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Listing of the Mob Rats, Snitches and Beefers
Richard Cain
(Sam Giancana's former driver)
His role in Cook County Sheriff's History
John Christopher (Operation Silver Shovel)
Robert Cooley (Operation Gambat)
Salvatore "Sammy The Bull" Gravano
(beefed on New York's Gambino Family Boss John "The Dapper Don" Gotti)
Henry Hill (Goodfellas fame)
Joseph "Joe Dogs" Iannuzzi
Florida member of the Gambino Family
William "B.J." Jahoda (Cicero, Illinois)
See Ernest Rocco Infelise
Angelo Lonardo
Cleveland Underboss & Snitch
Philip Leonetti
(Philadelphia/Atlantic City Mob)
Michael Raymond
Terry Salem
(Las Vegas Mob pal & rat)
Louis Shumway
Al Capone Accountant & Snitch
Joseph Valachi
Genovese Soldier who turned on his bosses in 1963
Cameron Crawford
Arizona Bus Bum 2012..(Sold out a Friend)
Snitches and Beefers
Listing of the Mob Rats, Snitches and Beefers
Richard Cain
(Sam Giancana's former driver)
His role in Cook County Sheriff's History
John Christopher (Operation Silver Shovel)
Robert Cooley (Operation Gambat)
Salvatore "Sammy The Bull" Gravano
(beefed on New York's Gambino Family Boss John "The Dapper Don" Gotti)
Henry Hill (Goodfellas fame)
Joseph "Joe Dogs" Iannuzzi
Florida member of the Gambino Family
William "B.J." Jahoda (Cicero, Illinois)
See Ernest Rocco Infelise
Angelo Lonardo
Cleveland Underboss & Snitch
Philip Leonetti
(Philadelphia/Atlantic City Mob)
Michael Raymond
Terry Salem
(Las Vegas Mob pal & rat)
Louis Shumway
Al Capone Accountant & Snitch
Joseph Valachi
Genovese Soldier who turned on his bosses in 1963
Cameron Crawford
Arizona Bus Bum 2012..(Sold out a Friend)
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How six recent Columbia College grads got Hollywood muscle to help them make their mob movie
Chris Charles says he warned his star up front: "But I don't think it really registered till his first day of shooting in downtown Chicago."
Charles had cast Frank Vincent as the lead in Chicago Overcoat, an independent drama that will receive its world premiere Saturday, October 10, at the Chicago International Film Festival. Known almost exclusively for playing gangsters—including New York crime boss Phil Leotardo on The Sopranos and Billy Batts, who ends up in a trunk in Goodfellas—Vincent, 70, got to the set in October 2007 and realized that most of the crew were in their early 20s. "He's looking around like, 'Where'd all these kids come from?'" says Charles, who's now 25.
Chicago Overcoat was the first full-length feature produced by Beverly Ridge Pictures, a company formed in 2005 by six Columbia College film students, including Charles. Writer-director Brian Caunter, now 26, and writer-producer John Bosher, now 25, developed a sideline producing promotional and music videos while roommates at Columbia. Their "booty video," as Caunter calls it, for Joe Glass & IROC's "Two" got heavy rotation on BET Uncut in 2004. The next year, Caunter and Bosher joined forces with Charles, Philip Plowden, Kevin Moss, and William Maursky to form Beverly Ridge, named after Moss's far-south-side neighborhood. "The name sounds Hollywood, but it's also kind of Chicago," Caunter explains. They used Givens Castle, a Beverly landmark, as their logo. Charles directed Beverly Ridge's first production, a short adaptation of the Ray Bradbury short story "The Small Assassin."
In 2006 the six friends worked on a low-budget thriller called The Devil's Dominoes, directed by Scott Prestin, owner of the now-defunct Wicker Park bar Ginbucks. "We realized from that experience that we were more prepared than we thought to make a feature," Charles says. They were all fans of gangster films and figured they could make one without incurring a lot of extra production costs by taking advantage of Chicago locations.
