John Dillinger, center, handcuffed to Deputy Sheriff R.M. Pierce during Dillinger's murder trial hearing in Crown Point, Indiana. Though his trial was scheduled for March 12, 1934, Dillinger would escape from the Crown Point prison on March 3. (Chicago Tribune)
Police question James Earl Ray, who was shot while trying to elude police on May 6, 1952. He was given a two-year sentence for robbing a taxicab. In 1968, Ray would assassinate Martin Luther King, Jr. (Chicago Tribune)
An undated photo shows Al Capone, center, in a Chicago courtroom. (Chicago Tribune)
Defense attorney Clarence Darrow argues for life sentences for Richard Loeb, 18, and Nathan Leopold Jr., 19, on trial for the murder of 14-year-old Robert "Bobby" Franks. In hopes of avoiding the death penalty, Darrow pleaded both defendants guilty. (Chicago Tribune)
Coroner Herman N. Bundsesn, right, and Lt. Col. C.H. Goddard, look at machine guns allegedly used in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, in which seven men with supposed ties to organized crime were gunned down in a Chicago garage. (Chicago Tribune)
Lts. Frank Ballou and Samuel Peterson test out a new metal bulletproof shield. The shield's inventor, Elliot Wisbrod, is the man holding it. (Chicago Tribune)
Joseph Schuster, center, a paroled convict, stands in a police lineup. Schuster was identified by robbery victims as the shooter in the killing of off-duty policeman Arthur Sullivan. (Chicago Tribune)
Mary Wazeniak, a 34-year-old mother from Poland, was the first women in Illinois convicted of selling fatal moonshine. Her moonshine, which she sold from her home-turned-saloon, is known to have killed one person, earning her the nickname "Moonshine Mary," with the press. (Chicago Tribune)
Diver James P. Bodor, 23, finds a shotgun on Aug. 5, 1949 after dragging the bottom of a channel at 107th Street and Archer Avenue. (Chicago Tribune)
Joseph Holmes, left, and Jack Wilson, two admitted participants in the July 29, 1925 daylight holdup of the Drake Hotel, located in Chicago's Gold Coast neighborhood. (Chicago Tribune)
William "Three Fingered Jack" White is led back to his jail cell during his 1926 trial for the murder of Forest Park policeman Edward Pflaume in 1925. White was tried twice for the murder, and both times the charges were overturned. (Chicago Tribune)
The gambling table of Frankie Pope, a well-known gambler and owner of a still during Prohibition, is shown in a courtroom. (Chicago Tribune)
Emily Strutynsky, a Ukrainian schoolteacher, shot Rev. Basil Stetsuk in St. Michael the Archangel Church on Oct. 7, 1923. (Chicago Tribune)
Strutynsky shot Rev. Basil, she told authorities, because he was "such a bad leader of the Ukrainians." She spent four years at Illinois' Kanakee State Hospital of the Criminally Insane before escaping and jumping to her death in the Kanakee River on July 9, 1927. (Chicago Tribune)
State highway policemen are dispatched to restore order after 1,500 convicts rioted in the Stateville Prison in Joliet, Illinois on March 18, 1931. (Chicago Tribune)
In 1956, 21-year-old Arthur Bauer, left, confessed to killing 18-year-old Rosemary McCarthy with the hatchet that Assistant State's Attorney Robert Cooney, right, is holding. (Chicago Tribune)

Up-Close and Personal With Chicago’s Most Infamous Criminals

“Gangsters & Grifters,” a book by the Chicago Tribune, recalls a time when photographers had unprecedented access to the world of crime

smithsonian.com

The photography archive of the Chicago Tribune lives five stories underground, beneath the Tribune Tower on Chicago's Michigan Avenue. Many of the photo negatives stored there have, for all intents and purposes, been forgotten to history—printed once, maybe a century ago, and then filed away in envelopes sometimes labeled in pencil with a date and subject, or sometimes not labeled at all. The negatives, 4x5 glass plates or acetate negatives, come from a speed graphic camera—the world's first press camera, forever immortalized in film and popular culture by its slightly-cumbersome box shape and large flash bulb. But for all its drawbacks—weight, size, balance—the speed graphic camera was the first to allow photographers the mobility needed to capture scenes in the field, as they unfolded. For photographers working in Chicago through the early and mid-20th century, there was perhaps no beat more intriguing than the city's bustling criminal underbelly. 

