Possible victim of the Soapy Smith gang, Denver, 1884.

Roped-in
Omaha Daily Bee
June 25, 1884

(Click image to enlarge)

 

OSSIBLE VICTIM OF THE JEFFERSON R. SMITH GANG.

 

 

Omaha Daily Bee
June 25, 1884

COLORADO.

Col. Fletcher, a tourist from Boston, was roped-in by the bunko men of Denver and relieved of $1,000.

The story of Soapy Smith can be had in the book, Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel.

NOTES:

1. $1,000.00 in 1884 is the equivalent of $33,472.95 in 2023. 
2. According to the Rocky Mountain News there were at least two, possibly three bunko gangs operating in Denver at this time. For certain "Doc" Charles Baggs and Jeff R. Smith were operating in Denver at this time. 
3. Jeff R. Smith was not known as "Soapy" Smith until May 1885, neither was the gang known as the soap gang.
   

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"In many cases the bunko sharp is compelled to return a portion of the money to avoid such trouble, and sometimes comes to grief at the hands of the law. In such cases the matter is compromised with the man, his money is returned and he is induced to leave, so that when the case comes up for trial the sharp escapes for lack of prosecution."

—Evening Post (San Francisco)
May 6, 1876

BUNKO THIEVES of San Francisco in 1876, and their comparison to the Soapy Smith gang.

BUNKO THIEVES.
Evening Post
(San Francisco)
May 6, 1876

(Click image to enlarge)

 

 

 

unko thieves of San Francisco in 1876

and their comparison to the Soapy Smith gang.

Though the article is written well before Soapy’s criminal reign in Denver, it gives a number of comparison clues to how the soap gang in Denver operated. I will add my thoughts and notes within the article. These were not written down rules, but rather common sense in the art of manipulating human nature for the most profit without being arrested.

Evening Post
(San Francisco)
May 6, 1876

BUNKO THIEVES.

The Shrewd Swindlers with Whom San Francisco is Infested.

Their Haunts and Ways of Taking In the Unwary—Some of the More Notable Characters—How Railway Travel is Injured by Their Operations—Fleecing Tourists from Australia.

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly,
It’s the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show you when you’re there.”

[Soapy Smith appreciated the poem, "The Spider and the Fly" by Mary Howitt (1829) and it's unintended comparison to the bunko man and the victim. In the mid-1890s he picked up a print of The Web of Arachne by Fernand Le Quesne and is believed to have hung it inside the Tivoli Club in Denver. When he opened his saloon in Skagway, Alaska, he hung the print on the wall and fittingly named the saloon, Jeff Smith's Parlor.]

The Web of Arachne
by Fernand Le Quesne

(Click image to enlarge)

Had the author of the composition from which the above lines are taken chosen to set forth the preliminaries to the invitation, she would, no doubt, have presented an interesting detail of the measures taken by the sagacious spider to insure an acceptance of his invitation by his intended victim. Externally, the appearance of Monsieur Spider was such as to inspire confidence and respect. Natural defects were overcome by artfulness, and the ordinary ungainly appearance improved as much as possible. The natural ugliness of the arachnidan visage was concealed by an open, winning smile. The hairy legs were brushed into glossy smoothness, and though rather thin, seemed the perfection of gentility. The rasping voice of ordinary occasions was softened into one more seductive in tone, and, in short, the tout ensemble of the tempter was as much altered for the better as the necessities of the occasion demanded and the funds at his command, and the furnishing of his toilet-table, would allow. Not only in this direction but in others was his sagacity manifested. (much of next sentenced missing) … crack in the wall, where the potent attraction of a ray of sunshine, or some other equally strong inducement, caused the congregation of an unusual number of flies at that point. His sagacity was further manifested in the selection of one fly in particular to whom he should extend the invitation. It was not offered to flies in general, but to a single individual, and we are led to believe that as the spider, concealed in the darkness of his inner den, looked out upon the passersby, he let one after another pass unheeded, and paid no special attention until he caught sight of one whose particular fatness excited his appetite or whose unsophisticated appearance promised an easy victory. Then

THE TEMPTER SIDLED FORTH.