"For months all we had was a title," says Caunter. His grandmother in Ohio had suggested "Chicago Overcoat," Prohibition-era slang for a coffin. The Family Secrets mob trials were in the headlines at the time and wound up providing inspiration for the screenplay.
Vincent plays Lou Marazano, an old hit man for the Chicago Outfit, who accepts his first contract in years—going after witnesses in a union pension-fund embezzlement case—to finance his Vegas retirement. Another Goodfellas vet, Mike Starr, is the underboss who exploits Marazano's money troubles. Another Sopranos alum, Kathrine Narducci, plays Marazano's old flame and alibi. Armand Assante plays the jailed boss facing trial. Chicago-based actor Danny Goldring is the alcoholic detective who's been chasing Marazano since the 1980s. And Stacy Keach does a cameo as a retired investigator pulled off the case when he got too close to city corruption.
"We were huge fans of The Sopranos," Caunter says. "We decided to write the script with Frank Vincent in mind so when he read it he'd feel like the main character is Frank Vincent. His book A Guy's Guide to Being a Man's Man was our character outline." The partners figured that "if we could create roles from scratch for celebrities, knowing they'd want to play something different, something challenging, we'd have an easier time recruiting them," Charles says. "We usually see Frank as a high-rolling mobster, higher on the food chain. In this film he's very humbled, very flawed, taking orders from guys younger than him."
Charles got the script to Vincent's people, and Vincent responded even though it came from unknowns in flyover country. "What appealed to me was the sensitivity of playing the softer side of a mob guy," Vincent says, "a guy who's not in control, who's looking to get the control." Vincent says he met a lot of mafiosi while touring as a drummer for Del Shannon and Paul Anka in the 1960s, helping him perfect a persona he's portrayed in Scorsese masterpieces and B movies alike. "They all have a way of looking at you, of intimidating you," Vincent says. "They're all evil. I can give a look or a stare that people read as evil."
Caunter and Charles signed Vincent at a place called Goodfellas Ristorante near his New Jersey home. "Frank walked in in a jumpsuit with a gold chain, looking like he walked off the set of The Sopranos," Charles says.
Once Vincent signed on, the other leads followed. Joe Mantegna was cast as the detective but dropped out weeks before shooting to take a role on CBS's Criminal Minds. "That was tough," Charles says. "I'd worked very hard to cast Joe." Goldring, who played the last clown killed in the opening bank heist sequence of The Dark Knight, stepped in. "They're so young, but they really got the writing for old-timers down," Goldring says.
The mother of cinematographer Kevin Moss, JoAnne Moss, who runs a real estate title insurance firm, personally invested "hundreds of thousands of dollars" and helped raise the rest of the $2 million budget, according to a report in Crain's Chicago Business. "Originally it was a smaller film. But as we found some success attaching talent, the budget increased," Charles says. "The project just kept getting bigger."
The filmmakers' youth "concerned me, absolutely," Vincent says. "They were younger than my kids. I've never experienced that before in all the films I've done, such a young team. . . . I figured if they were going to screw up, they'd screw up right away. As we progressed into the shoot, it became clear that they really knew what they wanted, and that was enough to make me confident."
Caunter, who turned 24 during the shoot, says he felt like "a chicken with its head cut off. Most of the time you have no idea what's going on. You feel like the world is going to end. You shoot for 12 hours, you come home and feel like you failed. The next day you feel like you want to redeem yourself. I think that's what makes a good movie—the struggle. If everything went your way it might feel kind of washy. I never had that experience, so I don't know."
The biggest adjustment for Caunter was learning to adapt to each actor's approach. "Frank is quite easygoing," he says. "Armand is the polar opposite. Armand would scream obscenities at the top of his lungs before the take. That alone would scare half the set, and then we'd roll the camera."
"They turned me loose," says Goldring. "That can be a dangerous thing for any actor, but they also had the good sense to rein me in. I'm a passion merchant. Doing Chicago Overcoat allowed me to let my passions out. The [character] is . . . ornery. He likes to tip back a few. Even though I don't do that anymore, I can play one on TV."
