By John Kass

December 27, 2023

Nobody wants to be thought of as stupid, an idiot…Or comme si dice what’s that word I’m looking for? Oh.

Chumbolone.

Ah yes, Chumbolone. Because no one wants to be a Chumbolone. No one. It’s worse than being thought to be a mook.

A Chicago cop named Anthony Doyle—whom prosecutors described as a muscled-up messenger boy/juice loan collector for the Chicago Outfit’s Chinatown crew boss Frankie Calabrese— was adamant about not being considered a Chumbolone. And it cost him.

So eager was Doyle to be thought of as Not a Chumbolone, that he testified in federal court.

When he was recorded by the FBI talking to a brutal mob boss about the use of cattle prods on government witnesses, he testified he was just trying to be agreeable so the boss wouldn’t think of him as a Chumbolone.

“I gave him lip service,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and the lower half of his face. “I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Defense Counsel: So why then did you agree?

“I don’t wanna look like a chumbolone, an idiot, stupid.”

Doyle was sentenced to more than 10 years in federal prison.

I was there as he testified in the sensational “Family Secrets” trial. I was sitting only a few feet away. I thought he was wearing far too much hair product.

But he did introduce me to an extremely valuable political word: pronounced Chum-ba-loan.

It became the stuff of urban legend.

It is my favorite Chicago political word and explains exactly what politicians think of taxpayers, and the word finally made it to the big time, with its own listing on urbandictionary.com

It was so perfect that I had it trademarked and made into a baseball cap just for you:

The No Chumbolone Zone cap that we offer here only at johnkassnews.com.

It is for all those who declare they are definitely not stupid idiots. Wearing the No Chumbolone cap is a declaration that you’re an individual with a proud and independent mind, not some herd animal or mook sheeple content to chew cud and be fleeced by the political class.

I love my No Chumbone hat, and wear it proudly, even when I visit Crook County where there are many chumbolones, far more than twice the national average. And you can get one too.

The No Chumbolone cap became legendary, and now all the cool kids want one. They’re selling like funnel cakes at an Italian street festa.

If you’re a monthly or better yet yearly subscriber, you’ll receive a big phat discount.  Many cool kid subscribers are now sending me selfies of themselves wearing their No Chumbolone hats. It is now, officially, a thing.

Bill the Photographer and Steve the Pilot sent in a photo  with their permission I used it at the top of this piece. And @VetteSteve52 sent one. The lawyer John Ekonomou sent one, as did many other readers. Soon we’ll set up a space for all the cool kids to post their photos, because a No Chumbolone cap means that you prize liberty and freedom.

“But I’ve got a question as to the origin of this, how do you call it, ‘Chumbolone’,” said my barber, Raffaele Raia. “Please explain this Chumbolone business.” 

Born in Naples, Italy, Mr. Raia is an excellent hair cutter at Salon Hype in LaGrange. And, as loyal readers know, Raffaele has been my go-to expert for years on all things Italian culture, Italian cuisine and Italian football (soccer), his beloved Chicago Bears and the Camorra (the ruthless Italian Outfit of Naples.)

And if I have good hair, it’s because of Raffaele. I told him I first heard the word Chumbolone from the witness stand from the lips of former Chicago cop Anthony “Twan” Doyle.

But Doyle wasn’t his real name. Before he became a cop his name was Anthony Passafume. He grew up on the edge of the Chinatown neighborhood in the Daley family’s 11^th ward and he liked to lift weights and bulk up those guns of his.

When Twan (which weirdly means some kind of delicious Chinese donut) became a Chicago cop in the police evidence section, he changed his name to “Doyle” to blend in with the Irish police culture and better protect the Chicago mob.

Like a great detective, Raia studied my No Chumbolone cap.

“Please pronounce the word ‘Chumbolone’ for me,” asked Raffaele.

So I did. He closed his eyes in concentration. He hummed a snatch of a song.

I said I thought it might have something to do with an Italian crumb cake.

He snipped and hummed and snipped with his scissors considering, humming, until he had reasoned it out like a stylish Neapolitan Sherlock Holmes who really gives great haircuts.

I drive an hour from Indiana to have my haircut by Raffaele. Call me crazy. Call me vain. But I support quality and artistry. I’ll drive two hours for Italian sausage at Joseph’s Finest Meats, and for a delicious souvlaki sanguich and the best fries in the world at Mr. D’s Shish-Kabobs.

But that’s just me. The pursuit of quality brings an appreciation of excellence and merit, which were once important touchstones in American cultue.

“I think I figured it out,” said Raffaele.

“Tell me.”

“It has to do with a clown on unsteady feet and he’s always about to fall and the people know this and are ready to laugh at him,” he said. Like the clown with the big stupid feet.”

Like Bozo?

“Yes with the Bozo feet,” Raia said. “The root is what the Chicago Italian American’s call ‘Chumba-loan.’ But the real root isn’t Chumbolone.

“It’s Kee-ah-bo-lone.”

He wrote it out on scratch paper. Ciambolone. Or Chiambalone.

“It’s Southern Italian dialect.”

The great linguist Professor Henry Higgins had nothing on Raffaele Raia. You can even find sad glass Italian “ciamba” clowns for sale on the Internet. And ceramic clown figurines.

And so the origin story of the No Chumbolone cap goes from myth to legend and brings the tears of the clown with the Bozo feet.

“Raffaele,” I said. “You’re real a genius.”

He just smiled. And then he put on the No Chumbolone cap for a photo.

Raffaele Raia is No Chumbolone. And if you’re reading this at johnkassnews.com, neither are you.

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