A Jackpot of Corpses

Of all the criminals i have known, Milt Feasely, long, long dead, remains my favorite. In the days when I was a newspaper reporter in Chicago, knowing criminals was part of the job. The more you knew and the better you knew them, the more valuable you were to your city editor. For in that happy time, before the prospect of planetary destruction pre-empted the front pages, criminals were our most vital news source.

It was for this reason that I spent much of my youthful leisure in Big Jim Colosimo's café, one of the leading roosts for the town's criminal talent. Here coveys of killers, thieves and white slavers came nightly to relax, brag and buy their girls a bottle of wine. Nevertheless, it was a stylish and orderly place. Although he owned a score of brothels and was over his ears in all manner of underworld skulduggeries, Big Jim insisted on everybody acting like a gentleman while basking in his café. And, himself, he was as elegant a host as ever beamed out of a tuxedo.

Big Jim brought "my favorite criminal" to the table where I sat alone, waiting for some tardy newspaper companions.

"This is Jackpot Milt," said Colosimo. He poked a bean pole of a man in the ribs and added, "Tell him your story. Maybe his paper can help you."

Jackpot Milt Feasely had big hands, noticeably calloused. He was gaunt-faced and bald-headed and looked a cross between a skeleton and a scarecrow. He had obviously put on a tie for this special occasion.

After scowling at me a bit, he said, "Big Jim's a fine fella who I am willin' to trust. But I don't know you and never heard of you."

I pointed out that Colosimo had vouched for me.

"I got to be careful," he said, "because if I talk to any wrong party I'm sunk. Yes, sir, sunk." He repeated the word with an oddly lighted eye.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Feasely," I said.

"I tried Deanie O'Banion on the North Side," he said, "but couldn't get him interested, on account of the cops tryin' to pin a couple killings on him. Although he didn't give that as any reason. He just said it was out of his line. Then I figured on goin' to the cops with the problem. But the cops would want a big cut. So I come to Big Jim, through certain connections. I feel I can trust him to consider the problem without gettin' too greedy. You ever heard of me – Jackpot Milt?"

I shook my heard.

"Well, I never heard of you either," he said, and became silent.

I sent a waiter over to get Colosimo.

"Mr. Feasely has a problem," I explained, "that he doesn't care to unload on just an ordinary stranger."

Mine Host beamed and sat down.

"What's your problem?" Big Jim asked, after commanding a free bottle of wine to be fetched.

"It's this way," our visitor said, "I operate in the river, the Chicago River, (continued on page 132) Jackpot of Corpses(continued from page 51) which is also called the Root River. You can consider it on the North Side, which is why I consulted Deanie O'Banion before comin' to you."

"You done the right thing," said Big Jim, "that's Deanie's territory. And I don't want to mix in."

"Deanie said it was ok to go to you," our visitor said quickly. "He was, in fact, unsympathetic to the whole problem. All I could get out of him was the statement, 'I ain't interested in corpses. They're small potatoes.' That's all he'd say. Of course, I realize I come to him at the wrong time."

"What corpses are those?" Big Jim asked, lowering his voice.

"I'll give you the full picture," said the skinny man. He pushed a wine glass away, adding, "Pardon me, I never touch it. I been on the wagon for fifteen years, ever since the Hotel Hay-market fire. I was blind drunk in bed on that occasion and they had to throw me out of the fifth-floor window into a net. I've never touched a drop since."

Big Jim started to leave, and I reminded the teetotaler, "You were going to tell us about some corpses."

"Yes, indeed," Milt Feasely said, "I've been operatin' for thirteen years catchin' corpses in the Chicago River and turnin' them over to the coroner's office at fifty dollars a head. That's the salvage price per floater hauled out of the river. It used to be only twenty-five but I got a friend on the city council, maybe you know him, Alderman Willoughby."

"A good pal," said Colosimo, sitting down again. "How much action do you get on them corpses?"

"It depends on the season," Milt answered. "August to November is the best months. I'd say when they're run-nin' good, there's a average of two a week for my net."

"You catch 'em in a net?" Colosimo asked. He seemed surprised.

"I got a net stretched across the river at Aberdeen Street," said Milt. "As a matter of straight facts, I got two nets. One I got sunk thirty feet down, prac-tic'ly touchin' bottom. Because there is a type of corpse which don't float at all. My main net is close to the surface, so I have to pull it in every time there's a boat passin'. And I can tell you, it keeps me hoppin'. I do about five hours of rowin' every day in my dinghy."

"It's a funny business for a fella to get into," said Colosimo.

"I was originally a driver for the Bismarck Funeral Parlors," said Milt, "so it come natural. Maybe you heard of the runaway hearse?" he looked hopefully at our host, "I was involved in that."

"I don't remember no runaway hearse," said Big Jim.

"It was before I went on the wagon," Milt explained.

"So you now have two nets on Aberdeen Street," I said, making a note on a piece of copy paper.

"I picked Aberdeen Street," Milt Feasely said, "because it's only a mile and a half away from the mouth of the river. Most people ain't aware of this, but the Chicago River is one of the few rivers that flows both ways, up and down. From four p.m. to midnight, the river runs in from the lake. Then it turns around after midnight and runs back into the lake. So you see, I get 'em comin' and goin'. What I mean is ––"

"I know what you mean," Colosimo interrupted. "So that's where you got the name Jackpot?"

