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The Stories of Sherlock Maynard

"Turn down the volume of your set because it's time for the trials and tribulations of Sherlock Maynard."

Sherlock Maynard in College

   You might think this chapter of my life would be off-limits. After all, everyone does unexpected, if not crazy things, in their postsecondary- school lives, but in this instance I wanted to share some of my job-related know-how, working my way through college as a Private Eye.

My First Assignment

   Just what is so great about Dick Tracy? I'll have you know that sheer bravado was exhibited quite a number of times in the early 1950s by yours truly. Let's take, for example, the first assignment given to me by the William J. Burns International Detective Agency. The perp was a middle-aged man who spent at least three nights a week at an Irish barroom in Dorchester, MA. In this case the perp was the bartender. If you are from that area of the country, I'm talking about "Daachestah." In my briefing, I had it pounded into my head, "Don't Tip," which meant don't blow your cover. I've always preferred Ivy League clothing, but this was not that type of barroom.

   It was February, and I had on a turtleneck sweater, corduroy slacks, a tweed overcoat, and my buckskin shoes. I looked terrible for an undercover agent, but nobody stared at me, so I slid into a stool at the bar and ordered a beer. I must say that I was puffed up with my own brilliance when the guy on the stool next to me, turned to me and, with brotherly love, said, "Hello," . . . just that,"Hello." . . . This was an important step, as I quickly started up a conversation with him to pass the time while drinking my beer.

    Now I want to bring you up-to-date on my sleuthing. I forgot to mention the people who owned the bar were suspicious of the perp's activities. I made a kind of study of his activities, and I made a study of him as well. I became a bit worried, because in those days I didn't drink very much alcohol, and I began to feel the effects on me after the first two beers. Luck was on my side though, because before I became a little dippy, I observed exactly what had cast suspicion on the bartender.

    I felt that I had to be very careful when talking to the guy next to me. I could just imagine what hell could break loose if it got around the bar that a college kid was there trying to get the goods on the bartender.

    Lucky for me, he clipped the bar register several times. Let me tell you how he did it. He only took money when he was making change for somebody who was paying a bar bill in cash. He had a swift little move as he rang up the total and turned to the customer. He had a way of shaving the bill and pocketing the change. I drank three beers and realized the time for me to go was . . . now. So all that was left to do was to go back to my apartment and write up a report. So much for trying to clip the register. I'm proud to say that I learned to drink beer in that one night, and also that I didn't get my block knocked off!

   Flushed with success, I received a call from the Burns Detective Agency asking me if I would like to do another surveillance job, and I, of course replied, "Yes." They told me that this would be a two-man job, and that intrigued me. I was introduced to my sleuthing cohort and I could never forget his name . . . Joe Fallon. What a great name for a Detective. He was also a student from Emerson College. We were given a briefing and, two days later, we went on the job. Joe started by watching the back entrance of Jordan Marsh in Boston, I was across the street looking in the windows of Filene's. We found out in the briefing that this was to be a long and short tail. That means, when you're covering somebody, the long tail is a good distance away, and the short tail is close up. The reason for this was that I had never seen the suspected perpetrator, but Joe had, and he was to finger the suspect I needed to follow. Now for the interesting part: the man we were to tail all afternoon had a curious habit. His job was selling men's suits at Jordan's. He was alleged to have a pesky habit; he would take a suit off the rack, don the items of clothing in the dressing room at the end of his shift and then wear his own clothing over the new suit, walk out the door, and head home.

   Joe Fallon crossed the street, approached me and we spoke a bit; in fact we spoke too much I think, as you will soon find out. It was near the end of shift time for the store and Boston's downtown would be stuffed with people, making it tougher to trail the perp. The two of us were looking at some window display, waiting for the successful swiper. Then Joe said, "There he is. . . . Turn Around!" which I did. Believe it or not, there must have been seven or eight guys looking in that display window alongside me. Yet I felt apprehensive because we were the only people who knew a theft was in progress. My senses were keen and I was acutely aware of all those around me.

    I said to Joe, "Which guy? There are a lot of guys there."

    He responded, "He's the guy in the grey suit." At just that moment, a guy left the group in front of the display window and seemed to be heading toward the subway.

    I made a mental note. I can remember – vividly – feeling like a detective – All adrenalin and ready to tail that grey suit to the ends of the earth. We had already decided that I would lead the pursuit, so I quipped, "See ya."

   The game was afoot. We walked half a block apart and followed the perp to the subway station. This became a little tricky. There was always a possibility that the half-block distance between the short and the long tail might be ruined because a subway car could come along, ruin our timing and prevent the long tail from tailing the perp and well, I thought to myself, Should I increase my pace? Should I trot? No. Trotting is not good, especially since I could swear Mr. Two-Suit had recognized me, or suspected something was wrong.

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