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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A prosperous looking Italian claimed that he could place me in the office of the best criminal lawyer in Chicago. After a short discussion of the prospects, he reached for the telephone and, in broken English, made an appointment for the following day.
With my sponsor, I am on the eight of tenth floor of a tall building. We enter a large office and are promptly received by Mr. Charles Ebstein, a small man, with incipient baldness, dark complexion, sharp features and sparkling eyes. He is not over forty. I can’t believe that I am in the presence of the much feared criminal lawyer my friend had described. He must be a little Napoleon. Mr. Ebstein asks my age, the year of my graduation and other pertinent question, which I answer without hesitancy.
“How long have you been in this country?”
“Less than three months, sir.”
“Where did you learn English?”
“In Italy, mostly by myself.”
“Were you in England?”
“No, sir.”
“How did you get the English accent?”
“I really don’t know, does it sound badly?”
“No, it’s good, but you will get rid of it.”
“Yes, sir, I shall endeavor to do so.”
“You use nice words.”
“Is it not proper?”
“Yes it is, but not in America. You will find out.”
With that, the famous, unassuming man gives me a handshake and tells me that I can start whenever I am ready.
“I am ready right now.”
“Fine, you are hired. How much a week do you expect to get?”
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“Whatever you wish. That is not important.”
“Will ten dollars a week do?”
“Ample, sir. I thank you and hope to please you.”
My sponsor asks me to leave the room. When called in again, I am told that I would be permitted to transact any little matter for my own account, outside of the office and, in addition to the salary, Mr. Ebstein would pay me a commission for any other services I might render. I consider the offer very generous and thank both him and my endorser.
I then meet Mr. Ebstein’s brother, a plain and very pleasant man – also a lawyer – and their father, a retired judge who wears a half-high-hat and a Prince Albert. The office is manned by several law clerks and stenographers. This is the second group of Americans I meet and I am highly impressed with their friendliness and cheerful manners. That day, I had nearly three dollars in my pocket and, with assured employment, I treated myself to an American self-service luncheon, consisting of hot roast beef sandwich, apple pie and coffee, all in a metal platter which I placed on the flat right side of an armchair. The total cost twenty or twenty-five cents.
That evening, I brought the good news to the Ferrari family and told them that I would contribute five dollars a week to the household expenses and continue to do all I could for the paper. There was a mixed feeling of pleasure and regret for my unavoidable branching out.
Unfortunately for our name, but propitiously for me, Mr. Ebstein seemed to be well known in the then notorious Italian underworld.
The widespread crimes of violence in my countrymen’s communities was caused by the impulsive nature of our people, the provocation of their inferior status, but mainly by the fact that, with the large waves of immigration from 1880 on, thousands of criminals escaped to these shores, especially from the notorious Mafia which had terrorized Sicily for generations, until Mussolini made a clean sweep of it. The Italian government of those days acquiesced in the escape of that bad element and the United States authorities did nothing to prevent it. Extradition laws either did not exist or were not enforced. The favorite weapon of the Mafia was the “stiletto,” which branded with an indelible stigma the millions of peaceful, law abiding Italians who gave their honest labor for a humble livelihood.
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The Ebsteins, of course, were not interested in history, but only in the pursuit of their profession. Assigned to be the liaison officer with Italian clients and witnesses, I was glad to render useful service on which my sponsor and Mr. Ebstein had undoubtedly counted.
I interviewed, reported, interpreted, translated and went on various errands. Occasionally I answered the telephone, much to my dismay. Once, the three Ebsteins were out, the whole staff went to lunch and I was the only one in the office. The telephone rang repeatedly, I answered a few calls to the best of my ability and then decided to leave the receiver off the hook. In the afternoon, Judge Ebstein asked why the telephone was busy for over twenty minutes, but they all “played dumb” and I did likewise.
Mr. Ebstein’s brother appeared principally in the Magistrate Courts for minor offenses or preliminary evidence in major crimes. I followed him frequently. In several instances I acted, at his request, as official interpreter and received five dollars each time.
