Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasnt so much famous as he was infamous. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder. Capone did not act alone. He had many willing accomplices. One of those accomplices was his lawyer, nicknamed Easy Eddie. He was Capones lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddies skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid Easy Eddie very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was. This continued to weigh heavily on Eddie until one day Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie decided to atone for the wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al Scarface Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and give his son the two things he was unable to provide, a good example and a good name. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob. He knew that the cost would be great and he was willing to pay it for the sake of his son. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddies life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he would ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine. The poem read: The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 08:46:45 +0000