891 Post: The Halloween Caper

Got word that some inhabitants of 891 Post — the building where Hammett wrote The Maltese Falcon — put together a murder mystery for Halloween.

That’s Mark Murphy as Sam Spade — or is it the ghost of Sam Spade?

Hope they figured out Whodunit.

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Rediscovered: Writing Away in Arkham House

Autograph Hound Saturday again, but this time we ain’t got no John Hancock — we’ve got a book stamp. You know we could begin knocking out a series — a long series — of Book Stamp Saturdays or Mondays or Wednesdays. I’ve already touched on the idea at least once.

Brian Leno popped me images of something he’s putting up on eBay today, around noon his time.

A copy of the booklet August Derleth: Twenty Years of Writing 1926-1946 — you’ll find it as Item 24 in the checklist from Arkham House Ephemera: The Classic Years 1937-1973.

To sweeten the pot Brian is throwing in a Derleth/Arkham postcard he’s had for years. Spotlighted on the blog some time back.

He previously sold Twenty-Five Years of Writing (Item 49 in the Eph Book) for $550.

But while Brian merrily sells books on eBay, I’m pretty sure — completely confident — he takes in more than he ships out.

Here’s Brian:

God these booklets are tiny! It has a few flaws, mainly at the bottom, but as with most of this stuff it’s surprising it survived at all.

A stamp on the back cover indicates this Item came from the bookstore of Harry W. Schwartz. Looking him up I found an early picture of his bookstore with the info that Schwartz opened up his first shop in 1927 on Milwaukee’s East Side and then in 1937 moved to the address on the back of Derleth’s little book.

Somewhat famous for his bookstore, Schwartz wrote This Book-Collecting Racket: A Few Notes on the Abuses of Book Collecting. Originally a set of three chapbooks in the early 1930s as from the Casanova Press (Casanova being the first name he used for his store), it later saw hardcover print in 1937 as This Book Collecting Racket — with an introduction by bookman Paul Jordan-Smith. He also wrote Fifty Years in My Bookstore; or A Life with Books.

A nice Wisconsin association for lifelong Wisconsinite Derleth.

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Rediscovered: A Ghost-Seer for Halloween

Leading up to Halloween I finally picked up my 1998 Ash-Tree Press edition of Aylmer Vance: Ghost-Seer by Alice and Claude Askew and read through. A solid set of eight British occult detective tales, all published in two months — July and August 1914 — one installment per issue in The Weekly Tale-Teller.

The investigations of Aylmer Vance and his associate Dexter are smoothly written, with great touches of atmosphere. The uncanny threats faced are in no wise equal to those William Hope Hodgson’s Carnacki the Ghost-Finder encounters, and not as much fun as M.P. Dare’s Unholy Relics from 1947, in which the bachelor historians Gregory Wayne and Alan Granville stumble into some truly wild-ass shit. Dare’s tales are too much for many fans of the traditional ghost story, perhaps symbolized in the 1997 Ash-Tree reprint of Relics. For the frontis portrait of the author the least bizarre picture of Dare they could find shows him leaning against a fence clad only in something like a gold cloth Speedo.

And on the quieter side of ghost series I much, much prefer The Stoneground Ghost Tales by E.G. Swain from 1912, featuring the Reverend Roland Bachel and his haunted parish.

The Askews were only one pair of a number of prolific husband-and-wife writing teams of their era. In the Ash-Tree edition, the introduction by Jack Adrian gives a great summary of their lives and works.

(Adrian, one of those Brit guys like Richard Dalby and Hugh Lamb, who spent decades delving into old periodicals to dig up this stuff — me, I can barely find various reviews for use in my next eBook of selected essays and reviews, and I was there when they came out and have copies in my files.)

The Askews had a more dramatic end than most: the ship they were on was sunk by a torpedo in 1917 during The Great War.

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Rediscovered: Buford Pusser

Autograph Hound Saturday once again, and we spotlight a famous lawman. When I was in college at Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, I heard Buford Pusser would be signing clubs at a Ford dealership across town. Growing up in Tennessee, I knew of Pusser long before the series of movies that made him nationally and no doubt internationally famous.

Apparently Pusser didn’t use the clubs in real life, but once they were introduced in the Walking Tall films he went with the flow. Print the legend and all that.

I went to some effort to get over there, because I knew at the time that this appearance might be my only chance to see some modern equivalent to Wyatt Earp and company.

He was signing clubs, and impressed me as looking very much like a high school football coach. Clean-cut, tall but not a giant. His jaw seemed kind of weak, but then it had been shot off in that ambush that killed his wife. . . .

