Soapy Smith's Soap Box: "Clubfoot" Hall

(Click image to enlarge)

LUBFOOT" HALL - CON MAN
Soapy Smith's mentor?

Recently, I saw two Youtube videos on "Soapy" Smith. Both chose to use the old error filled biographies as sources. Sometimes I leave a comment, letting the author and visitors know some of the errors in the videos and letting them know that there are published true histories of Soapy if they so desire. In both videos I noted the inclusion of "Clubfoot" Hall and "Ice-Box" Murphy. I normally stop watching these type videos once I come across old, outdated information being touted as "history." The sources on one of the videos included the early biographies rather than my book and research. I wrote up a response and was going to include links to my blog writeups I have done on these two men but found I have overlooked writing about them outside of my book Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel. So, I re-read The Reign of Soapy Smith and Soapy Smith: King of the Frontier Con Men again, so I could create a blog post on what I know, and don't know, about the two men.

Those of you who have read the older books and articles on "Soapy" Smith, might wonder why I have not included the history of “Clubfoot” Hall on this blog. The early biographies introduced me to Hall, whose story was included in many of the later biographies and articles. Even today, many writers repeat the same old fabrications. Wait, “fabrication?” Since I started researching “Soapy’s” history in 1985 I have never found a single bit of provenance, source, or newspaper article proving that a “Clubfoot” Hall existed. In fact, the only place I have seen his name is in the two early Soapy bios. In my current opinion, an author, somewhere over the decades, added "fluff," fiction added to a story to round out and explain a missing history.

What is clubfoot?

Also known as talipes equinovarus, clubfoot is a condition where a baby's foot turns inward and downward. It can affect one or both feet. In the early nineteenth century numerous attempts at cures were being published, but it would be decades before the vast majority could locate a doctor who was knowledgeable in said cures.
Allow me to introduce "Clubfoot" Hall, a bunko operator of the three-shell and pea scam, and said to be Soapy's first introduction to the world of crime. The primary question I put out there to be answered is, did Hall exist?
The first mention of “Clubfoot” Hall I found was in the book The Reign of Soapy Smith: Monarch of Misrule, by William R. Collier and Edwin V. Westrate, 1935. The book has Soapy and Joe Simmons starting out as cowboys, but right from the get-go this has been disproven. The cowboy story began in 1892 with the poem Jeff and Joe. The poem’s author embellished the truth in order to romanticize their friendship. Both Jeff and Joe met in Denver in the mid-1880s. Both the Smith and Simmons families state that Jeff Smith and Joe Simmons were never cowboy's.

The Reign of Soapy Smith: Monarch of Misrule, 1935.

Following is "Clubfoot" Hall's story in The Reign of Soapy Smith: Monarch of Misrule, 1935.

“Circus days were big events in the cow country, and when the announcement came that the big top was to be raised in San Antonio [Texas] for a day, young Smith resolved to make an occasion of it. Joe Simons [sic] was unable to accompany him, so he went alone. With a month’s wages in his pocket, he rode into San Antonio in the morning, to find the gala spirit already manifest on all sides. The townsfolk were out in force, and hundreds of cowhands were drifting in from every direction, while sharpers and hawkers already were barking away on the street corners.
While waiting for the big parade, Jeff’s attention was caught by one of these, offering a type of diversion he had never seen before. A man was standing behind a table which held nothing except three half walnut shells, beneath one of them which, at intervals, he would place a pea. He then would slide the shells about in quick confusion and challenge one and all to bet with him as to which shell covered the pea.
Jeff stopped, looked, listened—and was lost. He didn’t know he was face to face with 'Clubfoot' Hall, one of the greatest shell-game experts of all time, but, if he had, it is doubtful that this would have deterred him. He was sure he could follow the trail of the pea. So he tried it. Then he tried it again—and again—and again….
Jeff Smith didn’t see the circus that day. When he left Hall’s stand, he couldn’t have bought a sandwich. Seeing no purpose in remaining in the festive atmosphere, penniless, he mounted his horse, dejectedly, and rode back to the ranch.
As the black clouds of bitterness descended upon his youthful soul, he didn’t know that he had reached the turning point in his life. But, as he jogged along, he began pondering what had happened to him. Most sharply etched on his gloomy mind was the realization that, in a few minutes, the suave, clubfooted shall man had acquired all the money for which he himself had toiled arduously an entire month.
By the time the home corral was in sight, Jeff had reached the conclusion that he was in the wrong business. Playing with those shells provided one was the manipulator—seemed vastly easier and far more profitable than rounding up a herd of thirsty, unruly steers.
Throughout his life, for Smith to decide meant to act, so he acted now. Always potently persuasive in manner and speech, he made the rounds of his range comrades and managed to borrow a few dollars. Then he quit his job and hurried back on the trail of the circus. Let it be said, in passing, that he repaid every cent loaned to him.
In the wake of every big tent show of those days were hanger-on squads of grafters, grifters, and crooks. Young Smith picked up their acquaintance easily enough and, in a few days, he was one of them. His native intelligence, combined with his natural agility and a pair of deft hands, soon made him a capable assistant to the masters of his new profession, and they found him a desirable and valuable adjunct.
It was typical of him that he had no qualms of conscience. He had never harbored resentment against Clubfoot Hall, believing that, since he had been foolish enough to fall for the blandishments of the shells, his loss had been only his just due. So, now, he felt that he was perfectly justified in seeking to bilk any other moneyed innocent.”

