Sinister Cinema: Adios, Tuco

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While I’m not even trying to mention the passing of every movie star, I’ve got to acknowledge the death of Eli Wallach (1915-2014) on June 24, taking out another third of the trinity from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

My occasional Guest Blogger Brian Leno and I talk about Wallach from time to time. If you know Brian’s article “Down the Rabbit Hole” from The Cimmerian V4n4, August 2007 you may remember the scene he describes where he had talked his parents into taking a detour on a family vacation and driving into Cross Plains, Texas, so Brian could see the Robert E. Howard house. (No museum open to the public then — Brian was only about eleven or twelve years old, making it around 46 years ago.) They started out from Bismarck, North Dakota, so I think his mom and dad get some kind of Parents of the Century Award.

They find the house and afterwards drive around a bit, coming across the graveyard about three blocks away. Not knowing that Howard was interred in a cemetery in Brownwood, some 40 miles distant, Brian told me he ran desperately among the tombstones like Tuco, looking for a grave that wasn’t there.

So, that Howard Days in 2007 as we walked from downtown back to the Howard House, I guided our direction so that we came up to that graveyard unannounced — and Brian had the sudden shock of recognition: this was it, this was the place where he had staggered and plunged among the tombstones like Wallach’s Tuco!

You’ll find that moment in his article, which won First Place Essay of the Year in The Cimmerian Awards voting — comprehensive coverage of Howard Days, made richer with his memories of that first trip with his family. Good essay. (I thought the Cimmerian Awards were savvy enough to carve out some credibility beyond just Howard fan circles, but when the awards moved over to the Robert E. Howard Foundation they instantly lost steam — the Best Essay awards often being especially weak, and in the most recent polling [if polling actually applies] only one Best Essay presented to a generic boilerplate article written by one of the people on the awards committee, which wouldn’t have made the cut a few years ago — oh well, the difference between awards that mean something in the larger world and getting a Gold Star on a grade school paper).

When Wallach died Brian remembered that he had gotten his autograph. Brian is a fan of Robert E. Howard — and Lizzie Borden. And the Old West. An expert on old time boxing. A Ripperologist of sorts.

But above all else he is an Autograph Hound.

Brian tells me, “I got his address from an autograph mag and sent a letter on September 18, 1997 — and he got two signatures back to me just eleven days later. Around this time I sent letters to a lot of celebrities. It was cool to see who would answer with an authentic signature, or a secretarial signature, or not at all. Peter Falk sent me a signed photo of him as Columbo, and Janet Leigh returned my letter with a couple of photos and a letter of her own. Class acts, most of them.”

From Wallach, Brian received two signatures. “One is just his name, but it would go pretty good with a photo from The Magnificent Seven.” The other Brian “really treasures,” and shares with us below:

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891 Post: The Mystery of the Boarded-Up Window

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Sure, I guess I could take a picture of the boarded-up window in Sam Spade’s apartment, but it is just so sad and kind of pathetic that I don’t want to add the image to the social media — someone less sensitive to the feelings of literary site mavens can do the deed, like some cheesy Hollywood news channel.

The window in question is shown in the shot above — top floor, window at far right, just above the glasses. Next one to the left looks in on Sam Spade’s kitchen. The others have nothing to do with Sam Spade.

If you’ve gumshoed past 891 Post in the last week you may have noticed that the two main panes in the middle are gone, replaced — for awhile — by a plywood panel.

On Wednesday June 18 I noticed that the two panes were open, swinging out a little bit over Post Street. Didn’t think much about it. While the apartment is preserved as a shrine, of sorts, sometimes an Elite Visiting Writer/Seeking Inspiration/Thinking Deep Thoughts is allowed to stay for a few days.

The windows remained open on Thursday.

Ditto Friday.

On Saturday I pointed the still open windows out to some people and said they’d been open for days. It seemed kind of odd, but since it isn’t raining any more in Noir Town, not an emergency.

