Dime novelists in the 19th Century created folk heroes — and folk villains — that will live in our minds forever, though there may be only slight resemblance between the real characters and the ones portrayed in the many movies that have exploited such people as Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, the Younger Brothers, the Dalton Gang, Billy the Kid, etc.

Only one other period in our history produced so many outlaws and lawmen whose names became household words. In 1931, we were about halfway through that period, one that included Prohibition and the Depression. Newspapers had replaced the dime novel in spreading the fame of such people as Al Capone, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, Dutch Schultz, Legs Diamond, Vincent "Mad Dog" Coll and many other violent characters who were into bootlegging, robbing banks or all-around racketeering.

Schultz, Diamond and especially Coll would figure tangentially in the most sensational story to come out of Syracuse in 1931. As gangster tales go, the story was rather pathetic, but it provided an excuse for the local press to dress it up in sensational fashion.

The story is recalled here because it had a Solvay connection, at least it did according to Syracuse newspapers. There were, I believe, four of them at the time — The Herald, The Post-Standard, The Journal and The American. Those last two were owned by the William Randolph Hearst company, the Journal being published Monday through Saturday, The American on Sunday.

Unfortunately I had access only to those Hearst publications while researching the story. Perhaps the others didn't blow things so far out of proportion, but sensationalism was a way of life with Hearst newspapers. Facts often seemed to be irrelevant. They were the Fox News of the Flapper Era.

PROHIBITION was on its last legs, but remained the law in 1931, and while hindsight tells us it was a very bad idea (one that was a failure from the start), federal, state and local police were — outwardly, at least — attempting to enforce it.

What happened in Syracuse in 1931 suggests police and bootleggers were playing some sort of game based on a mutual understanding. Oh, arrests were made, but those arrested usually were back in business within days. Judges seemed all too willing to allow defendants to escape through the many loopholes presented by creative defense attorneys.

So long as no one got killed, newspapers (perhaps unconsciously) went along with the fiction that police actually were making progress in the war on booze. And the best way to insure that no one got killed was to prevent outsiders from moving in and attempting to compete with local bootleggers and rum runners.

I've found nothing to indicate there were rival gangs within Onondaga County during Prohibition, though there must have been more than one outfit supplying speakeasies. Perhaps the territory was divided between two or three gangs. No one mobster emerged as the Syracuse beer baron.

There was, however, a group of young men referred to as "the Solvay gang." (Occasionally called "the Solvay-Syracuse gang.") They seemed to be the main suppliers for Onondaga County speakeasies, most of which were located in Syracuse and Solvay. This outfit smuggled beer, liquor and champagne across Lake Ontario from Canada and manufactured their own brands in stills and small breweries set up around the area. Members of "the Solvay gang" didn't necessarily operate out of the village; most seemed to live on the Syracuse west side.

DESPITE frequent raids on local speakeasies, things were relatively peaceful until 1931. That's when a notorious New Jersey mobster named William "Squawk" Reilly, an associate of Jack "Legs" Diamond, decided to spread his business north. During a January visit to Syracuse, Reilly's presence was noted by the city's police chief, Martin L. Cadin, who personally tracked down the mobster at his hotel and ordered him out of town.

Reilly left the city, but soon returned. Cadin found him again, but while this dance continued, Reilly managed to make a deal with at least one Syracuse speakeasy operator. It was William "Billy" Dixon, doing business hidden inside a billiard parlor at 223 East Genesee Street, who agreed to break off from "the Solvay gang" and start buying New Jersey beer. To insure that Dixon, would not go back on his word, Reilly arranged for his first beer shipment to disappear, telling Dixon the truck had been hijacked by — you guessed it — "the Solvay gang." Thus Reilly hoped to start a war between Dixon and his local suppliers.

Dixon took the bait and retaliated by stealing a truck that belonged to the boys from Solvay. The speakeasy operator also was upset, he later told police, that a beer filter that had been borrowed by "the Solvay gang" hadn't been returned. The Syracuse Journal would soon have its excuse to claim that "a big-time gang war" had broken out on East Genesee Street, when, in fact, it was a dispute over a beer filter and a truck that turned out to be worth only $35.

