Tue 2 Jul 2019
Mike Nevins on Pulp Writer RAOUL WHITFIELD, Part One.
Posted by Steve under Authors , Columns , Pulp Fiction , Reviews[10] Comments
by Francis M. Nevins
Dashiell Hammett is universally acclaimed as the founding father of hard-boiled or what is now called noir crime fiction. I know that Carroll John Daly (1889-1958) entered the field shortly before Hammett, and that his earliest novels predated Hammett’s by a few years. But almost a century after both men began, Daly’s output does not hold up well by comparison, and I don’t have enough years left to explore it in detail. How about the first significant writer who followed in Hammett’s footsteps?
Raoul Whitfield (1896-1945) was born in New York City, distantly related to Andrew Carnegie through the great industrialist’s wife. His father, a federal civil servant, was assigned to Manila as an accountant shortly after the Spanish-American War, so that Raoul grew up in the Philippines. As a young man he moved to Hollywood and is reported to have appeared in uncredited bit parts in silent movies. Upon the U.S. entry into World War I he enlisted and was trained as an aviator. Apparently his main overseas jobs were shuttling cargo to the front lines in France and towing targets for aerial gun practice, although he claimed heavy air combat experience.
After the war he settled in Pennsylvania and worked as a laborer in a steel mill, as a bond salesman, and (maybe) as a reporter for the Pittsburgh Post. He married his first and longest-lived wife, the former Prudence Ann Smith (1895-1990), in April 1923.
Apparently his first short story was “The Pin†(The Cauldron, December 1922), which was reprinted in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine for April 1985, a few years after Fred Dannay’s death, but it wasn’t until 1924 that he started turning them out like bratwursts in a sausage factory, mainly for pulps like Breezy Stories, Droll Stories and Street & Smith’s Sport Story.
He made his first sale to Black Mask in 1926, with most of his early tales in that iconic magazine being air combat adventures, a genre he claimed to have invented, but within a few years his interests turned to combat between tough guys on terra firma. Once having gotten his feet wet in this new body of water, he became a staunch admirer of Hammett, who’d been swimming in it for about four years before him. They corresponded for a while before finally meeting in Hammett’s San Francisco stamping grounds, and thereafter they met periodically, downing oceans of bootleg liquor on every occasion.
Hammett’s RED HARVEST had already appeared both in Black Mask (November 1927-February 1928) and as a novel (Knopf, 1929), and THE MALTESE FALCON in serial form (Black Mask, September 1929-January 1930), when Whitfield made his hardcover debut with GREEN ICE (Knopf, 1930), based on five Black Mask stories (December 1929-April 1930) and issued by Hammett’s own publisher at Hammett’s suggestion.
There’s no private eye in the book, no one comparable to the Continental Op or Sam Spade. Released from Sing Sing after serving a two-year stretch for a vehicular homicide committed by his girlfriend, Mal Ourney (who to my mind would best have been played onscreen by Richard Dix, the star of several early-talkie crime movies) resolves to devote his life and inherited bankroll to wiping out the “crime-breeders,†the big-shot criminals who ensnare, frame and ruin the lives of little crooks.
His girlfriend comes up to Ossining to reunite with him — or perhaps for a more sinister reason –– and is promptly shot to death, the first of a huge assortment of violent ends that stud Whitfield’s pages, at least a dozen in all and seven of them before the end of Chapter Five. The impossible-to-keep-straight plot involves a host of ruthless characters in pursuit of a fortune in emeralds which turns out to be — well, remember what Hammett’s black bird turned out to be?
Events begin in Ossining just outside of Sing Sing but soon move to Manhattan and then to Pittsburgh (the dirty burg, Whitfield calls it) and its suburb Duquesne. The steel mill stench is everywhere. “Red flames streaked up into the sky from the plant stacks. Red smoke hung low. The air was heavy, thick with steel grime.†Ourney gets beaten up and blackjacked at least once too often and grins a lot more than a noir protagonist should. And I do get tired of his using human as a synonym for man or person.
“[W]hoever did—that human knew her well enough to know she was left-handed.â€
“….I got the idea that just a few humans were using a lot of other humans as they wanted, then framing them, smashing them—rubbing them out….â€
Until the middle of Chapter VIII Ourney takes it for granted that the black bird of this book is in the form of cash. Then he makes what he himself calls “a blind guess†and says: “Somebody’s after something, but it isn’t a hundred grand. It isn’t fifty grand. Maybe it’s stones.†As indeed it is. Surely Hammett would have found a more elegant way of putting his protagonist on the right track.
But the book is still readable almost 90 years after its first publication, although clearly not in the same league with Hammett’s classics. Considering the Black Mask serialization dates of all three novels, any similarity with RED HARVEST and THE MALTESE FALCON that one may find in GREEN ICE can hardly be coincidental.
Whitfield’s second novel, DEATH IN A BOWL (Black Mask, Sept-Nov 1930; Knopf, 1931), is a genuine PI exploit set in Hollywood, with a convincing background of the movie industry at the dawn of talkies and a relatively small cast of characters compared with the hordes that populated GREEN ICE. After screenwriter Howard Frey knocks out German émigré director Ernst Reiner while a tense scene is being shot, both men approach Hollywood PI Ben Jardinn, with Reiner claiming Frey is out to kill him and Frey insisting that the director wants to frame his scenario man in case he’s killed by someone else.
The actual murder takes place the following evening at a Hollywood Bowl concert attended by some 12,000 people — including Reiner, Frey and the tempestuous star of Reiner’s movie — and conducted by Reiner’s illustrious brother. In the middle of a thunderous tone poem the Bowl lights suddenly go out, a tri-motored plane buzzes the field with its engines roaring, and the conductor is shot in the back four times, although later Whitfield changes his mind and tells us there were only two bullets in the body.
