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A “Close-up” View of the City Hall (Continued from page 1) policy game is still sailing and from the present outlook will get into port ahead of Lipton’s new yacht. Big Mose Barnett’s game was opened at Plymouth and Washington. A nice crap game with a beautiful clientele —Barnett’s Third ward Yid henchmen who vote for Leach and Olson, both during and after the regular voting hours. But the rub came on the cut. McCormick got nothing from Big Mose’s game, and he in sisted that if he was going to handle gambling in Minneapo lis he would handle all of it and not be shuffled out of the deck by a clique of Brunskill’s pet -Jews. And there matters stood. Big Mose was a constant visitor at Brunskill’s office, but undoubtedly nothing much was passed except time, as there are two officials and one ward heeler who have to be taken care of in any Third ward gam bling venture, and the regular “City Hall” cut would be very much out of order. How about it, Pete? Brunskill stood pat. He needed his bosom pal, Big Mose, because the latter was keeping Minneapolis free from crime for Brunskill, and help ing to build little Frankie up as the best police chief in the United States. But he over looked a bet—a most impor tant bet—as he would rather be police chief than be right. And police chiefs are appoint ed every two years. The 1925 election came along. Leach an nounced to a great many peo ple that he would not re-ap point Brunskill. In fact, he very elegantly expressed it as fol lows : “I wouldn’t appoint that dirty blankety blank blank if he were the last man on earth.” Leach was re-elected. Shortly after his election one of his closest political buddies came out of his office and met Coun ty Commissioner George Mal lon in the City Hall corridor, and offered him the job of chief of police if he would take it. '• Leach held up the appoint ment of a chief of police. Brunskill mooned around like a jilted lover for six weeks. But he- laid down completely, - and the twenty-five per- cent * cut from Big Mose’s game stalled in through the regular channel —that is, that part of it that the Jews couldn’t count the “City Hall” out of. On Au gust 10th Leach re-appointed Brunskill, which was generally expected around the Court House where it was freely stated that the Mayor didn’t dare do anything else since he had a vituperative little cut throat to deal with, one whose vindictiveness and spite would stop at nothing, even at a com plete confession. And then the comedy. Big Mose was burned at little Frank. He waved his arms and howled as only a greasy ganef can howl, “Wat th’ — no brains, no brains. I tried to smart that guy up and make a man of him, but wat th’—.” Coolness developed between the bosom pals, but it wore off. But what of Frank and his Mayor? Folks about town pretty generally understood that there was bad blood be-‘ tween the Mayor and his chief. Brunskill explained it all to several friends of the Mayor, to the complete satisfaction of everybody except the Mayor. Brunskill’s explanation was truly Brunskillian, and as fol lows: “Well, you know how the little fellow is—he can’t say ‘No.’ Every heel in town went in to him and asked to open a pig here and a game there, and a joint somewhere else, and he told them all they could go wide open. When he told me to let them ride I re fused to stand for it, and he got sore. As a matter of fact I had to save the Mayor against himself or he would have gone to jail before he got through. He is sore at me now, but some day he will appreciate what I have done for him.” Which is a fine way of squar ing the Mayor, aintchu ? About the same speed as the little fel low showed when he was fight ing the Mayor and McCormick over Big Mose! All the “shon nickers” in town got them selves set in with the Chief through Mose, and friends of old time gamblers who had. reputations for square gam bling went to Brunskill to in tercede for the old timer, who, by the way, would be a white man. “Why, certainly,” the best chief of police in the Unit ed States would reply, “I haven’t anything against . I was surprised when McCor mick handed in the list of those -who could go that his name-* wasn’t on the list. You THE SATURDAY PRESS know, McCormick is handling all that for the Mayor and I don’t have anything to do with it. You see McCormick and tell him everything is all right with me if he wants to let your friend open.” But the world do move, and times do change. The year of 1927 arrived, and the Mayor really didn’t have very many sound reasons why he should be re-elected. The blankety blank blank he wouldn’t re-appoint two years before, became the best chief of police in the United States because there had been no bank robberies in the city dur ing his reign, and Leach prom ised to re-appoint this prize if the public would vote for him. The daily papers took up the cry and eulogized Brunskill. The daily papers some of whose staffs were on the pay roll of the gambling syndicate —elected Leach. But Brun skill’s head was so out of pro portion that his arm wasn’t long enough to scratch his ear. McCormick was pushed off the table and Big Mose came into his own. Brunskill was back to his first love, and his last. “There will be no gambling in Minneapolis that Mose isn’t in on,” was the edict from the lips of the beat..chief of jonijce. in the United States. And Big Mose cut himself in for twenty five per cent of the big Twin City Reporter hundred dollar limit crap game, and another twenty-five per cent for the “City Hall;” moved the game right uptown to 818 Hennepin avenue, and visited the office of the police chief nearly every morning, until the Saturday Press refused to accept a weekly envelope from gang land, and hit the crap game with a sqliirt of black ink, which resulted in the shooting of one of the editors and the banning of the Press from street sale by Brunskill. McCormick cut himself out of the circle. As he said him self, “I like to be a good fellow and do what I can for the boys, but I won’t deal with a lot of lice. It was bad enough when Brunskill put Bevans and Mor gan in the lineup, but from that time on every time the deck was shuffled there were a lot of new cards cut in, and I am out.” In concluding it will be apro pos and very pertinent to sug gest that the County Attorney scan these lines closely that he may realize that the public at last knows what his contribu tion to the office-of police chief Saturday, Nov. 13, 1927 has accomplished, with no ef fort on his part to prosecute his buddy and friend, Brun skill. as he did the predeces sor. Jensen —to make room for Brunskill. Another Sneak Game Going Out Perhaps Chief Brunskill doesn’t know it, but there’s a crap game “sneaking” at 1301 Washington avenue north. But again, perhaps, the chief DOES know it but is more interested in the 25 per cent rake-off than he is in closing the doors. Eh, Francis ? This particular game is chaperoned by a gent various ly known as “Red’’ Golden and. “Cockeye” Golden and he has the reputation of being so crooked that he wears a mitten on one hand to keep from cheating himself when he shifts streetcar tokens from one pocket to another. His “business cards” remind , the recipient thereof that Herr Golden’s frolicking cube game is easily located, when one sees the “sign of the wooden In dian.” That’s alright, Golden, you can park that basswood war rior in the basement, ’cause you ain’t goin’ to need it no moah. You and your duck faced assistants are done. Just go pick out a shovel to fit your size and start shoveling snow balls. You’re going to work for a living—you and your Kike pals—from this time on or go through the winter on short rations. Brunskill isn’t wide enough around the waist nor high enough above the chin, to pro tect your crooked game. Scat! —you’ve just heard the curfew sign to quit. Now, you try to sneak a game in some other location and you’ll understand what the workhouse superin tendent means when he yells “dig in!” Don’t start getting “tough” for you aren’t tough enough. Get me ? —The Old Man. Patient Why, this pill’s only about the size of a pin head! What is it?” Nurse—lt’s a headache tab let for you, sir. A careful driver is one who ? can/wearoutacar without the assistance of a locomotive.