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AGRASPING nature is a serious blemish that many men of standing and respectability unfortunately possess. The temptation to take a chance in a seemingly innocent lottery is one that can scarcely be resisted by people with the failing mentioned, and therefore the names of authors, politicians, divines, and even famous generals of America and Europe are to be found on the list of those who have been fleeced by confidence and banco operators. It is an innate desire on the part of the stranger to beat the sharper at his own game that leads the former on to his ruin. The accomplished operator hunts his dupe among those of high life, while an inferior set of these criminals select the ignorant and especially the gullible countryman for their victims. While the rustic may be a trifle suspicious in his dealings with thieves, men of culture and long experience, on the other hand, are easily taken in by the glibtongued, nattily dressed young man, who shakes hands with them effusively on the street corners. The leading confidence and banco operators are an industrious set. They are also men of education, possessed of plenty of assurance, gifted with a good knowledge of human nature and a fair amount of ingenuity. The few who are proficient in all these attainments find no difficulty in helping themselves to other people’s money.
Their form of roguery has been said to be the safest, pleasantest, and most amusing way for a shrewd thief to make his living. There certainly must be a strange fascination about these methods of swindling, for in the ranks of the sharpers has been discovered an ex-Governor and many others, who have at one time figured in good society. These nefarious professions are divided up into specialties. Some ply their vocation in the vicinity of hotels and railroad depots, and others along the river front, particular attention being paid to steamers about departing for Europe. Of all the different types of rogues a successful confidence or banco man is the most accomplished; they are really criminal callings that an unpolished man cannot attempt to follow. The success of the confidence game entirely depends upon the skill with which it is played, and in the selection of a victim all the powers of penetration of the cunning operator are brought into play. Few of the gangs of these men exceed four in number, and the majority of them do not exceed three. The operators are very careful in their personal appearance, and avoid anything remarkable in their dress, and endeavor to attain an easy respectability in effect, rather than the assumption of a man of fashion. Professional confidence men have more than once declared that a tinge of gray in their side whiskers would be a great advantage to them, and a bald head a fortune. The man who loiters about the offices and corridors of the principal hotels awaiting his prey, appears as the best-natured person in the world. He is invariably to be found with a smile on his face, and in moving out of the way of the guests and porters passing to and fro, politely bows at every turn. Eagerly he scans the freshly written name in the register, and when that has been secured he awaits the chance to practice his threadbare tricks upon the new arrival. He greets the latter in the street and in a few minutes gains his confidence. Then at a preconcerted signal a confederate appears upon the scene, who is either collecting or anxious to settle a bill. The first confidence man will then ask his newly-made friend to advance him the sum demanded for a few minutes, or else favor him for cash in lieu of a check. In ninety-nine out of every one hundred cases the stranger is anxious and happy to accommodate the confidence man. The money is handed over to the second operator and he quickly vanishes. Not long afterwards the affable hand-shaker disappears, and then the stranger discovers that the check he cashed is worthless, or that the money he loaned has gone forever. Those who operate on the river fronts or at railroad depots are invariably in search of a man to take charge of their stock farm, etc.; the method of obtaining the victim’s money varies as the circumstances require. These are a few of the numerous ways that the confidence man has of defrauding his victims. Their varied schemes have been exposed by the newspapers, and it seems strange that these men on that account should be able at all to eke out a livelihood. But it must be admitted that they do, and a good one too, and these rogues have been often heard to boast that a fool is born every minute, and that they are able to find more subjects than they can safely operate upon. A veteran confidence man who died recently in an Eastern prison, was credited with having made during his long career of swindling over a million dollars. His wonderful cheek and coolness may be best illustrated by the mention of the manner in which he twice succeeded in robbing the same man. Early in his criminal life the confidence man realized $30,000 upon some worthless notes which he induced a wealthy and casual acquaintance to cash. Thirty years later the sharper returned in the rôle of a penitent, and promised to make restitution to his old victim for his past misdeeds. So well did he manage to gain the confidence of his old friend anew, that in the course of a few days he again borrowed $3,000 on another set of worthless notes.
