The Gangster-Level Story of the Al Capone Cherry Tree

With last-minute Christmas shopping occupying your attention, you may have someone on your list for whom you can’t think of anything to give. If so, you may draw some inspiration from an unusual gift that graces the grounds of Medstar Union Memorial Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. If you visit there, you will see a gorgeous Japanese weeping cherry tree (Prunus pendula) near the hospital’s entrance. Each spring, it explodes into a breathtaking display of pink blossoms, as if it’s auditioning for a spot on the cover of Cherry Tree Digest (yeah, we know it’s not a real magazine, so please don’t write to us, pointing that out).

This tree symbolizes beauty, rebirth, and mortality. And here’s where it gets interesting: its story has roots (see what we did there?) tangled with the legacy of none other than Al Capone. Yes, we’re referring to the infamous mob boss who made his living on bootlegging, bribery, and bullets. As we noted in this article, he was also responsible for a revolutionary change in food safety standards, so he clearly wasn’t all bad.

The softer side of the man responsible for the Valentine’s Day Massacre can be seen in his gift of delicate cherry blossoms. Let’s dive into this bizarre intersection of crime and horticulture.

A Gangster Checks In

Al Capone didn’t voluntarily decide to swap his Tommy gun for a hospital gown. His journey to Union Memorial began with an 11-year prison sentence for tax evasion—a downfall that came not from his many violent crimes but from his inability to keep his books straight. (For more details on his downfall and the surprising legacy of the man who betrayed Capone to the feds, read this article.)

While locked up at Alcatraz, Capone’s health took a nosedive, thanks to an untreated case of syphilis. The disease progressed to his brain, causing dementia and paresis, which sounds terrifying and really is. It should serve as a lesson about the price that you can pay for living a life under no one’s authority but your own.

In 1939, Alcatraz officials, perhaps relieved to be rid of him, granted him early parole on humanitarian grounds. They handed him back to his family with a firm recommendation: “Get this man some medical help. Like, yesterday.”

A Hospital Rejects… and Another Accepts

There are few better places in the world to get top-notch medical care than Johns Hopkins University Hospital. Unfortunately for Capone, when his family knocked on their prestigious doors, the board essentially said, “Thanks, but no thanks,” probably while hiding their wallets. Apparently, associating with Public Enemy No. 1 wasn’t on their list of PR-friendly activities.

All was not lost for the king of gangsters. Union Memorial Hospital in Baltimore stepped up. They agreed to treat him—privately, of course. Providing care to those who need it is one thing. Being known for having a gangster and his entourage wandering your halls is quite another.

Room Service, Capone-Style

Capone didn’t just “check in” to Union Memorial; he turned it into his own mini-empire. His two-room suite on the fifth floor came with all the luxuries a recovering mob boss could ask for: bodyguards, food tasters (we suspect it was more for the quality of hospital food than fear of poison, but even in the hospital, paranoia never takes a day off), a barber, and a steady stream of family members.

Over the next six weeks, Capone received treatment from Dr. Joseph E. Moore, a syphilis expert. While Dr. Moore focused on the medical side, Capone spent his time gazing out the window at the beautiful — but somewhat barren — hospital grounds. It was a far cry from the bustling streets of Chicago.

By March 1940, Capone was discharged and shuffled off to Miami, where he spent the remainder of his days a shadow of his former self.

A Mob Boss’s Thank-You Gift

Now, here’s where the story takes an unexpectedly wholesome turn. Grateful for the care he received (and maybe just a little impressed with Baltimore hospitality), Capone gifted Union Memorial two Japanese weeping cherry trees.

Hospital officials were no doubt surprised. We suspect they were also grateful that it wasn’t a gift of a severed horse head or a fish wrapped in a newspaper. (If you don’t understand those references, that means we’re probably way overdue on writing that article about The Godfather that we’ve been planning for a couple of years.)

One of these trees didn’t last long—it was removed in 1950 to make room for a new hospital wing. But the other tree stood its ground, weathering decades of storms, including a 2010 snowfall that split it in half and took out a 10-foot branch.

And because Union Memorial doesn’t let anything go to waste, they turned that fallen branch into decorative items and sold them to raise funds. All things considered, that’s probably the most wholesome Capone memorabilia that ever hit the market.

Meet the Caponettes

Then there are there Caponettes. Admittedly, it sounds like a third-rate Las Vegas singing group or members of the Al Capone Fan Club. In truth, Caponettes are far less cringeworthy.

The original tree still blooms each spring, but it’s not alone. Younger cherry trees, lovingly nicknamed Caponettes, were grown from cuttings of the original tree and now adorn the hospital grounds. Yes, Caponettes—because even a gangster’s legacy can sound adorable when wrapped in pink blossoms.

A Blooming Legacy

And so, every spring, as the Al Capone Cherry Tree bursts into life, it stands as a testament to an odd moment in history when compassion met criminal notoriety. Who knew that the same man who orchestrated bloody gang wars could also give us one of Baltimore’s most charming landmarks?

Al Capone, the cherry tree, and the Caponettes: proof that history is as unpredictable as a mob boss with a green thumb.

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