Accusations of ethnic stereotyping have dogged many of Vincent's projects. Last spring, MillerCoors pulled a series of ads featuring Vincent and Starr as mobsters after complaints from the Order Sons of Italy in America. Chicago Overcoat is no exception. After principal photography wrapped in November 2007, Bosher got an e-mail from Bill Dal Cerro of the advocacy group Italic Institute of America. Dal Cerro wrote, "It saddens—and yes, sickens me—that you are reverting to the oldest game in the book in your quest for Hollywood fame: namely, stoking prejudice against Americans of Italian descent by producing yet another pointless Italian 'mob' movie."
"I told him they can't force us to stop making movies that people want to see," Bosher says. "They have to change people's minds." Let them protest, adds Vincent, who sells "mobbleheads" of his Goodfellas character on his Web site. "It'll do the movie good."
It's going to be tough to recover the $2 million budget in today's independent film market, which is arguably in a deeper slump than the rest of the economy. Todd Slater of LA-based Huntsman Entertainment is shopping the film to distributors. "We've had a lot of offers from smaller companies," Charles says. "We've been waiting patiently for the right buyer. We want an offer we can't refuse
Courtesy of Chicago Reader.com
The Making Of A Chicago Outfit
How six recent Columbia College grads got Hollywood muscle to help them make their mob movie
Chris Charles says he warned his star up front: "But I don't think it really registered till his first day of shooting in downtown Chicago."
Charles had cast Frank Vincent as the lead in Chicago Overcoat, an independent drama that will receive its world premiere Saturday, October 10, at the Chicago International Film Festival. Known almost exclusively for playing gangsters—including New York crime boss Phil Leotardo on The Sopranos and Billy Batts, who ends up in a trunk in Goodfellas—Vincent, 70, got to the set in October 2007 and realized that most of the crew were in their early 20s. "He's looking around like, 'Where'd all these kids come from?'" says Charles, who's now 25.
Chicago Overcoat was the first full-length feature produced by Beverly Ridge Pictures, a company formed in 2005 by six Columbia College film students, including Charles. Writer-director Brian Caunter, now 26, and writer-producer John Bosher, now 25, developed a sideline producing promotional and music videos while roommates at Columbia. Their "booty video," as Caunter calls it, for Joe Glass & IROC's "Two" got heavy rotation on BET Uncut in 2004. The next year, Caunter and Bosher joined forces with Charles, Philip Plowden, Kevin Moss, and William Maursky to form Beverly Ridge, named after Moss's far-south-side neighborhood. "The name sounds Hollywood, but it's also kind of Chicago," Caunter explains. They used Givens Castle, a Beverly landmark, as their logo. Charles directed Beverly Ridge's first production, a short adaptation of the Ray Bradbury short story "The Small Assassin."
In 2006 the six friends worked on a low-budget thriller called The Devil's Dominoes, directed by Scott Prestin, owner of the now-defunct Wicker Park bar Ginbucks. "We realized from that experience that we were more prepared than we thought to make a feature," Charles says. They were all fans of gangster films and figured they could make one without incurring a lot of extra production costs by taking advantage of Chicago locations.
"For months all we had was a title," says Caunter. His grandmother in Ohio had suggested "Chicago Overcoat," Prohibition-era slang for a coffin. The Family Secrets mob trials were in the headlines at the time and wound up providing inspiration for the screenplay.
Vincent plays Lou Marazano, an old hit man for the Chicago Outfit, who accepts his first contract in years—going after witnesses in a union pension-fund embezzlement case—to finance his Vegas retirement. Another Goodfellas vet, Mike Starr, is the underboss who exploits Marazano's money troubles. Another Sopranos alum, Kathrine Narducci, plays Marazano's old flame and alibi. Armand Assante plays the jailed boss facing trial. Chicago-based actor Danny Goldring is the alcoholic detective who's been chasing Marazano since the 1980s. And Stacy Keach does a cameo as a retired investigator pulled off the case when he got too close to city corruption.
