Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine - Issues 50, 51 & 52 (1948)

Pulp Gallery: DETECTIVE FICTION WEEKLY

1931

1932

1932

1933

1933

1933

Pulp Gallery: DIME DETECTIVE (1933)

Pulp Gallery: DETECTIVE FICTION WEEKLY (1932-33)

Forgotten Books: THE BIGGER THEY COME by A.A. Fair (You-Know-Who) (1939)

A review of a later book in this series by Dale Goble (who writes way more entertaining reviews than me) reminded me I'd never met Donald Lam and Bertha Cool. As you may know, I am not averse to the works of Erle Stanley Gardner, and as I'm sure you know, A.A. Fair was he. So I scrounged up a copy of this book, the first in the series (of 30).

The lead characters are great. Both are hardboiled as hell (as Perry Mason was in the beginning), and Bertha Cool has the advantage - at least by today's standards - of being wonderfully non-PC. She's fat, Fat, FAT, and flaunts it like a flag. She's probably even fatter than Nero Wolfe, because he doesn't wiggle and jiggle around inside his clothes "like a cylinder of currant jelly on a plate." 

Donald Lam is a shrimp. He's tough for his size, and even tougher in his attitude, but that doesn't prevent him being pushed around. So he's developed a sneaky mind, capable of plotting delicious revenge - and he doesn't mind hitting below the belt. 

Bertha runs a detective agency in L.A. She employs legmen, and hires Donald to be one of her legs. Their relationship is prickly from start, made more so because he's flat broke and she's extremely tight-fisted. Being less picky than most fictional P.I.s, she welcomes divorce work, and in this case the job is to serve divorce papers on a guy who's hiding from the law on other charges. Donald is to serve the papers, and uses his sneaky mind to do it. 

In the course of the story, we learn that Donald is an attorney, but had his license temporarily revoked for telling a client how to commit murder and get away with it. He didn't intend for the client to use that method - it was more in the manner of bet to prove he had one - but the bar association was not amused. 

The story sails along with plenty of clever action and dialogue for the first 2/3 of the book, and then it doesn't. At that point the story slams to a halt, and becomes a complex and almost technical treatise in which Donald uses his foolproof murder method to rescue a lady client (yeah, he's sort of in love with her) from a murder conviction. 

I'm not going into the details. If you want to commit murder and get away scott free (as I'm sure some of you do), you'll have to read the book yourself and hope the same loophole in the law that existed in California and Arizona in 1939 is still effect today, and in the states where you intend to do the deed. 

I'm sure Gardner's fellow lawyer found this portion of the book very clever, but as fiction it's dry and rather tedious. Fun fact: I read somewhere that when Raymond Chandler read the book, he recognized the loophole from a story Gardner had done in Black Mask, and noted that this A.A. Fair guy was stealing Gardner's ideas. 

In any case, I figure Gardner/Fair could only use this gimmick once in this series, so I'm hoping the next book with be entertaining from cover to cover. 

Forgotten Books: DEAD MEN'S LETTERS by Erle Stanley Gardner (1990)

Chances are you have a copy of the big honkin' Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories. (If not, you oughta.) The book leads off with a story by Erle Stanley Gardner - an adventure of Ed Jenkins, the Phantom Crook called "Come and Get It."

As the blurb preceding the story explains, it's the third in a sequence of tales involving blackmail, a crime trust, an icy-eyed crime boss and a girl with a mole, hailed as "the most thrilling work the popular Mr. Gardner has yet produced." Intrigued, I wanted to read the whole sequence, and discovered it was contained in the 1990 collection Dead Men's Letters.

Ed Jenkins, I was amazed to learn, appeared in Black Mask 72 times between 1925 and 1943, and returned for a final performance in Argosy in 1961. Dead Men's Letters features six of those adventures, four of which comprise the sequence I was looking for. They are: "Laugh That Off" (Sept. 1926), "This Way Out" (Mar. 1927), "Come and Get It" (Apr. 1927) and "In Full of Account" (May 1927).

The Phantom Crook, so called because cops all over the country are incapable of catching him, is living in San Francisco with some sort of immunity deal. He's been careful not to commit any crimes that the police know about in California, so he's able to live a quasi-normal existence there. Trouble is, other crooks see him as fair game, and are always trying to inveigle him in their own schemes. And, of course, the cops are chomping at bit for him to slip up and give them an excuse to nail him.

In the first story, Jenkins meets - and is forced to become engaged to - flapper socialite Helen Chadwick, whose recently deceased father was being blackmailed, casting a shadow over the reputation of girl and her mother. Ed, whose specialties are safecracking and forgery, is lured into an elaborate scheme to deprive the girl of her inheritance and her hoity-toity friends of a fabulous jewel. Does clever Ed turn the tables on the bad guys? What do you think?

