happy.
As parents, it is our job to guide our children in so many areas. We toilet-train them, we teach them self-care and manners, we teach them how to read, what to do in an emergency, how to cross the street safely. We might teach them how to play a musical instrument or a sport we loved growing up. But can we teach them how to be happy?
Mike Ferry, a longtime middle school teacher, father of four and author of “Teaching Happiness and Innovation”, maintains that we can. Contrary to what many believe, success does not always bring happiness, but research has shown that the reverse is true — happier people are more likely to be successful at school and work and in their personal lives. Ferry defines happiness as “an optimistic, communal, and disciplined perspective on life”.
The happier we are, the more successful we become. And Ferry explains that, thanks to the plasticity of our brains, happiness and innovation can be taught, nurtured and practised. He goes on to say what Shawn Achor, author of “The Happiness Advantage”, has expressed: that when we are in a positive mindset, “our brains become more engaged, creative, motivated, energetic, resilient and productive at work.”
It turns out we can teach our children how to be happy by encouraging certain habits.
The first is gratitude. Teaching children to be grateful in a world of overabundance can seem like a daunting task. It is easy to get sucked into the consumer mentality of society; children are constantly inundated with the idea that more is better and that they need the next new gadget or toy and then on to the next.
But the importance of saying no to children in order to instil a grateful attitude cannot be overstated. Help them focus on being grateful for what they already have rather than on what they want next.
Another way to teach this is to get into the habit of observing a “moment of gratitude” every day. This may be upon waking up or as the family gathers around the dinner table. Take a moment to reflect, then go around the table taking turns sharing one thing for which you are grateful.
For older children, encourage them to keep a gratitude journal. Practising gratitude daily can rewire our brains to recognise appreciation rather than to dwell on disappointments. In turn, we will become happier.
Kindness is another skill we can teach our children to help them find greater happiness. Ferry highlights research that has shown a link between the “feel-good” brain chemical dopamine and kindness. Acting with kindness increases the flow of dopamine within the do-gooder’s brain, making him feel happy.
We can encourage kindness in children first and foremost by modelling it within our homes. Be kind, especially during disagreements, and praise even small acts of kindness. Teach tolerance, highlight opportunities to give back to your community and volunteer as a family if possible.
Happy homes can also inspire creative minds. Our brains, and those of our children, are most receptive to new information when we are relatively stress-free, happy and engaged, according to Ferry. That means happiness is crucial for learning and critical thinking. We can inspire creativity by embracing humour, curiosity and open-mindedness at home.
Encouraging creative ideas from children can come in the form of including them in family decisions (such as planning vacations or designing bedrooms). You can also play games that involve open-ended questions to inspire them to think critically. Allowing children plenty of time for unstructured play helps, too. Ferry’s book contains a wonderfully detailed list of suggestions and examples.
We should also celebrate the unconventional people in our lives by talking about how some of the most unconventional people in the world have had great impact (think Mahatma Gandhi, Albert Einstein, Nelson Mandela and Thomas Edison).
Happiness is not something that falls out of the sky and into our children’s laps. It is a wonderfully complex state of mind that can be strengthened with practise. And I’m willing to bet that we all want our children to experience happiness and joy in life.
Lauren Knight is a writer and stay-at-home mother who blogs at CrumbBums.com
Half the lies they tell about me aren't true.”
THE BOOK OF FUNNY, ODD AND INTERESTING THINGS THAT PEOPLE SAY
John William Tuohy
"Outside of the killings, [Washington] has one of the lowest crime rates in the country." Marion Barry, Mayor of Washington, D.C.
"There are two kinds of truth. There are real truths, and there are made up truths." -- Marion Barry, on his arrest for drug use.
"If crime went down 100%, it would still be fifty times higher than it should be." -- Councilman John Bowman, commenting on the high crime rate in Washington, D.C.
"[I want to] make sure everybody who has a job wants a job." -- George Bush, during his first campaign for the presidency.
"A proof is a proof. What kind of a proof? It's a proof. A proof is a proof. And when you have a good proof, it's because it's proven." -- Jean Chretien
"When a great many people are unable to find work, unemployment results." -- Calvin Coolidge, ex-president, discussing the United States economic situation in 1931.
"This opens the door on another chapter of history." -- Walter Cronkite
"President Carter speaks loudly and carries a fly spotter, a fly swasher -- it's been a long day." -- Gerald Ford
"If Lincoln was alive today, he'd roll over in his grave." -- Gerald Ford
"Things are more like they are now than they have ever been." -- Gerald Ford
"I love sports. Whenever I can, I always watch the Detroit Tigers on the radio." -- Gerald Ford
"That is what has made America last these past 200 centuries." -- Gerald Ford
"China is a big country, inhabited by many Chinese." -- Charles de Gaulle, President of France
"A zebra does not change its spots." -- Al Gore
"The theories -- the ideas she expressed about equality of results within legislative bodies and with -- by outcome, by decisions made by legislative bodies, ideas related to proportional voting as a general remedy, not in particular cases where the circumstances make that a feasible idea..." -- Al Gore
"The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep." -- Senator S. I. Hayakawa
"Wherever I have gone in this country, I have found Americans." -- Alf Landon (in America), during a speech in his presidential campaign against FDR.
"When your back is against the wall, there is only one thing to do, and that is turn around and fight." -- John Major
"There is a mandate to impose a voluntary return to traditional values." -- Ronald Reagan
"The streets are safe in Philadelphia -- it's only the people who make them unsafe." -- Frank Rizzo, ex-police chief and mayor of Philadelphia.
"During my service in the United States Congress, I took the initiative in creating the Internet." Al Gore
"Water under the dam." -- A television news reporter, referring to the Clinton/Gore campaign fundraising issue.
"Hannibal had real guts. He rode elephants into Cartilage." President George W. Bush
"These are not my figures I'm quoting. They're from someone who knows what he's talking about." -- A congressman, during a debate.
