You’ve probably heard the phrase “cheating Death”; it usually refers to someone who has narrowly managed to avoid the Grim Reaper’s clutches while being involved in some dangerous activity, or perhaps just plain old ordinary Life that got a bit hairy.  When I hear those words, a mental picture immediately forms of a card game where Death is a participant, and another player is attempting to cheat in order to win.  Or maybe a game of chess.  That was the chosen activity in Ingmar Bergman’s film “The Seventh Seal”, where Death is challenged by a knight intent on besting him.  I have no idea why, having never seen the movie, and at the moment I’m not inclined to ask my good friend Google.

There was one person in the annals of crime who was absolutely determined to beat Death at his own game—so much so that he developed a plan to survive the hangman’s noose . . . and even tried it out to be certain it would work.

His name was Salvatore Cardinella (or Cardinelli, depending on your source), a crime boss who ruled, through fear and violence, the area of Chicago known as Little Italy.  His gang was well versed in the arts intimidation, theft, and murder, and by 1920 everyone there knew the name of Il Diavolo, or The Devil as Cardinella was called.  Bombings were his go-to method of enforcement, and if that didn’t work, murder was next on the list.  Cardinella recruited his henchmen from the teenagers of the area.  Innocent young men who walked into the 22 ^nd Street pool room he ran came out as aspiring criminals. One such teen was Nicholas Vianna, a literal choir boy with a beautiful voice who eventually used that voice to rat out Cardinella. He had hoped to save his own life in the process and even though his information was gladly received, nothing was given in exchange.

Despite Vianna turning on his boss, Cardinella arranged for an ambulance to be present the day of Vianna’s hanging.  After the deadly punishment had been administered, Vianna’s body was placed in a mortuary basket and loaded into a waiting ambulance.  Rushing to a local funeral home . . . or a rented room a few blocks away, again depending on your source . . . Cardinella’s personal doctors worked over Vianna, pumping air into his lungs, drugs into his body, and keeping him warm with a multitude of hot water bottles.  The result?  Vianna sat bolt upright in absolute confusion (or opened his eyes and groaned, again depending on the source . . .).  Either way, his resuscitation had served two intended purposes.  One, Cardinella had proven a hanged man could be brought back to life if his neck wasn’t broken and two, Cardinella had the opportunity to avenge himself of Vianna’s betrayal—meaning Vianna’s return to the land of the living didn’t last long.

The elaborate plan was meant to determine if Cardinella could indeed survive hanging, a fate he was most assuredly going to face given the information Vianna had provided.  While in prison Cardinella refused to eat and constantly paced about his cell, eventually losing 40 pounds.  As he was being brought to the gallows he collapsed and could not be made to walk.  So, the guards strapped him to a chair and carried him, chair and all, on to the platform.  All of which he did to help ensure he would survive his own death.

It might have worked too, except for some observant guards who wondered why so many people, several of whom appeared to be medical professionals, were there to receive Cardinella’s body after the hanging.  The deputy warden eventually ordered the ambulance held at the prison for an hour and then had it followed directly to the funeral home where the director pronounced Cardinella definitely—and permanently—deceased.

There’s no way to actually confirm the particulars of the story, hence the variations that have made their way into Chicago history.  Several days after the alleged events local newspapers ran the story . . . supposedly.  And the county physician, who was also an eyewitness, recounted the events in great detail . . . supposedly.  Cardinella’s life even served as Edward G. Robinson’s inspiration in the film “Little Caesar”, the 1931 movie adaption of William Burnett’s 1929 novel.  So, Cardinella may not have been the most recognizable gangster of his day while he lived, but his plan to cheat Death at the gallows assured he would go down in Chicago’s history.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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