King of the Con-Artists
For Sale: The Eiffel Tower...
When it comes to deception and trickery, there was no man better at it than
Victor Lustig. He really was the king of the confidence men. With forty-five
known aliases, the mastery of five different languages, and nearly fifty arrests
in the United States alone, Lustig could swindle even the brightest of marks.
Lustig was born back in 1890 in Czechoslovakia to your basic middle class
background. At the age of nineteen, a man slashed Lustig for paying just a wee
bit too much attention to his girlfriend. This left Lustig with a scar that ran
from the tip of his left eye to the lobe of his left ear. He was an excellent
study in the promising fields of billiards, poker, and bridge and turned to the
life of crime for which he would become infamous.
As a gambler, Lustig took to the seas. The cruises that constantly crossed that
Atlantic were loaded with the rich. And, if rich people abound, then you can be
sure that the crooks are not far behind. It was on one of these cruises at the
beginning of the twentieth century that Lustig met up with professional gamblers
like Nicky Arnstein (who later gained fame for marrying Ziegfeld Follies star
Fanny Brice) and learned the ropes.
World War I put a quick end to all Trans-Atlantic pleasure cruises and Lustig’s
career was brought to an instant halt. He then decided to head for the United
States just as the roaring 20’s was about to unfold. This was the time of the
height of Prohibition and the ever-growing Stock Market. It seemed as if
everyone was getting rich and Lustig was there to take advantage of it.
Con #1
In 1922, Lustig went to Missouri and expressed great interest in a dilapidated
old farm that a bank had repossessed. No one wanted this farm, but Lustig did.
Lustig assumed his most famous of aliases. As “Count” Victor Lustig, he was able
to give some sob story of how his life of nobility in Austria was destroyed when
the country was overthrown as a result of the First World War. He claimed to
have come to America to rebuild his life with what was left of the family
fortune and chose a life of farming.
He offered the bankers $22,000 in Liberty bonds to buy the farm and they gladly
took it. Lustig also convinced them to exchange an additional $10,000 of bonds
for cash so that he would have some operating capital until the farm became
productive. The bankers gladly obliged. They were so excited to be rid of this
worthless farm that they had no idea that the Count had switched envelopes and
made off with both the bonds and the cash.
Lustig made no attempt to hide his escape. The bankers hired a private detective
who captured him in a New York City hotel room. During the long train ride home,
Lustig convinced his captors that if they actually did press charges against
him, there would be a run on the bank by its depositors and the bank would go
belly up. And, Lustig insisted that they should give him $1000 for the
inconvenience that the arrest has caused him. Somehow, Lustig had twisted the
whole story and walked away to freedom with their $1000 in his pocket. (Now that
is one smooth operator…)
Con #2
While in Montreal on other “business”, the Count decided to make a Vermont
banker named Linus Merton a marked man. Lustig arranged to have another thief
pick the Merton’s pocket. Twenty-four hours later, Lustig played the hero and
returned the wallet with all its content intact. This slick move was just to win
the banker’s confidence.
The Count brought Merton in on a scheme that he was using to earn money since
the family’s fortune had been confiscated during the revolution (sound
familiar?). Lustig claimed that his cousin Emil worked at a bookie joint and was
able to intercept the race wires. As a result, Emil could find out the winners
to every horse race several minutes before the local betting windows were
closed. It was a guaranteed win, at least for the first few days. With Merton on
a winning streak, Emil announced that he had been forced to quit his job because
his wife was ill and they had to move ASAP. The pressure was now on for Merton
to make one last bet. Of course, he placed it and lost. Lustig took the banker
for $30,000.
Con #3
Ah! The con that would live in infamy.
In May of 1925, Lustig traveled to Paris with Dapper Dan Collins, another
confidence man. While reading the newspaper one afternoon, Lustig noticed a
small article in the paper that claimed that the Eiffel Tower was in great need
of repair. The cost of the repair job was very prohibitive and there was a brief
comment that the government was actually exploring the idea that it might be
cheaper to rip it down than to repair it.
