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In America, con artists, such as George C. Parker, made a living selling the Brooklyn Bridge. However, they didn't usually prey upon native New Yorkers. Sometimes, well-heeled foreigners saw the visible landmark and coveted the toll revenue produced — hundreds of dollars a day at the turn of the 20th century. Although audacious, the cons yielded only hundreds of dollars from naive newcomers — a bargain for a bridge that cost $15.1 million to build. Across the ocean in Paris, a Bohemian native pulled off a more daring and more lucrative scheme: He sold the Eiffel Tower to a native Parisian. Victor Lustig took to the seas at an early age. Not as a sailor, but as a con artist working the transatlantic liners filled with gullible passengers. Lustig worked a number of cons on the ships and stateside. Along the way, he befriended "Dapper" Dan Collins, another conman. The duo decided to settle in Paris, not as honest men, but as schemers with bigger dreams. In 1925, Paris had recovered from WWI and was returning to prominence as an artistic hub. American expatriate writers, such as Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound and Sherwood Anderson, congregated in the salon of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse were being recognized as brilliant artists. However, at the center of Paris stood a blight that many Parisians deplored: La Tour Eiffel. Gustave Eiffel built his namesake to serve as the entrance to the 1889 Exposition Universelle (World's Fair). Many didn't care for its appearance. French novelist Guy de Maupassant purportedly ate at the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower daily because it was the only place in Paris from which one did not see it. The tower served its purpose, and the city granted permission for it to stand for 20 years. After that, the city of Paris planned to tear it down, but the invention of radio gave the structure a new purpose.
In the early 20th century, the tower was not the tourist attraction it is today. Its height and structure lent it to radio transmission, so the city decided to extend the tower's lifespan. But the maintenance, including some 60 tons of paint applied regularly to prevent rust, burdened the city's coffers. When a Parisian newspaper ran an article detailing the city's concerns, Victor Lustig found inspiration. The Eiffel Tower weighs approximately 7,300 tons and includes more than 18,000 pieces of puddle iron, an alloy with high tensile strength that was cutting edge in the latter half of the 19th century. Eiffel designed the tower for easy disassembly at the end of the 20-year period. This information provided a ready back story for Lustig. Unlike his American counterparts, he would not target people who might have an interest in operating the Eiffel Tower for profit. Instead, he targeted those who would profit from its easy destruction: Scrap metal dealers. Together, Lustig and Collins acquired counterfeit government stationery and invited several scrap metal dealers to a meeting at the prestigious Hotel de Crillon in Paris. Six men arrived, at which point Lustig identified himself as a deputy minister. He detailed the tribulations of maintaining the Eiffel Tower and said that the government had decided to sell it for scrap. Lustig took the group on a tour of the tower to point out the value in the metal.
He then solicited bid's from all, but made them vow to keep the pending sale secret. To avoid a public outcry, he asserted, the government did not want to release news until the details were finalized. Regardless of the bids received, Lustig only wanted one bid in particular: Andre Poisson's. Lustig's research indicated that Poisson was something of an outsider in the Parisian world, making him an ideal target. Additionally, Lustig expected that Poisson would be on the lookout for a big deal to earn the respect of his business peers — and the Eiffel Tower deal could provide that impetus to greatness. Something in the initial meeting confirmed Lustig's hopes and expectations about Poisson. When Poisson provided a bid, Lustig sent him word that his bid had won, and Lustig's secretary, Collins, scheduled a second meeting. At the second meeting, Poisson was slightly suspicious. His wife had raised concerns that the deal seemed too good to be true. However, Lustig hinted at his own dishonesty, indicating that he needed a bribe as part of the deal. This subterfuge proved effective, for Poisson could see a reason for the surreptitious meetings and what was in it for the deputy minister. Perhaps Poisson had met with such officials before. Poisson took the bait and bribed the corrupt "government official". Lustig accepted the bribe and a cashier's check — reportedly for 250,000 francs (approximately half a million dollars us today) — for the Eiffel Tower. After quickly cashing the check, Lustig and Collins left the country, expecting the authorities on their heels. But Poisson apparently didn't report the crime. Perhaps he feared that the swindle would have made him the laughingstock of his peers instead of a leader amongst them. After this, Poisson faded from view, probably left bankrupt and shamed. A month later, Lustig and his companion returned to Paris and tried the scam again. They selected another mark and rounded up additional scrap dealers, but this time, the mark grew suspicious and alerted the authorities. Lustig and Collins, however, eluded capture. Lustig returned to America to run many more cons, including escaping custody by selling a money-making machine to the incarcerating sheriff. Although Lustig's sale of the Eiffel Tower and his other exploits have become legend, there's one scam he has never been associated with — selling the Brooklyn Bridge. Victor Lustig successfully conned people until 1934, when he was sent to Alcatraz. He died 13 years later from pneumonia.
Beware Of ScamsEavesdropping on cellular and cordless phone calls has become a major new hobby. Since these phones rely on radio signals, people are using scanners—portable, walkie-talkie-sized receivers that pick up thousands of frequencies — to eavesdrop while driving or walking around. Best defense: Never discuss confidential personal or business matters on cordless or cellular phones. You get a postcard saying you have won a prize and should call a toll-free 800 number to claim it. During the call, a computerized voice starts giving instructions and says—not always clearly—that you will be billed. You stay on the line, thinking all 800-number calls are free... learn you have won a minor prize...later get a bill that looks like an official phone bill and is for more than the value of the prize. Several states are probing the scam. Sources: Neil Sachnoff, TeleCom Clinic, 355 South End Ave., New York, NY 10280.
Consensus of state, telephone company, and consumer-rights officials, reported in The New York Times. Psycho magician Penn Jillette helps us break down 10 ways that thieving scum separate you from your money.
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