Free Uncle Al Capone by Deirdre Marie Capone Page A

me up, will ya?”
    It seemed to me that Al was clearly not directly involved, but hearing about this rant from Ralph still didn’t clear him entirely in my mind. If McGurn was responsible and McGurn worked for Al…it would be tough to say that Al was innocent. So far, Ralph hadn’t yet told me anything that contradicted the account I’d already read in countless newspaper clippings and that was popularly accepted as immutable fact.
    The men were Pete Gusenberg and his brother Frank, who were both payroll robbers; James Clark, a stickup man; Johnny May, a safe-blower as well as the Moran gang’s auto mechanic; Al Weinshank, a speakeasy operator; Adam Heyer, the owner of the garage; Dr. Reinhardt Schwimmer, an optometrist. Oh, and a German shepherd was chained to one of the trucks in the garage.
    The garage door opened, and two men dressed as policemen entered the garage followed by three other men. The intruders lined all seven occupants up against the wall and machine-gunned them down instantly. Only the dog was left unharmed.
    An inquiry by police and the state’s attorney identified three of the five men: Fred Burke, Jack McGurn, and John Scalise. Gus Winkler was one of the men not identified.
    Although this description of what happened on that gruesome Valentine’s Day is the commonly accepted version offered in books and movies, my grandfather told me an entirely different story that evening in Wisconsin. His version of the story has never been printed anywhere before.
    This is what he told me.
    “Deirdre, the day after I talked with Al, I confronted McGurn and told him how pissed Al was with him. You know what he said? He said, ‘God damn it, Ralph, I swear I didn’t do it. Hell, if I’d had done it I would have done it right. Gimme some credit. I’m a professional. I know Moran like I know the back of my hand. If he wasn’t there do you think I would have mowed down those other assholes? Shit, they weren’t even his key men.
    Let me tell you what I think happened. In fact, I’m sure it went down this way. The day before Valentine’s Day, I was parked on Clark Street a few doors down and across the street from Moran’s garage. I had been doing that and watching the Parkway Hotel where Moran lives for about a week. Your kid brother Matty was with me most of the time. I was trying to establish a pattern of behavior so I could take him down, like that .’ McGurn snapped his fingers. ‘No muss, no fuss, no loose ends. You know I’ve been getting smarter in my old age.
    Anyway on the thirteenth, Matty and I notice a car—a caddy—full of cops, driving slowly past the garage headed south. Then a couple of minutes later it comes back in the other direction. This time, I caught a glimpse of the driver and he looked familiar. I don’t mind tellin’ ya, I was getting nervous. I’m thinkin’, did they recognize me? Do they have another warrant for my arrest?
    When they drove by the third time, I said, That’s it, Matty, we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. I swear to God that’s the last time I was near that garage. If you don’t believe me, ask Matty.
    ‘Listen Ralph,’ McGurn went on. ‘Here’s the way I got it figured. Those cops were out to get Moran. I heard rumors that some cops were hijackin’ his booze and Moran was gonna rat them out to his captain friends on the force. I can’t prove it, but I think those cops did the shooting. Hell, they probably thought Moran was one of the guys they blasted, the assholes.’”
    My grandfather poured himself another scotch, lit a cigar, and took a big puff. “Deirdre,” he said, “I checked with your Uncle Matty, and he backed up what McGurn told me. But it didn’t really make any difference. The newspapers and just about everyone was blaming Al for it.”
    As you can imagine, I wanted to believe my grandfather Ralph more than anything. But I took my time. I had no corroboration of my grandfather’s account of the Saint Valentines Day Massacre