"We were huge fans of The Sopranos," Caunter says. "We decided to write the script with Frank Vincent in mind so when he read it he'd feel like the main character is Frank Vincent. His book A Guy's Guide to Being a Man's Man was our character outline." The partners figured that "if we could create roles from scratch for celebrities, knowing they'd want to play something different, something challenging, we'd have an easier time recruiting them," Charles says. "We usually see Frank as a high-rolling mobster, higher on the food chain. In this film he's very humbled, very flawed, taking orders from guys younger than him."
Charles got the script to Vincent's people, and Vincent responded even though it came from unknowns in flyover country. "What appealed to me was the sensitivity of playing the softer side of a mob guy," Vincent says, "a guy who's not in control, who's looking to get the control." Vincent says he met a lot of mafiosi while touring as a drummer for Del Shannon and Paul Anka in the 1960s, helping him perfect a persona he's portrayed in Scorsese masterpieces and B movies alike. "They all have a way of looking at you, of intimidating you," Vincent says. "They're all evil. I can give a look or a stare that people read as evil."
Caunter and Charles signed Vincent at a place called Goodfellas Ristorante near his New Jersey home. "Frank walked in in a jumpsuit with a gold chain, looking like he walked off the set of The Sopranos," Charles says.
Once Vincent signed on, the other leads followed. Joe Mantegna was cast as the detective but dropped out weeks before shooting to take a role on CBS's Criminal Minds. "That was tough," Charles says. "I'd worked very hard to cast Joe." Goldring, who played the last clown killed in the opening bank heist sequence of The Dark Knight, stepped in. "They're so young, but they really got the writing for old-timers down," Goldring says.
The mother of cinematographer Kevin Moss, JoAnne Moss, who runs a real estate title insurance firm, personally invested "hundreds of thousands of dollars" and helped raise the rest of the $2 million budget, according to a report in Crain's Chicago Business. "Originally it was a smaller film. But as we found some success attaching talent, the budget increased," Charles says. "The project just kept getting bigger."
The filmmakers' youth "concerned me, absolutely," Vincent says. "They were younger than my kids. I've never experienced that before in all the films I've done, such a young team. . . . I figured if they were going to screw up, they'd screw up right away. As we progressed into the shoot, it became clear that they really knew what they wanted, and that was enough to make me confident."
Caunter, who turned 24 during the shoot, says he felt like "a chicken with its head cut off. Most of the time you have no idea what's going on. You feel like the world is going to end. You shoot for 12 hours, you come home and feel like you failed. The next day you feel like you want to redeem yourself. I think that's what makes a good movie—the struggle. If everything went your way it might feel kind of washy. I never had that experience, so I don't know."
The biggest adjustment for Caunter was learning to adapt to each actor's approach. "Frank is quite easygoing," he says. "Armand is the polar opposite. Armand would scream obscenities at the top of his lungs before the take. That alone would scare half the set, and then we'd roll the camera."
"They turned me loose," says Goldring. "That can be a dangerous thing for any actor, but they also had the good sense to rein me in. I'm a passion merchant. Doing Chicago Overcoat allowed me to let my passions out. The [character] is . . . ornery. He likes to tip back a few. Even though I don't do that anymore, I can play one on TV."
Accusations of ethnic stereotyping have dogged many of Vincent's projects. Last spring, MillerCoors pulled a series of ads featuring Vincent and Starr as mobsters after complaints from the Order Sons of Italy in America. Chicago Overcoat is no exception. After principal photography wrapped in November 2007, Bosher got an e-mail from Bill Dal Cerro of the advocacy group Italic Institute of America. Dal Cerro wrote, "It saddens—and yes, sickens me—that you are reverting to the oldest game in the book in your quest for Hollywood fame: namely, stoking prejudice against Americans of Italian descent by producing yet another pointless Italian 'mob' movie."
