Author: David B. Williams

Amazingly enough, James Dale Owen was not the only person to swindle geologists in the late 1800s. Even more notorious, and more persistent, was a man known as the Swindling Geologist. Like the man who took on the persona of Owen, this Swindler’s true identity was never discovered. From 1883 to 1891, he hornswoggled, hoodwinked, and bilked people from Philadelphia to Oskaloosa. In nearly every situation, he pretended to be a famous geologist or scientist.

The Swindling Geologist first appeared in the news in 1884, following his arrest on February 9, in Philadelphia. Pretending to be W. R. Taggart of the Ohio Geological Survey, he had befriended Ferdinand V. Hayden, of the United States Geological Survey, and stolen one of his rare books and made off with $20. Trying to track down Taggart, Hayden learned that the Swindler has posed as E.P. Strong of the Kansas Pacific Railway, E. Douglas of the Ohio State Geological Survey, and E.D. Whitney, a geologist from Denver.

The Swindler then disappeared from the news until August 6, 1885, when he resurfaced in Davenport, Iowa, as Francis Arandel, a native of Austria. Soon, however, he took on the role of Leo Lesquereux, Jr., the son of a well-known, Swiss-born paleobotanist who had settled in Ohio.

[nggallery id=14]Traveling throughout Minnesota and Wisconsin, Lesquereux Jr. snookered the unsuspecting. In one town, he used a mysterious formula to show two mine owners the “unexcelled richness” of their ores, for which he was paid royally, honored, and feasted. In another, he borrowed books from one person, sold then to a second, then borrowed them back and returned them to the original owner. And always, he appropriated specimens and scientific equipment and bailed on his lodging charges.

Not that he was always successful. He was in jail at least three times. As Leo Lesquereux Jr, he spent three months incarcerated in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, in late 1885. As Captain Roy M. Lindley, he served an unknown amount of time in Kanakee, Illinois in 1886. Finally, from March 5, 1888 to June 9, 1890, one Otto Syrski was in the state penitentiary in Columbus, Ohio.

After his parole, the Swindler pops up sporadically. According to a letter to the editor in the American Geologist of May 1891, he stayed in Columbus as a reporter for the Sunday World. He later appeared in Lansing, Michigan, where his speeches were reported in the Detroit Tribune in an article titled “A Man with a History.” His last reported attempt at swindling comes from a June 17, 1891, letter from Garland C. Broadhead to the American Geologist. Broadhead noted that he recognized the Swindler, confronted him, and told him “that I thought that a man gifted as he was ought to be every way correct.” The Swindler then trembled and hurried away, vanishing for ever.

I still feel that there is much to discover about the Swindler. For example, I have not been able to locate the Columbus paper or the article in the Detroit Tribune. I also know that there are letters about him in the United States Geological Survey’s papers at the National Archives. I suspect that there is more material out there. If anyone has access to the above items, or other thoughts on where to track down the Swindler, please let me know.

And then there are the questions. Where did he come from? Where did he get his training in geology and paleontology? Did he continue in a more surreptitious manner that escaped detection? Did he abandon his ways? Was he related in any way to James Dale Owen? I like to think that the Swindler was Owen’s son. As has been written, the truth is stranger than fiction.

By the way, if you are interested a bit more in the Swindler I have a short article about him in the October issue of Earth.

 

 

It must have been glorious to have been a geologist in Dubuque, Iowa, in September 1863. When Professor James Dale Owen of the Smithsonian Institute arrived at the State Fair, he was given a season pass, appointed to a prominent committee, and feted by many. He had dinner with the state’s governor. People throughout Iowa invited him to their homes, offering to pay his travel expenses. He was written up in the newspaper. Unfortunately for Owen, and for several other people who met him, the story’s main focus was that Owen was a fraud who had scammed and stolen hundreds of dollars from unsuspecting victims.

For six months from April to October 1863, a person pretending to be James Dale Owen victimized people from West Virginia to Iowa. He claimed to be the son of David Dale Owen, the state geologist of Indiana, and was out west “to visit the several State Fairs and make a note of what was new and curious.” If any items interested him, he would purchase them for the Smithsonian. He also traveled on behalf of the United States Sanitary Commission (USSC), an agency set up to raise money for the Union during the Civil War. In this capacity, Owen sold sets of books by prominent geologists, such as Charles Lyell and Charles Darwin, with the money earmarked for the USSC. Eight to ten people from Davenport ponied up the seven dollars, and, of course, never received the books.

[singlepic id=50 w=320 h=240 float=]They made out better than others. When Owen told others that he worked for the New York Tribune, and could get them mentioned in the paper, some people gave him money to cover his expenses to come and them. Apparently a ladies’ man, he asked several young women to marry him. At least three accepted. But his greatest success was as a pickpocket, pilfering $80 from one person and $50 from another. Total take in Davenport was estimated at $1,500.

Where Owen fared less well was as a geologist. After Davenport, he headed to Illinois and made the acquintance of amateur geologist O.N. Adams. Adams attempted to solicit Owen’s thoughts on various geology topics, and found his answers often incorrect. When pressed Owen responded that he had been ill in Iowa and had been given “dreadful opiates, which make me dull and stupid.” Despite the opiates, Owen still hoodwinked Adams out of a valuable fossil collection, sold him a set of geology books, and even promised Adams’ daughter two guinea pigs. “He little heart is well nigh broken,” reported the Chicago Tribune.

Finally, in early October 1863, Owen was arrested in Tamaroa, Illinois, a small town in the southern part of the state. Owen argued that “it was a mere matter of time.” If he had been arrested in Chicago, with its high quality telegraph services, he could have contacted the Smithsonian or his publishers in Philadelphia and they would have cleared up the situation immediately.

Of course, no such communication took place, so Owen took it upon himself to remedy the situation. He first attempted to bribe the person who made the arrest. When this failed, he apparently colluded with a pettifogger, who convinced the officer holding Owen that he would suffer if Owen was not let go. Before any could stop him Owen caught the first train, never to be seen or heard from again.