Then I gave the tour on Sunday June 22 — among other people, a guy named Mark Murphy came out — a longtime resident of 891 Post and a pal of Bill Arney from the era when Bill was the tenant of Sam’s Place.

In that bygone time they began referring to 891 Post as The Maltese Arms. . . .

I asked Mark if he’d noticed that the windows had been open for days. Nope, he hadn’t looked up. I told him we’d check when we rolled in to Post and Hyde.

The tour got there. Of the two bigger panes that had been open, the one to the right was GONE. Nothing. I looked around on the street, but the debris had been removed.

Only the mystery of what the hell happened remained.

I had been thinking of looking into it, but with Mark there decided to do a handoff to an actual Maltese Arms resident. He made a lateral inquiry to Bill Arney, who worked his sources — and here is what happened:

On June 15 someone — a cheesy Hollywood type, let’s say, kind of careless, like Wilmer Cook was with matches on La Paloma — shot some promo or whatever in the rooms. Maybe it was hot and stuffy, and someone opened the windows.

Maybe they wanted a breeze to roll in and make the currents billow, and opened the windows.

They left. And didn’t close the windows.

The panes hung open for a week and on the night of Saturday June 21 or early a.m. Sunday June 22 winds picked up (winds are the Main Suspect here), swung the panes back and forth and tore one off the hinges.

Broken glass spilled onto the mean streets.

And so another tidbit of history is added to the saga of 891 Post.

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Tour: Sunday July 20

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I’m handling most of the demand for walks caused by the recent New York Times article by arranging groups by appointment during the week, but at least one out-of-towner asked for one on a Sunday — which I figure ought to take care of some suddenly enthusiastic locals, too.

So, anyone who has $20 and four hours to spare can show up at noon on Sunday July 20 and walk the walk. As easy as that.

My only advice for people who live in San Francisco or the Bay Area is that you don’t all have to show up at once, for this one tour. I also have walks planned for Sunday August 10 and August 31, plus Sunday September 21, and I’m sure other dates will open up. Yeah, I can calculate the economic advantages of having 200 people show up for $20 each (figuring out 17 people at $20 each, though, might take me awhile).

The point is: it is not as if I am a hot new restaurant, just reviewed, where you want to stand in line for hours. I’ve been around since 1977, and figure I can make it another few years. Don’t kill yourselves trying to get to this first walk post-Times.

The most people who ever just showed up, after a huge publicity barrage in the Sunday Chronicle, was 78 — and that’s nuts.

But, yeah, $1560 wouldn’t be a bad payday for four hours of gumshoeing up and down the mean streets. . . .

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Rediscovered: My First Time in the Times

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I was chatting with a photo editor for the New York Times, narrowing down a date to meet the photog and shoot around a hundred pics for the Dan Saltzstein noir-in-San Francisco article that ran the other day — a hundred or more shots, and one gets selected.

I was telling her, It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been mentioned in the Times. The clippings are buried in my files, but I recall one major article from somewhere around twenty years ago, and at least a few times got a nod in the annual Travel round-up they do about visiting San Francisco.

The very first article in 1981, though, that was a landmark moment. You’ve never been mentioned in the Times, and now you have — journal-of-record stuff. I appreciate every return to those pages, but you can’t beat the thrill of that initial coverage by John Justice.

A year ago or so I was surfing around the web and found that the Times had put that first write-up online in kind of a retro archive, and figured I could link to it someday — another appearance in the newspaper now making a good excuse.

Now, I know I’m going to regret doing this link, at least a little bit — because inevitably someone is going to think the info from 1981 is the current scoop. No, that was 33 years ago, people. The phone number is long dead, the phone itself abandoned somewhere down the years, with the number living on as a voicemail nodule somewhere in the vaults of PacBell until it too got dropped. The addy in 537 Jones Street (the Continental Mail Service — Continental, get it?) was ditched, too, years back. The rates, the schedule — anything mentioned is all history now.