We've got to pause and ask ourselves: How much clean air do we need?- Lee Iacocca, Chairman of the Chrysler corporation
"I'm not going to have some reporters pawing through our papers. We are the president."- Hillary Clinton
I do not like this word "bomb." It is not a bomb. It is a device that is exploding.- Jacques le Blanc, French ambassador on nuclear weapons
They have vilified me, they have crucified me, yes, they have even criticized me. Richard J. Daley, Mayor of Chicago
The police are not here to create disorder, they're here to preserve disorder. Richard J. Daley, Mayor of Chicago
The police are not here to create disorder, they're here to preserve disorder. Richard J. Daley, Mayor of Chicago
No man is an Ireland. Richard J. Daley, Mayor of Chicago
You won't have Nixon to kick around anymore, because, gentlemen, this is my last press conference. Richard Nixon, 1962
Finishing second in the Olympics gets you silver. Finishing second in politics gets you oblivion. Richard M. Nixon
People say I'm extravagant because I want to be surrounded by beauty. But tell me, who wants to be surrounded by garbage? Imelda Marcos, answering a question on why she owned 1,000 pair of designer shoes
The one thing I do not want to be called is First Lady. It sounds like a saddle horse. Jacqueline Kennedy
FROM LLR BOOKS. COM
Litchfield Literary Books. A really small company run by writers.
The Day Nixon Met Elvis
Paperback 46 pages
Theodore Roosevelt: Letters to his Children. 1903-1918
Paperback 194 pages
THE ANCIENT GREEKS AND CIVILIZATIONS
The Works of Horace
Paperback 174 pages
The Quotable Greeks
Paperback 234 pages
The Quotable Epictetus
Paperback 142 pages
Quo Vadis: A narrative of the time of Nero
Paperback 420 pages
The Porchless Pumpkin: A Halloween Story for Children
A Halloween play for young children. By consent of the author, this play may be performed, at no charge, by educational institutions, neighborhood organizations and other not-for-profit-organizations.
A fun story with a moral
“I believe that Denny O'Day is an American treasure and this little book proves it. Jack is a pumpkin who happens to be very small, by pumpkins standards and as a result he goes unbought in the pumpkin patch on Halloween eve, but at the last moment he is given his chance to prove that just because you're small doesn't mean you can't be brave. Here is the point that I found so wonderful, the book stresses that while size doesn't matter when it comes to courage...ITS OKAY TO BE SCARED....as well. I think children need to hear that, that's its okay to be unsure because life is a ongoing lesson isn't it?”
Paperback: 42 pages
BOOKS ON FOSTER CARE
It's Not All Right to be a Foster Kid....no matter what they tell you: Tweet the books contents
Paperback 94 pages
From the Author
I spent my childhood, from age seven through seventeen, in foster care. Over the course of those ten years, many decent, well-meaning, and concerned people told me, "It's okay to be foster kid."
In saying that, those very good people meant to encourage me, and I appreciated their kindness then, and all these many decades later, I still appreciate their good intentions. But as I was tossed around the foster care system, it began to dawn on me that they were wrong. It was not all right to be a foster kid.
During my time in the system, I was bounced every eighteen months from three foster homes to an orphanage to a boy's school and to a group home before I left on my own accord at age seventeen.
In the course of my stay in foster care, I was severely beaten in two homes by my "care givers" and separated from my four siblings who were also in care, sometimes only blocks away from where I was living.
I left the system rather than to wait to age out, although the effects of leaving the system without any family, means, or safety net of any kind, were the same as if I had aged out. I lived in poverty for the first part of my life, dropped out of high school, and had continuous problems with the law.
Today, almost nothing about foster care has changed. Exactly what happened to me is happening to some other child, somewhere in America, right now. The system, corrupt, bloated, and inefficient, goes on, unchanging and secretive.
Something has gone wrong in a system that was originally a compassionate social policy built to improve lives but is now a definitive cause in ruining lives. Due to gross negligence, mismanagement, apathy, and greed, mostly what the foster care system builds are dangerous consequences. Truly, foster care has become our epic national disgrace and a nightmare for those of us who have lived through it.
Yet there is a suspicion among some Americans that foster care costs too much, undermines the work ethic, and is at odds with a satisfying life. Others see foster care as a part of the welfare system, as legal plunder of the public treasuries.
None of that is true; in fact, all that sort of thinking does is to blame the victims. There is not a single child in the system who wants to be there or asked to be there. Foster kids are in foster care because they had nowhere else to go. It's that simple. And believe me, if those kids could get out of the system and be reunited with their parents and lead normal, healthy lives, they would. And if foster care is a sort of legal plunder of the public treasuries, it's not the kids in the system who are doing the plundering.
We need to end this needless suffering. We need to end it because it is morally and ethically wrong and because the generations to come will not judge us on the might of our armed forces or our technological advancements or on our fabulous wealth.
Rather, they will judge us, I am certain, on our compassion for those who are friendless, on our decency to those who have nothing and on our efforts, successful or not, to make our nation and our world a better place. And if we cannot accomplish those things in the short time allotted to us, then let them say of us "at least they tried."
You can change the tragedy of foster care and here's how to do it. We have created this book so that almost all of it can be tweeted out by you to the world. You have the power to improve the lives of those in our society who are least able to defend themselves. All you need is the will to do it.
If the American people, as good, decent and generous as they are, knew what was going on in foster care, in their name and with their money, they would stop it. But, generally speaking, although the public has a vague notion that foster care is a mess, they don't have the complete picture. They are not aware of the human, economic and social cost that the mismanagement of the foster care system puts on our nation.
By tweeting the facts laid out in this work, you can help to change all of that. You can make a difference. You can change things for the better.
We can always change the future for a foster kid; to make it better ...you have the power to do that. Speak up (or tweet out) because it's your country. Don't depend on the "The other guy" to speak up for these kids, because you are the other guy.
We cannot build a future for foster children, but we can build foster children for the future and the time to start that change is today.
No time to say Goodbye: Memoirs of a life in foster
Paperbook 440 Books
BOOKS ABOUT FILM
On the Waterfront: The Making of a Great American Film
Paperback: 416 pages
BOOKS ABOUT GHOSTS AND THE SUPERNATUAL
Scotish Ghost Stories
Paperback 186 pages
The Book of funny odd and interesting things people say
Paperback: 278 pages
The Wee Book of Irish Jokes
Perfect Behavior: A guide for Ladies and Gentlemen in all Social Crises
BOOKS ABOUT THE 1960s
You Don’t Need a Weatherman. Underground 1969
Paperback 122 pages
Baby Boomers Guide to the Beatles Songs of the Sixties
Baby Boomers Guide to Songs of the 1960s
The Connecticut Irish
Paper back 140 pages
The Wee Book of Irish Jokes
The Wee Book of Irish Recipes
The Wee Book of the American-Irish Gangsters
The Wee book of Irish Blessings...
