Authors: David Maurer
Con men always stay at first-class hotels. Many of them are extremely adept at beating the hotels for large bills; others believe that it hurts their business to beat hotels and pay as they go. I once heard several con men arguing this rather fine point in professional ethics with some heat. They were preparing to leave an expensive hotel where a large bill had been run up. The question was raised as to whether or not they should pay. “What the hell,” interrupted a practical soul, “we’re supposed to be out on the road robbing people, aren’t we?”
A good grifter never misses a chance to get something for nothing, which is one of the reasons why a good
grifter is often also a good mark. Indiana Harry, the Hashhouse Kid, Scotty, and Hoosier Harry were returning to America on the
Titanic
when it sank. They were all saved. After the rescue, they all not only put in maximum claims for lost baggage, but collected the names of dead passengers for their friends, so that they too could put in claims.
This tendency to want something for nothing extends to all branches of the grift. A tale is told of Johnny Tolbert and a team of pickpockets, one of whom, Kansas City Boze, was killed in a fight in El Paso. Johnny Tolbert, fixer for the city, went with the surviving partner to an undertaker’s establishment to arrange for laying Boze away. While Johnny stalled the undertaker, Boze’s partner changed the tag from a $500 casket to a $1,000 one, and placed the $1,000 tag on a cheaper casket. Johnny then bought the $1,000 job for $500 and paid for it in cash. As they left the funeral home, Boze’s partner turned to Tolbert and said, “You know, Boze would like that.”
Grifters, especially those in the lower brackets, often cheat one another quite merrily. And sometimes such dealings have humorous repercussions. A tale is told about Ella B—–, wife of a well-known grifter, and her friend Sofa L—–. Ella stole a set of what she thought was sterling silver, but, on examining it carefully at home, she discovered that it was only cheap plate. So she gave the set to her friend Sofa for Christmas. Sofa was delighted with it until a friend examined it and told her it was a fake. Several days after Christmas, Ella visited Sofa, who had a story all ready for her.
“Ella,” she said, “you are a cheap skate to send me a phony like that silver set.”
“Why,” asked Ella innocently, “what is wrong with it?”
“Wrong with it?” echoed Sofa. “It’s a crow if there ever was one. Why, my little niece took one look at it and spotted it.”
“How can that kid tell the pure quill when it comes to silver?” asked Ella, surprised.
“That’s what I asked her,” snapped Sofa, “and she said, ‘I can’t, but I know Ella B—–, Aunt Sofa.’”
A pickpocket, whom we shall call Frenchy, tells this anecdote regarding tear-off tendencies in his branch of the grift. He had been a partner of Spot B—– for years. Spot had been cheating Frenchy by surreptitiously removing a few dollars from each pocketbook they lifted.
“You know that old Spot B—–,” said Frenchy. “That old gun had been putting me in the hole for years and had burned me for plenty. He had been putting his hump up for me, and when I weeded him the leathers, he weeded them of a few push-notes before we counted the score. I decided to break him of the habit, so I gave him a Mickey Finn. Believe me, it worked on him. He thought he was going to croak, and he called me in and said, ‘Frenchy, I’ve burned you for thousands of bucks. Can you forgive me?’”
“‘That’s O.K., Spot,’ I said, ‘don’t worry about it. I’m the gee who poisoned you.’”
Once a con man always a con man; never does he resort to common thievery or pocket-picking unless he is very hard pressed. He always prefers to play the con for his victims. Only as a last resort does he revert to thievery or take the last downward and degrading step—join out the odds.
The Wise Cracking Kid of Chicago tells how a bit of quick thinking and an impromptu short-con game got him fare to New York. “I was broke and had to get to New York,” he said, “so I went down on the levee to see a bartender who was a friend, but he was broke. Then a funny thing happened. A fool walked in and bought drinks for the house and laid down a C-note. Jack took a good look at the bill, then gave the chump his change. Then he saw me looking at it and said in an undertone, ‘Kid, this note
looks like it might be counterfeit.’ I looked at the note and told Jack it looked queer. He said, ‘Take it out, Kid, and see if it is O.K.’ So I grabbed the note and beat it to the shed and bought my ticket. When I got to the City, I wired Jack: ‘C-note all O.K. The Wise Cracking Kid.’”
