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typed letter gang. The Irish gangsters, who usually started off as beer runners, getting into the whisky game later as their clientele increased. They were at beer & whisky long before the syndicate got into it - all through America. A relative of mine (2nd. cousin), by name Vannie Higgins, was machine-gunned to death in Brooklyn when the syndicate got going good. The only explanation for the massive power of the syndicate is that our politicians have allowed them to do so. Many of the Irish-Americans who started in the game were railroad men, and some of the terms used originated with them, like "on the spot," "bumped," and undoubtedly "highball," which had been long in use before prohib- ition, originated with railroaders, as did "boilermakers." I digress.

 I don't get out much except for groceries, pick up a newspaper and maybe eat out two

or three times a week when I feel I can't stand my own cooking. But last Monday night I attended the wake of the aforesaid cop, the Tuohy body guard, who had died of a heart attack while living at Sarasota, Florida. The body was brought up to Chicago and taken to 6150 W. North Avenue, which is the North Austin neighborhood, where so many fugitives from the "Indians," as Chicago people call the blacks, have fled. This is a neighborhood where I lived when my children were young - near the Galewood Yard of the Milwaukee RR. As some of the old Tuohy Gang were ex-Milwaukee switchmen, I hoped to meet someone in the nearly all Irish-American crowd at the parlor who could tell me about a man I knew. I had visited him in Joliet Penitentiary long ago, had tried to help him get a parole at a time when I myself and my family were living in want.. He had been a minor worker for a Tuohy henchman who operated a bootlegging joint at Manheim, the east end of the big Bensenville Yard of the Milwaukee. This henchman, Walter Conliffe, was on dope thought nothing of killing the Sicilian alky peddlers who chanced to penetrate the Franklin Park-Manheim-Bensenville area. Tuohy and Co. had the far northwest side of Chi- cago and up into McHenry County, and as long as the syndicate stayed out there was no trouble, but when the syndicate owned the local politicians, they went gunning, which wasn't equal to Tuohy's guns, amongst whom were some ex-rails who were on the county highway police force and came up with modern artillery like the newest machine guns. So, the pols had to help the syndicate, which they did, and I think that's the story of syndicate domination of gambling, vice and even the liquor business. The man I wanted to either meet or know about was one Leon M. Conroyd, a surname that's probably only a variation of Conroy. I wasn't successful in my quest, but have learned that he is dead.

 Could you tell me, when one completes a book, isn't it necessary to have at least

three copies of the work? I know you must send one copy to be copyrighted, one to a prospective publisher and retain one for yourself. Isn't that about the situation. I copyrighted one book of sketches many years ago, but my present undertaking will be a larger work and I'm not sure as to how many copies I should develop,

I trust that you and family are reasonably well.

                                                                                            Regards,
                                                                   in blue ink    F. Mead

typed P.S. Am enclosing te card I picked-up at the funeral joint.

                       The priest in charge was about to start a series of
                       songs. I escaped before a really big program for which a printed agenda was given
                       to all those who could read. Imagine, that by saying the little prayer, 7 years can
                       be lifted off this guy's sentence. They must assume he's going to Hell, which may
                       be correct. By the way, the Tuohy Boys' father was a widowed policeman who raised
                       the boys in The Valley, around 26th & Halsted.  Tuohy went to Iowa as a young man
                       and learned telegraphy, later taught it at Harvard in army service in WW 1. He very
                       likely learned telegraphy while working at a railroad station, which I did also,
                       though I never learned telegraphy properly. Excuse please.

written in blue ink on left-hand margin and top of letter Walter Conliffe operated a place switchmen called "The Broken Knuckle" underlined. Switchmen in olden days used to say they had been delayed by breaking a knuckle on a car, when knuckles were varied.