by Joe Urschel
At 2:00 p.m. they returned. Seeligson had $1,000 in an envelope with fake paper money stashed behind it. Berenice carried another $4,000 in her hat in case the contact actually did have the watch. The man walked up to the car and aimed a revolver at Berenice’s head. “Have you got the money?”
“Have you got the watch?” demanded Seeligson. He didn’t and Seeligson handed over the envelope with the $1,000 and the fake paper. The man jumped in his car and sped off.
For the first time since the ordeal began, Berenice lowered her face into her hands and cried inconsolably.
That night they received a call from a woman who insisted on speaking with Mrs. Urschel. She picked up the phone in her bedroom. “Hello, this is Mrs. Urschel.”
“You’ll be sorry you welched and gave us a bundle of cut-up paper. You’ll never see your husband again.”
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per cent, regardless of press stories which have been carried to the effect that Federal and local authorities have withdrawn.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.
The crank calls and phony tips kept coming in, but Jones advised Berenice to keep dealing with each in the same manner she had in the past. So, fighting her instincts to lash out at the con men and criminals who were trying to exploit her situation and further burden her with what she now knew were empty threats and criminal schemes, she kept up a good front.
Jones was still worried about details leaking out. There were now reporters from all over the world poking around the city trying to turn up any lead. The circle of people with details of the kidnapping was tight and small, but it was growing. Arthur Seeligson was racing around to local banks trying to come up with enough used $20 bills to make the ransom. Collecting ten thousand $20 bills? That would certainly arouse suspicion. Kirkpatrick would be buying train tickets and leaving town. If reporters were tailing him, they’d certainly wonder why. One errant phone call on a party line and god knows what kind of headlines might be made.
Jones suggested a ruse to Berenice. Call a press conference. Tell the gentlemen of the press that you fear their presence in the neighborhood is making it difficult for the kidnappers to make contact. Ask them to please leave. They might actually cooperate, but even if they don’t it will make a story and send a message to the kidnappers.
Seeligson called a press conference and delivered the request. He told the reporters that the family feared that the kidnappers would make no contact as long as there was so much activity around the house.
“We believe,” he said, “that no contact will be attempted through any medium as long as it is known the house is under observation.
“We are not attempting to suppress anything. Our whole desire in asking the removal of the press being to hasten the safe return of Mr. Urschel. Our cooperation with police, the sheriff’s office and the government forces has been such that we hope to have the sa
me cooperation with the press.”
He told the reporters he believed the kidnappers would lie low for at least a week before attempting to contact them. “We have no basis, as nothing has been received, for believing we will not hear something before then, but everyone now is resigned to waiting several more days.”
He said it was his belief that having anyone around the house except members of the family would not “suit the convenience” of the kidnappers. That, he said, “was one of the driving motives in our request that the press as well as representatives of law enforcement agencies be withdrawn.”
It worked. The press horde began to disassemble almost immediately. Some, who had been stationed in tents with telephone hookups, established, packed up and moved out. A radio reporter offered the use of his station in the event Mrs. Urschel wanted to send a broadcast message out seeking contact from the kidnappers and asking that her husband not be harmed.
And, as Jones predicted, it gave everybody something to write about that the kidnappers would be certain to read. The press conference was the lead story in the next day’s Daily Oklahoman under the headline:
WAY CLEARED AS KIDNAPERS STAY IN DARK
Oklahoman Staff Quits Watch over Mansion to Aid Urschels
Next, Jones wanted to know if Kirkpatrick was up for the job of delivering the ransom.
“Put me in any group of eight people,” said Kirkpatrick, “and I will give you odds that seven of them will be braver than I. But these ransom notes were addressed to me and that makes it a personal affair between them and me. I’ve got to be the man who delivers the money. If anybody else did it and got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.”
Kirkpatrick was putting on a brave front. In fact, the prospects terrified him. He was well aware that traveling to Kansas City meant that he’d be walking into the gang capital of the Midwest and that whoever he would be giving the money to would have not only Johnny Lazia’s permission, but also his protection. If Lazia knew that some unarmed out-of-towner was walking into Kansas City with $200,000 cash, other people would know, as well. Would some rival try to steal the cash before he could make the delivery? Life was cheap in Kansas City. The going price for a murder-for-hire was less than $500. Even if he successfully made the drop, the safest thing for Charley’s kidnapper to do would be to hire someone to bump him off later. Eliminating eyewitnesses was a common practice in the underworld.