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.

In the wild world of 19th‑century medicine, the phrase “10 wacky vintage” captures an era when snake oil, radium water, and a host of other dubious concoctions were hawked to the public with gusto. Over‑the‑counter remedies were a gamble, and charlatans with a silver tongue could convince anyone that their mysterious brew was a miracle. Below, we rank the most audacious of these vintage cures, complete with the colorful stories that kept them flying off the shelves.

10 Clark Stanley’s Snake Oil Liniment

Clark Stanley boasted that his “authentic” snake oil traced back to Chinese laborers who first introduced the remedy to America. He claimed the oil was rich in anti‑inflammatory Omega‑3s because the water snakes they used ate fish. In reality, Stanley’s product was marketed as rattlesnake oil, yet the bottle never contained any genuine snake fat. He built his reputation by claiming ties to Hopi healers and performing a dramatic stage act where he would pull a live snake from a basket, slice it open, and boil its fat before the crowd. Despite the theatrical spectacle, the final formula was nothing more than mineral oil, beef fat, red pepper, and a dash of turpentine – none of which cured anything.

The 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act forced the government to crack down on such false advertising. In 1917, the FDA seized Stanley’s product and ran a lab test that revealed the concoction’s true ingredients. Turpentine, once a common medicinal additive, was later linked to severe eye, lung, and nervous‑system damage. When faced with the evidence, Stanley didn’t deny the fraud; he simply paid a $20 fine for violating the new law.

9 Radium Ore Revigator

When radiation entered the scientific lexicon in the late 1800s, inventors raced to commercialize its perceived health benefits. By the early 20th century, a market for “radium water” flourished, promising cures for more than 150 ailments. The Revigator, a ceramic jug lined with uranium ore, let users soak their drinking water overnight, believing the water would become “denatured” with a vital radioactive ingredient.

Modern analysis by Dr. Michael Epstein showed that the Revigator not only leached unsafe levels of radiation – almost twice the EPA’s recommended maximum – but also released toxic heavy metals such as lead and arsenic. Thousands of households purchased the device in the 1920s and ’30s, dutifully drinking six to eight glasses a day, blissfully unaware that they were ingesting a dangerous cocktail of radiation and contaminants. The eventual scientific consensus that radiation was hazardous put an abrupt end to the craze.

8 Kickapoo’s Indian Sagwa

From 1881 to 1906, Kickapoo’s Indian Sagwa was marketed as a secret remedy derived from the Kickapoo tribe’s ancient knowledge. In truth, the Kickapoo people had no involvement in its production. The concoction promised relief from heartburn, depression, jaundice, and a litany of other ills, but the bottle actually held a blend of herbs, alcohol, and laxatives – a mixture that cured nothing beyond a temporary financial drain.

Entrepreneurs John Healy and Charles Bigelow capitalized on the public’s fascination with Native‑American mystique. Their traveling medicine show hired Indigenous performers to deliver testimonials in native tongues, which the white hosts would then translate into glowing endorsements. The spectacle featured dances, fire‑eating, juggling, and staged “cures” performed on actors, all designed to dazzle audiences and boost sales.

Beyond the stage, Healy and Bigelow flooded newspapers with leaflets praising the Sagwa and expanded the brand into related products like Kickapoo Indian Salve and Kickapoo Cough Cure. Their clever branding kept the product in demand until regulatory reforms began to expose the sham.

7 Vitality Water Injections

Dr. John Brinkley, infamous for his goat‑gland transplants, also marketed a bright‑colored “vitality water” he called Formula 1020. He promised that this injection would restore virility after surgery. Harnessing the power of early radio, Brinkley launched his own station in Kansas, where he peppered broadcasts with advertisements for the vivid liquid.

In 1923, a scandal erupted exposing Brinkley’s lack of medical credentials; he had purchased a degree rather than earned it. The courts stripped him of both his medical and broadcasting licenses by 1930, and a subsequent mail‑fraud indictment in 1939 revealed the formula was merely dyed water with no therapeutic value. Dr. Morris Fishbein of the American Medical Association publicly denounced the product, and a failed lawsuit by Brinkley confirmed his status as a quack.

