Legends of the Old West - SWINDLERS Ep. 6 | “The Snake Oil King”

Episode Date: August 23, 2023

A mysterious remedy called “snake oil” became one of the most enduring parts of the Old West. Of all the scammers who traveled the towns of the West selling the magical potion, Clark Stanley rose to the top. He is one of the primary reasons that we still use the label “snake oil salesman” today. Join Black Barrel+ for ad-free episodes and bingeable seasons: blackbarrel.supportingcast.fm/join Apple users join Noiser+ for ad-free episodes and bingeable seasons. Click the Noiser+ banner on Apple or go to noiser.com/subscriptions to get started with a 7-day free trial. For more details, visit our website www.blackbarrelmedia.com and check out our social media pages. We’re @OldWestPodcast on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. On YouTube, subscribe to LEGENDS+ for ad-free episodes and bingeable seasons: hit “Join” on the Legends YouTube homepage. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Fairgrounds of the Chicago World's Fair in 1893 bustled with people. Wide-eyed spectators walked toward the grandiose white buildings that were constructed specifically for the fair. One of the most remarkable attractions was a giant Ferris wheel, the first one ever built. In a single revolution, it lifted more than a thousand excited patrons 250 feet up in the air. The fair was held to celebrate the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus discovering America. A seven and a half foot tall statue of Columbus made out of 1,700 pounds of chocolate towered inside one of the buildings. Visitors were also treated to life-size replicas of Columbus's three ships, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria.

Legendary magician Harry Houdini fascinated visitors with his uncanny sleight of hand. An exotic dancer named Little Egypt and pianist Scott Joplin, king of ragtime, dazzled the crowds. Visitors gawked at dwarf elephants, a two-headed pig, boxing matches, and jugglers. Buffalo Bill Cody didn't have a spot at the fair, but he decided to perform his act anyway. He set up shop just outside the exposition. A quirky subset of exhibits included a Liberty Bell made out of citrus, a knight on horseback made out of prunes, and a landscape painting made out of cereal and grass. Hungry fairgoers were treated to Cracker Jacks, Wrigley's fruit-flavored chewing gum, and hot dogs for the first time.

The fair also marked the first time electricity was widely displayed in America. Visitors marveled at electric incubators for chicken eggs, electric chairs for executions, electric ironing machines, and an early fax machine that sent images through telegraph lines. One of the first nighttime American football games was played on the fairgrounds because they had electric lights. The inventions and the displays seemed too numerous to count. In one of the pavilions, there was a stall that was operated by a man in a fine suit and a top hat. A curious crowd gathered around him. An assortment of small glass bottles were arranged behind him. The man bent down to reach into a wooden crate that lay at his feet. The crowd craned to see what he was taking out of the box. The man straightened up, and the crowd gasped and murmured. In the man's outstretched arm was the

twisting body of a snake. As the crowd marveled, the man held up a knife in his other hand. He was about to demonstrate the healing powers of snake oil. From Black Barrel Media, this is Legends of the Old West. I'm your host Chris Wimmer, and this season we're telling the stories of some of the legendary con artists of the Old West. This story is about the man who took the sale of snake oil to the extreme. This is Episode 6, The Snake Oil King. The field of medicine is no stranger to con artists. So much of medical science remained a mystery for so long that it was pretty easy to convince people of almost anything. If you had the confidence to sell it, people would buy it.

For most of human history, the practice of medicine was a free-for-all. There were a few schools that called themselves medical schools, but you didn't need to go to medical school to become a doctor. If you called yourself a doctor, you were one. If you, as a doctor, called something medicine, it was. The revolution of American medicine wouldn't happen until the global crisis of the influenza pandemic in 1918. And even after that, there were still

plenty of fraudsters. In the 1930s, a man named Norman Baker claimed he could cure cancer with injections. They were outrageously expensive, and they were made from watermelon seeds, corn silk, carbolic acid, clover, alcohol, and water. And, as you might expect, they were completely useless against cancer. Even worse, people died after taking the injections. All five of Baker's trial patients died. But he still confidently sold the drug. His institute, the Baker Institute in Iowa, reportedly made $100,000 per month

selling his cure to desperate patients. He was eventually run out of Iowa, and then Arkansas, and then served prison time for selling his worthless cures and performing savage experimental surgery. History has no shortage of heartless people who tried to make an easy buck by selling phony treatments. And probably the most well-known category of medical fraudsters is the snake oil salesmen. They were so prominent in the Old West era that we still use the term snake oil salesman today. In earlier times, it was commonplace for village elders to prescribe remedies for all kinds of aches and maladies.

