Kup's Chicago - Irv Kupcinet [26]
But we hadn’t heard the last of the glib DeStefano. One day, on a tip from a police official, I printed an item that Sam was threatening reporters who mentioned him unfavorably. The next day DeStefano bent our ear on the telephone for eighteen uninterrupted minutes. As we noted in our column:
“I don’t mind listening to DeStefano’s fluent flow, but eighteen minutes seemed interminable when deadline is beckoning. And there was no stopping Sam, who was incensed over our item about his threatening reporters. ‘I don’t threaten nobody. I’m not that type,’ said Sam in his Little Lord Fauntleroy voice.
“But when we finally managed to sneak a few words into the one-way conversation and mentioned the name of the reporter so threatened (Sandy Smith of the Tribune), DeStefano took a giant step backward. ‘Oh, him,’ exclaimed Sam. ‘That was some time ago. I mean I haven’t threatened any reporters LATELY and I wish you would make that clear to your inestimable readers, of whom I am one.’ As our favorite comedian, Joe E. Lewis, would have summed up Sam’s reaction to our item: he resents it, but he doesn’t deny it.
“DeStefano now was warming up to his current difficulties with the law. He had been charged with slugging one Alvin Schultz, who came to DeStefano’s home to complain about the exorbitant interest rates on a loan from Sam. ‘My ace witness,’ DeStefano told us, ‘will be artist James Paulus, an associate professor at the Chicago Art Institute. Mr. Paulus was in my home when Schultz came to see me and he will swear that I did not lay a hand on him. Here, Mr. Paulus is in my home now. Talk to him.’ Paulus, an artist of considerable reputation, confirmed that he was with DeStefano to discuss a portrait of him when Schultz came calling and allegedly was sent packing with a nifty shiner. Paulus said he saw or heard nothing to indicate violence had taken place.
“DeStefano returned to the phone. ‘I do not engage in fisticuffs at any time,’ he insisted. ‘It is not the gentlemanly thing to do. In fact, I do not like sitting for this portrait, but my family insists. Mr. Paulus, here, he did portraits of my wife and children and then they said he must do one of me. I told Mr. Paulus that nobody needed another painting or photograph of Sam DeStefano because there are so many at the detective bureau.’
“We asked Sam what he did for a living. ‘I do not work any longer,’ he replied. ‘I am retired.’ . . . ‘How did you accumulate enough money to retire at the comparatively early age of 52?’ . . . ‘My finances are an open book and I do not mean the kind of “book” that engages in illegal wagering. I worked hard all my life with never a day off – seven days a week. I owned a 21-apartment building on LaSalle and Superior streets which was a model for cleanliness. I did everything myself – janitor, engineer, plumber. And this gave me a gross income of $23,000 a year.’
“Sam continued: ‘And as you may remember from reading the newspapers, I also worked for the city and received remuneration that ranged from $3,000 a year when I started to $6,000 a year when I was fired for telling a little fib. With that kind of income and by living economically – none of that night life and wild spending for me – you can save enough to retire. Provided,’ added Sam hastily, ‘you make good investments.’
#x201C;‘Do you mind revealing what the little fib was that cost you your city job?’ … ‘I have no secrets from you. I lied to the Civil Service Commission about not having a criminal record. (A little job of bank robbery.) If I told the truth, I never could have gotten the job. So I told this little white lie, as you might call it. But I think everybody knew it was a fib, but nobody did anything until the papers started putting the heat on me. Then, suddenly, the lie was discovered and I was bounced. Good-by now and don’t write