Despite legal battles, Brinkley persisted, opening new clinics and continuing to inject unsuspecting patients until his death, penniless and disgraced.

6 Doc Meriwether Miracle Elixir

Doc Meriwether, paired with the charismatic “Yellow Kid” Joseph Weil, sold a miracle elixir claimed to eradicate tapeworms. He boasted a secret blend of rainwater, alcohol, Epsom salts, and cascara – a plant with laxative properties – promising rapid expulsion of parasites. The duo staged lively medicine shows, complete with music, dancing, and theatrical testimonials from the Yellow Kid, who claimed the potion saved his children’s lives.

Production took place in Meriwether’s Chicago home, where his wife mixed and bottled the brew for just $1 a bottle. The marketing emphasized scientific research and rigorous testing, though the ingredients offered only temporary digestive relief. The elixir’s popularity surged as Americans, fearing a tapeworm epidemic, flocked to purchase it in droves.

While the showmanship was entertaining, the product itself did little more than act as a laxative, and the promises of a cure were largely unfounded.

5 Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills For Pale People

Canadian politician George Fulford created the G.T. Fulford company, later branding its flagship product as Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills. The pills were sold as a cure for “bad blood,” weak appetites, depression, heart palpitations, and low energy. Fulford bought the original patent from a real Dr. Williams and repackaged it with a flamboyant marketing campaign that spanned more than 80 countries.

The advertisements leaned on the outdated four‑humor theory, claiming illnesses stemmed from imbalances of blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The pamphlets instructed users to take a pill after each meal while avoiding soup, porridge, and pickles, which were said to dilute the blood. Additional recommendations included a pre‑pill laxative and a mustard‑infused bath for women.

Despite the elaborate regimen, the pills contained only sugar and iron – no genuine therapeutic agents. Nonetheless, the glossy brochures, testimonials, and worldwide distribution made the pink pills a commercial triumph until the 1906 drug regulations curbed such false claims.

4 Boschee’s German Syrup

Colonel George Gil Green, a Civil‑War veteran who abandoned medical school, acquired the rights to his father’s secret formula and marketed it as Boschee’s German Syrup. The syrup blended laudanum – a potent mix of opium, morphine, and codeine – with alcohol, delivering a powerful pain‑relieving and euphoric effect.

Green’s advertisements painted the syrup as a cure‑all for throat and lung ailments, promising relief from coughs, colds, and even consumption. Testimonials from pharmacists and dramatic “before‑and‑after” stories bolstered the product’s reputation. Green also handed out sample bottles for a mere ten cents, a bargain that drove massive sales.

His success turned him into a millionaire, allowing him to purchase an opulent hotel in Pasadena, an opera house, and various properties in Woodbury, New Jersey. However, the passage of the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act exposed the syrup’s addictive nature, slashing its market.

3 Dr. F.G. Johnson’s French Female Pills

Targeting women’s health concerns, Dr. F.G. Johnson marketed French Female Pills that combined beneficial minerals like iron and calcium with dangerous heavy metals. While iron and calcium support bone strength and immune function, the pills also packed mercury and lead – substances then used in medicine but later recognized for their neurotoxic and developmental hazards.

Mercury, employed in the 19th century to treat syphilis, was later shown to cause severe neurological damage, especially in pregnant women and infants. Lead, added for its sweet taste, posed a grave risk to children’s developing brains. The inclusion of these toxic elements turned an otherwise benign supplement into a hazardous product.

Despite the peril, the pills were advertised as a comprehensive women’s health solution, capitalizing on the era’s limited medical knowledge and the public’s trust in patent medicines.