THAT BRINGS US to the wee small hours of June 17, 1931 and a confrontation that would result in the death of an innocent bystander, a manhunt that would send one lucky city detective on an all-expenses paid (but fruitless) trip to Bermuda, and end months later on the mean streets of New York City as a footnote in the careers of Dutch Schultz and "Mad Dog" Coll. The story could have been used for an episode of "The Untouchables."

On June 17 gunshots were fired in downtown Syracuse about 3 a.m. Late that afternoon readers of The Syracuse Journal were given an account of the incident that was wildly inaccurate and misleading, but it was The Journal's story and they stuck to it for weeks.

News vendor Reuben Johnson held on for four days at the hospital before he died. Meanwhile, Thomas Palerino and Steve Mezzatesta, wounded in the "pitched battle," soon broke the "adamant silence of gangdom" and told a very different version of the incident. Most importantly, it was becoming clear only one person involved in this "war" was carrying a gun, and that was Charles "Ponzi" Albino, who worked for Dixon, the speakeasy operator. There was no exchange of gunfire. It was "Ponzi" Albino who hit the innocent bystander three times in the back and wounded Palerino and Mezzatesta.

That is not to say Palerino and Mezzatesta were choir boys. Along with Mezzatesta's brother, Frank, they entered Dixon's speakeasy, ordered bartender Charles McCarthy to fetch his boss, and then accused Dixon of stealing their truck. Dixon denied it and the three men responded by punching him. They stopped when Albino arrived and pulled a gun. They ran and Albino chased after them, firing his weapon. So much for the gang war.

Police regarded Palerino and Mezzatesta as more believable than Dixon and McCarthy because the two wounded men were separated when the shooting started and had no opportunity to compare notes before being questioned. Yet they told much the same story. Dixon and McCarthy, on the other hand, did have time to confer and both said things that did not stand up to the evidence, or lack thereof. For one thing, no other guns were found at the scene, not even where Palerino and Mezzatesta fell. Palerino said when all the bullets were found they'd turn out to be fired from one gun. This apparently was the case, though I found no mention of later police statements about this important aspect of "the war."

Police arrived at their conclusion early on, and the district attorney's office announced that Albino was the only person who would be charged in connection with the gunplay. Finding Albino then became the big challenge, because in all the confusion on June 17, the butcher-turned-gangster fled the scene. He would never again be seen in Syracuse. Alive, anyway.

At first police thought Albino might be hiding at Dixon's Oneida Lake cottage, so they raided the place, but there was no sign of the fugitive. Within days police were receiving all kinds of tips about Albino's location. Many of those tips were provided by The Journal, which claimed they came from knowledgeable sources. The newspaper soon became highly critical of the district attorney's office:

The Journal speculated at first that Albino had gone to Albany, then taken a boat down the Hudson River to New York City, then hopped a steamer to Bermuda, from which point he might have boarded another steamer to South America or Europe.

Later the newspaper said they had learned Albino might be in Huntington, Quebec . . . or maybe in Potsdam, New York, where he had a "high-powered car, fueled ready for flight, in the garage of J. C. Wright."

The newspaper seemed oblivious to the possibility Dixon and relatives of Albino were spreading these stories. Instead The Journal urged the district attorney's office to take them all seriously.

Which is why one Syracuse police detective, J. Martin Kavanaugh, was sent to Bermuda to look for Albino. The newspaper obviously had a high opinion of Detective Kavanaugh, claiming while in Bermuda he had "investigated conditions in the world's greatest rum-running center with characteristic thoroughness." The article also said Albino had used his gun "in his zeal to protect his boss (Dixon) from reprisal by a Solvay gang."

Upon his return, Detective Kavanaugh said Bermuda was so small and so well policed "that the authorities have an accurate check at all times upon all inhabitants." In other words, his trip was unnecessary. All he had to do was call them on the telephone.

