Con Men

Okay, I admit it. I am intrigued by stories about con men and how they trick people into parting with their money. I don't know why. I know it's wrong to swindle someone, but for some reason I find the whole subject fascinating.

According to Wikipedia, the term "Confidence Man" came about because of a certain individual by the name of William Thompson.

William Thompson was an American criminal whose deceptions caused the term "confidence man" to be coined.

Operating in New York City in the late 1840s, genteelly-dressed Thompson would approach an upper-class mark and begin a brief conversation. After initially gaining the mark's trust, Thompson would ask "Have you confidence in me to trust me with your watch until tomorrow?". On taking the watch (or, occasionally, money), Thompson would depart, never to be seen again.

Thompson was arrested and brought to trial in 1849, in a case that made newspaper headlines across the country. The New York Herald, recalling his explicit appeals to the victim's "confidence," dubbed him the "confidence man," the first known use of the term.

To humour myself, I've found a few more stories about some of the great con-men of days-gone-by. I thought I'd share them with you, my virtual-fellow-would-be-tricksters:

Joseph "Yellow Kid" Weil (1875-1976)
Firstly, look at this guy's life-span. Crime certainly does pay - at least the medical bills, so it seems...

Here's one of his scams gleaned from: http://home.netcom.com/~mikalm/weil.htm

Hearing that the Merchants National Bank in Muncie, Indiana had moved into a new building, he made arrangements to rent the old building, with all its fixtures and furnishings intact, for one week.

The Yellow Kid then sent his stooges over to the bank's new location. They brought back deposit slips, counter checks, withdrawal slips, and other forms imprinted with the Merchants National Bank name and logo. Other associates got hold of money bags, and filled them nine-tenths full with slugs, being careful to put real coins at the top. They also assembled stacks of "boodle": hundreds of singles or even blank papers sandwiched by big-denomination bills. Still more confederates rebuilt the bank's interior right down to the smallest detail.

Now that the bank had furnishings and assets, it needed people. Weil supplied them in short order: his grifter buddies were hired to play tellers, guards, and male patrons; the women from a local bordello took the roles of female employees and account holders. Not missing a trick, he paid uniformed streetcar conductors to pose as messengers.

When Weil led his mark-a stock investor-into the building on the big day, the effect was perfect. Like the suckers who had followed Weil into his phony betting parlors in Chicago, the gullible investor saw exactly what the Yellow Kid wanted him to see: a prosperous, thriving bank clogged with customers, where scurrying tellers hauled piles of greenbacks and sacks of coin back and forth and messengers dashed in and out with important documents. The mark witnessed this incredible display for an hour, met with the president, and handed over $50,000 on the spot, confident that he would soon see handsome profits. Of course, he never saw the money again; upon his departure, the Yellow Kid Weil branch of the Merchants National Bank vanished, like Brigadoon, into thin air.

Victor Lustig - The man who sold the Eiffel Tower.
From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victor_Lustig.

In 1925, France had recovered from World War I, and Paris was booming. Expatriates from all over the world went there to enjoy being at the leading edge of the latest trends. It was flashy, fast moving, and an excellent environment for a con artist.

Lustig's master con began one spring day when he was reading a newspaper. An article discussed the problems the city was having maintaining the Eiffel Tower. Even keeping it painted was an expensive chore, and the tower was becoming somewhat run down.

Lustig saw a story behind this article. Maybe the city would decide the Eiffel Tower was not worth saving any longer. Lustig outlined the possibilities and developed them into a remarkable scheme.

Lustig adopted the persona of a government official, and had a forger produce fake government stationery for him. Lustig then sent six scrap metal dealers an invitation to attend a confidential meeting at the Hotel de Crillon on Place de la Concorde to discuss a possible business deal. The Hotel Crillon, one of the most prestigious of the old Paris hotels, was a meeting place for diplomats and a perfect cover. All six scrap dealers replied and came to the meeting.