The remedies were modified over generations, and there was little proof of their effectiveness. Hapless patients could only hope that they worked. As civilization evolved, swindlers saw opportunities. Sick and scared patients were the perfect marks. Their need for relief drove them to try anything and, more importantly, buy anything. In the Old West era, there were virtually no regulations of the medical field. People who called themselves doctors traveled the towns of the West with black satchels filled with potions and creams that cured anything and everything. Some of those potions contained generous quantities of alcohol, so it was no surprise

that users felt better after drinking them. And when the patients felt better, they came back for more. It was a familiar sight to see confidence men hawking their wares on every street corner. They rode into town on wagons with daring claims painted on the sides. Their potions, tonics, lotions, or pills could cure any sickness, and the swindlers were at their best when some poor wretched soul stopped by to see what was being peddled. The con artist doctor gave a kind smile and explained how his product had taken the world of medicine by storm. The doctor only hoped his magical formula would reach as many people as possible.

He was there to help the needy, after all. And oftentimes, the fake doctor hired an actor and planted the person in the crowd. The born-again patient had miraculously survived some life-threatening ordeal because of the doctor's exclusive medicine. It wasn't long before one of the most well-known elixirs of the time showed up on the scene. It came from an unlikely source, a slender species with scaly skin and a frightening hiss that scared most people to death and certainly killed its fair share in the Old West. As a podcast network, our first priority has always been audio and the stories we're able to share with you.

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slash r-e-a-l-m now to grow your business no matter what stage you're in. shopify.com slash realm. Today, snake oil means a quack remedy or something sold as a panacea, which isn't really helpful. But in the late 1890s, snake oil referred to a greasy liquid that was marketed as a cure for every ailment. There are two stories of how snake oil became the miracle cure of the Old West. The first goes back to the Seneca tribe of the Iroquois Federation. The Seneca used oils they found in nature to treat wounds. European settlers soon discovered the virtues of those oils. Enterprising as ever, Europeans bottled the oils for sale. The bottles were labeled Seneca Oil, and over the years, the title was garbled into Snake Oil. The second story is related to actual snakes, as you'd expect.

The story has its roots in traditional Chinese medicine. In the early 19th century, thousands of Chinese immigrants poured into America. Many were laborers on the Transcontinental Railroad. After spending long hours doing back-breaking labor, the workers rubbed a soothing substance into their joints. It was made from the oil of the Chinese water snake, and it was incredibly effective. The Chinese workers shared the oil with their American counterparts, and then the product became corrupted. One man, Clark Stanley, is largely responsible for snake oil as we think of it today. But his saga of snake oil begins with a totally different origin story.

Clark Stanley was from Abilene, Texas, and like many young men in Texas, Stanley became a ranch hand. He spent 11 years in the profession, but it never satisfied him. Stanley was bored by the plodding pace of life on a ranch. He craved something more. Stanley's tryst with medicine was unexpected, and like a fellow Texan of the same era, John Wesley Harden, much of Stanley's tryst with medicine was unexpected, and like a fellow Texan of the same era, John Wesley Harden, much of Stanley's story comes from his own autobiography. It has to be taken with a big pinch of salt, since historians have had trouble verifying his account. But it's still a hell of a fun story. In the spring of 1879, Stanley accompanied some of his father's friends to a Native American village called Walpe in Arizona. They wanted to witness the famous snake dance of the Moki tribe.