Meanwhile, Assistant District Attorney William C. Martin, who was in charge of the case, received death threats. There was some concern on June 29 when Martin failed to appear at his office. The Journal got wind of it and sent a reporter to Martin's home — the newspaper provided the address, which may have saved Albino's pals the trouble of looking it up — but it turned out the ADA was off to a slow start that morning because he had been hit in the face by a golf ball over the weekend and he was sporting two black eyes.

Martin admitted he had received anonymous threats that strongly suggested his life would be in danger if he persisted in efforts to clean up the bootleg gangs in Syracuse. He said he wasn't taking the threats seriously. A photo of Martin, taken before the golf ball accident, indicated why the assistant district attorney wasn't frightened by the threats. He looked tougher than any of the gangsters involved in the case. (Despite the newspaper criticism of Martin's performance, he was elected Onondaga County District Attorney in November by a whopping two-to-one margin over his Democratic opponent.)

As the weeks rolled by, Martin concentrated his efforts on building an assault charge against Palerino and the Mezzatesta brothers. He also figured their testimony before the October grand jury would help him get a murder, first degree, indictment against Albino, whose family had retained a lawyer for the fugitive. The attorney, Saul Kauffman, announced on June 25 that he had told Albino's family to urge the suspect to return home and give himself up because "the authorities have nothing on Albino and he may just as well come back and face the music — however much of it there is."

Three days later, Kauffman claimed he had learned that a colored man used a .45 caliber revolver during the battle. He just couldn't resist playing the race card.

Albino remained in hiding, however, and as I read the stories that slowed to a trickle during the summer months I couldn't help but feel the shooter's absence was helping the assistant district attorney build his case. Perhaps ADA Martin even had a good idea where Albino was hiding and was keeping it his little secret. He might also have been aware of the major league gang war being waged in the neighborhood of Albino's hideout. Because of that war, between Dutch Schultz and "Mad Dog" Coll, there's a strong possibility Albino couldn't have gone back home even if he wanted to.

But as autumn began, there came this bit of misinformation about the fugitive:

October arrived and the grand jury was convened, but Albino was a no-show. ADA Martin got the result he wanted. Albino was indicted for murder in the first degree. Palerino and the Mezzatesta brothers, Steven and Frank Mezzatesta, were indicted for assault, second degree, but they agreed to plead guilty to third degree assault and were sentenced to a few months in Onondaga Penitentiary. They also were expected to offer convincing testimony against Albino.

By the end of the year Albino must have wished he had never left Syracuse. In retrospect, it's easy to come up with a theory that explains why he had wound up hiding in New York City. That theory goes back to where the story began — with William "Squawk" Reilly's attempt to infiltrate the Syracuse beer market. Apparently Billy Dixon thought Reilly was his new best pal. Newark police discovered Reilly was driving around in a car with New York plates, a car registered to Reilly at Dixon's home address in Syracuse. Dixon must have figured Reilly would shelter Albino in New Jersey, and perhaps "Ponzi" stayed there awhile.

Reilly, with an arrest record that went back 30 years, was known to be friendly with Vincent "Mad Dog" Coll, a New York City mobster who at one time worked for Dutch Schultz. But those two had a falling out, and by 1931 Coll and Schultz were at war. Reilly's old pal, "Legs" Diamond, also was in trouble and wouldn't live to see 1932.

Nonetheless, Reilly supposedly arranged for "Ponzi" Albino to hide out in a boarding house in the Bronx where he shared a room with a member of Coll's gang. Once he arrived, Albino probably felt like a prisoner. Coll was circling his wagons and certainly couldn't trust an unknown fugitive from Syracuse.

On December 3 two of Coll's gunmen, Frank Giordano and Dominick Odierno, were sentenced to die in the electric chair after they were pronounced guilty for the murder of Joseph Mullen, a member of the Dutch Schultz gang.

But for Schultz there was some unfinished business. And two months later, on February 8, Vincent "Mad Dog" Coll was gunned down in a telephone booth. If "Ponzi" Albino were free to return to face a murder charge in Syracuse, he would have done it on February 9.

