When you dive into 10 history 8217, you uncover a parade of audacious tricksters who turned deception into an art form. From 19th‑century street hustlers to early‑20th‑century masters of the long con, these ten figures rewrote the rulebook on how to bilk the rich, the gullible, and sometimes even the most vigilant authorities—all while flashing a smile.
10 History 8217: A Quick Overview of the Art of the Con
The confidence game, or “con,” thrives on charm, timing, and an uncanny ability to read people. Each of the characters below built a reputation by weaving elaborate ruses, employing props, fabricated identities, and even scientific‑sounding jargon to convince their marks they were making a smart investment. Their stories illuminate how a simple promise of profit can become a full‑blown theatrical production.
1 Victor Lustig
Victor Lustig earned infamy as the only criminal ever to sell the Eiffel Tower—twice. He later duped notorious gangster Al Capone and peddled a useless tin box as a miracle money‑making device. During his trial, a Secret Service agent dubbed him “the smoothest con man that ever lived.”
Born in the obscure town of Hostinne within Austria‑Hungary in 1890, Lustig claimed a pauper’s upbringing, though no records could verify his story. He began with petty scams before graduating to work on transatlantic ocean liners, where he refined the “money box” con: a deceptive device advertised as a radium‑powered copier of $100 bills, but in reality it merely dispensed a handful of genuine notes before becoming a paperweight.
In Paris, Lustig masqueraded as a government official eager to sell the Eiffel Tower for scrap. He arranged a clandestine meeting with several metal dealers, delivering a performance so convincing that the highest bidder handed over the tower’s price plus a bribe. He repeated the ruse, but the second attempt attracted police attention, prompting his hurried escape from France.
Relocating to the United States, Lustig assembled a counterfeiting ring that produced fake $100 bills so convincing they fooled bank tellers and threatened public confidence in the dollar. Arrested in 1935, he briefly escaped custody, only to be recaptured and sentenced to twenty years at Alcatraz.
2 Reed Waddell
Born into affluence in Springfield, Illinois, Reed “Kid” Waddell seemed destined for a respectable life until a gambling addiction severed his family’s financial support in his early twenties.
By 1880, Waddell had migrated to New York City and entered the world of “green goods,” a scam that lured gamblers with flyers promising “perfect” counterfeit currency. Victims paid for money that never materialized, and the law offered little recourse.
Waddell’s claim to fame was the invention of the gold‑brick swindle. He would take a lead ingot, plate it in gold, stamp it with official markings, and even embed a small plug of genuine gold that he later removed to show a jeweler for “authentication.” He sold these faux bars for thousands, targeting wealthy farmers who believed they could double or triple their investment.
In the 1890s, Waddell partnered with fellow grifter Tom O’Brien and moved operations to Paris. Their partnership soured in 1895 during a heated argument over money, resulting in O’Brien shooting Waddell dead.
3 John St. John Long
John St. John Long, an Irish‑born charlatan, began his career as an artist before discovering that quack medicine paid far better than canvases.
In 1826, Long announced a miracle cure for consumption (tuberculosis). His regimen involved two secret chemicals: one inhaled as vapor, the other rubbed onto the chest and back. The topical lotion contained turpentine, which created a painful sore that Long claimed drew the disease to the surface, allowing it to escape the body.
Long’s handsome demeanor and persuasive charm earned him a thriving practice on London’s Harley Street. In 1830, he was tried for the death of a patient and found guilty of manslaughter, receiving a £250 fine paid on the spot. A month later, another patient died, but Long was acquitted.
Despite the medical community branding him the “Handsome Hoaxer of Harley Street,” Long retained wealthy, influential friends. He died in 1834, reportedly from a riding accident, though some tales claim he succumbed to consumption after refusing his own treatment.
4 William Elmer Mead
William Elmer Mead earned the moniker “The Christian Kid” because he lived a strictly sober, church‑going lifestyle, despite pulling off cons worth over $2 million across a four‑decade career.
Mead pioneered the “magic wallet” trick: he and a mark would discover a wallet stuffed with cash or important documents, only to learn it belonged to an accomplice. After returning the wallet, the con artist would feign gratitude and propose a seemingly lucrative deal.
In 1910, as Halley’s Comet approached, Mead targeted a wealthy contractor. He and the contractor found the wallet, returned it to a shill, and were invited to lunch where Mead posed as a sports promoter. He suggested leasing stadiums during the off‑season for comet‑watching crowds, an idea the contractor enthusiastically endorsed.
The shill and Mead then cashed a generous check, repeating the scheme multiple times before the comet’s passage ended. Their “Halley’s Comet” con remained one of the most audacious uses of a celestial event to swindle money.
5 Lou Blonger
Lou Blonger was born in 1849 in Vermont and enlisted in the Union Army at just fourteen. After the Civil War, he reunited with his older brother Sam, and the duo roamed the frontier, dabbling in prospecting, gambling, and occasional grifts.
By the late 1880s, the brothers settled in Denver, opening saloons and gambling halls that catered to tourists eager to spend every penny. Their operations grew, and they began investing in mining claims, bribing local police and politicians, and even driving rival con man Soapy Smith out of town.
The Blonger empire, dubbed the “Million‑Dollar Bunco Ring,” ran a network of offices that resembled legitimate stock exchanges or betting parlors. Their crew lured affluent marks into betting on “sure things” like stock tips or rigged races, ensuring the marks always lost.
When victims reported being swindled, they often tipped off Blonger, who would quickly shutter his offices, casting the complainants as liars or lunatics. This tactic kept law enforcement at bay and allowed the brothers to dominate Denver’s underworld for decades until Sam’s death in 1914.
