Uncle Al Capone (13 page)

Ralph sighed. “Sorry, Deirdre,” he said. “I know I promised you that you’d never have to worry about money. But I can’t help you now. If you’re gonna be wealthy, you’ll have to do it on your own, or marry a rich guy.”

Mercer, Wisconsin, 1940 – 1947

I want peace, and I will live and let live. I’m like any other man. I’ve been in this racket long enough to realize that a man in my game must take the breaks, the fortunes of war.

- Al Capone

After Al Capone was released from Johns Hopkins in 1940, shortly after my birth, he retired to his estate in Miami. Although he looked healthy and strong, and his mind had begun to improve, everyone in the Capone family—especially my grandmother—knew that he was not the man they had known before he was sent to Alcatraz.

Theresa wanted him to heal in relaxing surroundings. She was very determined to take good care of him and to cook the foods that she was sure would make him healthier. And she didn’t want him to be alone in Miami. My grandfather Ralph owned several properties in Mercer, Wisconsin, a small town 375 miles north of Chicago. He decided to purchase another hundred acres on Big Martha Lake in Mercer and build a huge log cabin for Al there.

In addition to the cabin, Ralph also owned the Rex Hotel, Billy’s Bar, and Beaver Lodge in Mercer. I have so many childhood memories of those three establishments, and of Al’s cabin. Much of the time I spent with Al Capone in the last years of his life was in Mercer, Wisconsin.

Ralph called the Rex a “hotel,” but the rooms were generally rented by the hour, if you know what I mean. Billy’s Bar was located in downtown Mercer and had a few key things in common with the Rex. One night when I was very young, I became tired while spending the evening with my grandfather at Billy’s, and he asked a bar girl to put me to bed in one of the upstairs rooms. I realize now that the woman who maternally tucked me in bed that night was a prostitute who worked for my grandfather. At the time, though, I thought nothing of it. The innocence of children is wonderful.

Billy’s had a lot of the atmosphere of Al and Ralph’s Chicago clubs—they insisted on good music and good times. There was an entertainer who sang and played guitar there often, named Marty Grey. He was the son of Gilda Grey, the girl who created the “shimmy,” a popular dance in the 20s. He also emceed a weekly radio program, and when I visited my grandfather and Al in Mercer, Marty would let me come on the show. He would introduce me to the radio audience, and together we would sing duets.

The first time I can remember being at Al’s cabin was when I was about four, just when my parents ended their marriage. My dad brought me there on the train, and Ralph picked the two of us up from the station. We drove down the highway from town and then turned right onto a dirt road. When we reached the edge of his property, Ralph unlocked a padlocked fence and, after we had passed through, painstakingly re-locked it. The entire compound was protected by a dense forest on one side and the lake on the other. At night, armed guards and dogs patrolled the area.

We drove down a long, winding, isolated road, flanked by birch and pine trees. The car headlights made the birch trees appear white, as if they were carved from ice. We then emerged into a large, open parking area in front of a rugged-looking, knotty pine log mansion. I thought it was one of the most beautiful homes in the world. I loved living there and still miss it to this day.

We parked in the two-story, three-car garage, above which the Outfit maintained offices. A “caretaker,” who always carried a rifle or a revolver, was stationed in a room in the forward section of the garage. When we got out of the car, we entered the house through a door to the side of the garage door. Just inside the door was a corridor with a bathroom on the left. I still remember the Sears catalog hanging on a string near the toilet in that bathroom; I was enchanted by all the pictures of merchandise in it.

The aroma of liquor, cigars, and wood saturated the air as we walked down the corridor. The next room we entered had a long, wooden bar at one end with twelve stools. Shelves on the rear wall were laden with bottles of liquor. Beer and soda were kept cool in a small refrigerator under the bar. Among the many gadgets lining the bar, I remember most vividly a little ceramic boy standing before a toilet who peed whenever I mischievously lifted the toilet seat! There also were tables for poker or checkers, two slot machines, a large dance floor, a player piano, and a jukebox featuring bubbles that floated up tubes when it played music. At the other end of the room, a flight of stairs led to the upper floor.

That first night, my father and I followed my grandfather upstairs. When he turned on the light at the top of the stairs, birds—I thought, though they were really bats—flew around and swooped down at us. Then I saw the open mouth and shining fangs glaring out of the big white head of a bear. It terrified me so much I fell backwards into my father’s arms. He picked me up and carried me ahead so that I could see it was only a huge polar bear rug lying in front of the fireplace. But I was still so terrified that they turned the rug away so I would not see the fangs the next time I climbed the stairs.

A massive fieldstone fireplace dominated an entire wall of the huge upstairs room and a wooden table at the other end could easily seat twenty people. The ceiling was probably twenty feet-high. Leather chairs and couches were pulled up around the fireplace and a moose head rested over the mantle. The walls were built of knotty pine logs and held deer heads, stuffed fish, deer feet holding rifles, snowshoes—and my picture, lovingly hung there by my grandfather.

Outside this room was an enclosed porch, which spanned the length of the building and overlooked Big Martha Lake—in fact, you could walk down a flight of stairs right to the water. At each end of the porch were big beds under the windows with curtains that could be pulled closed for privacy, like the sleeper car of a train. Each one was large enough to sleep four. I still remember we slept like that, two side-by-side and feet-to-feet, a couple of nights.

My grandfather’s family and friends from the city often came to the lodge to unwind and then go into town to gamble. If we had a family reunion, as we did quite often for Uncle Al, some of the family would stay at nearby Beaver Lodge.

The log mansion was very much a male retreat, but I felt safe, secure, and wanted, and I stayed there many times for as long as three months at a time. When I did, the woman who was my grandfather’s companion at the time had to leave. With Ralph, family always came first, and this was his way of letting these women know they were outsiders. They weren’t allowed on the inside of the family—ever. When I stayed with him, hired help from the area cleaned and cooked for us. But when Grandma and Aunt Maffie were there, they did the cooking and I helped. They taught me dozens of culinary tricks and how to make many of the favorite family dishes that appear in this book.

I associate the log mansion with family. It was a warm, happy place, and only rarely did I catch glimpses of the other lives my uncle and grandfather led with the Outfit. But one thing that an outsider would have noticed as unusual was that there were no windows on the ground floor, in the big game room and bar. There were small skylights for light near the ceiling, but otherwise the only windows in the house were upstairs.

Playing in the master bedroom one day, I discovered secret rooms concealed behind panels in the closet. I touched what I thought was a wall, and it swung open. The instant it did, my grandfather appeared behind me and shouted, “Deirdre, what are you doing?”

He seldom raised his voice with me, but this time he was visibly upset. He pulled me out of the closet, looked me in the eye, and said, “Don’t you ever go in there again! Do you understand?”

Fighting back tears and trembling, I said, “Yes Grandpa—er, Ralph. I understand.”

“OK,” he said. “Now go downstairs and play with your toys, and remember this part of the house is off limits.” As I left the room and scampered down the stairs, I heard him say, “That’s a good girl, Deirdre.”