On one occasion, in translating the deposition of a witness, I said that the defendant had made threats with his “stiff,” instead of “fist.” The judge laughed heartily and, when he heard that I had been in the country only three months, he was most complimentary.
Word got around that I was in a big law office, and I received the first private inquiry. A man had paid to a small Italian money changer and steamship agent the sum of two hundred dollars for a ticket and other expenses, to have his wife come to America. Six months had gone by and the poor man was still waiting for his wife. I called on the agent. He gave evasive answers and claimed that the ticket had been forwarded. When I tried to pin him down to show me some receipt from the steamship company, he pulled a night stick from the side of his desk and I ran out. Ebstein’s brother summoned the petty swindler to court and the two hundred dollars were coughed up. With Ebstein’s permission, I received a fee of twenty five dollars. Added to a few five and ten dollar bills I picked here and there for legal advice and documents, I was able to redeem my mandolin, purchase a summer suit and other much needed supplies. I also contributed a few dollars to the gasping newspaper.
The first important case referred to me was one in which a child had been killed by a trolley car and his mother, a poor widow with a…
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…large family, had received no compensation whatever. Her lawyer had stated that there was no ground for action, as the accident had occurred in the middle of the block and negligence of a car conductor could be claimed only at street crossings. It seemed strange that some reasonable settlement had not been effected. The case was two years old, but I felt that something might be unearthed. The widow had moved and nobody knew her new address. I obtained the name and address of a relative of hers. I traveled two hours one evening to find this relative, who evinced no interest in the matter. He gave me, however, the address of the widow and I went to see her on the following Sunday. She was very poor and, so far as she was concerned, it was a lost cause. I told her that it wouldn’t cost her anything to let me try. After much discussion, she finally consented with the understanding that I would receive one-half of any sum obtained.
Next morning, when I mentioned the case to Mr. Ebstein, he stated that he would prefer to stay out of it, in view of the fact that there was another lawyer involved, but that he would do anything to help me out, instructing one of the clerks to get for me the necessary data. Mr. Ebstein had already permitted me to have cards with “Anthony Campagna – Italian Lawyer” printed in the middle and the name of his firm in one corner.
Two weeks later, I presented myself at the office of the Insurance Company. I was received with indifference; but, when I pulled out my professional card, there was a sudden change and I was asked to see one of the officials. The interviewed gentleman was quite courteous. He sent for the files and, after perusing them, advised me that the matter had been settled. “Settled – in what form?” I asked, “The mother never received a cent.” The insurance official arched his eyebrows and said it was a closed matter and nothing further could be done. I pressed my point and, before leaving, I received the intimation that if it were a question of a couple of hundred dollars, his company would probably pay it and dispose of the nuisance. There were several other interviews and finally, with a court approval, the Insurance Company paid the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars.
My share was three hundred and seventy five dollars, but I didn’t have the heart to take so much. The destitute mother was most grateful for that God-send, but it was blood money she was receiving. When I…
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…counted in her hands the sum of six hundred dollars, she couldn’t believe her eyes and cried like a child.
One hundred and fifty dollars were a fortune! I thrust that fat roll of bills into my pocket and held it tightly. I was rich. There was nothing more to fear. I could make plans. New York seemed quite near now. But my other was at the top of all my thoughts and I hurried to send her a buoyant letter, with a remittance of thirty dollars which I told her was the first sample of things to come. Next, I wrote a short note to Marie, without mentioning my lucky strike. I wanted to surprise her with a visit, soon. In the evening, I gave Mrs. Ferrari thirty dollars, in appreciation of her hospitality and with a gentle hint not to sink it in the newspaper’s bottomless well. The remaining ninety dollars I buried deeply in my trunk. For spending money I still had ten or fifteen dollars and my weekly pay.
“The Land of the Free” had made me free!
Next: Chapter 33