My research shows that Soapy first became successful as a legitimate store salesman in Round Rock, Texas. At some point he met John “Old-Man” Taylor, who taught him the cheap John business, which was the early version of today’s “jam auction” scam. See links on John Taylor at the bottom of this post.

Soapy Smith: King of the Frontier Con Men, 1961.

The second mention of “Clubfoot” Hall I found was in the book Soapy Smith: King of the Frontier Con Men, by Frank G. Robertson and Beth K. Harris, 1961. As there are no other sources on Hall, I am left to assume that The authors gathered the information from The Reign of Soapy Smith and changed it around a bit, to make it into a version of their own invention.

Their [Jeff Smith and Joe Simmons] return trip took them as far south as San Antonio. Here they heard that there was a circus in town, but only one boy could go. They cut the cards, honestly, to see which would go, and Jeff won.

This version gets the history wrong in regards to Joe Simmons, including the spelling of his name "Simons," which the authors copied from The Reign of Soapy Smith. The book has Soapy and Joe Simmons starting out as cowboys, but this is not factual. This story began with the poem Jeff and Joe, written in 1892. The poem’s author embellished the truth in order to romanticize their friendship. Both Jeff and Joe met in Denver in the mid-1880s. The Simmons family stated that Joe Simmons was never a cowboy either. That he started out as a gambler in Denver, known as "Gambler Joe"

