Black Bart Boles
Guns? Check. Masks? Check. Poetry book? If you're going to rob a stagecoach, here's how to do it with flair.
If You're A Poet, Show It
Even if you're a no-good, law-flouting bandit, it pays to mind your manners -and your meter. In California, between 1875 and 1883, Charles E. "Black Bart" Boles held up more than two dozen Wells Fargo stagecoaches. Even though he seemed to have an intense private grudge against the bank, he was always polite to its employees, asking stage drivers to "please" throw down the money. Stranger still, Boles often left poetry at his crime scenes. This poem was his most well-known:
I've labored long
and hard for bread,
For honor and for riches,
But on my corns
too long you've tread,
You fine-haired sons of bitches.
In 1883, Boles was wounded during a holdup and accidentally left a handkerchief at the crime scene. When Wells Fargo detectives traced it back to him, he was arrested and imprisoned, and although Boles' career as a robber was over, his literary influence was just beginning. During his imprisonment, several copycat stagecoach robbers left truly dreadful bits of poetry at the scenes of their crimes.
Spin the Media
Jesse James and his One-armed Mother
Jesse James spent as much time honing his public image as he did robbing people. In fact, James frequently wrote letters to newspapers, stressing that his gang never attacked innocent farmers, only corrupt banks and railroad companies. He also claimed lawmen hounded James and his brothers because they had been Confederate soldiers, which won the gang sympathy in the South. His letters were widely reprinted, even in The New York Times, helping turn the Missouri bandits into national legends.
One night in 1875, Pinkerton detectives threw a flare into the James family home. The agents were trying to light up the dark house so they could shoot at the outlaws, but the flare exploded in the fireplace, killing Jesse's young half-brother and maiming his mother, who lost her right forearm. James made the incident seem even worse than it was in his letters to the press, falsely claiming the detectives had tossed a 32-pound military shell into his mother's home. The public was horrified, and after the explosion, Pinkerton agents received little help from Jesse's neighbors, who were often happy to provide the James gang with food, information, and hiding places.
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Guns? Check. Masks? Check. Poetry book? If you're going to rob a stagecoach, here's how to do it with flair.
If You're A Poet, Show It
Even if you're a no-good, law-flouting bandit, it pays to mind your manners -and your meter. In California, between 1875 and 1883, Charles E. "Black Bart" Boles held up more than two dozen Wells Fargo stagecoaches. Even though he seemed to have an intense private grudge against the bank, he was always polite to its employees, asking stage drivers to "please" throw down the money. Stranger still, Boles often left poetry at his crime scenes. This poem was his most well-known:
I've labored long
and hard for bread,
For honor and for riches,
But on my corns
too long you've tread,
You fine-haired sons of bitches.
In 1883, Boles was wounded during a holdup and accidentally left a handkerchief at the crime scene. When Wells Fargo detectives traced it back to him, he was arrested and imprisoned, and although Boles' career as a robber was over, his literary influence was just beginning. During his imprisonment, several copycat stagecoach robbers left truly dreadful bits of poetry at the scenes of their crimes.
Spin the Media
Jesse James and his One-armed Mother
Jesse James spent as much time honing his public image as he did robbing people. In fact, James frequently wrote letters to newspapers, stressing that his gang never attacked innocent farmers, only corrupt banks and railroad companies. He also claimed lawmen hounded James and his brothers because they had been Confederate soldiers, which won the gang sympathy in the South. His letters were widely reprinted, even in The New York Times, helping turn the Missouri bandits into national legends.
One night in 1875, Pinkerton detectives threw a flare into the James family home. The agents were trying to light up the dark house so they could shoot at the outlaws, but the flare exploded in the fireplace, killing Jesse's young half-brother and maiming his mother, who lost her right forearm. James made the incident seem even worse than it was in his letters to the press, falsely claiming the detectives had tossed a 32-pound military shell into his mother's home. The public was horrified, and after the explosion, Pinkerton agents received little help from Jesse's neighbors, who were often happy to provide the James gang with food, information, and hiding places.