Ding!
A bell went off in Lustig’s head. He decided that he would be the one to sell
the rights to tear down the tower. First, he had a counterfeiter create official
government stationary and personally “appointed” himself to the official
position of Deputy Director General of the Ministère de Postes et Télégraphes.
Then, letters were sent on the official letterhead to five different scrap iron
dealers. The letters were purposely vague and simply invited them to his hotel
suite to discuss a possible government contract.
After entertaining these men for a bit at the hotel, Lustig made the surprise
announcement that the government was indeed scrapping the Eiffel Tower. He noted
that the tower had been built in 1889 and was never intended to be a permanent
structure. He was careful to stress that this was a very controversial decision
on the government’s part, so the men had to keep quiet regarding the tower’s
demise or risk public outcry.
Four days later, all of the dealers submitted their bids. But, Lustig really
didn’t care who offered the highest bid, only who was the best mark. The Count
had already chosen a man named André Poisson as the lucky victim. Lustig
informed Poisson that he was the winner, but hinted that there was still a bit
of a problem. He described the life of a public servant, one in which they were
expected to dress and entertain on a lavish scale, yet were paid a small
pittance. Poisson quickly realized that Lustig was asking for a bribe and
reached in his pocket and peeled off a few large bills from his pocket to secure
the deal. Lustig took the bribe and gladly accepted Poisson’s rather handsome
offer for the tower.
After the scheme was complete, Lustig and Dapper Dan quickly drove off to the
haven of Austria. They made no attempt to hide themselves and lived the life of
luxury at Poisson’s expense. Each day, Lustig checked the Paris newspapers for
news of the rip-off. But it was to never happen. Lustig concluded that Poisson
was too embarrassed for falling into Lustig’s trap and had decided to eat his
loss. Lustig knew he was in the clear and headed back to Paris and pulled the
same exact scam with five different scrap iron dealers.
Yes, you read it right. Lustig sold the Eiffel Tower a second time! But Lustig
wasn’t as lucky this time. His mark went to the police and the story exploded in
the press. Lustig was forced to leave Europe and head back to the United States.
There would be no third sale of the tower.
Cons #4 and 5
Lustig is well known for one other interesting con. Lustig did not originate the
idea, but he perfected it. Known as the Rumanian Box, Lustig had a cabinetmaker
in New York City make a handsome mahogany box on an as need basis. Each box
measured approximately 12 inches square with a narrow slot cut in either end.
One side of the box featured a series of highly polished brass knobs and dials.
In 1926, Lustig headed for Palm Beach, Florida and spotted a man named Herman
Loller. Loller had earned his fortune making transmission flywheels for the
automobile industry, but his business had started to decline as the big car
manufacturers forced the little guys out. Loller was looking for a quick way to
sustain his fortune and he stepped right into Lustig’s trap.
The Count did his usual royalty-to-poverty routine and hinted that he had come
up with a great way to get rich. Of course, Loller was now hooked and inquired
as to how Lustig did it. Lustig then pulled out his mahogany box and said that
it was a money-duplicating machine. Lustig assured him that this was not
counterfeiting and that all banks would accept them.
Lustig inserted a $1,000 bill in one end and piece of high-rag-content white
paper in the other. He then turned the cranks and knobs and both the bill and
paper were sucked in. Lustig explained that the bill had to soak in the secret
chemical bath for exactly six hours for all of the images to transfer properly.
Exactly, six hours later, the two men returned and Lustig turned the knobs to
have the box spit out two identical bills. Lustig had Loller take both bills to
a local bank and it was confirmed that they were both real. And they were real.
Lustig had previously concealed a second bill in the box with the serial numbers
carefully altered so that they matched.