The Wee Book of the American Irish in Their Own Words
Everything you need to know about St. Patrick
Paperback 26 pages
A Reading Book in Ancient Irish History
The Book of Things Irish
Poets and Dreamer; Stories translated from the Irish
Paperback 158 pages
The History of the Great Irish Famine: Abridged and Illustrated
Paperback 356 pages
BOOKS ABOUT NEW ENGLAND
The New England Mafia
Wicked Good New England Recipes
The Connecticut Irish
Paper back 140 pages
The Twenty-Fifth Regiment Connecticut Volunteers
Paperback 64 pages
The Life of James Mars
Paperback 54 pages
Stories of Colonial Connecticut
Paperback 116 pages
What they Say in Old New England
Paperback 194 pages
BOOK ABOUT ORGANIZED CRIME
Chicago Organized Crime
The Mob Files: It Happened Here: Places of Note in Chicago gangland 1900-2000
An Illustrated Chronological History of the Chicago Mob. Time Line 1837-2000
Mob Buster: Report of Special Agent Virgil Peterson to the Kefauver Committee
The Mob Files. Guns and Glamour: The Chicago Mob. A History. 1900-2000
Shooting the Mob: Organized crime in photos. Crime Boss Tony Accardo
Shooting the Mob: Organized Crime in Photos: The Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre.
The Life and World of Al Capone in Photos
AL CAPONE: The Biography of a Self-Made Man.: Revised from the 0riginal 1930 edition.Over 200 new photographs
Paperback: 340 pages
Whacked. One Hundred Years Murder and Mayhem in the Chicago Outfit
Paperback: 172 pages
Las Vegas Organized Crime
The Mob in Vegas
Bugsy & His Flamingo: The Testimony of Virginia Hill
Testimony by Mobsters Lewis McWillie, Joseph Campisi and Irwin Weiner (The Mob Files Series)
Rattling the Cup on Chicago Crime.
Paperback 264 pages
The Life and Times of Terrible Tommy O’Connor.
Paperback 94 pages
The Mob, Sam Giancana and the overthrow of the Black Policy Racket in Chicago
Paperback 200 pages
When Capone’s Mob Murdered Roger Touhy. In Photos
Paperback 234 pages
Organized Crime in Hollywood
The Mob in Hollywood
The Bioff Scandal
Paperback 54 pages
Organized Crime in New York
Joe Pistone’s war on the mafia
Mob Testimony: Joe Pistone, Michael Scars DiLeonardo, Angelo Lonardo and others
The New York Mafia: The Origins of the New York Mob
The New York Mob: The Bosses
Organized Crime 25 Years after Valachi. Hearings before the US Senate
Shooting the mob: Dutch Schultz
Gangland Gaslight: The Killing of Rosy Rosenthal. (Illustrated)
Early Street Gangs and Gangsters of New York City
Paperback 382 pages
THE RUSSIAN MOBS
The Russian Mafia in America
The Threat of Russian Organzied Crime
Paperback 192 pages
Best of Mob Stories
Best of Mob Stories Part 2
Mob Recipes to Die For. Meals and Mobsters in Photos
More Mob Recipes to Die For. Meals and Mobs
The New England Mafia
Angiulo was born in 1919 to Italian immigrants Caesar and Giovannina (Jeannie) Anguilo, who owned a mom-and-pop grocery store. Angiulo enlisted in the U.S. Navy at the beginning of World War II and served 4 years in the Pacific theater
The Angiulo brothers, who owned nightclubs, were publicly named as members of Cosa Nostra, more commonly known as the American Mafia. In 1963. Gennaro's reputation for being a shrewd businessman, along with his successful racketeering, led to Patriarca appointing him underboss of the Providence, Rhode Island-based Patriarca crime family. Angiulo later headed up Boston's underworld from the 1960s to the 1980s. He and his brothers ran the criminal organization out of Francesco's Restaurant at 98 Prince Street in the North End, the neighborhood in which he grew up.
In 1981, the Federal Bureau of Investigation placed wiretaps in the restaurant and at a nearby social club, located at 51 North Margin Street, for three months. It was later revealed in a federal court that rival gangsters Whitey Bulger and Stephen Flemmi drew a diagram for FBI agents telling them where to plant the bugs. As Angiulo was being taken in handcuffs from the restaurant on September 19, 1983, he yelled, "I'll be back before my pork chops get cold." As Angiulo sat in jail without bail awaiting trial on federal racketeering charges, he was demoted from the mob.
At the highly-publicized trial, jurors heard hours of taped conversations of Angiulo and his associates planning numerous illegal activities, including murder, gambling, loan sharking and extortion. In one conversation, Angiulo ordered the killing of a bartender after concluding that was set to testify before a federal grand jury investigating gambling and loan-sharking. The FBI thwarted the plot by warning the witness.
At the eight-month-long trial, the mobster often sarcastically commented on the evidence presented and cracked jokes, prompting District Court Judge Davis Nelson to repeatedly reprimand him. In February 1986, Angiulo and his co-defendants were convicted of "an avalanche of charges". He was sentenced to 45 years in prison on 12 counts of racketeering, gambling, loan sharking, and obstruction of justice. As his own lawyer, Angiullo argued numerous times, unsuccessfully, to have his conviction overturned. One argument claimed that he was framed by the FBI, Bulger, and Flemmi.
In an affidavit filed in federal court in 2004, he wrote that he was in poor health and his term was "tantamount to an illegal death sentence". Angiulo, who had been incarcerated at the federal prison hospital in Devens, was paroled on September 10, 2007. He died on August 29, 2009 at the Massachusetts General Hospital of renal failure from kidney disease.
Shooting the mob. Organized crime in photos. Dead Mobsters, Gangsters and Hoods.
The Salerno Report: The Mafia and the Murder of President John F. Kennedy
The Mob Files: Mob Wars. "We only kill each other"
The Mob across America
The US Government’s Time Line of Organzied Crime 1920-1987
Early Street Gangs and Gangsters of New York City: 1800-1919. Illustrated
The Mob Files: Mob Cops, Lawyers and Informants and Fronts
Gangster Quotes: Mobsters in their own words. Illustrated
Paperback: 128 pages
The Book of American-Jewish Gangsters: A Pictorial History.
Paperback: 436 pages
The Mob and the Kennedy Assassination
Paperback 414 pages
BOOKS ABOUT THE OLD WEST
The Last Outlaw: The story of Cole Younger, by Himself
Paperback 152 pages
BOOKS ON PHOTOGRAPHY
Chicago: A photographic essay.
Paperback: 200 pages
Boomers on a train: A ten minute play
Paperback 22 pages
Four Short Plays
By John William Tuohy
Four More Short Plays
By John William Tuohy
High and Goodbye: Everybody gets the Timothy Leary they deserve. A full length play
By John William Tuohy
Cyberdate. An Everyday Love Story about Everyday People
By John William Tuohy
The Dutchman's Soliloquy: A one Act Play based on the factual last words of Gangster Dutch Schultz.
