Skip to main content

Al Capone's House

After reading my story this morning, my sister wrote about how she went on an "outing" once and actually saw Al Capone's hideaway in the dunes. She didn't tell anybody about it at the time because she would have gotten in a lot of trouble for wandering around out on the beach. Here is her description:

It was probably about 1967. We walked way down the beach toward Michigan City, so far we could see the docks way off in the distance. It seemed like we could look straight across the lake and see Chicago, instead of looking at it from the side.

The guys may have even known it was there because I think we had been talking about the tales. You could just see a bit of the tile roof from the beach. It was set behind the first row of the dunes. It had obviously been totally abandon for a long time, but it was still beautiful – and kind of spooky. It looked like an Italian palazzo laid out in a square with a big open courtyard in the middle. There were a few remnants of wooden shutter left and a few deteriorating doors. It was two story with columns (in my memory they were marble) facing the courtyard and forming the hallway to all the rooms top and bottom – all the doors opened to the courtyard. The floor of the courtyard was some kind of tile – ceramic or maybe marble. Someone had built a little campfire in the middle of it. Seems like there were remnants of a fountain too. There was evidence that it had plenty of visitors – beer bottles, etc. Everything that was not nailed down was long gone. My imagination just ran wild with how grand it must have been.

Comments

is that the place that old Al forgot to pay his taxes on?
It'd be great to have a little bolt hole like that to escape to sometimes...
dive said…
I can't believe they let it go to ruin. A place like that would rake in loads of cash from us tourists.
Sassy Sundry said…
Wow. I would hang out there all the time if I lived near it.
Back in the bad old days - back in the USA - The night Chicago died lalalalala le da de da
Gina said…
Cool! I'm sure lots of teenagers used it as a hideout, probably evidenced by all the beer bottles!

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...