The Chicago Precinct Captain

By Tim Sullivan

This is a story of the attitudes and thoughts of people in politics
during the late fi fties and sixties. The explosion of the Black
population and their steady migration westward from their historic
enclaves on the East Side of Chicago was starting to be felt. The
river wards controlled by the Italian Mafi a had enough control left
for just one last great power surge for the Kennedy Election.
Shortly after that election they were neutralized and changed by
election irregularity investigations and redistricting and the abovementioned
migration. The advent of voting machines throughout
Chicagoland also changed the way the old precinct captains could
change election results by manipulating paper ballots.
The characters depicted in this story are not based on any current
or deceased people. Any resemblance is purely coincidental

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479783748

Tim Sullivan

Tim Sullivan is a crime writer, screenwriter and director who has worked on major feature films such as the fourth Shrek, Flushed Away, Letters to Juliet, A Handful of Dust and Jack and Sarah. His crime series featuring the brilliantly persistent DS George Cross has topped the book charts and sold over a million copies worldwide. Tim lives in North London with his wife Rachel, the Emmy Award-winning producer of The Barefoot Contessa and Pioneer Woman. To find out more, visit Tim's website or find him on social media. Facebook: timjrsullivan Instagram: @TimSullivanAuthor TikTok: @TimSullivanAuthor X: @TimJRSullivan www.timsullivan.co.uk

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Chapter One

The Lunch Room

Hey, Jimmy, C’mon let’s go to lunch, my little ‘dago’ friend Tommie hollered as the buzzer went off.

Ok, Tommie, I answered, I just have to lock up. These people would steal your false eye glass if you put it down and turned around.

C’mon for cripes sake, Jimmy, we’ll be late.

Tommie, don’t be so impatient. You’re like a whore in a navy town when the ships are out to sea. Tommie Mastro was a little loudmouthed Italian about forty five years old, tough and wiry, in good shape, probably because he boxed in the CYO in his early teens. He had had about thirty fights and, of course, we always kidded him about taking to many hits to the head. We also attributed his baldness to the hitting of his head on the canvas so often, I mused. At times he was a very entertaining little pest, but he was also my best friend at Ford Motor Company where we both worked so I always cut him some slack. I had been working at Ford for about four years and was now a group leader in the receiving inspection layout department with Tommie.

C’mon, let’s hurry, he banged my ears again as we hurried down the aisle to the tunnel where the lunchrooms were located.

Listen, let’s not stop fifty times on the way to the lunchroom to talk to all your girlfriends, I reminded him, And maybe we’ll get there before lunchtime is over.

Jimmy, he said as he started to get winded from the quick travel, How many times do I have to tell you, they are not girlfriends, they are runners for my booking and gambling interests. Remember women make the best runners because they’re basically honest and they only want to be bullshitted and mentally massaged a little every once in a while, while guys steal from you. That’s why I use them exclusively.

Of course as we walked he stopped to talk to some ‘bimbo’s’, laughing and joking with them, and a little hug here and there. Who were the uglies Tommie, I asked.

I think you’re just jealous, he laughed, They’re fun to ride, like mopeds!

Yeah that’s silly Tommie, I said, No macho man would like to be caught dead on one!

Jimmy, don’t be so cynical. I make the broads feel important and happy, that’s my way. You’ve got to learn to loosen up a little, he said smiling, as he gave me a little punch on the arm, Get more broads that way!

Hey, where are we going, I asked, as we walked along the lower level and past the north cafeteria.

To the south cafeteria near the offices and the union committeeman’s room, he said.

That’s where all the union goons eat, I mentioned!

Also, he answered, Where all the good looking broads from the office eat their lunch. Oh by the way, are you buying today Jimmy? I’m broke, Tommie says.

Tommie, quit playing the ponies and you’ll have some bread, I said. He was always coming up with some hot tips or big deals. He probably bought more hay for the ponies than Calumet farms down in Kentucky. So, this is why you invited me to lunch today, you bandy legged fink, I said laughing.

