Capone Bloodline: A T-Bone Capone Adventure

By TOM BELTON

Al Scar Face Capone, head of the Chicago Crime Family, was born in Brooklyn in 1898 and moved to Chicago when he was eighteen years old in 1916. Allegedly, Al Capone orchestrated the February 14th, 1929 St. Valentines Day Massacre. Some say it was the most notorious mass murder of the 20th Century.
Al Capone head of the Boston Capone Family was born in Avellino Italy in 1895 and came to America through Ellis Island, New York in 1913 when he was eighteen years old. The family settled in the North End of Boston. Albert Frank Capone of Boston was allegedly first cousin to Al and Frank Capone of Chicago.
Capone, was grateful to have brought his .45mm automatic pistol to the Sherwood Boston Hotel that day in June 1973. His father had always told him to make sure he landed the first punch in a fight. Actually, he said, Make sure you cold cock the bastard with the first punch and then run like hell before he knows what hit him. Upon entering the hotel garage, Capones reaction came instinctively. A potential armed robber, brandishing a firearm, stepped out from behind a pillar, and demanded his money. There was no time to weigh the pros and cons of taking him out. The man had already produced his weapon, making Capones decision for him. What might have happened, however, suddenly took a twist. Capone pulled out his weapon a moment too late, giving the robber a momentary edge. Maybe it was complacency, or maybe it was stupidity, but the would-be-robber had neglected to disengage the safety on his weapon. In that instant Capone closed the distance between them. Who knew how many times he had robbed before? Tonight he had selected the wrong target. The taste of bile formed a lump in Capones throat as he contemplated what might have been

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491838792

TOM BELTON

Tom Belton was born on May 25, 1950, grandson of Al Capone of the Boston Capone family and son of Josephine M. Capone, and Thomas J. Belton Jr. Albert Frank Capone of Boston settled in the “North End” a small Italian section of Boston. As was the custom of Italian families, Tom, and his family spent weekends and holidays with his grandfather. It was during these visits that “T-Bone” became fascinated with the family history and stories of the Capone Family. Though he never witnessed anything out of the ordinary; when the Capone stories are coupled with T-Bone’s wild imagination; you can imagine where this will take us. Tom was born and raised in Hingham, MA eighteen miles south of Boston and spent over 35 years in the hotel business as a senior executive. During this time Tom had some incredible opportunities, experiences and a collection of action adventures that bring this book to life. He interacted with U.S. Presidents, C.E.Os, sports figures, celebrities, and undesirables around the world, which inspired him and his alter-ego “T-Bone Capone” to write his first novel, Capone Bloodline.

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PROLOGUE

Capone was grateful to have brought his .45mm automatic pistol to the interview that Tuesday morning in June, 1973. His father had always told him to make sure he landed the first punch in a fight. In doing so his chances of coming out on top would be greatly enhanced. Upon entering the garage after his interview at the Sherwood Boston Hotel, Capone’s reaction to seeing a potential armed robber step out from behind a pillar, demand his money, and then brandish a firearm had come instictively. There had been no time to weigh the pros and cons of taking him out. The man had already produced his weapon, making Capone’s decision for him.

What might have happened, however, suddenly took a twist. Capone had pulled out his own weapon an instant too late, giving the robber a momentary edge. Prepared to kill during a robbery was apparently not beyond the young man’s forte. If that’s what it took, that’s what he’d do. Maybe it was complacency, or maybe it was stupidity, but the robber had neglected to disengage the safety on his weapon. In that instant Capone closed the distance between them, cold cocked him, and then had leaned down and given him a ‘booster shot’ by pistol whipping him to ensure he had closed his show.

Now, as he looked down at the young man who lay at his feet, he felt his stomach begin to tighten. He could have simply pulled the trigger and killed this kid. He tried to calm himself by remembering that it had been an act of self-defense. He’d left the hotel and entered the garage, thinking only of getting in his car and heading home. The thought of someone robbing him at gunpoint hadn’t crossed his mind. But there he was; a twenty-something would-be armed robber laying face down, gun lying beside him. But for the robber’s oversight, that could have been Capone lying there. Who knew how many times he had robbed before? Having selected the wrong target, however, this time could also have been his last.

In court it would have been a toss-up between self-defense and murder. As soon as the prosecution began researching the case and found out that T-Bone Capone was a direct decendant of the infamous Al Capone… The taste of bile formed a lump in his throat as he contemplated what might have been.

He quickly checked the area to see if anyone had witnessed the incident. Suddenly, a white Lincoln came screeching around the corner, heading straight for him. T-Bone’s knee-jerk reaction was to assume this was the would-be robber’s accomplices. The getaway car was showing up to make sure it was a quick hit and a quick exit. Capone dove in between two parked cars just as the Lincoln’s front seat passenger fired several shots from a 9mm automatic. As soon as it was past him, Capone jumped over one of the parked cars just in time to see the Lincoln crash full-on into a retaining wall.

