These old photo posts are probably not my most popular posts but definitely some of my most favorite. I usually start with a random query, then something attracts my attention and turns into a short lesson in history. This time, almost by accident, I found a few photos of Charles Binaggio and of course had to find out who Charles Binaggio was.

Charles Binaggio (January 12, 1909 – April 5, 1950) was a Missouri gangster who became the boss of the Kansas City crime family and concocted a bold plan to control the police forces in Kansas City, Missouri and St. Louis, Missouri.

On the night of April 5, 1950, Binaggio and his underboss, Charles “Mad Dog” Gargotta (a notorious enforcer within the Kansas City family), were called to meet some unknown persons at the First Ward Democratic Club near downtown Kansas City. Binaggio left his driver/bodyguard, Nick Penna, at a tavern owned by the mob, saying that he would return in a few minutes. Binaggio and Gargotta then borrowed a car and drove off to the Democratic Club.
Shortly after eight pm, residents in apartments above the Democratic Club heard several shots. Eight hours later, a cab driver going to a nearby cafe noticed that the club door was open; he also heard water running inside. The police were called and they found the bodies of Charles Binaggio and Charles Gargotta inside the club. Binaggio was seated at a desk and Gargotta was lying inside the front door. Both men had been shot in the head four times with separate .32 caliber revolvers. The police theorized that Gargotta had been trying to escape the club when he was shot in the back of the head. As for the running water heard by the cabbie, it came from a broken toilet and was unrelated to the hit.

Some people theorized that Binaggio and Gargotta were murdered by St. Louis gunmen; others said the hitmen came from Chicago. However, it is most likely that the two mob bosses were killed by members of their own crime family under orders from the Mafia Commission in New York The probable organizer of the hit was Gizzo, who no doubt received the leadership of the Kansas City family as a reward. In any case, the murderers were never found.

Charles Binnagio’s grave is at the Mount Saint Mary’s Cemetery.
Murder on Truman Road – an article in Time from April 1950.

I have a lot more of the Life Magazine photos bookmarked and I intend to share them  mostly on weekends, so if this is not something you enjoy feel free to skip these posts in the future.

Continue reading →

Few days ago a Russian writer and a blogger passed away. One minute he was discussing something pedestrian, like finding chemicals to develop photo-film, and the next minute he was found dead on his own porch. By some cruel twist of fate his last words weren’t something profound, something to be passed  around as quotes for generations, but something really insignificant like the location of the nearest photo supply. His last post is still gathering comments, where in the beginning people refused to believe the rumors about his death and continued to talk photography. He was popular but not hugely so during his lifetime, thousands of people read his blog and judging from the tearful comments many felt a connection with him. Strangely, so did I. Strangely, because his blog wasn’t really about anything, just his life and observations, mostly short blurbs about being a writer, living in a remote Russian village where he moved few years ago, few photographs, infrequent stories. Nevertheless, maybe for the first time, I found myself tearing up about a person I’ve never met. 46 years old, small child, so much more left unsaid and unwritten.

To me a sudden death like this is always tragic; something unfinished about a person dying in the middle of a conversation, or coaching a baseball game like one of my co-workers, or in a car accident, or on the way to work like my father. No time to say good byes, to reflect on one’s life, to tell someone your deepest secrets before you go. One minute you have a purpose in life, and the next you are neatly packed in a body-bag with a ID tag on your big toe.

What’s left of us when we are gone? People used to leave diaries, neat stacks of letters, photo albums, trinkets and tchotchkes, old wedding gowns, family jewelry and crystal. With every new generation the amount of physical memories shrinks; no one has time or room or desire to move the old junk around, so it gets sorted out multiple times until it fits in a small shoe box somewhere in the back of a cabinet. I still remember the day we were ripping up old photos so we can get our luggage under the weight limit.

My father left two folders of his writings and newspaper clippings, a photo album, a stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor. Even less will be left when I go. This site will disappear when I stop paying for hosting, in a year this space will be filled with links to erectile dysfunction medicine sites. There is no written correspondence and only few photos where I was coaxed into the frame, and even those are not in print form. Nothing material. No grieving widow, no beautiful woman shedding a tear and thinking “he was so good in bed”. No article in the Wikipedia, no chemical element, no star, no book, no restaurant chain. My whole life can fit on a thumb-drive. At least my kid won’t have to haul around a dusty trunk of my moldy possessions.

