Yellow Kid" Weil

Peddling fake stock was by far the most profitable of my schemes. It was easy for me to tell this story with conviction. It had worked well over a period of twenty years.

Other swindles soon became known or were good only in certain localities, but the stock scheme was good anywhere and at any time. And there were a far greater number of people who could be taken in by it. Until the market crash of October, 1929, nearly everybody believed there were big fortunes to be made in stock. Consequently many folks who ordinarily would not have dealt in stocks were easy victims of my schemes.

My stock story was basically the same for more than twenty years and became somewhat trite. However each victim was different, and the situations varied. As the years passed, many improvements were made in the modus operandi. Strangely enough, the victims themselves made suggestions that helped me to improve the scheme.

For example, Bobby Sims, heir to a soap fortune in Cincinnati, called my attention to an article in McClure’s, then one of the nation’s leading monthlies. The article, titled “$100,000 A Year,” was written by Edward Mott Woolley and was the success story of a mining engineer named Pope Yateman who had taken over an almost worthless mine in Chile and made it pay, though he had been compelled to pipe water for more than a hundred miles.

I bought as many copies of that magazine as I could find and fetched them to Chicago. At the first opportunity I took them to Jack Jones, operator of the Dill Pickle Club.

Jones was noted principally for his operation of the Dill Pickle, and only a few knew of his real activities. These were carried on in the daytime when the club was closed. Jones had a well-equipped printing and bookbinding plant in the same building.

Jones employed linotype operators, printers, binders, and one engraver. Their specialty was first editions of famous books. They used their various skills in turning out almost perfect copies of such rarities. The engraver, whom I knew only as Hymie, was an old-time handengraver who could copy anything from fifteenth century bookplates to Uncle Sam’s currency. He had a secret process for giving the books the appearance of age.

Jones put the volumes, with their yellowed pages, into circulation through underworld channels. For books that had cost him about a dollar to produce he received twenty-five dollars. So far as I know this was the only fraud that Jones ever engaged in.

But Hymie was more versatile. In his spare time at night, while Jones was busy at the Dill Pickle Club, Hymie turned his talent to engravings of United States currency. He turned out some pretty good counterfeits. I had heard of this and went to see him.

He agreed to do all my printing and engraving. He made fake letterheads, stock certificates, letters of credit, calling cards, and any other documents I needed.

Now, I had a special job for him. I asked him to remove the entire article from McClure’s, substitute my picture for Pope Yateman’s, reprint the whole thing, and bind it back in the proper place. He took the job. He made a cut that showed me as the famous mining engineer, copied the rest of the article, printed the requisite pages and rebound the magazine. Even an expert would not have known the magazine wasn’t exactly as it had been published.

These magazines were destined to play a big part in my future activities. Who could resist the advice of the $100,000 -a-year mining wizard who had taken copper from a worthless mine in Chile? It was all down there in black and white in a highly respected magazine. Many a victim was misled by it.

I was never so crude as to call anybody’s attention to the magazine. I selected most of my victims from small towns, outside of Chicago. As soon as I had picked out the victim, I sent on a couple of men with a copy of the faked magazine. These men called at the town’s public library and asked for the file of McClure’s.

It was easy enough to borrow the bound volume from the library. They took it to their hotel room, removed the issue containing the Pope Yateman story and substituted the one containing my faked photograph. Then the volume was returned to the library.

Later on I started my negotiations with the victim. Chances were he had never heard of Pope Yateman. After some preliminary talks I would mention that I had other matters to attend to and left the victim in the hands of Deacon Buckminster, who had been introduced as my secretary, Mr. Kimball.

“No, I don’t,” Buck would say. “But I’m sure you can find it in the public library if you’re interested.”

Naturally the victim was interested. As soon as he had read this success story and had seen my picture in a magazine on file in the library of his own town he had no doubts at all about my identity. More important, he had new respect for my business acumen. From then on he was an easy victim.

As soon as we had made certain he had read the magazine, my stooges called again at the public library and used their sleight-of-hand to remove the faked magazines and return the original. You can imagine the victim’s amazement, after being swindled, to go to the library and look up that article only to find that the picture did not resemble me at all!

A variation of this scheme I used later when Franz von Papen became German ambassador to the United States. I purchased 200 copies of a Sunday issue of the Washington Post. They were turned over to Hymie with an article I had written, a photograph of von Papen, and photographs of Buckminster and myself. Hymie had to duplicate the first and last sheets of the main news section in order to get the article in.

He killed three columns of news matter on the front page and substituted the article I had written. Prominently displayed was the picture of von Papen, flanked on one side by Buckminster and on the other by me. The article told of the two plenipotentiaries who had accompanied von Papen to America. Their mission was to purchase industrial and mining property for German capitalists and for the German government. It was an impressive story and layout, occupying the best space in the paper.