"I told him they can't force us to stop making movies that people want to see," Bosher says. "They have to change people's minds." Let them protest, adds Vincent, who sells "mobbleheads" of his Goodfellas character on his Web site. "It'll do the movie good."
It's going to be tough to recover the $2 million budget in today's independent film market, which is arguably in a deeper slump than the rest of the economy. Todd Slater of LA-based Huntsman Entertainment is shopping the film to distributors. "We've had a lot of offers from smaller companies," Charles says. "We've been waiting patiently for the right buyer. We want an offer we can't refuse
Courtesy of Chicago Reader.com
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Italian Heritage ?? Great Reading
The Book chronicles the lives of working Chicago Italians for 80 years through photography and text
For more than a century, Italian immigrants and their descendants contributed their labor and talent to building the city. Chicago Italians at Work focuses on a period from 1890 to 1970 when industry was king in this midwestern metropolis. Generations of Italians found work in companies such as U.S. Steel, Western Electric, Pullman, Crane, McCormick/Harvester, Hart Schaffner and Marx, and other large industrial corporations. Other Italians were self-employed as barbers, shoe workers, tailors, musicians, construction workers, and more. In many of these trades, Italians were predominant. A complex network of family enterprises also operated in the Chicago Italian community. Small shopkeepers generated work in food services and retail employment; some of these ma-and-pa operations grew into large, prosperous enterprises that survive today. Finally, Italians helped develop trade unions, which created long-term economic gains for all ethnic groups in Chicago. This book chronicles the labor and contributions of an urban ethnic community through historic photographs and text.
Author Peter Nicholas Pero is a teacher and writer. He has taught courses in labor studies for Roosevelt University and Prairie State College. Pero has published articles on workplace economics through travel in China, Japan, Costa Rica, and Brazil. He lives in Chicago's Little Italy and is a member of the city's Italian-American Labor Council.
To buy the book, visit www.arcadiapublishing.com
For more than a century, Italian immigrants and their descendants contributed their labor and talent to building the city. Chicago Italians at Work focuses on a period from 1890 to 1970 when industry was king in this midwestern metropolis. Generations of Italians found work in companies such as U.S. Steel, Western Electric, Pullman, Crane, McCormick/Harvester, Hart Schaffner and Marx, and other large industrial corporations. Other Italians were self-employed as barbers, shoe workers, tailors, musicians, construction workers, and more. In many of these trades, Italians were predominant. A complex network of family enterprises also operated in the Chicago Italian community. Small shopkeepers generated work in food services and retail employment; some of these ma-and-pa operations grew into large, prosperous enterprises that survive today. Finally, Italians helped develop trade unions, which created long-term economic gains for all ethnic groups in Chicago. This book chronicles the labor and contributions of an urban ethnic community through historic photographs and text.
Author Peter Nicholas Pero is a teacher and writer. He has taught courses in labor studies for Roosevelt University and Prairie State College. Pero has published articles on workplace economics through travel in China, Japan, Costa Rica, and Brazil. He lives in Chicago's Little Italy and is a member of the city's Italian-American Labor Council.
To buy the book, visit www.arcadiapublishing.com
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'Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
I have been with a loose girl'.
The priest asks, 'Is that you, little Joey Pagano ?'
'Yes, Father, it is.'
'And who was the girl you were with?'
'I can't tell you, Father.
I don't want to ruin her reputation'.
"Well, Joey, I'm sure to find out her name sooner or
later so you may as well tell me now.
Was it Tina Minetti?'
'I cannot say.'
'Was it Teresa Mazzarelli?'
'I'll never tell.'
'Was it Nina Capelli?'
'I'm sorry, but I cannot name her.'
'Was it Cathy Piriano?'
'My lips are sealed.'
'Was it Rosa DiAngelo, then?'
'Please, Father, I cannot tell you.'
The priest sighs in frustration.
'You're very tight lipped, and I admire that.