So what’s the choice here – to drop everything and discover a chemical element, name a star, write myself into the Wikipedia? Suddenly become amazing in bed? Or just continue filling up the thumb-drive of my life with insignificant drivel? Every time someone dies, people project the death upon themselves and sometimes make changes – starт buckling up, or eating better, quit smoking, spend more time with kids, learn something new, have more sex, travel – there are many things we realize we could be doing better or different or not at all.

It’s just unfortunate that it takes one’s death to reevaluate one’s life.

RIP

Continue reading →

I was on vacation when the whole Kevin Smith – Southwest fiasco happened but I don’t think I am too late to weigh into the situation. I don’t really care how Kevin Smith flies, as far as I am concerned his 1,6 million followers can all pitch in a buck or two and buy him a cargo plane to transport his fat ass around the country. This is not an issue of obesity and what our culture, or doctors, or friends say what a person should look like. For the record I agree with Nuke that being fat is unsightly, uncomfortable, unhealthy and sometimes embarrassing and humiliating. And it makes women wear one-piece swimsuits. I am far from being normal weight myself and every donut moves me a little further away from being moderately overweight, but nevertheless, I wholeheartedly support the Southwest’s “Customer of Size Policy“. (Yes, I know Kevin Smith purchased two tickets, but the discussion moved way past his particular case).

The Policy says:

Why ask large Customers to purchase additional seating?
We could no longer ignore complaints from Customers who traveled without full access to the seat purchased due to encroachment by a large seatmate whose body extended into the neighboring seat. These Customers had uncomfortable (and sometimes painful) travel experiences, and it is our responsibility to seek resolution to prevent this problem.

To demonstrate this point I made a diagram recreating a flight I had few years ago on an unnamed airline. After boarding a plane and taking my seat I was crushed by a person who plopped himself in the seat next to mine.

As you can see in the drawing I (depicted in yellow, filled with healthy foods) fit in the chair with ease, not really much additional room left, but not overflowing the armrests (blue). My neighbor, as you can tell, did not fit in his chair with his ass-cheeks resting on armrests and not even touching the seat cushion. While the guy’s pain in the ass didn’t bother me, his encroachment in my personal space did.

On a plane and elsewhere I use the NFL definition of the goal line to define my personal space, it’s bounded by the “imaginary vertical plane …, which theoretically extends in a great circle around the world and infinitely into space“. The recreation of my flight shows that for my money I was given only about 75% of the personal space due to me, while my seatmate received about 125% of his space for the same pay. It’s obvious that I did not receive and equal  value, and while I would’ve considered being inconvenienced by let’s say a disabled vet or an elderly person, this guy was my age and didn’t look unhealthy. Shortly into the flight the stewardess offered him to move into an emergency exit row. While I breathed a sigh of relief (or just breathed for the first time in a while), I don’t know what would’ve happened if the passengers would’ve had to evacuate.

I sincerely hope the Southwest Airlines doesn’t cave in and stand by its policy. I also hope the other airlines will follow. There is no reason innocent people should be sat upon.

The other choice would be to increase the size of the airplane seat but that would cause ticket prices to go up and if the American people were willing to pay more, the would’ve bought first class or double seat in the first place.

The solution to the inconsistent application of policy already exsists:

I am sure the rest of the flying public would enjoy watching someone trying to fit into the test seat.

Next time Kevin Smith shows up at the Southwest counter I hope they taser his fat ass. Just to get even.

Continue reading →

Continuing with the alcohol theme, here are some photos depicting a sobriety test experiment performed in Kansas City in 1941. The cops slowly liquor up a test subject and then perform sobriety tests on him using a precision “drunkometer”.

The rest of the sobriety test photo shoot.

Continue reading →

I interrupt slow vacation coverage and other musings to report on my recent archaeological trip to the Missouri Valley Special Collections to waste a day off photograph some artifacts from the Republican National Convention, hosted in Kansas City’s Kemper Arena in 1976.

Continue reading →