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nightly throng was a miscellany of sporting figures, big businessmen, collegians, gangsters, journalists, politicians, the rich, the chic, the famous and infamous, the tourists. At Big Jim's insistence the tables were wedged close together to promote an atmosphere of warmth and intimacy. Thus, a Potter Palmer or a Marshall Field might find himself rubbing elbows with such underworld celebrities as Mike Merlo, the Sicilian boss, head of the local Unione Siciliane; Mont Tennes, the racetrack gambling czar, whose complete life history, if known, would (according to the Illinois Crime Survey) "disclose practically all there is to know about syndicated gambling as a phase of organized crime in Chicago in the last quarter century"; the gambler Julius "Lovin' Putty" Annixter; "Mike de Pike" Heisler, merchant of vice, who looked like a Surinam toad, and his wizened confederate, "Monkey Face" Charlie Genker; Dennis "the Duke" Cooney, suave whoremaster whose notorious Rex Hotel was a favorite playground of gangdom; Joey D'Andrea, president of the Sewer Diggers and Tunnel Miners' Union, who was believed to have introduced to Chicago labor racketeering the peonage system of exploiting immigrant Italian workers; the labor thug "Izzy the Rat" Buchalsky; the Black Hander Vincenzo "Sunny Jim" Cosmano; Dion O'Banion, jack-ofall-crimes and chieftain of Chicago's most redoubtable strong-arm gang. . . . There were the political sachems, notably the two First Ward Democratic aldermen to whose protection Big Jim owed his rise, Michael Kenna, nicknamed Hinky Dink because of his puny size, and John Joseph "Bathhouse John" Coughlin, a chesty six-footer with a handlebar mustache, who once worked as a rubber in a Turkish bath. Between them they ruled the Levee, exacting a percentage of the profits from every illegal enterprise that flourished there. . . . Few headliners who played Chicago failed to put in an appearance at Colosimo's Cafe after the show. The celebrities in the late-supper crowd might include Al Jolson, George M. Cohan, John Barrymore, Sophie Tucker, whose "coon-shouter" song with gestures, "Angle Worm Wriggle," had caused the normally permissive Chicago police to arrest her. . . . Big Jim loved opera, and no matter how packed the place was, he would always find a table for the resident or guest artists of the Chicago Civic Opera Company-Mary Garden, Luisa Tetrazzini, Amelita Galli-Curci, Titta Ruffo, John McCormack, the conductor, Maestro Cleofonte Campanini. He counted Caruso among his personal friends.
    Not the least distinctive feature of Colosimo's Cafe was Colosimo himself. He had a verve, a bluff, zesty Southern Italian humor. A big, fleshy man, he would move with ursine tread from table to table, gesticulating grandly, charming the women and amusing the men, ordering champagne and cigars on the house. He was the glass of Levee fashion. His pomaded black brush of a mustache and luxuriant black hair gleamed like onyx. His winter wardrobe ran to twobutton sack suits with flaring lapels, white shirts embroidered with blue elephants or horses and striped knit neckties. His season of fullest sartorial flower was summer, when he appeared swan white in immaculate linens. He had a diamond fetish. By comparison the personal ornamentation of other gangsters was lackluster. Not only did Big Jim festoon his bulky person with the precious stones, wearing them on several fingers, on his belt, suspender and garter buckles, his tiepin, watch fob, shirt bosom, cuffs and vest, to which he fastened a sunburst the size and shape of a horseshoe, but he also carried about with him chamois bags full of unset diamonds. In idle moments he would empty the bags onto a square of black felt, count his treasures, toy with them, rake them up into little heaps.
    Profitable though Colosimo's Cafe was, it produced but a fraction of the fortune that enabled Big Jim to maintain two limousines, each driven by its own uniformed chauffeur, a sumptuous house for his