It is in an out-of-the-way street that the banco men have the rooms where they practice their nefarious tricks. They generally hire a furnished apartment on a lower floor, and in nearly all cases there is no question as to the nature of the business they intend to carry on in the place. The payment of a week’s rent in advance seems to satisfy the average landlord, and for the first week, at least, everything is all right. Probably the operators will only occupy the room for a day or two, having in the meantime managed to fleece some one. When a suitable apartment and location has been secured the criminals are ready for business. The hand-shaker then sallies forth, and at the first opportunity grasps a prosperous looking stranger by the hand and exclaims: “Well, Mr. Brown, how are all my friends in Greenville?" The stranger, surprised with the good nature and unexpected friendliness of the reception, invariably responds: “You’ve made a mistake, sir. I’m Mr. Jones, of Austin, Texas.’’ Then the roper-in apologize, hurries off and reports to the steerer, who pulls a book out of his pocket and hunts up Austin. The book is what is known as a bank-note reporter, and gives a complete list of all the banks in the country. From the list the banco man finds that Mr. Thomas is the president of the Austin bank, and that Messrs. Black and White are among its directors. Then he follows Mr. Jones, accosts him in the street, shakes hands with him, calls him by name, and saying he is Mr. Thomas’s nephew, asks about the health of the Blacks, Whites and other prominent people. The stranger is flattered by the attentions of the bank president’s stylish nephew, and it does not take long to decoy him into the room where the boss banco man is waiting to play his part. There are desks and maps in the apartment which, to all appearances, is the office of some commercial concern. The dupe is lured to the banco men’s shop by the usual story about a book or a painting drawn in a lottery, then the cash prize and the rest of it. The stranger usually bites in a few minutes; he is anxious to get $500 for $100; puts down his wad of bills, and the operators capture it, and he walks out in a brown study, not knowing exactly how he was done up, but quite sure he has been swindled. The banco men leave their office a minute or two after. The victim does not complain to the police, because he is ashamed to tell how green he was, and fears that if he makes any complaint the newspapers will learn of the robbery and then all his friends will hear of his experience in the metropolis.
With a few slight changes “banco” is the old English game of “eight dice cloth.” It was introduced into this country some thirty years ago by a noted sharper who operated throughout the West. He re-christened the game lottery, notwithstanding the fact that there is no vestige of lottery about it at all. The old game with the new name is so simple, and apparently honest, that even the shrewdest are readily induced to take a hand, and are thus fleeced. There are forty-three spaces upon a banco lay-out; forty-two are numbered, and thirteen contain stars also (no prizes); one is blank, and the remaining twenty-nine represent prizes ranging from two to five thousand dollars. The game can be played with dice or cards. The latter are numbered with a series of small numbers ranging from one to six, eight of which are drawn and counted, the total representing the number of the prize drawn. Should the victim draw a star number he is allowed the privilege of drawing again by putting up a small amount of money. He is generally allowed to win at first, and later on the game owes him from one to five thousand dollars. This is when he draws the conditional prize, No. 27. The conditions are that he must put up five hundred dollars, or as much as the dealer thinks he will stand. This is explained to him as necessary to save what he has already won, and entitle him to another drawing. He draws again, and by skillful counting on the part of the dealer he draws the “blank,” and loses all. Sharp as was Oscar Wilde when he reaped a harvest of American dollars with his curls, sun-flowers, and knee-breeches, he could not refrain from investing in a speculation against which he was “steered” by the notorious Hungry Joe. The latter boasted that his plunder amounted to thousands of dollars, and Oscar, when asked about it, maintained a painful silence. Another equally notorious character succeeded in swindling an Episcopal clergyman. The banco man handed the Rev. Mr. Blank a forged letter of introduction from another minister in Cleveland, whose name he had discovered in a church almanac. Mr. Blank said that he was glad to meet the Rev, Mr. Watts’s brother. The letter read: “My brother is buying books for me. Please honor his draft for $100, and thereby do me a great favor.” The preacher thought it was all right, and put up his check for $75 when it was asked for.
Banco men seem to take a fiendish delight in outwitting men illustrious in all the walks of life. One of them, in conversation recently with a reporter, smilingly said: “The prettiest banco is when we land a big fish. Talk about trout-fishing! Just think of the fun hooking a man that’s worth anywhere from $500 to $5,000! Of course, it takes a man of education and refinement to do this sort of business, but there are several college graduates among our fellows.”
Many confidence and banco men who have been found loitering about the hotels and streets, waiting for victims, have been arrested as vagrants. When, however, a complainant comes forward, these offenders are vigorously prosecuted. The gold-brick swindle, which is fully described elsewhere, is really a part of the confidence game.
The names of a number of the men foremost in the line of confidence and banco operators will be found in this list:
Joe Bond, alias Paper Collar Joe (200).—Hod Bacon (see record of No. 94).— Charles Mason, alias Boston Charley (92).—Dr. J. E. Coons (see record of No. 122). —James Fitzgerald, alias Red Fitz (113).—Frank Hammond, alias Western Frank (see record of No. 91).—Tip Farrell (see record of No. 93).—George Gifford (see record of No. 99).—Bertha Heyman (122).—Charles Ward, alias Hall (104).—George Hall, alias Porter (23).—Joe Howe (see record of No. 91).—Joe Lewis, alias Hungry Joe (95).—Peter Lake, alias Grand Central Pete (93).—Edward Lillie (100).—Edward Lyman (102).—George, alias Tip Little (172).—Doctor Long, alias Pop White (94).— Edward Rice, alias Big Ed. Rice (12).—Dave Swain, alias Old Dave (99).—Ike Vail, alias Old Ike (10).—Jim Casey, alias Big Jim (91).—Joe Eaton (Gold Brick).—Nathan. White, alias Nat White (Gold Brick).— Ellen Peck.
See regular index for others.