When he walked into "a place that had a big front with a sign 'Money to Loan' and bought a gun for $8," Joe Zangara, 33, native of Calabria, Italy, onetime bricklayer in New Jersey and last week a blurry-minded transient in Miami, thought to himself: "My stomach, it hurts. I hate all Presidents. I kill them." He had pondered the possibility of killing President Hoover until he read, tore out and stuffed in his pocket a newspaper clipping that said President-elect Roosevelt would visit Miami in two days. With the .32-calibre revolver, which he got from the pawnshop without need of permit or self-identification, he was a fully equipped assassin.
Most illiterate dagoes* have the killer instinct, especially when their animal comfort is disturbed. In the countrysides they are notorious pothunters. Hunting U. S. Presidents or other public officials is far easier for deranged dagoes than pothunting afield. All Joe Zangara had to do was go to Miami's Bay Front Park and take a front seat, wait like an ardent if stupid-looking patriot until the President-elect should come within range.
Shortly after dusk President-elect Roosevelt docked at Miami on Vincent Astor's sleek white Nourmahal. After his twelve-day fishing trip he was tanned, cheerful, energetic, quite out of touch with affairs of State. "I haven't really seen a newspaper since I left, except the Nassau paper yesterday,"* he told reporters who crowded aboard the yacht to greet him. After dinner the President-elect got into an open automobile with Miami's Mayor Gauthier and drove to Bay Front Park where some 20,000 cheering Floridians and visitors were gathered to see and hear him before he entrained for New York.
At 9:30 p. m. his car stopped before the bandstand, crowded with notables. A lapel microphone was put into his hand. He pulled himself up on the car's downfolded top and began one of the brief, pleasant little speeches at which he is so adept:
"My friends, I'm no stranger here. . . . I've had a very wonderful twelve days' fishing. ... It has been a wonderful rest. I'm not going to attempt to tell you any fish stories. . . . The only fly in the ointment has been I've put on about ten pounds. ... I hope to come down here next winter. . . . Many thanks."
The crowd cheered and clapped as the President-elect slid back down to the seat. On the bandstand sat Chicago's Mayor Anton Joseph Cermak. Mr. Roosevelt beckoned him down to his car. "Hello, Tony!" "Hello, Mr. President!" After a moment's chat Mayor Cermak turned to walk away. A man rushed up to hand Mr. Roosevelt a long telegram. The President- elect started to read— Bang! Joe Zangara was standing up on a wobbly bench among the spectators firing his pistol at President-elect Roosevelt not 35 ft. away. The first shot dropped Margaret Kruis, Newark showgirl, with a head wound.
Bang! The second bullet drilled into Mayor Cermak's belly, on the right, just below the ribs. He crumpled to his knees. Blood oozed through his white shirt, making a narrow rectangle parallel to his belt.