Sent up Eight Years for Smoking Cigars in Public. 

A couple of dashing Providence, (R. I.) females imitate the Lords of Creation, are arrested, and sentenced to a reformatory for eight years.

A case at Providence, R. I., has excited considerable attention. Two girls were taken up for smoking cigars on the street and carrying canes, and were sentenced to the Reformatory for eight years. The sentence is pronounced cruel and unjust, particularly as men who have been guilty of great embezzlements, and even of manslaughter and other crimes, have been let off with from two to four years. It is well said that when these poor girls come out from their long term they will in all probability be hopelessly ruined. Reformatories seldom reform girls who are put there for eight years for smoking cigars.

The National Police Gazette, 23 Oct 1880

A Widow and Her Pretty Daughter Caught Thieving in Men’s Attire in Tecumseh, Mich. [more]

Mrs. Alice Church, a comely widow, thirty-eight years of age, and Bessie Church her daughter, eighteen years of age, were arrested recently in Tecumseh, Mich. In the act of committing a burglary. They were dressed in men’s clothes.

The two women moved in the best society, were members of the church, active in charitable work and eminently respectable as to conduct. The women confess their guilt, stat that they have committed a score of burglaries and will gladly accept any punishment that is meted out to them. It was at first believe that they were insane, but that theory has been abandoned.

Mrs. Church and her daughter have live in Tecumseh several years. Both dressed well and the girl is not only unusually bright, but quite handsome. They numbered among their friends nearly all the best people in Tecumseh. They lived modestly and stated that their income came from the life insurance of the late Mr. Church. Mrs. Church was popular with the beaux of the town, but it was observed that she froze them with dignity when they became too demonstrative.

Early in the summer the home of a prominent family was entered one evening and some jewelry and wearing apparel were taken. No trace of the burglars could be discovered. About the time the incident was dropping out of the public mind another house was entered. Some money and jewelry was taken from this house, and, as before, the family were absent the evening of the occurrence. The station was watched and all the roads out of town guarded, but now burglars were arrested. The town police were puzzled.

The burglaries followed each other in quick succession during July and August. The whole town was excited. Strangers were eyed with suspicion and citizens lay in ambush night after night without accomplishing anything.

All the houses were entree in the same manner through the back door or a window opening on a porch. Occasionally groceries and food were taken. This led to the belief that the burglars were tramps. There was a secession of night work during September but early this month the burglaries resumed. The houses were entered usually during the absence of a family, but in many instances houses were robbed in which several men were sleeping.

Last week the home of the late Judge Stacey, occupied by Mrs. Stacy and her daughter, was broken into and robbed of goods valued at $500. A reward was offered and a score of amateur detectives set to work and beyond arresting a few trams who were clearly innocent nothing came of it.

Relatives then decided to take turns watching the house. About 1 o’clock the other morning one of the watchers observed what he supposed were two men approaching the house. He got a shotgun and waited. The burglars lifted a window and boldly entered. The man with the shotgun decided to wait until they entered the dining-room, when he could get a better light on the targets. The tow figures entered the dining-room, and as the watcher aimed the gun the light fell on the face of Widow Church. He could barely believe his eyes. It was Mrs. Church and her daughter dressed up in men’s clothes.

He lowered the gun, approached and arrested both. They screamed, but recovered their composure, and in the presence of Mrs. Stacy confess to all the burglaries.

The women had a preliminary examination, at which the whole town was present. They were held for trial. It is said that they stole to keep form starving, and that a false pride prevented them from telling their friends of their condition.

Reprinted from National Police Gazette, November 4, 1893.

New York, New York - 1882 The term “bunco” has come to mean to any type of swindle, but in the 19th century it usually referred to a confidence game involving crooked gambling.

