In 1961, an unemployed cab driver, Kempton Bunton, pulled off one of the most remarkable art thefts of the 20th century. Or did he?
Kempton Bunton, 1965
Bunton’s mother named him Kempton Cannon Bunton after a British jockey, Kempton Cannon, who won the Epsom Derby only days before her son’s birth, June 14, 1904, a victory she financially backed. When asked about his unusual name, Bunton also always replied, “It’s Kempton as in Kempton Park racecourse,” as if to underscore his interest in such an edgy activity.
Francisco De Goya’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington
Arthur Wellesley, the First Duke of Wellington, became one of the most prominent military and political leaders of the British Empire during the first half of the nineteenth century. Despite spending approximately fifteen years in military posts that included the Netherlands and especially India, Wellesley remained an obscure commanding officer until his 1808 assignment to the Peninsula War, an extended conflict on the Iberian Peninsula combating Napoleonic occupation. This grueling struggle, combined with Napoleon’s disastrous 1812 invasion of Russia, depleted French military strength, and lead to France’s eventual capitulation. One of the key moments of the Peninsula War occurred when Wellesley, then the Earl of Wellington, achieved a decisive victory at Salamanca, which lead to the liberation of the capital, Madrid and the flight to Valencia of Joseph Bonaparte, titular king of Spain, and brother of Napoleon Bonaparte. The Earl entered the capital on August 12, 1812, at the head of his troops, the British hailed as liberators by Madrid’s grateful inhabitants. The Peninsula War dragged on laboriously until 1814 and the final collapse and abdication of Napoleon Bonaparte, but after Salamanca, Madrid was never reoccupied by French forces.
Francisco De Goya
As a celebrity, Wellington, in the capital, crossed paths with Francisco de Goya, the Spanish Court Painter and a prominent member of official society in his own right. Goya was able to get the British commander to sit for a sketch and two other eventual paintings, an equestrian study and a remarkable portrait of Wellington, in scarlet uniform, festooned with numerous colorful decorations and a remarkably lifelike expression. Over time, as the historical prominence of both men grew, this portrait achieved a special stature denoting the interaction of one of Europe’s greatest artists with one of the continent’s most accomplished statesman and military leaders, a truly rare collaboration.
Britain’s National Gallery, London
The initial controversy and subsequent national retention of such a uniquely British artifact generated massive publicity and anticipation when it was announced that the painting would be placed on display at London’s National Gallery, beginning August 2, 1961. For two and a half weeks, crowds averaging well over five thousand patrons daily, an unusual increase over the normal number of the museum’s visitors, flocked to see the newly acquired painting. To accentuate the stature of and to insure maximum accessibility for the throng of visitors eager to see the portrait, Goya’s Duke of Wellington was displayed on a portable easel, not in one of the museum’s rooms with other paintings but by itself, in a common area, in the North Vestibule of the Gallery. It also was loosely secured on the easel to allow for immediate removal in the event of fire or some other calamity. Then, on August 21, the painting vanished.
In 1961, an unemployed cab driver, Kempton Bunton, pulled off one of the most remarkable art thefts of the 20th century. Or did he?
Kempton Bunton, entering court in 1965
Although Bunton was initially only charged with one count of larceny, the prosecution submitted an indictment that was much more severe. He was now charged with two counts of larceny, one for the painting, one for the frame, that was never recovered, and one charge of menacing for submitting letters to Lord Robbins demanding money. In addition, he was charged with creating a public nuisance by depriving citizens of their right to see the painting and with additional menacing, implying the potential threat to permanently keep or even destroy the artwork in his letter to the Mirrror. Breaking out the frame and the portrait theft charges separately and prosecuting Bunton for inconveniencing the public, certainly seemed like a case of overcharging, however the prosecution might have been concerned about a jury’s reaction to an oddball like Bunton, especially where charity was supposedly involved and they may have wished to underline the gravity of the offence.
