Call Northside 777

In the year 1871...

the great fire nearly destroyed Chicago.

But out of the ashes of that catastrophe rose a new Chicago...

a city of brick and brawn, concrete and guts...

with a short history of violence beating in its pulse.

That history is on record, and the record is kept by the newspapermen...

who have made Chicago's papers great.

No period in Chicago's history was more violent...

than the years of Prohibition.

The rise and fall of the bootlegging empires...

was written in blood and bullets.

In 1932, there were 365 murders committed in Chicago...

one for each day of the year.

Eight policemen were shot down in the line of duty.

One of the most ruthless of these murders...

occurred on December 9, 1932, on South Ashland Avenue...

in a place operated by a woman named Wanda Skutnik.

Wanda Skutnik's store in the Polish district...

was the front for a speakeasy.

- You got change for 20? - That's all right. Pay me next time.

Wanda, you're lookin' at a guy that's comin' down with a cold.

- Sit down. - Oh, thanks.

- Hi. - Hi.

- For a cold, this is good. - Thanks, Wanda.

The police, Wanda. Get the police. Quick.

Hello. Hello, Central. Get me the police.

Yeah. Quick, please.

This cornered, frightened bootlegger...

gave information that pointed suspicion towards a man named Tomek Zaleska.

Tomek Zaleska couldn't be found.

But two weeks later, a tip from another source...

revealed that Zaleska had spent the night of the murder...

with his friend Frank Wiecek.

The police closed in on the home of Helen and Frank Wiecek.

Helen and Frank were taken into custody for questioning.

Frank Wiecek admitted that Tomek Zaleska...

had spent the night of the murder at his home...

but insisted he knew nothing about the crime.

Why did Tomek want to sleep at your house?

Well, he was having trouble with his old man. He was afraid to go home.

When did you last report to your probation officer?

- Last Friday. - You're sure it wasn't Thursday?

No, I know it was Friday, because that was the day...

my wife told me she was gonna have a baby.

You went to the probation officer on Thursday, not Friday.

- There's your report card. - You're confused, son.

Try to be a little more accurate.

Where were you at 3:30 on December 9?

I was... I was with my wife.

I remember because I was helping her shell walnuts for a cake she was making.

You were wrong about the day you saw the probation officer.

Maybe you're wrong about being home shelling walnuts for your wife on December 9.

I... I know I made a mistake about the probation officer...

but I know I'm right about the other thing.

This statement was signed by your wife an hour ago.

"My husband was home with me on the ninth of December.

I remember because he was helping me pit dates for a cake."

You sure it was walnuts?

I don't know.

I'm sure she must be mistaken.

His wife, Helen, was released.

But because of Frank's confused testimony on insignificant points...

and his minor police record...

he was held as a suspect.

Eventually, after hiding out for six weeks...

Tomek Zaleska, protesting his innocence, surrendered to the police.

You knew we were lookin' for you.

You knew we'd picked up your good friends Helen and Frank Wiecek.

Then why didn't you give yourself up if you were innocent as you claimed?

I was... I was scared.

Sometimes I used to hang around Wanda's place.

When I heard they were picking up everybody she knew...

well, I figured nobody would miss me, so I just beat it.

I know now I made a mistake.

But I came in on my own hook, didn't I?

When you went to Wiecek's house that night...

what reason did you give for wanting to sleep there?

I didn't give any reason. I used to spend the night there once in a while.

You didn't give them any reason?

No, I just asked them to let me stay there and they did.

And you're sure you gave them no reason?

No.

After identification by an eyewitness...

Frank Wiecek and Tomek Zaleska...

were indicted for the murder of Officer Bundy...

and swiftly brought to trial.

I will ask you, Mrs. Skutnik, if you see in this courtroom...

the two men that murdered Policeman John Bundy.

Yes, sir.

Him... and him.

Had you ever seen either of these men prior to the time of shooting?

Oh, sure. Tomek used to come around my place all the time.

The other fella, I never saw before.

And the first time you saw Frank Wiecek...

- was on the day of the murder? - Yes, sir.