Clambered gently over the meshes of the net until the outer one was reached, and dangled there in suave composure waiting the coming of his victim, who upon arriving was gracefully saluted with the compliments of the day. The advances being pleasantly received the conversation took a more confidential turn, and soon the fly could not fail to see what a great impression his shapeliness and talents had produced upon his particular friend the spider. No doubt it curiously happened, according to the statement of the spider, that before taking up his present location he had dwelt near the family of his young friend the fly, knew his father and mother well and all the family. All this, however, was but preliminary to the gentle invitation couched in the nicest language and offered in the softest tones. “Will you walk into my parlor?” The fly confiding and flattered, willingly consents, is ceremoniously assisted inside by the spider, who can hardly restrain himself from satisfying at once his appetite, is taken up the dark pathway, beyond the light of day and the reach of his friends and adds one more to the list of the latter’s victims, while he diminishes the number of fools in the world by one. This occurrence is a common one, and takes place more frequently, perhaps, in our city than anywhere else. The spiders are human beings—the term men would flatter them too much—who, having in the great process of evolution descended direct from the tarantula, display all the villainy, treachery and lack of principle characteristic of that animal, with a corresponding amount of knavery and cowardice. Their dens are scattered about the city, hidden from all eyes, save those of the sharper, his victim and the police. The webs, invisible though they are, await the traveler on every corner, though they are most numerous on Montgomery street, on and near the corner of Bush, and from there up to Kearny. Here, also, the spiders may be seen in full force every day, dressed shabbily or fashionably, as suits their purse or the object they have in view. Gamblers, pickpockets, ropers-in, confidence men, monte men and blacklegs of high and low degree, throng the principal thoroughfares with nothing, save in the lower grades, to indicate their trade, and

UNDISTINGUISHABLE FROM MEN OF RESPECTABILITY,

Except by those “fly” enough themselves to know them and their doings. In this “profession,” as in all others, there are different grades of “honor,” according as the work performed is difficult or easy. The burglar who skillfully breaks into your house at night looks down with contempt upon him who merely snatches your watch in a crowd, and quite as contemptuously does the latter, proud of his own skill, look upon the sneak thief who creeps through an opened front door, takes an overcoat and umbrella from the hat-rack and stealthily crawls off to his pawnbroker. The majority, however, prefer swindling to stealing. It is more genteel in the first place, is much less precarious and there are more avenues of escape in case of arrest. The only stock in trade required for the business is a knowledge of human nature, a glib tongue, a thorough lack of principle and a previous acquaintance with some branch of swindling. These qualities make up the sharper, and as they are possessed in a greater or less degree determine his status among his brethren. As the capabilities of the members of the gang vary, so do the means by which their, or rather his, mind as to the method of approach and the way in which to work. It is a matter of often-expressed wonder how the gentlemen who “toil not” managed to keep well dressed and well fed, and yet the swindling business offers as great, if not greater field for individual enterprise than any other. From a “hogging” faro game, bunko and the more aristocratic methods of swindling, down through the intermediate stages of three card monte, the strap game, card and billiard games generally, loaded dice, etc., to the humbler practices of “standing in” with clothing dealers, the ways of turning a dishonest penny are varied and numerous. The sharpers live at the expense of travelers, either from the outside country, from the East or more distant localities, who, unacquainted with the city and its denizens, fall an easy prey. This city, owning to the number of people who are constantly coming and going, the immigrants and travelers from the East and from Australia and China, is

A CHOSEN SPOT

For the fraternity, and the number of them is something startling. Then, in addition, their ranks are receiving constant accession from the hoodlums of the city, the greatest ambition of many of them being to be successful card throwers, or sharpers of some sort. The one department of “bunko” swindling claims the attention of a large number, who working methodically and carefully, are successful to a far greater extent than the few complaints and tales of distress that are told at the Police Office would lead one to imagine.

[The number of known successes is few as they were not published or written down, minus a few examples of profits Soapy noted in his private notebooks and writings as he traveled from town to town in the early days as a nomad bunko man and his operations in Denver and the Tivoli Club. In Denver he was able to pay his gang, his debts, and afford a good life for his wife, Mary and their children, purchased properties, at least one home, and charity to the needy. According to his Mary, at the time of his death Soapy had made near 40 million dollars (stolen).]

The “bunko” men are divided into two distinct gangs, one “going for” the more aristocratic passengers from the East and Australia, and the other for the immigrants and steerage passengers, called “stinkers” in the elegant parlance of the gang. Though well known to each other, the bunko men usually hang together in gangs of three or four, that number being all that is needed to operate at one time. Their loafing places are, as stated before, around the corners of Bush and Montgomery and Bush and Kearney streets. They are also scattered along Kearney, and at the corner of Kearny and Commercial streets there is a saloon which forms their general headquarters.