I always carried a copy of this paper in my bag. If I had a victim in tow, I would always manage, while removing something from the handbag, to let the paper fall out. The victim would see the spread and would be properly impressed.

“I’m sorry,” I would reply, “but this is the only copy I have with me. But I shall be happy to send you a copy as soon as I get back to Washington.”

The reason for this procedure was that I made it a rule never to let any documentary evidence get out of my hands. Though I displayed thousands of fake letters, documents, stock certificates, etc., to prospective victims, I was always careful to recover them.

On one occasion when a copy of McClure’s was used against me, I had been charged with fleecing a man in Indiana. I paid a lawyer to get the case fixed. He asked me to let him have a copy of the magazine and I did. It later got into the hands of the state’s attorney, who used it for the prosecution.

The state brought the librarian from Indiana to testify that the magazine was a fake. When he had examined it, he was asked:

“I can’t say about that either,” the librarian responded. “I just can’t tell whether it is faked or genuine.”

If a professional librarian, who was supposed to know books and magazines, couldn’t tell the difference, how could a victim be expected to spot it as a fake? None of them did. The magazines were used as props in many swindles and nobody questioned their authenticity.

As the years passed and we gained experience in the stock swindle other props were added. These included fake letters from J. P. Morgan, Walter C. Teagle, and numerous other big figures in the financial world.

The stationery we used for these fakes looked genuine. I always saw to that. First I obtained a letterhead, and Hymie copied it. I had little trouble getting these letterheads. I merely wrote to the firm and asked about a man allegedly in their employ. The name I gave was fictitious, but the firm always wrote back to say that there was no record of the person I had inquired about. This gave me both a letterhead and envelope. Envelopes became important, particularly from foreign countries. I solved the problem of making the foreign envelopes look genuine, too.

I bought a supply of postage stamps of various foreign countries at a stamp store in Chicago. By writing letters of inquiry to hotels or firms in large cities all over the world I had a sample not only of their stationery but a specimen postmark as well. I had postmarking outfits made for all the larger cities of the world. They had loose dates that could be changed at will. Any time I wanted a letter from a foreign city all I had to do was write it, put it in the proper envelope, and postmark it.

At various times during the years from 1914 until the end of my career as a con man, I posed as Dr. Henri Reuel, a famous mining engineer and author. In 1931, Dr. Reuel published some excellent books. One of these was Our Sons, a behind-the-scenes story of the beginning of the first World War.

Another was Oil Imperialism, whose sub-title was “The Causes of the World’s War.” A third was The Romantic Lure and Lore of Copper, which related stories of great copper - mining ventures, particularly those of the Far West. One chapter dealt in detail with the Law of the Apex and related how Augustus Heintz had used the Law of the Apex to squeeze $25,000,000 out of the Morgan-Standard Oil interests.

The contents of these books furnished excellent material for my build-up on the stock scheme. I referred to various portions of these books in conversations with prospective victims, slanting my talk according to the character of the victim. Many of these were wealthy Germans who were ready to listen to any plausible story about the World War.

I decided that as long as I was using Dr. Reuel’s material and name I might as well become the author of his books too. I had a photograph made of myself in formal attire, clean-shaven except for a mustache.

Hymie made a cut of this picture and printed it on heavy enamel paper. He very skillfully inserted it in the front of each book, opposite the title page. This appeared to be the frontispiece and was titled “Dr. Henri Reuel.” If the occasion was right I let the victim see a copy of one of the books. He could not tell that the frontispiece was faked, and as a rule no more build-up was needed to convince him.

Nearly all the victims wanted copies of the books. I side-stepped that by saying I had no other copies with me but that I would mail autographed volumes as soon as I returned home.

These are excellent books, well written, well printed, and well bound. They may be found today in many public libraries, though, of course, my picture doesn’t appear in those in the libraries. I still have copies in excellent condition. They were among my most valuable props and helped me to sell many thousand dollars worth of fake mining stocks.

Props played a big part in my success in selling fake stocks. For a long time we had a brokerage house. We usually heard of a brokerage house that was moving or going out of business and rented the quarters completely furnished.

With the furnishings in, all we had to do was hire a few girls to look busy. Generally they were students from a business college who needed typing practice so they copied names from the telephone directories. The victims did not know what the girls were doing and were impressed by their activity.

I have already recounted our St. Louis project, but one of the most impressive layouts I ever used was in Muncie, Indiana. I learned that the Merchants National Bank had moved to new quarters. I rented the old building, which was complete with all the necessary furnishings and fixtures for a banking venture.

For a week before I was ready to take my victim in, I had my stooges call at the new Merchants Bank. Each time they went in they secretly carried away a small quantity of deposit slips, counter checks, savings withdrawal slips, and other forms used by the bank. In that manner we acquired an ample supply to spread over our counters.