2 Hamlin’s Wizard Oil

Created in 1861 by magician John Austen Hamlin and his brother Lysander, Hamlin’s Wizard Oil promised a panacea for sore throats, headaches, bruises, diphtheria, rheumatism, and even cancer. The brothers leveraged their theatrical background to craft eye‑catching advertisements in almanacs and newspapers, boasting that “no sore it will not heal and no pain it will not subdue.”

The formula contained ammonia and chloroform, chemicals that could provide temporary numbing but were ultimately harmful. The marketing even claimed the oil could cure animals, illustrated by a whimsical ad showing an elephant gulping the potion to recover from illness.

These flamboyant promotions kept sales robust until the 1906 crackdown on false medical claims forced the Hamlins to cease operations.

1 Ozone Paper

Asthma sufferers once faced a bizarre remedy called Ozone Paper. The product was a sheet of paper that, when ignited, released fumes that the user inhaled, allegedly curing bronchitis and asthma. The marketing material featured glowing testimonials from supposed patients and physicians, claiming the paper could eradicate asthma attacks entirely.

In the 19th century, many doctors believed asthma stemmed from excess phlegm, prompting treatments that involved smoke or fumes to “dry out” the lungs. Modern research has shown that inhaling such smoke only aggravates the condition, and the Ozone Paper’s promised cure was a dangerous illusion.

With the advent of inhaled corticosteroids, nebulizers, and portable inhalers, the medical community abandoned smoke‑based therapies, rendering Ozone Paper a relic of a misguided era.

These ten wacky vintage cures illustrate how clever marketing, cultural mystique, and a lack of regulation allowed quacks to thrive. While the remedies themselves were ineffective—or outright harmful—their stories remain a fascinating window into a time when hope could be bottled, labeled, and sold to anyone willing to believe.

Being a confidence man takes a lot of brass, as they say. To be able to look a person in the eye, lie to them, and scam them out of their time, money, and trust is not a thing just anyone can do. And when a con artist can do it to multiple people for massive amounts of money based on the most egregious of lies, well, that’s something else altogether. And yet people still do it. Sometimes these cons become so big and so out of hand they’re almost unbelievable. Almost…

10. Frederic Bourdin Pretended to be Children

Frederic Bourdin left a trail of scams across Europe and in the United States. When he was 31, he managed to convince school officials and students that he was an abused 15-year-old orphan for an entire month while he attended classes and made friends. He serially traveled from country to country and more often than not pretended to be a teenage boy.

More puzzling than the scam itself is the fact Bourdin didn’t seem to do it for any reason. He was getting money from people; he wasn’t preying on the other children around him. It was just a con for the sake of the con. He said of himself that he’s a manipulator and he even has a tattoo on his arm that reads “Chameleon from Nantes,” which is the name of the town where he grew up. 

His scam in Spain, where he was playing the orphan, only came to an end when a school official happened to see a TV show about Bourdin and recognized his face. 

Years earlier, when he was 23, Bourdin had successfully pretended to be someone’s missing 16-year-old son, even though he had different colored eyes and a French accent. He lived with the parents of the missing boy for months before a DNA test forced on him by the FBI (who feared he was a spy) revealed his scam.

9. The First International Bank of Grenada

No matter how much money you try to scam from another person, you’re still just a person getting money from other people, and that’s always an uphill battle. Van Brink realized this, so he thought to scam bigger. And what’s bigger than a person, but is still able to get money? A bank. So he made up a bank.

In 1997, Brink purchased a license to open his own bank in Grenada. He convinced the government where he’d just bought citizenship that he was legit by claiming he owned a giant ruby, complete with photos and an appraisal value of $20 million. To be clear, the ruby did exist, but it was not his. Despite that, and with assurances of another $26 billion in assets, the bank was formed and within a year they listed assets of $14 billion. 

In truth, the bank had managed to scam investors out of $170 million. The bank claimed to have insurance, of course, but that was issued by another fake company. Investors were promised high interest rates but in reality Brink and associates were just buying luxury items, and using investments from new investors to pay fake interest to older investors, all until the scam collapsed.