Some words got left out of the original print version — the “soaked research into low-life dives” should be “booze-soaked research” (I believe Dan Saltzstein also has reference to that activity in the most recent Times bit — some things never change).

And the version archived online merely lists Illustrations: drawing. The 1981 appearance featured a nice illo by Bob Gale, shown at the top of this post. I guess my files are better than those of the Times on some things, at least on the history of the Dashiell Hammett Tour.

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Frisco Beat: Burritt Room + Tavern

dinan1a Jim Dinan popped in a shot from the tour he took on September 8, 2013 — and he also sent along the moody pic of Burritt alley above. Black & white. Very noir.

I bet Burritt has been photographed thousands of times by Hammett fans. But have you ever wondered about the building at the end of the alley? The building that brings it to a sudden dead end?

I admit that I never thought much about it. Just another building, but it looks old enough to have been around when Miles Archer got bumped — not some new structure such as they are tossing up willy-nilly all over San Francisco these days.

Currently the hotel operates under the name The Mystic, part of the Charlie Palmer Group. I’ve noticed the plaque next to the entrance listing the Burritt Room + Tavern as the tour marches past — dropping down from atop the Stockton tunnel en route to the corner of Sutter and Stockton for a gander at the Sam Spade office building. When Daniel Saltzstein contacted me about hunting down noir sites in San Francisco, I figured, hey, it might be time to finally set foot into the interior of this structure I have seen from the side so many times.

I showed Dan various Hammett sites, but we settled down in the Burritt Tavern for the major part of the interview. Best to do such things over drinks, takes the edge off the looming gloom of the noir universe.

The building dates from circa 1909, if I heard right — coolest historical angle is that apparently Stockton Street outside the door used to rise much higher before the tunnel was dug, so that what is now the first floor originally used to be the basement. The bar has nice antique detailing on the floor and walls. Didn’t try the restaurant, which is the action kicking in this new phase of recognition for the Mystic.

Did get to snake through various corridors on different floors and emerge through a back door into that dead end of Burritt alley. Nice.

The print version of Dan’s article appears in the Travel Section of the Sunday New York Times today, and has kicked in a storm of emails asking if I have a tour tomorrow, or Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday — nope, not even next Sunday or the Sunday after that. When a new walk gets set up where anyone can show up for $20 each, don’t worry, it’ll appear on the Current Walks page.

If I’d known exactly when the Times article was going to pop, I might have been able to set a walk to take the edge off the demand — but the volume is so large and random, then again, maybe not. Got to love the Times. They say jump, people are ready to jump.

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Tour: Frommer’s Slideshow of Lit Walks Around the World

The New York Times article yesterday on noir in San Francisco also featured a slideshow of sites and personalities.

A few days before that, though, the Frommer’s website put up another slideshow featuring five literary walks done around the entire world.

I’m glad the Dashiell Hammett Tour made the cut for both. But I guess it should, since you don’t get more noir — or definitely more literary walking — than on the tour.

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Noir: Frisco Style — Per the New York Times

The New York Times just put up today Daniel Saltzstein’s on-the-ground-in-Frisco ruminations on noir — check it out.

I’m interviewed, and photographed against a wall in Burritt alley. Plus Daniel gabs it up with other people and tracks down some off trail noir spots. I guided him into one of those places, where I’d never set foot before — but figured it was ripe for discovery.

It never hurts to keep up with what’s going on, right?

Noir. It never ends.

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Rediscovered: Weird Tales, Paperbacked and eBooked

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Just the other day Terry Zobeck did up a list of pretty much everything Hammett ever wrote or edited, including a single anthology — of horror fiction. Creeps by Night. Take a gander at the cover for a British paperback reprint of the same, lifted from Doug Draa’s new online survey of fiction from the pulp Weird Tales that made it into wraps. And he also includes various incarnations of the title that appeared as paperback originals. Anyway, a cool little survey, worth it for the vintage cover images alone.