On the night of February 12, a man named Louis DeMario was found in a vacant lot in the Bronx, shot in the heart and through the left armpit. DeMario was a member of the Coll gang, and possibly the man who shared a room with Albino, who may have witnessed this execution because . . .

I just love this phrase from the above story: "the finger prints apparently prove definitely that the victim is the man sought by Syracuse police." Yes, were almost certainly certain about that. Anyway, four days later came this item:

My guess is that except for Albino's family and a few of his friends, no one really cared who killed him. In Albino's business, knowledge was often a dangerous thing.

In an odd footnote to this case came a story four months after Albino's murder. Mentioned in the final paragraph of the following story is one of the men who was wounded in the 1931 shooting. However, what I found more interesting is the first paragraph and the conclusion drawn by police and/or the newspaper:

A day later the story was considerably different, albeit still tragic for poor Frank Vitalli. As Emily Litella used to say, "Never mind!"

Thomas Palerino was back in the news in October, 1934, when police found him hiding in a variety store on Milton Avenue, a block from the Syracuse-Solvay line. It was after midnight and police had been called by neighbors who said a man had broken into the store. Palerino was charged with attempted burglary, third degree.

In November, 1935, Steve Mezzatesta, the other man wounded by Albino four years earlier, was convicted of counterfeiting by a jury in federal court. He was sentenced to serve four years in Northeastern penitentiary in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, and fined $6. Yes, $6. Earlier the Syracuse Journal said he could have been sentenced to 107 years and fined $45,000. So I guess he was lucky.

Frank Mezzatesta moved to Solvay, at least temporarily, which is why, in 1933, he was referred to as the "alleged Solvay gangster." His troubles began in late 1932 when he was charged with burglary and larceny in Utica. By mid-1933 he had added charges of assault and illegal possession of a gun to his resume. He remained on the loose, but things just got worse for him in another case that attracted some sensational coverage. To make a long story short:

Though referred to there as the "young North Side dance hall idol," his residence was listed at 406 First Street, Solvay. In December a county court jury returned a guilty verdict. He received a prison sentence of three to six years and a severe tongue-lashing from Judge William L. Barnum.

“I have no sympathy for you and no one else should have,” Judge Barnum told Mezzatesta. “You have been no good to your family and certainly of no use to the community, which will be fortunate to be rid of your presence for a while. You haven’t earned an honest dollar in years and it is only by chance that you didn’t become a defendant in a murder case not very long ago.”

Judge Barnum referred to the shooting of Reuben Johnson, a news vendor and innocent bystander during a beer gang battle in East Genesee Street, and for which “Ponzi” Albino was indicted.

I have no idea if it was the same Frank Mezzatesta who popped up in a short item in the Syracuse Journal on March 8, 1937. If it was, then he apparently had benefited from Judge Barnum's lecture and had found God. In any event, Frank Mezzatesta was listed as one of the participants in a program to be presented by the Italian Church of the Redeemer. He was scheduled to offer a monologue entitled, "Did You Hear About Me?"

FINALLY, there's Dutch Schultz, who in the spring of 1935 spent time in Syracuse where he was tried in federal court on charges involving income tax evasion. The trial ended with a deadlocked jury. A second trial was held in July, but this time it was conducted in Malone, a tiny city in northern New York, just a few miles from Canada. Schultz arrived in Malone about a month before the trial and conducted himself like a man who wanted to be elected mayor.

His tactics worked. He reportedly charmed Malone residents, and those who sat on the jury found the notorious gangster not guilty of the charges against him.

However, Thomas Dewey, then a special prosecutor (who would go on to become governor of New York and a two-time Republican nominee for president), was determined to put Schultz behind bars. This so infuriated Schultz that he wanted to have Dewey killed. This idea didn't sit well with other mobsters, who had their own solution to the Dutch Schultz problem.

Thus on October 23, 1935, the man who was born Arthur Flegenheimer and became famous as Dutch Schultz, was shot while he was dining at the Palace Chophouse in Newark, New Jersey. With him were two bodyguards and his accountant. All of them were fatally wounded, with Schultz hanging on for almost 24 hours before he was pronounced dead. He was only 34 years of age.