But you've sinned and have to atone.
You cannot be an altar boy now for 4 months.
Now you go and behave yourself.'
Joey walks back to his pew, and his friend Franco slides over and whispers,
'What'd you get?' Four months vacation and five good leads.
AN ITALIAN BOY'S CONFESSION
I have been with a loose girl'.
The priest asks, 'Is that you, little Joey Pagano ?'
'Yes, Father, it is.'
'And who was the girl you were with?'
'I can't tell you, Father.
I don't want to ruin her reputation'.
"Well, Joey, I'm sure to find out her name sooner or
later so you may as well tell me now.
Was it Tina Minetti?'
'I cannot say.'
'Was it Teresa Mazzarelli?'
'I'll never tell.'
'Was it Nina Capelli?'
'I'm sorry, but I cannot name her.'
'Was it Cathy Piriano?'
'My lips are sealed.'
'Was it Rosa DiAngelo, then?'
'Please, Father, I cannot tell you.'
The priest sighs in frustration.
'You're very tight lipped, and I admire that.
But you've sinned and have to atone.
You cannot be an altar boy now for 4 months.
Now you go and behave yourself.'
Joey walks back to his pew, and his friend Franco slides over and whispers,
'What'd you get?' Four months vacation and five good leads.
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Nitti was Al Capone's main enforcer and second in command. Nitti became boss of the Southside gang after Capone went to jail for tax evasion. He also engineered the assasination of Chicago mayor Anton Cermak, after Cermak sent two policemen to kill Nitti so he could take over Nitti's criminal operations. When Nitti tried to extort money from four Hollywood studios, he bought unwanted government attention to the gang which prompted other gang members to revolt and insist that Nitti take the fall. Nitti commited suicide instead. It was also rumored that Nitti suffered from stomach cancer and did not want to die in jail. Mount Carmel Cemetery, Hillside, Illinois.
Date of Birth
1888, Italy
Date of Death
19 March 1943, Chicago, Illinois, USA. (suicide by gunshot)
Birth Name
Francesco Raffaele Nitto
Mini Biography
Although Frank Nitti has gotten the reputation over the years as the right-hand man of gangster Al Capone and a feared killer in his own right, this has actually proven not to be the case. Although Nitti and Capone were as youths in New York City both members of the Five Points Gang--one of the most notorious of the city's many violent street gangs at the turn of the century--they apparently were in the gang at different times and didn't know each other. It wasn't until Nitti later moved to Chicago, where Capone was already established as a major gangland figure, that the two became acquainted. Nitti ran a barber shop from where he peddled bootleg liquor and where various denizens of the neighborhood would fence stolen property. He had a knack for smuggling whiskey from Canada to Chicago and distributing it throughout the city, a talent that brought him to Capone's attention. He was subsequently brought into the Capone mob, where he did indeed become "Big Al's" right-hand man. When Capone went to prison for income-tax evasion in 1929, Nitti was installed as head of the Capone mob by Paul "The Waiter" Ricca, who was the real power in Chicago's gangland hierarchy. Nitti's position was solely as a frontman, to take the spotlight off Ricca and the other gangsters who actually ran things; he had no real power and his "orders" were usually countermanded by Ricca, who--unlike Nitti--was a member of the Commission, a "board of directors" of Mafia crime families.
Nitti did manage to get into trouble on his own, though. In late December of 1932 he had a run-in with a gangster named Ted Newberry, who was running what used to be the Moran/O'Bannion gang. Newberry, it was rumored, had Chicago mayor Anton J. Cermak on his payroll and vowed to get Nitti. Shortly afterwards two Chicago detectives showed up at Nitti's office, sent there by Cermak to arrest him, and a few minutes later a gunfight erupted, during which one of the detectives was shot in the hand and Nitti himself was badly wounded and almost died, and spent several months in the hospital. When he recovered he was put on trial for the attempted murder of the officers. However, at the trial it came out that the detectives had been paid to assassinate Nitti, although it wasn't determined by whom, and that the officer who was shot had actually deliberately shot himself in the hand so as to provide an excuse to kill Nitti, who was in fact unarmed. He was acquitted of the charges.