By John William Tuohy
Fishbowling on The Last Words of Dutch Schultz: Or William S. Burroughs intersects with Dutch Schultz
Print Length: 57 pages
American Shakespeare: August Wilson in his own words. A One Act Play
By John William Tuohy
She Stoops to Conquer
The Seven Deadly Sins of Gilligan’s Island: A ten minute play
Print Length: 14 pages
BOOKS ABOUT VIRGINIA
OUT OF CONTROL: An Informal History of the Fairfax County Police
McLean Virginia. A short informal history
THE QUOTABLE SERIES
The Quotable Emerson: Life lessons from the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Over 300 quotes
The Quotable John F. Kennedy
The Quotable Oscar Wilde
The Quotable Machiavelli
The Quotable Confucius: Life Lesson from the Chinese Master
The Quotable Henry David Thoreau
The Quotable Robert F. Kennedy
The Quotable Writer: Writers on the Writers Life
The words of Walt Whitman: An American Poet
Paperback: 162 pages
Gangster Quotes: Mobsters in their own words. Illustrated
Paperback: 128 pages
The Quotable Popes
Paperback 66 pages
The Quotable Kahlil Gibran with Artwork from Kahlil Gibran
Paperback 52 pages
Kahlil Gibran, an artist, poet, and writer was born on January 6, 1883 n the north of modern-day Lebanon and in what was then part of Ottoman Empire. He had no formal schooling in Lebanon. In 1895, the family immigrated to the United States when Kahlil was a young man and settled in South Boston. Gibran enrolled in an art school and was soon a member of the avant-garde community and became especially close to Boston artist, photographer, and publisher Fred Holland Day who encouraged and supported Gibran’s creative projects. An accomplished artist in drawing and watercolor, Kahlil attended art school in Paris from 1908 to 1910, pursuing a symbolist and romantic style. He held his first art exhibition of his drawings in 1904 in Boston, at Day's studio. It was at this exhibition, that Gibran met Mary Elizabeth Haskell, who ten years his senior. The two formed an important friendship and love affair that lasted the rest of Gibran’s short life. Haskell influenced every aspect of Gibran’s personal life and career. She became his editor when he began to write and ushered his first book into publication in 1918, The Madman, a slim volume of aphorisms and parables written in biblical cadence somewhere between poetry and prose. Gibran died in New York City on April 10, 1931, at the age of 48 from cirrhosis of the liver and tuberculosis.
The Quotable Dorothy Parker
Paperback 86 pages
The Quotable Machiavelli
Paperback 36 pages
The Quotable Greeks
Paperback 230 pages
The Quotabe Oscar Wilde
Paperback 24 pages
The Quotable Helen Keller
Paperback 66 pages
The Art of War: Sun Tzu
Paperback 60 pages
The Quotable Shakespeare
Paperback 54 pages
The Quotable Gorucho Marx
Paperback 46 pages
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
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)
The Blogable Robert Frost
The Beat Poets of the Forever Generation
Holden Caulfield Blog Spot
The Quotable Oscar Wilde
NEW ENGLAND BLOGS
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
The Connecticut History Blog
The Connecticut Irish
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
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
The Rarifieid Tribe
The Upscale Traveler
The Mish Mosh Blog
DC Behind the Monuments
When Washington Was Irish
SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM "ON THE WATERFRONT. THE MAKING OF A GREAT AMERICAN FILM
THE CINEMATOGRAPHY OF BORIS KAUFMAN
The films Cinematographer would be the talented, highly respected and legendary Boris Kaufman who had been hired by Kazan after a recommendation by filmmaker Willard Van Dyke. Schulberg said,
"Boris was a great artist. He did a beautiful job under difficult conditions. The weather was cold and overcast. We rushed to shoot the film in 35 days. Cheap is fast. Every day costs money. Spiegel, the producer, was on Kazan's tail to go faster. We were pleased by the way, the film turned out. Everybody was against it. We overcame all the obstacles.” 48
Kaufman strongly believed that image and theme in a film must be united and that belief is displayed in the visual continuity from scene to scene, all of it flawless, which was the cinematographer’s primary concern. Since Kazan shot Waterfront in story sequence, (Shooting each scene as the viewer would see it) continuity became a lesser issue for Kaufman, freeing him to concentrate on constancy in lighting, an ongoing problem in outside, winter shooting so to get evenly defused lighting, Kaufman had the crew burn trashcans with dried wood (less smoke).
Throughout each of the three parts of the film, Kazan and Kaufman used camera angles that emphasize entrapment, solidified by the setting of laundry hanging on lines, which form diagonals that intrude on human space, alleyways with blinding lights and diffused lighting that emphasizes moral confusion.
One of the better moments of camera styling in the film, in this case taking precedence over acting and scripting, is the fantastic scene where Terry confesses his role in Joey Doyle’s murder to Edie. The viewer doesn’t hear the confession or Edie response because Kazan allowed it to be drowned out by the scream like whistle from a nearby ship, in effect, drowned out by the waterfront as was the life of Joey Doyle. The viewer hears one of two words but the scene is impressionistic, relying on the depth of the actors reactions to the words, the acting accentuated by the sounding of a pounding press machine somewhere in the background. Edie leaves Terry alone on a hell like pile of black rocks, a flame of fire shooting into the sky in the background.
Foreshadowing is also sprinkled liberally in the film, all of done without dialogue and left only to Kaufman camera work. Kazan uses the foreshadowing in Joey Doyle’s death scene by having
Doyle leans out of his apartment window to answer Terry Malloy’s call from the street, a call that will eventually lead to his death. It is used a second time later in the film when Terry leans out of Edie’s window to answer a dark call from the street, which leads to the discovery of his brother’s corpse. The tilt to the roof to Doyle’s apartment reveals that Joey is in trouble (although this simply happened and not scripted)
Again, he uses a macabre foreshadowing for the death of Kayo Dugan who wishes that the dockworkers could unload crates of Irish whiskey instead of bananas, which they unload every day. The day a ship finally arrives with a cargo of Irish whiskey is the day the gang murders Dugan on the job—by dropping a crate of whiskey on his head. He also uses the dead Joey Doyle’s leather jacket to signal both death and resurrection. After Joey Doyle’s murder, Pops Doyle gives Joey’s jacket to Dugan, suggesting that perhaps now Dugan has a mark on him. After Dugan’s murder, the jacket is given back to Edie who give the jacket to Terry who does not wear it, perhaps out of guilt. Only when he exonerates his guilt by testifying, in the final scene at the docks, does he wear Joey’s jacket. One area of the film that made Spiegel happy was the cost of film. The film is shot in black and white for its realism and social class and because Italian neo-realism, began to dictate an expectation that black and white was somehow more appropriate for social realism than color was.
