Pulp Palaver

Co-Starring Dan Turner, Hollywood Detective

Robert Leslie Bellem (1902-1968) wrote a lot of pulp stories. And I mean a lot! His best known character was a gumshoe named, Dan Turner. Bellem wrote somewhere around 300 different Dan Turner stories between 1934 and 1950. Dan was a “Hollywood Detective” and his adventures appeared in Spicy Detective, Speed Detective, Dan Turner, Hollywood Detective, and Private Detective pulp titles. He was also the hero of a Dan Turner comic, a secondary feature in the Dan Turner, Hollywood Detective magazine. Turner was a wise-cracking, slang-spouting, Tinseltown dick with fast fists and a ready roscoe. S.J. Perelman called him the “apotheosis of all private detectives. Out of Ma Barker by Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade…”

Turner’s entertaining adventures in and around the studio lots of Hollywood earned him a lot of fans. The character was also seen in the movies. “Blackmail” (1947) stared William Marshall  as Dan Turner. The movie was adapted from a July 1944 Speed Detective story. Marc Singer played Dan Turner in “The Raven Red Kiss-Off” (1990). It was also based on a Dan Turner story—“Homicide Highball”— published in the February 1950 issue of Hollywood Detective.

Before I go any further, if you have a weak stomach for anything politically incorrect, get out now. These stories were written decades ago and are full of cultural and gender insensitivities. I make no apologies for what I am about to quote and write. You have been warned.

Robert Leslie Bellem was a master of metaphor. Metaphors make readers work harder. You have to think about what is said and massage it a bit with your grey matter before you can digest it. Therefore a woman might be a “wren,” “she-male,” or a “filly.” She might be described as “toothsome,” or a “cupcake” with a “sweater full of lure.” Dan Turner slept around, he often explained that he was just as human as the next guy when it came to a beautiful woman. In the Spicy pulps there was often sex, although there was always a discrete time jump after the preliminaries.

Later pulps such as Speed Detective and Private Detective were a bit more restrained in the sexy department. But the idea is still there, masked by clever metaphors and language. 

Turner drank Vat 69, had a .32 roscoe in a holster under his armpit, and he smoked. “Lit up a gasper” was Bellem’s most frequent way to describe that particular vice. Dan Turner plots are not overly complex and they often followed a similar pattern. But they are a great deal of fun to read.

So that gives you the basics. Now, on to the words. Let me give you a few examples of Bellem’s phraseology from the Dan Turner stories.

 “A thunderous bellow flashed from Dave Donaldson’s service .38, full at the propman’s elly-bay. Welch gasped like a leaky flue, hugged his punctured tripes, and slowly doubled over, fell flat on his smeller.” — “Dump the Jackpot”

“I dished him up a helping of knuckles.” —“Death’s Passport”

“The McBride ham crossed the stage with assault and bashery in his slitted peepers; his maulies were balled for action and his kisser was a thin slash in the hard granite of his map as he barged to the camera setup and planted his bulk firmly ferninst the director, a dyspeptic little sourball.” — “The Book of the Phantom Bullet”

“She was a hell of a sweet number. Her skin was as warm and smooth as new cream, and she had what it takes to drive a man utsnay.” —“Dead Man’s Head”

“From behind me a roscoe belched “Chow—chow!” A pair of slugs buzzed past my left ear, almost nicked my cranium. Mrs. Brantham sagged back against the pillow of the lounge…She was dead as an iced catfish.” —“Veiled Lady”

It occurred to me that it might be fun to try writing in this manner. I mean, who does that today? To this end I made up a preliminary spread sheet with helpful translations of some of the most common “Bellemisms.” Here are two screen caps from my spreadsheet.

Bellem took the writing adage, “show don’t tell” to a whole new echelon. He wrote: “Her voice held ice cubes” instead of she was mad, chilly, or even angry. You don’t have to think about what he means, you immediately FEEL it.

This inspired me to write a little vignette as an experiment. The following text is Copyright Sara Light-Waller, 2023. All Rights Reserved. This is a ROCKETEER exclusive.

Crashed! (partial)

“Yeah?” Her hubby was busy dealing with the stiff on the floor.