The Moki is an old name for what today is called the Hopi Nation. Their small reservation is carved out of the middle of the Navajo Reservation in northeastern Arizona. The snake dance is an amazing spectacle. Dancers dressed in ceremonial attire and danced around a rock while holding snakes in their hands and mouths. In 1913, former President Teddy Roosevelt traveled to Walpe to see the snake dance. Thirty years earlier, when Clark Stanley was there, he met the medicine man of the tribe. According to Stanley, the medicine man was intrigued by Stanley's Colt revolver. Stanley was a good shot, and he showed off his skills to the medicine man. Afterward, the medicine man invited Stanley to stay in Walpie and live with him. Stanley lived with the tribe for more than two years, and that was how he learned the secrets of snake oil

medicine. The tribe used it to soothe all their aches and pains, and now Stanley knew the recipe. Every good scheme needs an origin story, and Stanley's story of living with the tribe that was famous for the snake dance was perfect. Now that he had the recipe for their snake oil medicine, he made some improvements, of course. Because if you're going to sell it to unsuspecting customers, you need to make sure that your concoction is one of a kind. It has to be exclusive and proprietary. Customers can only get it from you, and yours is the only one that works. Stanley devised creative ways to sell his

miracle oil beyond simply traveling from town to town and shouting about its wonders. He wrote his autobiography and devoted a full third of the book to the glory of snake oil. The book set him apart from other snake oil salesmen. It gave him increased stature, but without distancing him too much from the average person who would be his customer. Stanley updated the book a great number of times, adding in more personal anecdotes and, of course, glowing testimonials for his snake oil. Stanley completed his pitch by making sure his appearance attracted attention. He sported a distinctive handlebar mustache and goatee. He dressed in a shirt and jeans and wore a broad-brimmed hat.

In his own words, he spent a decade selling the snake oil with unbounded success in the West and Southwest of America. But the highlight of his career was his stall at the Chicago World's Fair of 1893. Clark Stanley's stall at the World's Fair attracted throngs of people. It was lined with little glass bottles. There was a large vat of boiling water on the platform at the front of the space that acted as a stage. A heavy crate lay on the floor. Hidden from the view of the crowd, there were several snakes in the crate. Stanley was an excellent showman, and his show went like this.

He stepped up onto the platform, dressed in a flamboyant suit and an elegant top hat. He faced the crowd of nervous people who stared at the live rattlesnake in his hand. The deadly serpent sometimes bared its fangs and hissed. The crowd was hypnotized, and then Stanley held up a sharp blade in his other hand. He raised it high in the air, and in a single fluid motion, he sliced the body of the snake in half. He displayed the half that was still in his hand, and people stepped forward to take a closer look. The snake's unblinking eyes stared back at them. The audience shuddered, but Stanley was just getting started. Once Stanley knew he had their attention,

he loudly proclaimed the benefits of his miracle oil. He said it was the cure to every kind of ache and pain known to exist, from frostbite to toothache to rheumatism. Stanley's oil gave the patient immediate relief. As he spoke, he dropped the limp body of the dead snake into the boiling water. He skimmed the top of the frothing liquid for the fat of the creature. Stanley collected the oil from the snake in a glass jar. He invited the crowd to take a closer look at the slimy liquid. Then he expertly poured nine other liquids into the jar.

He stirred it well and let the mixture rest until it settled. Clark Stanley's snake oil liniment, that was its name, was ready. Stanley told the crowd that each bottle was priced at just 50 cents. Then a somber expression crossed his face. With a sincere look in his eyes, he told them that he had but one fear. He worried that someone in the crowd would leave without a bottle of his snake oil and go back to a painful existence. would leave without a bottle of his snake oil and go back to a painful existence. Stanley bent down and picked up two more snakes from the crates, holding one in each hand.

The captivated audience looked on. He said he knew that the wonders of his snake oil sounded too good to be true, but they didn't need to take his word for it. On cue, a pretty young woman walked toward the front of the stage. She was Stanley Schill, his actress, to convince the crowd. He said the girl used to suffer from a bad case of rheumatism. She was bedridden for 18 years of her life. She'd been in agonizing pain. Some nights, she hoped that she wouldn't wake up the next morning. Then Stanley triumphantly declared his snake oil had cured her. This girl was proof that his medicine worked miracles. The crowd's attention shifted to the young woman, and that was all it took. The crowd was hooked.