This was the biggest city Jeff Smith had ever seen, but he followed the crowd to the circus. He strolled around, looking at the animals in their cages, charmed by the singsong spiels of the barkers. They were pretty good at it, but it was in Jeff’s mind that he could do better; they lacked what he had, imagination.
One spieler in particular attracted his attention. He was a short, stubby man with a clubfoot, dressed in dingy black. Jeff Smith didn’t know it, but he was on the verge of a new career.
“Step right up, gentlemen, and flirt with Lady Luck,” the spieler said. “The hand is quicker than the eye. Now you see it, now you don’t. I have here three simple little walnut shells and one inoffensive little pea. All you have to do to win is guess which shell the little pea is under. Here it is, hiding right under the shell in the center. I put it down so, but there is no guarantee it will be there when I raise the shell. Anybody want to bet me it’s there?”
Jeff stopped to watch. He watched the man’s hand carefully; the pea had to be under the middle shell, but he was not ready to bet.
A man stepped up and said, “I’ll take that bet, mister. It’s under the middle shell.”
“You’re a brave man, friend, and unfortunately—for me—you win.” He lifted the shell, exposing the pea, and handed the man five dollars. The man took his money and disappeared chuckling in the crowd.
“I thought I had him fooled,” the clubfooted man said, “but I wish I could try him again.” He shuffled the shells rapidly, and the watchers caught occasional glimpses of the pea.
“Any of you other sports want to take a chance? I’m old and crippled and I have to make a living. You can’t win every time.”
Another man stepped up and made his bet, and won. Jeff was sure the pea would be where the man said it was. “I guess it’s not my day, but I still think the hand is quicker than the eye,” the shell man said. “How about you, young fellow? You look like you have a keen eye.”
“I’ll take a chance,” Jeff said, and put up five dollars. He watched the cripple manipulate the shells and the pea, and said boldly, “It’s under the middle again.”
Clubfoot raised the shell and there was nothing there. It was under the one to the right. “Fooled you that time, young fellow. Your eyesight must not be as good as I thought it was.”
My eyesight is all right,” Jeff said. “I’ll bet you another five.” The gambling fever was in his blood. If another man could win, he could.
Jeff lost three times in succession before he located the pea under the right shell. He was confident that he could win his money back. He bet again and again, but at the end of half an hour his pocketbook was empty, and others were pressing in to try their luck with varying degrees of success, while Clubfoot continued his chant to draw the crowd.
Jeff was humbled but not angry. It would be hard to take the chaffing he was bound to receive from Joe Simons [sic], but he had learned a valuable lesson—never try to beat another man at his own game. He looked at the cripple’s hands; they were stubby, and at times seemed to fumble, but it was evident that he could win when he wanted to. Jeff’s hands were far more supple. It would be an easier way to make a living than herding cows—not that he had anything special against such work. He liked horses, and he was expert with them, but he felt that the men who worked with him, barring only Joe Simons [sic], were beneath him in intelligence. He, Jefferson Randolph Smith, scion of a fine old Georgia family, was cut out for better things.
He hung around the place, hands in empty pockets, till the circus closed, always keeping his eyes on Clubfoot Hall, the shell-game artist, and Jeff was prepared to acknowledge his artistry. He saw the man fold up his “tripe” and “keister” (tripod and suitcase), the implements of his trade, and fade away into the darkness, but not from Jeff’s sight.
Presently Clubfoot became aware that he was being followed, and he turned suddenly, a gun in his hand. “A man could get himself killed doing what you’re doing,” he warned. “When I win a man’s money, it stays won. Now, backtrack.”
I’m not after my money,” Jeff said. “I Iost it fair and square.”
“Then what are you after?”
“I want to learn how you manipulated the shell.”
“So do a lot of other men.”
“I mean it. Teach me how. I’ll pay you for it,”
“With what? Now don’t come any closer, for this gun is cocked and I got an itchy finger.”
“Would I have let you see me if I intended to rob you?” Jeff demanded. “I only want to learn.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got fast fingers, and it’s an easy way to make a living. I can already beat your spiel all to hell.”
“Maybe you could at that, you’ve got a nice convincing voice, but if I taught every sucker how I trimmed him, how long do you think I’d be in business?”
“There’s lots of room, and I’d go somewhere else.”
“Nope, there’s too many shell-game artists as it is, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. The real king of them all is a fellow named Taylor [John] who is operating up north somewhere in the mining camps. That’s the real harvest ground for suckers. If you find him, you tell him Clubfoot Hall recommended you. He may teach you, and he may not, and now you beat it; I’d rather carry this gun in my pocket than in my hand.”
Jeff Smith grinned. “Thanks, Clubfoot,” he said. “I’ll look up Mr. Taylor.” (see King of Frontier con men, page 22-27. And blog links, for Taylor)

Alias Soapy Smith: The Life and Death of a Scoundrel, 2009.

In my book I address the "Clubfoot" Hall story.

Jeff had begun the phase that would shape his life. It was not an overnight transformation as described in earlier biographies of him. In 1920, Jeff’s cousin Edwin stated that Jeff had been educated by a confidence man but failed to name him, if he knew. Numerous histories of Jeff mention the tutors as “Clubfoot Hall” and later as “Old Man Taylor,” but no clear information has been found to relate these men to Jeff. Further, cousin Ed Smith’s remarks are the closest known contemporary descriptions of Jeff, and Ed mentions no mentors by name. However, in 1887, a John Taylor wrote several letters to Jeff. Perhaps this is the "Old Man Taylor" written about, but no known provenance shows them to be the same person. The only reliable description of Jeff’s educator comes from Edwin in 1920.
The peripatetic gentleman persuaded Jeff to learn the business, and soon the latter was allowed to take the place of the regular man on the street corners…. He canvassed the entire region, and as the profits ran from 300 to 400 per cent, he became very prosperous. In fact, he was so successful that small towns organized against him and prevailed upon the Texas legislature to pass a law imposing heavy taxes upon traveling salesmen of Jeff’s persuasion.
All this time Jeff was supporting his family and was in all respects a good boy…. The change came after he left Round Rock. [Trail, 01/1920, pp. 7-8.]

My research shows that young Jeff "Soapy" Smith became successful as a legitimate store salesman in Round Rock, Texas. At some point he met John “Old-Man” Taylor, who taught him the cheap John business, which was the early version of today’s “jam auction.” There is plenty of information in Soapy's own words, my research and personal collection, that John Taylor was someone that existed, and was likely Soapy's mentor, and probably his first introduction into the world of bunko crime.

CONCLUSION: The only places I have ever seen the name "Clubfoot" Hall is in the two books on "Soapy" Smith. In my 40 years of research I have never come across any other source, including in books, newspapers, other historians, etc. This still does not mean there wasn't a "Clubfoot" Hall, but there is no provenance that he did exist. So I ask fellow historians; "ever find anything on a criminal named "Clubfoot" Hall?

Visit the Soapy Smith Soap Box blog