BANK BURGLARS WHO DISGUISED THEMSELVES AS POLICEMEN, AND OTHER
INGENIOUS SCHEMES USED BY THIEVES IN BOLD ATTEMPTS TO GET THEIR PLUNDER
No honest man can accumulate a million dollars without constant
industry, self-denial, perseverance, and ability.
The same is true of the professional criminal. In addition, he must
possess ingenuity, tact, and resourcefulness of a high order.
I have mentioned a number of professional criminals who, in the course
of their careers, obtained over a million dollars apiece. Although
these men accumulated vast fortunes, there was not a single one of them
who really derived any lasting benefit out of his ill-gotten gains.
Many of them spent a large portion of their lives in jail. Behind
prison walls, their buried loot availed them nothing. Others dissipated
their fortunes almost as rapidly as they made them and their last years
were spent in poverty. Some of them died violent deaths.
Yet every one of these men, as I have intimated, possessed valuable
qualities which, had they been put to a legitimate use, would
undoubtedly have brought them wealth without any of the penalties
incident to a life of crime. Living honestly they might not have
accumulated millions, but their skill, ingenuity, and perseverance
would undoubtedly have netted them large incomes, and they might have
enjoyed the peace of mind which none but the law-abiding can know.
Without the ability which these men possessed, it would be useless
for anyone to hope to achieve the "success" which attended their
criminal operations. But anyone possessing their ability would be most
ill-advised to attempt to follow in their footsteps when their careers
have so clearly demonstrated that CRIME CANNOT PAY. Whereas,
if properly applied, such ability must inevitably bring success.
I intend to give you some idea of the skill and resourcefulness these
men possessed by referring in detail to some of their more remarkable
exploits.
In the course of a criminal career covering some forty years, Harry
Raymond, all-round burglar, committed several hundred important
burglaries. It was he who stole the famous Gainsborough painting, as I
have previously related. The magnitude of his crimes will be indicated
by the fact that his booty aggregated between two and three million
dollars. Yet, despite the number and importance of this man's offenses,
he was caught only once in the whole forty years, and then through the
carelessness of an accomplice. No better proof of the judgment and
resourcefulness of a professional criminal could be presented than such
a record as that.
His robbery of the Cape Town Post Office will illustrate this point
more concretely.
His first step was to cultivate the friendship of the Postmaster
of the Cape Town Post Office. He went at it very systematically
and patiently, but at the end of two or three months he had made
such progress that he readily found an opportunity to get temporary
possession of the post office keys. That was all that was necessary. He
made a wax impression of them and put the keys back without arousing
any suspicion.
His next step was to prepare three parcels addressed to himself, and
mailed them by registered mail from out of town. He came in on the same
train with the packages. He waited until the registered mail sacks had
been delivered to the Postmaster and locked up for the night, and then,
just as his friend, the Postmaster, was leaving for the day, he stopped
hurriedly into the post office and explained that it was of great
importance for him to get that night certain packages he understood
were arriving by that day's registered mail. The Postmaster readily
consented and went back into the office with the burglar. He opened
the safe and ascertained that the packages Raymond had described were
there, and while he was making certain entries in his book, Raymond
succeeded in making wax impressions of the keys to the safe.
Raymond now had wax impressions of the keys to the post office itself
and of the keys in which the registered mail and other valuables were
kept. Making the keys from the impressions was not a very difficult
task, although it required many subsequent visits to the post office
and the exercise of a considerable amount of patience before the keys
were properly fitted. Then Raymond waited for the diamonds to come from
the mines, his plan to get them into the post office safe having been
very carefully thought out.
At one stage of the trip the diamond coach had to make, it was
necessary for it to cross a river. This was accomplished by means of
a ferry which was operated by a wire-rope cable. Raymond decided to
spoil this plan. Before the coach arrived at the ferry he succeeded in
severing the wire cable. There was a strong current running and the
ferryboat naturally drifted down the stream.
When the coach arrived at the river, there was no ferryboat to take
it across, and there was no other means of fording the stream. As I
have mentioned, the schedule of the coach had been arranged so that it
would reach the docks just in time to catch the steamer for England.
The delay at the river resulted, as Raymond had known it would, in the
coach missing the steamer, and the next steamer wouldn't sail for a
week. In the meanwhile, the diamonds were deposited in the post office
safe.
It was an easy matter for Raymond to get into the post office the
following night, and the keys he had made gave him access to the safe.
The diamonds and other valuables he had planned so cleverly to get were
worth $500,000. He abstracted them all and buried them.