Stanley tossed the two snakes he was holding into the crate and prepared for the best part of his show. tossed the two snakes he was holding into the crate and prepared for the best part of his show. Enthusiastic customers rushed up to him to buy bottles of his snake oil. The act worked like a charm, and he raked in the money at the 1893 World's Fair. He had far surpassed the old days of the traveling huckster who rolled his wagon into a dusty town in the West and sold a few bottles to whoever passed by. Clark Stanley was already thinking bigger, and in a few years, he would put into motion his most audacious plan. In 1896, a reporter with the Topeka Daily Capital interviewed Clark Stanley at his home in Beverly, Kansas. It's one of the only surviving independent accounts about the infamous Rattlesnake King, as Stanley was called.

Stanley led the reporter up to his bedroom. Stanley opened a wooden box with a wired window on the side. with a wired window on the side. According to the reporter, Stanley dove his hand into it with as much unconcern as if he were taking an egg out of a basket. Stanley pulled out a seven-foot-long, tan-colored snake. As he draped the creature around his neck, he told the reporter that it was a copperhead,

one of the deadliest snakes in the country. He put his hand back into the box and pulled out a darker colored snake. Stanley told the reporter that it was a water moccasin. Its venom was second only to the copperhead in severity. Stanley reached into the box a third time. As he pulled out another tan colored snake, he said it was a female copperhead. It was nine and a half feet long. Stanley proudly added that it was the only one successfully kept alive in captivity. The reporter was astounded as the snakes entwined themselves around Stanley. Then the trio moved closer to Stanley's face. The reptiles rubbed against him and flicked their tongues on his skin.

At that point, Stanley noted that the snakes had not been defanged. They were still poisonous. A bite from any one of them was fatal. To prove his point, he grabbed the head of the male copperhead and forced open its mouth. Sure enough, the reporter saw two milky white fangs in the snake's mouth. When the reporter asked Stanley if he was afraid of snakes, Stanley said no and held out his hands. They were covered in white scars. He said that each scar was a snake bite. Stanley said that he was not dead because he had the only remedy for a snake bite, Clark Stanley's snake oil liniment. He said after a bite, he rubbed a little of the oil on the wound. It foamed up and turned green, but the next day when he washed it

off, it would be as clean as an ordinary cut. Stanley said snakes recognized people by their smell. That was why his pets rubbed against his face. And if he put the snakes on the reporter, they would sense a foreign smell and bite him, and he would be dead in minutes. Unless, presumably, he applied some of Stanley's trusty liniment. When the reporter wrote his article, he ended it by answering the question

that everyone would have been asking. The reporter wrote that Stanley was not pressed for any demonstration of this statement. So, the big article went into print without Stanley having to prove any of his claims. And as the 20th century approached, Stanley's business was booming. News of his miracle concoction spread far and wide. He was selling more bottles of snake oil than he could make, which led him to the audacious plan that would be the next phase of his career. He met a pharmacist from Boston who suggested that he set up a manufacturing facility. from Boston who suggested that he set up a manufacturing facility. Stanley took the man's advice. He moved east and opened a factory that produced his snake oil in bulk. He hired sales people to crisscross the country selling his snake oil, and he still couldn't keep up with the demand.

In 1901, he moved his operation to a bigger manufacturing plant in Providence, Rhode Island. And to make all that snake oil, Stanley boasted about the thousands of snakes he killed in a year. He claimed that his endless supply of rattlesnakes came from his hometown, Abilene, Texas. The firm he bought the snakes from specialized in catching and shipping dangerous creatures across the country. And Stanley didn't stop at just snake oil. He was an enterprising man. He found ways to use other parts of the snake's body. From the skin, he made slippers, belts, and neckties.

