City of Thieves: City of Thieves, #1

By Kevin Vincent

What happens when unimaginable amounts of gold are discovered in an unimaginable place? It becomes a golden feeding frenzy. Just before World War Two breaks out, a young journalist arrives in a northern Canadian boom town, Timmins, Ontario. He quickly discovers that nearly the entire city is secretly, and in some cases, openly involved in stealing gold from the city's gold mines, and there are LOTS of mines. Everyone wants to get rich. Everyone. Politicians, miners, prospectors, mine managers, priests, cops, hookers and bank tellers - everyone wants their share of the stolen gold. Based on thousands of hours of research, hundreds of interviews, and confessions from gold thieves themselves (called highgraders) - City of Thieves is a collection of short stories with breathtaking outcomes.    

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Vincent
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780995811522

Book preview

City of Thieves Series

Volume One

Published by Freedom Team Inc.

Printed and bound in Canada by Vimi Corp.,

Burlington, Ontario

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in

any form whatsoever, including but not limited to electronic,

photocopying or reprinting except selections for the sole

purpose of review, without the express written consent

of the publisher.

ISBN 978-0-9958115-2-2

FOREWORD

I often apologize to people I speak to these days. I grew up at the side of my grandmother, Helen Vincent. She was a great, Irish storyteller. I joke all the time about ‘leaving home’ when I was five years old – riding my tricycle across town to Grandma’s house, through the schoolyards, and across the busy highway that split the small Ontario paper town of Espanola in half.

Today, partly because it’s true, partly because I use it as an ice-breaker in conversations, I apologize for being a storyteller. Someone I’m talking to will mention an incident, or a particular slice of life, and I immediately, instinctively, launch into That reminds me of a story, the story of ... and I complete the awkward moment by dumping a KUF on an unsuspecting recipient.

KUF is a term I came up with. Kevin’s Useless Facts, my way of apologizing for hijacking a conversation. Well, in my defense, they’re not entirely useless. Most of the time, they’re a suitable sidebar to the discourse at hand.

For example. Our term for Anne is ARQ – Anne’s Random Questions. We’ll be driving, usually on vacation, and she’ll blurt out, Here’s an ARQ and we’re off on a truly random, thought-provoking conversation starter.

Yeah, that was a KUF. Why would I mention this? Funny you should ask. Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, (actually, it was 1984) in a town called Timmins, a young man innocently and naively wandered into a world of intrigue. He discovered, for the first time in his young life, a thing called highgrading. Gold thievery. This young man was so taken by the topic, he made it one of his life’s ambitions to research the subject and write a book about it. In fact, he wrote two. They were non-fiction.

He spent two years in the local library scanning newspaper microfilm stretching back to the early 1900’s. As the young man grew older, he collected more than 17,000 pages of documents, as well as audio and video interviews, and hundreds of oral stories from the townsfolk.

But the young man had a problem. The non-fiction books called Bootleg Gold Volumes One and Two, were pale in comparison to the legendary ‘townsfolk tales’ he had been told that he truly couldn’t write.

Why, you ask? Why not just write all the highgrading and gold smuggling stories you know to be true?

Great question. Because it’s an entire bloody city! A City of Thieves. Priests, cops, butchers, bakers, bankers, miners, lawyers, hookers, barkeeps, and business titans, they were all connected. If you ‘out’ one, you’d have to ‘out’ them all. That’s not going to happen.

I’ve had the distinct pleasure of meeting people from all walks of life who trusted me with their stories. They want them told. They don’t want their names used. Change the names. Write the story. Tell the story. Let people know what really happened in this city of gold. Secretly though, they actually want people to figure it out. It’s like a badge of honour. There’s a sense of pride that stealing gold from ‘the man’ was perfectly okay.

Okay. Done. That’s what The City of Thieves Series is all about. A collection of absolutely, totally true anecdotes that I’ve turned into a series of short stories. If you think you recognize who might be the actual subject of the story, so be it, it likely is. If the person is long dead, I might be using their real name. Most names are made up. You figure it out.

There’s very little nefarious stuff here. I’ve added some colour, some drama, and some context to stories that I believe, need to outlast us all.

The gold mining communities of northern Ontario like Red Lake, Timmins, and Kirkland Lake – are steeped in remarkable underbellies of political, judicial, and moral corruption, double-crossing, and ties to organized crime underlined by gold.

If you played by the highgrading rules, no one got hurt. If you coloured outside the lines, you’d find an unlit stick of dynamite on your front porch, or worse. They blew up the front entrance to a small shopkeepers’ store in South Porcupine one day as a warning. You can read that in my next book, City of More Thieves.

