CHAPTER XXVI

THE MICROBE “CALLOUSITIS”

It has been, and is yet, claimed by companies which make it a business to supply banking institutions with burglar-alarm systems, that while bank clerks and night watchmen may be corrupted, the alarm, if kept in excellent repair, can always be depended upon. While it is true that the incorruptible cannot be corrupted, nor can the ever inanimate be imbued with life-blood, yet I shall endeavor to show beyond question how, in my experience, the burglar-alarm system, with all its boasted infallibility, was utterly useless. Indeed, one of the thought-to-be points of wisdom in the device, that which had been conceived as the most inviting trap for the unwary, was betrayed by the very over-cunningness of the thing, if I may so express myself.

In the village of Port Jervis, in 1869, Shinburn and I “turned off” the bank, despite the fact that Holmes’s burglar-alarm threaded the whole building. Moreover, there was a wire from the bank to the residence of the cashier, not more than three hundred feet away. And, believe me, the alarm was in prime working order that night. The whole trouble was that the banking people placed too much confidence in the efficacy of the system,--in that instance, at least. This I will make clear; for, by my faith, the directors rubbed the sleep out of their eyes one morning, only to look upon a great financial loss. That is, they awoke to find the big doors of their steel vault and money safe lying on the floor, and every dollar of the bank’s capital gone.

We forced an entrance through an iron-shuttered window, and the first thing within the range of my bull’s-eye was an ordinary-appearing chair. It was close to the window, and seemed a most inviting stepping from the sill to the floor. In fact, it seemed as though it might have been placed there for the sole purpose. Be sure I did not avail myself of this comfort, and my good associate Shinburn was cautioned to have similar wisdom. Being a young fellow and agile, I sprang to the floor, my sneak shoes standing between me and any unnecessary noise. Immediately I was astonished by what I saw at every window and door, and even in front of the vault. I discovered, with one round sweep of my bull’s-eye, that an apparently thoughtful hand had supplied these comforts for the use of those who might, without warrant, visit the bank by night or day. There was seating accommodation, indeed, for us and half a dozen guests, had I, perchance, invited them to the performance. However, as this gathering had in view great retirement and unostentation, my good Shinburn and I, not having an over-stock of time, refrained from occupying these much present and hospitable furnishings.

When I saw an upholstered rocker or an ordinary chair left with such insistent convenience, that alone was a sufficient indication to me from my point of view that all was not right. And again, when I saw a chair left, as by neglect, in front of the vault door, there was sufficient reason in that for entertaining suspicion. Know that we didn’t disturb their quietude.

All doubt of the wisdom of my caution would have been swept away, had I had any, when, upon making a careful examination of these chairs, I discovered that they were all cunningly attached to the burglar-alarm system. Be sure that we met the mute, though pathetic, appeal from these appliances to make ourselves comfortable with a stolid disregard. I will not assert that this was not a cunning device, though it might not thus appear to an inexperienced one after something for nothing. To me, the experienced bank burglar I prided myself on being, it was a danger worth counting.

At the moment we were loading ourselves with the bank’s funds, this question came to me: “Do the burglar-alarm people really believe that a ‘professional,’ once past a window or door alive with their system, would be stupid enough not to comprehend the meaning of a chair left in front of a vault door?” I felt as certain as that I was in the bank, that if I, or my associate, sat in any one of those chairs, even before I made a close investigation, there would have been a jangling of bells and the pouncing of police down on our heads. It was a cunning device, but I must contend that it was very much overdone, and because of it failed of its original cunning.

In August of 1874, the New York sub-treasury had a burglar-alarm connected with the First Precinct station-house, now in Old Slip near the East River, but then in New Street, in the heart of the Wall Street financial district. Regardless of the fact, I went ahead with a plan to loot the very rich vault of that institution. It was, on the surface, I must admit, a scheme sufficiently bold to make the ordinary cracksman apprehensive of success from the outset. But being a young fellow, as I have said, and wildly infatuated with the idea, I couldn’t get it out of my head. The burglar-alarm system in the sub-treasury was the least of my concern, and for that reason I have taken the pains to mention this subject at all. I knew that I could cope, handily, with it, for I had only to pass the word along to the First Precinct police station that I was ready to “pull off” the trick, and my friends there would put the wire out of commission. So much for the efficacy of the burglar-alarm in that case.

