Lessons in Sales from the Man Who Sold the Eiffel Tower Twice
Many people consider Con Men (Con Artists, Scam Artists, Charlatans, Hustlers, Snake Oil Salesmen, Swindlers, Matchstick Men) to be the ultimate Salesmen. The following list is attributed to one of the greatest.
The Ten Commandments of Con Men:
- Be a patient listener (it is this, not fast talking, that gets a con man his coups)
- Never look bored
- Wait for the other person to reveal any (political) opinions, then agree with them
- Let the other person reveal any (liberal or conservative) views, then have the same ones
- Seduce the mark
- Never discuss illness, unless some special concern is shown
- Never pry into a person’s personal circumstances (they’ll tell you all eventually)
- Never boast — just let your importance be quietly obvious
- Never be untidy (keep it Nippon clean)
- Never get intoxicated (keep it Halal, always)
Truth and building a long term partnership should be the ultimate goal of any relationship, but there is folksy wisdom in appreciating the code of certain con men.
A man who understood the power of both, was a certain Czech citizen who self-styled himself as the Austrian “Count” Victor Lustig.
Victor Lustig is always mentioned in the lists of the most outstanding cons of history. He was arrested close to 50 times, but managed to escape conviction each time for lack of evidence. He was a perfectionist in deceptive schemes, remembering everything and completely relying on typical of human (abject stupidity) nature.
Victor was fluent in at least five languages decided to drop out of one of Europe’s most prestigious universities, the Sorbonne. He preferred the education of the streets choosing instead travel all over Europe and committing dozens of small crimes under different names.
It was 1925 and France had finally started to recover from the aftermath of World War I. Paris was booming and provided an excellent canvas for a con artist. Lustig’s master con came to him one spring day when he was reading a newspaper (remember, those large pieces of paper filled with printed ink that humans used to fold, punch and turn). An article discussed the problems the La Ville Lumière was having maintaining the Eiffel Tower. Even keeping it painted was pretty expensive and the tower was becoming somewhat run down. A quick tangent on the iconic tower, constructed from 1887–89 as a temporary entrance to the 1889 World’s Fair (Exposition Universelle), an event to celebrate the centennial of the French Revolution, it was initially criticized by some of France’s leading artists and intellectuals for its design. Gustave Eiffel (who also contributed to the Interior structural elements of the Statue of Liberty) openly acknowledged that inspiration for a tower came from the Latting Observatory built in New York City in 1853. A final interesting factoid is that the Eiffel Tower surpassed the Washington Monument to become the tallest man-made structure in the world, a title it held for 41 years until the Chrysler Building in New York City was finished in 1930 (for another great height competition check out this Tale of Two Skyscrapers). Since the French always seems to have the last croissant, due to the addition of a broadcasting aerial at the top of the tower in 1957, La Tour Eiffel is now taller than the Chrysler Building by a mere five meters. It is still the tallest structure in Paris.
Now back to our iconic con.
Lustig saw the possibilities behind the Eiffel Tower article and developed a remarkable scheme. He had a forger produce fake government stationery for him and invited six of Paris’ top scrap metal dealers to a confidential meeting at the Hotel de Crillon (one of the most prestigious of the old Paris hotel currently owned by Mitab Bin Abdullah, son of the late great King Abdulla of Saudi Arabia). All six companies sent senior representatives to attend the meeting. There, Lustig introduced himself as the deputy director-general of the Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs, a simple government bureaucrat. He then explained that they had been selected on the basis of their good reputations as honest businessmen and track record in the scrap metal business.
Lustig confined in the group that the upkeep on the Eiffel Tower was so outrageous that the city could not maintain it any longer, so the decision had been made (privately and quietly) to sell it for scrap to avoid any public outcry. The masterful con artist stressed that the matter was to be kept secret until all the details were properly ironed (pun intended) out. Lustig admitted confidently that he had been given the responsibility to procure the dealer on behalf of the French government.
Remember that the Eiffel Tower was not intended to be permanent. It was original slated to be taken down in 1909 and moved somewhere else since many pundits considered it unfit when compared with the city’s other great monuments like the Gothic cathedrals or Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe.
