The War of the Worlds Murder - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,78
not all of it. I do not possess the gift of total recall, so conversations not only with Gibson but such writer friends as Robert J. Randisi, Percy Spurlark Parker and the late Chris Steinbrunner range from approximations to outright fabrications. The encounter with a Mickey Spillane–hating Mystery Writers of America icon (who appears here under a nom de plume) certainly did occur at Bouchercon Six. To this day people talk to me about it, and I don’t know whether to be proud or ashamed.
I choose not to reveal whether or not Walter Gibson told me of his adventures working with Orson Welles on a Shadow project the weekend “The War of the Worlds” was aired. Certainly none of the official accounts note his presence; however, Gibson did know Welles through magic circles—several sources confirm this—and one source (mentioned below) insists that, so to speak, Gibson cast his own Shadow, recommending the young actor for the radio role of Lamont Cranston. It’s also true that Gibson wore an elaborate Shadow ring, inscribed to him by “Cranston.”
My longtime research associate, George Hagenauer, is a pulp-magazine enthusiast, and was typically helpful, including devising the “murder” herein, and generally aiding on the magic-oriented aspects of the story.
Leonard Maltin—to whom this book was dedicated prior to his coming to my aid here, I must add—responded to my cry for research help by connecting me with a man who was present that historic night, directing the CBS radio show that would go on right after “The War of the Worlds.”
Norman Corwin was in the studio above Studio One in the Columbia Broadcasting Building on October 30, 1938, and in 2004 he was graciously willing to share with me his memories about radio in general and the CBS Building in particular. Mr. Corwin—at 94, sharper than I have ever been—was warm, friendly, funny and patient. Only fans of the Golden Age of Radio will understand what it meant for me to talk to Norman Corwin, not just a pioneer in that medium, but one of the few greats of the form—it was like writing a movie book and being helped by Alfred Hitchcock, Charlie Chaplin or John Ford. Thank you, Mr. Corwin. Thank you, Leonard.
That said, I must point out that any inaccuracies in this book are my own. A few are even intentional. Some of what Mr. Corwin told me about life and work in the Columbia Broadcasting Building in the late 1930s did not suit my purposes as a mystery writer, and I ignored or revised the truth into fiction as needed; but while nothing that is wrong here is the fault of Mr. Corwin, or my other research associates, much that is right belongs to them.
In this vein, I will admit that the term “pulp” was not in widespread use in 1938—“character magazines” would seem to be the correct coinage for the market Walter Gibson mastered. I run into this from time to time—“art deco” is a designation that came along after the period it describes, for example—and, while I generally do my best to avoid anachronisms, I occasionally choose to use a “wrong” term (like “pulps”) because in the larger context of what I’m doing, it’s “right.”
Also, inconsistencies between sources were frequent here; a typical example: some say the police entered Studio One before the broadcast was over and stared threateningly at Welles through the control-room glass, while other accounts indicate the police rushed in right after the broadcast ended (one even says the police showed up several hours later). In such instances, I trust either my instincts or follow the needs of my narrative.
The connection between Welles and Gibson is not directly dealt with in Thomas J. Shimeld’s biography of the Shadow creator, Walter B. Gibson and the Shadow (2003). Still, it’s hard for me to imagine writing this novel without that vital resource, and any sense of the man that might be found in these pages results as much from Shimeld’s good book as my own meeting with Gibson. To date, the only other book-length work on Gibson is Man of Magic and Mystery: A Guide to the Work of Walter B. Gibson (1988) by J. Randolph Cox, a bibliographic work of limited but appreciated help to this novel. Other works consulted relating to Gibson include his own The Shadow Scrapbook (1979) (introduction by Chris Steinbrunner); Walter Gibson’s Encyclopedia of Magic & Conjuring (1976); and The Shadow Knows...(1977), Diana Cohen and Irene Burns Hoeflinger, a collection of radio scripts.