I bought as many money bags as I could find, but couldn’t get enough. So I had the name of the bank stenciled on fifty salt bags. The bags were all filled with shiny steel washers about the size of half dollars and tied at the top. The money bags, together with large stacks of boodle and some genuine silver, were stacked in the cages of the paying and receiving tellers. All the cages were manned by stooges.

When I brought the victim in and asked to see the president of the bank we were told we would have to wait. We waited an hour during which the place bustled with activity.

People would come in to patronize the bank. Most of these were girls from the local bawdy houses, interspersed with denizens of the underworld - gamblers, thugs, touts. There was a steady stream, and the bank appeared to be thriving. Occasionally a uniformed messenger came in with a money bag. These messengers were streetcar conductors off duty. They wore their regular uniforms but left the badges off their caps.

The victim never suspected a thing. Fully convinced that he was in a big active bank, he went into the stock deal with me and ultimately lost $50,000.

I have often thought about banks and the confidence which people have in the very word. Not so long ago anybody could start a bank. The main things needed were the right props. Perhaps the most important of these was a big sign outside. If it said “BANK,” great numbers of people who knew nothing at all about the operators would entrust their funds to the institution. The big sign and the cages inside quieted any fears they might have had as to the authenticity of the institution.

Leach and Company was a large brokerage house in Youngstown, Ohio. It had a national reputation. I could not hope to take my victim in there and transact business. But I thought of something even better.

Nearby was a bank, one of the largest in Ohio. One day I went in and asked to see the president. I was shown into his private office, a spacious room with a high, panelled ceiling and expensive mahogany furnishings. The pile of the rug was so deep you sank into it almost to your ankles.

I told the president I had come to Youngstown to purchase one of the steel mills. (I rather favored the Youngstown Sheet and Tube Company.) I asked his advice, and he said he thought I couldn’t go wrong.

“I certainly shall.” Of course, a big firm like the Youngstown Sheet and Tube Company has enormous bank dealings. “But,” I continued, “there will be considerable negotiations. It may take some time.”

“By the way,” I said, “do you happen to have a spare office here in the bank where I might carry on our negotiations? Any room not in use will do.”

“I have an excellent place,” he replied. “My own office. Any time you want to hold a conference, bring your people in here. I’ll get out and you can have complete privacy.”

“That is very kind of you,” I said. “I’ll probably take advantage of your offer within the next two or three days.”

Two days later, when I had brought my victim to Youngstown, I called the bank president and asked for the use of his office at 10 a.m. He assured me that it would be available and unoccupied.

I told my victim that we were going to see Mr. Leach, the owner of Leach and Company, who was interested in buying the stock. When we entered the big office of Leach and Company, I addressed a man in shirt sleeves who stood near one of the counters. (He was my stooge, planted there for the purpose.)

“Well, he owns this place, but you won’t find him here,” said the stooge. “See that big bank across the street?”

By this time my victim was pretty much impressed. Mr. Leach, he decided, was indeed a big man. We went across the street and entered the bank. Near the door a well-dressed man without hat or topcoat walked idly about. He was another stooge.

“We certainly do,” the stooge replied. “He’s president of the bank. That’s his office over there.” He pointed across the room to the door marked PRESIDENT. “There’s Mr. Leach now, going towards his office.”

The man walking across the floor was Jimmy Head. He was well dressed and had a dignified bearing. It required no imagination to believe he was a bank president. We hurried across the room and caught up with him just as he reached the office door.

“I’m Dr. Weed - Dr. Walter H. Weed. I’ve come to talk to you about some mining stock I believe you’re interested in.”

“Ah, yes, Dr. Weed. I’ve heard a great deal about you. Won’t you step into my office where we can talk in private?”

Jimmy Head had never before seen the inside of this office. But he went and sat down at the broad desk of the bank president as though he had grown up in these surroundings.

We began to discuss the stock deal and remained in the office for about half an hour. Nobody bothered us. By the time we were ready to go, the victim was firmly convinced he was dealing with the biggest banker in Youngstown. Head shook hands with us and saw us to the door. He, too, left as soon as we were out of sight.

The success of my schemes was due largely to the build-up. No matter what difficulties we encountered later, the victim’s resistance had already been broken down. He was thoroughly convinced of my authenticity at the beginning and did not stop later to check on any questionable developments.

In some cases the build-up was so convincing that nothing could shake the victim’s confidence in me. I remember the case of a German watch manufacturer named Schmaltz. Buckminster and I approached him with an offer to buy the watchworks, located outside Chicago, for the German government.

We carried on negotiations for several days. There was the usual delay while we heard from Berlin. Meanwhile we switched Schmaltz’s interest to the mining-stock deal. We brought him into Chicago and took him into the large LaSalle Street brokerage house of Hamill and Company.