"Yes, Alderman Willoughby gave me that title," said Milt Feasely, "and I guess it just stuck."

"What kind of corpses do you get?" I asked, making a few more notes.

"The usual," said Milt. "Suicides, accidents, murders and so forth. And from every walk of life. Maybe you remember the society girl who was concealed in the burlap bag full o' bricks? She couldn't get by my low net."

"What's your problem?" Big Jim asked suddenly. "I don't see no problem," he grinned. "Except for all that robin' you got a pretty easy setup."

"Ever hear of a fella named Fats Dorfman?" our visitor asked.

"No," said Big Jim. I also shook my head.

"He's a big, fat, no-good dirty ––" Milt began.

"Please, no swearin'," Colosimo interrupted.

"Excuse me," said Milt. He resumed after a few deep breaths. "This fella Fats Dorfman has stretched a net across the river at Blue Island Avenue. Which is a mile farther inland from me. How I get aware of it was I run into Doc Springer in the coroner's office last week and he says to me, 'I see you got a partner, Jackpot.' I ask him, a partner in what? And I learn the news. This fella Fats Dorfman has brought in two floaters inside of three weeks. And collected fifty per head. So I go huntin' for this fella, Fats Dorfman. I start rowin' the dinghy from the lake harbor right up the river, inspectin' every foot. And I finally get to Blue Island Avenue on the third day. And I catch him red-handed, liftin' his net. With an old lady in it, who was my property. I ordered him to give her up but all he did was laugh. 'All right,' I tell him, 'I'm warning you. I been workin' this river for thirteen years. And I ain't goin' to stand for no poachers.'

"His only response was there was enough for everybody. And we should divvy up the corpses. I should get 'emcomin' up from the lake and he'll take them goin' into the lake."

Big Jim looked moody. Three "poachers" had held up one of his brothels awhile back, and made off with the week's profits plus several suitcases crammed with ball gowns and expensive lingerie.

"Yeah, people are always cuttin' in," Big Jim said. "I guess it's human nature."

"Human nature or not," said Milt, "it ain't right! I been operatin' thirteen years. And I bought the dinghy from the fella who was operatin' ahead of me, a fella named Moose Crawford who was part Indian and who invented the operation. I imagine you heard o' him."

Big Jim shook his head, a moodiness still in his eyes.

"The reason I asked," said Milt Feasely, "was that shortly after sellin' out to me, Moose was a victim of drunkenness and fell off the Kedzie Street bridge. He was one of the first corpses I got in the net."

"Quite a break," said Big Jim, vaguely.

"Yeah, I had all the breaks till this bum Dorfman shows up," said Milt. "Now the reason I come to see you is that if a man in your position would take over the river so far as my work is concerned, I would be glad to kick in twenty-five percent per floater for protection."

"It ain't much of a take," said Colo-simo. "You say it runs about fifty to a hundred bucks a week."

"In that vicinity," Milt agreed.

"Are there any other rivers around?" Big Jim brightened.

"No, not for forty miles," said Milt. "I checked on that couple years ago. All you got outside my river is the Drainage Canal, which is good only for suicides, because nobody is usin' the Drainage Canal for canoein' or high divin' or such purposes."

Big Jim Colosimo stood up.

"Sorry, Jackpot," he said, "it don't appeal."

"All you gotta do," said Milt Feasely, "is chase this Fats Dorfman away. And I don't care how you do it."

"Ain't my kind of a deal," said Big Jim. He smiled at Jackpot. "Order anything you want. It's on the house."

My visitor sat scowling and silent. He finally spoke:

"If nobody's goin' to help me get justice, I'll get it myself. Nobody's goin'to stick a net across that river after I been operatin' thirteen years. By God, my net's goin' to catch 'em comin' and goin'. And you can put that in your paper if you want to write up the facts I give you."

• • •

And I did. I "wrote it up" a month later. It was a grisly news item, but it amused my city editor, who was fretting over the amount of valuable while space being taken up by the Greco-Bulgarian war. He put it on the front page, under a feature headline, a jackpot of Corpses.

The story ran:

"Jackpot Milt Feasely won a victory over his rival, Fats Dorfman, early this morning. For thirteen years. Milt had a monopoly on salvaging drowned bodies out of the Chicago River with the aid of two nets stretched across the waterway.

"Last month, Fats Dorfman invaded Milt's territory with a rival net a mile farther up the river. Argument failing to oust the poaching Dorfman, Jackpot Milt rowed out in the misty dawn today and started to hack his rival's net to pieces with a knife He had reduced the net to shreds when Fats Dorfman came punting out in his own dinghy to check on what was going on in the foggy dawn. A battle between Milt and Fats ensued.

"Witnesses, attracted by their roars, saw both body salvagers whacking at each other with oars until they toppled into the river together. Neither Milt nor Fats could swim.

"A few hours later both bodies were recovered from the river at Aberdeen Street. Jackpot Milt Feasely had won his point. He had vowed that his salvaging net would be the only one to catch corpses in Chicago's historic stream. And it was."