J. Moehringer - Sutton

One of the most notorious criminals in American history is brought blazing back to life by a master storyteller.

Willie Sutton was born in the squalid Irish slums of Brooklyn, in the first year of the twentieth century, and came of age at a time when banks were out of control.

Over three decades, from Prohibition through the Great Depression, from the age of Al Capone until the reign of Murder Inc., police called Sutton one of the most dangerous men in New York, and the FBI put him on its first-ever Most Wanted list. But the public loved him. He never fired a shot, after all, and his victims were merely those bloodsucking banks.

Based on extensive research, Sutton is the moving story of an enigmatic man, an arch criminal driven by love, forever seeking the beautiful woman who led him into a life of crime, then broke his heart.

J.R. Moehringer, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 2000, is a former national correspondent for the Los Angeles Times . Author of the bestselling memoir, The Tender Bar , he is also the co-author of Open by Andre Agassi.

For Roger and Sloan Barnett,

with love and gratitude

After spending half his life in prison, off and on, Willie Sutton was set free for good on Christmas Eve, 1969. His sudden emergence from Attica Correctional Facility sparked a media frenzy. Newspapers, magazines, television networks, talk shows – everyone wanted an interview with the most elusive and prolific bank robber in American history.

Sutton granted only one. He spent the entire next day with one newspaper reporter and one still photographer, driving around New York City, visiting the scenes of his most famous heists and other points of interest in his remarkable life.

The resulting article, however, was strangely cursory, with several errors – or lies – and few real revelations.

Sadly, Sutton and the reporter and the photographer are all gone, so what happened among them that Christmas, and what happened to Sutton during the preceding sixty-eight years, is anyone’s guess.

This book is my guess.

But it’s also my wish.

I have said it thrice: What I tell you three times is tr ue.

—LEWIS CARROLL,

“THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK”

Table of Contents

Title Page J.R. MOEHRINGER Sutton

About the Book About the Book One of the most notorious criminals in American history is brought blazing back to life by a master storyteller. Willie Sutton was born in the squalid Irish slums of Brooklyn, in the first year of the twentieth century, and came of age at a time when banks were out of control. Over three decades, from Prohibition through the Great Depression, from the age of Al Capone until the reign of Murder Inc., police called Sutton one of the most dangerous men in New York, and the FBI put him on its first-ever Most Wanted list. But the public loved him. He never fired a shot, after all, and his victims were merely those bloodsucking banks. Based on extensive research, Sutton is the moving story of an enigmatic man, an arch criminal driven by love, forever seeking the beautiful woman who led him into a life of crime, then broke his heart.

About the Author About the Author J.R. Moehringer, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 2000, is a former national correspondent for the Los Angeles Times . Author of the bestselling memoir, The Tender Bar , he is also the co-author of Open by Andre Agassi.

Dedication For Roger and Sloan Barnett, with love and gratitude

Author’s Note AUTHOR’S NOTE After spending half his life in prison, off and on, Willie Sutton was set free for good on Christmas Eve, 1969. His sudden emergence from Attica Correctional Facility sparked a media frenzy. Newspapers, magazines, television networks, talk shows – everyone wanted an interview with the most elusive and prolific bank robber in American history. Sutton granted only one. He spent the entire next day with one newspaper reporter and one still photographer, driving around New York City, visiting the scenes of his most famous heists and other points of interest in his remarkable life. The resulting article, however, was strangely cursory, with several errors – or lies – and few real revelations. Sadly, Sutton and the reporter and the photographer are all gone, so what happened among them that Christmas, and what happened to Sutton during the preceding sixty-eight years, is anyone’s guess. This book is my guess. But it’s also my wish.

Epigraph I have said it thrice: What I tell you three times is tr ue. —LEWIS CARROLL, “THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK”

Part One PART ONE Thus in the beginning all the world was America … for no such thing as money was anywhere known. JOHN LOCKE, SECOND TREATISE OF GOVERNMENT

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Part Two

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Part Three

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Acknowledgment

Also by J.R. Moehringer

Copyright

About the Publisher

Thus in the beginning all the world was America … for no such thing as money was anywhere known.

JOHN LOCKE, SECOND TREATISE OF GOVERNMENT

HE’S WRITING WHEN THEY COME FOR HIM.

He’s sitting at his metal desk, bent over a yellow legal pad, talking to himself, and to her—as always, to her. So he doesn’t notice them standing at his door. Until they run their batons along the bars.

He looks up, adjusts his large scuffed eyeglasses, the bridge mended many times with Scotch tape. Two guards, side by side, the left one fat and soft and pale, as if made from Crisco, the right one tall and scrawny and with a birthmark like a penny on his right cheek.

Left Guard hitches up his belt. On your feet, Sutton. Admin wants you.

Sutton stands.

Right Guard points his baton. What the? You crying, Sutton?

No sir.

Don’t you lie to me, Sutton. I can see you been crying.

Sutton touches his cheek. His fingers come away wet. I didn’t know I was crying sir.

Right Guard waves his baton at the legal pad. What’s that?

Nothing sir.

He asked you what is it, Left Guard says.

Sutton feels his bum leg starting to buckle. He grits his teeth at the pain. My novel sir.

They look around his book-filled cell. He follows their eyes. It’s never good when the guards look around your cell. They can always find something if they have a mind to. They scowl at the books along the floor, the books along the metal cabinet, the books along the cold-water basin. Sutton’s is the only cell at Attica filled with copies of Dante, Plato, Shakespeare, Freud. No, they confiscated his Freud. Prisoners aren’t allowed to have psychology books. The warden thinks they’ll try to hypnotize each other.

Right Guard smirks. He gives Left Guard a nudge—get ready. Novel, eh? What’s it about?

Just—you know. Life sir.

What the hell does an old jailbird know about life?

Sutton shrugs. That’s true sir. But what does anyone know?