Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)
Behind the Black Mask
In working out an Oliver Quade story I always determine, first, the background for the yam. I generally try to have an original or colorful setting for a yarn. This isn’t always as simple as it sounds.
Although Hollywood backgrounds have been used repeatedly by other writers, I’d never done a Hollywood story. Mainly because I’d never been in Hollywood until recently and I always believe I should know a little of a background, from personal observation.
So, when the opportunity presented itself for a Hollywood trip, I decided to write a story with a Hollywood background. After giving it some thought I came to the conclusion that just about every phase of Hollywood had been covered by other writers — except the animated cartoon studio.
The thought struck a responsive note in me, for I’m very fond of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck... So I emerged with Desmond Dogg and “FUNNY MAN,” in this issue of BLACK MASK.
To Mr. Hugh Harman of the Harman-Ising Cartoon Studios, I am indebted for the courtesy of a personally conducted tour through a “cartoon factory.” I want it understood, though, that none of the characters or situations in “FUNNY MAN” refer in any way to the Harman-Ising Studios. They are entirely fictitious, only the factual material and the “atmosphere” was obtained from H-I.
For the benefit of those who came in late, I’d like to report that Oliver Quade will soon be portrayed in a motion picture, Paramount Pictures having bought the film rights to all the Quade stories, for Lynn Overman. The story now “in the works” is “DOG SHOW MURDER,” which appeared originally in the March, 1938, issue of BLACK MASK.
I hope every reader of BLACK MASK goes to see this picture at least ten times, for if it’s a success there’ll be more Oliver Quade pictures.
I’ve promised myself a treat. If “FUNNY MAN” is ever filmed and I’m still around Hollywood, I’m going to see Mr. Lynn Overman do the scene where he imitates Desmond Dogg.
— Frank Gruber
Funny Man
by Frank Gruber
Oliver Quade plays havoc with a Hollywood murderer.
Charlie Boston grabbed Oliver Quade’s arm. “Look,” he said, “a movie studio!”
Quade twisted the wheel to the right, stepped on the brakes. The motor of the dilapidated jallopy expired with a wheezing sigh.
Quade looked across the street. “All right, it’s a studio,” he said. “They do have studios in Hollywood, you know.”
“The sign by the gate says Slocum Studios.” Charlie Boston’s voice was eager. “Do you suppose this is the place where Hedy Lamarr works?”
“And if it is, would she want to see you? Come on, we’ve got things to do. We’ve got to get located. After all, we were lucky to make it from San Bernardino on three gallons of gas.” He looked hopefully at Charlie Boston. “I don’t suppose, Charlie, you’ve got a stray quarter — or even a dime, somewhere about you?”
“You know damn well I haven’t. You got my last cent in Arizona.”
“In that case, I guess I’ve got to go to work. Before I’m even a half-hour in Hollywood.”
“Where can you work around here?”
“Right there,” said Quade, “Where all those people are hanging around the studio gate. If I work fast I won’t need a peddler’s license.”
He opened the door of the flivver beside him and it came away in his hand. “If we ever get any money, Charlie, we’ll buy a new car and send this one to China.”
He walked across the street toward the studio gate. Before he quite reached it he turned to the right and stopped with his back against the stucco wall.
He raised his hands dramatically and began talking in a voice that rolled out over Wilshire Boulevard and drowned out the noise of the traffic.
“I’m Oliver Quade, the Human Encyclopedia!” he boomed. “I know the answers to all questions. I know the distance to the moon and the sun. I can name all the presidents and vice presidents. I can recite the batting averages of every major league baseball player. I am the Human Encyclopedia, the walking compendium of human knowledge.”
There were twenty or thirty people already hanging around the gates when Quade began talking. Inside of thirty seconds the number had doubled. A crowd draws a larger crowd. This is true, anywhere. In Hollywood it is doubly so. Hollywood has more freaks than any other city in the country; and they always have time to listen to another freak.
Quade thundered on: “I know the answers to all questions. I bar no holds. I’ll answer any question on history, science, mathematics, business or sports. Try me out, someone. Make me prove what I say. Ask me a question!”
“Is it going to rain today?”
“It hasn’t rained here in 224 days,” Quade retorted. “So the chances are it won’t rain today. But that’s not a fair question. The answer to it doesn’t require any encyclopedic knowledge. I’m not a fortune teller and can’t make guesses. I’m an exponent of learning. Any question anyone can ask me—”
“I’ve got a question!” someone yelled. “Referring to a number of animals, would you say, a herd of lions, a flock — or what?”
Quade’s eyes brightened. “Now, that’s the type of question I like. It would stump practically anyone in this audience. But, ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t phase me. The answer is — a pride of lions. And just for fun, I’ll give you extra measure. In referring to geese you would say a gaggle of geese; pheasants, a nide of pheasants. Try those on your friends, sometime... All right, someone else ask me another question, any subject at all.”
It came instantly. “What are felt hats made of?”
“Rabbit fur,” Quade shot back. “The fur is sheered from the pelt, put through certain processes and emerges as ‘felt’... Next!”
A youth snapped: “A man boiling a kettle of water on top of Mt. Everest stuck his bare arm into the boiling water and wasn’t scalded. Why not?”
Quade cried, “You’re getting tricky now. The answer to that question is because of the low boiling point of the water at that altitude. The boiling point of water at sea level is 212 degrees, but it drops one degree for every five hundred feet of altitude. Therefore, the boiling point of water at the top of Mt. Everest, which is 21,000 feet, would be only 172 degrees — not enough to scald a person.”
They came fast and furious after that.
“Who was Machiavelli?”
“How far is it from the earth to the moon?”
“Who won the heavyweight championship from Tommy Burns?”
Quade tossed back the answers swiftly and accurately. The game continued for ten minutes, then Quade called a sudden halt.
“That’s all, folks. Now, I’m going to tell you how you, each and everyone of you, can learn the answers to every question that was asked here today — and ten thousand others. Any question anyone can ask you at any time. They’re all here!” He held out his hand and Charlie Boston, who had lugged a valise from the car across the street, tossed him a book.
Quade ruffled its pages. “Here it is, The Compendium of Human Knowledge. The knowledge of the ages, condensed, classified, abbreviated, all in one volume. A complete high school education, available to every man, woman and child in this audience.
“Yes, I’m selling this amazing book, the compendium of all knowledge acquired by man since the beginning of time. But what am I asking for this college education in one book... $25.00? Cheap at the price! But no! Not even $5.00, but a mere, paltry insignificant $2.95!”