The St. Valentine's Day Massacre

February 14, 1929-

the year of the black bottle,

six-day bicycle races...

flagpole sitting, and the first flight

from Paris to New York.

Mickey Mouse

makes his screen debut...

and Herbert Hoover is inaugurated

as the 31 st president with the words...

"We in America today are nearer

to the final triumph over poverty...

than ever before in any land. "

Six months later, the New York

stock market will crash...

and bring about the greatest

depression in world history.

In the city of Chicago,

the time is 10:
25 a.m.

The temperature- 18 above zero.

Oh, my God.

My God!

In the years

following the passage...

of the National

Prohibition Act of 1920...

the nation's underworld rises to power

and battles amongst itself...

just as modern nations

and corporations do.

Open periods of gang warfare are

followed by peace treaties...

and attempts at consolidation

and monopoly...

each of which is shattered

as new warfare erupts...

in quest of the booming

bootlegging and vice profits.

By 1929, the gangs of Chicago

operate 21,207 speakeasies...

and their gross income

reaches $357 million.

Six hundred and 18 members

of the city's underworld...

are murdered within nine years.

Corruption extends

from the mayor's office...

to the humblest

side-street speakeasy.

Tell your lousy sister

to keep her lousy mouth shut!

Do me a favor, will you?

I mean, just to give

her tonsils a break-

Two beers.

Nice place you got here.

Thanks.

Do a nice business, huh?

Pays the rent.

What are you trying to do,

poison me?

If you don't like the beer, mister,

you don't have to pay for it.

Well, now, ain't you

the cat's pajamas?

Did you hear that, Jimmy?

Bright eyes here says

we don't have to pay for this slop.

How 'bout it, bud?

You're drinking this stuff.

Tastes terrible, don't it?

I guess I'm not what

you'd call much of a judge.

What's the matter?

Don't you know when something stinks?

I guess I drunk better at that.

Ah, ya hear that?

Even your friend don't like it.

What more do you want?

All right, bright eyes,

where you getting it?

Fellow named Slauson.

Slauson, Slauson-

Only Slauson I know

works for Capone.

Al Capone.

That wouldn't be the same

Slauson, would it?

Huh?

I think it is.

- How much you move in a week?

- Five barrels.

Five? A swell joint like you got here?

With the right kind of beer,

you could double that, easy.

I'm gonna put 10 barrels in here

tomorrow morning, cost you $55 a barrel.

Look, mister, you trying

to get me knocked off?

I can't buck Capone.

Neither can Moran.

Moran?

Only Moran I know drives a streetcar.

That, uh-That wouldn't be

the same Moran, would it?

My mistake.

Aw, that's okay.

Anybody can make a mistake.

Take me. Why, I could even

be wrong about your beer.

Maybe it's swell,

and it's just you got dirty pipes.

Happens.

Well, now, you know

what you got there, bright eyes.

It's not the pipes at all.

It's green beer.

Here, you can smell it.

See what I mean?

Peter Gusenberg-born Chicago,

Illinois, September 22 of 1898.

Ex-convict. Mail-robber. Burglar.

Hijacker. Professional killer.

When, at the age of 13, he came home

from school to find his mother dead...

his first act was to pry the wedding ring

from her finger and pawn it.

He has been a member of Bugs Moran's

North Side gang for the past seven years.

Ten barrels, starting tomorrow.

And don't forget-

I'm doing you a big favor.

Frank Gusenberg...

younger brother

of Peter Gusenberg-

born Chicago, Illinois,

October 11, 1902.

Burglar. Car thief. Extortionist.

Professional gunman.

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