THE JEW IN THE TRENCHCOAT:

WHEN RELIGION BECOMES PART OF

HARD-BOILED CRIME FICTION

            It was a conscious decision to avoid the tropes of traditional hard-boiled crime fiction as exemplified by Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler when I began to write the first book of the Wichita Chronicles, entitled The Day of Calamity. In doing so, the focus was more on the main character than the style. Accordingly, the motivations and intentions, of both the private detective and the author, were different than what had previously appeared in print under this banner.

            The primary focus was the notion of being caught between the laws of man and the laws of God. This is exemplified by a man who is a former police officer as well as a Jew whose family had hopes for him to become a rabbi. The impelling action was World War II, a time when neither law and order was apparent and faith was tested. The choice to become a private detective allows for the semblance of investigatory procedure while exploring the depths of the human condition. And not necessarily in the underworld where crime is evident. The first book involves a businessman of great wealth whose motivations may not be as obvious as they appear and a missing colored maintenance man whose disappearance is the tip of the iceberg.

            Quoting scripture (The Torah, the Talmud) is a reminder of the moral upbringing of a first generation American by Eastern European immigrants. My own mother’s stories of her family speaking Yiddish in the home and English outside of it resonated as I constructed the story. Our main character is of two worlds both culturally and philosophically. The approach to solving the cases he has taken on are, however, in keeping with his training as a policeman. This sets up an ethical inquiry as to the nature of Justice and Retribution.

            By the same token, there was never any intention of creating a metaphysical detective story, although The Day of Calamity does share some traits with that subgenre. When you consider Durrenmatt’s The Pledge and see the determined efforts of Matthai to prove a serial killer was at large, the elements of a procedural are evident. However, right from the start, Durrenmatt subverts the reader’s expectations by the simple addition of a subtitle: Requiem for the Detective Novel. The act of attempting to solve a crime is secondary to the mental and physical degradation of a former inspector. There is no tidy resolution to assuage the reader that Good always triumphs over Evil. While this makes for good story-telling within literature, it may not be satisfying enough for publishers to risk alienating contemporary readers.

            Umberto Eco’s oeuvre contains densely researched and erudite concepts whether they involve Kabbalah and conspiracy theories (Foucault’s Pendulum) or a 14^th century murder mystery set in an Italian monastery (The Name of the Rose). Both works play out in the same investigatory pattern of the traditional detective novel but then undermines it with aspects related to philosophy and mythology. The resolutions to each, once again, do not necessarily provide a complete and fulfilling denouement but rather cause the reader to ask further questions.

            The most basic example of a work of metaphysical detective fiction is Crime and Punishment which concerns itself less about the apprehension of a murderer and more about that individual’s attitude toward his crime. While these examples are all part of a greater body of literary work, there is less of a design with The Day of Calamity to be completely philosophical as opposed to using the preconceived notions of a genre to reflect personal introspection. This is true of both the main character and the author. In one regard, Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge contains more of the soul-searching aspects I sought without the crime element.

            After completing the four books of the Ark City Confidential Chronicles, I realized there was an inherent value in crafting historical fiction. I could dispense with complex technology often used for investigative purposes and focus more on deductive reasoning and logical evaluation. The main character in that series was a facially scarred World War I veteran with some secrets from his past. He grew and developed over four books comprising a twenty-year period. I came to know him as he told me his story.

            What I wanted for a new series was someone closer to my own sensibilities, though of a different historical era. What is it we could share and yet be separated by nearly eighty years? The first thing was religion. At the time of his inception, I hadn’t contemplated the extent of Jewish policeman or private detectives in fiction. While there was no consideration toward making some kind of breakthrough, it was for me a way of bonding with the character. Accordingly, the name I gave him mirrored my own: Harold Bergman.

            To create a private detective, I realized he could not come upon that profession in vacuo and had to resort to something which gave him a background. Unlike being an investigator for the District Attorney (like Philip Marlowe) or employed at an agency (like the Continental Op), I chose to make him simply a beat cop in Wichita who had hopes of making Detective grade. There was also a conscious decision to move him from a small town in Kansas (Arkansas City) to the city where I live for ease of research and which also provided a wider range of businesses and character types.

            A policeman doesn’t automatically become a private detective unless he has a falling out within the department or made an egregious error warranting termination of employment. Given the desire to set up a moral conflict, I chose neither. The intervening act was World War II. It was easy to imbue a sense of patriotism in a young man whose parents found pride in their adopted country. However, I also felt that a physical defect would defer the action aspects of the plot to more contemplative ones.

