1920s Prohibition-era Chicago was a place with a notorious reputation as a lawless city. At the helm with seemingly inexorable power over politicians, police and the supply of alcohol demanded by the Chicagoans, was Al Capone and his extensive network of underlings.
With the height of the gang-fueled feudalism as the backdrop, newsreel photographer Norman Alley worked out of Hearst’s Chicago offices, capturing the events of the city on hundreds of feet of film each week. Always in search for a good story for the screen, Alley came up with the idea of a story on how bootlegged alcohol was made and delivered to the thirsty public in the thousands of speakeasies that dotted the city. To shoot this story meant that Alley would have to sweet-talk his way into access to Capone’s operation – and without his editor’s blessings on the story. Alley intended for the finished story to be a surprise for his boss.
To obtain access to Capone’s operation, Alley sought out an old colleague from his days years ago in the Chicago Tribune’s newsroom, reporter Alfred “Jake” Lingle. Lingle knew the city’s underworld inside and out and was trusted by Capone and his mob, having never once betrayed a source for a story. Ironically, a few years later, Lingle’s coziness with the mob would find his life meeting an untimely end via a bullet to the back of his head. Alley pitched his idea to Lingle and shortly afterwards, Lingle went to have a chat with Capone over Alley’s story idea. A few hours later, Lingle called Alley and told him to wait in the lobby of the Metropole Hotel with his gear at 9 AM the next morning.
Alley recalled his initial meeting with the members of Capone’s mob:
“Suddenly, two very pleasant-looking gentlemen came walking across the lobby towards me. Refinement was written all over them. What were they doing here? Possibly innocent out-of-towners, undoubtedly unaware of the hotel’s guest list. No, they must be in the right place. I saw them smile and nod at the hotel room clerk. One of them came over to me and asked, “Mr. Alley?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the guy Jake fixed it up for to make movies, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Where’s your camera?”
“Outside, in my car.”
“Okay. Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”
Let’s go for a ride! A pleasant suggestion in social circles, but here, in this place and from guys like this—well, it sounded kinda funny; something a fellow could take two ways! However, there didn’t happen to be any two ways about it. If these two guys had murder in their hearts, I wasn’t for arguing with them. If they didn’t — well, I didn’t have to worry about arguing. Anyway, I had an in; I was a friend of Jake Lingle’s.
When we got outside, I led them to my car. One thing I was happy about at this point. If I was going for a ride, destination unknown, at least I’d be doing the driving myself. There was an extra touch of security in that thought. But I was doomed to disappointment on that score. When they got to my car, they reached inside, took my camera, tripod and film magazines, and carried them gingerly to another car, a closed job, about fifty feet further down the street.”
Alley got into the car with the two mobsters, who took him to one of Chicago’s bootleg bottling operations. Once inside the warehouse, Alley setup his gear and started to roll on the scene before him, and as he recounted, spent far too much of his time trying to keep his subjects from making asses of themselves in front of the lens and ruining the shots.
Shortly before Alley was done filming the scene for his story, Al and his brother Ralph Capone, walked into the warehouse. Alley initially assumed the two of them showed up out of curiosity over how newsreels are shot. But suddenly a change in the atmosphere made Alley realize something was all not well with him shooting this story and realized Ralph Capone had a .38 special in his hand. Alley recounted what happened next:
“Oh no, he wasn’t aiming at anybody. Instead, as soon as he saw that I was out of firing range, he stepped around and, pointing the persuader at the lens, fired point-blank, blasting the camera’s bowels to smithereens! I dropped what I was doing, stood aghast. Now, Al smiled slightly and asked, “All finished taking your pictures buddy?” Actually, it was more of a statement of fact than a question. I grinned foolishly and gulped, “Yes. Guess I am.”
Alley packed up the remains of his now destroyed camera and was taken out to a car where he was delivered to his home. Alley did not say a word to anyone about his recent mishap out of embarrassment and fear of trying to figure out how to break the bad news to his employer the next morning. The camera was insured, but it was destroyed on a story not approved by nor even known of by his boss.
The next day at work, Alley was moping around the office, trying to figure out how to tell his boss what happened the previous day with his camera when Lingle called him and asked him to come down to the Sherman Hotel right away. Alley hustled down to the hotel since he had a few words to say to Lingle about the previous day’s incident. After a heated argument with Lingle, Alley answered Lingle’s question of how much his camera cost—which Alley estimated at around $750 to replace.
Fifteen minutes later, one of the same men who picked Alley up at the Metropole Hotel the previous day, showed up at the room Alley and Lingle were in. With a “how are you, Mr. Alley?” the man reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He handed the envelope to Alley, remarking, “There you are my friend, eight Cs.” And then he walked out without another word.
After Alley opened the envelope and saw that there really was eight hundred dollars in it, Lingle explained, “Al decided at the last minute he’d veto those pictures and it was the quickest and most effective way he knew to do it, without involving a lot of argument.”