Illo from "Come and Get It." I believe that's Ed on the right.

Next up, Ed meets another flapper, this time with a mole on her hand, and a master criminal he calls Icy-Eyes, and is offered chance to obtain all the blackmail evidence against Helen Chadwick's pop. Of course, Icy-Eyes tries to trick him, and Ed endeavors to trick him right back.

Icy-Eyes and Mole Girl return in the third tale, and Ed is embroiled in preventing a massive jewel heist, while still trying to secure that blackmail evidence. But Icy-Eyes escapes again, setting up the final story. This one involves a jeweled crown, a very pissed off Phantom Crook, oodles of vengeance and salvation at last for pureheart Helen Chadwick.

In all, it's a fun, snappy, fast-moving yarn, with a lot more excitement than your average Perry Mason novel. It was an interesting contrast to the Race Williams and Continental Op adventures appearing in some of the same issues. Some of those same issues, in fact, featured portions of the first Race Williams novel, The Snarl of the Beast, and the first could-have-been Op novel, Blood Money.

Gardner was clearly a better writer than Daly, but there are similarities between Ed Jenkins and Race Williams. Both consider themselves the best in their fields. They're proud of it, and don't care who who knows it. Both are do-gooders, but operate outside - and sometimes in opposition to - the law. Both are consistently involved with slim, delicate young women, whose charms they force themselves to resist. In Ed's case, the girls are all of good families (though sometimes forced into bad behavior), while Race's girls are often born bad, but still have noble tendencies. The main difference is that Ed lives by his wits, while Race lives by his guns.

But Gardner was clearly not the writer Hammett was. His stories, while cleverly plotted and well told, are popcorn compared Hammett's steak, and Ed Jenkins, like Race Williams, is a stickman compared to the Op. The characters are so different they almost defy comparison.

The other difference is - Ed Jenkins never made into novel form. So why not? The four stories I've described form a "novel" in the loosely connected manner of Red Harvest, The Dain Curse, and the Race Williams books The Snarl of the Beast, The Hidden Hand, and so on. Given that as the norm, why didn't Gardner seek to have this quartet published as a book? Or did he? I'm hoping there are some ESG experts out there who can advise us.

Forgotten Books: THE CASE OF THE VELVET CLAWS by Erle Stanley Gardner (1933)

Perry Mason books are the potato chips of mystery fiction. It’s damn near impossible to read just one.

The first time I read TCOT Velvet Claws—the first in the series—thirty-odd years ago, I got hooked and went on to read the whole dang thing. 82 books. Do I want to do that again? I don’t know. Will I be able to resist? We’ll see.

If you’re only acquainted with Perry from the TV series, or later books in the series, the guy in this book might surprise you. He doesn’t carry a gun—his gun is the law—but he’d have been tough enough to walk the pages of Black Mask, had Erle Stanley Gardner chosen to send him there. Gardner, in fact, was the number one contributor to that fabled magazine, making 103 appearances. (Raoul Whitfield came in second with 90, while Fredrick Nebel had 67, Carroll John Daly 60 and Dashiell Hammett 45).

When his client asks what sets him apart from other attorneys, Perry puts it into two words: “I fight.” And he means it. “I’m a paid gladiator,” he elaborates later. “I fight for my clients.”

After an unpleasant conversation with the editor of a blackmail sheet, the editor says, “Well, there’s no hard feelings.” Perry’s answer? “The hell there ain’t.”

After an equally unpleasant conversation with the editor’s boss, the boss tells his butler, “Take a good look at this man, Digley. If you ever see him on the place again, throw him out. Call a cop if you have to.” Perry’s response? “Better call two cops, Digley. You might need ‘em.”

When a “reporter” for the blackmail sheet tries to “interview” Mason, we get this little exchange:

     Slowly, deliberately, Perry Mason took his hand from the automobile door catch, turned around on his heel, and surveyed the man.

     “So,” he said, “that’s the kind of tactics you folks are going to use, is it?”

     Crandall continued to stare with his impudent eyes.

     “Don’t get hard,” he said, “because it won’t buy you anything.”

     “The hell it won’t,” said Perry Mason. “He measured the distance, and slammed a straight left full into the grinning mouth. Crandall’s head shot back. He staggered two steps, then went down like a sack of meal.

Throughout the book, Perry is violence in motion. He slams door, slams down telephone receivers, and even drives savagely. Dealing with blackmailers, he’s not above doing a little blackmailing himself. And his dedication to his client is almost suicidal. Even after she tries to frame him for the murder—then subsequently confesses—he insists on defending her.

