Czechs in History
Remarkable people and events in the history of the Czech Lands.
Victor Lustig - the man who (could have) sold the world[15-10-2003]
By Jan Velinger
Welcome to Czechs in History - the programme that looks at the lives of
Czechs and their legacies, great and small, be they monarchs,
philosophers, politicians, or poets ... In today's edition something a
little different: a tale from the underworld, the life and times of an
infamous con artist, born in the Czech lands in 1890- a man known as Count
Victor Lustig - whose cool audacity knew few boundaries, whose name has
become the stuff of legend.
The con-artist. The very title reveals secret admiration and respect so
many of us foster for the anti-heroes and less than savoury characters of
genre movies and detective novels. That admiration extends to the
so-called "perfect con", when the anti-hero pulls the wool over
the eyes of an unsuspecting - and often undeserving - fool - and gets away
unscathed. Characters like Sean Connery's Biggs in "The Great Train
Robbery", Newman and Redford's tricksters in "The Sting",
even Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lector in "The Silence of the
Lambs", a modern-day vampire perpetually "disappearing"
into the crowd after a most brutal final act. Woe to us. As cynical
showman P.T. Barnum once remarked "There's a sucker born every
minute" - a happy truth for the less than scrupulous. Like a poet his
muse the con-artist plays his victim, reeling him so he falls for the
ultimate charade, while the crook makes it rich. The victim, often so
embarrassed - or implicated in the crime - fails to notify the police.
So, what of Victor Lustig? Well, the inspiration for his greatest swindle
came long after he had abandoned his homeland. Not any surprise - a
confidence artist of his stature would have wanted the world and
everything in it. The year was 1925 and by then the self-styled
"count" was residing in Paris, working smaller confidence
tricks, while staying at finer hotels. As it happened, one day in the
papers he noticed an article that caught his attention. It must have read
something like this:
The article went on to speculate the tower might even have to be torn
down, or even completely rebuilt.
Imagine. Could it happen to that most beloved monument? An idea began to
take shape.
Whether the count smiled one of his characteristically shrewd grins,
scratched his chin while deep in thought, or narrowed his heavily-lidded
eyes - we can only speculate! But it must have gone something like that.
Lighting a gold-tipped cigarette from a heavy in-lay lighter he would have
slowly inhaled, put down the paper and looked out at Paris from his
balcony. Staring at the beautiful tower in the distance - thinking this
was his boldest plan yet.
All that would be needed would be fine acting, help from fellow con-man
Robert Tourbillon, and imitation stationary from the French Ministry of
Posts, responsible for the tower. Once set, the count invited five
businessmen to the Crillon Hotel, portraying a government official, who
told them the Eiffel - 7, 000 tons of it - was alas in terrible condition
and would have to be torn down. The offer - top secret - was to quietly
sell it off for scrap. Quickly in order to prevent a public uproar. The
five businessmen were reminded they had been specifically chosen for their
professional discretion. The offer was for each to bid for the tender
within the week.
Of course, like ever clever con, Lustig had already picked his
"mark" among the five - a man some sources call Mr P, others
name as Andre Poisson, a French businessman and scrap-metal merchant
hoping to make something of a reputation for himself. Within a few days he
was contacted and told by Lustig he had prevailed with his offer of 250,
000 francs, about a million dollars today. It was then, at that moment,
that the deal hung upon its weakest thread. Suddenly beset by doubt, Mr
Poisson began to reconsider. It was then that Victor Lustig sprang his
final trap. The wily gangster made it clear - that as a government
official he still wanted a bribe - for all the trouble he had taken for Mr
Poisson's personal gain. This, apparently sealed any doubts: in the
victim's mind all Parisian bureaucrats were corrupt, so the deal could
only be authentic. He paid Lustig the requested sums and in return was
given a worthless bill of sale to one of the most famous landmarks in the
world. Such success. Not surprisingly, he never notified the authorities,
while Victor Lustig and his accomplice went underground. Within half a
year they would try the same trick again - but, by then it would blow up
in their faces and they would be forced to flee.
Happy chance that Victor Lustig had left Bohemia and never came back -
Czechoslovak police would certainly have had their hands full of his
deceitful charms. One source lists Lustig as having been arrested 45 times
throughout Europe alone, using 22 different aliases for escape and profit.
A regular "Mr Nice" of his day.
Now hounded on the Old Continent Lustig immigrated to America, never to
return. This way, at least he hardly shamed the country of his birth,
though there were others who did that. Take "Harry" Jelinek who
pulled a similar stunt as Lustig by "selling" the famous
Karlstejn Castle, near Prague, to an unsuspecting American couple.
In the U.S. Count Lustig opted not to turn over a new leaf: he continued
his schemes to make a fast buck: selling a hoax miracle box he claimed
could print flawless counterfeit money. But, his greatest success on his
personal ladder was making an impression on the most famous gangsters of
all time - the great Al Capone himself. Lustig then got into
counterfeiting himself and eventually was caught. He would languish in
jail for eleven years, and die a prisoner in Springfield, Missouri in
1947.
So, we end our somewhat unusual programme on con-artist Victor Lustig -
whom light-hearted internet articles have labelled "the bouncing
Czech". Today there are even business manuals that mark his exploits
- as examples of daring that can be used for success. Not for crime of
course, just as a manner of thinking outside the box. And perhaps therein
lies the message: while most of us remain impressed by Lustig's
cleverness, one can not help that think how much more worthwhile he might
have been had he applied those skills legitimately. Had he done so, he
might be remembered for something greater today than simply stealing from
others and dying a penniless thief.
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