London’s Old Bailey
On November 4, 1965, in the Central Criminal Court, Kempton Bunton’s trial began before Judge Carl Aarvold, a distinguished jurist eventually knighted for his public service. The court was known by its nickname, Old Bailey, the site of numerous famous and sensational court cases involving many famous defendants. Its marble floors, ornate décor and fine wooden walls evoked the image of a British courtroom popularized throughout the world in film and television.
Lobby of Old Bailey
Although Bunton was initially only charged with one count of larceny, the prosecution submitted an indictment that was much more severe. He was now charged with two counts of larceny, one for the painting, one for the frame, that was never recovered, and one charge of menacing for submitting letters to Lord Robbins demanding money. In addition, he was charged with creating a public nuisance by depriving citizens of their right to see the painting and with additional menacing, implying the potential threat to permanently keep or even destroy the artwork in his letter to the Mirrror. Breaking out the frame and the portrait theft charges separately and prosecuting Bunton for inconveniencing the public, certainly seemed like a case of overcharging, however the prosecution might have been concerned about a jury’s reaction to an oddball like Bunton, especially where charity was supposedly involved and they may have wished to underline the gravity of the offence.
Courtroom Number One, Old Bailey
Kempton Bunton had a spontaneous manner of testifying that incorporated unintentionally hilarious comments that convulsed the entire courtroom, including the judge, with raucous laughter. When asked if he had ever told his wife about the theft, Bunton replied emphatically and without hesitation,
“No, then the whole world would know, if I told her.”
When Cussen attempted to challenge Bunton’s assertion that he always intended to return the Goya, Bunton was practically exasperated,
“Absolutely, it was no good to me otherwise. I wouldn’t hang it in my own kitchen if it was my own picture,” the comment again bringing down the house, an unemployed cab driver deriding one of the art world’s most esteemed paintings. Again and again, Bunton’s oddball demeanor and ability to stonewall the prosecution not allowing Cussen to portray him in a diabolical light.
Material used to compose this podcast included the book:
“Kidnapped: The Incredible, True Story of the Art Theft that Shocked a Nation,” by Alan Hirsch.
Also, the newspaper article: “The Man Who REALLY Stole Goya’s Priceless Duke of Wellington,” by Kevin McDonald, The Daily Mail, June 14, 2021.
The outro for part one and part two is, “Wedding Invitation,” by Jason Farnham.
And a very special thanks to William Haviland, for his permission to use his solo piano version of “Jerusalem,” for the intro in parts one and two. You may review additional information and performances by Mr. Haviland at his website. A link is provided below:
In 1929, Al Capone was worth an inflation adjusted 1.5 billion dollars.
Al Capone as a child with his mother
On January 17, 1899, Alphonse Gabriel Capone became the fourth child born into this family, and the second native American. Including the two born in Italy, the Capone family later consisted of nine children, eight surviving into adulthood. Al’s father was a barber by trade, eventually moving the family to a better home that also contained his shop. His father, unlike his mother, was literate and spoke English. Although relatively poor, the Capones seemed like just another ordinary, hard working couple putting their children through school and looking to make their way in the new world. There was nothing to indicate mental instability or dysfunction that eventually produced a remarkably anti-social progeny.
Johnny Torrio
From a young age, Donato “Johnny” Torrio was focused on organizing criminal activities involving gambling and loan sharking that he operated from behind a legitimate business, a neighborhood pool hall. Although not flamboyant, Torrio, born in Montepeloso, Italy, was a sharp operator who allied himself with Manhattan’s Five Points Gang and quickly began to branch out into more malevolent criminal activity involving prostitution, extortion and even narcotics. Torrio also kept a close eye on the neighborhood, always eager to find teenagers that he could depend on to run errands and generally handle tasks without asking too many questions.
