The Anonymous Bank Robber

Written by Tom Fowler, Published on 12/30/2008, Re-published on 7/14/2010

Somewhere in the United States heartland, there were five elderly men gathered around the Lierman fireplace on a cold evening in January. Lester Barton, Larry Brooks, Edward Cantrell, Oscar Jordan and Patrick Lierman, all over the age of 80, had been friends since World War II. They were all widowers, Oscar’s wife being the last spouse to pass away late last year.

Recently, Patrick learned something about a friend in the group -- one of the old men had been a bank robber in the 1930s. He had spent time in a federal penitentiary. Patrick learned of this from an anonymous letter sent to him by the guilty party. In the letter, the friend detailed his life of crime in the desperate days of the dust bowl and depression era, emphasizing that nobody had ever been harmed during the course of his criminal activities. The letter writer insisted that he wouldn’t have committed such crimes under normal circumstances, but his family had been suffering from extreme deprivation and starvation on the meager family farm. He had no choice. The writer offered, “Life was very grim. All of our cattle and horses died of exposure and disease, and crops were scarce during the dust bowl years.” He also wrote that, although he had served prison time, he still felt guilt and remorse over his actions. Thus, he wanted to come clean with his oldest and closest friends. “But first,” he had written, “let’s gather and see if you and our friends can figure out who wrote this letter. Guys our age can use the mental exercise.”

So, it was with no small degree of anticipation and excitement that Patrick welcomed the group into his home on a cold January evening. After serving warm apple cider and brandy to his guests, he read them the letter. Then, giving them time to digest the information he stated, simply, “So, one of us is a convicted bank robber. We are to figure out who he is. May we all agree that all questions will be answered truthfully?” There were affirmative replies and nods all around. Patrick, a retired trial lawyer, nodded also and said, “Good, let’s begin. This is going to be interesting.”

Patrick had had time to decide how he would question each of his friends. He started by asking Larry Brooks, “Explain to me why you are not the bank robber?”

Larry, a retired missionary, said, “In the 1930s our family was in Mexico.” Everyone in the room knew that the Brooks family had a long and impressive history helping the poor in Juarez.

Patrick nodded and continued, asking Lester Barton, “So, tell us about your early life, Lester.”

Lester, a retired dry goods wholesaler who still maintained a couple of old crony accounts, grimaced and replied, “Life was tough for our family. Dad couldn’t get work at home, so the family packed up and headed south. Dad worked whatever jobs he could get. One distinct memory I have is from 1938. We were in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Dad drove a horse drawn milk and ice wagon, working from before sunrise until after sundown. I remember the night he was still out and the Orson Welles radio show “War of the Worlds” came on. Most of the time I was with him helping with the wagon and deliveries, but not on this night. People all over the country were panicking because everyone thought we were being attacked by martians. I was afraid Dad had heard it and gotten scared.”

Patrick cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Do you recall the date of the Welles broadcast?”

“Yes. I remember it very well. It was October 30, 1938.”

Patrick was satisfied with this answer and turned to Oscar Jordan. He wished to be easier on Oscar, because of the recent death of his wife, but they had to know if he was the one who wrote the letter. Gently, he asked Oscar, “What were the depression years like for you, Oscar?”

“Not too good,” he answered, dryly. “During my senior year of high school, I was laid up in bed with tuberculosis. A few months after that, I contracted polio.” Oscar shuddered, “It took me a long time to learn to walk again, and my hand and arm muscles were weak for many years. Today, you would call what I did to recover as ‘extensive rehab.’”

Patrick studied him thoughtfully for a long moment before moving to the last person in the group, Edward Cantrell. Edward, a retired US Army colonel, was the oldest in the group. At age 95, he had been in his early thirties during the war. Patrick asked him, “What do you know of the mounted infantry?”

Edward was surprised by this question, but answered, “A little bit. There were still a few horse cavalry troops around in the 1930s and 40s … but only a few.”

“Can you ride a horse?” Patrick asked.

Still puzzled, Edward answered, “Yes.”

Patrick then asked, “What branch of the US Army were you in?

“Armor. I was a tank officer.” Proudly, he offered, “I knew Patton.”

Patrick smiled at him and announced to the group, “… and I know who our bank robber is.”