[Not much different years later within the soap gang organization. Unlike the article, the soap gang in Denver was often divided into numerous groups in numerous locations on and around Seventeenth street, between the Union Depot and Larimer street. There were big mit (fake poker) games, the auction house, the gaming rooms of the Tivoli Club, etc. They also hung together in groups of three or four. When Soapy went to Skagway, Alaska for the very first time in 1897, he went with two other bunko operators, and it was three of the gang that robbed John Stewart in July 1898.]

It is a small, shabby place on the northeast corner, and is kept by a little old man familiarly called “Uncle” by the bunkoists. “Uncle” is a short, fat man with a bald head, who may usually be seen, for all the world like a bloated spider, standing near the door of his “dive.” His head is bald with the exception of a few locks around the sides, his face is red and bloated; his nose so swollen by toddy efflorescence as to have become shapeless and spread over a large part of his face; his eyes are deep-set and small, with a villainous twinkle; a long tobacco-stained gray beard partly conceals a dirty shirt; and altogether he seems fitly named when designated as the elder relative of so promising a family. Around his place and in it may usually be seen a number of sharps and bunko men; those who gather there are as a general thing members of the plebeian division of the gang. This plebeian division is presided over by one "Blewy,” who makes periodic trips out into the country, gets acquainted in various towns, and is therefore prepared, when the harvest season is over, and the “hands” have come to town for a good time, to show them around, exhibit the elephant and the “lively flea” to them, and

TEACH THEM THE WAYS OF THE CITY.

Such tuition, however, is slightly more expensive to those that have money than would be lessons on the best method of swaying a nation from Queen Victoria. One of “Blewy’s” right hand men is a man who may be seen every day around the saloon above mentioned. He is a man about five feet ten inches high, wears a dark gray suit of clothes, a flat black felt hat, such as is usually sported by hoodlums, and has a red, wrinkled face, with sandy mustache and short chin whiskers. His face has a hardened, “tough” look, and his expression invariably causes the observer to wonder when he got out of San Quentin. The aristocratic division is run by “Slim Jim’s Brother,” a brother of the notorious monte man. Chicago Jack. Boston Charley and Tibbetts have already been hauled up before the Police Court on charges of bunko swindling, and Tibbetts is now spending a term in the County Jail. Slim Jim’s brother, “Chicago Jack,” and Harris are about the same hight[sic], five feet eight, or a little below it. They dress on ordinary occasions somewhat alike, in dark suits, usually wearing short sack or frock coats. Harris wears a soft, dark felt hat—has black hair, slightly curling, a black mustache, and an incipient beard on his chin. He dresses to be seen around the corner.

[Likely that the moniker of "Slim-Jim" was pretty common, but then again, it's hard not to imagine that it could be referring to "Slim-Jim" Foster of the Skagway, Alaska, soap gang who assisted in the robbery of miner John Douglas Stewart, that also involved the game of three-card monte.]

These men and their associates are expert cardsharpers, and are up in

ALL KINDS OF SWINDLING.

But their attention has been of late devoted principally to bunko. Whenever an Australian steamer gets in they are on the alert. Around the railroad offices on Montgomery street can be counted any number of them, and their adroitness is a matter of astonishment even to those who know their skill and mode of acting. Two Englishmen run with the gang who are evidently Sydney birds, and these make themselves especially useful. Among the number are men who have traveled in many parts of the world, through the East, in Europe, and in Australia, and are sufficiently conversant with the various cities to make themselves appear to have many acquaintances and to be well known there.

It is the custom for one or more of the gang to go down to the steamer on its arrival, “spot” the newcomers that look most promising either for greenies or money, and note to what hotel they go. A glance at the hotel register afterward tells the place from which they came, and so the sharper is able to inform his confederates of the name of the selected person and where he hails from, together with such other information as might be gained from a confederate on board the steamer or from any other source.

[No need to "glance at the hotel register for the soap gang in Denver as the local newspapers published who was at which hotel, giving their name and where they hail from and sometimes their occupation and why they are in Denver, whether it be business or pleasure. This made obtaining victims from the hotels much easier than those in 1876 San Francisco gangs could.]

