I have been reading The Talented Mrs. Mandelbaum, because who wouldn’t want to read about a Gilded Age woman who rose from immigrant housewife to the leader of New York’s largest crime syndicate?
As I read, I’m thinking: Geez, this woman makes Catherine look like small potatoes. (For those who don’t know, Catherine Seeley is the protagonist of my forthcoming novel, Countess of Cons, who turned to crime following her 1889 divorce. She’s also my husband’s great-grandmother.)
About halfway through the book, the author, Margalit Fox, addresses the same question raised by many of my beta readers about Catherine: how did these women get away with so much?
Fredericka Mandelbaum spent scarcely a day behind bars. Her influence (and money) allowed her to keep local police, lawyers, and politicians in her pocket. While Catherine was quite shrewd, Fredericka outbrained her in several ways. Most importantly, she never put any of her “activities” in writing. Catherine was not always as careful.
But the biggest reason these women skated so frequently was probably due to the times. We expect that criminals who are caught, especially in the act, will be punished.
In the mid-to-late 1800s, things worked a bit differently. Remember, there was no internet, no effective interstate (or even intrastate) communication, no databases, and few reliable ways to identify someone. Catherine could commit a series of crimes in one area, move on, and “wash, rinse, repeat” the same activity elsewhere. Only occasionally did her behavior in one town get connected with crimes in another. And if it did, she’d simply change her name. No driver’s license. No Social Security number. No voting records. Very little to prove who she was—or wasn’t.
Many of Catherine’s schemes also involved fraud rather than violence. Fraud can be surprisingly difficult to prosecute. Victims often had to come forward, admit they had been deceived, and then follow through with a legal complaint. Witness testimony was frequently the primary evidence available. Many people preferred to cut their losses and move on rather than become entangled in someone else’s court case.
And Catherine was an expert at reading people. She knew when to act—and when to leave. Most of the time, anyway.
She was also about 55 years old when she began committing crimes. In today’s world, that would be more like being in your late 60s. More importantly, she didn’t fit most people’s image of a dangerous criminal. Time and again, Catherine portrayed herself as a confused widow, a victim of misunderstanding, or a woman down on her luck. She was remarkably skilled at convincing people to see her as someone who needed help rather than someone who was running a scam.
Of course, she wasn’t completely immune to consequences. Catherine was arrested numerous times and occasionally spent days or weeks in jail. What she managed to avoid were lengthy prison sentences. Looking at her story through the lens of Fredericka Mandelbaum’s career, I’m beginning to think that wasn’t unusual. It may simply have been the reality of committing fraud in an era when it was remarkably easy to disappear and start over under a new name.
For modern readers, that can be difficult to understand. But perhaps Catherine wasn’t unusually successful at evading justice. Perhaps she was simply a woman operating within the opportunities and limitations of her time.
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