T-Bone cautiously approached the car, hoping that a swarm of police didn’t come pouring into the garage. Despite his urge to get out of there, however, he couldn’t resist getting a look at the occupants of the Lincoln to see if he recognized them. He didn’t. What he did see was the car’s driver. He appeared to have been killed on impact, his head having been launched through the windshield with the steering wheel crushed hard against his chest, trapping him. On the passenger side it was clear the man was still alive, but not doing well.

Under his breath, Capone uttered, This could have been your last day, pal. He pressed his .45 automatic against the man’s forehead, cocked the hammer, and said, Click. You’re a lucky guy, I don’t feel like killing anyone today.

The alarming realization of all the complications that hung in the balance prompted him to slip the .45 back in its holster. The additional realization that he had to move quickly before the gunshots drew visitors prompted him to head for the stairwell and down to his car. Almost killing someone wasn’t about to jeapordize his opportunity to enter what was awaiting him in Cleveland. There were those who might question his reasoning, but they hadn’t lived the life he had. The situation in the garage spoke for itself. Now it was time to vacate.

So far the garage was still empty. He could thank the fifth floor parking level for that. It wouldn’t be for long though. Within three minutes he had run to his car and left the gargage at a slow, rational rate of speed, carefully avoiding any undue attention.

He drove the eighteen miles south on Route 3 back to the sleepy harbor town of Hingham, Massachusetts, which Elenore Roosevelt had once declared, The most beautiful main street in the world.

When the 6:00 news came on Boston’s WBZ, Channel 4, he watched it from beginning to end. He was relieved that nothing was mentioned that night; nor was it on any of the televised news, or radio stations; the incident had even escaped the papers. He knew that hotel Public Relations departments did everything humanly possible to cover up bad press coverage in the interest of tourism in their immediate area.

He didn’t mention it to anyone, either. Nor would he ever.

**********

The following Thursday he came back to the Sherwood Boston Hotel – albeit cautiously and alert - for his interview with John Ducas Slate. Much to his relief he made it to the third round and was sent to the Sherwood Cleveland Hotel for his final interview with Bill Stanely, Director of Sales and Marketing for the Sherwood Cleveland Hotel, and the Sales Training Program.

One hundred and fifteen candidates interviewed for three positions; three were selected. Thomas J. Belton III, aka (T-Bone Capone) from Hingham, Massachusetts, Van Woodworthy from Plymouth, Massachusetts, and Anthony Morelli from Cleveland, Ohio were the finalists. Before Tom returned home he was told he’d been chosen as a trainee in the Sherwood Hotel Sales program, and that he’d be receiving a letter in the mail, telling him when they wanted him to start the program.

His mother, Josephine Capone Belton, had met him at Logan International Airport to inform him that his father, Tom Belton Jr., had suffered a massive stroke and lay comatose in the South Shore Hospital, in Weymouth.

CHAPTER 1

Alphonse Gabriel ‘Al’ Capone, Head of the Chicago Capone Family, popularly known as Al Scarface Capone was an infamous Italian-American gangster in the 1920s and 1930s Born in New York City, Brooklyn on January 17th, 1899 to Neapolitan emigrants. He began his career as a gangster in Brooklyn before moving to Chicago and becoming Chicago’s most notorious crime figure. Capone was responsible for the most notorious gangland killing of the century; the 1929 St. Valentine’s Day Massacre that lead to the deaths of seven of his rivals. Al had a brother Frank Capone born 1892 and died April 1st, 1924 when Al was with him, in a hail of bullets from 70 Chicago Police officers. Frank Capone fired on them thinking they were members of a rival gang, the North Side Mob. The police returned fire and Frank Capone was killed instantly.

Albert Frank Capone Head of the Boston Capone family was born in 1895 in Avellino Italy and came to America in 1913 when he was 18 years old. The family came through Ellis Island New York and settled in the North End, the small Italian section of Boston, located near Boston Harbor and the Union Oyster House, the oldest restaurant in the country. This Al Capone lived in Boston at the same time as Al ‘Scarface’ Capone lived in Chicago however; their lives took entirely different paths.

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Josephine Capone, Rose Capone (mother) Albert J. Capone (Brother)

Nantasket Beach, circa 1939

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Josephine Capone Belton, Tom J. Belton Jr., Albert J. Capone and Albert Frank Capone

Wedding Day April 19, 1947

With a name like Capone there had come an enormous amount of attention, both wanted and unwanted. Tommy T-Bone Capone, grandson of Albert Frank Capone, was given the nickname by his older sister, Paula, when he was still a young boy. As the years passed she enlarged on T-Bone by extending it to T-Bone Capone, his mother’s maiden name. His mother was Josephine M. Capone of the Boston Capone family. Tommy liked it. He was intrigued by the Capone family name and the history of the Al Capone family, so the nickname stuck.

