Classic Royko: The Senior Citizens Mob stacks the deck on vice squad

Editor’s note: This Mike Royko column, which first ran in the Chicago Daily News, was in included in his first collection, “Up Against It,” published in 1967.

There was nothing unusual about the scene in the park. Old people sat at the picnic tables, talking, playing cards and soaking up the warmth of the sun. Children ran and played. A couple of young men tossed a softball back and forth.

There was nothing unusual at all — unless you looked closely and watched the eyes of one of the softball players.

As he tossed the ball, he glanced at one of the picnic tables. His eyes kept darting in that direction.

Six men sat at the table. There was nothing unusual about them. But then one reached into his pocket, took something out, and put it on the table. The others did the same thing.

They did not realize that they were being watched.

The softball player nodded to his partner. They walked to the table. One of them reached in his pocket and placed a shiny object on the table. It was a badge.

The six men looked up, startled. Then comprehension registered on their faces.

The two men were not softball players. They were detectives — in disguise. And they had been watching all the time.

“You are under arrest,” one said. He began gathering the evidence on the table.

The men protested, but it did no good. The jig was up. The game was busted. The goods were all there. The detectives scooped it up and the police wagon came. Soon they were all in the Summerdale station.

The detectives made out the arrest papers. Names: Leo Meltzer, 82; Isadore Epstein, 80; Frank Kniep, 73; Morris Rice, 75; Hyman Hernstein, 68; Larry Pape, 73.

Charge: Gambling. Margate Park, 4931 Marine Drive.

Evidence: A deck of cards and $4.30.

The Senior Citizens Gang — the smallest non-floating pinochle and gin ring in town — had finally been smashed.

The players cracked. They started babbling. They spilled the whole story.

“It’s been going on for two years,” said one.

“Yeah. Unless it rains or is too cold. Then we hole up in our apartments and look out the window or watch TV.”

“That’s right,” said another. “Or maybe we visit our grandchildren or they visit us.”

“Sometimes we increase the stakes — from a nickel to a dime.”

“Sure, what the hell, easy come, easy go. It’s only Social Security.”

“Then we put the take in one pot — and use it for coffee and sandwiches.”

“That’s right. Then our take is funneled into a legitimate business — a snack shop. In exchange for it, we get some hot stuff.”

“Well, it could have been worse. You might have shot one of us.”

After a couple of hours, they got out on bond. Then they headed for their mouthpiece — State Sen. Robert Cherry. The Senior Citizens Mob was linked with government and politics.

The case came up in court. Sen. Cherry was there and admitted his role in the Mob’s operation. He had helped create the Mob. He had even encouraged the oldsters (that’s their lingo) to gather in the park.

It was even learned that Sen. Cherry lived in the same building — the same neighborhood — as the men.

While the police stood by helplessly, Judge Arthur L. Dunn ordered the Mob freed.

The careful planning and undercover softball-playing — wasted. The police wagon ride — wasted. The paperwork by the policemen, the time of the state’s attorney’s office, the court employees, the judge — all wasted.

Small comfort for the police that they now have added another vice arrest to this year’s statistics or that the six members of the Mob now have police records.

And the six? Defiance.

“I’m sure we’ll play again,” said Larry Pape, 73 a one-time ice cream cone dealer. “But we’ll keep the nickels in our pockets and use chips.”

As Police Supt. Orlando W. Wilson often points out, he is short of men. And they are being tied up by civil rights marches and bombing investigations.

That’s a break for your grannie.

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