That’s not the only reason, Jimmy, I want you to see this broad Carol from the front office. And I’ve also got some business with Big Nick, you know, Mr. Union President, he said cynically. I want you to meet him, and so what’s the big deal, you have to eat anyway, he winked. I’m working on a big deal to get you and me a few weeks off on union business, with pay.

Yeah, I answered, But who do we have to blow!

Don’t talk crazy, Jimmy; it doesn’t become you, he said as we entered the cafeteria. Listen, I’m going to bullshit Nick into thinking I’m going to run against his boy, Poncho, the union rep in our area; I’m also going to tell him that you’re my campaign manager.

Tommie, you’re wasting your time, I answered.

Watch me, and learn, he said. Now let’s get in line before all the girls come in so we can get our food and a decent table. We got our trays and went down the line and picked up our food. We paid the cashier and turned around and started to look for a table. As we look around Tommie spots Nick who motions us over to sit at his table.

Nick Cashia was a dark swarthy-looking Italian weighing about three hundred pounds. He had cold dark piercing eyes that seemed to look right through you. Right away, as soon as we sit down, Tommie starts stoning him.

Nick, you’re getting as big as a house, what are you eating lately, balloons?

Shut up you little bandy-legged dago rooster, it’s pretty obvious to everybody you took to many hits to the head in your day, he said laughing good-naturedly.

They laughed together as they shook hands and Tommie said, How’s it going, Nick?

Not too bad, Tommie, who’s your compadre, he said as he looked me over with those steely eyes, and reached over and shook my hand.

Oh, this is my campaign manager, Jimmy, who works with me up in the receiving section.

What are you going to run for, fink of the year, he laughed. Then his eyes narrowed and he said, I hear you’re booking again on the side; you know that’s a no-no, Tommie. I like you, but you’re asking for trouble.

Tommie pretended he didn’t hear that and said, I’m going to run against Poncho Galati, he’s not treating the people right. They’re complaining that all he does is book bets and doesn’t represent them.

You mean he’s not treating ‘you’ ok, Nick answers as he eats his stew.

No, Tommie answers, he’s a real asshole. He doesn’t help anyone except his wife who he’s always fighting with, and he’s dirty, sloppy and curses at the girls. I’m telling you, you better consider replacing him or he’s gonna get beat and maybe cost you your spot, by pulling you down with him."

Let me put it this way Tommie, real simple. Poncho is one of my bankers come election time. Keep this shit up and I’ll cut your booking out completely. As his eyes narrowed and changed into that cold stare, he added, you know what I can do.

Hey, Nick, cool it! I was just testing you to see if you were aware of the situation developing upstairs. That girl Dorothy, the pain in your side at all the meetings, is talking about running someone against Poncho. I thought you would back me to help split the vote, if it came to that, so my hat’s in the ring, he said smiling. So Nick, don’t get so serious, I’m only talking now. By the way, changing the subject, you’re not going to eat all that dog-food they call stew are you? Everyone laughed, including Nick. Tommie had a way of getting away with that stuff.

Then Frosty Rosanova, one of Nick’s lieutenants, (who was called Frosty because of the dark glasses he always wore), pops up and says menacingly to Tommie, Behave yourself!

Screw you Frosty, Tommie says as he starts to get up, What’s your problem, the wife catch you with wet shorts in the bed again?

Listen you guys, knock it off, Nick says, I’m trying to eat here, can’t you even let me enjoy my lunch?

Just then I see this dreamboat from the front office moving down the line getting her lunch. I nudged Tommie as he sat back down and he turns around and whispers to me, I know her, Jimmy, that’s the one I’ve been telling you about, Carol, my neighbor Barbara’s friend.

Tommie, I’m going to get an ice-cream bar, I said, as I got up to get into the line.

Get me one too, Jimmy, he hollers. I slip into the line behind her and asks, Pardon me are you Carol? No answer, although she turns to stare at me. Look, my sister works here and she has a different lunch than you, but she said if I ever see you, (she thinks I know everyone at this lunch hour), I should ask you where you get your hair done because it’s very attractive, and believe me she’s right.

Well thank you, she answers, "Where does your sister work?’

My sister, Joanne, works over in security for Mr. Duffy, I said.

Well if I ever see her I’ll let her know, she says.