Tommy T-Bone had begun hearing bits and pieces of his family’s heritage before he could understand its significacnce. When Tommy was two years old in 1952, Josephine (Capone) Belton often put him in a play pen in the front yard. Simmons Rd, was a dead end street in a quiet neighborhood where everyone looked out for one other. This was in keeping with old country Italian tradition.

One day his mother, Josephine, looked out her window and had seen little Tommy running off down the street. Running to the front door, she had called to him to come back; he had ignored her, and continued running away. Taking up the chase, she caught up to him and put him back in his Play Pen. Ten minutes later she saw him running down the street again. She ran after him, caught up to him and put him back in the play pen a second time. This time she thought she’d outsmart him by putting the play pen upside down on the grass, yet in full view from the kitchen sink where she was doing the dishes. A few minutes later, however, she saw him running off again. Somehow he had lifted the play pen over his head, crawled out from under it, and had escaped again.

Now it had become a contest of wills, mother against child. Tom’s father was an avid horse shoe champion and competitor with the VFW. Therefore, there were always several sets of horse shoes and stakes around the house. This time Josephine decided to put a stake in the ground and tied the little fellow to it with his body harness; meanwhile the play pen would remain over him upside down to prevent him from getting away a third time. She went into the house and watched to see if he would put together a new escape plan.

Sure enough, within minutes Tommy had pulled the stake out of the ground, lifted up the play pen and tossed the stake. He then lifted the gate and let it rest on his back as he crawled out. He then retrieved the stake and the rope, and ran down the street laughing hysterically as his mom came chasing behind him. It was a game they would play during the summer for many weeks, loving every minute of it.

**********

They didn’t have much money back then. Tom’s father was a Union Carpenter and worked mostly spring, summer and fall, but was out of work much of the cold New England winter. In 1957, when little Tommy was seven years old, he embarked on the tradition of working around the neighborhood to make some extra spending money. All his brothers had to make due with what they had, or find odd jobs around the neighborhood. Until they were old enough to work Tommy used what little he had to care for Kevin and Joseph. John wasn’t born until September 11th, 1964.

Tommy shoveled snow in the winter, mowed lawns in the summer; and even collected Pussy Willows from the tallest trees in Foster Woods that he would sell for five dollars a bunch to old Mrs. Barber across the street. He also sold used magazines door to door to the mothers of his friends. They would pay .15, .20 even .25 cents for them. A guy had to make ends meet.

His favorite way of cashing in was his father’s beer bottles. He drank a six pack of Narragansett Beer every night while reading the paper and watching television. Young Tom would patiently watch his dad store the empty bottles in the cellar for months without cashing them in. There were cases upon cases of empties stacked in every corner. Once a week Tommy would ask his mother if it was okay to take a couple cases of empties down town to Mr. Barber’s Liquor store and trade them in for cash. He collected $1.20 for every case of 24 bottles at .05 per bottle. This became Tommy’s own personal money machine. None of the other brothers or his sister knew he and his mother had this little goldmine. Better still, it was legal and fool proof. Tommy always had money in his pocket.

One Sunday morning Tommy got up to deliver his morning newspapers. He was on Talbot Road at the top of Otis Hill near where they lived, but was unable to get to the McZorley’s house. Much to his discomfort there was a big gold and black Afghan dog guarding the street. McZorley’s was a prime customer because they always left him a thirty-five cent tip.

One particular Sunday Tommy walked into the house with a dejected look on his face. His father, looking up from his newspaper, could see that Tommy still had papers in his bag.

What’s the matter? he asked. Why haven’t you delivered all your papers?

I can’t get through to McZorley’s house because there’s a big dog in my way. He barks and growls at me every time I go over there. He’s big, and kind of scary.

Big Tom rose from his chair. Is that right? Maybe we should go have a look at this big scary dog.

He took young Tommy by the hand and led him out to the 1950 Buick Josephine’s father, Al Capone, had given them. Once he had secured Tommy in the front seat he walked to the rear of car, opened the trunk and pulled out a shingling hatchet. He then got in the car, and carefully placed it on the seat between the two of them. Tommy looked down at the hatchet, transfixed by its ominous silent presence. He then slowly looked back and forth between the hatchet and his father, wondering what his father was going to do with it. Surely he didn’t intend to…

Big Tom didn’t say a word as he drove toward Talbot Road. Tommy directed him to the dog’s house, which wasn’t hard to find. The Afghan began barking and growling, and showing his teeth in the driveway as soon as they pulled up. Big Tom pulled the car right into the driveway and literally parked in front of the dog. In the midst of the dog’s barking and growling, he soon understood why his son might be frightened by the beast.

He nonchalantly picked up the hatchet, got out on the driver’s side where the dog was, walked around to the passenger door and opened it to let Tommy out of the