The Greatest Jewel Robbery

It was a rainy afternoon in Manhattan. On a West Side street, a small black car sped up to a 1951 Ford station wagon and waved it to the curb. Out stepped a man in the uniform of a New York City special policeman. He stuck a pistol into his victim's face while another man, also armed and wearing a Halloween mask, appeared on the other side of the Ford. The thieves knew what they wanted. Inside the old station wagon, guarded by six unarmed messengers, was a load of jewelry and gold bullion valued at some $3,000,000. It was a routine transfer of valuables between wholesalers and repair firms and jewelry merchants; by using dowdy and inconspicuous delivery methods--old car, unarmed guards in mufti--jewelers feel they have the safest insurance against holdups.

Another bandit pulled up in a panel truck. The messengers were quickly herded into the truck and handcuffed inside. One "cop" drove off in the black car. Two men pulled away with their panel truck of prisoners. The last "cop" got into the station wagon, turned on the key and started the engine.

And right there and then ended the efficiency of the caper that would have gone down in history as the nation's greatest jewel robbery. For the hopeless fact was that the robber who was designated as the "wheel man"--the "cop" assigned to drive off with the boodle--the excruciatingly exasperated hood with a huge fortune in his grasp--the sad simpleton upon whom everything depended--couldn't drive a 1951 Ford.

Bewildered by a foot clutch, a manual stick shift and a tricky choke, the robber flooded the engine. The car lurched and died. He started it again, and again the Ford coughed and pooped out. The driver, desperate, looked across the street. There stood a group of demolition workers who had been tearing down an old slaughterhouse. They now became the central figures in a modern morality play.

Help! Some of the workers had witnessed the heist, and had stood by passively. Others, who had not seen the stickup, heard the "cop" call to them: "Come here and get this thing going for me." With an instinctive contempt for the law, they replied with derisive hoots. At last, the defeated wheel man jumped from the car and took to his heels. A few blocks off, the other crooks had abandoned the panel truck and presumably had gone elsewhere to rendezvous with the station wagon. But the imprisoned guards, meanwhile, were raising a clamor, and a passer-by called the police.

Before the squad cars charged up to the scene, however, one of the demolition workers got behind the wheel of the Ford, started it easily, and hid it in the partially wrecked building. When the police arrived, they found nothing but a bunch of singularly unhelpful workers. The cops sped away in search of the stickup men.

Something for the Wife. Now some of the workers started to investigate the wagon at their leisure. Finding it stuffed with attractive trinkets, they began to fill their pockets. Some hid the loot in the rubble. Others, who had watched their comrades cache the goodies, stole into the rubble, removed what hidden jewels they could find, and carried them home. One man put $200,000 worth into a satchel and took it to his wife. Another gathered $15,000 worth, sped to his farm in Gettysburg, Pa., just a mile or so from Dwight Eisenhower's place, and buried it there.

It was seven hours before the police found the station wagon, and it was many hours after that before they began investigating reports started by drunken demolition workers who had wandered into nearby bars to celebrate. After three days, the demolition site was aswarm with FBI agents and police, combing the debris for glitter. They pumped water out of the basement of the abandoned building, screening the water for baubles, while downstream, eager laborers panned for gold. They picked and they plucked and they poked. After persistent questioning, some of the demolition workers began talking, and five men were arrested. Nearly all of the loot was recovered.

West Side cynics scornfully pointed out that any robber who couldn't handle a stick shift deserved his ignominy. Not so the workers who looted the car. Who, it was asked, wouldn't have done the same? But what of the looters who looted the looters? They, alas, are among the dishonored.

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