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Hie Story of a Rea) Campaign Contribution (Continued from page 1) meet you. You must be a darned swell fellow and a right guy because you sure have surrounded yourself with a lot of high class people.” And there the conversation al end of the line changed and our informant, not being in on the party, failed to catch the chiefs reply to the bootleg ger’s effusion. But the gurgle ceased on the other end of the wire and the St. Paul giggle water dispenser broke out again: “Can 1 do anything for you? Pm always willing to do my part,” and the other end of the wire warmed up once more. When it tamed down for a moment the bootlegger warbled another stanza: “Is two hundred enough?” It evidently was, for after an instant’s hesitation (on the bootlegger’s part) the latter cut in with: “Where can I leave the money?” and again an agon izing ( !) silence while the chief was evidently debating the weighty problem in his mind. But his answer finally came— quickly and the “Saintly City” bird chirped up again: “Well, that’s right, too! Prob'ly not so good to come down.” And some more, but not much, silence and then Herr Hooch King twittered: “Alright, I’ll give it to Mose.” That seemed to satisfy all concerned and the jaw-fest continued with: “Need any autos for campaign purposes, Frank? I have three of them and you can have them any time.” A brief but affectionate ta ta-tootsie or two were passed and the concert ended with the bootlegger turning to Mose Barnett and stripping two hun dred dollars off a fat roll of bills, which Mose promised to deliver to Chief Brunskill with out unnecessary delay. Fine stuff, isn’t it ? Now, this may cause the chiefs nerves to contract slightly and he may express a feeble wish to call a physician but the Saturday Press sug gests that before he calls the pill dispenser he interview an attorney and look up the law on this matter. Courts have already decided in numerous cases that the ac tual transfer of money between an official and a person who is, has or may be benefited by the violation of any law, need not be proven; that the secrecy naturally surrounding the act itself precludes the possibility of eye witnesses; that the ac ceptance of money or gifts of any nature by any public offi cial from known violators of any law, is evidence of guilt of receiving a bribe and irrespec tive of the alleged purpose of the donation. The assumption is that Brun skill was receiving, accepting, that two hundred dollars of a bootlegger’s money for cam paign purposes and the offer of the latter’s three cars, grat is, for use in the then cam paign, indicates that the two hundred Yankee kroner went into the mayor’s campaign fund. If it didn’t, then where DID it go ? Did it go into Brun skill’s new Lake Harriet home or into the mayor’s campaign fund? It was paid to Mose Barnett and the latter agreed to turn it over to the chief. The Saturday Press is inves tigating a few more “cam paign contributions” of the same character as the one men tioned above and as long as Brunskill is so anxious to fight, we are perfectly willing to ac commodate him. This is one time since he quit piloting a beerwagon in Minneapolis that he backed up against the wrong buzz saw. And before we get too far away from that phone conversation, 1 want to ask you to ramble back to it and get a real chuckle out of the bootlegger’s chatter. “*. . . But some day I want to meet you.” Think of the longing in that bootlegger's heart! Wanting to meet— anxious to meet —“the best chief of police Minneapolis ever had”—and couldn’t do it. Gimme your nose-napkin, Aggie, while I swab the brine out of my eyes! And: “You must be a darn ed swell fellow and a right guy. . .” Gargle that well be fore you swallow. That’s right! Well, don’t we all know he’s both of these—and then some ? Darned swell (headed) and a “right guy” with the gang— Mose and Ed, and Jack and “Red,” et al. and ad infinitum. “. . . Because you sure surrounded yourself with a lot of high class people.” THE SATURDAY PRESS I’ll tell the cockeyed world he has! Some of the highest class shysters outside the peni tentiary. High class? Nothing else, but! Nothing else, but! What fulsome flattery what wonderful praise—and : From what a lily-white source —a bootlegger! A king (or was it a duke?) of the moonshine “die-nasty?” High class! Take Mose for instance. A gangster. A fat jowled Jew, despised by his own people, a skulking, cow ardly cur, a slimy thing too foul to fight fair, a stranger to honor. Ed Morgan, ruddy of face, portly of form—a human louse, a blackmailer, a would-be “bad man.” “Jack” Bevans. Bah! “Red” Clare ! Gambler, high chief of the nigger-domino crooked game shared in by all. High class timber, these buz zards ! “Can I do anything for you?” murmured the bootleg king (or was he a “Count?”). He can’t right now for the Fed eral government gathered him in with its blanket indictment returned not long ago in Cleveland, Ohio! He’s so busy trying to push himself out through the net that I’ll wager a dime he has forgotten the man he was so anxious to meet when he left two hundred dol lars with Mose Barnett as a token of his regard! Now, friends, that is all of this incident —for the present. Brunskill, as chief of police, took an oath to protect the per sons and properties of every in dividual in this city. He is be ing paid a good salary out of monies raised by taxing prop erty owners of this city. He is PRESUMED to be law-abiding himself and he is PRESUMED to see that every individual is protected to the extent of the law’s ability TO protect. And, what do we see? During the last mayoralty campaign, Mr. Turner’s adher ents advertised a political meeting to be held in the vicin ity of Eighth and Dupont ave nues north. They had a player piano on a small truck and between se lections, speakers urged the assembled citizens to vote for Mr. Turner. Nothing illegal in that. Nothing unconstitutional. Quite a crowd had gathered when Brunskill drove up in a big car and within five min utes a gang of hoodlums began throwing eggs of uncertain vintage at the men and women and even a little girl, eight Saturday, Oct. 22, 1927 years of age, who had volun teered to play the violin. The Turner proponents were show ered with the shanghai berries and just across the street Frank Brunskill STOOD UP IN HIS CAR AND LAUGHED HEARTILY AT THE SPEC TACLE. Take a good hearty laugh now, chief! Give this one the haw-haw! But, what’s the use ? What can the people expect from a man who graduated into the police department from the driver’s seat on a brewery wagon! It takes BRAINS to run a police department, and brawn, sans brains, to juggle beer kegs. I wish to once more impress on the readers of this timid, shrinking, playful little publi cation, that neither of its edi tors SOUGHT this fight with Chief Brunskill. He forced it upon us and: We’re not “picking ’em out” —we’re “taking ’em as they come.” We started this publication with the perfectly good inten tion of mopping-up on the gangsters, gunmen and black mailers of the city. One of us got shot the first crack out of the box and before the unshot one had a chance to even get mad, out pops Sir Chief and proceeds to rap—not the gun men who did the shooting, not the gangsters, not the black mailers, but THE UNSHOT SCRIBE! Is the man gone daffy? No one invited him into this scrim mage. He homed in! Nicest opportunity in the world for him to have kept out,'but he didn’t. Instead of doing some thing to earn his biscuits, he tries to keep our finances so low that neither Bro. Guilford or myself can make the first payment on an oyster cracker. And then he expects us to han dle him gently? How simple some folks are. Where was Mose when the light went out—and that war rant came on? I want to apologise to many subscribers for the delay they were subjected to in getting their paper last week. Wrap pers containing the names of regular subscribers were inad vertently mixed with several hundred miscellaneous wrap pers and were not mailed until Tuesday, when the blunder was discovered, as usual, too late. Don’t cuss-—I did enough for all of us.