As a critical part of the con, Lustig then took the men directly to the Eiffel tower in a limousine (loué bien sûr) for an inspection tour. This actually afforded Lustig the opportunity to gauge which of them was the most enthusiastic and gullible (a classic tenant of any Phishing scheme). Lustig them asked for bids to be submitted the next day, and reminded them that the matter was a state secret. In reality, Lustig already knew he would accept the bid from only one dealer, Andre Poisson (see why i used the term Phishing). Poisson was insecure, feeling he was not in the inner circles of the Parisian business community, and thought that obtaining the Eiffel Tower deal would catapult him into the big league of businessmen.
However, Poisson’s wife (as wives always tend to be) was suspicious. She pestered Poisson constantly, wondering who this official was, why everything was so secret, and why everything was being done so quickly. To deal with her suspicion, Lustig magnificently arranged another meeting, and then “confessed”. This was his con’s coup de grâce.
Lustig soliloquy was a stroke of pure genius. He openly admitted that as a government minister, he did not make enough money to pursue the lifestyle he enjoyed, and needed to find ways to supplement his income. This meant that his dealings needed a certain discretion. Poisson understood immediately, he was simply dealing with another corrupt government official who just wanted a box of pomegranates (bribe). It was kakistocracy at its finest. Victor’s solicitation put Poisson’s mind at rest immediately, since this for him was considered standard government procurement protocol.
This is by far my favorite part of the story. Not only did Lustig receive the large sums intended for scrapping the Eiffel Tower; he also collected a significant bribe on the side.
To add insult to injury, legend confirms that Poisson was too humiliated to even complain to Paris police. Lustig and his personal secretary, Franco-American con man Robert Arthur Tourbillon (what a great name right), casually decided to skip town for a few days and simply took a train for Vienna with a suitcase full of francs.
As audacity is the hallmark of any great artist, a month later, Lustig returned to Paris, selected six different scrap dealers, and tried to sell the Eiffel Tower for the second time. This time however, the chosen victim did report the incident to La Préfecture de Police de Paris and even brought them the counterfeit contract and papers just before Lustig could seal the deal. Sensing danger and knowing when to exit, Lustig and his trusty side kick managed to evade arrest and fled to the United States.
But the con continued.
In the New World (and as some say even on the boat ride across the Atlantic), Lustig concocted a new scheme that involved counterfeiting dollar bills via a proprietary “money box” which to me screams an interesting comparison to today’s contemporary cryptocurrencies.
Again, the essential formula of seduction was similar to the Eiffel Tower Scheme with one notable exception. Shrouded by an Old World allure, the count attracted would be (and willing) victims by orchestrating a symphony of blissful deception by having telegram after telegram delivered to him in crowded hotel lobbies. This commotion phished these guppies towards him and attracted them likes a moth to a flame.
The box looked remarkable from the outside. The trick was that inside the box, Lustig would hide real money — a few $100 bills — unbeknownst to his trusting victims.
Never revealing the truth, Lustig was the ultimate alchemist and demonstrated how he could scientifically (magically) turn pieces of blank paper into $100 bills by operating a few cranks and knobs on his Rube (or should I say Ruse) Goldberg machine money box. It was a chrysopoeia that took a long six hours. This too was a critical part of the ‘C note’ scam. Lustig’s provided a seemingly legitimate reason the six-hour delay, stating that it was the time needed for the ink to dry. Genius!
The count was so successful in hustling gullible gold rushed American marks that in 1934 a special department was created by the US government to figure out who flooded the United States market with counterfeit bills (Helicopter Ben style). He even tricked a local sheriff, who again, was too proud to turn the hustling huckster in.
All Good Cons (even the great ones) Must Come to An End
In 1935, Lustig was eventually arrested. During the search plates for printing bills and counterfeit money amounting to over fifty thousand dollars were confiscated (that is almost 1 million in today’s dollars). The day before the trial, Lustig managed to escape, but was soon caught again. The court sentenced the count to fifteen years of imprisonment plus an additional five years for escaping custody.
Lustig was sent to Alcatraz (of Al Capone lure), where he spent 12 years, and then died (whether from a brain tumor, or pneumonia) on March 11, 1947 at age of 57 and was buried in a common grave.
The death certificate was written in, most likely, his real name Robert V. Miller. Minor difficulties arose when a clerk was to fill in the column “profession”, but after some thought, the official wrote “seller”.
