Old Tough

Into New York City police headquarters last week walked a twinkly-eyed little man between two Federal agents. At the desk Lieutenant James Finn, oldtime New York detective, glanced up in surprise, remarked: "Hello, Johnny. I haven't seen you in a long time." Into his handkerchief Johnny spat an inaudible reply.

That police had finally nailed John Torrio on an ordinary revenue law violation seemed thoroughly in keeping with that gangster's fabulous career. A small-time tough who operated an East Side poolroom in Manhattan before the War, Torrio rose to be a rugged member of Brooklyn's notorious Five Points Gang. His fame spread to James ("Big Jim") Colosimo, then Chicago's No. 1 brothel operator. He hired Torrio as head triggerman shortly after the War. Torrio's marksmanship and disarming personality made him a Colosimo favorite. To help him in his work, Torrio imported from Brooklyn a broad-shouldered, scarfaced Italian named Al Capone. Torrio taught Capone how to kill. Every night they accompanied Colosimo to the opera. The three became close friends.

In May 1920 "Big Jim" Colosimo was shot dead in his Chicago restaurant. Some accused Torrio, others Capone. At any rate Torrio quickly stepped into the dead man's shoes, kept Capone as his right-hand man. When Dion O'Banion's North Side gang hijacked too much of their beer in 1924; O'Banion was neatly drilled in his Chicago flower shop. Torrio attended the $50,000 funeral with Capone, looked at his dead foe, murmured disconsolately: "Poor Dion." But the floral wreath he sent was dumped in an ashcan, and Torrio fled to Hot Springs, Ark., to New Orleans, to the Bahamas, to Cuba, pursued by O'Banion gunmen. When he finally screwed up enough courage to return to Chicago, he was riddled with bullets after a wild chase through Loop traffic. Recovered, he went to jail for seven months for operating a brewery. Then he scurried back to Italy. On his return to the U. S. a few years later, he found that Capone was Chicago's No. 1 racketeer. Torrio retreated to New York, where his name was intermittently linked with that of Arthur ("Dutch Schultz") Flegenheimer.

When Dutch Schultz was murdered in Newark last October, Torrio, sought for questioning, was located sunning himself in Miami. Internal revenue agents went after him in earnest, discovered that he was at the bottom of a ring which was "cutting" legal liquor, selling it under Government tax stamps. When State Department authorities sent word last fortnight that Torrio was applying again for a passport, revenue agents mailed him a decoy registered letter, arrested him at the White Plains, N. Y. post office as he appeared to collect it. Unimpressed by Torrio's lawyer, who insisted his client was now a respectable realtor who had long ago settled his in come tax troubles with Washington, a U. S. Commissioner set Torrio's bail at a prohibitive $100,000. In the police lineup Torrio was asked where the 1925 fusillade of bullets had hit him. He pointed proudly to his chest and chin. "It's too bad that last shot wasn't higher -- right through the middle of your head," dryly observed a police captain.

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