Uncle Al Capone Read Online Free
bond,” Aunt Maffie finished. “Everyone knew that. He would have given his life to save your life or mine. So don’t be so hard on him. He loved his family. He loved you. Don’t you ever forget that, OK? Capish?”
That evening was a turning point in my life. Being a Capone had already influenced so much of who I was, but most of that influence centered on shame. Now, I wanted to understand my uncle Al and his partner, my grandfather Ralph, as human beings and not as “public enemies.”
But much of their story took place before I was born. I was born in 1940, but Al and Ralph were at the height of their power during the 1920s. When I knew Al, he had already suffered through the seven-year imprisonment—most of it in Alcatraz—that changed him forever. And he died in 1947, when I was just a little girl.
So, to understand my family, I had to develop a strategy. From the day I was fired, I began to ask each member of my family—Aunt Maffie; my grandfather Ralph; Al’s other brothers, Mimi, Bites, and Matty; Uncle Al’s wife Mae, and their son Sonny—to tell me everything they would or could about Al and the family business. I wanted to know how things really were. What was the secret behind Al’s business success? What was the true story of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre? What happened to Al in prison? And, of course, the question people have asked me all my life: Where did all the money go?
Some of my family members were more open than others, but all of them had stories to tell. And all of them were concerned that I might be writing a book. They made me promise that if I wrote anything, it would not be published until long after they were dead and buried.
At the end of his life, my father was in the process of writing a book about the family, which he called Sins of the Father . Just before he was found dead, Hedda Hopper mentioned in her gossip column that he was working on a manuscript. So, there was a lot of speculation in the years after his death that perhaps it wasn’t suicide. Perhaps he had been murdered—not by any member of our family, but by some other member of either the Outfit or politics who was worried about being implicated with the Capones. I will tell the full story of the questions surrounding my father’s death later in this book.
People have often asked me, “Why has no other member of the family ever written a book? Why didn’t Sonny ever write a book?” I think it’s because of the mystery that my dad’s aborted manuscript created. In this book, I will tell what actually happened at the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre—and who I believe were the real perpetrators—as well as many other, as of yet untold, stories about the inner workings of Capone’s Outfit. Revealing these secrets is no small matter when you’re a member of a family that had such ruthless and unscrupulous enemies. Even if my father wasn’t murdered for working on a book, the fact that everyone believed he might have been is telling.
But now those unscrupulous enemies are long dead. And so, too, are all the members of my family who can remember Al Capone personally. Uncle Mimi, the last of Al’s siblings, died in 1984. Sonny, Al’s only child and my godfather, died in 2004. As far as I can tell, I am the last member of my family to be born with the Capone name. So now, finally, it is time for the story from inside the family to come to light.
I will not pretend to be able to paint a rosy picture of my uncle Al. I cannot make him out to be a perfect man, or even a good man. But what I want people to know is that he was a complex man. He was human—and he had a heart. He was a son, a brother, a father, and an uncle. There were two Al Capones. There was the Al Capone that strutted, wore fancy suits and big hats, and loved the limelight. There was the leader of the Outfit, who sat straight in his chair, stiff and rigid. The man who often wore a smile on his face that could instantly turn into an
That evening was a turning point in my life. Being a Capone had already influenced so much of who I was, but most of that influence centered on shame. Now, I wanted to understand my uncle Al and his partner, my grandfather Ralph, as human beings and not as “public enemies.”
But much of their story took place before I was born. I was born in 1940, but Al and Ralph were at the height of their power during the 1920s. When I knew Al, he had already suffered through the seven-year imprisonment—most of it in Alcatraz—that changed him forever. And he died in 1947, when I was just a little girl.
So, to understand my family, I had to develop a strategy. From the day I was fired, I began to ask each member of my family—Aunt Maffie; my grandfather Ralph; Al’s other brothers, Mimi, Bites, and Matty; Uncle Al’s wife Mae, and their son Sonny—to tell me everything they would or could about Al and the family business. I wanted to know how things really were. What was the secret behind Al’s business success? What was the true story of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre? What happened to Al in prison? And, of course, the question people have asked me all my life: Where did all the money go?
Some of my family members were more open than others, but all of them had stories to tell. And all of them were concerned that I might be writing a book. They made me promise that if I wrote anything, it would not be published until long after they were dead and buried.
At the end of his life, my father was in the process of writing a book about the family, which he called Sins of the Father . Just before he was found dead, Hedda Hopper mentioned in her gossip column that he was working on a manuscript. So, there was a lot of speculation in the years after his death that perhaps it wasn’t suicide. Perhaps he had been murdered—not by any member of our family, but by some other member of either the Outfit or politics who was worried about being implicated with the Capones. I will tell the full story of the questions surrounding my father’s death later in this book.
People have often asked me, “Why has no other member of the family ever written a book? Why didn’t Sonny ever write a book?” I think it’s because of the mystery that my dad’s aborted manuscript created. In this book, I will tell what actually happened at the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre—and who I believe were the real perpetrators—as well as many other, as of yet untold, stories about the inner workings of Capone’s Outfit. Revealing these secrets is no small matter when you’re a member of a family that had such ruthless and unscrupulous enemies. Even if my father wasn’t murdered for working on a book, the fact that everyone believed he might have been is telling.
But now those unscrupulous enemies are long dead. And so, too, are all the members of my family who can remember Al Capone personally. Uncle Mimi, the last of Al’s siblings, died in 1984. Sonny, Al’s only child and my godfather, died in 2004. As far as I can tell, I am the last member of my family to be born with the Capone name. So now, finally, it is time for the story from inside the family to come to light.
I will not pretend to be able to paint a rosy picture of my uncle Al. I cannot make him out to be a perfect man, or even a good man. But what I want people to know is that he was a complex man. He was human—and he had a heart. He was a son, a brother, a father, and an uncle. There were two Al Capones. There was the Al Capone that strutted, wore fancy suits and big hats, and loved the limelight. There was the leader of the Outfit, who sat straight in his chair, stiff and rigid. The man who often wore a smile on his face that could instantly turn into an
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