Groovin' with Rock Residue

After three days of hardcore writersconferencing (more on that after it sinks in), I'm both psyched and brain-dead. To wind down after the final ceremonies, Cap'n Bob and I visited Powell's - the largest new & used bookstore on the continent (and probably on the planet), then had dinner with two members of our favorite retro band, Portland's Rock Residue.

Here are two low-tech videos I recorded on my pocket-size camera a couple of years ago. Brian Trainer (on guitar and organ) is far left, while Laurie Mills (chanteuse) is up front. Rock on, gang.



(Yeah, that's my thumb creeping over the lens in the first one. Sorry.)

Art Gallery: Randolph Scott

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1950

Pitch Practice with Cap'n Bob

Yes, Ye Olde Cap'n Bob Napier, author of Love, Death and Toyman and The Toyman Rides Again (of which you may have heard), is in town this weekend for the annual Willamette Writers Conference. This is Bob's second year working as a volunteer, and my . . . well, I forget how manyth.

Bob in rapt attention.

A major attraction of this conference, one of the largest in the country, is that a bunch of literary and film agents (roughly two dozen of each) fly in to take pitches. That's where Bob and I come in. Before going in to face the agents, wise attendees stop by the complimentary pitch practice room to try out their spiels on us, or one of several other stalwarts. Some pitches are excellent and some horrendous, with most falling somewhere in between. We do our best to help folks hone their pitch down to the essentials and increase their chances of getting a request for material.

Bob spots the not-so-hidden camera.

The work is challenging and fun, and we get to meet oodles of interesting people. Between sessions with would-be authors we do what the other convention goers do - attend panels, seminars and workshops on various aspects of the writing game. Over the course of the three-day conference there are 96 of these presentations, so it's not hard to find something of interest. This stuff never fails to get the creative juices flowing.

Here's me, gesturing hypnotically á la Mandrake the Magician.

(I use this power only for good.)

Forgotten Books: A Study in Terror by Ellery Queen (and Dr. Watson)

“This book is unique,” says the hype on the back. “You have never read anything like it before.”

That first statement may have been true in 1966, and I’m pretty sure the second one was. At the very least, this book is not without certain points of interest.

What it is, basically, is a pretty standard Sherlock Holmes pastiche with framing chapters featuring Ellery Queen at regular intervals. But it has the added attraction of pitting Holmes against Jack the Ripper, whetting my appetite for a reading of Gary Hobb’s new ebook, A Policeman’s Lot.

The Holmes story, via one of those lost manuscripts Dr. Watson was so prone to leave lying about, occupies 120 of the book’s 164 pages. It’s nicely done, though nothing exceptional. The book’s other 44 pages feature Ellery Queen. Most of that time, Ellery is trying (and failing) to resist the manuscript while he struggles to meet the deadline for his next novel. Finally, at the end, he ventures forth to do a little detecting on his own, discovering that while Holmes had successfully solved the Ripper case, he had allowed Watson to reach the wrong conclusion.

The cover above (the black one) is the paperback original, published in 1966. The cover says “Also a thrilling Columbia Pictures movie,” and inside is a list of the film’s leading cast and credits.

I at first assumed the movie was based on this book, but later learned this is actually a novelization (written by Paul W. Fairman) of the screen story with the Ellery Queen bits added by “Ellery Queen.” The Ellery Queen frame was not used in the movie, which was a straight Holmes adventure with a Batmanesque poster that likely embarrassed all concerned. For reasons unknown (to me) the book and film apparently reach different conclusions as to the identity of the Ripper.

I’m curious whether Misters Lee and Dannay actually had a hand in this book, or if their parts were ghosted (maybe by Fairman?). Does anyone know?

These two paperback editions offer points of interest as well. The first edition promotes Ellery Queen and Sherlock Holmes, mentioning the Ripper only the back, while the next printing (only a year later) hypes Ellery Queen vs. Jack the Ripper, with Holmes relegated to the back. Strange. It would seem to me they'd want all three names on the cover.

