East of Third Avenue, Manhattan's 107th Street is a live and crawling thing. Sometimes, late at night, it is almost still. But even when the wretched houses stare poker-faced at nothing in the dark, fetid street there is still a strong sense of the hot, swart, teeming Italians inside. In the winter, 107th Street is piled with refuse and dirty snow. In the summer the sun beats down until it bubbles the tar. Thick, bad odors cling in the crannies, clutch at the passerby.
Life in 107th Street reaches its noisiest, most ebullient phase after the dinner hour. Fat, oily women, some without shoes, rattle dirty dishes. Their men sit smoking in front of the Helmar Social Club. Their litters of children play and quarrel shrilly all through the street. Into this babble and filth and smell one evening last week came Terror.
A touring car swung around the corner of Second Avenue. In the car were six men. They aimed shotguns and automatics in the general direction of a loafer lounging in front of the Helmar Club, opened fire. The man ducked out of range, fled. Instead of reaching him, the spattering bullets cut down a knot of children. Young, red-headed Frank Scalesi ducked behind his lemonade stand just as a slug smashed his pitcher. Michael Vengalli, 5, was struck in the thigh, the bullet penetrating the base of his spine. He died that night. His brother Salvatore, 7, was knocked sprawling by five bullets in his body. Michael Bevilacqua, a baby of 3, lay nearby in his carriage. Four slugs tore into his pillow, two caught him in the back. Samuel Divino, 5, and Florence D'Amello, 14, were less seriously injured.
Gestating 107th Street was thrown into a pandemonium which had repercussions throughout the city, the State, the nation and abroad. At first none knew or would reveal who the intended victim was. Newshawks and police suspected renewed warfare between beerleggers. Later a bookmaker named Anthony ("Big Tee") Buzzone told police he was the man, explained that the attack was the result of a bookmakers' price war. The mother of one of the shot-down children admitted: "We Italians are not courageous enough to come out and tell what we know. . . . We are afraid. They will come and kill our husbands or our brothers or our sons."
"The most damnably outrageous thing I've read in a long time," said Governor Roosevelt. "I can express righteous indignation, but that won't help catch them." The American Legion offered to mobilize 30,000 vigilantes against gangdom. Mayor Walker announced a fresh drive against the city's criminals, felt confident that Police Commissioner Mulrooney would apprehend the murderers. "If anything can arouse Americans . . ." scoffed an editorial in the London Daily Express. "How much more evidence," Congressman Andrew Lawrence Somers wired President Hoover, "is necessary to convince us of the merits of this [Prohibition] law?"
To loosen the tight lips of those who know the gunmen, the New York World-Telegram and the Daily News each offered $5,000 reward. The Hearst American promised to pay $10,000 for "exclusive information." The Patrolmen's Benevolent Association posted a $10,000 reward.*