The Year of Fear (14 page)

The phone rang constantly. Callers made all manner of threats and demands. They threatened to kill or maim Charles. They threatened to kill or capture her children. Through it all, she soldiered on.

Colvin had been keeping Hoover up-to-date by telephone and telegraph since Saturday night, assuring him that the local police were cooperating and the victim’s family was working directly with the Bureau.

Hoover, in turn, was peppering Cummings with memos doing the same.

July 26, 1933

Memorandum for the Attorney General

With reference to the case of Charles F. Urschel, who was kidnaped from his home in Oklahoma City, you are advised that two contacts have been made by the alleged kidnapers with the family of Mr. Urschel, but it is believed that both of these contacts were fake. The entire situation is being closely covered by Agents of this Bureau and the family is cooperating with us one hundred per cent, regardless of press stories which have been carried to the effect that Federal and local authorities have withdrawn. We are also receiving excellent cooperation from the local police.

Respectfully,

J. Edgar Hoover

Director

Back at the Shannon farm in Paradise, Urschel was lying on a blanket-covered mattress on the floor of a wooden shack that had been baking in the sun for hours. He lay still, trying unsuccessfully to sleep, but at least trying to conserve whatever energy he had left. His eyes had been taped shut for nearly three straight days and they burned and itched. He was still handcuffed to a chair, so scratching them for relief was nearly impossible, and he tried to distract himself with other thoughts.

He heard the sounds of two men coming toward the shack and of the kid going out to the porch to greet them.

“How is he, kid? Getting restless?”

“No, he don’t do nothin’. He just lays there.”

“He’s a smart man, a very smart man.”

“I wish I could say the same thing for that wife of his. She’s causing enough trouble for both of them.”

One of his abductors, the bigger of the two with the hearty voice and throaty laugh, went into the room and dismissed the moronic kid who’d been guarding him, grabbing his sawed-off shotgun as he did.

“Your wife’s been raising a lot of hell back in Oklahoma City. According to this morning’s papers she’s mixed every kind of law into this except Charlie Chan, and that’s going to make it a little rough on you. It’s pretty hard to make contact with all of that law around the place.”

He asked Urschel if he belonged to a church and if he was friendly with the pastor.

“Yes,” said Urschel. “The Presbyterian Church of Oklahoma City.” He told them Dr. Gibson was the pastor and that they were good friends.

The man then explained that because the Urschels’ house was crawling with cops, they would need a go-between in order to make contact. He suggested using Gibson.

Urschel explained that it wouldn’t work because Gibson was away on vacation.

“Your only chance of getting out of this is to give us somebody to write to,” he said. “Somebody you trust who can get information to her without going through the cops. Someone not in Oklahoma City.”

Urschel suggested a friend of his in Tulsa, a fellow oilman, John Catlett. That was agreeable. They marched him across the room and sat him down on a bench, and when Urschel’s captor lifted his blindfold slightly so he could write, Urschel collected more details. He was handed a paper tablet and a black Eversharp pencil. The man’s hand was large and covered with dark hair, as was his forearm. On his finger was a gold ring with a red stone, a ruby or an imitation of one, about one-and-a-half carats in size.

“I want you to face straight ahead into that wall, look down at the tablet and write. Try to look left or right to see where you are and that will be the last look you will ever have at anything, so be sure to enjoy it.”

When he finished writing the letters as instructed, the man’s partner took them and Urschel’s wallet and left. The man with the ruby ring stayed behind and guarded Urschel until the evening of the next day, Wednesday, July 26. This was the same man who earlier had tried to intimidate him by threatening to chain him down and let wharf rats devour his bowels. But now the man had turned rather chummy and chatty. To pass the time, and perhaps to impress his captive, the man delivered his opinions on a host of subjects. Urschel was impressed with his knowledge about cars. Cadillac, he said, made the best large vehicles, the ’33 Chevy Coupe was the best of the smaller cars. Ford didn’t have a decent model in the entire line, but they’d be coming out with a car soon that would be “excellent.”