Friday's Forgotten Books, as usual, is a pattinase production.

Davy Boone, Dan'l Crockett & the "Noble Red Man"

OK, here’s the stuff I alluded to yesterday, in my review of Davy Crockett, Indian Scout. Turner Classic Movies presented this as one of several films depicting the treatment of the “noble savage” in Hollywood.

But those words are barely out of host Robert Osborne’s mouth before he turns to his guest pontificator, a professor, writer and film maker of seemingly Native American descent, and asks if “noble savage” is okay to say.

No, opines the prof. “Noble red man” is politically correct. You can no longer say “noble savage,” just like you can no longer say “redskin” or “squaw.”  The professor goes on to define this character type as the friendly Indian companion of the non-Indian hero.

Discussing Davy Crockett, Indian Scout in particular, the prof says, “This is a Davy Crockett who is the Fess Parker Davy Crockett’s uncle.”  (Actually it’s the other way around. The real Davy, played later by Fess, was the uncle of the character in Davy Crockett, Indian Scout.) Now, it’s possible the prof just got his thoughts twisted and mispoke, and I’d be tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but in light of further comments I’m not so sure.

The two go on to discuss the character as if he’s actually the Davy we know, and Osborne clearly has no clue that Robert Montgomery is playing old Davy’s nephew.

Davy (Fess Parker) with his NON-Indian companion, George Russell.

Moving on, they discuss the friendly Indian companion as personified by Jay Silverheels, and neither Osborne or the prof seem aware the Tonto character existed before the Lone Ranger TV series. After tossing around phrases like “a benign but subservient relationship” and “a throwback to the slave mentality,” the prof tells us that Davy Crockett, Indian Scout (1950) “is the beginning of that in the movies.” I guess the serials The Lone Ranger (1938) and The Lone Ranger Rides Again (1939) don't count.

After the movie plays, they‘re back. “This is an interesting take on the Davy Crockett character,” says Osborne, “compared to the way Fess Parker played him on television for so many years.” While proving that he wasn’t paying attention to the film, and still doesn’t know George Montgomery was not playing old Davy, Osborne also demonstrates how little he knows of Fess Parker. Parker played Davy in a total of five episodes of the Disney show. Five.

But our film experts aren't done. “Davy Crockett has been portrayed in something like 40 films. Has he always had a sidekick like Red Hawk in all the Davy Crockett movies?”

Yes, the prof says, “an Indian helper, someone who helps them find their way through the forest.” More crap.

While its true Davy has been portrayed on film over 40 times, most of those movies were about the Alamo, and were Indian-free. Of the rest, four are “lost” silent films, but there is no indication they featured Indian companions. Most others are minor made-for-TV productions with - again - no Indian companions. Long after Disney’s original Crockett series, they made another five episodes in 1988-9 starring Tim Dunigan, still without a Tonto.

Daniel (Fess Parker) and his Indian companion Mingo.

I can only guess that Osborne and the prof don’t know the difference between Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone. (Yes, Fess Parker did play Boone on television for many years, with his faithful companion Mingo, played by Ed Ames.)

You’d think that would be enough, wouldn’t you? Nope. Osborne then turns to the viewer and says, “Now, continuing our examination of the noble savage . . .”

Davy Crockett, Indian Scout (1950)

Owlhoot Dale Goble sent me a copy of this film recently, which he recorded from Turner Classic Movies. (Thanks Gobe!) I’d never seen it, and found it mighty interesting.

The action takes place out West long after the fall of the Alamo, so the Davy we know is long gone and his namesake nephew is carrying on the tradition.

Nephew Davy is scouting for a wagon train, which is lucky enough to have a cavalry escort. Naturally, an Indian war party is out to ambush them, so Davy and the officers much choose one of two passes, hoping to fool the hostiles. Trouble is, the Indians have a spy on the train, and Davy’s pilgrims roll right into the ambush.