A greater problem to be solved was the force of inside night watchmen, of which there was an extremely complicated system. Each time I made an investigation, there seemed to have been conjured up another watchman. Finally, I found I’d have to overcome six--too many by far for me to surmount. Therefore, with the police at my beck and the burglar-alarm under control, I found myself confronted by an obstacle beyond my surmounting. It sadly injured my pride to acknowledge that I must discard the idea of looting the sub-treasury.

Electricity can and will eat its way through the hardest chilled steel, high explosive will open the strongest door of a vault ever manufactured after the most ingenious plan of the master mechanic, bank clerks and night and day watchmen of easy morals can be corrupted, burglar-alarms may be put out of service by detectives like Tom Davidson and Joe Seymour of the New York City Detective Bureau, but there is one safeguard which cannot be broken down by the burglar craft, and that is Eternal Vigilance!

Eternal vigilance! That safeguard, which should ever be employed by the high officials of financial institutions, is potent to combat the greatest genius possessed by a safe-burglar. Eternal vigilance should be the keynote of safety, struck in every banking house in the world, if its funds would be kept from the hands of the craft which seek ever to gain something for nothing. It was this kind of watchfulness that President Noblit of the Corn Exchange Bank of Philadelphia employed, and it saved more than three millions of dollars from my clutches and created within me a profound respect for him. I declare, with all the earnestness in me, that no shrewder plan was ever devised to loot a bank. I would have ruined it had it not been for President Noblit’s vigilance. He, and not high-class steel bolts and bars and faithful watchmen, stood between me and those millions.

A long experience in studying how best to “beat” steel vaults and safes has demonstrated to me that real security for personal valuables doesn’t depend so much on high-grade safes, superior combination locks, heavily bonded employees, and the most efficient burglar-alarm system extant, as it does upon a common-sense use of the simple precautionary methods of protection with which any well-conducted banking institution should be equipped. Among the safeguards in mind is a systematic espionage upon the employees of a bank. Their habits should be known to the president under whom they serve. The fact that cashiers and tellers are members of a corporation in control of the bank ought not to exclude them from espionage. In proof of this, I will call the attention of the doubting one to the columns of the daily newspapers. Scarcely forty-eight hours pass without its being recorded that a bank cashier or teller in some part of the country has absconded with the bank’s funds. A thorough knowledge of the social and business relations of every man holding a responsible position in a bank should be had. His habits and general character ought to be an open book for the daily perusal of his chief. The habits of the associates of cashiers and tellers should be known. The old saying, that birds of a feather flock together, ought to be considered in its fullest sense, and therefore a bank president should know what sort of a flock his cashier or teller seeks after business hours. That a cashier has been a faithful steward in a bank for many years is not a valid reason why he should not be kept under surveillance. Almost every bank employee who falls into corrupt ways was a “trusted” employee.

A careful espionage upon any one of these fallen cashiers or tellers would have preserved the bank’s funds, and more than likely would have prevented a fast and furious downward career, which terminated behind the bars of a prison cell. Many and many bitter tears of stricken and shamed wives and disgraced children might have been unshed, and many happy homes might have been preserved and not have been forever blighted, had timely warning and strong hands been laid upon the erring husbands and fathers of these firesides.

In my mind there is no question that scores of former cashiers, tellers, and other employees of banks are alive to-day, terrible examples of the wild pursuit after costly pleasures. I do not hesitate to say that if most of these men had been kept under proper surveillance, they would not have departed from the narrow path of rectitude. It is true that this is paying anything but a tribute to their manhood, but I assert that commendation or condemnation will not blind the argument, in view of the fact that most men are liable to fall under great temptation. No man may know what he will do until the fatal pitfall is reached. If he escape--well, thank Providence. Were these fallen ones called now to witness to the fact, they would unhesitatingly declare that espionage upon them would have been providential. Much woe would not now be upon them and their loved ones.