That member of the gang who is best acquainted with the place in question then makes it his business to become acquainted with the man and gain his confidence. He may impose upon some acquaintance of his intended victim and obtain an introduction, or he may follow the latter until some very natural way of making his acquaintance presents itself. Nearly every one of the sports has some “gal” in some one of the low concert saloons who introduces him as Mr. Smith, of the London and San Francisco Bank, or Mr. Brown, of the Bank of California, and the greenhorn usually takes it all in and is gratified at forming so aristocratic an acquaintance. Very commonly, however, no circumlocution is used, and the bunko sharp walks up to the man on the street, claiming his acquaintance at once. A gentleman who has seen this done several times says: “It is perfectly astounding how they impose upon a man when they have once settled upon him. They walk up with the most perfect air of gratified surprise, grasp the man’s hand warmly and shake it vigorously. The man is astonished at first, but time after time, after a short conversation I have seen them

WALK OFF ARM IN ARM,

The victim seeming quite [rest of sentence missing]. An invariable accompaniment of the unexpected meeting is an invitation to drink, usually given by the latter, and the two go off to a saloon “kept by a friend of mine” to get the libation that renews the acquaintance. The first meeting usually takes place on Montgomery street, and the drinking saloon selected is a little den on the south side of Sutter, between Montgomery and Sansome near the middle of the block. It is a small, dark place in the rear which is a small board patrician through the door of which a green-baize covered poker-table is visible, and where a small game is usually going on. The two go to this place and get a drink, and the liquor is usually “snuffed” to such an extent that whatever the victim selects for a drink is sure to go to his head and intoxicate him in very short order. Having got him partly or wholly drunk, he is in a fit condition to understand the beauties and mysteries of “bunko.” The sharper confidentially informs him that he has

JUST DRAWN A PRIZE IN A LOTTERY.

And invites him to accompany him to the office and get the money. To the office then they go. These offices are situated in various places, each gang having its own. No one of them remains long in the same building, owing to the precarious nature of the business, but moves, as soon as a good haul has been made, to some other locality. The office is fitted up with ledgers, advertisements of lotteries, and is represented as an agency. A doctored copy of the statutes concerning lotteries, and the rules governing them, lies where it will be likely to seen. The successful candidate receives his prize in bona fide gold coin, and is usually given another ticket which he generously offers to his newly-found friend, or by drawing with it and winning so excites the latter’s cupidity that he is anxious to try his hand, and a “special drawing,” as provided for in the rules, is inaugurated for his benefit. There is really no game at all to it, but it is so explained to the victim that there seems to be

EVERY CHANCE OF WINNING

And none of losing. The cards are drawn from a box and are twenty-six in number, twenty-five being blanks and one entitling him to a prize. When the cards are drawn, the rule is that when a blank comes out the player must “represent” or double-up, or lose what he has already put up. Inspired by the fact that the prize card is sure to come in time, and feeling confident in the game, inasmuch as the man who is conducting it puts up an amount equal to his every time, he keeps on doubling till his funds are exhausted and he cannot come to time, when the “Cashier” coolly sweeps the board and informs the victim that he has lost. A great deal of discretion has to be exercised by the sharpers in picking out men who will not “squeal.” That is, after losing their money, raise a row about it, have the men arrested, and so on. In many cases the bunko sharp is compelled to return a portion of the money to avoid such trouble, and sometimes comes to grief at the hands of the law. In such cases the matter is compromised with the man, his money is returned and he is induced to leave, so that when the case comes up for trial the sharp escapes for lack of prosecution.

[Very little difference in the operations between the San Francisco gangs of 1876 and Soapy Smith's gang in Denver of the 1880s-90s, where there are many examples in which the newspapers report that the victim did not show up to court and the prosecution had no choice but to drop its case. In Denver and later in Skagway, Alaska, this developed into the unconventional procedure of arresting the victim, as well as the con man, in order to make sure they appear in court]

One of the most pernicious modes of gaining the confidence of the travelers, adopted by the sharp, is to represent himself as a railroad agent for some of the Eastern routes. This has really hurt the travel here, the railroad men say, and given

A VERY BAD REPUTATION TO SAN FRANCISCO

Among the foreign traveling public. The Englishmen coming here from Australia are the best game for the sharpers, partly on account of their being usually well supplied with money and partly on account of their ignorance of this city and “its ways that are dark.” Besides this they are not in the habit of squealing, unless they are severely bitten. One of them who came up two steamers ago related his experience. He met a man who was going east on the same train with him, at least that was his statement, and they went around to see the sights together. They wound up, both comfortably “full,” in a saloon on Merchant street, almost in the shadow of the City Hall. Here the Englishman was shown a magnificent gold quartz specimen by his friend, and they and some others raffled for it. Shaking dice for this led on to shaking for money, and, as the Englishman phrased it, “Buggah, the fellahs if they didn’t cozen me out of twenty-five souvrins.”