He sold the rattles from the rattlesnakes, which were used for a variety of things. sold the rattles from the rattlesnakes, which were used for a variety of things. As remarkable as it might sound, Stanley's snake oil business continued to boom for another 20 years, until early American author Upton Sinclair wrote a book that changed everything. Upton Sinclair was a writer and political activist. Many of you have probably seen the movie There Will Be Blood, starring Daniel Day-Lewis, one of the greatest actors of all time. That movie was partially inspired by Upton Sinclair's 1926 book, Oil. But 20 years before Upton Sinclair wrote that book, he wrote a book that changed the food and drug industry forever. Sinclair originally wrote The Jungle to call attention to the awful

conditions that workers faced in the meatpacking industry. His book became really popular, but not for the reasons he expected. The American public was outraged, but not necessarily by the treatment of the workers. The public was outraged by the unsanitary conditions in the industry, meaning the meat wasn't being handled as cleanly as they wanted. Hundreds of letters demanding action were written to President Teddy Roosevelt in the White House. The government quickly passed two landmark laws in 1906, the Pure Food and Drug Act and the Meat Inspection Act. The laws ushered in a new era of regulation over consumable goods. Upton Sinclair would later say that he aimed for the public's heart and accidentally hit it in the stomach. Around the same time, a man named Harvey Wiley was leading a crusade against food adulteration.

Wiley was the head of the Department of Agriculture's Chemistry Division. He had discovered that the public had no idea what they were putting inside their bodies. He organized a group of volunteers to consume poison so Wiley could study the effects on the human body. They were also known as the Poison Squad. Spurred on by the new laws, Wiley started testing a wide variety of products that were being sold to the public. Unsurprisingly, the wealthy corporations that sold those products were up in arms that Wiley's department might interfere with their profits. But Wiley kept working, and it was a big industry, and it took him 10 years to get around to focusing his attention on the rattlesnake

king, Clark Stanley. Stanley had successfully transitioned from Old West Swindler to Business Tycoon, which, in Stanley's case, was just a fancier name for Swindler. In 1917, Harvey Wiley went after the slimiest snake oil salesman in the land. A district attorney seized a shipment of Clark Stanley's snake oil liniment. Wiley's chemistry division put it to the test. Stanley's snake oil liniment. Wiley's chemistry division put it to the test. One account said government scientists revealed that Stanley's miracle cure, which he had been selling for nearly 40 years, was made up of mineral oil, camphor, cayenne pepper,

animal fat, and turpentine. Other accounts list slightly different ingredients, but none of them included real snake oil. The district attorney filed a case against Stanley under the Pure Food and Drug Act for misbranding his product. Stanley didn't contest the charges, and in June 1917, he was fined a whole $20. That was it. He probably made that much in two days back at the World's Fair in 1893. And after that, unfortunately, Clark Stanley's trail runs dry. Despite his seemingly booming business, there are no records that show what happened to Stanley after he was fined by

the Department of Agriculture. We don't know if he died a pauper or a prince. He seems to have simply vanished. But in some way, that's a fitting end for a man whose life was built on lies. He drifted away like smoke. But his impact, and the impact of those like him who sold little bottles of a slimy mixture that they said could cure anything, lives on. We now use the label snake oil salesman without a second thought.

Thanks for listening to these stories of swindlers here on Legends of the Old West. Next time, we'll go a little darker for the Halloween season with two stories of murder and mayhem in the Old West. One is the infamous tale of the Donner Party, and the other will remain a secret. You'll have to listen to find out. That's next time on Legends of the Old West. Members of our Black Barrel Plus program don't have to wait week to week to receive new episodes.

They receive the entire season to binge all at once with no commercials. And they also receive exclusive bonus episodes. Sign up now through the link in the show notes or on our website, blackbarrelmedia.com. Memberships begin at just $5 per month. This series was researched and written by Rhea Perowit. Original music by Rob Valliere. Copy editing by me, Chris Wimmer, and I'm your host and producer. If you enjoyed the show, please leave us a rating and a review on Apple Podcasts or wherever you're listening.

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