I know whereof I speak, when I say that a bank’s executive should know whether or not his bright young men are habitués of the pool-room, the horse-race track, or are in the habit of taking a “flyer” in Wall Street stock gambling. Expensive living in a bank clerk is a sufficient reason for suspecting that he is not a desirable employee. It is his province to prove his fitness under the circumstances. The mere statement of a bank cashier or a teller, that the money he spends so lavishly for luxuries far out of the reach of his salary comes from his wife’s private fortune, ought not to be accepted as an all-sufficient reason for his extravagance. The bank’s executive should know whether it is true or false; it should be known beyond any possible doubt just what money he is spending. If a cashier or a teller objects to so severe a scrutiny of his affairs, the wisest thing in that case is to declare a vacancy, and fill it with a man whose life is not weighted by secrets. Having cognizance of the solemnity of the obligations resting upon a bank president, an honest, trustworthy cashier, teller, or bank clerk will not object to the closest scrutiny. Neither will he consider that his honor has been trampled on, when a careful inquiry is made as to his habits and as to those of his associates. On the contrary, an honest, upright employee will be pleased to have his trustworthiness put to the test and found not wanting. Beware of the bank employee whose honor is so tender that it can’t be handled without gloves. There’s sure to be a screw loose in almost every case. It’s an honor with a subcellar, and dark things are hidden there.

I have already said that lax business methods, as practised at the Ocean Bank in New York City, and the expensive habits of John Taylor, one of the bank’s trusted clerks, were the prime factors in making my plan to loot the vault an assured success. There is no doubt of this, therefore I would call especial attention to that chapter. That I may more deeply impress the fact upon the minds of those I would advise, permit me to mention yet another marked laxness in providing protection for bank funds, and that is the selection of the numbers used on combination locks.

Experience taught me to observe the custom of banks, as to the manner in which the combination numbers were used, and I soon found it to be the prevailing rule among cashiers to use figures easily divisible. For example, a train of numbers selected would be four, sixteen, and thirty-two, or twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six. Such trains should be avoided if first-class protection against robbery is desired. I will give a sufficient reason for thus advising my friends. In a certain bank robbery, the identity of which I purpose not to disclose at present, I was reasonably sure that I possessed the first number of the train used on the vault-door lock. The number was twelve. I tried it at the first opportunity with twenty-four and thirty-six, and in five minutes was inside the vault. Finding that the numbers easily divisible seemed to be the custom of the bank, I tried four, sixteen, and thirty-two on the inside money chest. The result was not at all astonishing to me, but the officials were undoubtedly panic-stricken, the next day, when they learned that a large amount of ready cash had been carried away. No holes were drilled, and no explosive was used. Therefore I would advise more care in the selection of combination numbers. Do not think it a task to change the combination often.

The old Louis Lillie combination locks, where the spindle dial could be unscrewed, and a few other makes of the present day, most of them antiquated, could be successfully manipulated. In fact, these locks were what I termed a “dead walk-over.” I must assert, however, that if it is necessary to work out a properly arranged, first-class, three or four tumbler combination lock, it can be safely said that it is, in nearly every case, a physical impossibility to master such a lock in forty-eight or even seventy-two hours.

In using combination locks, it is best to change the numbers frequently, especially when a clerk is about to leave the bank’s employ. Of course what I am speaking of now, more particularly, has to do with small banks in the villages and small cities, where clerks are loaded with greater responsibility than are those in the institutions of large cities. As an illustration of what might happen to a safe, I’ll mention the case of a New York business house. There had been a pestiferous leakage of money from the safe. Small amounts ranging from five dollars to four times that sum disappeared, leaving no trace of the thief. About all the employees were suspected. Every one was wondering if every one else wasn’t the thief. Finally the firm hired a private detective, and, behold, one night a man was detected red-handed opening the street door with a duplicate key, and the safe with a secret combination. The person proved to be a discharged clerk. Had the combination numbers been changed at his leave-taking, he couldn’t have opened the safe, and perhaps, having failed the first time, he wouldn’t have been tempted again. It doesn’t pay to be lax in business methods.

I was introduced to a “right” watchman in Boston once upon a time, and having in view the looting of the bank in his charge, wanted the vault examined. The outer door of the vault was of wood and was next to the steel one. The watchman reported to me the next day what I wanted and more. The president had asked him if he’d opened the wooden door. He promptly denied it. But the president knew the door had been unlocked and opened and, not suspecting the watchman, believed that burglars, in some manner, had been tampering with the vault. How he knew it was this: Every evening before leaving the bank, the president closed the wooden door and put a certain kind of paste on one of the hinges. The morning after the watchman opened the door, the paste was found scraped back by the turning of the hinge. It was a faithful witness to the fact. Had the watchman admitted that he’d heard suspicious sounds which led him to open the door, the president would have thought no more about it undoubtedly. As it was, the watchfulness of that bank official spoiled my plans. It was a simple obstacle in my way, but it was effective in preserving the bank’s funds.