THE HAULS MADE BY THE SHARPS

Are sometimes very large. Slim Jim’s brother made one haul of £1,400 sterling from one man, £500 of it being sovereigns and the rest £5 notes. The sovereigns he exchanged for United States money in a broker’s office on Montgomery street. The sharps frequently go into the broker’s offices with English gold and notes in smaller amounts. How it happens that they are allowed to carry on their game when from “Nibsy,” the curly-haired “snide jewelry” man, to “Liz,” the bunko apprentice they are all well known to the police is a problem which “no feller can find out. Every day some one is swindled, and the sharpers grow fat while the police smoke good cigars on the street corners. There has been of late among the railroad offices some talk of a vigilance committee to clean the fellows out, as they are all well known, and if no other remedy can be had it certainly would be a good thing for them and for the city.

[Although not confirmed via the newspapers, it is likely that "every day some one is swindled" in Soapy's Denver kingdom as well. It is circumstantial evidence that Soapy worked almost every day, including New Year's Day, etc. In Denver there was little to fear of vigilantes, but it was vigilantes that ended Soapy's life in Skagway, Alaska. Read the whole story in my book, Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel]

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"I never cheated an honest man, only rascals. They wanted something for nothing, I gave them nothing for something."

—Joseph "Yellow Kid" Weil

Did Soapy Smith operate in Benson, Arizona in 1885?

Soapy Smith in Benson?
Daily Tombstone
September 2, 1885

(Click image to enlarge)

 

id Soapy Smith operate in Benson, Arizona in 1885?

 

 

 

Daily Tombstone
September 2, 1885

Went Broke.

Tim and Brigham, two well known Johns, went to Benson Tuesday to take in the circus and among other sights they saw there was a man selling soap, wrapped around which was greenbacks of various denominations, among others, a $50 note. Our two knights of the lines watched the soap vendor unwrap the bill and show it, and then placed it in the box again for over half an hour, and both had their eyes upon what they thought to be the package containing the $50 bill. They then pooled their issue and forfeited a dollar for a package, picking out the right one, as they supposed. After they had got the package they walked up the track for a distance of half a mile, so that nobody would know of their good fortune, and opened the package, when lo, there was nothing there but a piece of soap worth possibly a quarter of a cent. This so enraged our two friends that they returned and kept buying soap until they went broke, and as a consequence, we learn that the Bisbee stage will only run every other day hereafter.

 

     The timing is right, but without the identification of the man selling prize package soap in Benson it remains a question to answer. It is known that Jefferson Randolph "Soapy" Smith operated in numerous locations in Arizona between 1882-1883, but what about September 1885? Soapy was not the only prize package soap man working the West.

     It is known that in 1885 Soapy was rising as a criminal and political force in Denver, Colorado. Soapy's name was absent from the Denver newspapers for much of 1884 and for the first five months of 1885. He seems to have kept an extremely low profile as he established himself in the city. During this period, he might still have been traveling. The absence of Soapy's name from the newspapers ended in May 1885 when J. Brockman, a Denver resident, had Soapy arrested for swindling him. Soapy was able to continue his street business for a solid month before the city council adopted a resolution on June 23, 1885, to rescind his peddler’s license.
     Thus Soapy left Denver for an extended cooling off period. For forty-two days, from June 23 to August 1, 1885, there is no sign of him. Then his name appeared in an August 2, 1885, news account of a boxing match in Rawlins, Wyoming. Soapy was the timekeeper.
     Soapy's name does not appear in Denver newspapers again until October 3, 1885, when he and another bunco man named Mike Rainey were arrested for assaulting John Koch, a probable victim. Koch failed to identify his attackers as Jeff and Rainey, so they were discharged. This means that the time window (August 2 - October 3, 1885) opens the possibility that the soap man in Benson may very well have been Soapy. 

     Read the entire story of Soapy Smith in, Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel.


 

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"It can be argued that man's instinct to gamble is the only reason he is still not a monkey up in the trees."

—Mario Puzo, Inside Las Vegas