A stooge in shirt sleeves was waiting for us near one of the counters. When we asked to see Mr. Hamill, he said: “Why, he doesn’t come in here. He’s got private offices on the sixteenth floor.”

So we led Schmaltz to the sixteenth floor of the building. It happened that few offices had been rented on this floor and we had been able to get a large one at the end of the hall. This bore a sign:

MR. HAMILL - PRIVATE.

But to make it more impressive we had it appear that Mr. Hamill’s office was flanked by many others. On the doors of vacant offices on both sides of the corridor we had hung signs that read: EXPORT DEPARTMENT, FOREIGN EXCHANGE, BOND DEPARTMENT, and so on.

In the office at the end of the hall, Jimmy Head, posing as Mr. Hamill, waited for us. He agreed to buy our stock at a big profit. He paused a couple of times in the conversation to make long distance calls to New York over a dead phone.

Schmaltz not only was impressed; he was enthusiastic and pleaded with us to let him buy some of the stock so that he could get in on the profits. With apparent reluctance, we finally agreed to let him in on the deal if he could raise $50,000 in cash. He readily accepted those terms.

Buckminster accompanied him to his home-town bank while I remained behind. When Schmaltz presented the check for $50,000 at the bank, the teller hesitated and called the cashier.

“It is my duty to warn you that a gang of confidence men are operating in the vicinity. A couple of months ago they fleeced a doctor in Kankakee of $25,000.” He eyed the German, who was just as stubborn as ever. “But if you insist-”

Schmaltz still did not question us. He was furious at the bank and vowed that he would take his account elsewhere. Our build-up had been so powerful that he was willing to take sides with us - strangers - against a banker he had known for years.

After we had fleeced him of his money and quietly disappeared, Schmaltz probably had more respect for the banker’s judgment. But he was stubborn enough to take his medicine. He never made a beef to the law.

There was one man though who wasn’t willing to take it. He was Willis, the president of a large bank in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Buck and I approached him as “representatives of the German government” and told him that we were interested in buying a factory.

“We’ve looked at two sites,” I said. “One is the wagon works at Auburn and the other the glass works at Hartford. We were told that you are interested in both of these plants.”

We discussed the details for some time, letting hints drop that we would not hesitate because of price. This was music to Banker Willis’ ears. While we had been talking, his brain had been racing with a plan calculated to give us a real, old-fashioned shellacking.

“I’d like to take you over to Hartford and show you that factory,” he said. “But I have to make a trip to New York and I’m afraid I can’t put it off. Could you gentlemen come back in a week?”

Buck and I knew that this was a stall, but we readily agreed. “We have some business in Chicago, anyhow,” I returned. “We can come back. But I trust you won’t sell to anyone else until we’ve had an opportunity to look into the proposition.”

We waited ten days before we went back to Fort Wayne. We wanted to give the banker plenty of time. We had an idea what he was up to. We knew more about the glass works than the banker thought we did; that it hadn’t been in operation for a long time, that it was practically abandoned and partly dismantled, that it was considered a lemon.

When we called on the banker again, he was extremely cordial. He drove us to Hartford, meanwhile telling us what a wonderful buy the factory would be.

We let him think that he was making a big impression. We gave him rapt attention. When we reached the plant it was much different from when we had seen it two weeks before. Part of it had been freshly painted. Signs of decay had been removed and smoke belched from its chimneys. He led us inside and showed us a busy aggregation of workers making glass.

We were all set to buy the plant before we returned to Fort Wayne. We agreed to pay $1,500,000 for it, about four times what it was worth. But, of course, there was the usual delay. We must contact Berlin and get the final approval of our principals. This, I explained, might take ten days or two weeks. That was all right with Banker Willis.

Meanwhile we continued to see him every day. One day I broached the subject of mining stocks. He was interested at once. I finally arranged for him to go with me to Chicago, where an expensive suite in the Sherman Hotel had been reserved. Jimmy Head had rented a brokerage office on LaSalle Street. I let Willis accompany me on several trips while I cleaned up on mining stocks. He was particularly impressed when I took the stock - which I had purchased for ten cents a share - and collected two dollars a share for it at the brokerage house.

I took him along on several small deals and finally on a Saturday afternoon, decided he was ripe. The block of stock we wanted would cost $200,000. I didn’t have that much money and Willis pleaded with me to let him in on the good thing. I finally relented, and he agreed to raise $143,000. Since the banks were all closed and he couldn’t get the money transferred, he drove to Fort Wayne to get the cash out of the vault of his own bank.

Later when he discovered that he had been swindled, he made a loud beef to the police. The fact that he had planned to swindle us on the factory deal made no difference. He had a hard time getting evidence, but he left no stone unturned. He found another man who had been a victim, and between their testimonies I was convicted.

In general, though, my “customers” seldom complained. They preferred to take their losses rather than let the world know that they had been so gullible.