Jimmy Hope, a notorious bank burglar, got into a certain bank in Bleecker Street in New York City, and, taking off the dial of the vault lock, drilled a hole through the door to strike the steel dog in the lock. The object was to get at the dog and break it. Bad aim resulted, and the dog was missed. Too much time had been consumed to drill another hole, and putty was used to fill up the useless one. For months the tampering was undiscovered, not to mention the marks on the dial plate caused by the unscrewing of the dial. Not to have discovered these plain evidences of tampering seemed to me the rankest sort of neglect. The bank was afterward robbed.

I will mention the American Hotel in Hartford, Connecticut, as the scene of another robbery which emphasizes what I’ve already said as to carelessness. The hotel changed hands some thirty years ago, and one of the retiring partners retained a key to the office safe. Not having the “nerve” of the “honest” crook to do the work himself, he confided in a “putter up” of crooked jobs, a native of Wayne County, Pennsylvania. Now this “putter up”--though the telling may perhaps call forth a doubt as to the veracity of this tale--was a justice of the peace. His brother was a well-to-do, respectable physician. The justice of the peace was given the key by the ex-hotel man, and it was passed along to a man with whom I had been acquainted many years.

The next move to win was when a pair of expert safe burglars appeared at the American Hotel in the guise of two extremely busy business men from New York. They quite captured the good will of that Yankee hostelry. When they left instructions at the desk to be awakened in time for a two o’clock train the following morning, the porter, the only employee on duty at that hour, knew he’d lose his situation if the travellers were allowed to oversleep. He wasn’t dilatory, and the “guests” were up betimes. While one of them kept the porter busy searching for a mythical piece of baggage, the other, with the key, cleaned out the safe and locked it again. Presently the guests were bound toward New York. Meanwhile the obliging porter hugged a generous tip for his faithfulness, and when he slid off into a dream that seemed to occupy the rest of his watch, he thought himself a millionaire. His awakening, however, was sad. The haul was more than the crooks had anticipated, and they were well paid for the journey. It was long a mystery to the hotel people how the money vanished from the safe. The moral is: “Keep tabs on the safe keys when partnerships are dissolved.”

The laxity of bankers in conducting their business affairs was ever a mystery to me. I have given the subject much thought since renouncing a criminal career, and have arrived at this conclusion: That a criminal has a much better opportunity to judge whether or not the success of his unlawful projects came through the carelessness of others, than has the man who leads a life within the pale of the law. I must say that a great deal of the success which came to me was the outcome of gross carelessness on the part of bank cashiers, tellers, clerks, and watchmen. Therefore I would urge upon those in charge of public funds to look well after the little things, in the way of providing protection.

Kindly do not think it my purpose to coin words or phrases for the use or misuse of posterity, but I would, in all sincerity, warn the bankers of the land against a microbe which I will call “callousitis.” Keep it out of your business. See to it that bank employees be not infected with it. It is germinated in the rush of financial affairs--is given life through the constant handling of immense sums of money. Afflicted by the “callousitis,” the bank employee, who once realized a keen responsibility in handling one dollar of another’s money intrusted to his care, feels no added responsibility when he, through promotion perhaps, is called upon to manipulate a million dollars. In other words, he becomes callous to the fact that large sums of money are passing through his hands. As the laborer’s palms become callous through constant contact with rough surfaces, so the brain of a bank employee arrives at a stage of indifference through his daily mental contact with millions of dollars. The wood-chopper’s hands, once blistered with the friction of the axe helve, at last became hardened to the work and there was no more tenderness. Thereafter he wielded the axe industriously, without pain to his hands. The bank employee’s brain was awed at the first handling of a million dollars, but that sensation gave place to indifference, when in time he came to handle ten times a million dollars. And so he became, eventually, a victim of “callousitis.” Thus afflicted, the victim may or may not be aware of it, but in the majority of cases he is, and such a victim is very prone to be lax in business affairs, and such laxity eventually leads to disaster when thieves abound.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed.

Text contains many occurrences of dialect and non-standard contractions.