Charles Waggoner: The Colorado Robin Hood
Okay, so when you think of Wild West outlaws, you probably picture gunfights, train robberies, and maybe a bit of general mayhem. But a real Robin Hood? Someone who actually sticks it to the rich to help the poor? Those are a bit harder to find. Sure, there were plenty of outlaws with a "cause," but most of them seemed to benefit themselves more than anyone else.
Let’s take Jesse James, for example. He was a hero to many in Missouri, especially those who still held a grudge after the Civil War. He targeted banks and railroads, which were seen as symbols of the North’s industrial power, and he supposedly avoided robbing Confederate sympathizers. But let’s be real: the money he stole went to him, his gang, and his family. Not exactly sharing the wealth.
And then there’s Black Bart, the stagecoach bandit. He was a polite guy, especially to the ladies, and he only robbed the mail and Wells Fargo. But his loot? It funded his double life as a fancy San Francisco gentleman. His own family, meanwhile, was struggling.
Butch Cassidy gets a little closer to the Robin Hood ideal. Like Jesse James, he robbed banks and railroads, but he was known to be generous. There’s the story of the Wild Bunch shooting up a saloon in Baggs, Wyoming, and then paying the owner a dollar for every bullet hole. Cool, right? But it’s more about being a wild spender than a true benefactor of the needy.
Enter Charles Waggoner
So, where does the "Robin Hood" part come in? Well, let me introduce you to Charles Delos Waggoner. He wasn’t a gunslinger or a train robber. He was a banker in Telluride, Colorado. Fun fact: Telluride was the same town where Butch Cassidy pulled off his first bank heist back in 1889 (though not the same bank, mind you).
Waggoner’s weapon wasn’t a six-shooter, but a deep understanding of banking laws and a fierce determination to use that knowledge to protect his depositors.
From Bookkeeper to Bank President
Waggoner rolled into Telluride in 1896 and started working as a bookkeeper at the Bank of Telluride. He climbed the ladder, becoming cashier in 1907 and bank president in 1919.
Fast forward to the late summer of 1929. Waggoner realized his bank was in deep trouble. He made a decision: no matter what it cost him, he was going to protect the people who had entrusted their savings to his bank.
The Great Waggoner Swindle
Here’s where the story gets interesting. Waggoner hatched a plan, and he planned it meticulously. On August 30, he sent telegrams to six big banks in New York (National City Bank, First National Bank, and a few others). These telegrams, coded to look like they were from the banks’ Denver correspondents, instructed the New York banks to transfer a total of $500,000 to the Bank of Telluride’s account at Chase National Bank.
The next day, Waggoner himself showed up in New York and drew certified checks on the money. He then used those funds to pay off the Bank of Telluride’s debts, saving his depositors from losing everything when the bank inevitably collapsed. And because the transactions were backed by certified checks, it was going to be really tough for the New York banks to get their money back.
Now, $500,000 in 1929 was a lot of money. Today, that’s the equivalent of roughly $8.5 million.
The Arrest and the Trial
Of course, the fraud didn’t stay hidden for long. The New York banks realized something was wrong when their Denver counterparts denied sending the telegrams. On September 10, Waggoner was arrested at a tourist resort outside Newcastle, Wyoming. He didn’t really try to run.
As he was being taken to New York for trial, Waggoner told the New York Times:
"I think I am going to jail for the rest of my life but I can honestly say that I am not the least bit worried. My mind is free because I know that I have saved thousands of working people who trusted in me and who had deposited every penny that they could save up in my bank. Eighty percent of them were paid off before this happened. What they do to me now doesn’t matter much except, of course, that it is going to make my wife, my son and my friends feel badly for me."
The trial had its moments. Waggoner managed to give a newspaper interview while still in custody, holding up the court. And the witnesses from Colorado complained that they couldn’t live on the measly $5 a day they were getting.
Waggoner admitted to sending the telegrams and took full responsibility. He was sentenced to 10 years in the Atlanta Penitentiary. The judge and the U.S. Attorney both recommended that he serve at least five years. He started his sentence in November.
The Shadow of the Crash
It’s worth noting that Waggoner’s crime and trial happened right around the time of the stock market crash of October 1929, which kicked off the Great Depression. Talk about bad timing!
Life After Prison
Waggoner was paroled in May 1935. As a convicted felon during the Depression, finding a job was tough. He reached out to an old friend, J. Walter Eames, who ran the Biltmore Club in Grand Junction, Colorado. Apparently, Waggoner had helped Eames out years before by giving him $300 in gold when he was broke. Eames hired him, either in the office or running a gambling table.
A few years later, Waggoner got some unwanted attention when three masked gunmen tried to rob the club and ended up killing Eames. In 1939, Waggoner and his wife moved to Reno, Nevada, where he sold brushes. She died in 1957, and he passed away in 1960 at the age of 87.
The Verdict?
So, was Charles Waggoner a true Robin Hood? He stole from the rich (the New York banks) to help the poor (the depositors in Telluride). He didn’t profit from his crime, and he spent years in prison for it.
Whether he was a "cold-blooded rascal," as the U.S. Attorney claimed, or a selfless hero is up to you to decide.
P.S. If you ever find yourself in Telluride, check out the Bank of Telluride building at 109 West Colorado Avenue. There’s a plaque on the wall commemorating Charles D. Waggoner and "The Great Waggoner Swindle."
Hope this is helpful!