1932
McGurn stays under the radar of Chicago police for the winter of 1931 and the early spring of 1932. He and Louise go to Florida, play golf, and soak up the sun, living off the stacks of cash that have paid for so many lives. McGurn’s skin is bronzed, and his hair even picks up sunbleached blonde highlights. He is the type of golfer who can play thirtysix holes most days, with his sunny Sicilian genetic coding. He is lean and exceptionally fit. He and Louise are having a very good time on the links during the day, dining and dancing in the evenings. They return to Chicago reluctantly; on April 1 they move into their new home at 1114 North Kenilworth Avenue in Oak Park.
The appeal for their Mann Act conviction is slated for the next day, and it must be hanging over the lovers’ heads like the hand of doom. Their lawyers have reassured them that eventually the government must back down, believing that the ruling is ridiculous and will not stand. They warn McGurn that it may have to be settled out of Illinois, where no judge in his right mind would consider Jack a white slaver or Louise a victim or prostitute, especially now that they are married.
McGurn must be incredibly nervous on the day he and Louise appear in front of the Circuit Court of Appeals, but he doesn’t show it. His attorney petitions the court for a rehearing. To their dismay, judges W. M. Sparks and Evan A. Evans rule that the conviction must stand; the McGurns are guilty of making trips to Miami; Jacksonville, Florida; and Gulfport, Mississippi, for immoral purposes. Dissenting is the third judge, Samuel Alschuler, who states the obvious: “If the party charged did not transport the woman or cause her to be transported there is no crime of conspiracy to violate the Mann Act, regardless of what else might have happened.”1
McGurn’s lawyers bond the very unhappy couple out once more, immediately filing a petition for a rehearing. Louise is seen dabbing her eyes, and McGurn holds a handkerchief to his mouth as reporters scream questions before they can escape the aggressive crowd in a taxi. Their lawyers are the best defenders in the business: tough, experienced, and certainly the best connected. They are also the best paid. They still insist that they will ultimately win a reversal of the Mann Act conviction because it is simply a desperate ploy that must deteriorate at the higher level of judiciary, but it can only happen outside of Cook County.
At this juncture in the epic process, the interminable carnival has led Jack and Louise to the final step: the Supreme Court of the United States. Regardless of McGurn’s high-profile reputation as a killer, they aren’t without public support. Even one of the New York papers editorializes on the matter by stating with rather strong sentiment: “The Federal Government, determined to make a showing of activity against prohibition-bred gangsters, worked up a Mann Act case against McGurn…. The Mann Act never was anything but an instrument of blackmail, an absurdity, a legal monstrosity … sending people to jail on charges having nothing to do with their real crimes, if any.”2
Wisely, McGurn pays attention to his lawyers. They have never failed him before, but they haven’t done as good a job for the Big Fella. On May 3, under the hypnotized scrutiny of the public and the press, McGurn’s mentor and commandatoru Alphonse Capone is hauled off to Atlanta to begin serving his time for tax evasion. McGurn’s greatest supporter and protector is as good as dead. This stay won’t be like the trumped-up 1930 vacation in the Pennsylvania prison when Capone ran things long distance from his jail cell; Atlanta is as rough a penitentiary as America has to offer.
Capone’s imprisonment essentially signifies the end of the era, although the organization will survive at the hands of Capone prodigies and eventually evolve into the modern mob. The entire justice system, including the judiciary and law enforcement, holds its collective breath as Capone chooses “the Code of the Criminal—and not the Criminal Code on the law books.”3 The Big Fella keeps his lips tightly sealed concerning the pervasive corruption in Cook County, and, as national columnist Walter Winchell will put it in 1950, “Otherwise he could have stated and proven that many of the judges on the bench and the district attorneys were on his payroll, either outright or through their party.” Ever the savvy commentator on the American gangster, Winchell adds, “To blow the whistle and expose them would have been as unethical in the criminal world in which he lived—as to turn in Jack McGurn for carrying a machine gun.”4
Besides the misery and sorrow at his beloved friend’s downfall, it must be a rude awakening to McGurn that he is now walking the high wire without a net. He has never been close to Frank Nitti, who is Capone’s heir apparent, although there are others who might give Nitti a run, including Curly Humphreys, Paul Ricca, and even his pal Tony Accardo, who has begun to surpass him in the organization hierarchy.
To make matters worse, adding to McGurn’s abject pain, the very next day their petition for a Mann Act rehearing is denied.5 This means that there is only one chance for freedom left for Jack and Louise: they must appeal to the US Supreme Court in Washington, D.C. Their lawyers still insist that the issue will be deemed laughable and the conviction will be reversed. They file a writ of certiorari to the US Supreme Court to be heard in the October 1932 term. Machine Gun Jack McGurn and his Blonde Alibi will be taking their travail to Washington.