Weird Tales has been much on my mind lately as I’ve been assisting Haefele’s Heretics in completing a little project (you’ll see the name August Derleth on several of the vintage covers, plus other names with arch-associations with the Cthulhu Mythos such as H.P. Lovecraft, Robert Bloch, Frank Belknap Long and Robert E. Howard ). Impossible to say if the Mythos would have jumped to eldritch life if the magazine Weird Tales hadn’t been there as the major watering hole for Shoggoths and Deep Ones, but I’m sure it would have been much harder to get the concept going without that marketplace for the interplay between Lovecraft and his peers and protégés. Even if the erratically capricious (or capriciously erratic) editor of the day, Farnsworth Wright, did reject many of Lovecraft’s major tales.

And still the Mythos grew. . . .

Draa is assisting with the most recent incarnation of WT — which came to life with a Mythos issue (#360) and just announced an Undead theme for #362. You can get print versions and also — would a bookman of Derleth’s stripe have approved??? — ebook versions.

As always, I’m leery of ebooks over books, though I admit they take up less room. You could be an incredible hoarder of ebooks and no one need ever know.

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Two-Gun Bob: The Latest Raconteur

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By the time I wake up today copies of Two-Gun Raconteur 17 ought to be moving briskly out of the Gift Shop in the Robert E. Howard House in Cross Plains, Texas — a little something extra to help kick off the latest REH Days in that burg.

And as soon as he gets home from the Howardian action, our longtime pal Damon Sasser will be processing orders, packaging and shipping the only magazine devoted to REH left standing at the moment. (By left standing, I mean that actual issues hit the mean streets, not that someone somewhere vaguely intends to do another issue someday. If you haven’t had an issue out in two or three years, I figure you’re in big trouble, if not already dead.)

You can check out the contents off the link — this is the one where my latest ruminations on Howard vs. the Academics appear, a topic I’ve been covering for around thirty years at this point, waiting for the profs to spring into action. Now that they finally are getting some material into print, it reminds me of The Story of the Talking Dog:

“This here dog talks!”

“Yeah, but everything it says is stupid.”

“But it talks!”

That’s the article I mentioned the other day where I also respond to the idea that my 1984 book The Dark Barbarian was written by all men. Worth adding to your collection for that angle alone? Perhaps.

And in addition to other stuff, our pal and occasional Guest Blogger Brian Leno (hot off his three-part review of Conan Meets the Academy — man, you could tell how painful it was for him to drudge his way through the contents of that collection — sorry, Brian!) shows up with one of his trademark boxing articles on the connections between REH, Ernest Hemingway and the ring fighter Battling Siki.

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Two-Gun Bob: Stylometry and Other Statistical Stuff

On June 11, 1936 — 78 years ago today — the thirty-year-old Texas author Robert E. Howard shot himself in the head, ending a volcanic career at the keys of a typewriter which included the creation of such cultural icons as Conan and King Kull.

To mark the occasion we’ve pulled Brian Leno’s review of the academic book Conan Meets the Academy off the ice as a Three Round match.

Round One saw Brian dismayed by the Jonas Prida intro to the collection.

Round Two got Brian grabbling with Part One about the literary Conan, which he wraps up here with a quick mention of the stylometry essay, before hitting Part Two — covering stuff Brian isn’t interested in reading.

You can’t blame him. I can’t believe he made it this far.

And here’s Brian Leno, Howard fan, with some final jabs:

I was a bit hesitant when I started to read Daniel M. Look’s “Statistics in the Hyborian Age: An Introduction to Stylometry.” Any article that has tables of figures and graphs sends out a warning sign to me that can only spell boredom. At first I was pleasantly surprised to find it actually interesting, as Look started his essay with a short history of Stylometry that was enjoyable and informative.

This did not last long, however, and soon the tables of figures titled “Hapax Dislegomena” and “Zipf’s Ratio” had me scratching my head and thinking I now knew how Dorothy felt when she woke up in Oz.

At one point Look writes that his figures show “works written by Howard are significantly different than those edited by de Camp.” Any Howard fan could have told him that — without the use of figures and tables.