It was effective for all of those reasons, but it was also cost effective. One of the original reasons the film was shot without color was that there had been a hope that Zanuck, whom they wanted to finance the film, would envision another Grapes of Wrath, one of the most successful films Hollywood had ever produced.
Oddly, moviegoers today view black and white as too realistic which was the mood that Kaufman wanted, he preferred black and white to color because he believed it better brought across the concept that the director and screenwriter had in mind. Black and white also gave Kaufman wider exposure latitude, and the ability to work in unprepared locations where he frequently used long shot, deep focus photography that situated the workmen versus the harbor.
Kaufman used low angle versus high angle shots of the various characters. Terry Malloy, as an example, is never shot against an open sky until he makes the decision to challenge Johnny Friendly. After that, he is joined with Father Barry against the sky whenever he attempts to inspire workers to make spiritual choices.
The garish lighting in the back alley when Terry discovers his murdered brother effectively expresses the good/evil polarity of Terry’s situation at that point in the narrative and the scene prior to that, when Terry and Edie are almost run down by a truck has a Film noir lighting scheme.
The gangsters and their world are depicted with high contrast, low-key photography, again reminiscent of film noir style. Kazan and Kaufman used suggestive framing when Malden as Father Barry, is lifted from the cargo hold with Kayo Duggan’s corpse, above the men, towards heaven as if Duggan reward for his testimony and Barry’s reward for his sermon, are to be brought into heaven. (in reality, it was the only way out of the cargo hold, the exit door to the hold was too narrow to lift the body through)
Kaufman preferred early morning and late afternoon shooting. It gave him natural light sources such as soft shadows and dimly lit objects would be better the black and white hues in the film stock.
Clear days were better for Kaufman to create the films distant shots because the natural light and distance would smooth over the harsher edges of the object, but clear days were far and few between during the short time that the crew was in Hoboken. Conversely, Kaufman preferred cloudy days to shot the actors close up, when the defused lighting would better bring across the actors features.
Although the camera work is one of the key elements to films success
It’s presence in such abbreviated form shows that it has been given short shrift, along with makeup, lighting, and costume design.
Kazan stressed actors-on-screen over camera work, he wanted the actors work to be the center of the film, not Kaufman’s camera angles, as a result, while there is some wonderful camera work by Kaufman, intense close up’s or dramatic long shots are rare. The most frequent shot in the film are two-shot angles (Two actors in one shot at midrange) or in wider shots to show the characters positioning which Kazan used show the dynamics of the waterfront hierarchy. Johnny Friendly is usually shown in alone with his men in the background. As the film progresses, Terry Malloy, who is at first shot close to Friendly and his men, is gradually (starting with his condemnation to the cargo holds by Friendly for missing Kayo Duggan’s testimony) between the Friendly gang and the longshoremen.
Waterfront’s Art and Set Director was Canadian Richard Day, who had begun his film career in 1918 under the director Erich von Stroheim and would win, in the total of his career, seven Oscars for art direction and set design. Day’s cathedral alter set for the 1928 film, The Wedding March, was so beautiful that the films cinematographer Hal Mohr, asked that it be kept up after filming so he could use the set for his own wedding. Day had worked with Kazan on Streetcar but in his work on Waterfront, he created and discovered locations that captured the psychological and physical needs of the film. In Day’s locations, after working closely with Boris Kaufman and Kazan, the city is confined in fences and walls and as a result, the charters are confined, their city is a dingy, dangerous place filled with threatening alleyways, crowded spaces and lights that pierce and blind the cast and the viewer. Space is intruded upon by fog and steam engulfs the streets and set the tone for the characters state of mind. The Hoboken Day delivers sees Manhattan across the river as almost a golden city far beyond the reach of these mere longshoremen who exist in near poverty and filth. Almost all of Kaufman’s distant shots are of an open space (And usually aerial) from the rooftop of Terry’s apartment house. Those shot, always leaving a romantic image, suggest escape if only temporary, from the problems on the dirty streets below.
OTHER WORKS BY JOHN WILLIAM TUOHY........................
Roger Touhy," wrote the Chicago Tribune, "is one of those rare cases in which the man measured up to the legend."
He was born in a lawless neighborhood called "the Valley." It is gone and largely forgotten now, except by a scant few descendants of the tens of thousands of Irish immigrants who huddled there for a time, making that brutal slum the largest Irish ghetto west of New York.
Located in the heart of Chicago, the Valley was a flat stretch of land partial to winter floods that would fill the water with human waste from the nearby canals. In the summer it was insufferably humid. It was always a dreary place, full of ancient wooden warehouses, overcrowded with stinking tenements, stores with near-empty shelves, and saloons packed with men who had long since given up their dreams of a better life.
Roger Touhy was born there in 1898. He was the last of seven children in one of the thousands of working families jammed into the Valley. While he was still an infant, Roger's mother was burned to
death when the kitchen stove exploded. It was a remarkably common occurrence at the time, leaving his father, James, an Irish immigrant and a lowly but otherwise honest beat cop, to raise the family.
"My father,"Roger wrote, "was a Chicago policeman. An honest one. Otherwise, he would have had a hell of a lot less trouble getting the grocery and rent money."
James Touhy eventually lost his four eldest sons to a local thug named Paddy "the Bear" Ryan. An enormous hulk of a man, Ryan led the notorious Valley Gang, which was organized in the middle 1860s. It inducted members as young as twelve years of age, and, at least in the beginning, graduated them to the big leagues of crime at around age nineteen or twenty.
In 1870, its membership was mostly made up of the sons of policemen and lower level politicos whose city hall connections kept their sons out of serious trouble with the law. Using that clout, the gang was able to transform itself from a rag-tag group of street urchins who stole fruit off vendors' wagons into a working criminal/political organization.
With time, the gang moved from its basement headquarters on 15th Street to its first official headquarters, a popular saloon on the corner of 14th and Mulberry Streets. From there, the Valley Gang moved into armed robbery and big dollar larceny. But the gang remained a small-time local operation in most respects. Then, in about 1880, the Germans began to move into the Valley, followed by the Jews. The gang terrorized both groups, beating them into submission and coercing cash from their shop owners when extortion became the new money maker.