“I’m going to the galley. Meet me there when you’re done?”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks. Okay boys, lift.” As they removed the smell from her delicate nose, Vivienne marched off to the galley. Once there, she stripped off a few layers. What was left looked like she’d left her boudoir half-dressed. Her shapely body glistened as sweat dripped down her back and into the cleft between her breasts. She tied a tea towel around her head then hoisted her curves up onto the counter.  She opened the highest cupboard and pulled out bottles of that alien juice her hubby liked so much. It wasn’t water but it’d keep their kissers wet until they found civilization. She’d already lined up a couple of bottles on the counter when he came in.

He whistled appreciably. “Up ‘til now I was having a bad day.”

She turned on her toes. “Help me down, will ‘ya?”

“Any time, baby.” He held out his arms.

She wrinkled her pert nose. “You need a bath. Why not take off your clothes and cool down?” She had a naughty look in her eyes that he seemed to appreciate.

His lamps traveled down her figure, from the rounded breasts pushing up from her corset like juicy coffee foam to the nimble legs and trim ankles peeking out from under her skirt.

Her peepers opened wide and she crossed hands over her breast like a virgin on her wedding night.

He grinned and crushed her sweet, ripe body against his.

She murmured something about this being the wrong time to make love.

He ignored her lecture and planted a couple of good ones on her beezer.

“You win,” she acquiesced and let him pull her down onto the bench beside the table. She arranged herself comfortably in his lap. “You feeling okay?”

He raised his face from where he’d been kissing her. “Don’t worry about that, baby. I’m good for hours yet.” He went back to what he’d been doing and she moaned appreciatedly. A little while later, she heard a ruckus out in the main part of the ship. “Damn it, we’re about to have company,” she pouted.

He threw a glower in the direction of the doorway then got up and started redressing in order to present a more respectable appearance. She tried to do the same but since there was more to put back on she wasn’t done before the sergeant strolled by. He got an eyeful. Rod Oakley stepped in front of his missus, blocking the view. “Sergeant?” 

“We’ve got the hole dug, sir. Ready when you are.” He cast a too-obvious glance at Vivienne.

Oakley followed his eyes and shook his head. “See something you like, mister?”

“No, sir!” he replied with the acuity of a paper cut.

“I thought so. I’ll be right there.”

The sarge left and Oakley turned to follow. But then a meat grinder took hold of his insides and squeezed.

“Honey!”

He was bent over, gulping like a dry fish.

Vivi kept him from splatting all the way to the floor. “We need to get out of here in a hurry.”

“No, can’t do that. Those men can’t find out.”

“They’re gonna find out soon if we don’t get you some help, you dope. What about that village we saw from the air?”

He pulled away and got to his feet, shaking like a drunk with tremens. “Can’t. The bad guys are that way. We have to go east. Your smeller catch anything that way?”

Her pretty face wrinkled. “Maybe. Could be Algiers, if I recollect my geography.”

“How far?”

“A hundred miles? But it’s too far for you to go.” Vivi looked like she’d dreamed a bad future and didn’t like it.

“Do you think that low-life brother of yours can get us there?”  

She shrugged her naked shoulders, causing the creamy whiteness of her breasts to shudder in a delightful way. “I’ll ask him.”

He threw her a garment. “Put that on first or we’ll have a family tragedy on our hands. We’ve got two casualties and you’re our only sawbones. Feel up to it?”

She made herself family friendly. “Sure, honey. What about you?”

“You can’t help me.”

“You’ll die—”

“I’ll be fine. You keep your pretty lips shut about this, I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Before you die…”

“If it comes to that.” 

Her face started spurting tears like a leaky hose. “I’m not losing you!” Her voice sloped towards hysteria.

He grabbed her roughly and shook her. “Come on baby, knock off the waterworks. You trust me, don’t you? Good girl. Now go make yourself pretty and meet me outside. I want to get that stiff in the ground before he starts to rot.”

“Okay. But…you will hurry, won’t you?” She looked like a puppy someone had stomped on purpose.

He planted a good one on her tender, full lips. “Sure, doll.” He swatted her fanny as she went out. He went in the opposite direction.

Vivienne turned and watched him go. Her face looked like she was thinking. When her idea was fully baked she hurried back to their cabin and put on a new dress….”

This is the Rocketeer signing off for today.