Not everyone got to play and prosper in the golden sandbox.

Table of Contents

FOREWORD

A Train Ride to Nowhere

Submerged

Flights of Gold

Billiards, Women & Gold

Where’s Timmins?

Macaroni, Silver & Gold

Who Killed Frankie DeLuca?

Where’s Rocco?

I’ll Take it From Here

Rothman & Gallagher

The Birth of Eddy

Notes From the Author on Story Origins

Canada and Gold

Germany And Gold

Acquiring Gold

Utilizing Stolen and Confiscated Gold

Aftermath

The Market For Stolen Gold

Gold During the War

History of Gold in North America

City of More Thieves

A Train Ride to Nowhere

A City of Thieves Series © Story

By Kevin Vincent

A person carrying a suitcase Description automatically generated

The dawn's early light creeps above the Timmins horizon. A routine event, the arrival of the morning train from the south, brings a buzz of anticipation. The sound of the engineer’s whistle in the distance, momentarily drowning out the morning’s birdsong, seems to serenade the entire community.

I’m coming, get ready.

The train station comes alive at least an hour before daybreak. Vendors are there to sell hot coffee, buns, and fresh newspapers, trying to catch the business of those waiting to depart, or those who will soon eagerly disembark from their long journey north.

Children, mostly boys, in the exuberance of youth, play along the tracks, racing homemade wooden carts, or placing copper pennies on the rails to witness them being flattened by the wheels of the iron horse.

Who, may be on the train is a topic of endless interest. There are returning miners, often young men who venture south in search of a different vocation, or perhaps, to see the world outside Timmins. They come back. Sometimes, triumphant with savings, but often, they come home, humbled and broke, having realized the value of a steady mining job, or because they simply miss the tight-knit community they grew up in.

There are businessmen and investors. With the booming, depression-proof gold mining industry, it isn't unusual to find suits amongst the overalls. Investors, bank representatives, and businessmen from Toronto, New York, or even further, come to inspect mines, negotiate deals, or scout new locations for potential orebodies.

Driven by the insatiable allure of unimaginable riches and opportunities fueled by gold, there is always a handful of newcomers looking to strike it big. Wide-eyed, they step off the train, tools and supplies in hand, ready to comb the wilderness hoping to unearth the region’s next treasure.

The train also carries wives, mothers, and children who often travel south for extended visits with family or perhaps for medical reasons, as larger hospitals and specialized treatments are more accessible in the bigger southern cities. Their return is heartwarming, with families reuniting amidst laughter, tears, and stories of adventures in the ‘big city.’

There are nomads and drifters. Every so often, mysterious solitary figures step from the train. Drifters, moving from town to town, searching for work, a fresh start, or perhaps to escape past troubles. Timmins, with its prospering economy, is a frequent and lucrative stop for entertainers. Musicians, theater troupes, and even circus performers bound off the train, ready to regale citizens with magnificent tales and performances from exotic, distant lands.

Aside from passengers, the train carries goods, fresh produce, the latest fashions from Toronto and Montreal, machinery parts, fabrics, clothing, books, magazines, newspapers, and more. The train is a lifeline, connecting Timmins to a world beyond the mines and the forests and the ravenous, blood-thirsty mosquitoes.

Along the way, there were vast stretches of wilderness interspersed with the occasional gleam of a mining or logging operation, and the arrival in this relatively small town nestled amidst it all—it seems like a world untouched by the rapid pace of city life yet bubbling with stories waiting to be uncovered.

The train's arrival isn't just a transportation event; it is a daily spectacle, a tangible connection to the world beyond. The whistles of the Ontario Northland locomotive are intertwined with hopes, dreams, farewells, and reunions, making it an essential component of the heartbeat of Timmins.

On board, children are running around, excited to imminently see their siblings. A woman, sitting across from the young man with the notepad and pencil is apprehensive about all the notes he seems to be taking, the way his eyes discreetly ingest everything he witnesses. When there’s movement, he makes a note. Who is he? 

The train chugged to a slow halt, sending puffs of white steam into the crisp evening air. There are dozens of locals, lining either side of the tracks.

Austin Hawthorne steps off the train. He does a few deep-knee bends and body twists to re-energize his stiff, trip-worn muscles. His well-traveled leather suitcase is in left hand. He looks around. The landscape is a stark contrast to the bustling, familiar streets of Toronto. There were no high-rise buildings, the tallest, it seems, is a hotel just up the street, three, maybe four storeys high.

Mothers are hugging their children. First-timers, mostly young men, are standing around, looking lost, equally unsure of which way to turn.  