When Tribune photo editors Erin Mystkowski, Marianne Mather and Robin Daughtridge set out to catalog the archive's vast expanse of 4x5 negatives, they weren't necessarily looking for just crime photos. First, they simply wanted to get through the archive—cataloging 60,000 of the more than 300,000 negatives kept in storage—in order to merely get an idea of what was there. What was there, it turned out, was a lot of vintage crime photographs—some of which had never been seen outside of the walls of the Tribune. Together, the editors researched the photographs origins alongside the stories that they told—who was Moonshine Mary? Who were the "hoodlum" or "holdup man" mentioned in the caption? After careful vetting, they compiled a collection of vintage crime photos, ranging in date from the early 1900s to the 1950s, into the book Gangsters and Grifters: Classic Crime Photos from the Chicago Tribune. The book is a remarkable testament to a bygone era of photojournalism—one when photographers enjoyed unbarred access to crime scenes and courtrooms. As such, the photographs stun in their intimacy with the grotesque—some of the book's most profound photos are close-up shots of corpses, slumped behind the wheel of a car or strewn on the ground after an outburst of mob violence. The photos depict the other side of the process as well—policemen examining evidence, searching underwater for a murder weapon or testing the new technology of a bulletproof shield by unloading a pistol at the shield's inventor.

"The access in these photos is really astounding and so far different from what we’re used to today. The evolution of ethics—both on the part of the police force and journalists—has evolved so much," Mystkowski says. "In the book, you'll see photos of officers holding up a sheet so they can show the body at the crime scene. That's a kind of photo that we would never be allowed to take, and if a photo like that were taken now, we would never run it. Back then, there was a different attitude of what journalism meant—what it meant to tell a story."

Such free access wasn't the particular luxury of photojournalists, however—everyone had amazing access to crime scenes and even corpses. One particularly fascinating photograph in the book shows the body of John Dillinger, Public Enemy Number One at the time of his death in 1934, outstretched at the Cook County Morgue. Behind a glass barrier stand two women—in bathing suits—leaning against the glass, mere inches from Dillinger's rigid body. "That particular photo has a very interesting background story," says Mather. "It was taken at the Cook County Morgue, and they actually had a big problem—the police officers weren't policing the body, so people were walking in and touching his body and even making death masks of his face with no authorization. There were hundreds of people lined up outside of the morgue to see the body of Public Enemy Number One...I think it's so interesting that there wasn't any quarantining or setting up police tape at that time."

But Mather and Mystkowski's favorite photograph is neither of a corpse nor of a crime scene—it's of a young beer runner named Al Brown being led into court. "It's not one of the best particular photos, but it's the process of how we found it that made it really exceptional to me," Mather says. "We had done a lot of crime research, and we were looking up things for Prohibition, and this [particular photo] was labeled 'Beer runner, Al Brown.' It looked kind of boring when we held it up to the light, before we scanned it in, but I thought that I would just scan it in anyway, to see what it looked like. When it came to life on the computer screen, we realized 'This is Al Capone.' Because we weren't looking for it, we didn’t realize what we had."

Al Capone, who went by the alias Al Brown, being led into criminal court. This photograph is undated. (Chicago Tribune)

When asked if in modern day photojournalism—with its stringent ethics and focus on privacy—photography has lost anything, both Mather and Mystkowski pause. "We love these photos because of the access that we don’t have now: the courtroom scenes of the wailing wives as their husbands are getting sentenced to death, we don’t see that same emotion these days—or we see it in different ways," says Mather. Mystkowski agrees. "Part of what makes these photographs so fascinating is that they are a glimpse into these really harsh moments in someone's life. It can be the crime scene, which is gory and difficult to look at, or it can be an emotional reaction to it, but it does have this immediacy that is sometimes hard to achieve nowadays, for better or for worse."

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