            The question then begs: Did I make him Jewish to “resemble” me in some fashion or for ulterior motives? The answer is a combination of both. As the intention was to create a moral and ethical dichotomy, the character’s faith was very much a significant trait. While it has been close to fifty years since my bar mitzvah, I am aware of and understand Judaism far more acutely than other denominations. There was also a need to determine how much of that faith would be imbued within the story, how much of his dilemma of faith would play a part whether through motivation or impedance.

            Even a contemporary devout Jew may not be well versed in Torah, Talmud, or esoteric writings. As writers, we run the risk of including references that likely won’t be caught by the reader and may in fact interrupt the flow of the story. This, however, is an inherent problem in any historical fiction genre. There will be allusions to daily life and popular culture that is understood to the characters and unknown to the reader. What you put in creates an accurate presentation of the world of that time. How much you include will bring you close to the edge of acceptability.

            How I feel about the scriptural references is moot. Ultimately, the reader will determine whether it is too much for them to bear. The intention is to show the reader the mental and personal processes of a man of a different faith than what they are perhaps used to reading.

My own experiences with the Jewish detective start with Harry Kemelman’s Friday the Rabbi Slept Late featuring the suburban Rabbi David Small. While the rabbi has a relationship with the local, and Catholic, police chief, there is never any intention of making him out to be Sam Spade in a yarmulke. We witness how Rabbi Small’s Talmudic training allow him the wisdom to see the third side to every problem. His religious background has given him the skills to be able to be a detective without falling into the typical tropes associated with the genre. I felt that only about a third of that novel involves the crime presented. The conflicting styles of a man of faith and a man of the law are shown with neither being the greater.

            This was perhaps my impetus in developing my own story, even though I knew I didn’t want to write within contemporary guidelines, and I did not seek to restrict the main character from being part of the law enforcement community altogether. I then proceeded to Stuart Kaminsky whose main character, Abe Lieberman, is a police officer referred to as ‘Rabbi’ by his Irish Catholic partner, Bill Hanrahan, referred to as ‘Priest.’ There is a sense of 70’s comedy team about them. In Not Quite Kosher, Lieberman deals as much with his grandson’s bar mitzvah and a temple benefit as he does solving a murder and an escaped robber. It is filled with a variety of ethnic types and sets the tone of big city Chicago and environs. It is, however, a practical description of a contemporary Jew and less concerned with deeper moral evaluations. Nevertheless, Lieberman’s faith plays a significant role in defining his character.

            Faye Kellerman is an Orthodox Jew. Her Peter Decker/Rina Lazarus series involves a Los Angeles police detective raised Baptist whose birth parents were Jewish and who converted when he married an Orthodox Jew. From the outset, one can see the cultural clash within the Jewish community. In Day of Atonement, we see first a Rosh Hashanah gathering in New York in which Decker comes face to face with his birth mother amid various other family conflicts. From there, a case emerges when a young family member disappears. It is filled with words, phrases, and concepts that, though explained, might be hard for some readers to accept given their lack of experience with certain religious rituals.

            The first three examples are all contemporary. I had not discovered a Jewish detective from an earlier time, although I am certain one exists. For me, it was apparent the return from the war in Europe combined with the period would allow an examination of an individual looking for his place in the world, one which would soon see great changes in society, art and culture, technology, in essence, day-to-day life. While we can easily recognize sharp divisions within our own country now, I have less of a desire to be a commentator on the world at large than to follow the spiritual development of one decent human being.

            Additionally, then as now, aspects of antisemitism rear their ugly head whether in the form of adverse comments or questions that the uneducated use to disguise their bigotry. It is an element that does not go away in the fictional world largely because it still exists in the real one. Despite the ugliness of this aspect, it was the primary reason, along with my own ascribing to Judaism, that resulted in a private detective of the faith.

            Hammett’s work shows his background as a Pinkerton operative. It is methodical and detailed, showing the steps and stages of an investigation. There is a great deal of risk combined with a certain amount of bravado and daring. Chandler adds the element of literary writing, a sense of the detective as a modern-day Don Quixote, complete with flowery allusions wrapped in rain-soaked streets. Each had their methodologies and reasons. Neither gave much credence to faith or religion.

            Therefore, we begin at the point of their creations. The hard-boiled world of the detective with many of the nuances but without the standard tropes leaves us with an individual who is crying out for a defined motivation, a raison d’etre. Harold Bergman: a former policeman, a World War II veteran, a private detective, seeks out missing persons and hidden meanings, in both the world around him and his own life.The lack pf physicality as defined by his war injury turns our attention to the moral and logical methodologies. His Jewish faith is the overcoat he wears.

“The Day of Calamity”, The Wichita Chronicles Volume 1, will be released November 29, 2023