(Or so we thought at the time — new accusations say there was no ambush and Pusser may have murdered her. “May.” Were there bullet holes in the car they were in? If not, those bushwhackers were damn good shots.)

Per norm, Brian Leno is the Autograph Hound presenting the John Hancock. I told him he might want to keep an eye peeled for a signed club. I think they sell those at the Buford Pusser Museum, but those signatures have got to be autopen, right?

Here’s Brian:

It’s actually because of you I got Pusser. When you mentioned that you had seen him I remembered Walking Tall with Joe Don Baker, had really liked the movie at the time and figured What the Hell — I need a Buford Pusser in the collection.

I mean, I’m not a one-trick pony. I have many more autograph collecting manias than just fantasy writers.

I told you I picked up Sir Richard Francis Burton, and I think I told you I got a Breaker Morant autograph. Morant was executed by firing squad and yelled, “Shoot straight you bastards! Don’t make a mess of it!” How could I not want him?

And how many Morant signatures are out there? Not many, I’ll wager.

Anyway, I put Pusser in with historical figures like Morant and Sir Francis. Some people idolize them. Some hate ’em.

I never got to see him but I do have his signature.

Can you imagine me meeting him and then pestering him for his autograph? He probably would have taken out a baseball bat and launched my head into the next county.

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Hammett: More Spadework from Coggins

Mark Coggins drops me a note to say, “I’ve a second Spade story, “The Russian Egg” in Eclectica Magazine which follows immediately from the first.

“It has a little to say about the backstory of Gutman’s daughter.”

Mark also supplies an image of “the egg in question” and an atmospheric “1920s shot in front of Senator James Phelan’s Pacific Heights mansion.”

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Mort: Steve Trout

Morgan “The Morgman” Holmes recently sent word that apparently Steve Trout died sometime last month — “69 years old. Appears to have been Alzheimer’s disease. He must have had one of those aggressive versions that can hit younger, a la Charles Beaumont.

“He had been out of touch for a while. I want to say he quit REHupa 8 or 10 years ago.”

Trout was a mainstay in the Robert E. Howard United Press Association for many years. I want to say he joined during one of the mailings in the numeric 30s or 40s or not too much later. Surely by the 60s. And I think he was around for mlg 200. Anyway, a long time.

Circa mlg 100, when I rejoined briefly, my impression was that the “Big Three” of the a.p.a. — doing the most at the time, with the most ambitions — were Trout, Vern Clark and Rusty Burke. Almost instantly I got into a fight with Vern and Trout over their attempt to handle research into the Robert E. Howard Library. All well and good, but they weren’t giving proper credit to Steve Eng and his piece in The Dark Barbarian — just looting it wholesale without citing Eng. At one point they turned out some list in which they mention REH had some Swineburne — not Swinburne — in hand. Oink-oink, said I.

When I began putting together The Barbaric Triumph as a sequel volume to The Dark Barbarian, I did so in large part because a whole new generation of REH fans and potential critics had popped up and were making due in REHupa.

They could have a showcase, and they could fill out an actual book.

I put out the word that I was going to edit the hell out of everything, if it needed editing, especially since the New Guys didn’t have their critical feet under them as yet.

Trout asked about doing something. I told him, sure, but expect to be edited. The only one of the older generations of REHupa guys to inquire.

Trout had become known in the a.p.a. for digging up old books, looking for any links to REH, so I made sure he pulled that expertise into action.

He didn’t like it that I also asked him to jazz up the wordage a bit and instead of Howard, Howard, Howard throw in a the Texan or the creator of Conan or something every now and then to break it up, make it more lively (and thus easier to read). I’m told that he griped about that angle later in REHupa.

My impression, however, is that he was pretty happy with his essay. Solid piece of work, at the end. I think it shows what Trout was capable of — lots of people seem as if they ought to be capable of writing something, but so few do.

Trout did it, and he made the effort when his old compadres in REHupa didn’t bother.

But then, not everyone can do actual litcrit.

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Mort: In Memoriam Bruce Townley

I didn’t mention it at the time, but Bruce Townley died on October 17, 2024 — one of the more brutal endings I know of, fell in his apartment on Washington near Polk, couldn’t get up (yeah, just like the commercials), and it took about 3 days before someone heard moaning, or they noticed they hadn’t seen him in awhile and asked for a welfare check.

Rushed to the hospital, then the ICU, but his systems had begun to fail from the ordeal. They treated him for a few weeks, he got out of ICU, could talk and receive visitors, went back into the ICU and bowed out.

Briefly, I was involved in the saga. A neighbor trying to find contacts Googled Bruce and found my plug for his zine Oblong. Figured from the tone I liked Bruce, which I did. And I guess I was easiest to reach.