Brink escaped to Uganda, denying wrongdoing the whole time. He was eventually charged but died of a heart attack while awaiting trial. 

8. Victor Lustig Sold the Eiffel Tower Twice

A good con artist has to be able to gain a person’s trust. A great con artist can get their faith. That is, they can make you believe the impossible. Like how Victor Lustig somehow convinced people that he not only owned the Eiffel Tower, but that he was willing to sell it to them. And he did it twice. 

In 1925, the French government was lamenting the poor condition of the Eiffel Tower and apparently one official made an offhand remark to a newspaper about selling it for scrap. Lustig read this and put a plan into action. 

He had counterfeit stationary made up listing him as a government official and invited local scrap dealers to meet him. He told the dealers that the tower, which was never meant to be permanent, was being torn down and whoever had the best bid for the 7,000 tons of scrap could claim it all. At the same time, he assured his favorite target among the dealers that if they greased the wheels, the contract would be theirs. 

Bribe in hand, Lustig left the country and waited for news of the scam being revealed. It never happened, likely due to the embarrassment of his victim preventing them from coming forward. So Lustig did what any successful scammer would do: he went back to France and pulled the same scam a second time with new victims. 

When he fled this time, his victim reported the crime but Lustig was already in the United States

7. Arthur Furguson Sold Landmarks In England and America

Turns out 1925 was a big year for landmarks because, while Victor Lustig was selling the Eiffel Tower in France, Scotsman Arthur Ferguson had managed to sell Nelson’s Column, Big Ben, and Buckingham Palace to American tourists visiting London. He later went to the US and sold the White House to a Texas rancher and the Statue of Liberty to an Australian. 

Naturally you’d wonder how anyone could believe these things were for sale, but Ferguson was nothing if not persuasive. In England he explained that, since the end of the First World War, the government was in dire need of new cash. Americans, he realized, were not as familiar with the ins and outs of how things works so they’d be easier marks. And they were.

He never sold the landmarks outright. Instead, he took deposits. A few thousand dollars here or there, which was all he needed. Especially when he could repeat the scam again and again, selling the same buildings to different people. 

Most victims were too embarrassed to tell police, which allowed Ferguson to continue his scamming. It was only when the Australian looking to buy the Statue of Liberty took too long to get the funds and grew suspicious of Ferguson’s impatience that he was finally caught. 

6. Mary Bateman’s Prophetic Chicken

Harry Houdini famously targeted scammers who preyed on the faith and beliefs of certain victims by claiming they could speak to the dead or the divine. Some of these scammers just pretend to channel from the beyond, but Mary Bateman tried to take it to another level by offering what seemed, at first, like irrefutable proof. She had a chicken that laid eggs with messages from God on them. Not bad, huh?

In 1806, Mary claimed one of her chickens laid an egg with the words “Crist is coming” clearly visible in the shell. Typo notwithstanding, it was stunning. Especially for a woman whose claim to fame up to that point had been committing a string of poorly planned robberies in which she was caught every time.

Word soon spread and people traveled to her farm where they paid a penny a piece to see the miracle chicken and its eggs. She was also offering people official seals to ensure they’d make it to the right side of the Rapture, which were apparently just slips of paper on which she’d written “JC.”

A suspicious visitor soon realized the scam when he exposed Bateman for using simple chemistry and a somewhat grisly determination to pull off her miracles. She would take the eggs and write her message on them in vinegar, which would weaken the shell enough to make the letters visible. Then she jammed the eggs back in the chicken, forcing them to lay them a second time where witnesses could see. The stranger simply hid near her barn early in the morning and watched her do it.

5. Joseph Prushinowski was Called the Hasidic Robin Hood

Is there such a thing as a good scammer? If there is, then Joseph Prushinowski surely counts. For 20 years he committed various frauds despite being a Hasidic rabbi, which most people would have assumed would prohibit him from such crimes.