But when she tries to vamp him, it’s another story:

     “Somehow,” she says, “you inspire me with confidence. You’re the only man I ever knew who could stand up to my husband. I feel as though I could cling to you and you’d protect me.”

     She tilted her face so that her lips were close to his, and her eyes were staring into his. Her body was quite close to his.

     He took her elbow in long, strong fingers and turned her away from him.

     “I’ll protect you,” he said, “just as long as you pay cash.”

This Della Street isn’t the one we meet on TV, either. She distrusts Mason’s client right from the start, and provides the book’s title:

     “I hate her!” Della Street said fervently. “I wish you’d never seen her. She isn’t worth the money. If we made ten times as much money out of it, she still wouldn’t be worth it. I told you just what she was—all velvet and claws!”

And it seems Della is more than just a secretary. Near the end he scoops her up in his arms and plants a smooch on her lips, smearing his face with lipstick. When his client walks in, suggesting he wipe the lipstick off his mouth, Perry says, “That lipstick can stay there.”

It’s that kind of stuff that make these books so hard to resist, and Gardner makes it even tougher by cleverly introducing the client of the next book, The Case of the Sulky Girl, in the final pages of this one. Looks like I’m doomed to repeat myself.

Overlooked Films: PERRY MASON solves The Case of the Curious Bride (1935)

I haven’t read this book in a coon’s age, so can’t say how faithful the film is. But this movie, the second in the series, is at least more faithful to Gardner’s vision than the first, The Case of The Howling Dog (reviewed HERE).

Perry’s sprawling law firm, with its herd of associates and score of secretaries, is gone. This time we see only his private office, with Della guarding the gates. Filling in for Paul Drake is a pug called Spudsy, played by Allen Jenkins (Sgt. Holcomb in the first film), who provides both investigative services and comic relief. With Warren William in the lead, though, comic relief is not really necessary. He keeps his tongue planted firmly in-cheek, and wields it freely. Paul Drake is paid a little lip-service, just so viewers know the filmmakers were aware of him. On the phone with Spudsy, Perry calls him Mr. Drake, to which Spudsy responds, “You know I don’t like to be called Mr. Drake.”

Perry makes eyes at his new Della.

I was perfectly happy with Helen Trenholme as Della in Howling Dog, but was equally pleased with Claire Dodd in this one. Warren William seems able to generate chemistry with all of his female co-stars.  D.A. Claude Drumm, tormented by Perry in the first movie, is strangely absent from this one.

The film opens on San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, looking much the same as it does today (or at least last year, when I was there), with Perry picking out lobsters. In a distinctly uncanonical move, this movie depicts Perry as a gourmet cook - and one of the best in the world (the writers borrowing from Nero Wolfe, perhaps?). As Perry tears around town in his roadster, we’re treated to many familiar views of the hills, the streets and the Bay.

The pre-murdered Flynn.

One of Perry’s old girlfriends turns up, recently married, worried that her previous husband may be less dead than she thought. This makes her a “curious bride.” She’s right, of course, but only temporarily. Her ex promptly turns up defunct, and she’s suspect number one.

Like many movies of the period, this one found a way to include a dance hall number. Perry and Spudsy pay a visit to a burlesque theater, where one of the suspects sings, accompanied by a bevy of scantily-clad dancers.

Unlike Howling Dog, this was directed by Michael Curtiz, who was responsible for two of my top ten favorite films - Captain Blood and The Adventures of Robin Hood, and such runners-up as Casablanca, The Sea Hawk and Santa Fe Trail. And like four of those films, Curious Bride includes an appearance by Errol Flynn. I saw his name in the credits, so I was watching for him, but didn’t spot him until the last five minutes. The reason: He played the murder victim, and we didn’t see him alive (in flashback) until the killer finally confessed.

Curious about the rest of this week's Overlooked Films? Find them at Sweet Freedom.

Forgotten Stories: "The Man in the Silver Mask" - a complete Pulp Hero novelette by Erle Stanley Gardner

In a recent Facebook comment, Jeffrey Marks mentioned he was working on a new bio of Erle Stanley Gardner, which led to our exchanging a few words about Gardner's wacky vigilante, The Man in the Silver Mask. This is the only ESG character I know who is firmly in the Hero Pulp mode of The Shadow, The Spider and Doc Savage.

The "Man" starred in at least three novelettes in Detective Fiction Weekly in 1935. This story, which I'm pretty sure is the first, is from July 13. I have another, "The Man Who Talked," from September 7, and Jeffrey tipped me to a third, "The Silver Mask Murders," in the November 23 ish. If there were others, I'd sure like to hear about them.

Check out this week's fine Forgotten Books at Sweet Freedom.