But I wasn’t close enough to know if he had siblings, so I referred the guy to one of Bruce’s pals in San Francisco sf fandom, and she took it from there.

His posse of pals in fandom now have turned out a memorial book, Bruzine, with memoirs from some and many selections from his fan writing and artwork. Remember, Bruce was pretty funny.

If you knew him but haven’t heard about the tribute, there you go. If otherwise curious, you can dip into the online file of his zine Oblong which I linked to and see if you want more.

In my archives you’ll find a post in which Bruce lists his 25 fave films. Any film fan should check it out, and recognize a fellow traveler.

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Rediscovered: Pirate Peake

Autograph Hound Saturday once more, and we enlist the services of the most maniacal collector of John Hancocks we know, none other than Brian Leno. Brian’s been updating me over the last few months on some of the autos rolling into his sanctum sanctorum. A near constant flow, kind of like Niagara Falls.

Most recent, as of today, he got a siggie from Mervyn Peake. “Of course,” Brian says, “I’d rather have one of the Gormenghast books signed but Treasure Island is right up there. The man was great.”

Peake also did interior illos for the Stevenson novel, well worth looking up. And more illos for more books.

But most of us undoubtedly like Peake most for his Gormenghast Trilogy, especially the first title, Titus Groan. Instant classic. The second, Gormenghast, is almost as good — the third, when Peake is in decline and makes the terrible decision to move Titus from the ancient sprawling castle of Gormenghast — well, I’ve never read it, just some parts. Apparently Peake planned to do a series of many books, keeping Titus away from the castle, even as memories of it somehow haunted him.

You read the books for the castle, not for Titus. Sorry, Mervyn.

A longtime quibble I can mention is that the titles of the first two masterpieces just don’t jell for me. In the first book Titus Groan, the baby Titus is born but the castle is the main character. In Gormenghast, Titus has grown up enough to take more of center stage. Titles should have been reversed.

Another thing I do when rereading the two books, when I get to the chapters in Gormenghast concerning the Feral Child who lives outside the wall — self-contained, little to do with the plot — the last couple of rereads I just skipped over them. Inside the castle is where the action plays out.

And I reread Treasure Island every now and then — RLS at his peak. Now thought to be the major source where most of our impressions of pirate life came from — walking the plank, and so on. In large part I’d think because of its huge popularity. Anything RLS borrowed, he made definitive. (Even if his description of the island seems to owe more to his stay in Monterey, California, than the Caribbean.)

Plus, some argue that we owe most of our ideas of how pirates yakked courtesy Robert Newton, playing Long John Silver in the 1950 Disney film version.

Arrrrrr, it’s driving me nuts.

The Peake illustrated Treasure Island came out in 1949.

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Hammett: Jeopardy! Combines the Obvious with a Huh-What?

Last season — S41E207 — 6/24/25 — in the first round Jeopardy! offered the category “Chapter & Non-Verse.”

The $600 clew:

“The Black Bird”: “Yes, with ten thousand insurance, no children, and a wife who didn’t like him.”

“The Black Bird,” a chapter in The Maltese Falcon — ought to be a breeze for major Jeopardy! players.

But the pull-quote from that chapter seems to have gotten in their way — Sam Spade referring to his bumped-off partner Miles Archer. I think I would have gotten the answer just from the quote, but apparently the quote was so off from the usual selections it became a monkey-wrench gumming up the works.

No one rang in.

Ken Jennings (a note of disbelief in his voice?) said, “The black bird here is The Maltese Falcon.”

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Hammett: Jeopardy! Does a Double-Tap

Jeopardy! just kicked off a new season, S42, while I still have a couple of posts in the files mentioning clews from earlier in the year.

The most interesting use was that in their sideshow, Jeopardy Masters.

S3E2, aired on 5.17.2025. Split into two showdowns, Knockout Game 3 and Knockout Game 4.

In Game 4, regular play, the category A Nora. The $600 clew:

Nora Charles does some sleuthing with her husband Nick in this Dashiell Hammett novel that inspired a series of films

Man, could they have made it ANY easier?

Of course the contestant asked, “What is The Thin Man?”

But here’s the interesting part. In the Double Jeopardy round, under the category I’m the Literary Lion another Hammett appears, to my knowledge the first double-tap Jeopardy! has handed Hammett (they did do an entire category on him previously).

The $800 clew:

Meyer Landsman. whom a review calls a “circumcised Sam Spade,” appears in the author’s “The Yiddish Policeman’s Union”

Not quite as easy. The nod to Spade is just a nod to Spade, doesn’t help dope it out. But a guy got it:

“Who is Chabon?”

Ken Jennings confirmed: “Michael Chabon is right.”

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