For those following the battle between McGurn and the courts—and there are many—and for the newspapers doggedly updating every ruling, it appears as if Jack and Louise are now taking on the entire entity of the US government. It has turned into a David-versus-Goliath story with a lot of romance thrown in, 1920s-style. The dashing Chicago machine gun killer and his adorable sex-kitten wife will face down the stone monolith of the legal establishment, the federal judiciary. Yet whatever McGurn has done, he and Louise cannot help but appear glamorous to the already Depressionweary Americans who seem to have little affection for their government.
During June, McGurn’s “pal” Bing Crosby returns to Chicago to play the Oriental Theater, this time as a huge star of stage, screen, and radio. After his first rehearsal, he is told that a case of champagne has been left for him at the backstage door. Crosby tells the stage manager to send it back because he doesn’t drink champagne. The stage manager warns him against this—the gift is from Jack McGurn. Bing thinks better of it and quips, “I’d better keep it then.”6
The next day, Crosby receives a note from McGurn, who invites him to play a round of golf. The crooner supposedly considers this for a long time. He gives in because he is a passionate golfer and country clubs aren’t partial to actors, who are still regarded as less than legitimate personalities. Moreover, he assumes that McGurn has access to a good golf course. They make a date on the phone. McGurn arrives in a black limousine with two men in black hats and black overcoats. In his 1976 autobiography, Crosby will describe Jack McGurn: “He looked like a university football player and was a good-looking man. We went for miles in this limousine—I guess he had to get to a safe place. We played golf and he got me back in time for the first matinee show.”7
Most likely they play at Evergreen Park, far from the city. Crosby never tells who shoots the better score. While he is still performing in Chicago, he keeps getting phone calls from McGurn, whom he avoids out of the fear that he is getting in too deep with an extremely dangerous fellow. Eventually, worn down by the gangster’s persistence, he gives in and goes out to dinner with McGurn and Louise, whom he describes as a blonde girlfriend. Louise is completely starstruck by “Der Bingle,” who is becoming one of the biggest names in show business. Crosby admits that McGurn is “a very nice guy,” although he doesn’t repeat the assignation, worried that he’ll “get caught in the crossfire.”
It is now apparent that McGurn has begun working more with his younger stepbrother, Anthony, who has graduated from being a caddie to assisting in business ventures. On August 4, police pull them over at Campbell and Lake Streets, arresting them for another McGurn innovation; they have a police radio in their automobile, which allows them to monitor the squad cars. This is the first time law enforcement is faced with this cleverness. Because this is Jack McGurn, the police charge them with seven counts, including one for having the short-wave radio, one for exhibiting fictitious license plates, one for having no city vehicle license, and one for having a dubious Oak Park vehicle tag.
The tag turns out to be authentic, but it is registered to a Frank De Vito. McGurn cracks up the courtroom by telling the judge he uses that name to keep the police from harassing him.8 Both brothers are charged with disorderly conduct. Anthony, who was driving, is also charged for ignoring a stop sign.9 McGurn, elegant in white flannels and a brown sport coat, greatly entertains the courtroom and tells municipal judge John F. Haas that he is a “salesman” and that he gets lonesome, thus needing the radio on his trips.
Judge Haas is apparently still playing by the old, backroom rules; he is unusually lenient, dismissing every charge but Anthony’s driving through the stop sign, which carries a two-dollar fine.10 Ironically, the Chicago American reports, “McGurn’s younger brother Anthony is still old fashioned enough to go by his correct name, Anthony Gebardi.” In reality, they are wrong: Anthony’s real name is DeMory, just another example of how he has adopted McGurn’s penchant for moniker confusion.11
Meanwhile, McGurn’s activities connected with unions once again become obvious in 1932 as the underworld forays get more numerous and aggressive. The Outfit’s incursions into labor are still expanding. Those resistant to subjugation are learning that to be a hero, one must be dead. On October 13, Richard J. Roberts, an official of the Teamsters Union, is gunned down outside his union headquarters. The usual dragnet goes out, and police arrest Jack McGurn and Capone button Edward Nardi at Dearborn and Washington Streets, claiming disorderly conduct. In reality, they question them on the Roberts murder. They hold McGurn in interrogation and then in jail until October 17, when he is discharged by judge Harold P. O’Connell after his lawyer gets him released with the usual sleight-of-hand maneuvers.
It is clear that the Outfit is intent on expanding into the realm of the larger unions like the Teamsters, which has pivotal influence with the Cleaners and Dyers Union. This is still the agenda planned by Curly Humphreys, who has tremendous influence in the Outfit, although Nitti remains the front man. With Al Capone in Leavenworth and eventually Alcatraz, the control of the day-to-day business falls to Nitti.
At this point in his life, McGurn, who is certainly beginning to suffer under the stress of arrest after arrest and trial after trial, relies more on his golf game for relief from Outfit pressures. He plays as often as possible, frequently with prominent Chicagoans, including wealthy businessmen who love to brag about their experience on the links with such a wellknown gangster. Occasionally he will even join threesomes in need of another player that include members of the judiciary. He is always charming and an extremely fine golfer, who often gives useful tips to his partners.