The gang continued to rule supremely over the Valley until the turn of the century when great masses of Irish, Germans and Jews moved out and were replaced by tens of thousands of southern Italians. Numerically superior and just as tough as the Irish they replaced, the southern Italians were less prone to intimidation than were the Germans and Jews. The Italians had their street gangs as well, some with membership in the hundreds.
Inevitably, street wars between the Irish and the Italians broke out frequently. As a result, the Maxwell Street police station had the highest number of assault and attempted murder cases of any police precinct in the country, outside of Brooklyn. Again, what kept most of the Valley Gang members out of jail were their powerful political contacts, made even stronger by the gang's willingness to rent itself out as polling booth enforcers. However, unlike the smaller street gangs from the Valley-the Beamers, the Plugs and the Buckets of Blood-who also rented out their services, the Valley boys were known for their penchant to switch sides in the middle of a battle if the opposite side was paying more or if it appeared that they might win the election.
By 1910, the gang continued to grow in power in the Valley by having enough sense to allow a limited number of Jews and Germans into its ranks. The Valley Gang remained the largest and deadliest gang in the area and a whole new generation of Irish-American boys in Chicago grew to admire the gang and its leaders "in much the same way" one sociologist wrote, "that other boys looked up to, in a fanciful way, Robin Hood or Jesse James."
By 1919, the Irish had surrendered their majority status in the Valley but managed to retain political control, just as they did throughout most of Chicago as well. By that time, the gang transformed itself into a social and athletic club which, in both votes and money, stood solidly behind several dozen important politicos whose careers had been launched by the gang.
The first important leaders of the Valley Gang were Heinie Miller and Jimmy Farley. Both expert pickpockets and burglars who flourished in the 1900s. Miller and Farley, along with their lieutenants, "Tootsie" Bill Hughes and Bill Cooney (aka "the Fox") were described by the police as "four of the smoothest thieves that ever worked the Maxwell Street district."
Smooth or not, they all went to jail in 1905 for extended stays and the leadership of the gang fell to "Red" Bolton. Bolton's reign was cut short by his own stupidity. He robbed a store in the middle of the Valley, in the middle of the day, killing a cop in the process. No amount of political influence could help. Bolton was sent away to prison where he died of pneumonia in a few years.
With Bolton gone, the gang started to weaken compared to it's previous power, although it had a brief resurgence during the first World War when Chicago was under a temporary alcohol prohibition and the gang went into the rum-running business.
Rum-running brought the gang a lot of money. For the first time, the Valley Boys drove Rolls Royces, wore silk shirts and managed to get out of murder charges by affording the most talented lawyers, including the legendary Clarence Darrow.
In the mid 1890s, when the gang was under the leadership of Paddy the Bear Ryan, the Valley Boys were transformed into labor goons for hire, with the Bear, acting as the salesman, boasting that his boys were the best bomb throwers and acid tossers in the business. The Valley Gang solidified that reputation during the building trades strike of 1900, which put some 60,000 laborers out of work for twenty-six weeks.
Operating under the street command of Walter "Runty" Quinlan, who would eventually lead the gang, the Valley boys terrorized strike breakers with unmerciful beatings and earned their reputation as pro-labor thugs in an age when the bosses and factory owners paid better.
Paddy the Bear ruled the Valley for years and it was the Bear who taught Tommy, Johnny, Joe and Eddie Touhy the finer points of the criminal life. Weighing in at least 450 pounds, the Bear waddled when he walked. But he was a solid figure full of fighting vigor and brutal vitality. He was also an ignorant man, blatant and profane, utterly fearless when given to one of his choking rages.
The Bear's place was a dingy saloon at 14th Street and South Halstead. There was a sawdust floor "to soak up the blood" as Jack Lait said. A dirty, bent bar filled an entire wall. The rest of the room was packed with rickety tables and grimy wooden benches. On the drab smoke-stained walls hung pictures of John L. Sullivan, Jake Kilrain and dozens of other Irish fighters whom the Bear admired.
The Bear, whose specialty was making police records disappear, worked seven days a week. With a dirty apron tied around his enormous waist he held court, ruling over his kingdom with an iron fist like an absolute dictator. The Bear was feared by the killers that surrounded him, so much so that throughout his long career none dared to question him or usurp his authority.
During the Bear's leadership, no gang in all of Chicago was tougher or bolder. Every criminal in the Valley had to swear allegiance to Paddy the Bear or they didn't work in the Valley.
It came to be that the Bear's friend, Red Kruger, was sent to Joliet Penitentiary on a variety of charges. Soon afterward Runty Quinlan, the Bear's second in command, started sleeping with Kruger's wife.
This sordid romance threw the Bear into one of his rages. One day when the Runt stopped by Paddy's saloon for a beer, the Bear came from around the bar and called him every name in the book. He punched the Runt to the floor, picked him up and punched him to the floor again and again and again. It was a terrible beating, even by Valley standards. When it was over, the Bear told the Runt that he would beat him senseless every time he saw him.
Runty Quinlan swore his revenge.
Several days after the beating, Paddy the Bear was summoned to the Des Plains police station to answer a charge for receiving stolen property. "He could have," noted one cop, "found his way blindfolded."
It was morning when the Bear started out for the police station. He waddled along Blue Island Avenue and stopped by Eddie Tancel's place. Eddie was another Valley Gang graduate who operated a bar in the area. Once a professional fighter, Tancel-who was called "the Bulldog of Cicero"-had won almost all of his fights with his famous knockout punch. He retired to his Blue Island bar after he accidentally killed an up-and-coming fighter named Young Greenberg with his gloved fist. The police would eventually close down Tancel's Blue Island saloon after it became the scene of one too many shooting murders.
After leaving Tancel's place, the Bear crossed an alley just a half block from his saloon when Runty Quinlan sprang up from behind some trash cans and shot Paddy the Bear several times in his enormous belly. Paddy reeled out into the middle of the street, slumping down on the cobblestone and fell to the ground. Quinlan stood over the Bear and fired four more bullets into him.
Paddy the Bear was rushed to a hospital where a cop asked if he knew who had shot him. To which Paddy replied, "Of course I know who shot me, you idiot." Then he paused and said, more to himself than to anyone present, "But I didn't think that the little runt would have the nerve to do it."
Then he died.
For the cops, the Bear's last words were everything but a confession. Runty Quinlan was dragged in for questioning but was released due to lack of evidence.