Thanks, doll, I said.

She turns around and says very brusquely, I have a brain in my head, not sawdust; I’m not a doll.

Well pardon me for breathing, I answered, If I owe you anything for the lecture, send me a bill. As I turned around to go back to the table, I saw Tommie coming toward me.

Hey, Jimmy, pay for the ice-cream and let’s go or we’ll be late and our boss Mr. Mike will be on us like a baby’s diaper. Then looking past me he says, Bye Carol.

As we walked back upstairs to go to work, I asked Tommie what he knew about Carol. Oh that one, she’s a sharp kid goes to school nights at the University of Chicago.

Yeah, but how do you know her, I asked.

Well my girlfriend, Barbara, goes with her once in a while, and she lives in the neighborhood in the same apartment building as Barbara. What were you talking to her about, cause she generally doesn’t talk to the peasants that work in the factory, he laughed.

I just massaged her a little mentally, to use some of your words, with some of my Irish BS, I answered.

Listen, Tommie, said, as we arrived back at our workstation, I want you to meet me at the Delta Lounge tomorrow night about six-thirty. You know where it’s at, right across the street from Ryan’s Hall, on 63rd Street and approximately Sacramento. They’ve got a big union meeting there tomorrow night at seven.

Tommie, I said, I don’t want to get involved with that group, you know, ‘your dark cousins’ in crime.

Look, Jimmy, just one time do me this favor and come there, cause I already got you involved telling big Nick you’re my campaign manager. Besides, I’ll have a big surprise for you.

Chapter Two

Delta Lounge

I pulled my 1956 Ford into the parking lot at Ryan’s Hall across the street from the notorious Delta Lounge. The lounge was long known as a Mafia hangout for young hoods and, of course, gambling, booking and whatever else was going at the time for getting illegal monies. I had to think twice about going there, but then I saw Tommy’s car parked in their lot. I was curious, I suppose, wondering what was the big surprise the little dago had for me. I strolled across the street kind of tentatively and opened the door. It was jam-packed noisy and heavy with smoke. What I would describe as a real wallpapered sewer with red-velvet walls. As I walked through the bar towards the back looking for Tommie, I recognized a lot of the women that I saw around the Ford plant where I worked, union groupies we called them. There near the end of the bar I spotted Tommie with, as usual, his current girlfriend Barbara.

Hey Jimmy, he yells, where the hell have you been, you Irish Mick?

Tommie, you told me six-thirty, and it’s now six-thirty according to that old Black-Hawk clock over the bar.

Whatever, he says laughing, I don’t have my glasses on. Now are you going to buy one or be one? I pulled a twenty from my pocket and put it on the bar. Hey, Arnold, Tommie called out, give us another drink and a beer for my gumba.

I recognized Arnold Buti, one of the union officials who also worked part-time bartending. As he brought the drinks over to us I said, How’s it going Arnold?

Oh come-see come-sa, he answered, Just going along with the program!

Barbara, the girlfriend Tommie was talking to, was a secretary in the receiving inspection area main office, not a bad looking woman. Then Tommie turns and says, let’s get a table. He had seen a small table emptying out in the corner and pushed over and grabbed it As we sat down Tommie says, do you know my one and only true love, Barbara?

Not personally, but I’ve seen her walking around the plant. Tommie was married and had two teen-aged kids. But the wife and he were always fighting because of his drinking and carousing around. He was generally relegated to sleeping on the couch on the back porch, so I don’t think he ever got home before midnight. One thing I have to say for the son-of-a-gun, he was always on time for work. Suffice it to say he catnapped a lot in the washroom during the day. He had been banging Barbara for about two years. She was a divorcee with no kids and a nice place of her own. She was about thirty-five years old. Nice to meet you Barbara, Tommie has told me a lot about you, all bad of course, I said as I smiled. Tommie laughed as she turned and gave him ‘the look’. I’m only kidding Barbara, I intoned, he has nothing but the best to say about you. Then turning to Tommie, Well, where’s the big surprise you promised me Tommie?