Except for a plane-crash death and a second murder, not all that much happens in the remainder of the book beyond a constant stream of characters lying to and double-crossing one another, bringing home to us the quintessential noir insight that you can’t know or trust anyone, not even yourself.
The climax is a somewhat creative variant of THE MALTESE FALCON’s you’re-taking-the-fall-baby denouement — although not in the same class with the twist Erle Stanley Gardner pulled off in the first Perry Mason novel, THE CASE OF THE VELVET CLAWS (1933) — and the style is ersatz Hammett all the way. In both narrative and dialogue “human†is used as a substitute for “person†so often it becomes silly.
….[A]ll humans were difficult to work with….
Humans were still pouring into the Bowl.
The roar of the plane’s engines filled the bowl of humans.
Humans were surging from the grass before the shell….
The police are yelling that I caused an important human to get himself quieted….â€
“….The bushes are tall enough to hide a human.â€
Whitfield didn’t have anywhere near Hammett’s success in Hollywood. Movies were made out of none of his novels and only one short story (“Man Killer†from the April 1932 Black Mask, which was filmed as PRIVATE DETECTIVE 62, Warner Bros., 1933, starring William Powell) but, judging from DEATH IN A BOWL, he seems to have absorbed quite a bit of the early-talkie Hollywood atmosphere, with the director filming a scene required to stay in a sound booth looking down on the stage below.
The autocratic director character Ernst Reiner was clearly modeled on the great German film-maker Fritz Lang (1895-1975), who in fact was still working in Germany in the early 1930s and didn’t move to the U.S. until a few years later, after Hitler came to power.
Anyone who wants proof that Lang was on Whitfield’s mind need only look at what Ben Jardinn has to say about Reiner’s movies. “They show a good deal of imagination. Cities of the future, and that sort of thing….†(8) What is this but an unmistakable allusion to Lang’s 1926 masterpiece METROPOLIS? Long before anyone ever heard of the auteur theory, Whitfield has no doubt who holds the power in the film world. “Most directors are more important than writers.†(7)
Whatever its weaknesses as a detective novel, DEATH IN A BOWL is redeemed by moments like these.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT MONTH…
July 2nd, 2019 at 8:51 pm
Thanks Prof. Nevins. I’ve ordered both novels on Amazon…
July 2nd, 2019 at 9:56 pm
I’m tempted to read my copies again myself!
July 2nd, 2019 at 11:15 pm
I never cared that much for Whitfield’s aviation fiction but I did read and enjoy all his crime fiction in BLACK MASK.
July 3rd, 2019 at 10:15 am
Mike, I really don’t think “hard-boiled” and “Noir crime fiction” are the same thing, as noir has that downward spiral and hopelessness that straight hard-boiled does not, or doesn’t always, have.
July 4th, 2019 at 1:29 pm
While waiting for Mike to respond, I agree with you, Richard. While there’s often a lot of overlap between noir and hard-boiled, depending on whatever story you’re talking about, the two are not the same. I’d go with Hammett as the epitome of hard-boiled, and Cornell Woolrich as the best example I can think of for noir fiction. Which is not to say that Hammett didn’t write noir, nor that Woolrich didn’t write hard-boiled fiction.
July 3rd, 2019 at 10:24 am
Though I like Green Ice well enough, my favorite Whitfield work are the Jo Gar stories.
July 4th, 2019 at 1:24 pm
I like the Jo Gar stories, too, maybe even more than DEATH IN A BOWL. They will be mentioned in Part Two of Mike’s coverage of Raoul Whitfield’s mystery fiction, coming next month.
July 5th, 2019 at 10:05 am
I agree with Rick Robinson that hardboiled and noir are two different animals but almost everyone now uses the two words as synonyms. I once did a guest appearance at a college course on film noir in which the professor took the position that there are two types of noir, the hard (to my mind best exemplified by Hammett and Chandler) and the soft (best exemplified by Woolrich). I have a hunch that this position is the wave of the future, not to mention the present, and I’ve sort of gotten used to it.
July 5th, 2019 at 11:37 am
This is the first I’ve heard about the apparent changes to the meanings of hard-boiled and noir.
For decades hard-boiled referred to stories with tough guy detectives, suspects and settings. Hammett, Chandler, Paul Cain, and later Spillane and many others were hard-boiled. Their tough detectives were mainly private eyes, but sometimes newspapermen, cops, etc. IIRC hard-boiled was used right in 1930’s pulp magazines, to describe these stories.
Noir, aka “dark suspense” referred to writers like Woolrich and Goodis, as well as the film noir of the 1940’s and 1950’s. These writers featured characters caught up in big trouble, against which they struggled desperately. Alain Silver pointed out that noir often involved “alienation and obsession”.
I can’t see what good it does to change the meaning of these terms. The original meanings are clear, accurate and informative. The new meanings seem vague and confusing.
Are top scholars actually using the new meanings? Or are they the province of folks who actually don’t know much about crime fiction?
July 5th, 2019 at 8:39 pm
While Whitfield wasn’t in the same class with Hammett or later Chandler, he did belong to that small elite group that included the best of Gardner, Nebel, Paul Cain, and McCoy and I would put he and Nebel at the top of that group.
The remarkable thing about DEATH is how much it foreshadows Chandler’s later vision of Hollywood. There were quite a few German directors drawn to Hollywood by then, so speculating, Lang, one of the most famous directors in world might be lured there makes sense.
I enjoyed all of Whitfield’s novels (those as Temple Field as well), though. GREEN ICE I always think of as his RED HARVEST, not in plot or character, but in the relentless drive and action of the busy story. Too bad Warner Brothers didn’t make serials.