ear for correct dialogue is always useful for a writer. You not only have to put in good stuff, but throw out the bad. Hemingway called it a “shit detector.” Lupoff certainly has one, not only for his own characters in his story, but for the dialogue in the old radio programs he creates for oleo pieces to accompany his play. You will hear echoes of Gabriel Heatter, Jack Armstrong, Bob Crosby, Corliss Archer—echoes from a vanished world.
Dick has said I inspired him to actually go out and do professional things in what had been a hobby. I had a number of science fiction stories in print, and one article on comic books in a fan magazine before he did, but Dick has gone much farther than I have. He spent seven times more years at his radio station than I did. He has written more novels than I have chapters in my books such as The Great Radio Heroes. My latest venture is producing and performing in brand new commercial episodes of such radio classics as Tom Mix and I Love a Mystery. Dick Lupoff’s continuing career concerns creating an entirely new detective character, Marvia Plum, who one day may become featured on the Internet Drama Hour or whatever the medium is then. Once again, Dick Lupoff will be ahead of the pack.
LEAD-IN: SCRIPT BREAK I
BOB LOWERY:
WELL, HERE’S THAT LITTLE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS AND THE NEATLY TRIMMED LAWN. LET’S SEE IF MOLLY AND MIKE ARE UP YET.
SFX: FOOTSTEPS ON DRIVEWAY, DOORBELL RINGS, DOOR OPENS.
MOLLY MARTIN:
WHY, HELLO THERE, BOB. LOOK, MIKE, IT’S BOB LOWERY! BOB, YOU’RE JUST IN TIME TO JOIN US FOR BREAKFAST.
MIKE MARTIN:
SAY, BOB, WHY DON’T YOU SEE IF THE NEWSPAPER’S HERE YET. WE CAN START OUR DAY TOGETHER.
BOB:
RIGHT YOU ARE. (GRUNTS) SAY, THERE’S A PHOTO ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THAT BIG PREMIERE LAST NIGHT, RIGHT HERE IN THE QUEEN CITY OF THE OHIO
VALLEY. AND—WHY, MOLLY, ISN’T THAT YOUR HUBBY BUSSING A BLONDE
STARLET RIGHT THERE?
MOLLY:
(LAUGHS) THAT’S OUR LITTLE NIECE, BOB. HER NAME IS CATHY TAYLOR AND SHE MAKES HER SCREEN DEBUT IN THAT WONDERFUL NEW MGM MUSICAL, TOP HITS OF 1941.
BOB:
PHEW! THAT’S A RELIEF.
SFX: POURING COFFEE, CLICK OF CREAM PITCHER ON CUP, CHINA CLINKING, SPOON ON CHINA.
BOB:
THANKS, MOLLY. MY, THAT SMELLS TEMPTING!
MIKE:
YEP, WE’RE MIGHTY PROUD OF YOUNG CATHY, BOB. I KNOW THE
SHUTTER-BUGS WERE THERE TO SNAP THE BIG STARS, BUT YOU MARK MY WORD, CATHY TAYLOR IS GOING PLACES IN HOLLYWOOD! AND SHE’S A CINCINNATI GIRL, YOU KNOW, BORN AND BRED.
SFX: SIZZLING, HISS.
MOLLY:
OH, MY GOODNESS, I GOT SO
INTERESTED IN THE NEWSPAPER, I
FORGOT ALL ABOUT THE BACON AND EGGS.
SFX: METAL SPATULA ON IRON FRYING PAN.
MOLLY:
MM, JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME. JUST HOLD YOUR PLATES UP, BOB AND MIKE, AND WE’LL HAVE SOME BREAKFAST FOR YOU TWO BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.
BOB:
MY, THAT LOOKS DEE-LICIOUS. I’LL BET YOU FRIED THOSE EGGS IN PURE,
NUTRITIOUS ZAM! SHORTENING, THE HIGH-QUALITY, LOW-PRICE
HOUSEWIFE’S BEST FRIEND.
MIKE:
YOU BET SHE DID, BOB. WE WOULDN’T HAVE ANY OTHER BRAND HERE IN THE LITTLE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN
SHUTTERS. AND THAT BEAUTIFUL BACON, OF COURSE, IS FINEST STARS ’N’ STRIPES PREMIUM BRAND BACON.
SFX: CRUNCH, CHEWING.
BOB:
WHY, IT’S SCRUMPTIOUS.
MOLLY:
IT SURE IS, BOB!
MIKE:
SAY, OVER HERE ON THIS OTHER PAGE, I SEE WHERE PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT SAYS WE’D BETTER KEEP OUR HANDS OFF THOSE WARS GOING ON IN EUROPE AND ASIA. I’LL GO ALONG WITH THAT, MOLLY AND BOB. WHAT DO YOU THINK?
MOLLY:
IF PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT SAYS SO, IT MAKES GOOD SENSE TO ME.
BOB:
IT SURE DOES MAKE SENSE, MOLLY AND MIKE. YOU KNOW, WE’VE PLENTY OF HARD WORK TO DO RIGHT HERE IN THE GOOD OLD U.S. OF A. THE LAST TIME WE GOT INVOLVED IN EUROPE A LOT OF AMERICAN BOYS MADE THE SUPREME SACRIFICE, AND HERE IT IS JUST A FEW YEARS LATER AND THEY’RE AT IT ALL OVER AGAIN. I SAY, LET THOSE
FOREIGNERS SETTLE THEIR OWN SQUABBLES. I’M AN AMERICAN!
[BREAKFAST WITH MOLLY AND MIKE, WQCY, CINCINNATI (1940)]
CHAPTER ONE
Somebody was dead.
Marvia Plum slapped the handset back into its cradle, bounced out of her chair and sprinted for the exit.
* * * *
It was good to be back. Back in Berkeley, back at her old job, even back in her police sergeant’s uniform. As a homicide detective, Marvia Plum worked in plain clothes most of the time, but the option was hers to wear uniform or civvies. And at least for now, at least for her first few days back on the job, she reveled in the feel of neatly pressed blue wool, the weight of her sidearm on her hip, the reflection of her brightly polished badge when she glanced at a mirror or passed a glassed storefront.
It was almost like being a rookie again. She was doing something she believed in. This was a time when society was jaded and the public viewed police officers as either incompetent bunglers or deadly enemies, a time when all too many cops had become burnouts, cynics, or worse. Still, Marvia Plum felt that she was doing a useful job.
There really were good guys and bad guys, and Marvia was one of the good guys. And she was skilled at her work.
Maybe it was a disastrous marriage, an impulsive resignation from the Berkeley Police Department so she could leave the state and join her new husband in Nevada, the disillusionment and depression that came when she realized how badly she had blundered. Maybe it was all those things that made her understand what she had given up and made her appreciate her old life all the more when she got it back.
She’d spent the first few days moving papers, studying regs and manuals and case files, bringing herself back up to speed on conditions in the town where she had lived for so many years. Now she picked up her telephone and answered a 911 switched from the dispatcher upstairs.
