By CHARLES B. CLEVELAND

Chicago


Chicago

The death of Chicago's first all-powerful Democratic boss


THE GREAT Depression that started with the crash on Wall Street in 1929 had fully hit Main Street, U .S.A., within three years. Factories closed; men waited in breadlines for a handout, wheat went down to 34 1/2 cents a bushel, corn to 20 and still there was no market; unemployment hit some 17 million people.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected in November 1932 as people looked for leadership out of the economic disaster, but — in those days — the President didn't take office until March. Roosevelt had come south for a fishing vacation and was coming to the Bayfront Park in Miami, Fla., on February 15, 1933, for a brief speech before boarding a train back North.

Also in the crowd was Anton Cer-mak, mayor of Chicago and the first all-powerful Democratic boss in the city's history. He had made few political mistakes, but he'd made one the year before. Democrats had met in Chicago for their national convention. At the end of the first roll call Roosevelt needed just over 100 votes for the nomination, but Cermak refused to budge from his support of Al Smith. Some say Irish Catholics who dominated the Chicago machine might have revolted had Cermak deserted Smith, a Roman Catholic. Roosevelt won anyway and Cermak was not one of the names on the list of FRBC (For Roosevelt Before Chicago) that patronage chief Jim Farley would consult in the months ahead.

Cermak waited, hoping for a word with Roosevelt that might patch that wound. Roosevelt's limousine pulled in front of the bandstand, a microphone was brought to the car and Roosevelt lifted himself to the top of his seat to make a brief speech.

When he finished, Cermak moved to the side of the car, spoke briefly to Roosevelt and then started to walk I back. Somebody sitting in a chair on the aisle stood up to leave, and Giuseppe Zangara scrambled onto the vacant chair, drew a five-shot revolver he'd bought in a local pawnshop for $8 and fired all five shots at Roosevelt.

Several bystanders claimed they deflected Zangara's aim, but the miss was more likely due to an unsteady chair and poor marksmanship. None of the shots struck Roosevelt; one hit a Miami woman, another grazed a vacationing New York cop, a Newark woman was hit in the hand, a Florida man received a minor head wound. The fifth bullet struck Mayor Cermak in the right armpit and entered his right lung.

Zangara was overpowered and taken to jail. Cermak was put in Roosevelt's car and rushed 20 blocks to a hospital. Doctors decided not to operate to remove the bullet; they were cautiously optimistic but they had a natural fear of complications and, with a 60-year-old patient, fear of his heart.

On February 23, 1933, Cermak was greatly improved; the next day he sank and his condition became critical. Almost every day there was a crisis.

On March 4 Roosevelt — the man Zangara had hoped to kill — was sworn into office as President of the United States. On the same day Illinois Gov. Henry Horner closed all banks through Tuesday, and by then banking was suspended in 37 states trying to end the panic which was threatening the nation's supply of money.

The same issue of the Chicago Daily News that bannered the inaugural also had a page one story that Mayor Cermak had lapsed into unconsciousness. At midnight Sunday he went into a coma. At 5:57 Monday morning, Chicago time, Cermak died.

For years a story persisted that Zangara hadn't really sought to kill Roosevelt but had been hired by gangsters to kill Cermak — not because Cermak was a crime fighter but that he had opened up Chicago to the wrong gang. There was enough hanky panky by Cermak and his top aides to give credence, but most investigators discount the theory. There was no evidence to tie Zangara to Chicago; few experts in gangland operations believed they would hire an amateur for a big "hit" job.

What got almost no attention then, or since, was the fate of Zangara. There was no question of his guilt, but his conduct raised serious questions (by modern standards) of his sanity. There were examinations, several well placed local attorneys were assigned his defense, but in incredibly swiftjustice, Zangara was tried, found guilty and on March 20, a little more than a month after the shooting, Zangara was put to death by electrocution in the jail at Raiford, Fla.

Chicago gave Cermak a hero's funeral. An enterprising reporter filed a ston the night of the shooting in which he quoted Cermak as telling Roosevelt, "I'm glad it was me instead of you." It was probably never said; evidence suggests Cermak was unconscious enroute to the hospital. But it was too good a story to dispute at the time, and nobody did. It became part of the political folklore of Chicago.

The City Council took time to pa' respects to Cermak by renaming 22nd Street in his honor. But, as with tht. death of Mayor Daley, there wen practical concerns to be taken care ol too: the election of somebody tob' county chairman and mayor of Chicago. In the world of hard practical politics ritual is for the dead; today and the future are for the living, and bos of Chicago is the biggest prize of; lifetime. ž

30/ April 1977/ Illinois Issues


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