“Bunco” and “banco” were used interchangeably and the generic term evolved from the game of banco, a popular dice or card game devised specifically bilk the unsuspecting. Banco was the American version of an English game called Eight Dice Cloth. It was first played in San Francisco during the 1849 gold rush and rapidly spread to the east. The game consisted of a cloth with forty-eight numbered square flaps. The player rolled eight dice or drew eight cards and summed the values to determine which flap to open. Beneath the flaps were either prize amounts, a star, indicating the player can take another turn after paying a nominal amount, and two squares of special interest to the bunco man - the “conditional” and the “state.” The conditional awards the player a large prize - sometimes as large as $10,000 - provided he pays in an equal amount. If his next turn reveals a star or a cash prize he gets his money back along with the prize. If the player gets the state number he loses all, including the cash paid for the conditional.

The game is deceptively simple but involves a team of the bunco men to pull off. The first is the “roper” or “roper-in” who loiters in hotels, train stations, and steamboat docks, looking for business travelers likely to be carrying large sums of cash.

He will approach the man he doesn’t know and say something like, “Hello, Mr. Jones, how are all my friends back in Greenville?”

The mark will respond with something like, “You are mistaken sir; I am Mr. Brown from Austin, Texas.”

The roper makes his apologies, then takes what he has learned about Mr. Brown to the “steerer.” The steerer, armed with a book called a bank-note reporter, looks up Austin, Texas and finds the name of the major bank in that city, along with its president and other officers. The steerer will now approach Mr. Brown, address him by his name, and remind him that they had met before. He will say they had been introduced by his uncle, the bank president. Mr. Brown, flattered that he is recognized in a strange city by the nephew of such a prominent man, will overlook the fact that he does not remember the meeting. The steerer will take Mr. Brown out for a night on the town, get him as drunk as possible, and take him to a gambling den to play a new game that is easy to win.

Here they meet the, the “banker” who, unbeknownst to Mr. Brown, is another associate of the steerer, and controls every turn of the game. Mr. Brown and his new friend agree to play together, sharing profit or loss, and in the early stages, profits mount up quickly. But invariably the players will draw the conditional space, and the banker will give them a choice—the possibility of winning a large cash prize in exchange for equally large cash bet, or lose all of their current winnings. The steerer will persuade Mr. Brown that they must take advantage of this easy money, but unfortunately he has not brought enough cash. Brown agrees it is a sure thing and puts up the full amount. Of course the next play reveals the state square, the blank, they lose all.

Mr. Brown is stunned; how had things gone so terribly wrong? As they leave the steerer expresses sorrow at leading such a prominent man to financial disaster. He takes brown’s address and promises to pay back all the money he has lost. Of course, after they part, Brown never sees the man or his money again. Brown is unlikely to report such an embarrassing transaction, but if he does, the police will find nothing but an empty apartment where the game was played the night before.

In spite of their elusiveness, bunco men were well known to the police in the 1880s. They had colorful nicknames like, “Paper Collar Joe” Bond, “Grand Central Pete” Lake, and James “The Kid” Fitzgerald.

The most audacious of the bunco steerers was “Hungry Joe” Lewis, who swindled Oscar Wilde during his 1882 visit to New York City. In the words of Inspector Thomas Byrnes:

“Sharp as was Oscar Wilde when he reaped a harvest of American dollars with his curls, sun-flowers and knee-breeches, he could not refrain from investing in a speculation against which he was "steered" by the notorious Hungry Joe.”

The affable and fast-talking Hungry Joe befriended Oscar Wilde for a week before steering him to a banco game where the poet lost $5000. But in a rare lapse of judgment, Hungry Joe and his crew agreed to take a personal check. When he realized the following day that he had been swindled, an embarrassed Oscar Wilde stopped payment.

By the way, the men in the picture at the top are not playing banco, they are playing faro, a bunco game in its own right, and a story for another day.

Sources:

• Byrnes, Thomas. Professional criminals of America . New York, N.Y: Cassel, 1886.
• Eldridge, Benjamin P., and William B. Watts. Our rival, the rascal a faithful portrayal of the conflict between the criminals of this age and the defenders of society, the police. Boston, Mass.: Pemberton Pub. Co., 1897
• Smith, Gene, and Jayne Barry Smith. The police gazette . New York: Simon and Schuster, 1972.