ENTERTAINED BY GANGSTER

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23281, 25 February 1939, Page 2 (Supplement)

ENTERTAINED BY GANGSTER

Hospitality Was But English Wit Saved Guest

THE noted English sports writer, Mr. Trevor Wignall, was having a drink at a Chicago night club with Walter Hagen, the golfer, and his manager, Bob Harlow. Suddenly, Mr. Wignall tells us in his latest book, " I Knew Them All" (Hutchinson), about twenty men entered the room.

IN the middle of the new arrivals was " a bulky, swarthy, grinning individual." " It's Al," said a woman near Mr. Wignall—- " with a gasp, as if terror had overtaken her." Mr. Wignall watched the newcomers as they strolled with precision to a big table against a distant walL The whiteness of the cloth could not be discerned for the many bottles that had been set on it.- I After a; while, we ascertained that a certain 1 Mr. Al Brown and friends bad taken possession. That did not make sense to me until Hagen mentioned that Al Brown was Al Capone's Sunday name. Guns Behind Bottles Mr. Wignall had for some time been trying to meet Capone, and now he succeeded. " Two gorillas," he says, escorted him over to the gangster's table. " Make yourself at home," said Capone, and handed him a glass filled almost to the brim'with neat whisky. Most of the party had guns, which they tried to hide behind the bottles. . . Mr. Wignall's main difficulty in this company was that Capone was a tooliberal host. Whisky, brandy, port, gin, and sherry—all were pressed on him. . Finally he hit on a plan: after each sip he lowered the glass - to • his side and . poured the contents into his shoes! ' ' , j ; 'I could not use the floor, for then I would have manufactured a stream that might have been discovered. My shoes lapped up some of the Stuff, but it was not long before I was drenched from my knees to my toes. I faced the prospect of cultivating a severe cold, but I did not let that bother me. Pneumonia was preferable to skidding out of my chair in a helpless " plastered " state. Toast to England There was one glass, however, that Mr. Wignall had to drain. Capone, on whom the mixed drinks seemed to have no effect, inflated his chest and gave the toast; "it was to me and England \ He asked me then if I proposed to write About him. I replied that if it was all right With him, I would be delighted to do so. For

a while ho grudged, but when I stressed that my paper had an enormous circulation, that the story would create a lasting sensation, and that I would present myself at his headquarters to be bumped off if I did not picture him in his true light, he softened. Mr, Wignall duly wrote the article—and Capono rang up to say he was delighted with it. He was particularly pleased, we are told, with one of the photographs that illustrated it:— It was faked. The head of Capone was from a stock photograph, but the body was drawn in the London office. It showed A 1 in a dinner-jacket, and with a beautiful black dress-tie around his neck. He was delighted —but I had nothing to do with it. I did not injure my standing by giving too much away, but his thanks should have gone to the distant art department. Mr. Wignall never saw Capone again. Before long the gang leader was in Alcatraz ,Gaol, Two Americans whom Mr. Wignall knew better than Capone were Dempsey and Tunney. tie onco went to a dinner party at Count John McCormack's house, at which Tunney was asked about an incident in one of his fights with Deinpsey. He and John McCormack, both dressed in dinner jackets, gave a demonstration, the singer playing Dempsey's part:— In a flash the former world's champion and the singer who had entertained millions with his golden voice were well at. it. The only noise was that made whon Tunney emitted frequent " whooshes;" he seems unable to move his arms without these sounds. Except for falling, he gave a very passable imfiersonation of the thing that had befallen lim in Chicago. When he was in Tunney's bedroom just before dinner, Mr. Wignall asked John McCorinack if he were going to sing for his guests: He said he could not, because that night he was a baritone. The explanation was that when he rested for any lengtli of time, his voice went down; it took him weeks of practice to get back to his normal form. The only thing I remember about the meal was that there were too many flunkeys about. Tunney and Shakespeare Mr. Wignall was with Tunney, too, during a visit he paid to Ireland. One day they went to Trinity College, Dublin, to see the Hook of Kells and the other treasures housed there: — An we were leaving Trinity. I asked Tunney what he would have selected for himself if he had been given the choice. His reply was immediate: "The first folio of Shakespeare." he said. His veneration for the Bard was not a poise. He could quote more Shakespeare than any other man I ever knew. Jack Deinpsey may not have been so well read as Tunney, but he seems to

have been extremely generous. Mr. Wignall went with him to a place called Flint, in Michigan, where he was refereeing the finals of some boxing competitions:— He was touched on the train, he was touched at Detroit, he was touched at Flint, and he was still being most powerfully touched when his car drew up to take him back to New York. If anything was left of his fee it must have been in nlckles. Dempsey's liberality wns sometimes apt to land him in difficulties. He had some trying moments, wo are told, in Atlantic City, when ho Avas preparing for his fight with Tunney: — He dropped out of windows to avoid writs servers, he swooped out of barbers' chairs when strange men peered through at him, he once escaped by having ft hole cut in a wall, and more than once he was compelled to climb into disguises. To-day, however, says Mr. Wignall, there is probably 110 more popular man in all America than Dempsey. He now runs a restaurant, and one night Mr. Wignall saw a drunken young man go up to him and try to give him a blow:— It was a marvellous moment. Demnsey ducked and so missed the punch, but all he did following that was to hold the drunk's arm and press it until there was a sharp yell of anguish. Then big Steve Christie took charge. With effect. So much so, that I can advise you not to listen if anyone tells you tha't a man cannot be thrown into the street through a revolving door. I saw it happen. " I Knew Them All," by Trevor "Wignall. (Hutchinson.)