Instead of fleeing the country with his booty, his prudence dictated
that he was safest right there, and he remained there for months.
Subsequently, he disposed of the stolen diamonds in London, but he was
blackmailed out of a large portion of the proceeds by the accomplice
with whom he had made his first attempt to rob the diamond coach, and
who at once concluded when he heard of the successful robbery that it
was Raymond who had committed it.
Although it netted the burglars only $100,000, the robbery of the
Kensington Savings Bank of Philadelphia was one of the most cleverly
arranged crimes of modern times.
The theft was committed by a band of the most notorious bank burglars
of the time, including Tom McCormack, Big John Casey, Joe Howard, Jimmy
Hope, Worcester Sam, George Bliss, and Johnny Dobbs. No more competent
crew of safe cracksmen could possibly have been gotten together.
On the day these burglars planned to rob the bank, the president
received, information that the crime was contemplated and would
probably be committed that night or the night following.
This information came apparently from the Philadelphia Chief of Police,
the messenger stating that the Chief would send down half a dozen
uniformed men that afternoon, who were to be locked in the bank that
night. The president was told to keep the information to himself as it
was desired to catch the burglars red-handed, and it was feared that
word might reach them of the plan to trap them and they would be scared
off.
That afternoon half a dozen uniformed policemen called at the bank
shortly before the closing hour. They were called into the office of
the president and introduced to the bank's two watchmen. After the bank
was closed the six men were secreted in different parts of the building
and the watchmen were told to obey whatever orders the policemen might
give.
Nothing happened until about midnight, when some of the policemen came
out of their hiding places and suggested to one of the watchmen that it
might be a good idea to send out for some beer. One of the policemen
volunteered to take off his uniform, but changed his mind, saying that
it would perhaps be safer for one of the watchmen to go.
"If the burglars see one of you fellows going out of the building,"
he said to the watchmen, "they will suspect nothing, but if they see
a strange face leaving the bank at this hour they will know there is
something unusual going on." The watchmen agreed.
No sooner had the watchman left the building than one of the policemen
raised his nightstick and brought it down with all his might on the
head of the other watchman. The man dropped to the floor like a log. He
was quickly bound and gagged and taken inside the cashier's cage.
A few minutes later the other watchman returned with the beer, and as
he set foot in the room where the policemen were congregated he was
accorded the same treatment.
The watchmen out of the way, the six policemen made their way to the
bank safe and there a remarkable scene was enacted. Attired in the
regulation uniform of the city police, with helmets, shields, and
nightsticks of the official style, the six "policemen" proceeded to
break into the bank safe. As their work progressed, some of the men
removed their hats and loosened their heavy coats, but there was
nothing to indicate to anyone who might have witnessed this remarkable
piece of work that the men engaged in the cracking of the safe were not
genuine policemen. As a matter of fact, of course, they were six of the
cleverest bank burglars in the business.
[Illustration: SOON AFTER MIDNIGHT A STRANGE SCENE WAS ENACTED]
When the safe was blown and the bank's funds, amounting to some
$100,000, removed, the "policemen" buttoned up their uniforms, put on
their hats and, opening the front doors of the bank with the keys they
took from the unconscious watchmen, they boldly marched in single file
into the public street.
In planning out a bank robbery, or, indeed, any kind of robbery, a
great deal of time must be given over to study of the situation so that
when the day of the robbery comes the burglars will know just what to
do and be able to do it promptly. Oftentimes it is necessary to wear a
disguise so as to more surely carry out the prearranged plans.
I remember once disguising myself as a Quaker farmer's wife when we did
a job in the section of Pennsylvania where the Quakers abound. We had
been over the territory very carefully and picked out a bank where a
considerable amount of money was on display, scattered around on the
different counters of the bank, and we decided that we could go into
that bank in broad daylight and get most of the cash.
For several weeks we had studied the methods in vogue in the bank and
knew pretty accurately where the cashier and other employees would be
at certain hours, and which hour would be the most favorable for our
work.
There were four of us working on this particular robbery, and it was
decided that I should disguise myself as a Quaker woman and pass
the bank at a certain hour. I went around the town for several days
studying the costumes of the women and finally rigged myself out in the
typical Quaker housewife style.
I purchased a small milk can and, as its newness might attract
attention, I rubbed the can with dirt until it took on a time-worn
appearance. Then I secured one of the common baskets carried very often
by the women who go to market to dispose of small lots of vegetables.
For several days my pals and myself rehearsed the work we had to do so
that when the time of action came we were perfect in our parts.