There, Lustig introduced himself as the deputy director-general of the Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs. He explained that the dealers had been selected on the basis of their good reputations as honest businessmen, and then dropped his bombshell.

Lustig told the group that the upkeep on the Eiffel Tower was so outrageous that the city could not maintain it any longer, and wanted to sell it for scrap. Due to the certain public outcry, he went on, the matter was to be kept secret until all the details were thought out. Lustig said that he had been given the responsibility to select the dealer to carry out the task.

The idea was not as implausible in 1925 as it would be today. The Eiffel Tower had been built for the 1889 Paris Exposition, and was not intended to be permanent. It was to have been taken down in 1909 and moved somewhere else. It did not fit with the city's other great monuments like the Gothic cathedrals or the Arc de Triomphe, and in any case at the time it really was in poor condition.

Lustig took the men to the tower in a rented limousine to give them an inspection tour. The tower was made of 15,000 prefabricated parts, many of which were highly ornamental, and Lustig showed it off to the men. This encouraged their enthusiasm, and it also gave Lustig an idea who was the most enthusiastic and gullible. He knew how to be attentive and agreeable, and let people talk until they told him everything he wanted to know.

Back on the ground, Lustig asked for bids to be submitted the next day, and reminded them that the matter was a state secret. In reality, Lustig already knew he would accept the bid from one dealer, Andre Poisson. Poisson was insecure, feeling he was not in the inner circles of the Parisian business community, and thought that obtaining the Eiffel Tower deal would put him in the big league. Lustig had quickly sensed Poisson's eagerness.

However, Lustig knew he was walking over dangerous ground. Fraud was bad enough, but the authorities would be very displeased at his having put over the fraud while impersonating a high government official. And Poisson's wife was suspicious. Who was this official, why was everything so secret, and why was everything being done so quickly?

To deal with the suspicious Poisson, Lustig arranged another meeting, and then "confessed". As a government minister, Lustig said, he did not make enough money to pursue the lifestyle he enjoyed, and needed to find ways to supplement his income. This meant that his dealings needed a certain discretion.

Poisson understood immediately. He was dealing with another corrupt government official who wanted a bribe. That put Poisson's mind at rest immediately, since he was familiar with the type and had no problems dealing with such people.

So Lustig not only received the funds for the Eiffel Tower, he also got a bribe on top of that. Lustig and his personal secretary, an American conman named Dan Collins, hastily took a train for Vienna with a suitcase full of cash. He knew the instant that Poisson called the government ministries to ask for further information that the whole fraud would be revealed and the law would intervene.

Nothing happened. Poisson was too humiliated to complain to the police. A month later, Lustig returned to Paris, selected six more scrap dealers, and tried to sell the Tower once more. This time, the mark went to the police before Lustig managed to close the deal, but Lustig and Collins still managed to evade arrest.

To finish off, here is a short one about Arthur Ferguson (1800s - 1938) from http://www.yotor.com/wiki/en/ar/Arthur%20Ferguson.htm.

Arthur Ferguson was a Scottish con artist. In the 1920s, Ferguson found out that he could obtain a tidy profit by selling Americans visiting London such items as Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square (for the sum of 6,000 pounds), Big Ben (1,000 pounds for a down payment), and Buckingham Palace (2,000 pounds for a down payment).

It finally dawned on Ferguson that America was indeed the land of opportunity, and so he emigrated there in 1925. He sold the White House to a rancher on the installment plan for yearly payments of $100,000 USD, and tried to sell the Statue of Liberty to a visiting Australian, who went to the police. The authorities had been looking for the mysterious salesman of public landmarks, and Ferguson went to jail, to be released in 1930. He profitably continued his trade in Los Angeles until his death in 1938.

Wow.

You know, since you have been so wonderful reading to the end of this blog, I'm going to make you a genuine offer. I have the original one-of-a-kind diamond tiara Pricess Dianna wore for her wedding to Prince Charles. I'll offer it to you for a special price. But wait, I'll give you a discount if you buy in bulk...