The Kidnap Years: by David Stout (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

In the morning, his jailers told Urschel to select a friend in Tulsa, write a letter to him, and say the ransom demand was $200,000—and there must be no funny business. Urschel chose J. G. Catlett, a wealthy oil man.

Urschel’s handcuffs were fastened to a chain so he could move around a little. He was able to peek outside and saw chickens, hogs, and several cows. He was given a pair of pajamas to wear so his clothes could air out. He was fed canned tomatoes and beans. He was also given cigars—El Cheapo compared to what he was used to.

Days crawled by. He came to know the sound of the pulley used to haul buckets of water from the well. He mentally implanted the image of the old tin cup he was given to drink water from. He took care to leave his fingerprints on the cup and on surfaces in his little dwelling place.

He noted that each morning, a plane would go over around 9:45. Another would fly by around 5:45 in the evening. It rained very hard on the morning of Sunday, July 30, and no plane went over.

Urschel had vowed to remember each detail of his time as a kidnapping victim, from the moment he was abducted until—when? He wondered how his wife was bearing up, what his friends were doing to obtain his freedom. He wondered what was going on in the real world.

Two days after Urschel was taken, the FBI announced a time-out of sorts. It would suspend its investigation for twenty-four hours to give the kidnappers a chance to contact the Urschel family without interference. “Our only concern at this time is the safe return of Mr. Urschel,” said R. H. Colvin, the agent in charge at Oklahoma City.99 Local police, who had been guarding the Urschels, also agreed to step aside, for the moment, to put the kidnappers at ease.

By then, the crime was being investigated more intensely than any except the Lindbergh kidnapping. Hoover was so hungry to solve a high-profile case and polish his FBI’s image that he pulled one of his top agents off the probe into the massacre at the Kansas City train station and assigned him to the Urschel case.

Hoover knew that Charles Urschel and President Franklin D. Roosevelt were friends.

On July 26, Urschel’s friend J. G. Catlett got a Western Union package containing a letter from Urschel asking him to be an intermediary. There was also a letter from Urschel to his wife and a letter addressed to another friend of Urschel’s, E. E. Kirkpatrick of Oklahoma City.

Kirkpatrick was instructed to obtain $200,000 in used twenty-dollar bills and to run an ad in the Daily Oklahoman reading: “FOR SALE—160 acres land, good five-room house, deep well. Also cows, tools, tractor, corn, and hay. $3750 for quick sale…TERMS…Box#______”100

The kidnappers said they would be in touch after the ad had run—and they were true to their word. On July 28, the newspaper got a reply addressed to Kirkpatrick in Box H-807. It had been sent from Joplin, Missouri.

Kirkpatrick was told to pack the money in a light-colored leather bag. The next night, he was to board Train No. 28, “the Sooner,” leaving Oklahoma City at 10:10 p.m. for Kansas City, Missouri. He was to sit in the observation platform and keep his eyes on the scenery in the direction the train was going. After a while, he would see a fire. That would be his cue to get ready to throw the bag off the train—which he was to do right after observing a second fire.

No tricks, the letter warned. No dummy package, no recording the serial numbers of the bills (the FBI did record the serial numbers despite the warning), no police involvement, or not only Urschel would be killed but “someone very near and dear to the Urschel family.”

The letter said that, if the ransom drop-off went awry, Kirkpatrick was to proceed to Kansas City and register at the Muehlebach Hotel under the name E. E. Kincaid of Little Rock, Arkansas, and await further instructions.

Catlett and Kirkpatrick rode the train together, sitting in different sections of the observation car with identical leather bags—except that Catlett’s contained the money, while Kirkpatrick’s was filled with old magazines. Agents had decided on the dual-bag arrangement thinking it might somehow reduce the risk of a hijacking.

All night long, Catlett peered out the window into the darkness. Now and then, he saw lights from buildings and cars. But no fires.

In Kansas City, Kirkpatrick registered at the hotel under the name Kincaid and waited in his room. Soon, he got a telegram from Tulsa: “Owing to unavoidable incident unable to keep appointment. Will phone you about six. Signed, C. H. Moore.”

Moore called around 5:30 p.m. Sunday, July 30, and told Kirkpatrick to take a taxi from the Muehlebach Hotel to the LaSalle Hotel, then walk west. After walking no more than half a block, Kirkpatrick was approached by a man who said, “Mr. Kinkaid, I will take that bag.”

Bag in hand, Moore told Kirkpatrick to go back to the Muehlebach, that Charles Urschel would soon be released.

Kirkpatrick and Catlett checked out of the Muehlebach. Kirkpatrick returned to Oklahoma City, Catlett to Tulsa.

“Well, Mr. Urschel, we are going to give you a shave and clean you up for a trip to town,” one of the kidnappers said. It was Monday, July 31, and Urschel was very tired.

He was allowed to shave, then his eyes were taped shut once more, and then it was into a car, sprawled on the floor of a back seat again. But this time, Urschel dared to hope.

Another long, long ride. Then the car stopped. He was pulled out, and his eyes were untaped.

“You’re just north of Norman,” he was told. “Here’s some money.”

He could see the lights of the city. The car sped off into the night, and Urschel walked. After a while, he came to a hamburger stand, where he phoned for a