Ah yes, Crooked Lake, Illinois, a nice scenic getaway from all the hubbub in Chicago. And by hubbub we mean gangsters killing one another at an alarming rate. Yes, nothing like the nice, clean shimmering water of this natural glacial lake to refresh ones soul whether it be through simple relaxation or, perhaps you're the active type, well there is boating, swimming and fishing.
What a great place to set up a roadhouse and sell illegal beverages. Out here nobody bothers you. Our here all that gangsters nonsense is big city stuff. Out here a man can make a dishonest dollar without worry. Thoughts like this may or may not have passed through Johnny Nyhan's head. You see, Johnny was the proprietor of a "resort" at Crooked Lake and on this day in 1932 he had three visitors, most likely, from the big city.
Inside Johnny tended bar. He had two patrons at the time. Out front on the porch sat Mrs. Nyhan. A car pulled up front and the three men stepped out. One of them was carrying a machine gun. The others pistols. They passed Mrs. Nyhan and walked in. The gent with the machine gun told the patrons to step aside. They acquiesced. Trapped behind the bar, Johnny did his best to escape as the staccato rhythm of the tommy gun rang out his death knell.
Why did three men make a special trip to Crooked Lake to rub out Johnny? Who knows. The police would have us believe that Johnny was not playing ball with a big liquor syndicate. Sounds plausible.