Prushinowski ran multiple scams over the years that netted him millions of dollars. He managed to wait out the statute of limitations on many, but others still followed him when he was finally arrested in 1998. Part of the reason he was able to elude capture so long – long enough to get him featured on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries – was the help he received. He didn’t keep the money he stole for himself, you see; he distributed it among Orthodox Jewish communities and they protected him for it. All told it’s believed he scammed around $190 million.

4. Anthony Gignac Pretended to Be a Saudi Prince 

Saudi princes still get in the news these days, and it’s generally well known that they’re pretty wealthy. So it’s sort of understandable why Anthony Gignac wanted to pretend to be one. It was a scam to dupe people into thinking he was already wealthy, granting him access and opportunity.

Despite being arrested nearly a dozen times for scams in which he pretended to be royalty, he escalated his scam to the tune of $8 million in fraud over several years. Inexplicably, this was all chronicled on Instagram where he showed off private jets, expensive jewelry, art, and more. He even made up fake diplomatic plates for his Ferrari.

The scam involved using this fake persona to secure investment money, which he of course spent on himself. His scam crumbled during an attempt to defraud some Miami hotel owners when they watched him eating pork, something a Muslim prince would not do, and hired an investigator to look into him.

3. John Keely’s Fake Engine

For years people have been looking for newer, better power sources. John Ernst Worrell Keely’s scam promised just that. In 1872, he claimed to have created a powerful engine that harnessed sympathetic vibratory physics, whatever that meant, and essentially made energy from nothing. He raised $10,000 in a year.

Dubbed the Etheric Force Machine, Keely kept putting off explaining said machines because, of course, they were fake. But he still built thousands of them and gave fake demonstrations that people couldn’t investigate too closely. The machines broke ropes, bent bars; did all kinds of random, powerful things. By 1880 he had 3,000 investors but none had their hands on an engine.

After his death, people raided his lab and took the machines apart, where it was discovered any effects they produced were made by compressed air. 

2. David Stein Painted Same Day Art Forgeries

If you want to forge art, you need to be a hell of a painter in a way that seems like you should be able to succeed based on your talent. But life isn’t fair sometimes, and talent often goes unrecognized. David Stein surely felt that way when he decided to paint three fake Chagall paintings and then sell them to an art dealer.

Stein’s scam was to present himself as a rep from a place like Sotheby’s and let people know they had new art coming up for sale soon. Stuff from modern masters who were at their peak in the 1960s and ’70s. Stein could get you a painting that would probably sell for millions for maybe $800,000.

In truth, Stein would sell a painting then immediately go home and actually paint it himself. He was so good that apparently Picasso himself authenticated a fake made by Stein. But it was Marc Chagall that was his downfall.

Stein had arranged to sell three Chagalls to an art dealer. He woke up at 6 a.m. on the day they were due and had all three painted by 11. He framed them, made fake certificates of authenticity, and sold them for $10,500. Then the real Marc Chagall coincidentally came to the gallery, saw them, and Stein’s scam ended.

1. Eduardo de Valfierno May Have Masterminded the Mona Lisa Theft

The Mona Lisa was stolen in 1911, one of the greatest art heists in history. It was a whole day before anyone realized what happened. The news spread around the globe and at one point police even hauled in Pablo Picasso as a suspect. In truth, a house painter named Vincenzo Peruggia had stolen it and was caught two years later trying to sell it in Italy. But the story may not end there, and perhaps one of the most amazing art scams ever was happening at the same time.

During the time the Mona Lisa was missing, a man named Eduardo de Valfierno claims to have had six forgeries painted, each of which he sold to gullible millionaires. They could have only ever believed they were buying the real Mona Lisa if the real Mona Lisa was missing, so de Valfierno arranged for the theft to take place and made tens of millions in the process. His victims would never be able to come forward lest they out themselves as both gullible fools and also potential criminals.

Is the story true? Evidence is scant, but shouldn’t that be the case with a good scam?