But whether a con man has money or not, he is always playing the con for someone, for merchants, for hotel men, for prostitutes, brothel-madams, thieves and even for other con men. He loves his work and is constantly experimenting to see what new angle he may develop, what technical point he can improve upon. He is only half-serious in this merry foolery but nevertheless he always profits from each new situation, from each new type of person he approaches.
Nothing pleases him more than to
tish
a lady—that is, to place a fifty-dollar bill in her stocking with the solemn assurance that if she takes it out before morning, it will turn into tissue paper. Being a woman, she removes it at the earliest opportunity, only to find that it
has
turned to tissue paper, often with a bit of ribald verse inscribed upon it.
Sometimes a grifter will meet a gun-moll who craves the
cold poke
. So he plays “roper” while an older con-man friend will play the “inside.” He steers the girl to a night club where the point-out is played. She is pleased to meet this elderly gentleman who is dispensing his money freely from a very fat wallet. The “roper” connives with the thief to steal the old man’s pocketbook. Covering her movements with the aid of a feint to the flank, she slips in through the postern gate and takes the wallet. Just as she is stealing out of the club, the old man “beefs gun” and the chase is on after the girl. She dashes down an alley, clutching the wallet. When she stops to “weed” it, she is disconcerted to find that it is bulging with paper, frequently garnished with indelicate sentiments and ribald suggestions.
When a con man has taken off a big touch or two and allows his good opinion of himself to become obnoxious, he may be given
the engineer’s daughter
by his friends and acquaintances. The point-out is used with such skill that he falls all unsuspecting into the trap where a woman is bait. Soon he finds himself in hot amorous pursuit of “the engineer’s daughter” (acted by some grifter’s sultry dame). His program for seduction is somewhat complicated by the fact that the girl’s father has a high temper and a wholesome distrust of men. She can receive callers only when he is on his night run. But obstacles like this only make the little affair more zestful for the con man. He sneaks in and out of her apartment with great secrecy. One night, just as he is about to be favored with the lady’s surrender, the lights go on and there stands the engineer in overalls and goggles, brandishing a businesslike pistol. The victim takes one look at the pistol, collects such of his wardrobe as he can, and looks about for a way of retreat. But the engineer blocks the door, so the retreat turns into a rout. Over the porch roof or down the fire escape he goes, with the pistol blasting behind him. In resort cities like Hot Springs where grifters habitually congregate, he will find a reception committee outside composed of all his friends and acquaintances. This mock con game, or one of its numerous variations, is reputed to have a most salutary effect on an inflated ego.
Horse-play among con men really knows no bounds except the limits of their ingenuity; while it would be pointless to cite numerous illustrations of mock con games, it might be of some interest to include the rather grotesque account of how the Postal Kid discouraged Snotter Jack from becoming a con man.
The Kid had a pay-off store in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Snotter Jack, a cheap grifter who fancied himself a bigtimer, made himself a nuisance by hanging around the hangouts and begging the Kid to let him try his hand at
roping for the big store. Finally the Kid and some other members of the mob cooked up a scheme to take Jack down a peg. The Kid called Jack in and told him, “Jack, I believe you have the makings of a great roper. So I’m going to put you on the street and I want you to work double with the Honey Grove Kid. You rope the mark and play the point-out with the Honey Grove Kid, then he will take the mark off your hands and you can play him in the store. That way you can sting the first time.”
Jack was highly pleased.
The next day a prosperous businessman (played by a roper whom Jack didn’t know) began to talk to Jack in the hotel lobby. He told how much money his business was making and how he had come to Hot Springs for a little vacation. For two hours he held forth, then made a luncheon date for the next day and left. Jack, swollen with importance, hurriedly sought out Jimmy to tell him that he had roped a mark who would be good for at least a hundred grand.
“It sounds good to me,” said the Postal Kid. “I believe you have something there.”