Shortly after killing the Bear, Runty Quinlan went down state to Joliet State Prison on an unrelated charge. He was released several years later during Prohibition and opened a saloon on 17th and Lommis Streets at the border of the Valley. The place soon became a favorite hang-out for the Klondike and Myles O'Donnell boys. Once, when police raided the joint, they found ten bulletproof vests, two machine guns and a dozen automatic pistols hidden behind the bar. "The Runt's saloon,"said Jack Lait "was that kind of joint."
Paddy the Bear had one son, known as "Paddy the Cub." Paddy the Cub idolized his father who, for all his wicked ways, was an indulgent and doting parent. Young Paddy never forgot his father's murder and for years nursed his hatred of Runty Quinlan. As a teenager he would see the Runt on his way to school, leaning against the doorway of his saloon, uneasily smiling down at him.
One day the Runt was lounging in a booth in his saloon with three Valley Gang graduates: Fur Sammons, Klondike and Myles O'Donnell. The group had been drinking for several hours and were mildly drunk when Paddy the Cub slipped up to the Runt, jammed a revolver in his left temple and whispered 'This is for my father, you son-of-a-bitch." He shot the Runt through the back of the head. After the Runt fell to the floor, Paddy the Cub fired several more shots into the body and then slowly and calmly walked out the front door of the saloon.
• • •
In 1919, after the Bear was killed, Terry Druggan and Frankie Lake took over the Valley Gang. Druggan was a dwarf-like little man with a hair-trigger temper and a lisp. He was ambitious and found the Valley territory too restrictive for his high ambition. He soon extended his criminal reach far beyond its borders.
Over the years, Terry Druggan had gained a reputation as a fool and a clown. Despite this reputation Druggan proved to be a highly effective leader. He was a smooth operator and a highly intelligent hood, and by the third year of Prohibition he had made himself and most of his gang members rich beyond their wildest dreams. By 1924, Terry Druggan could truthfully boast that even the lowest member of his gang wore silk shirts and had a chauffeur for his new Rolls-Royce.
Druggan was smart enough to enter into several lucrative business agreements with Johnny Torrio. He was wise enough to pull the Valley Gang off the streets and remodel them after Johnny Torrio's restructured version of "Big Jim" Colosimo's outfit. With his alcohol millions, Druggan bought a magnificent home on Lake Zurich and a winter estate in Florida. He surrounded himself with yes-men and flunkies and parked twelve new cars in his garage. He had a swimming pool although he couldn't swim, a tennis court although he didn't play, and dairy cattle (which he admitted scared him), sheep and swine in his pastures. He owned a thoroughbred racing stable and raced his horses, draped in his family's ancient Celtic color scheme, at Chicago's tracks.
Once, when he was ruled off the turf at one track for fixing a race, Druggan pulled his gun on the officials and promised to kill them all then and there if they didn't change their ruling. They changed their ruling.
Frankie Lake grew up with Druggan in the Valley. He and Druggan were inseparable companions, as well as business partners in everything. They even went to jail together. In 1924, during the height of Prohibition, both Druggan and Lake were sentenced to a year in the Cook County jail by Judge James Wilkerson for contempt of court for refusing to answer questions regarding their business dealings. Lake appealed to the President of the United States for help. The President refused to intervene and the pair went to jail-sort of. After a $20,000 cash bribe to Sheriff Peter Hoffman, "for the usual considerations and conveniences" as Druggan put it, he and Lake were allowed to turn their cells into working offices. They came and went from the jail as they saw fit and were often seen in cafes late at night, retiring to their spacious apartments on ritzy Lake Shore Drive.
On those rare days when they actually stayed in the jail-waking up late and having breakfast in bed-their wives were regular visitors. In fact, on several occasions Druggan had his dentist brought in to fill a cavity. Later, when the story broke, a reporter asked Druggan to explain his absence from jail. The gangster explained, "Well you know, it's awfully crowded in there."He was right. In 1924 the Cook County jail, which had been built to house no more than 500 inmates, was home to over 1,500 men.
The same thing happened in 1933 when Druggan was supposed to be in Leavenworth Federal Prison for two and a half years on a tax evasion charge. Once again he bought his way out of the jail and was living in the tiny town just outside the prison, in a three bedroom apartment with his girlfriend Bernice Van De Hauten. She was a buxom blonde who moved down from Chicago to keep Terry company, much to his wife's surprise. The story broke and Druggan was moved from Leavenworth to Atlanta, without his girlfriend this time.
With the end of Prohibition, the Druggan and Lake Gang, as the Valley Gang was then called, was completely absorbed by the Chicago syndicate operations and for all practical purposes ceased to exist.
Accardo Anthony Born 1906 Died 1992 Mob Boss. AKA Joe Batter, Big Tuna, JB: Tony Accardo was and remains, without a doubt, the most successful, the most powerful, most respected and the longest-lived Boss the Chicago syndicate, if not in all of organized crime. During his tenure, Accardo's power was long reaching and frightfully vast. He was so respected and feared in the national Mafia that in 1948, when he declared himself as the arbitrator for any mob problems west of Chicago, in effect proclaiming all of that territory as his, no one in the syndicate argued.
Unlike Torrio, Nitti or Ricca, Tony Accardo looked exactly like what he was, a mob thug who could and did dispatch men and women to their death over money or the slightest insult, real or imagined.
He was a peasant, even he said that. But he was also reserved man and a thinker, unlike his Colosimo or Capone or Giancana and all those who came after Giancana. Accardo knew his limitations.
He consulted often with his mentor, Paul Ricca and his top advisor Murray Humphreys because he recognized their intelligence and wisdom and he used it. He admitted to not having the outward intelligence of Ricca or Frank Nitti or Johnny Torrio or even the flare and occasional self-depicting wit of Capone or Giancana.
Yet, it was Accardo who expanded the Mobs activities into new rackets. It was Accardo who, recognizing the dangers of the white slave trade, streamlined the old prostitution racket during the war years into the new Call-Girl (or Out-call) service, which was copied by the crime New York families.
Two decades after prohibition was repealed, Accardo introduced bootlegging to the dry states of Kansas and Oklahoma, flooding them with illegal whiskey. He moved the Mob into slot and vending machines, counterfeiting cigarette and liquor tax stamps and expanded whole sale narcotics smuggling to a worldwide basis.
He had the good sense to invest, with Eddie Vogel as his agent, into manufacturing slot machines and then placed them everywhere, gas stations, restaurants and bars. When Las Vegas exploded, Accardo made sure the casinos used his slots and only his slots.
Watching someone as clever as Paul Ricca and as smart as Frank Nitti go to jail over the Bioff scandal, Accardo pulled the organization away from labor racketeering and extortion. Under Accardo's reign, the Chicago mob exploded in growth and grew wealthy as a result.
