***** 1962****
He Might Look Gay, but…
It was the critical me observing a client in the shop. Hmmm, who was this guy talking to Sheriff Olgilvie? He looks like a school teacher that’s a little light in the loafers. It’s those small rectangular frame glasses; they look too stylish for a man. Ah yes, I’ve seen this guy around the terminal several times. I guess he likes to hang around here. That was never a good sign.
Carmie broke my silent dialogue by whispering to me, “Kid it looks like you’re staring at them. Go read a magazine. Get a newspaper, they’re taking care of business.”
“The sheriff and the fag?”
“Don’t mistake the guy with the glasses; he’ll just as soon stuff you in a trunk as look at you. He’s so tricky I don’t even know whose side he’s on. He’s like horse shit, he’s everywhere.”
“Who is he?”
“Sometimes he’s Rich, sometimes Rick or Dick Scott, Cain is his last name for sure. And just because you see him around the terminal that doesn’t mean he’s gay. People use high pedestrian traffic areas for drop offs, exchange of packages or information, shit like that. And don’t stare. Let’s go get some coffee.”
Then a voice from across the shop, “Hey where are you fellows going? I need a haircut.”
“Okay kid, he’s all yours.” That was the first of many haircuts I gave to Mr. Cain. He was one of those people you store in your mental file cabinet because he just seemed weird, and he made me feel very uneasy, almost creepy.
**** 1973 ****
Dick Cain, aka Scalzetti The Moran Detective Agency had some security guard contracts, too. They occupied an office in the same building as The Lion’s Cut. Having them as a neighbor was of no benefit to our business; their security guards looked like they were just released from Cook County Jail. However, Mr. Moran had a friend that came around to visit, my old "friend" Richard Cain from my early days at Melito’s. On a cold 20th of December, 1973 he, too, wound up on the front page. He got shot in such a way that it took days to clean up Rose’s little sandwich shop on 1117 Grand Avenue. They had to use his fingerprints to figure out who he was. It started to make me wonder if there were just that many shootings in Chicago? Is it some kind of message I’m supposed to get? Or was it simply a matter of the original client base that came through these shops?
He Might Look Gay, but…
It was the critical me observing a client in the shop. Hmmm, who was this guy talking to Sheriff Olgilvie? He looks like a school teacher that’s a little light in the loafers. It’s those small rectangular frame glasses; they look too stylish for a man. Ah yes, I’ve seen this guy around the terminal several times. I guess he likes to hang around here. That was never a good sign.
Carmie broke my silent dialogue by whispering to me, “Kid it looks like you’re staring at them. Go read a magazine. Get a newspaper, they’re taking care of business.”
“The sheriff and the fag?”
“Don’t mistake the guy with the glasses; he’ll just as soon stuff you in a trunk as look at you. He’s so tricky I don’t even know whose side he’s on. He’s like horse shit, he’s everywhere.”
“Who is he?”
“Sometimes he’s Rich, sometimes Rick or Dick Scott, Cain is his last name for sure. And just because you see him around the terminal that doesn’t mean he’s gay. People use high pedestrian traffic areas for drop offs, exchange of packages or information, shit like that. And don’t stare. Let’s go get some coffee.”
Then a voice from across the shop, “Hey where are you fellows going? I need a haircut.”
“Okay kid, he’s all yours.” That was the first of many haircuts I gave to Mr. Cain. He was one of those people you store in your mental file cabinet because he just seemed weird, and he made me feel very uneasy, almost creepy.
**** 1973 ****
Dick Cain, aka Scalzetti The Moran Detective Agency had some security guard contracts, too. They occupied an office in the same building as The Lion’s Cut. Having them as a neighbor was of no benefit to our business; their security guards looked like they were just released from Cook County Jail. However, Mr. Moran had a friend that came around to visit, my old "friend" Richard Cain from my early days at Melito’s. On a cold 20th of December, 1973 he, too, wound up on the front page. He got shot in such a way that it took days to clean up Rose’s little sandwich shop on 1117 Grand Avenue. They had to use his fingerprints to figure out who he was. It started to make me wonder if there were just that many shootings in Chicago? Is it some kind of message I’m supposed to get? Or was it simply a matter of the original client base that came through these shops?
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