Gangster Dad

Was listening to a show about the “Sopranos” (nope, never saw any of it) but they were talking about them mob bosses and the speakeasy’s and the booze and…. Then an “Ah Ha!” moment hits.

My dad was a gangster.

No, not the Mickey Spillane kind or a mob boss sending his guys with gats a blazing but a behind the scene kinda guy working with some shady characters.

Now there is no evidence or crime reports that I know of, but my dad ran clubs during pre-post-prohibition. There were tales of running moonshine but it might all be… but what if?

There are enough documented photos and written reports of a snazzy dresser and his moll playing dates in clubs across the east coast to mid-west.

From what history records, these dens of ill repute were run by mob bosses cordoning the market of depression weary folks who didn’t mind losing their last sawbuck for a drink in a smoky room.

Don’t think my dad knocked anybody off, but he was good at working the books. He was also a schmoozer and learned how to make the most pathetic feel like royalty. It is an art form.

Whether he broke any crimes worst than hiding hooch in the closet and putting my crib in front of it so the revenuers couldn’t find it, I’ll never know.

I’ll just leave his legacy, as Jelly was a smooth operator.