The Mob grew, because, outside of the Kefauver committee, there wasn't a focused attempt on the part law enforcement agencies to bust up the Chicago syndicate.
The FBI was busy catching cold war spies and they didn't acknowledge that the Mafia or even organized crime existed anyway. Under Accardo's leadership, the gang set its flag in Des Moines Iowa, down state Illinois and, Southern California and deep into
Kentucky, Las Vegas, Indiana, Arizona, St. Louis Missouri, Mexico, Central and South America. Accardo's long reign highlighted a golden era for Chicago's syndicate. It also ushered in the near collapse of the Mob as well. In 1947, as Tony Accardo took the reins of power from Paul Ricca, the Mob produced $300,000,000 in criminal business per year.
Accardo, Humphreys, Ricca and Giancana taking in an estimated $40 to $50 million each per year as their cut. (Or Points as it’s called in the underworld) Accardo pensioned off the older members of the mob and gave more authority to the younger members of the mob, mostly former 42 gang members like Sam Giancana, the Battaglia’s and Marshal Caifano. The money poured in, in hundreds of thousands of dollars every day from all points where Chicago ruled. The hoods that had survived the shoot-outs, gang wars, intergang wars, purges, police shootings, the national exposés and the federal and state investigations now saw what they had hustled so hard for.
Crooked financial mangers invested his cash. By the time he died in 1992, Tony Accardo, the son of illegal immigrant parents from an Italian ghetto in a Chicago slum, had legal investments in transportation as diverse as commercial office buildings, strip centers, lumber farms, paper factories, hotels and car dealerships, trucking, newspapers, hotels, restaurants and travel agencies.
He dictated to his men that "When things are in order at home, it's easier to concentrate on business” so although he allowed them their mistresses and girlfriends, it was his rule that his men spend times with their wives and children.
Accardo himself was said never to have cheated on his wife of many years, Clarice. He declared that no one in the organization could ever threaten or harm a policeman or member of the media, in so long as they were honest and doing their job, they were to be left alone. Yet when an honest Chicago policeman named Jack Muller ticketed Accardo car for double parking outside the Tradewinds, a mob salon on Rush Street, Accardo made sure that officer Muller was made an example of by his superiors. From that day on, it became commonplace to see hoods park their cars where ever they pleased along Rush Street and other places. Like his mentor Paul Ricca, it was Accardo's firm belief that in order to avoid the tax men, that the Mob should conduct itself as meekly as possible to avoid public attention. Accardo decided that he would keep the lowest profile a mob boss could have and he directed his under bosses to follow the same route. They did, except for Sam Giancana. Also like Ricca, Accardo preached moderation, low profile and patience in all things but unlike Ricca, Accardo seldom practiced what he preached. His estate in exclusive River Forrest, outside of Chicago was extravagant. Far more extravagant then he would allow for any of his men.
Accardo bought the estate in 1943 when he started to roll in wartime profits. It had twenty-one rooms, a built in pool...in the house...a black onyx bathtub that cost $10,000 to install in the fifties, and a bowling alley.
The baths were fitted with gold inlaid fixtures; the basement had a large gun and trophy room that sometimes doubled as a mob meeting hall. It had vaulted ceilings, polished wood spiral staircase, a library full of hundreds of volumes of books, pipe organ and a second bowling alley. His backyard barbecue pit, a status symbol in gangdom, was the largest in the Mob only because nobody was stupid enough to build a larger one than the bosses. The half-acre lawn was surrounded by a seven-foot high fence and two electrically controlled gates. "It was," wrote Sam Giancana's daughter Annette, "almost obscene the way he flaunted his wealth."
By early 1940, Accardo was a power in Chicago and in the national Mafia. He managed to have a 1944 arrest for gambling withdrawn, when he told the court that he intended to join the Army.
Accardo's lawyer, the legendary mob mouthpiece, George Bieber, told the court: "This young man is eager to get into the fight, don't deny him that right” The judge released Accardo on the agreement that Accardo would report to his draft board, which he did. But, by then, Accardo was running the Chicago Mob since Paul Ricca was in jail.
He already had a 21-room mansion, and an estimated income of $2,000,000 a year, and he wasn't about to give it up for the $21 a week paid to an Army Private. Two days later Accardo appeared before the draft board, explained his background in crime, his position in the organization and was summarily rejected by the Army as morally unfit. The gambling charges were dropped because Accardo had done as he was ordered by the court. In 1945, after he was instrumental in the release of his boss, Paul Ricca, from federal charges for his role in the Willie Bioff scandal, Ricca resigned as the Mobs leader, and promoted Accardo to the top spot. Accardo held the position, off and on, for the next forty years but in 1958, Accardo called the mob together at the Tam O'Shanter restaurant and introduced Sam Giancana as the new boss with the simple sentence: "This is Sam; he's a friend of ours."
rarely dealt directly in narcotics, that is, on a street level. However, it has
always been deeply involved in financing narcotics
Abate Joseph: Alleged Chicago mob operative and union official active in the 1990s. On January 29, 1999, Abate, who earned a salary of $90,000 as a Laborers Union Executive, was found guilty of running a sports betting ring that brought him up to $12,000 a week after police raided his home in March of 1998 and seized $200,000 in bets. He was sentenced to two years felony probation and fined one thousand dollars.
Abate joined the Laborers local 225 in Des Plains Illinois in 1987 and held positions of Business Agent and Recording Secretary. He was eventually elected President of the local in 1995. Working with Abate was John Galioto. Jenell Totani an office secretary at Local 225 was romantically involved with John Galioto, the former Business Manager of Local 225 under Abates presidency. Totani, was actually lived with Totani, testified later that at least 20 men, including Abate, gathered in Galioto's basement on Monday nights and left a half hour later with envelopes containing money. She also claimed that after Abate’s house was raided, that Galioto asked her to rush over to their home and remove or destroy the gambling equipment stored there. Guy Drehoble, a bookmaker and friend of Totani’s was hired on at the local as a steward although he had no prior experience and wasn’t sure what the union represented. In return for the job, Drehoble was to act as Galioto and Abate’s on-the-scene bookmaker and collector. According to Drehoble, Abate answered Galioto. An Inspector performed an audit of Local 225 books and found that Abate charged excessive amounts of money to the Union for meals which were not related to legitimate union business. In the first four months of 1997, Abate ate at restaurants at which he charged the meals to the union 85 times, a total of $3,504 to the union for the meals, an average of $900 per month.