Yellow Kid" Weil

I didn’t go to the north woods after I left Parker. I came back to Chicago, feeling pretty sure it would never occur to him that he had been swindled. I assume he eventually did find it out, but he never complained.

In Chicago I met a wealthy woman whom I shall call Mrs. O’Keefe. She owned some copper-mining property in Arizona and I persuaded her she needed a famous mining engineer to manage it. She hired me and I made a trip to Arizona at her expense. I engaged Buckminster as my assistant and put him on the expense account.

We visited the mine and learned it was valuable, though not being worked. We lingered in Arizona and enjoyed a nice vacation before returning to Chicago.

Mrs. O’Keefe was not interested in opening the mine, but she did want to sell it. I suggested that foreign interests probably would give her a much better price than she could get in this country.

Germany was not actually at war, though Hitler had begun his bloodless conquests. I proposed to Mrs. O’Keefe that I go to Berlin where I had connections in the Reichsbank and try to make a deal for her mining property.

It was logical that Mrs. O’Keefe should fall for this story. Hitler, on the verge of war, would need all the copper he could get. I persuaded Mrs. O’Keefe he would pay a much higher price than she could get at home. Another case where greed overruled patriotism.

I sailed for Berlin on what was to be my last trip abroad. I had a handsome expense account and full authority to sell the mine to Hitler if we could come to terms.

I had no desire to meet the Fuehrer or to sell him the mine. But I made a good pretense. Shortly after my arrival I cabled Mrs. O’Keefe that negotiations were under way. Berlin was not the gay city it had been on my last previous visit.

At the Chancellery I made a formal request in writing for an interview with Adolph Hitler. This was denied, also in writing - and on the stationery of the German government. At the Reichsbank I made an inquiry and received a reply on Reichsbank stationery.

That was all I wanted. I now had samples of Hitler’s stationery and that of the Reichsbank. I would need these when I got back to the United States.

Then I went to London, where war clouds were also gathering. But the atmosphere was different. It was still possible to be gay. I visited some of my old haunts and spent several weeks in old Bond Street replenishing my wardrobe.

In London there was hopeful talk of peace. However, my visit to Berlin had convinced me it was only a matter of time until war would come. I had no desire to be in Europe when that happened.

Before returning to Chicago I had the two German letterheads copied. On these I forged letters from Hitler and from the Reichsbank. Both professed great interest in the mining property but explained that negotiations had been delayed because of certain legal technicalities.

I showed these to Mrs. O’Keefe and she was satisfied with the progress I had made. But she had not sold the property and insisted I return to Berlin and continue negotiations. I declined to do this, and she cut off my expense account.

I realized there was danger she would discover that the documents had been forged. I decided to get out of Chicago until things had blown over. I went to Washington and registered at the Hotel Mayflower.

At the Mayflower I met John Harris. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was marking time. Harris invited me to New York. He said he knew a woman who was a close friend of a famous cosmetics manufacturer. She held open house every day and there were ample opportunities to meet people of wealth.

I went to New York and registered at the Barbizon-Plaza. Harris registered at the Clermont. Already waiting at the Clermont was a con man named Dick Hartley. He joined us when we went to call on Mrs. Richards, the lady who held open house.

We met both wealthy people and government officials. Still I decided it was not a good place for me. Mrs. O’Keefe had learned my true identity and had complained to federal authorities, who had a warrant for my arrest. I decided the Barbizon-Plaza was as good a place as any to hide.

One night Harris and Hartley had a little party in their rooms. I thought it was to be a small gathering and accepted their invitation. As it turned out, however, there were many people there, including a high-ranking Army officer. I was introduced as Dr. Henri Reuel.

Harris and Hartley became drunk and so did several of the guests. When the desk called and said there were a number of complaints about the noise I decided it was time to go.

I remained in New York and did not see Harris and Hartley again. Two months later they were arrested for using the mails to defraud after selling some oil lands in Texas. The Army officer remembered me and reported to the authorities. After my identity was established it was immediately assumed I had been in the scheme with Harris and Hartley.

I was arrested by postal inspectors. When I protested my innocence they brought up the O’Keefe matter. They offered to try to quash that indictment if I would plead guilty in the mail fraud case. I accepted this deal with the understanding that my sentence would be light.

But the United States District Attorney asked Judge Clancy in Federal Court to fix my sentence at four years. In my own defense, I pointed out to Judge Clancy that the fact that I had been in that hotel room did not prove I had been a party to the mail-fraud scheme.

“All right,” he mused. “You ask for a year, the government asks for four. I’ll make it two.”

That was early in 1940. I was sent to Atlanta, which is perhaps the finest of all federal prisons. I was assigned to do book work in the laundry, a job which had definite advantages. I did not have to dress in the usual prison denim, could have a clean white shirt every day, and the use of a private bath.

In Atlanta every inmate had an opportunity to learn a trade and to rehabilitate himself. The men in charge of the various activities were kind and willing to help anyone who had a desire to learn.

Most of those in the laundry took courses in modern laundry methods and in dry cleaning. They had regular examinations, as they would in any school. It was my job to grade the papers. Some were eager to get high marks and even offered bribes. I always rejected these offers.

There was one course, however, where the inmates did not intend to follow the trade when they got out. That was acetylene welding. Nearly every convict who took that training had one object in mind. He expected to become a better safe-cracker when he got out.

Atlanta offered practically every form of recreational activity. Its stadium compared with the best college athletic fields. All sports were available except golf. Every convict who was engaged in one of the rehabilitation activities was given two hours a day to engage in sports or be a spectator.

Lights went out every night at nine, but if there was something special on the radio, such as a championship boxing match, the radio was left on until later.

The cell blocks were four tiers high, but they were not known as cells in Atlanta. Each block had accommodations for eight inmates and each unit was known as “living quarters.”

When I was released from Atlanta in 1942 I was taken into custody and returned to Chicago to face charges in the O’Keefe case. Buckminster had already been tried and been acquitted. My appearance was only a formality. The case was dropped and I was released.

Since that time nobody has charged me with a crime. For a very good reason. After my term in Atlanta I resolved that I would never again be involved in anything that might send me to prison.

I have lived in Chicago since then and it has been a great relief to be able to walk the streets freely, to enter any public place I choose, and to look any policeman in the eye.