The Biggest Massachusetts Art Heist You've Never Heard Of

In my neverending quest to learn more about art thievery, I happened upon a big Massachusetts art theft about which I had never before heard. It took me quite by surprise, and, though the victim museum helped provide information about it, I’m left with as many questions as answers.

It all happened more than 50 years ago at the Chrysler Museum in Provincetown, Massachusetts.

You read that right: Provincetown.

The former site of the Chrysler Museum in Provincetown.

THE MUSEUM

Today, when one considers a museum in The Hague, the names that instantly spring to mind are Dutch, with The Mauritshuis chief among them. Yet, from an American perspective, there sits on a body of water also called The Hague the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, Virginia.

The Chrysler has a world-class collection that includes such names as Velazquez, Warhol, Cezanne, Manet, Matisse, Pollock, and many others. It’s a large institution whose landmark moment came in 1971, when Walter Chrysler Jr., an heir to the automotive fortune, moved his impressive and growing collection from its originial location to what was then the Norfolk Museum of Arts and Sciences.

Today, the Chrysler serves 200,000 visitors each year and boasts a collection of 30,000 pieces. That’s a far cry from the relatively small stream of guests who visited the museum’s first iteration when it was located on the northern tip of Cape Cod. That original location was once a Methodist church and today houses the Provincetown Public Library. By the Seventies, the facility could no longer safely house Mr. Chrysler’s impressive collection, and nothing drove that point home like the theft that occured there in 1970.

THE THEFT

On a Sunday morning at 11 a.m., the museum’s assistant director visited the second floor of the repurposed church and found a vacant space where a painting should have been. Then he found the empty frame. He knew right away what had been taken: Heironymous Bosch’s The Temptation of St. Anthony. The painting was one of the very few works by the Dutch artist in the United States. Measuring only about 16'“ x 12”, it was small and portable. But, given that it was the only painting taken, it’s likely that the thief had targeted solely based on its value. At the time of the heist, the Bosch was valued anywhere from $300,000 to $500,000—an enormous sum for a painting in that era (for reference, $500,000 is equivalent to about $3.85 million in today’s dollars).

It was impossible to ascertain details about the person who took the oil on wood panel painting, as there were no eyewitnesses, no cameras, and no evidence. The culprit was likely a skilled thief, rousing neither suspicion nor alarms. It was unlikely that he did it on impulse. Rather, he probably knew of the work’s great dollar value and planned the job in advance. Mr. Chrysler would tell the press that the painting was taken by “someone who knew exactly what they wanted.”

Pinning down even the exact moment of the theft proved impossible. The museum had opened two hours before it had been detected, but the truth was that no one was really sure if it hadn’t occurred the day before. One thing was for certain, though: the Provincetown Police would need help recovering this masterwork. So, soon after Mr. Chrysler dialed acting Chief James Meads from his home in New York, the chief reached out to the Massachusetts State Police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation for help. Thus began a massive search for the Bosch.

THE PAINTING

The Temptation of St. Anthony was painted by Bosch in the very early 16th century. It depicts the bearded saint kneeling in prayer before a crucifix, while a flurry of activity including nude women, demons, marauders, and fire consume the landscape. Still, St. Anthony maintains his focus on worship.

The Temptation of St. Anthony

Mr. Chrysler purchased the work in 1948 from the Silberman Gallery in New York City and had it authenticated by renowned Renaissance art expert Dr. W. R. Valentiner. It was considered one of the crown jewels of the museum’s collection.

THE RECOVERY

Forty-one days after the painting was stolen, it suddenly reappeared with as much mystery as it had when it vanished.

On the evening of St. Patrick’s Day, 1970, the painting was turned over to the Provincetown Police by the museum’s director, Donald Kurlander. Kurlander had received an anonymous call just before 9 p.m. telling him to look on his porch. There, he found the painting swaddled in a brown towel with no serious damage. Kurlander phoned the police chief and informed him of the recovery.

Chief Meads told the media that the investigation had centered on three men, and he believed that it was this pursuit that precipitated the return. Feeling the heat, he reckoned, the thieves gave the work back hoping that would satisfy the authorities. But despite the happy ending, he said, “Our investigation will continue with the intent of gathering necessary evidence to prosecute those individuals involved.” But no prosecution ever came. No matter—Mr. Chrysler was quite pleased, calling the return of the painting “a happy occassion.” He lauded the work of law enforcement, expressing his “appreciation for the work of FBI agent [William] Carpenter and the state police, and especially to acting Chief Meads and the department, in behalf of myself and the trustees for the diligent pursuit of this criminal matter.”

THE AFTERMATH

If the theft of the Bosch wasn’t enough of a signal to Mr. Chrysler that the repurposed Provincetown church was no long suitable for housing his collection, the final straw came less than 3 months later when another theft occured at his museum. Four objects were taken from a case of Iranian artifacts, though the value was nowhere near the that of the Bosch, with each object valued between $800 and $1000. There’s no report as to whether the pieces were ever recovered.

WHODUNIT?

No suspects were ever named in the theft of the Bosch painting. That’s not all that uncommon, especially in the era of this heist. History is riddled with tales of stolen masterworks being returned without word of how they showed up or who took them. It’s reminiscent of the return of a painting of Benjamin Franklin that was stolen from the Boston Public Library on Good Friday less than a month after the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist. There’s no word as to who took it or how it came back. Same for paintings taken from the Longfellow House in Cambridge, where General Washington made his headquarters during the Revolutionary War. They went missing, they came back, and that’s all that anyone knows of the story.

Still, I wondered about the Provincetown heist. I contacted the Chrysler and was assisted with archival materials by Liz Weir, the Dickson Librarian. As I looked through them, one date stuck out to me: the theft likely occurred on February 1, 1970.

Just a few short weeks ago, I took my friend, retired art thief extraordinaire Myles Connor, to lunch (Japanese food, of course) to celebrate his 80th birthday, which fell on the first…of February.

I instantly Myles him to ask about the Provincetown matter. He has always been generous in recounting many of the heists he pulled—at least those that he can still recall. Indeed, he’s stolen more items than he can recall, and he’s never lied to me. When I mentioned the date of the heist, he laughed with a cackle that is equal parts sinister and endearing.

“What was taken?” he asked.

“Bosch,” I answered.

“Oh, he’s one of my favorites. Does it have devilish creatures on it?”

“Some, yes.”

“Well, what year was it again?”

“1970.”

“I think I was in prison in 1970,” he said, trying to recall. “Walpole.”

“Could you have had a furlough?” I asked.

“You know, I helped institue furloughs,” he began, avoiding my question. He then went on to tell me a long but interesting tale about the riots at the infamous Walpole State Prison and how he was elected by his fellow inmates to mediate them on their behalf. “That’s how I got the inmates conjugal visits, television, lectures from Harvard men, and furloughs,” he said, without a word of a lie and with great detail.

But Myles couldn’t recall if he had any involvement in the Chrysler theft or not, and we may never know who took the Bosch. What’s important is that it’s back. But maybe one day Myles will remember, and it will be one hell of a story.