Books: Confessions of a Master Jewel Thief

Steal away

By John Ziebell

When it comes to summer reading, this is the kind of fat, healthy book I like to take to the beach; one of those inspirational numbers about the successes of an average guy, a book that honestly discusses how grit and gumption really can help you get ahead--sort of like a Horatio Alger novel for the present day. It's the true-life tale of a Cleveland guy named Bill Mason who found himself married at a young age, studied the real estate business, got his license and then started stealing high-ticket accouterments from rich people for a living. Diamonds, as a rule.

Mason, who began his life in crime by robbing a gas station and a miniature golf course, went on to clean out the jewelry boxes of socialites such as Mrs. Armand Hammer, Florence Mandel and one of the DuPonts--he's still not sure which one--along with celebrities such as Phyllis Diller, Bob Hope, Truman Capote and Johnny Weissmuller (Mason did return Weissmuller's Olympic gold medal). And though he bitched about the lack of quality goods in Robert Goulet's hotel room, he did wear the singer's Seiko watch for 30 years. The statute of limitations has run out on all of Mason's crimes, and he's not a little bit proud of letting people know who nabbed their stuff--and, in some cases, which of them had been sold bogus goods by less-than-reputable jewelers.

Mason is an intriguing raconteur who never hides the fact that he was a troublemaker who became a highly successful thief mainly because he was smarter than the average criminal. Considering the fact that Mason stole millions of dollars worth of jewelry, paid the salaries of southern Florida's hottest criminal lawyers and spent years butting heads with Broward County law enforcement, one of the most amazing things about his career is that he only spent three years behind bars. And if he'd stuck unflinchingly to his convictions, especially that darned "never use a partner" rule, he might never have done time at all.

This isn't a how-to book, though it does offer some frank discussion of what might be called technical considerations. Mason offers interesting commentary on subjects like dealing with Schlage door locks (use a Channellock pliers), wall safes (rip them out and open them later) and how to do quality time in prison. The dramatic part of a thief's life is just what you'd expect, and there's definitely some appeal in the risk involved; richly evocative descriptions detail the kind of fear that accompanies a rainy-night creep along the ornamental ledge outside Armand Hammer's 15th-floor condo, or what it's like to get shot while running away from an overzealous security guard.

Mason's famed war of wills with the south Florida cops has a big-screen flavor; the fabled Fort Lauderdale TAC squad spent years and untold resources trying to put him behind bars as a career criminal based on the ramblings of a snitch--perhaps not the best use of resources, considering the level of violent crime that marked the cocaine years. Even the story of Mason's real estate investments is not without irony; while the cops were trying to lock him up, he rented a house on the Intracoastal Waterway several times in a single year to drug smugglers who would bring in a major load and disappear, abandoning not only their leases but vehicles, designer furniture and high-end electronics.

And the book is actually a confession of sorts. Mason is not completely facile about his life of crime; he shares candid thoughts about the emotional damage he did to his family and his victims, and especially about his career choice having more to do with thrills than money. Even when he's not entirely apologetic, he is always gracious, and he does tell a fascinating story.