James “Big Jim” Colosimo
This change was prompted by Johnny Torrio, by now himself relocated to Chicago and the brains behind the racketeering organization operated by James (Big Jim) Colosimo, a rags to riches gangster and restaurateur, who covertly ran a huge vice operation that dealt especially in brothels and prostitution. His Colosimo’s Café was one of the most popular and opulent restaurants in the city and Colosimo, sporting diamonds, wearing a white suit, tall and certainly carrying more than a few extra pounds was a literally larger than life figure. Torrio was the perfectly reserved and concealed manager who paid attention to day to day operations while Colosimo spent most of his time partying and taking advantage of his proximity to a large stable of obliging females.
Dean O’Banion
Warned by his gang buddies to stop provoking Torrio, O’Banion famously responded, “To hell with the Sicilians,” evincing a bravado that was recklessly foolhardy. Because, O’Banion was a heavyweight gangland figure with strong connections, the Outfit tread carefully but methodically forward. O’Banion also had a lucrative florist business that focused especially on the elaborate floral designs necessitated by any number of gangland deaths in Chicago. The shop was directly across from the Holy Name Cathedral, an immense downtown Chicago Catholic church and location that generated even more business. O’Banion actually supervised the business personally and was usually on the premises. On November 10, 1924, three men entered the store, ostensibly to pick up a sizable order. Exactly who these men were has always been the subject of rumor, but the best guess revolves around Frankie Yale, who O’Banion would not have suspected and two other men, John Scalise and Albert Anselmi, two individuals who eventually became the most feared hitmen in the Outfit but at that time were unknown, recent emigres from Sicily. While Frankie Yale firmly shook hands with O’Banion, both Scalise and Anselmi shot him in the chest, throat and a final coup de grace to the head. Other employees in the rear of the store fled out of the back door. O’Banion’s funeral was as lavish as any Chicago had ever seen, the funeral procession to the cemetery a mile long. Capone and Torrio and many other enemies were in attendance, for them the occasion as much of a celebration as anything else. They presumed that O’Banion’s north side territory would now be there’s to keep.
George “Bugs” Moran, 1946, mug shot for Dayton bank robbery, long after his Chicago glory days
Although Bugs Moran escaped injury, his gang was essentially neutralized and in the early thirties he left Chicago altogether. He resumed his life as a petty criminal, engaging in crimes involving forgery and bank robbery. Once one of the wealthiest criminals in Chicago, he died penniless, of cancer in 1957, in Leavenworth Prison, while serving a ten year sentence for bank robbery, and is buried in the prison cemetery in an unmarked grave.
Thompson Submachine Gun, with circular drum
Ironically purchased while he was on an extended visit to Colorado, Dean O’Banion was the first Chicago criminal to recognize the potential of the Thompson submachine in conducting gang warfare. The gun was invented in 1916, the result of the First World War, but it never really caught on and subsequent peacetime efforts to sell the weapon to police departments were met with failure. But the relatively light weight automatic that could fire numerous bullets from a round drum was perfect for shooting up buildings and automobiles, accuracy no longer necessary for the rapid fire of dozens of bullets sprayed in the general direction of a target. Although O’Banion didn’t live long enough to ever use the gun itself, in January of 1925, Weiss, Drucci and Moran did use a submachine gun in an attempt to kill Al Capone. The gangster traveled around Chicago in a large recognizable Cadillac, figuring his bodyguards would handle any typical attack. This particular attempt failed, the parked limousine sized car containing only Capone’s chauffeur and his bodyguards, Al safely inside a nearby restaurant. But the incident impressed the Outfit enough to secure their own Thompsons, a development that eventually became relevant to Hymie Weiss in a major way.