Now we come to “Part Two: The Cultural Conan.” I decided, because of my Conan purist stance, and the fact that I don’t indulge in literary masochism, to read only two of the four essays in this section — a decision I don’t think I’ll ever regret.

The first article, “Arnold at the Gates: Subverting Star Persona in Conan the Barbarian” is by Nicky Falkof and while she does have some interesting observations on the first Conan movie there is nothing here that will further my understanding of Howard — or his barbarian adventurer. She states that James Earl Jones, who portrayed Thulsa Doom, “is the lone black face in the entire film,” and I guess I had never realized that — but considering the only time I watched the complete movie was at the initial release thirty-some years ago I’m not too surprised.

In a bit of praise, Falkof adds that Conan the Barbarian “manages to overstep most of the injunctions attendant upon the cinematic depictions of black people and white people.”  After her statement about “the lone black face” I’d be interested to know how she felt about the dismal sequel, Conan the Destroyer, which co-starred Grace Jones and Wilt Chamberlain, but she never brings up this entry in the Schwarzenegger saga. How could you not reference, in an article on Schwarzenegger as Conan, both of his starring roles as Howard’s greatest creation?

Another name not appearing in Falkof’s article is that of Robert E. Howard. He’s not mentioned even once and that had me scratching my head. Howard should always be acknowledged when we’re talking about Conan.

Stephen Wall starts his essay “Fandom and the Nostalgia of Masculinity” off by declaring that this “project began as an endeavor to understand the place of masculinity in Conan.” Stifling a yawn, I began to read. . . .

The only part of this essay I want to discuss is the section titled “Jim: Anatomy of a Conan Fan.” For this article Wall evidently had a number of conversations with a fan who on the Official Robert E. Howard website goes by the name of “Jim.” I’m pretty much a non-participating member of this site, having posted only a couple dozen times, and this makes me a “lurker” — I just enjoy traveling there to see what topics are drawing the attention of REH fans at any given moment.

Apparently Jim is also a lurker and he told Wall that he is the “world’s greatest fan” of Conan and that he has “thousands of dollars worth of Conan statues.” I certainly don’t plan on making disparaging remarks about any fan of Conan’s but Jim has to realize (right?) that he’s not the lone stranger when it comes to owning thousands of dollars worth of Howard-related paraphernalia. (Plus I’ll admit having issues with someone who proclaims himself the “world’s greatest fan” of anything — come on, now, really.) 

A few of Jim’s remarks trouble me. He declares that he’s “read lots of deep, thought-provoking literature . . . that’s not what I want out of Conan.” Jim further states that “Conan is not complex” and I think he needs to go back and reread Howard, not the pastiches — his reading enjoyment will increase when he discovers that Howard can be very “thought-provoking” and that Conan is really a very complex character, if a person does more than just superficially read the Cimmerian’s saga.

When this book was announced some Conan fans were delighted that their favorite character was being recognized by the Academy. I hope those folks all picked this book up and read it through — or at least the majority of it, as I did.

Sometimes what you wish for isn’t so good when you get it.

This is a boring, pretentious book, and I’m amazed that the writing of Howard, which is some of the most action-packed storytelling ever put down on paper, can be analyzed in such a dull style.

Some of the essays have merit, as I’ve indicated, but once done with the book I wish I’d have saved the thirty-five dollars and applied that monetary amount to the next book coming from the Robert E. Howard Foundation. Since starting on this review I’ve noticed a book on Howard and other pulp authors, Critical Insights: Pulp Fiction of the 1920s and 1930s is soon to be available — for $85. You’ve got to be kidding — even a former Howard completist has to cry “Uncle!” at some point.

So, as you’ve probably already guessed, Conan Meets the Academy will take its place on my “lost” shelves with the Schweitzer and Szumskyj volumes — a year from now I won’t be able to remember where I put it.

Ding-ding!

End Round Three. End review.

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