6 Henri Lemoine
If you ever Google “how to make diamonds,” you’ll find countless modern tutorials promising a DIY sparkle. Little do you know that the very first “diamond‑making” scam dates back over a century to French swindler Henri Lemoine.
In 1905, Lemoine claimed he could synthesize diamonds from ordinary coal. He secured an audience with De Beers executives, including Sir Julius Wernher, and staged a demonstration in his Paris laboratory.
To prove his innocence, Lemoine stripped naked, assuring the audience he wasn’t hiding diamonds on his person. He then placed coal and mysterious chemicals into a crucible, heated it, and after cooling, produced twenty tiny diamonds. He repeated the feat, convincing the executives of his breakthrough.
Wernher, convinced, offered Lemoine a substantial sum to keep the formula secret and funded further research. French newspaper Le Figaro estimated Wernher paid over 1.5 million francs across three years. Notable figures like writer Marcel Proust also invested.
In 1908, a Parisian jeweler exposed the fraud, revealing the diamonds had been purchased from Lemoine. He was indicted for fraud, failed to replicate his method in court, and fled the country before sentencing. Proust later immortalized the episode in “The Lemoine Affair.”
7 Lord Gordon Gordon
The true name of the man known as Lord Gordon Gordon has been lost to history, as have his origins. In the late 19th century, he masqueraded as a British nobleman, convincing banks, law firms, and jewelers to part with large sums.
His first recorded appearance came in 1868 when he attempted to acquire a Scottish estate by posing as Lord Glencairn. After being uncovered, he fled to America, but not before duping multiple financial institutions and a jeweler.
In Minnesota, he resurfaced as Lord Gordon Gordon, targeting the burgeoning railway industry. Colonel J. Loomis, land commissioner for the Northern Pacific Railway, squandered $45 000 of railroad funds courting Gordon, believing he would invest millions.
In 1872, Gordon traveled to New York and enticed railroad magnate Jay Gould, promising control over 60 000 Erie Railway shares. Gould bribed Gordon with roughly $1 million in stock and $200 000 in cash, only to discover two weeks later that Gordon was a fraud. Gould sued, but Gordon had already cashed the stock and escaped to Canada.
Gould’s attempts to extradite or even kidnap Gordon failed. In 1874, a jeweler in Edinburgh, Marshall & Sons, identified Gordon as the earlier Lord Glencairn, linking him to a £25 000 theft. Rather than face deportation, Gordon hosted a farewell party in Manitoba, then took his own life.
8 Hungry Joe
Joseph Lewis, better known as Hungry Joe, was a prolific swindler operating in late‑19th‑century New York. His preferred con involved coaxing affluent marks into fixed bunco games—a popular parlor pastime of the era.
Joe’s reputation as the “king of the Bunco Men” grew after he bilked high‑profile victims such as General John A. Logan, Judge Noah Davis of New York, and politician Charles Francis Adams, son of John Quincy Adams.
His most famous mark was literary legend Oscar Wilde. During Wilde’s 1882 U.S. tour, Hungry Joe lured him into a bunco game and walked away with $5 000. Wilde escaped financial ruin by issuing a check that he managed to invalidate before it cleared.
Although authorities were aware of Hungry Joe, he wasn’t convicted until 1885 when he attempted to swindle British manufacturer Joseph Ramsden. Posing as a respectable businessman, Joe encouraged a bunco match, but when Ramsden hesitated, Joe seized the cash and fled. Ramsden identified him, leading to a four‑year sentence.
Upon release, Joe was quickly rearrested for another con, receiving an additional ten‑year term. His career exemplifies the relentless pursuit of profit through charm and deception.
9 Oscar Hartzell
In 1915, the mother of Oscar Hartzell invested $6 500 in a dubious venture. She, along with countless Midwestern Americans, believed they could profit by suing the British government over the estate of famed 16th‑century explorer Sir Francis Drake.
Initially, the scam targeted only individuals bearing the Drake surname, convincing them they were descendants of the wealthy navigator. The scheme proved so lucrative that it expanded to anyone willing to invest.
Hartzell, thinking the opportunity legitimate, was hired as a recruiter by the masterminds—a woman named Sudie Whittaker and her lawyer, Milo Lewis. After traveling to England, Hartzell realized the con’s true nature and seized the chance to take over the operation, exploiting infighting between Whittaker and Lewis.
The racket persisted for fifteen years while Hartzell luxuriated in London. It wasn’t until 1933 that a postal inspector exposed the fraud, leading to Hartzell’s deportation to the United States.
Although sentenced to ten years, Hartzell kept the scheme alive for another year with his brother’s help. By its peak, the swindler had conned tens of thousands, netting $20 000 a month.
10 William Thompson
William Thompson’s crimes weren’t especially audacious, but his place in history is secure: he was the first person ever labeled a “confidence man.”
Active in mid‑19th‑century New York City, Thompson cut a genteel figure, sporting courteous manners that allowed him to approach affluent strangers and strike up conversations as if they were old acquaintances.
After a few minutes of friendly chatter, he would politely ask his new companion if they possessed the confidence to entrust him with their watch until the following day. Occasionally, he requested a modest loan, and bewilderingly, people obliged. Thompson would then walk away with the watch—or the cash—while his marks stared, unsure of what had just transpired.
In July 1849, Thompson was arrested after Thomas McDonald, one of his victims, reported him. Earlier that year, Thompson had approached McDonald on the street, used his usual tactics, and walked away with a gold lever watch valued at $110. When the two later crossed paths again, McDonald alerted a police officer, leading to Thompson’s capture despite his protests and attempts to resist.