He talked about his twenty-five-year history of crime. The banks he’d robbed, the ones he didn’t. He gave his theories on how banks should be designed to prevent people like him and his ilk from robbing them so easily. He talked about gun battles he’d been in. Gun battles his friends had been in. He disparaged the Barrow brothers and their gang, describing them as nothing but a bunch of filling station and car thieves. “My bunch never monkeyed with any of that cheap stuff,” he said. Neither, he said, did he steal cars. He seemed to take inordinate pride in the fact that he bought his own damned cars and had them customized to run better and faster by his mechanic buddies, who know a whole lot more about cars than any of those stuffy engineers in Detroit.

Sipping a Coca-Cola, he talked of once living next door to the man who invented “Orange Crush.” The man had a younger wife who went bad. He was so heartbroken he killed himself. Tragic story.

He talked about his wild times in the liquor-running business, especially out of the great city of New Orleans. He told a story of how he once delivered a large order to a client in Tulsa that occurred in the middle of that city’s notorious race riot, during which, over an eighteen-hour period, white lynch mobs who’d been deputized by the city’s police force with orders to “get a gun and get a nigger,” killed nearly 300 black Tulsa residents. They then burned down Tulsa’s black neighborhood, leaving nearly ten thousand residents homeless for the winter.

Urschel’s captor was indeed quite a character, and quite a talker. And Urschel was quite a listener. He banked all the details of the conversation in the hope that they would later prove useful.

*   *   *

On Wednesday morning, July 26, John G. Catlett received a package from Western Union. Inside were three letters. Catlett immediately opened the one addressed to him. A handwritten letter from Urschel was inside. It read:

Dear John,

You undoubtedly know about my predicament. If Arthur Seeligson has returned, please deliver the enclosed letter to him, otherwise to Kirkpatrick. Deliver in person and do not communicate by telephone. Tell no one else about this letter, not even your wife, and when you deliver it do not go to the residence. Authorities must be kept off the case or release impossible and they cannot affect rescue. For my sake, follow these instructions to the letter and do not discuss with anyone other than those mentioned. This is my final letter to any of my friends or family and if this contact is not successful I fear for my life. When in Oklahoma City, keep out of sight as much as possible because you probably will be used later on in this capacity. I am putting all my dependence in you regarding this matter and feel sure you will take every precaution possible.

Best regards as ever,

Your friend,

C. F. Urschel

Catlett, who’d been shaving at the time the package arrived, quickly cleaned his face and headed to Oklahoma City, where he arranged a secret meeting at a discreet hotel with Kirkpatrick, Seeligson and Berenice.

Kirkpatrick opened his letter.

Sir,

The enclosed letter from Charles F. Urschel to you and the enclosed identification cards will convince you that you are dealing with the abductors.

Immediately upon receipt of this letter you will proceed to obtain the sum of TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS ($200,000) in GENUINE USED FEDERAL RESERVE CURRENCY in the denominations of TWENTY DOLLAR ($20.00) bills.

It will be useless for you to attempt taking notes of SERIAL NUMBERS, MAKING UP DUMMY PACKAGES OR ANYTHING ELSE IN THE LINE OF ATTEMPTED DOUBLE CROSS, BEAR THIS IN MIND, CHARLES F. URSCHEL, WILL REMAIN IN OUR CUSTODY UNTIL MONEY HAS BEEN INSPECTED AND EXCHANGED, AND FURTHERMORE WILL BE AT THE SCENE OF CONTACT FOR PAY OFF AND IF THERE SHOULD BE ANY ATTEMPT AT DOUBLE XX IT WILL BE HE THAT SUFFERS THE CONSEQUENCE.

As soon as you have read and RE-READ this carefully, and wish to commence negotiations, you will proceed to the Daily Oklahoman and insert the following BLIND AD under the REAL ESTATE, FARMS FOR SALE, and we will know that you are ready for BUSINESS, and you will receive further instructions at THE BOX ASSIGNED TO YOU BY THE NEWSPAPER, AND NO WHERE ELSE SO BE CERTAIN THAT THIS ARRANGEMENT IS KEPT SECRET AS THIS IS OUR FINAL ATTEMPT TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU, on account of our former instructions to JARRETT being DISREGARDED and the LAW being notified, so we have neither the time nor the patience to carry on any further lengthy correspondence. RUN THIS AD FOR ONE WEEK IN DAILY OKLAHOMAN.

