I’ve been watching Hunters on Amazon Prime starring Al Pacino, among others. It made me think of his loosely-based role as Tony Montana (Al Capone) in the 1983 movie Scarface. I watched it several months ago after a visit to the Las Vegas Mob Museum. As a Gangster Wanna-Be, it was part of an informal tour that led me from Chicago to Manhattan to Vegas to Phoenix. Rat-atat-tat.

Al Capone and Nitti ruled Chicago, while John Dillinger died there. He was captured in a Phoenix hotel after innocently offering a generous tip. Nitti lived in the building that is currently the site of Harry Caray’s Italian Steakhouse. A stairway in the bar leads down to a hidden vault, surrounded by the history of The Chicago Outlet, framed in pictures on the walls. In Manhattan, I next had lunch at Spark’s Steakhouse, where just outside, Gambino boss Paul “Big Paulie” Castellano was gunned down by hit-men hired by his soon to be replacement, John Gotti. For more detailed Gangsta’ information see Posts #1124, #1067, and #907.

The cross-country thug tour will resume when we’re all able to travel again. In the meantime, I offer this poem:

Gangster Wanna-Be 

I’ve seen a lot,
Of crime scenes.
Read some books,
And magazines.

In the movies,
Hollywood portrays.
Killers are stars,
And Crime pays.

It’s fascinating history,
Of murder and betrayal.
Men, women, and children,
Always seeking bail.

There was not much love,
On St. Valentine’s Day.
After the Chicago Mob,
Had their way!

I can also guarantee,
That you won’t float.
If you’re wearing,
A Chicago Overcoat.

Scarface went to prison,
Reign passed to Nitti.
John Dillinger’s legend,
Ended in the Windy City.

These are a few,
Of the obituaries.
Near the basement vault,
Below Harry Caray’s.

When “Joe Batters” swung,
It wasn’t at a ball.
And “The Lady in Red,”
Was no innocent Doll.

If you didn’t pay,
Your Teamsters’ dues.
You might end up,
In cement shoes.

In the Big Apple,
There was Murder, Inc.
Lansky, and “Lucky”
Controlled illegal drink.

Gambino boss “Big Paulie,”
Once ran N.Y.C.
John Gotti got him,
But prison was to be.

“Bugsy” drawn to Vegas,
Made it a gambling town.
Home of the Mob Museum,
A “Hitman” took him down.

The museum tells the story,
Of these overrated thugs.
In display are WANTED posters,
Featuring their ugly mugs.

The bullet-riddled wall,
From the St. V’s Massacre.
With Outlines of the dead,
Is by far its biggest lure.

I’ve dined at Spark’s,
Where a bullet was dessert.
Saw Nitti’s escape route,
Wearing my Cub’s shirt.

I’m a gangster wanna-be,
On the surface it looks fun.
I would gladly dress the part,
But couldn’t fire a gun.

I could tip like Dillinger,
Live in a Flamingo Suite.
Gamble with House money,
Drink, eat, repeat.

“Bugsy” made the claim,
“We only kill each other!”
Where did he go wrong?
You’d have to ask his mother.

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com