Al Capone’s Miami house, 2013
Al Capone made himself highly visible in Miami before and after St. Valentine’s Day, commenting when he heard Bugs Moran’s accusation that actually only Moran killed like that. Although Jack McGurn was eventually arrested for the crime, he was released for lack of evidence, McGurn having carefully and also visibly checked into a hotel with his attractive girlfriend, Louise Rolfe. Known thereafter as the “Blonde Alibi,” Rolfe and McGurn eventually got married so that she could never be forced to testify against her husband. Although several witnesses were able to identify Fred Killer Burke, he was already a fugitive and eluded police by fleeing to a rural part of Missouri. No one was ever prosecuted for the St. Valentines Day Massacre.
Capone family house, Chicago South Side
By mid-1922, Al Capone was earning enough money to move his wife, son, widowed mother and even some of his still teenaged siblings to Chicago. He installed these members of the Capone clan in a South Side suburban house, far from the areas in Chicago that generated his income. While he occasionally holed up elsewhere, he would own this home for the rest of his time as a Chicago resident. And initially, Al’s life in Chicago in the early twenties was relatively peaceful, with the various criminal factions respecting each other’s territories, assuming that there was a big enough racketeering pie for everybody to prosper.
In 1929, Al Capone was worth an inflation adjusted 1.5 Billion Dollars.
Green Mill Cocktail Lounge, Chicago.
Most speakeasies and night clubs serving illicit alcohol provided entertainment in some form, mostly jazz or a vocalist with a band. One of these entertainers named Joe E. Lewis was a regular performer at the Green Mill, a club that was owned by the Outfit. As compensation, Al Capone gave Jack McGurn a piece of the club’s profits and when McGurn found out that Lewis was not going to renew his contract and was going to earn more money at the Rendezvous, a North Side Gang operation, he confronted the singer-comedian and told him he couldn’t leave.
Joe E. Lewis
Lewis brushed him off, said his contract was up and that was that. He actually performed at the Rendezvous for a week, protected by a bodyguard who accompanied him to and from his hotel residence. Lewis then decided he didn’t need protection, that McGurn had only been trying to scare him. On November 9, 1927, seven days after he opened at his new club, three men showed up at Lewis’ Commonwealth Hotel room, burst in on the sleepy Lewis when he opened the door and pistol whipped him into unconsciousness. Then one assailant took a large knife to Lewis’ throat and mouth and even cut off part of the singer’s tongue. Although they could have merely shot the defiant entertainer, the thugs instead sent a terrible message to Lewis and any other performer who attempted to assert such independence. Joe E. Lewis managed to crawl into the hallway and was quickly taken to a hospital where he underwent extensive but successful surgery. He recovered but eventually became a stand-up comedian, his voice now a bullfrog like croak, no longer able to belt out night club standards. Ironically, most likely to counter the public outcry over the incident, Al Capone actually went out of his way to patch things up, claiming to Lewis personally that he knew nothing about the attack and that Joe should have come to him personally if he had a problem. Capone also got him back to the Green Mill, equaling his deal at the Rendezvous, and gave Lewis winning tips at dog and horse races controlled by the Outfit. Lewis’ career continued successfully well into the sixties, and a biographical film starring Frank Sinatra called the Joker Is Wild was produced in 1957, reiterating Lewis’ terrible ordeal and recovery.
Al Capone, Philadelphia mug shot after firearms arrest
While this investigation proceeded laboriously, in mid-1929, a curious incident occurred which only added to the mysterious lore surrounding Al Capone. In mid-May of 1929, Capone traveled to Atlantic City to participate in what became known as the Atlantic City Conference. Organized by Meyer Lansky, this gathering included almost all of American organized crime including Capone, Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello and many other gangsters from all over the US. The meeting was the first attempt by the American underworld to set up a national organization to oversee and make decisions to divide territory and adjudicate disputes without violence. Another underlying issue was a resolve to minimize the attention that Al Capone was generating, involving both the type of violence that occurred with the St. Valentines Day Massacre and Capone himself, who routinely sought out positive media coverage and made himself publicly prominent to the point of celebrity, behavior that created hostility from other prominent underworld figures who abhorred attention of any kind. Following the conference, which concluded on May 16, Capone intended to return to Chicago by train via Philadelphia. With some time on his hands, he and a bodyguard went to a movie and when the film ended, upon leaving the theater, both men were arrested, searched and found in possession of a firearm, in Capone’s case a .38 caliber revolver.
