In the days before the
internet or telephone, the only qualifications
needed for a scam artist were the right clothes and
a profound lack of scruples. No better example of mankind's
pretechnological naiveté was the hard-and-fast tale
of Lord Gordon Gordon, one of history's
boldest confidence men. Between 1869 and
1874, the scammer, also known as Lord
Glencairn, managed to use his foreign
persona and endless charm to swindle the
wealthy and trusting in a spree of duplicity spanning
from Europe to North America. And, since he spun
a bigger web of lies than a black-suited
Spider-Man, historians know very little about this
globe-trotting grifter. Let's see what we can unravel. But before we do that, be sure
you subscribe to this channel. Around 1869, a self-proclaimed
wealthy Scottish landowner by the name of Lord
Glencairn began making a great deal of
upper-class acquaintances. It didn't take long for
the supposed nobleman to begin borrowing money in
increasingly larger sums. Claiming to be the
descendant of ancient kings, the man employed a young
valet to accompany him, while dressed in garish
outfits, including but not limited to buckskin
breeches and a giant cockade upon his hat. Using his connections
and appearance, Glencairn was able to
establish credit with jewelers in both Edinburgh and London. And by 1870, having racked
up an estimated total of $100,000, the
so-called aristocrat fled to America--
presumably leaving a trail of bedazzled children's
clothing in his wake. That's right-- the very next
stop on this trickster's tour happened in 1871, when the
Scottish scammer resurfaced in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Dressed in hard-to-miss
and expensive clothes, Gordon drew attention to himself
by making a large bank deposit immediately upon his arrival. Being a time before
the internet, the sudden presence of a
single rich and exotic newcomer immediately sparked interest
from the city's bored elite. And, soon enough,
Gordon found himself attending countless
dinners and picnics-- otherwise known as the only
fun things to do in the 1800s. Having no way to
be fact-checked, Gordon used his accent
and mysteriousness to hint at an exciting
backstory where he was the heir to
the earls of Gordon as well as relative
to Lord Byron. After all, who in Minneapolis
was going to say otherwise? Even in 2019 money,
$45,000 is a ton of money to spend on a single vacation. And Lord Gordon managed
to get that and more, all for the low price of
never going back to Minnesota. As his reputation had
expanded in Minneapolis, Gordon crossed paths
with Colonel John S. Loomis, the land commissioner
of Northern Pacific Railroad. The self-proclaimed
wealthy Scotsman expressed interest in buying
land, something the colonel had just happened to
be selling in order to fund a new railroad venture. Loomis took this totally
not-at-all suspicious opportunity as serendipitous,
offering his new friend a luxurious first-class trip
to see the parcels of land he had for sale. This included a personal
valet and all expenses paid. You can probably guess
what happened next. After milking the colonel
for all he offered, Gordon told his
friends that he needed to travel back east to
facilitate a money transfer, only to never set another
snowy foot in Minnesota again. Reviled as one of the worst
robber barons of the Gilded Age, the ruthless railroad
developer Jay Gould had very few
historical defenders. And so it's only
fitting that his fate would intersect with the
wily subject of our story. Gordon first arrived
in New York in 1872, which happened to be the same
time Jay Gould was fighting for control over
the Erie Railroad. In an amazing act of
boldness, the false lord managed to convince the
millionaire developer that he was the cousin of
a wealthy Scottish clan who owned a controlling
interest in the company. In an attempt to gain his favor
and control over the railroad, Gould bribed Lord
Gordon with $1 million in stocks, in exchange
for giving up control. But since the defending
foreigner actually had zero influence
over the company, he opted to immediately sell
his newly gifted investment and make off with
the money instead. Now, rule number
one of any grift is that, once you've lied
your way into $1 million, the smart move is to
become a figurative ghost before ending up a literal one. Gordon's biggest mistake was
not following his own pattern and, for some bizarre reason,
opted to stay in New York even after his biggest swindle. Inevitably, this
rookie move resulted in a lawsuit and arrest, as the
furious Jay Gould ironically sought justice for the con
on his own illegal dealings. When the case was
brought to trial, Gordon once again
managed to charm both the courtroom and
his prominent friends into posting his bail. The only person unconvinced? That would, of
course, be Jay Gould, who began to personally
research the various aristocrats in Europe whom Gordon had
been using as references. But by the time he learned
that none of them existed, the scam artist had
already fled the country. In October of 1872,
Fort Worth, Canada, was visited by a presumably
exhausted and most likely giggling Lord Gordon
Gordon, who immediately posed as a British
tourist looking for sporting expeditions. Despite being only 50 miles
north of Minnesota's border with Canada, the
American fugitive managed to maintain a
lifestyle of hunting trips and countryside relaxation
for almost an entire year-- that is, until an
incident in July of 1873 which brought his vacation
to an abrupt end, when Gordon was kidnapped from
his own front porch and brought back to the border,
all thanks to a $25,000 bounty placed on his head by
none other than Jay Gould. Amazingly, the story
doesn't quite end there. It turns out that you just
can't go into other countries and steal people
without consequence. And so, before they could bring
Gordon over the Canadian border and to justice, the
Americas kidnappers were intercepted and arrested
by the Northwest Mounted Police. Imprisoned without
bail, this led to an international incident
when Governor Horace Austin of Minnesota demanded the
return of the kidnappers, even going so far as to
ready the local militia for a possible
invasion of Canada. The situation
escalated all the way to President Grant
and the Canadian Prime Minister, who
successfully negotiated the release of the prisoners. As for Gordon, well, he remained
in Canada as a free man! At least for the moment. As fun as Gordon's story is,
you can only make the world your own personal
Elmer Fudd for so long before it eventually catches up. This is exactly what happened
when the still-furious Jay Gould tracked down the
Scottish jewelers once scammed by the then-named
Lord Glencairn. Going through the
proper legal channels, one said jeweler
from Edinburgh use the courts to get an order
for Gordon's extradition. And on the morning
of August 1, 1874, the Canadian police finally
arrived at his door. First awoken in his bedroom,
Lord Gordon's first instinct was to ask the police if
he could finish his nap. Sensing the obvious ruse for an
escape, his request was denied. They did, however,
allow the fugitive to grab his hat
from another room before bringing him to prison. But it wasn't a hat he wanted. And after a brief struggle
with the arresting officer, Lord Gordon Gordon had
shot himself in the head. According to
witnesses, it's unclear if this was intentional
or merely a misfire during the skirmish. Either way, Lord
Gordon Gordon, a.k.a. Lord Glencairn, passed
away having never seen the inside of a jail cell
for the grand total of all his scams. Along with his real name, Gordon
took many things to his grave. The early life of this
anonymous beguiler is known only in
the form of rumors-- more specifically that Gordon
was the illegitimate son of a clergyman and a maid. By some accounts, his real
name was Hubert Hamilton, although others contest that
this was yet another alias. No one contests, however,
that this infamous confidence man had an undeniably
great taste in names. But there may be luck for
those seeking the truth. In 2018, a librarian
named Jenny McElroy was given a grant to research
the background of Mr. Gordon. But even McElroy has
expressed doubt she'd get to the bottom of things-- and that's assuming she
doesn't mysteriously disappear with all that grant money. What do you think of
Lord Gordon Gordon-- good Lord Gordon Gordon, or
not-good Lord Gordon Gordon? Let us know in the
comments below. And while you're
at it, check out some of these other fine
videos from our Weird History.
