True Detective

around. The pickpocket dicks in Chicago put the collar on him once too often, he said, so he started floating city to city.'

'But he was heading back?'

'Yeah, he was going back. And Jimmy hitched a ride with him.'

I chewed on that awhile.

'That's all I know, pal,' Loga said. His being impressed with my knowing Capone was wearing off, possibly because I was making noises that sounded like a cop. 'It was a while ago, and you're damn lucky I got a good memory. Y'mind I go back and play some cards?'

'Sure. Tell Georgie I said thanks.'

'Will do.'

He went back in the smoky room, and, just as the Dixieland combo was starting up again, Reagan said, 'Did you get something?'

'Maybe,' I said. 'We better cash it in for the night. You look like you're about one beer over your limit. And I got to get some sleep- I got a long drive back to Chicago tomorrow.'

Saturday. May 27. a beautiful sunny day. A Goodyear blimp glides overhead. The oblong bowl of Soldier Field, where Mary Ann and I sit well back in the bleachers, is packed with people- now and then sections of the crowd begin singing 'Happy Days Are Here Again.' apparently believing it. Outside, crowds swarm either side of Michigan Avenue to watch the parade, as if expecting the president of the United States to be grand marshal.

But the president hasn't been able to get away from Washington to open Chicago's big fair; he's sent instead his postmaster general. Jim Farley. The only president on hand is Rufus C. Dawes, the General's brother, the president of the Century of Progress Exposition.

The crowd is noisy, festive, as the parade pours into the amphitheater, the motorcycle police, sirens blaring, leading the way for band after band, horse troop upon horse troop, the stadium awash in waving flags, flashing sabers, gleaming helmets. Then touring cars bearing dignitaries: big, bald, genial Jim Farley; Rufus Dawes, whose pince-nez seems designed as a means for the rest of us to tell him apart from his brother; the recently appointed mayor, Edward J. Kelly, a big man with a full head of hair and glasses that lend a needed dignity; Governor Horner, smaller, slightly rotund, bespectacled, bald; moving past the reviewing stand where high-hatted officials sit, beaming, movie cameras grinding nearby, as the procession moves around the arena. And the cheering crowd gobbles it all up; or most of the crowd, anyway. A few, like Mary Ann, don't like being part of a crowd: starring roles only, no mob scenes, please- though the show business aspect of the event clearly excites her. Others, like me, have seen parades before.

At the platform in front of the reviewing stand, the speeches begin; Dawes. Kelly, and Horner make the expected grandiose claims for the fair and Chicago. Farley is the keynote speaker, and not a bad one.

His bald head reflecting the noon sunlight, Farley first solemnly explains the president's absence. Loudspeakers fill the stadium with Farley's tale of the president's regret at not being able to attend: 'It was here in your Chicago stadium that his party nominated him for the presidency… moreover, there is the tie of friendship…'

And the uninvited guest, the last man Rufus and General Dawes want to see here, sneaks in: the man Mayor Kelly has replaced through party machinations devious even for Chicago, with legislation rushed through Springfield to authorize the city council to select the new mayor (to 'save the public the expense of an election'), turning scandal-ridden Park Board Chairman Edward Kelly into a world's fair mayor ('A man of vision!'), a mayor who represents the Irish faction of the Demos ('Fuck the Irish!' having been the previous mayor's war cry), backed by Jewish Governor Homer, who owes his election to that uncouth, patronage-minded hunky whose departure from this vale of tears has been a blessing disguised by a period of several weeks of public mourning, weeks ago, months ago, history now, dimly remembered if at all; but Farley, possibly not fully understanding the twisted nature of Illinois politics, has brought the uninvited guest up onto the reviewing stand.

'… the tie of friendship with your martyred mayor, a friendship the warmth of which rose above political affiliation and typified the mutual admiration of two outstanding public men, each of whom recognized the sincerity of the other.'

Mayor Kelly, Rufus Dawes, and Governor Homer shift in their seats, in perfect unison, like dancers in

The Gold Diggers of1933.

Farley continues: 'The most intense moment in our president's career was when he held in his arms the friend who had stopped the deadly bullet aimed at his own heart.'

There are few dry eyes in the bleachers; I wonder how Cermak's family is taking all this. A small article in yesterday's Trib told of the family's disappointment at not being invited to be on the reviewing stand; the city council responded by assuring the Cermaks reserved seats in the bleachers nearby.

General Dawes is among the dignitaries on the reviewing stand, but he does not speak. He is content to allow the public to think his brother Rufus the sole guiding force of the exposition- Rufus and the visionary Mayor Kelly- though Dawes must certainly be somewhat disappointed having another Democrat take Tony's place, and a scandal-tinged one at that. The extent of General Dawes' public activities at the Century of Progress, this sunny day. will be to take the first two-wheeled carriage ride of the fair, sitting in his stovepipe hat. puffing his pipe, his back-seat chauffeur a college kid. The papers will take pictures of this earth-shattering event, saying 'Who says Dawes can't be pushed around?'

We have aisle seats, and Mary Ann doesn't argue when I suggest we leave early, while speakers are still having at it, and get over to the fair, which has been open for business since nine this morning.

Even leaving that stadiumful of people behind, it's crowded getting in, partially because there are so few turnstiles for everybody to push through. In the background the dignified, imposing Field Museum and Shedd Aquarium look on, as if jealous of the crowds their new neighbor is attracting. I pay Mary Ann's fifty cents, and offer my pass in its little leather billfold to the attendant, who checks my picture and punches the card.

And, then, spread out before us is General Dawes' and Cermak's- dream city, a city of futuristic towers, geometrically shaped buildings, flat angular planes of white, blue, orange, black, yellow, red, gray, green, windowless bold splashes of color. Before us is an avenue overseen by flapping red flags angling in from overhead at either side, an avenue filled with people and an occasional tour bus, the buses getting out of the way of people, for a change, and at its far end, the Hall of Science, Camelot out of Buck Rogers, fluted white pylons alternating with sheets of cobalt blue. To our left is the Administration Building, an ultramarine box with a silver facade; at the left a lagoon shimmers- across it the long, low, green-and-black Agricultural Building, and the three white towers of the Federal Building, which loom over its triangular Hall of States like the prongs of a big upturned electrical