FOR SALE— 160 acres land, good five room house, deep well. Also cows, tools, tractors, corn and hay. $3,750.00 for quick sale. TERMS—BOX NO.—.

You will hear from us as soon as convenient after insertion of AD.

At the same time that Catlett was receiving his special delivery, the U.S. Conference of State Executives was meeting in San Francisco and lamenting the spread of racketeering and kidnapping that plagued their cities.

They urged the Roosevelt administration to “pursue the prosecution of racketeers to the end that kidnapping and other kindred crimes be suppressed.” Governor Fred Balzar of Nevada urged the President to create a national police force. His resolution declared that “organized crime has become a national menace, kidnaping, blackmail and robberies run wild, gang leaders have usurped the rule of law, racketeering strangles many lines of commerce.”

*   *   *

Berenice was relieved that Charley was still alive. She recognized his identification cards, the handwriting on his letter to Catlett and the telegraphic style of its contents. Gazing up from the letter, she looked at the group and said, “I think we should get Gus.”

When Jones arrived, Catlett filled him in on the events of the morning as he read the letters and Berenice vouched for the veracity of the identification cards and her husband’s handwriting.

It had the look and feel of a professional operation. “There’s no question about it. This is the gang that has him.”

Berenice turned to Seeligson. “Arthur, please make arrangements for the money. Whatever you have to do to get it, do it.”

Then she asked Catlett to place the ad.

Two days later, it had drawn a response. A letter, airmailed from Joplin, Missouri, landed in Box 807, addressed to Kirkpatrick.

Sir,

In view of the fact that you have had the ad inserted as per our instructions, we gather you are prepared to meet our ultimatum. You will pack TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS ($200,000.00) IN USED GENUINE FEDERAL RESERVE NOTES OF TWENTY DOLLARS DENOMINATION in a suitable light-colored leather bag, and have someone purchase transportation for you, including berth, aboard Train No. 28 (the Katy Sooner) which departs at 10:10 P.M., via M.K. &T lines for Kansas City, Missouri.

You will ride on the observation platform where you will be observed by someone at some station along the line between Oklahoma City and Kansas City, Missouri.

If indications are alright, somewhere along the right-of-way you will observe a fire on the right side of the track (facing direction train is bound). That fire will be your cue to be prepared to throw bag to track immediately after passing second fire.

Mr. Urschel will, upon instructions, attend to the fires and secure the bag when you throw it off, he will open it and transfer the contents to a sack that he will be provided with, so if you comply with our demands and do not attempt any subterfuge, as according to the news reports you have pledged, Mr. Urschel should be home in a short while. REMEMBER THIS, IF ANY TRICKERY IS ATTEMPTED YOU WILL FIND THE REMAINS OF URSCHEL AND INSTEAD OF JOY THERE WILL BE DOUBLE GRIEF—FOR SOMEONE, VERY NEAR AND DEAR TO THE URSCHELS IS UNDER CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE AND WILL LIKEWISE SUFFER FOR YOUR ERROR.

If there is the slightest hitch in these plans for any reason whatsoever, not your fault, you will proceed on into Kansas City, Missouri, and register at the Muehlbach Hotel under the name of E. E. Kincaid of Little Rock, Arkansas, and await further instructions there, however there should not be, IF YOU COMPLY WITH THESE SIMPLE DIRECTIONS.

THE MAIN THING IS; DO NOT DIVULGE THE CONTENTS OF THIS LETTER TO ANY LAW AUTHORITIES FOR WE HAVE NO INTENTION OF FURTHER COMMUNICATION. YOU ARE TO MAKE THIS TRIP SATURDAY, JULY 29; BE SURE YOU RIDE THE PLATFORM OF THE REAR CAR AND HAVE BAG WITH MONEY IN IT FROM THE TIME YOU LEAVE OKLAHOMA CITY.

The letter did nothing to shake Jones’s faith that they were now dealing with the real kidnappers. He noted the additional threat to harm another member of the Urschel family if things didn’t come off as dictated. He’d check with Berenice to make sure there was nobody else he should know about that wasn’t already under the Bureau’s watchful eye. He noted also the grammar and punctuation. Awfully precise. He was not used to words like “subterfuge” and “ultimatum” in the vocabulary of the illiterate psychopaths he was accustomed to dealing with.