The Scar, the Story, and the Pigeon History Forgot

History has a funny way of deciding who gets remembered. Some names become

nearly synonymous with an era, while others fade into obscurity despite playing a role in

the stories we still tell today. Al Capone is certainly one of those names that needs no

introduction. Frank Galluccio, however, is a name that has nearly disappeared from

history—even though he was responsible for giving Capone the scars that would

eventually become one of his most recognizable features. And, in an even stranger

twist, Galluccio’s story eventually intersects with one of the most remarkable tales of

courage from World War I.

Fans of the television series Timeless may remember Frank Galluccio as the man who served as Al Capone’s bodyguard. In reality, Galluccio was the man who caused the

infamous scars on Capone’s face. According to the most widely reported account, Capone was working at the Harvard Inn in Brooklyn when he repeatedly made inappropriate remarks toward a young woman. Her brother, Frank Galluccio, confronted him. Words turned into a fight, and Galluccio eventually pulled a knife, slashing Capone across the face and neck. The wounds left Capone with the deep scars that would follow him for the rest of his life. Capone was reportedly sensitive about the scars and disliked being called Scarface.

Capone later gave people a very different explanation for those scars. He reportedly

claimed they were the result of combat injuries he had suffered while serving in France

during World War I. He even claimed to have been a member of the famous Lost

Battalion. There was only one problem with that story: Al Capone never served in the United

States Army.

The Lost Battalion had suffered more than enough tragedy without Capone adding

himself to their ranks. During the Meuse-Argonne Offensive in northern France in

October 1918, roughly 550 men from the 77th Division became isolated by German

forces. They were surrounded by enemy fire and, in one of the war’s cruelest twists,

were also being hit by American artillery that mistakenly believed they were firing on

German positions. Communication on the battlefield was nothing like it is today. Radio technology was still in its infancy, and messages were often carried by soldiers running through dangerous terrain or by carrier pigeons. The men of the Lost Battalion sent runners with messages, but many were killed before they could deliver them.

Several pigeons were also released, only to be shot down by German fire.

Eventually, they were down to their final pigeon. His name was Cher Ami, which means “dear friend” in French. A message was attached to Cher Ami, and he was released in an attempt to stop the American artillery that was mistakenly raining down on the surrounded soldiers. According to the later reports, the pigeon was shot through the breast, blinded in one eye, and suffered a devastating injury to his leg. Yet somehow, he kept flying.

Cher Ami covered approximately 25 miles in about 25 minutes, carrying the desperate

message back to American headquarters. The artillery fire was stopped, and 194 men

ultimately made it out of the forest alive. Cher Ami survived his wounds for another year. He lost his leg and was permanently blinded in one eye, but his incredible endurance earned him the French Croix de Guerre for bravery. His preserved body is now part of the collection at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.

I wonder if Al Capone ever knew the story of Cher Ami and the men of the Lost

Battalion he claimed to have fought alongside. Better yet, I wonder what he would have

thought if he knew that the story he invented about his scars placed him in a chapter of

history where the real heroes were courageous soldiers—and one remarkably

determined little bird.

Most of us would never look at a pigeon and imagine it capable of such triumph. Yet Cher Ami flew through enemy fire with a message that helped save the lives of American soldiers. Meanwhile, Al Capone’s name has been immortalized in books, movies, television shows, museums, and popular culture. His criminal life has been romanticized countless times. Frank Galluccio, the man who gave Capone his famous scars, is barely remembered. And Cher Ami, despite his heroic service, is known mostly to those who happen to stumble across his story.

History is strange that way. Sometimes the most notorious people become the most

famous, while the people—and even the animals that performed extraordinary acts of

courage quietly disappears from the pages. The Westville Public Library has some great books on World War 1 and Al Capone for further reading. I don’t think anyone ever bothered to write a book about Frank Galluccio, though. Bummer.

The Scar, the Story, and the Pigeon History Forgot