All in good time, my impatient friend. Oh, she’s finally coming back from the washroom right now! Tommie stood up and waved her over. I turned around and whom do I see but Carol, the girl from the lunchroom. She was dressed to the hilt. I could see all the men’s eyes following her as she made her way to our table and sat down. Jimmy, this is comely Carol, he says as he kisses her hand. What a bull-shitter, I thought

Hi Carol, we meet again, I said, in my sweetest voice.

Big deal, she said sarcastically, After waiting for ten minutes to use that two-by-four wash room, the last person I thought I would see is you.

Whoa, I answered, You’re copping an attitude with me, and you don’t even know me, you’re panty-hose must be on too tight!

Now kiddies, Tommie said, No fighting, let’s be nice.

Ok, Carol, let’s start over, I said. You look very nice tonight. Tell me a little about yourself, where do you work at the Ford plant?

I’m a secretary for Mr. Kennedy the manager of the Receiving Inspection Division, she answered.

Hey, big job! I said. How’d you get that job?

I’d like to think on merit and ability, but my uncle knew Mr. Kennedy in college and he helped me get the job, she answered.

Well knowing a little about Mr. ‘K’, if you couldn’t do the job he would never have kept you, I answered.

Well thank you Jimmy, she smiled, I think maybe you do have some class. And where do you work at the plant?

I’m a group leader in the central layout inspection department attached to receiving inspection, I answered.

Oh I know that area, doesn’t Andy Maletich work there? He’s always coming in to see Mr. Kennedy, she said.

Yeah, that ‘prevert’ works with us. I’m not surprised that he drops in cause even though he’s married with three kids, he likes to hit on every good-looking girl he meets, I answered.

Oh, I didn’t know he was married, she said. (Score one for the good guys, I thought.)

After taking a drink of my beer, I asked her, Do you come here often?

You’ve got to be kidding, this smoky place, no, this is my first time. Barbara asked me to come with her because she didn’t want to come here alone, so I skipped school tonight. She convinced me that too much work and school is bad for you, and you just have to go out sometime and let your hair down and have some fun. So here I am in this smoky room with tearing eyes and crushing people.

I laughed. Wonderful isn’t it. This is what they call atmosphere, besides look at the bright side, you had a chance to meet me!

Oh big deal, she said as she laughed.

Now be nice, I said, Tell me a little more about yourself. Tommie tells me you’re going to school part time.

I go to the University of Chicago three nights a week and every other Saturday, she answered.

‘What are you taking up besides space," I said as I laughed again.

Boy you can be so sarcastic and snotty, she said.

Hey, loosen up, I laughed. I’m only toying with you. So what are you studying?

Right now, Political Science and Philosophy, she answered.

‘Whoosh, heavy stuff! I commented. Meantime, while I was talking to Carol. Tommie had disappeared into the back room. As I finished taking a swig of beer, I looked back there and I could see through the door that he was talking to our honorable Union President. Big Nick was holding court, as it were, with a motley crew that looked like the top ten on the FBI’s most wanted list. Tommie then scoots over to the bar to Arnold and picks up a couple of drinks for the girls. When he comes back to the table he drops off the drinks and says, Jimmy it’s all set."

What’s all set, I asked. Just then almost everyone in the bar started to leave to go across the street to the hall for the big Union meeting. Tommie gave Barbara a little buss on the cheek, a quick smile and, See you later, girls.

I turned to Carol as I got up and said, Will I see you later Carol?

I don’t know, I’m kind of tired and this smoke isn’t helping things any. I’ll probably just call a cab and go home, because I didn’t come in my own car tonight.

Why don’t you wait, this meeting probably won’t take long and I’ll give you a lift home.

Well I’ll think about it, she answered. Then Tommie and I left and walked over to the big meeting. This ought to be very interesting, I thought. I wonder just what my little friend has gotten me into now.

Chapter Three

The Union Meeting

When Tommie and I came into the hall, he told me to grab a couple of chairs up front. He, of course, had to stop and joke with everyone along the way. I grabbed a couple of seats at the edge of the aisle a couple of rows from the front. Then I looked around. There were about two hundred and fifty people in the hall. Imagine! Only two hundred and fifty out of ten thousand union members of this local, making all the policy and deals for them, (or themselves). I turned back and looked at the stage. There sat the one black trustee, Smiley Ellis, a real nice guy I liked, and Dorothy Kovalcik, the Secretary of the union. They belonged to the Democratic Union Organizing Committee that was fighting Nick’s group at every turn.

