It's not often that mention of the Bronfmans gets you thinking about the 18th century, but this week brought just such an occasion.
Or, perhaps more precisely, yet another example of Mark Twain's apparent observation that while history doesn't repeat itself, it often rhymes.
The occasion was an offer from the Bronfman family of a "no-strings-attached" reward for jewellery worth at least $1 million that was stolen from the Forest Hill home of Paul and Judy Bronfman.
The loot in question included a diamond ring valued at $350,000, sapphire earrings and two Stanley Cup rings from the 1970s, when the Bronfman family owned the Montreal Canadiens, rings infused with enormous sentimental value.
Police are involved in the case, naturally. But the no-strings reward seemed to suggest the family reckons the local constabulary might not be all that consequential in the case.
"This is a private reward for the return of property," said a consultant hired by the family. "It is separate from the police investigation."
The Bronfmans just want their stuff back, and they're willing to pay.
Which is pretty much how things worked in early 18th century England, not least at the hands of a certain Jonathan Wild, whose criminal organization would make Al Capone blush with envy.
At the time, London was home to skyrocketing property crimes but had no recognizable police organization. The street-level administration of justice mostly relied on so-called "thief-takers" – freelance marshals paid rewards by the government for bringing in thieves.
This might sound like an early rendition of Neighbourhood Watch. But the victims of crime also offered rewards for the return of stolen goods. It was Wild's genius to play those two reward systems against each other at great profit.
As Henry Fielding would later write in a somewhat fictionalized account of the man, Wild "carried Good-nature to that wonderful and uncommon Height, that he never did a single Injury to Man or Woman, by which he himself did not expect to reap some Advantage."
Wild had come from humble beginnings and by 1710 found himself in debtor's prison, which proved to be an invaluable education. There he met Mary Milliner, a prostitute with underworld contacts who, once on the outside, would become his mistress and partner in crime.
They started out simply enough. While Milliner was entertaining clients in dark alleys, Wild would rob them. This proved so lucrative that the pair was able to take over a tavern much frequented by criminals.
Here's where it gets interesting. Wild would invite victims of crimes to bring him details of stolen goods, promising he could recover them. A lot of those items were already in Wild's possession, since he bought stolen wares from criminals.
Sometimes, Wild would order the theft of specific items – and then return them to the grateful owners. On one level, this pleased everyone. The thieves could unload their hot property to Wild for a (small) fee, avoiding potential prosecution, and Wild in turn could collect a (larger) reward from the original owners.
In time, Wild was expanding his empire, carving London into districts, each with its own gang reporting to him. And that's where the other reward system came in handy, the one the government offered to thief-takers who apprehended criminals.
Wild became a master at catching crooks, too, except that the criminals he turned in were members of rival gangs or former associates who tried to cross him.
In 1724, for instance, Wild and his associates managed to capture a gang of nearly 100 street robbers.
For many of the wealthier classes, Wild had become a kind of hero, their only genuine defence against crime, or at least their only genuine defence against loss of property. Wild's law-and-order exploits, after all, were regularly detailed in the newspapers.
Still, suspicions swirled. As early as 1717, Parliament made it a capital offence to accept a reward for returning goods without turning in the thief. The legislation was dubbed "Jonathan Wild's Act," although the law's inspiration would escape its grip for another seven years.
(A kind of judicial descendant of that law exists in Canada, which is why the Bronfman consultant was moved to note: "I believe it will play out that the jewellery, if it does get returned, will be returned by a third or fourth party that may not have any knowledge of where it came from and we would do it through [legal] counsel.")
Just as Al Capone's downfall came at the hands of a comparatively trifling crime, tax evasion, Jonathan Wild's demise came courtesy of some stolen lace. In the wake of a farcical episode in which rival crooks fairly raced to turn each other in, Wild was charged with stealing the lace and then returning it to the shop owner for a reward.
Loose tongues ensued and Wild's double-life as crook and cop was soon exposed for all to see.
By May of 1725, as the convicted Wild was transported to the gallows, his once-adoring public was pelting him with the usual foul debris.
