On July 8, 1849, The New York Daily Herald published a fateful Sunday issue.
It started rather unpatriotically, with a front page full of news from across the Atlantic.
The French had just invaded Italy and were attacking Rome.
But the “effeminate,” “emasculate,”” and “degenerate” Italians, “upon whom it is the fashion to heap every stigma,” managed to repel the attack of the mighty French.
Further down the page, there was a revolution quashed in Paris.
The Berlin correspondent reported on military action against an uprising in Prussia.
In Ireland, things were quiet, and the Dublin correspondent simply wrote, “I have not any news of importance to communicate.”
With the grand European news covered, the Herald moved to smaller, more local matters.
First, there was an attack by Spanish pirates. Then a steamboat accident. Then theater news (“more dull than ever”).
Turning to page two, the Herald advised its readers of the arrival of the steamship Tennessee to town. Then it tallied up the progress of the cholera epidemic (67 new cases, 22 deaths). Next came sporting news (“the great trotting contest” at the Union Course race track).
And then, finally, deep in the middle of page 2, after several notices of curious deaths (an Irish woman had suffered “death by intemperance”), readers got to the “Police Intelligence” section.
That’s where our story starts. Because it was there that a small, insignificant, 351-word article appeared under the headline,
“Arrest of the Confidence Man”
This tiny article was the first known use of the term “confidence man” in English, which later gave us such terms as con man, con artist, and con game.
The Herald article told of a certain William Thompson, a “graduate of the college of Sing Sing.” Thompson had made a habit of stealing watches from wealthy New Yorkers, on the street, in broad daylight.
What was newsworthy was that Thompson didn’t steal through threats and violence, or through stealth and speed.
Instead, he stole in full view of his marks, calmly, with a big smile on his face, using just words.
Thompson’s con involved approaching a stranger on the street and starting a conversation. Then, after a few moments, Thompson would ask if the stranger had the confidence to lend him his watch for a day.
The crazy thing is it worked.
Contrary to all logic and reason, many marks did as Thompson asked. Thompson walked away, laughing, with the stranger’s watch in his pocket. One gold lever watch stolen in this way was worth $110 in 1849 money — about $4,300 today.
The story is so bizarre that it doesn’t quite sound real.
Sure, 1849 New York was a very different place from today. But strangers were still strangers, and valuables were still valuables.
Why would Thompson’s marks be so gullible? Why would they just do what they were asked to do? Why would they give their confidence to a complete stranger on the street after just a few moments of talking?
I’m hoping you can help me figure this mystery out.
I’m asking you because, if you’re interested in direct marketing and copywriting, I imagine you’re smart and well-read.
If you have any clues, hints, or ideas for me, write in and let me know. It will help me prepare a new book I’m working on. Thanks in advance.