In 1943 two Chicago mobsters were indicted for labor racketeering in a scheme to take over several Hollywood labor unions and extort money from the movie studios in exchange for labor peace. They were tried and found guilty, but instead of going to prison they made a deal to inform on their gangland bosses, among whom were Nitti and Ricca, who were soon indicted. Ricca and the other mobsters ordered Nitti to take the blame for the scheme, since the two gangsters who turned on them were Nitti's men. Nitti, who had served 18 months in prison in the early 1930s for income tax evasion, was extremely claustrophobic and the thought of spending several years in a small prison cell was too much for him to bear. He refused the order to take the rap for them all, and a violent argument ensued between Nitti and the other gangsters. The next day Nitti went for a walk along the railroad tracks near his home, and as several railroad employees working nearby were looking at him, he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head
Frank Nitti
Nitti was Al Capone's main enforcer and second in command. Nitti became boss of the Southside gang after Capone went to jail for tax evasion. He also engineered the assasination of Chicago mayor Anton Cermak, after Cermak sent two policemen to kill Nitti so he could take over Nitti's criminal operations. When Nitti tried to extort money from four Hollywood studios, he bought unwanted government attention to the gang which prompted other gang members to revolt and insist that Nitti take the fall. Nitti commited suicide instead. It was also rumored that Nitti suffered from stomach cancer and did not want to die in jail. Mount Carmel Cemetery, Hillside, Illinois.
Date of Birth
1888, Italy
Date of Death
19 March 1943, Chicago, Illinois, USA. (suicide by gunshot)
Birth Name
Francesco Raffaele Nitto
Mini Biography
Although Frank Nitti has gotten the reputation over the years as the right-hand man of gangster Al Capone and a feared killer in his own right, this has actually proven not to be the case. Although Nitti and Capone were as youths in New York City both members of the Five Points Gang--one of the most notorious of the city's many violent street gangs at the turn of the century--they apparently were in the gang at different times and didn't know each other. It wasn't until Nitti later moved to Chicago, where Capone was already established as a major gangland figure, that the two became acquainted. Nitti ran a barber shop from where he peddled bootleg liquor and where various denizens of the neighborhood would fence stolen property. He had a knack for smuggling whiskey from Canada to Chicago and distributing it throughout the city, a talent that brought him to Capone's attention. He was subsequently brought into the Capone mob, where he did indeed become "Big Al's" right-hand man. When Capone went to prison for income-tax evasion in 1929, Nitti was installed as head of the Capone mob by Paul "The Waiter" Ricca, who was the real power in Chicago's gangland hierarchy. Nitti's position was solely as a frontman, to take the spotlight off Ricca and the other gangsters who actually ran things; he had no real power and his "orders" were usually countermanded by Ricca, who--unlike Nitti--was a member of the Commission, a "board of directors" of Mafia crime families.
Nitti did manage to get into trouble on his own, though. In late December of 1932 he had a run-in with a gangster named Ted Newberry, who was running what used to be the Moran/O'Bannion gang. Newberry, it was rumored, had Chicago mayor Anton J. Cermak on his payroll and vowed to get Nitti. Shortly afterwards two Chicago detectives showed up at Nitti's office, sent there by Cermak to arrest him, and a few minutes later a gunfight erupted, during which one of the detectives was shot in the hand and Nitti himself was badly wounded and almost died, and spent several months in the hospital. When he recovered he was put on trial for the attempted murder of the officers. However, at the trial it came out that the detectives had been paid to assassinate Nitti, although it wasn't determined by whom, and that the officer who was shot had actually deliberately shot himself in the hand so as to provide an excuse to kill Nitti, who was in fact unarmed. He was acquitted of the charges.