George Montgomery makes a decent Crockett, and I would have liked to see him playing the real one. His backwoods dialogue is packed with plenty of reckons and ain’ts and his buckskin shirt has about the right amount of fringe on it. And I can’t complain about his wearing a broad-brimmed hat, because there is a coonskin cap in the picture, worn by his sidekick Tex (Noah Beery Jr).

The film’s second lead is Phillip Reed, playing Davy’s Indian companion Red Hawk. Red Hawk is the noblest of savages – so noble that his constantly beatific demeanor would be more at home in a Biblical epic. Fourteen years earlier Reed had played the title role in The Last of the Mohicans, so I suppose that gave him Indian credentials.

The film delivered four surprises. First, that both Davy and Red Hawk fall for the same girl, a pretty young schoolmarm who joins the wagon train. Second, that the girl is secretly one-quarter Indian. Third, that she seems to prefer Red Hawk to Davy. And finally (and here comes a SPOILER), though I expected she would eventually wind up in Davy’s arms, she eventually rides off into the sunset with Red Hawk. Geez. How often do you see the Indian sidekick get the girl?

TCM presented this movie as one of several examples of the “noble savage” in Hollywood, and I found the inane comments of the series’ host and guest professor almost as entertaining as the film. I’ll be yapping about that tomorrow, right here on the Almanack.

John Smith and Pocahontas - the straight skinny

This title is a major league misnomer. There’s hate lurking around every corner in this book, but love rears its pretty head for only a few pages.

The subtitle is more accurate: John Smith, Pocahontas, and the Start of a New Nation.

My knowledge of the Jamestown Colony is probably on a par with that of most Americans. There was a guy named John Smith, and this Indian babe called Pocahontas saved him from being killed. End of story. On second thought, I likely know less than the average American, because I’ve never seen the Disney movie Pocahontas.

So I learned a lot here. For example:

John Smith was the original American action hero. In marked contrast to other colonists, he had all the attributes: Skill at arms, unwavering courage, a strong belief in equality and liberty, and little patience for fools.

No one wanted Smith in a position of leadership, and it was only after the colony’s aristocrats had proven their incompetence that they let him out of jail and ordered him to save their butts. He did.

The Jamestown Colony was first and last a business venture, with gold-hungry investors back in London calling the shots. Every time Smith managed to pull the colony’s fat out the fire, the board would do something new to undermine his efforts.

Pokie saves John.

The story of Pocahontas rescuing Smith from execution by her father Chief Powhatan is probably true. But she was only about 11 years old and running around naked (meaning she had not yet reached puberty). There was no romance between them.

When an accidental spark ignited a bag of gunpowder hanging from Smith’s belt, his leg was nearly blown off. As there was no doctor in the colony, he was put on the next ship for England, never to return.

When Smith left, there were 500 colonists left in Jamestown. Six months later, when the next crop of recruits arrived, they found only 50 skeletal survivors. Some were killed by Indians and some died of disease, but most simply starved to death. The survivors had eaten everything in sight, including clothing and shoes, and some had resorted to cannibalism.

One of the new arrivals had the bright idea of kidnapping Pocahontas to force her father to feed them. This failed, but had unforeseen results. She fell in love and married a colonist, after which Powhatan agreed to make peace. Pocahontas was taken to London as the perfect poster child - a Virginia native who not only embraced the colonists, but had converted to Christianity. After several months she and her husband set sail for home, but she took sick in the English Channel and had to be put ashore, where she promptly died.

Pocahontas in London, age 21. Yikes.

John Smith spent the rest of his life trying to get back to Virginia. He was involved a couple of unsuccessful attempts at founding pre-Plymouth settlements in New England, but was otherwise stuck in London, where he wrote nine books, mostly dealing with the New World.

Bottom line: great book!

Art Gallery: Charlie Chan

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