Leprechauns, it is said, are a dichotomy. Charming imps; they are jokesters of tremendous levity; they are elusive; if nabbed by a mortal they yield to him or her their private pot of gold. But, folklore warns, don't ever -- ever! -- get on one's cross side, for an opened Pandora's Box awaits you if you do.

This Jekyll/Hyde nature might well describe one of Ireland's own lusty sons, born near Chicago, but bearing, nevertheless, all the impulsiveness of a leprechaun. Behind his Celtic blue eyes, his ruddily scrubbed-clean cheeks, his who-gives-a-damn grin and a rich Irish tenor singing voice, a killer lurked.

Those who first met Dion O'Banion in his flower shop or on the streets of his Near North Side stomping grounds found an amiable, good-natured young gentleman who would doff his hat to ladies and slap men on the back with a cheery, "Nice to meet ya', swell fellow!" (He habitually called strangers "swell fellows".) He would give to the poor without pause, he attended church on Sundays, abhorred prostitution and never hesitated to roll up his shirtsleeves to help where help was needed among his neighborhood. He never drank, even though he peddled the best beer in town.

But, like the fabled leprechaun, a savage within him would manifest when tickled.

Chicago's Chief of Police in the 1920s, Morgan A. Collins, attributes at least 25 gangland-related murders to Dion O'Banion (although he never formally listed them.) His figure is probably not overstretched. Having learned at an early age that violence works best to get what you want, O'Banion controlled the richest and most politically smart powerhouse wards in the city, and he managed to hold onto them despite the envy and lust of two men who usually got everything they went after, Johnny Torrio and Al Capone.

Even in leisure, O'Banion wore three guns -- .32 calibers -- on his person. He had his suits especially made with three hideaway pockets to conceal his armament. If he and "the lads," his crew, went out nights in their tuxedos (he believed in fashion and in presenting a prosperous image), all chambers were fully loaded.

With three of his stalwart huckleberries, Earl Wojciechowsky, Vinny Drucci and Georgie Moran, he joined the Market Street Gang whose existence relied on supplying local "fences" with the merchandise they black marketed. A gang of teen thugs basically, the Market Streeters preyed on pedestrians and store owners alike, perpetrating shoplifting sprees, purse snatchings and at times robberies at gunpoint.

The "Great Experiment," Prohibition, was tossed onto the country almost on a lark.

From time to time, the North Siders would hijack a convoy of beer trucks belonging to the heavily Italian South Side mob organization under "Papa Johnny" Torrio. In retaliation, Torrio's desperadoes would counteract, heisting O'Banion freight. Fearing open warfare, which would seriously inhibit the free flow of money under more peaceable conditions, entrepreneurial Torrio called Deanie personally. He was willing to compromise.

Deanie accepted, cautiously, bringing Weiss with him to the parley. The "wops need watching," Deanie claimed. Torrio was originally a Naples-born Brooklyn thug and graduate of the notorious Five Points Gang. He had come Chicago-way when his uncle, a restaurateur named Giacomo (Jim) Colosimo, enlisted his aid in defeating extortionists bent on taking over his gambling concessions and brothels. When Colosimo later refused to enter into the bootlegging business in 1920, and nephew Johnny saw millions slipping through his hands, the former wound up stiff on the foyer floor of his own eatery.

When Deanie and Hymie entered Torrio's upstairs office at the Four Deuces that day to hear Torrio's "compromise," Capone was there to serve as arbitrator. One glance from his boss told Hymie to watch him -- closely. The deal that Deanie heard was similar to the one Torrio had offered all others, but with embellishments. Because Deanie knew he owned the most lucrative beer territory in the city, and that "the greaseballs" (as he often referred to them) coveted it, he listened carefully to the nuances behind Torrio's peacemaking treaty.

"We can't kill each other, there's too much for us both to lose," Torrio told him, dripping of the diplomat. Al Capone and Hymie Weiss listened, but studied each other suspiciously. "I offer you no interference in your territory, if you provoke none in mine. For a share of your industry, and since you are the man to watch, Signor O'Banion, I will make you a fair offer."

What Torrio suggested was that they share proceeds from various breweries on the North Side, including the prosperous Sieben Brewery on Larabee Street. In return, Deanie would partake of an equal share in a number of Capone-run distilleries and betting parlors in the suburbs.

O'Banion accepted the deal but continuosly upset Torrio and Capone with his double dealing and antics. Finally after trying to get Torrio imprisoned for bootlegging the Italians decided to have O'Banion killed and it was left to Frankie Yale and his accomplacies to carry out the dead in O'Banions flower shop.

O'Banion was a man who stood up to Capone and Torrio for many years but finally paid the ultimate price.