About this time Nick and his cohorts filed in from across the street, fashionably late, after everyone else was seated. All his officers including Arnold, Frosty, Jimmy Colleta, and Gus Gatto, went up onto the stage. Nick, of course, worked the crowd over as he made his way up to the podium. A joke here, a little squeeze there, a laugh here, a whispered word there and even a note pressed into his hand, which he dropped into his pocket. He got up onto the stage, all three hundred pounds of him, and waddled over to the podium. He pounded on the podium with the gavel for quiet, to no avail. He finally turned around and motioned to Gus Gatto, the sergeant at arms, whose job it was to secure order. Gus was a menacing-looking man, and every bit as tough as he looked. He hollered over the mike, Sit down in the back and shut up; everyone must be seated or out! As he leered around the room, the place got real quiet quickly.

Nick came back to the podium laughing and said, When Gus said sit down, I was afraid to get up and come back here. Everybody laughed, as he followed up with, Gus is a good boy I would trust him with anything. Nuff said. Now let’s get down to business. He quickly went through the regular order of business, that is generally called ‘the menu’: Pledge of Allegiance, attendance call of the officers, reading of the minutes of the previous meeting, financial report and then correspondence. Then Nick said, Will the secretary read the letter from the Cook County Democratic Election Committee?

Dorothy, the secretary got up, (to a couple of boos from some of Nick’s supporters), and read aloud the Democrats BS and finished with them requesting COPE funds and workers for the coming election. That concludes the correspondence, Mr. President, Dorothy sarcastically states. It was obvious neither one had much use for the other. Then Nick asks, Is there any old business? Not hearing anything, he says, Old business closed.

Any new business, Nick hollers out, but nobody gets up. Then Nick states, Before we close new business, I’d like to address the issue of the upcoming election that the Cook County Democratic Committee was referring to in their letter. Fellows and gals, it’s going to be a tough election. We’re going to try to elect a Catholic, John F. Kennedy for President of the United States. As you probably know he’s running against ‘checkers’ and his master, dirty Dick Nixon. The place went wild with laughing and cheering and clapping. Dorothy then got up and was duly recognized and suggested we send the request to the National COPE committee in Detroit, for guidance. Then Nick hollers out, What kind of morons are we, do we have to have Detroit tell us how to spend our money? After a slight pause for the crowd to scream, he said, No way!

The crowds appetite was wetted and now they wanted more, cause they never trusted Detroit to do anything for us, except take our money. Then Arnold Buti, a trustee, seizes the moment and jumps up and waves his hand to be recognized. After Nick motions for him to speak he says, I make a motion to have our local union take the bull by the horns in this matter and authorize the payment of ten full-time workers for this election campaign, to work for six weeks to help get out our vote. The place went up for grabs. A few of the opposition guys were hollering about dissipating union funds for such a partisan issue that really had nothing to do with the union’s business. Nick allowed them to holler and argue for about ten minutes while he consulted with the Treasurer and some of his other aids on the stage. He then hit the gavel and hollered, Order, settle down. He then asked, Is there a second to Arnold Buti’s motion? Tommy’s hand immediately goes up. The chair recognizes Tommie Mastro, Nick bellows.

I second the motion to supply ten workers for six weeks, Tommie hollers out over the noise of the crowd.

Any questions or comments on the motion, Nick asks? Hands went up all over the hall. The moment he would recognize one of the opposition and give them the floor, (he called them a bunch of commie finks in private), his people would butt in, interrupt, and scream: sit down commie’s! Nick of course would interject, Let’s let everybody have their chance to speak, as he banged the gavel, but nobody listened. After a few more people talked pro and con on the matter, he hit the gavel on the podium and hollered, Discussion over.

Just then, Vince Foersch, his shop chairman and (amateur parliamentarian), who had been talking to Arnold Buti, came up behind Nick and whispered in his ear. Nick then said,