Museum Crooks ‘Dis-Art-ened’ by Ex-FBI Agent
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By Richard Carreño
As an ex-FBI special agent based in Philadelphia,
Bob Wittman’s presence at a former crime scene isn’t unusual. The site, at the
University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, across from
Penn’s Franklin Field, might raise more than a few skeptical eyebrows, however.
As Wittman recounted last week, the Penn Museum, in
1991, was in fact the site of one of the boldest art heists in memory. And
solved.
That solved part, according to Wittman’s retelling
of his derring-do as Federal Bureau of Investigation’s first, full-time art
crime investigator, is what distinguishes some monster art thefts from others.
Just a year earlier, in Boston, thieves walked off with some Rembrandts, a
Vermeer, and five sketches by Degas from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a
private treasure house that’s akin to the Barnes Foundation. Quirky, defiant in
its nontraditional showcasing, and a total reflection of its founder, Boston
Brahmin Isabella Gardner.
The stolen Gardner museum art, valued at a
jaw-dropping $500 million, dwarfed the Penn Museum theft, merely pegged at
$500,000. (Wittman had a huge hand in working the Gardner case, as well).
Yet, some walls at the Gardner are still bare; Mrs.
Gardner, ever the grande dame, ordained that only art she personally collected
could grace her townhouse and gallery.
At Penn, on the other hand, museum administrators
are still exuberant that their stolen objects, a 19th century Chinese crystal
orb and a 5,000-year-old bronze of Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead, are
back in their rightful places.
Anyway, according to the 54-year-old Wittman, who
retired last year after 20 years as one of the world’s most prominent art
sleuths, stolen art isn’t about monetary value. It’s about stealing history and
a culture’s patrimony. All great art and historical artifacts are, in a word,
‘priceless,’ says Wittman, who was signing copies of his recently published
memoir as a globetrotting art hunter. (He now runs his own suburban
Philadelphia security firm, catering to art museums and insurance companies).
The book, published by Crown, is titled, not
surprisingly, Priceless.
Wittman, founder of the FBI’s Philadelphia-based Art
Crime Team, was sitting, appropriately enough, in front of the 45-pound crystal
orb that he recovered, now reinstalled in its original place of honor in the
museum’s rotunda. (A glass case, ahem, is new).
Just minutes before, Wittman was regaling a packed
audience on how the orb was discovered and how that find again proved the
rightness of one of his favorite investigative dicta, ‘Better to be lucky than
smart.’ (Another is, ‘You can’t make this stuff up.’)
A burly six-footer, Wittman looks cop. Still, with a
ready smile and infectious laugh, you can also see how Wittman over the years,
while hunting stolen pieces from such disparate parts as Paris, Miami, New
Mexico, and—one of his favorites—the New Jersey Turnpike, could finagle the
confidence of the bad guys he was dealing with.
He also has an unpretentious, street-smart demeanor.
(That aspect is marvelously captured in the ‘voice’ you hear when reading
Priceless, thanks to Wittman’s co-author John Shiffman, a Philadelphia Inquirer
Washington-based reporter).
Wittman got his start in art recovery by
happenstance, as a rookie agent in 1988. Again, it was a Philadelphia
institution, the Rodin Museum branch of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Stolen
was Rodin’s iconic piece, the Mask of the Man with the Broken Nose. Besides
being his first art case, the heist was remarkable for being the only one of
the scores he’s been involved wherein a firearm was discharged. (No one was
hurt).
The sculpture was recovered, following a tip. Better
to be lucky than smart.
From there, thinking that art investigations might
be a whole lot more interesting than busting an endless stream of drug dealers,
Wittman decided to get a bit smarter about fine art—the difference between
Manet and Monet, for starters—by enrolling in an enrichment course at the
Barnes Foundation. (Wittman’s hagiographical appraisal of Albert Barnes, in the
book is a passage, by the way, you can skip).
From there, too, starting in 2005, he developed the
Art Crime Team, based in Philadelphia and now with 13 agents tackling what
Wittman described as a $6 billion, illegal worldwide trade in art and
antiquities. Why Philadelphia? For no other reason than that was where Wittman
himself was posted and where he relied on officials of the Penn Museum, the
Barnes Foundation, and the Philadelphia Museum of Art as resources.
According to Wittman’s tally, his investigations
reclaimed more than $225 million in stolen goods. Cases were as far-flung as
Europe, Philadelphia (the Pennsylvania Historical Society an the National
Constitution Center also figure in his tale), and yes, the Jersey Turnpike,
where in 1997 he negotiated for the ‘purchase’ of a 2,000-year-old indigenous
Peruvian ‘backflap’ in solid gold. (This, too, was recovered, and was returned
to Lima—after its only American public viewing at the Penn Museum).
And to Trenton, where thanks to a yet another
tipster, he found the crystal orb, in the bedroom of a self-described witch.
The woman had covered it with a baseball cap, thinking that ‘glass ball’ was
worthless. You can’t make this stuff up.
In all, Priceless is an insightful look into the
mechanics of art theft investigation.
Wittman puts the lie to any glamorous notions
regarding art thieves. Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief? Pierce Brosnan in the
Thomas Crown Affair? Hardly. In reality, they’re loser types, pumped up with
‘beer muscles.’
Is art stolen on commission? he was asked. Sure,
said Wittman. But generally, not by rich art patrons. The wealthy can afford
the real thing. At the end of the day, Wittman noted, insurance companies are
the ones ‘holding the bag.’
Other maxims seem intuitive, though not always
adhered to. One example hit home. Many years ago, while as editor at a
Massachusetts daily, the house of the newspaper’s owner was robbed of more than
a dozen French Impressionist paintings. The cop shop reporter filed the story,
and we scheduled the straightforward report as an above-the-fold Page 1
story—that is, until the paper’s managing editor spiked the story.
The ME was being too politic by half. The next day,
the heist story ran with a banner head. To hinder resale, the owner’s insurance
company in fact encouraged widespread publicity. And the ME was taken to the
woodshed by the paper’s publisher.
Rewards? These can cut two ways, according to
Wittman. Sometimes they draw out a glut of wannabe tipsters, clogging the
investigation with dead-end leads.
‘Stuff’ like this is revealing and riveting. When
Wittman—cum Shiffman—dabbles into Wittman’s personal and family life, things
start to lag. Some gaffes also fall through the cracks. Repetition runs
rampant. The Revolutionary War financier is Robert Morris, not Roger Morris.
Also, the book would have been a much better resource if an index had been included.
That said, you can’t make this stuff up. And Wittman
didn’t.
Wittman has another talk scheduled at 7:30 pm June
22 at the main branch of the Free Library, 1901 Vine Street. Admission is free.
(Richard Carreño can be reached via
Writers.Clearinghouse@com
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