Back in the late 1960's, I was teaching at Zion Lutheran School, located on the southwest side of Chicago - 99th. & Winston Avenue. The then principal, Karl Schmidt and I often stopped at Al Vignato's tavern on the corner of 99th. & Vincennes. The picture is of the current remodeled place. The two- step front entrance is exactly the same. Local Chicago taverns often had the bar in the front of the building and living quarters in the rear. The two story attached structure is where Al and his wife - Maria - lived. The tavern was separated from the living space by a ringed-drape in the doorway between the two sections. The tavern was frequented by an interesting clientele: Chicago policemen and officers, Chicago firefighters, Catholic priests, and of course a couple of Lutheran School teachers. By the way, all were white folks.
Al shared some of his background with me one evening as I sat at the bar. He told me that he used to "cook" for the Capone gang. That meant that he was making illegal booze during Prohibition days. He said that he had several individuals do the "cooking" for him in their homes. When I asked him if he had to pay off the cops, he just laughed and told me that the only ones that had to be paid off were the "gas meter readers" - since the stills used quite a bit of natural gas during the "cooking".
On another occasion, I noticed that he did not have a liquor license on display in his tavern. When I asked him about that, he replied, " Never had one before and don't need one now!" I guess he was an exception. I always wondered if the Chicago Police clientele had anything to do about that.....
Zion Lutheran School was about 3 blocks west of the tavern and Al always took a daily walk every early afternoon on a nice sunny day. I would often see him pass by the school building in his usual regalia: full length light brown wool coat, very dark sunglasses, and a fedora on his head. If he didn't look like he was some sort of "Don", nobody did. Hence my nickname of Big Al.....
Great memories! But not all great....
The neighborhood was beginning to undergo the "change". Black folks, wanting to escape to a better neighborhood, were ever so slowly moving into the area. White folks were very wary and nervous. Certain areas were "off limits" to black people - often using physical barriers as the "unofficial lines" not to be crossed. The most common were railroad tracks - but viaducts and major thoroughfares were also territorial lines. And of course, expressways have always done their job as well. Even the building of the University of Illinois - Chicago campus was a huge barrier to stop the migration of black families moving ever closer to downtown Chicago. Back to Al Vignato.....
There was a CTA bus stop in front of his establishment. One evening, a black person got off the bus and came into the bar. Al, behind the bar, met him before he could get in too far. He asked the person what he wanted. The black man said he wanted to buy a pack of cigarettes. Back in the day, cigarettes were often kept behind a counter in specially designed sleeves that held the several brands. Al had a rack of them behind him. So, when the man asked to buy a pack, Al said he didn't have any cigarettes. The man said that they were right behind Al. Al repeated that he didn't have any cigarettes. The message was clear. No black person could ever patronize his establishment - even for a pack of smokes. The man left without incident, probably because he was all too familiar with this type of treatment from white establishments.
I was amazed at what just transpired. I thought there might have been an altercation with such an obvious display of discrimination, but Al said he wasn't worried. His trusty "bullwhip" and German Luger behind the bar were always "ready".
I said nothing more. I also continued to frequent his tavern. I gladly ate the hard-boiled eggs that Maria would set out on the bar coming from her kitchen in back. In that tavern, everyone knew no black person would ever be allowed in Al's place.
That made us - and especially me - complicit.
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