In 1943 two Chicago mobsters were indicted for labor racketeering in a scheme to take over several Hollywood labor unions and extort money from the movie studios in exchange for labor peace. They were tried and found guilty, but instead of going to prison they made a deal to inform on their gangland bosses, among whom were Nitti and Ricca, who were soon indicted. Ricca and the other mobsters ordered Nitti to take the blame for the scheme, since the two gangsters who turned on them were Nitti's men. Nitti, who had served 18 months in prison in the early 1930s for income tax evasion, was extremely claustrophobic and the thought of spending several years in a small prison cell was too much for him to bear. He refused the order to take the rap for them all, and a violent argument ensued between Nitti and the other gangsters. The next day Nitti went for a walk along the railroad tracks near his home, and as several railroad employees working nearby were looking at him, he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head
0
Portillo’s is an icon in Chicagoland, loved and remembered by the tens of thousands of local residents who moved out of Illinois over the years to make Arizona their home.
You can include me in that bunch. I grew up eating the scrumptious Chicago-style hot dogs and Italian beef sandwiches at the local Portillo’s just a few minutes away from where my parents still live in Naperville, Ill. And yes, I went to Portillo’s for lunch when I was back to visit for Christmas. That’s just what you do when you “go back.”
Portillo’s is looking to build new restaurants at Tempe Marketplace, Chandler Fashion Center and other locations in Phoenix or Scottsdale.
When word spread of the news yesterday, I received a handful of emails and Facebook messages about the news. Al Maag, chief communications officer at Phoenix-based Avnet Inc. , is a Chicago native. He said one of the reasons he loves the Phoenix area is because there are so many Chicagoans here.
“I feel it’s the western suburbs of Chicago without the snow and traffic congestion,” he said.Maag said there are thousands of hot dog stands in Chicago, but Portillo’s stands out.
“When I travel back to Chicago my first stop is Portillo’s for a beef sandwich and hot dog,” he said. “Heck, my family and I have it shipped here four times a year for special parties. I remember when In-N-Out came here the lines were pretty long. When Portillo’s comes it will be a happening of a higher magnitude. My guess is the last car will be in Tucson.”
Stephanie Lough, an account coordinator at HMA Public Relations in Phoenix, didn’t grow up in the Chicago area, but she’s been bitten by the Portillo’s bug.
Somewhere New For The Witness Protection Crew here in Az ???
Transplanted Chicagoans were downright giddy Tuesday at the news that Portillo’s Hot Dogs is looking to expand its restaurant chain to the Phoenix area.
Portillo’s is an icon in Chicagoland, loved and remembered by the tens of thousands of local residents who moved out of Illinois over the years to make Arizona their home.
You can include me in that bunch. I grew up eating the scrumptious Chicago-style hot dogs and Italian beef sandwiches at the local Portillo’s just a few minutes away from where my parents still live in Naperville, Ill. And yes, I went to Portillo’s for lunch when I was back to visit for Christmas. That’s just what you do when you “go back.”
Portillo’s is looking to build new restaurants at Tempe Marketplace, Chandler Fashion Center and other locations in Phoenix or Scottsdale.
When word spread of the news yesterday, I received a handful of emails and Facebook messages about the news. Al Maag, chief communications officer at Phoenix-based Avnet Inc. , is a Chicago native. He said one of the reasons he loves the Phoenix area is because there are so many Chicagoans here.
“I feel it’s the western suburbs of Chicago without the snow and traffic congestion,” he said.Maag said there are thousands of hot dog stands in Chicago, but Portillo’s stands out.
“When I travel back to Chicago my first stop is Portillo’s for a beef sandwich and hot dog,” he said. “Heck, my family and I have it shipped here four times a year for special parties. I remember when In-N-Out came here the lines were pretty long. When Portillo’s comes it will be a happening of a higher magnitude. My guess is the last car will be in Tucson.”
Stephanie Lough, an account coordinator at HMA Public Relations in Phoenix, didn’t grow up in the Chicago area, but she’s been bitten by the Portillo’s bug.
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