We had found out from our daily observations of the bank that the
cashier, who was a good deal of a dandy, went out every day at half
past twelve and returned about 1 o'clock. Several of the other clerks
in the bank went out for their lunch at the same time. At fifteen
minutes to one there were fewer clerks in the bank than at any other
period of the day, and if we were to do our work at all it must be
accomplished at that time.
There was only one drawback to this arrangement--the cashier
occasionally came back at five or ten minutes to one, and we could
not be certain that he would stay out the full half hour on the day
we operated. If he came back before 1 o'clock our scheme would be
frustrated and we would probably be arrested. So it was decided that
I should lay outside the bank and intercept the cashier if he should
happen along before my pals made their get-away from the bank.
On the day of the robbery we were near the bank at half past twelve,
and waited till a quarter of one, when we saw several other clerks go
out. Then the rest of my band hastened into the bank, and I kept my
eyes fixed on the direction in which the cashier usually came. The
robbers who went into the bank had a number of little formalities to
get over before it was possible to grab the money, and this took time.
They had been inside nearly ten minutes when I spied the cashier
walking up the street toward the bank. As luck would have it, he was
getting back five minutes ahead of his usual time. I strolled leisurely
to meet him, dressed up, of course, as the Quaker housewife, with my
basket full of vegetables and can of milk on my arm.
The cashier and I came together in the middle of the block, about
a hundred feet from the bank. I accosted him and asked for some
fictitious address, in a broken English kind of lingo, which he could
not at first understand. He was a very polite young man, and, of
course, stopped to help me out of my little difficulty.
While I was engaging the cashier in this fashion, I kept my eyes
rambling to the bank to see if my pals were getting away, for if the
cashier had gone down at that moment he would see them in the act of
robbing, and all would be lost.
After holding the cashier for a minute or two, he became impatient at
my unintelligible talk and said he was sorry he could not help me and
would have to be going. Now, under no circumstances could I permit that
cashier to leave then. If necessary I would have grabbed him about the
neck and held him by force until my companions escaped. But a better
scheme than this suggested itself; I deliberately spilled the can of
milk over the cashier's clothes, doing it, of course, in an apparently
innocent way.
The nice white milk settled all over the young man's vest and coat, and
he looked a sorry sight indeed. He was exasperated at my awkwardness,
as he called it, and took out his handkerchief to wipe off the milk,
and I, full of sympathy for his deplorable plight, also took out my
handkerchief and gave my assistance. While we were trying to get rid of
the milk I saw the robbers hurry out of the bank and walk rapidly up
the street. Then I knew they had gotten the cash, and it was no longer
necessary for me to detain the cashier. I mumbled my apologies to the
poor, milk-bespattered cashier, and then hurried off down the street.
I went into a doorway--which I had picked out in advance, of
course--and took off my Quaker disguise. Under the disguise I had on my
regular clothes. I left the Quaker outfit, milk can and all, in this
strange doorway and then hustled off to meet my pals at the rendezvous
previously agreed upon. We divided the money--we had obtained
$90,000--and stayed in the town a few days.
In the papers the next morning there was a big account of the robbery,
and the additional statement that the robbers had overlooked another
package of money containing $150,000. We were shocked by this piece
of information, and the poor robber whose duty it was to collect the
money in the bank was roundly upbraided for getting a miserable ninety
thousand when he could also have taken the $150,000 if he had not been
such a bungler. He swore by every deity that the papers were wrong, for
he had searched very carefully and there was no other money in sight
when he left the place. However, we could never forgive this chap for
his oversight, because we believed the papers had the thing right, and
we disputed about the matter so much that the gang, or "party," as we
of the criminal fraternity call it, had to be disbanded, and we went
our separate ways, good friends, of course, but no longer co-workers.
It is the custom among bank robbers to demand that each member of a
party do his work properly. If any one of them makes a failure, or
does not come up to expectations, he is discharged from the party. The
method of discharging a member is peculiar. The leader will say to him:
"When are you going home, Jack?" and he will hand him some money. "When
are you going home?" means we don't want you with us any more. I might
say, in concluding this experience, that one of the men who took part
in this robbery is now living in Philadelphia and highly respected. He
long since gave up his criminal associations and went into business for
himself and has made a great deal of money by his own honest efforts.
The other man died in prison. His was the fate of many another
professional criminal. He had gambled away most of the money he
secured from his illegal trade and, in addition, he served twenty years
of his life behind prison walls.
Not even the cleverest men in the business have profited by their
skill. They may prosper for a brief hour, but in the end they are
forced to the conclusion that CRIME DOES NOT PAY!