Capone, Time Magazine, 1930
. But his respite was brief, In late April, the Chicago Crime Commission, a watch-dog collection of businessmen with no legal standing issued a list of the 14 most prominent Public enemies in the city. Headlines about this list screamed over the front pages of every American newspaper and when Capone attempted to lie low in Miami, he was continually arrested there as a public nuisance, harassment that he eventually successfully fought in court.
Al Capone, mug shot, Atlanta Federal Penitentiary
Al Capone’s legal good fortune ran out on October 18 when the jury returned with a verdict of guilty. Six days later Capone received a sentence of eleven years, the longest sentence ever imposed for tax evasion. By comparison, Nitti and Guzik received 18 months and five years respectively. Although he would appeal, Capone was confined in the Cook County Jail until May 2, 1932, when the Supreme Court of the United States refused to hear his case. Immediately, the Federal government prepared to send him not to Leavenworth , where Nitti and Guzik languished, but to the penitentiary in Atlanta, the system’s harshest. He began serving his sentence on May 4.
Alcatraz Island and former Federal prison
On August 19, 1934 Al Capone was placed on another train with 42 other prisoners, a train that was very different from his ride to Atlanta on the Dixie Flyer where he interacted with other civilians and played cards. It was armored with bulletproof plating, its windows barred, the Atlanta prison warden and numerous heavily armed guards along for the ride. The occupants were not told of their destination, but rumors had swirled for months about a new federal prison, even harsher than Atlanta, an escape proof dungeon on an island in San Francisco Bay. It was called Alcatraz.
Alcatraz, Prisoner Number 85
Because of his notoriety, his propensity for braggadocio about past criminal exploits and his constant demands from the warden for special treatment, Al Capone was not a popular inmate. In fact, on June 26, 1936, another inmate stabbed him with the detachable blade of a pair of barber shears, which Capone survived.
Al Capone, Terminal Island
Finally, unwillingly to merely release Capone before his time, the Bureau of Prisons allowed his transfer to Terminal Island, in San Pedro, California on January 6, 1939. By now, Capone’s mental capacity was utterly diminished, his conversation peppered with the mention of celebrities. exploits and future plans that were utterly delusional. Neither the Capone family or the Federal government wanted the spectacle of a public release of Al Capone. Government doctors recommended that the family consign Capone to the care of members of the medical staff at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, the leading specialists in the nation on the treatment of neurosyphilis. Capone was secretly transferred to the penitentiary at Lewisburg, PA and then officially released on November 16, 1939.
Machine Gun Jack McGurn grave, Chicago
It took longer, but the demise of Jack McGurn was perhaps the most illustrative example of how quickly Capone’s power diminished. McGurn was always considered a braggart and a hothead, and with Capone gone, Frank Nitti had no use for him, McGurn too recognizable as a hitman. For a while McGurn tried to hustle a living as a golf pro, hanging out at a mobbed up Chicago golf course of which he was a part owner. By 1936, still married to Louise Rolfe, McGurn was broke, hadn’t killed anyone in years and was rumored to have threatened Frank Nitti if Capone’s successor didn’t let him back into the rackets. On February 14, 1936, seven years to the day after the infamous massacre he allegedly planned, Jack McGurn was bowling with two buddies, a regular Friday night outing. Shortly after midnight, three gunmen burst into the bowling alley and methodically shot him fatally in the head and back. Although technically, February 15, earlier on Valentine’s Day, someone knowing that McGurn would be at the bowling alley, left him an inscribed Valentine with a drawing of a couple, apparently in need of cash, standing gloomily with a For Sale sign next to their worldly goods. The printed message inside read:
