(2 of 4)
His ten-month imprisonment had not been as unpleasant as he had anticipated. Free from his "business" cares, he had found time to have his tonsils removed in the prison hospital. During the summer he played baseball in the yard and felt better for the exercise. Always generous, he gave away to charity what his prison-mates estimated at $25,000. This openhandedness was responsible for the unconfirmed rumor that he had occupied a special cell with chintz curtains at the window, easy chairs, cozy bed and mattress. Some Philadelphians interpreted his generosity as a bid for hospitality when he got out.
In Chicago, made infamous by his rackets, Capone's friends awaited his homecoming. He was still the acknowledged boss of his wide-flung interests. But business, lacking his expert guidance, had been poor during his absence. Beer deliveries had fallen off sharply. The price of protection had risen exorbitantly. Gambling had had to take to cover, while brothels were being harassed by an active police. Chief Detective John Stege had begun an inconvenient practice of giving "house parties" at headquarters for all known gangsters picked up on sight. Capone was ready to face these changes when he returned to Chicago. He had left short, stocky, moon-faced Jake Guzick, who hides shrewd ability under a spunkless whine, in charge of the Capone gang. Guzick would make his "business report." Capone would do whatever reorganizing was necessary. The peace pact negotiated at Atlantic City was still in force. Such gang killings as had occurred were sporadic personal affairs, no part of the wholesale slaughter committed by organized under-worldlings.
His allies were confident that Capone would go straight to his brick house at No. 7244 Prairie Ave., the "little home" which he used to give substance to his story of being "out of the booze racket." Three years ago newsmen called upon him there. He opened the door to them, wearing a pink apron, carrying a pan of spaghetti.