The next day, according to schedule, Jack pointed out the Honey Grove Kid to the mark. From here on the con men enacted the entire play backward, with the “mark” taking the part that Jack should have played. The mark took Jack in tow, bet the bank roll in the store, and made the mistake which ruined them. Then the Honey Grove tried to change the bet, but the bookmaker stood pat. Then the Honey Grove came back and began cursing the mark. “You are the bastard who caused my friend and me to lose all this money,” he snarled, “and now I’m going to fix you.” With that he produced a tremendous revolver and shot the mark right in the belly. The mark fell to the floor, groaning and spitting blood all over Jack. The Honey Grove then stepped up and handed the gun to Jack, who dropped it like a hot coal. Befuddled and frightened
half to death, Jack took it on the lam and decided that the big con was not for him.
Con men are always fixing, conniving and finagling. It is in their blood. They are always talking themselves into and out of all kinds of complications. Once Jerry Daley made a little side trip to La Salle, Illinois. To kill time there he dropped in on a beauty contest. There on the platform was a little raven-haired Irish girl who immediately caught his fancy. He began to circulate about the crowd and sound out sentiment for her. She didn’t seem to be very popular. The fact that the odds were against her aroused Jerry’s sporting blood to the extent that he began to buy votes for her. Whenever he encountered opposition, he called into play all his ability as a fixer with excellent success. When all the votes were counted afterward, his little protégée led by an overwhelming number. That night Jerry married her.
On more than one occasion con men have saved their lives with their smooth tongues. One time the Honey Grove Kid was arrested with his partner on a con charge. They were put in jail in a western city in the same cell with a “heavy-gee” who had the name for being bad. For some time the heavy-gee plotted his escape but just as he was poised for flight, news of his break reached the sheriff and he was forced to delay his departure. According to the creed of the heavy-men, all grifters are to be distrusted, so he blamed his two cell-mates for turning stool pigeon. Since the situation called for direct action, he promptly turned on the Honey Grove’s partner, slit his throat, and left him weltering in his gore. Then he moved in on the Honey Grove, who realized that his end was near. However, he began to plead with such convincing sincerity that the heavy-gee paused in his grisly work. Such fluency—an attribute notably lacking in heavy-gees—fascinated him. He listened. The Honey Grove pulled out all the stops and gave himself over wholeheartedly
to oratory. Finally the heavy-gee wiped off his knife and sat down, convinced that he had made a mistake, and spared the perspiring Honey Grove the fate of a stool pigeon.
According to press accounts, the Yellow Kid recently talked the judge into materially reducing a sentence which the court had just meted out. This was not the first time that the Kid has talked himself out of a difficult situation.
When con men go to prison, they naturally exploit their position as fully as they can. They are model prisoners but before they have been there a day they are “shooting the curves” (conniving for privileges). They live off the fat of the land, enjoy a diet of their own choosing, and sometimes manage a business of some sort which makes them a very good profit. One con man of my acquaintance, at the end of a year in a northern prison, had managed to gain control of the commissary and was actually selling and reselling foodstuffs to the state which had imprisoned him.
Perhaps we should make one more point regarding the way con men live. Many of them are superstitious, and there is quite a body of thieves’ folklore which most of them know and many observe with varying degrees of seriousness, though none of them like to admit a belief in anything supernatural. “Con men are superstitious the same as anyone else,” says one grifter. “They are just as superstitious as some mudkickers who believe in any kind of signs. Most all thieves are that way. I was always told that if my left hand itched, I should rub it on the seat of my pants and I’d win at faro-bank. But I tried it out hundreds of times and something always went wrong with the gaff. But when it itched again, I’d always give it a break and try it again. I always think it may work the next time. Then, meeting a cross-eyed mark is bad luck. Professional thieves don’t work on rainy days. I always avoid a harelipped
Bates. Redheaded girls are poison to some thieves. Giving money to a plinger is always good luck. I always spit over my left shoulder when I see a dick, so he won’t shake me down. If your train is late, you’ll get a touch sure. There are many more, but I don’t recall them, as I was never superstitious.”
“What becomes of con men?” I once asked an old-timer.
“They just dry up and blow away,” he answered laconically.
But they don’t. Whatever happens to them during the course of their lives, it is a notable fact that, as their years increase, they remain young in spirit. They do not become “dated” as many men do who are marked indelibly with the characteristics of a particular generation. In attitudes, in dress and manners, in tastes and language, they live always, like theatrical folk, in the present. Their interests do not lag. They do not live in the past; perhaps they prefer not to do so.