And the next time you saw him was the day you picked him out of the police lineup.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, Your Honor. The People rest.

Both men received a sentence of 99 years...

to be served in Stateville Penitentiary.

This happened in November 1933.

Frank and Tomek went to prison.

The case was forgotten for 11 years.

Forgotten until October 10, 1944...

when a small advertisement appeared in the classified section of the Chicago Times.

Boy!

- Yes, sir? - Get me the file on John W. Bundy...

- cop killed in '32. - All right.

- And get at McNeal. - Yes, sir.

Kelly wants you.

Check this.

What do you make of it?

I want to know why it's worth 5,000 bucks to someone to find out who killed a cop...

11 years ago.

Well, 1932 was open season for cops.

Over on the Northside, they were shootin' 'em in pairs, like a brace of ducks.

This is all I could find on that cop killed in 1932... that Bundy guy, Mr. Kelly.

Now, you see what I mean?

- He didn't rate much. - It wouldn't hurt to check it.

You might get your name in the paper.

This is sucker bait!

Every grifter and mooch in town'll be after that five grand.

They'll frame their brothers to get it.

Maybe this is a frame. There's a lot of angles in this city.

You see what I mean?

Just takes you longer to catch on, that's all.

I was just thinkin' about it.

I'm lookin' for Tillie Wiecek.

- Uh, what you want? - I called Northside 777...

- and they said I'd find her here. - I'm Tillie.

You run this ad?

Yes. That's for me.

- You know something? - No. No, no.

No, I'm a reporter for the Chicago Times.

We'd like to know why you're so interested in finding the killers of this cop.

Frank Wiecek is my son.

I his mother.

My son's in prison for killing him.

He didn't do it.

My friends, they tell me if I offer big money...

maybe somebody will tell who killed the policeman.

Now, you mean, your son's in prison for killin' the cop, that right?

Yes. But he don't do it.

My Frank's a good boy. He don't do this thing.

I... About this $5,000...

where'd you get it?

- Is that important? - Oh, yeah. Yeah, it's very important.

Where he got it, where you got it, might have a lot to do with the case.

He might have had it hidden away someplace.

Maybe you got it from some mob that's tryin' to spring him.

No. No.

I work. I scrub floors.

Eleven years, I never miss a day's work.

I earned it, every penny.

Eleven years? That's a long time.

Yes. You just say it.

My boy, he lived it.

Believe me, mister.

You don't know my Frank. But me, I his mother.

You got some new evidence, something that wasn't brought up at the trial?

No. Uh, no. That's why I try to buy new evidence.

Oh, now, you're just... You're just wasting your money. You'll get cheated out of it.

- No. Not me. - Look. Look, lady.

He's in for 99 years.

Now, if you want to make good use of that money...

send him lots of cigarettes and candy, try and keep him happy.

You very kind.

But I not use my money for candy or cigarettes.

If you not able to help...

I get my Frank out someday, somehow.

I dream of this day.

$5,000 is a lot for a dream.

Yes. Eleven years!

I dream and I work.

First, I try $3,000.

Nothing. Now I try $5,000!

- Suppose nothing happens? - Then I work 11 more years.

I get $10,000!

But my boy, someday he get out.

Well, I got to hand it to ya, Mrs. Wiecek. You got a lot of courage.

- You help me? - No, I'm afraid I couldn't do that.

I'm only a reporter. I just write the story.

Well, good luck to you.

Good-bye.

- Great job, Mac. - Thanks, Johnny.

Mac.

Hey, this story on the scrub woman... pretty good.

How'd you like to follow it up by goin' out to Stateville...

- and interviewin' her son? - Well, now, wait a minute.

I didn't write this story to glorify the son. He's a cop-killer.

Well, you got any proof he's a cop-killer?

Well, they didn't give him 99 years for playin' hooky.

He had a record.

He was on probation when he shot the cop.

Yeah, I know. I read the record too.

He's Public Enemy Number One.

He and a couple of other kids broke into a grocery store.

He got two bucks and a record.

But in this case, an eyewitness...

identified him as one of the killers.