The story of the Baltimore gold hoard of 1934 was one that was known to collectors.  There had been an auction sale in 1935, and copies of the auction sale catalog had long been prized as collector's items.  Even better was to own a coin from the hoard itself.  In reading various accounts of the hoard, I was surprised at the questions that were not answered.  Everyone seemed to know the basic facts - two boys playing in a cellar had dug up a fortune in gold, and an important auction sale was held the following year.  It was further known that one of the boys had died young, and that the other had gotten into a bit of trouble with the law.  But at that point, no one seemed to know a whole lot more.  To my mind, this was not at all satisfying.  What really happened to the kids?  What happened to the gold?  And who buried the gold there in the first place?  I was determined to uncover every shred of information related to the hoard, and this quest turned into something of a treasure hunt itself.
 
I knew, of course, that there would be much information in the newspapers of the 1930s, and a number of research trips, traveling from Chicago to Baltimore, were focused on searching newspapers on microfilm at the Enoch Pratt Free Library.  Along the way a helpful librarian pointed me towards the card file index to the Baltimore Sun, which was invaluable for finding the right dates to search.  It was clear from the newspapers that there was a substantial legal trail as well, and Robert Barnes at the Maryland State Archives performed the initial searches for case material from Baltimore City Circuit Court #2, where the legal drama unfolded.  Eventually I located the Maryland State Appeals Court material at the Archives as well; and this contained its own treasure - photographs of the cellar, and a partial inventory of the hoard heretofore unknown to coin collectors.  From the press and legal records, I also knew that Secret Service records were somewhere out there.  That they were accessible to the public rather surprised me - after all, aren't they supposed to be "secret"?  And yet, these were all waiting at the United States National Archives in College Park, Maryland, gathering dust for seventy years, until a researcher called for them.

Perhaps the most intriguing search was for one of the boys.  As far as I knew, Theodore Jones might still be living.  The family had adopted an alias when they moved to Baltimore in 1934, and but for a marriage certificate signed by Theodore's mother in 1935 with her true name, probably never would have been found.  The marriage certificate led me to Edward Sines, one of Theodore's children, who most graciously welcomed me into his home and shared his recollections of the hoard.  This story is richer for his willingness to talk to a stranger about something that had caused his family much trouble.  Family members of other hoard principals were located by all manner of resources - vital records at the Maryland State Archives, United States census records, Baltimore city directories, newspaper obituaries, and quite a bit of cold calling on my part.  Most of the people I contacted were fascinated with the story, even if they ended up having no connection to it, as was often the case.
 
I did not envision this as a book when I started the project, rather it seemed like the sort of article I would like to write, and indeed an initial article was published in November, 2002.  At the time, I had not yet located the family of Theodore Jones, and the idea that he might still be out there compelled me to keep chasing leads.  As I kept digging and finding new source material, it became obvious that a book was necessary to do justice to the story.  Here then is the story of these two boys, Theodore and Henry, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed the "treasure hunt" of researching and writing it.