Loller paid the Count $25,000 (about $240,000 in today’s money) for the machine,
which was supposedly the only one in existence (yeah, right!). Lustig figured
that he had exactly six hours to get out of town before his scam was unfolded,
but when Loller failed to produce a bill on the first try, he kept trying for
weeks on the assumption that he was doing wrong.
Later on, Lustig made his way to Oklahoma where he was arrested on non-related
fraud charges. Once again, he pulled out his magic box and convinced the sheriff
(and county treasurer) that he could have the machine in exchange for $10,000
and his freedom (claiming that Lustig had escaped). It was a deal that the
sheriff couldn’t refuse. Approximately eight months later, the sheriff caught up
with Lustig in Chicago and pointed a gun at the Count’s face. Once again, Lustig
talked his way out of this predicament by explaining that the sheriff did not
follow the proper sequence of turning the knobs. Lustig then returned the
$10,000. The sheriff was later arrested down on Bourbon Street for passing
counterfeit $100 bills and sentenced to federal prison in Lewisburg,
Pennsylvania.
The End of a Career
Now, I am sure that you have realized that I could go on and on. Lustig pulled
many other amazing cons during his lifetime. But all lives of crime eventually
come to an end, and Lustig was no exception.
In 1934, the Secret Service put together a special squad to find out who was
flooding the United States with counterfeit bills. They believed that the
counterfeiter was a man named William Watts. Watts, a former pharmacist, started
counterfeiting whisky labels during prohibition and later dabbled in the
production of currency. But the government had no clue where to find Watts. His
only known contact was a man named, you guessed it, Count Victor Lustig.
After a lengthy stakeout, Lustig was arrested and confirmed that Watts had made
the plates, but claimed that he had absolutely nothing to do with it. Yet,
Lustig had a key on him that opened a locker in Times Square. In the locker, the
agents found a set of plates and $51,000 in phony currency. Lustig was arraigned
and sent to the Federal House of Detention in New York City. Almost immediately,
the supply of counterfeit notes began to dry up.
The police finally nailed the Count. Or, at least they thought that they had.
Lustig escaped from prison the day before his trial. This was not an easy thing
to do, since the prison was considered basically escape-proof. (Lustig quickly
proved them wrong.)
His escape was actually quite ingenious. When first placed in the prison, Lustig
noticed that when the attendants brought clean bed sheets to the cells, they
would simply ask how many beds were occupied and hand over the required number.
When they came around to collect the soiled linens, they never counted how many
were returned. This set Lustig’s plan into motion. A couple of weeks before his
escape, Lustig simply added one to the number of occupied cots and accumulated
nine sheets that he stored in a slit in his mattress. At night, while all of the
other prisoners were listening to a radio show, Lustig tore the sheets into long
strips and fashioned a crude rope.
As part of their daily routine, the prisoners were taken to the prison roof at
noon for exercise. On the day of his escape, Lustig claimed that he was ill and
stayed behind. When he was confident that all eyes were off of him, he went down
the hall to the washroom and cut through the wire screening with a pair of wire
cutters. (It’s amazing what prisoners can get their hands on in jail.) He then
securely fastened his rope to the third floor window and stepped outside on to a
six inch ledge. Lustig then proceeded to vigorously clean the windows with his
white cloth. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the cleaning rag extended out
into a long rope and Lustig rapidly lowered himself to the street below. Many
thought that the Count had fallen from the ledge, but he quickly bounced to his
feet, took a bow, and then disappeared into the city.
The Count was recaptured twenty-seven days later in the city of Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania. On December 5, 1935, he stood trial for his crimes. The star
witness for the prosecution was the recently captured William Watts, who
recounted every detail of the counterfeiting scheme. In the middle of the trial,
Lustig interrupted the proceedings and mumbled a guilty plea. Both Lustig and
Watts were sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Lustig, however, received and
additional five years for his escape and was sent to Alcatraz to serve out his
sentence. On March 9, 1947, Lustig contracted pneumonia and died thirty-six
hours later at the age of fifty-seven years. His death certificate listed his
occupation as a salesman.