Austin puts on his seasoned brown fedora, untwists his suspenders, and adjusts the collar of his woolen shirt. He feels the journalistic blood flowing through his veins, handed down through generations of Hawthornes who had been writing articles and books that stretch back to Europe and the invention of the Gutenberg Press. Armed with an insatiable curiosity and a notebook full of questions, he’s ready to carve his mark in the rugged wilderness of the north.

Hawthorne? A gruff voice calls out. Austin turns to see a tall, sturdy man in his late fifties, with a short salt-and-pepper beard. The man extends his hand. "Greg Robbins. Managing Editor at the Daily Press. Welcome to Timmins!"

Austin shook his hand. The grip felt like he arm-wrestled for a living. Pleasure to meet you, sir. I read so much about Timmins and its intriguing history on the way here.

Robbins laughed. Before hiring Hawthorne, Robbins and Publisher Roy Thomson did a thorough inquiry into his background. The young writer has a nose for news that makes his superiors, uncomfortable.

Intriguing is one way to put it! Most here call it survival. But I reckon you're talking about the highgrading stuff. Robbins cut to the chase right away. Everyone does. Not a story that many in these parts are keen on discussing with outsiders. Especially journalists.

Austin nodded like he knew what highgrading meant. He didn’t. He was downright baffled by the word. Yeah, the high-gating. That's what I'm here for. To uncover the magic of this place. It's about the people, their lives, and the choices they make.

It was the quickest retort he could come up with.

Note to self, he thought, find out what high-dating is.

Greg puts an arm around Austin’s shoulders. Timmins isn't Toronto. The mines run deep. Sometimes, the line between right and wrong, truth and deceit, it gets a little blurry, here. My job is to make sure you don’t end up in the obituaries.

Austin swallowed. Then he remembered. Being assigned to write newspaper obituaries was punishment, it’s where reporters are assigned if they screwed up.

Robbins punches him in the shoulder. "Ah, just shittin’ ya. Timmins is a great town. You’re right, lots of stories. We’re gonna’ put you right to work after you get settled in. You won’t be writing obits but pay attention to them. Lots of stories there."

Austin stares at the town as they walk the few blocks to the newspaper office. The sights, the sounds, it’s all so terribly unfamiliar. Ramshackle homes interspersed with more modern fare, the families, the miners returning home or to their room and board residences from the overnight shift, and the children playing in the streets, their laughter underlining the hopes and dreams of the town.

‘Every town has a secret,’ Austin murmured to himself. He was there, or so he thought, to piece it together. Greg smiled, sensing the fire in the young journalist. You’re going to like it here. The wife and I are going to have you over for supper tonight, after deadline. Let’s get you settled in.

Hawthorne wasn’t paying attention. He was lost in thought. Is it just his imagination, or did organized crime in a place like Timmins have a special edge to it?

Crime is a fixture in the big cities, murder, beatings, robberies, and vices too numerous to fathom. It just seems wrong in a place like this, a place where most people would go to escape that sort of world.

He knew from his contacts in Toronto that the majority of people who live in Timmins brought their bad habits with them. Sure, they incessantly rant about the weather, and how tough they are. They have nicknames for one another; end-of-the-liners, someone who falls off the train with nowhere else to go; new-lifers, people who run away from God knows what; and tree-lovers, the ones who feel eternal salvation is one canoe-trip away from heaven on earth; and of course gold-chasers, the two-legged animals following an inexplicable inner compass buried somewhere in the far corners of their soul.

It is the melting pot of the Porcupine. His creative instincts kick in. Hawthorne thinks to himself, is this North America’s last great frontier? He looks at his surroundings. The town is scattered with remnants of the pioneer era, glorified in so many Hollywood picture shows, and he reaches a conclusion.

This is a Jack London moment. He thought about one of his favourite books, Call of the Wild.

Timmins is this continent’s last great frontier.

Another note to self, that’ll make a great subtext for a novel one day.

Now, all I need, is a dog named Buck, Austin grins silently.   

And so began Austin Hawthorne’s journey, one that would take him into the deepest corners of a town built on secrets. The dreams of thousands looking to discover gold, where every story is a testament to the human spirit, the resilience, the good, the evil, and, as he would soon discover, the extraordinary lengths people would go to protect their guarded mysteries.

Austin also knew, that one day, he was going to fracture that hidden past, the invisible line that Robbins, his colleagues, and the rest of the community, had drawn in the sand.

STORY #1

Submerged

A City of Thieves Series © Story

By Kevin Vincent

A person sitting on a bed looking out a window Description automatically generated

April 1943.

Jean-Paul Moreau’s mind feels like a shooting gallery at the fall fair.

What have I done?

He shuffles ungracefully to the small window of his