D.B. Borton

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female detectives

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Billie Bradley: Prototype for Nancy Drew

Ten years before Nancy Drew drove her new blue convertible onto the mystery scene and into literary history, the Stratemeyer syndicate introduced a girl detective named Billie Bradley in Billie Bradley and Her Inheritance (Cupples & Leon, 1920). The author was named as “Janet D. Wheeler,” a pen name for Elizabeth A. Duffield (Ward). While Billie seems never to have attracted the following that Nancy did (there are only nine Billie Bradley books), she was still around when Nancy launched her own sleuthing career in The Secret of the Old Clock (1930); her career overlapped Nancy’s by two years, during which time they shared an illustrator, Russell H. Tandy. What these two series have in common and how they diverge is what interests me most as a historian of girl detectives.

Billie Bradley is 14 years old in the first book to Nancy’s 16, but what a difference those two years make! Billie is about to enter boarding school (high school), which confines her adventures to the school environs or nearby vacation spots in keeping with other girls’ adventure books — Twin Lakes, Sun Dial Lodge, Treasure Cove. Billie has two chums, named as such in the title, Billie Bradley at Sun Dial Lodge; or, The Chums Solving a Mystery (1929), but her retinue includes her brother and the brother of one of her friends. These boys conveniently attend a neighboring boarding school and arrange to accompany Billie whenever she travels.

Nancy has already graduated from school in her first outing as a detective, and this circumstance liberates her in more ways than one. Not only can she range farther afield, but her travels need not be confined to school holidays. To underscore her greater independence, Nancy is immediately and often characterized as a driver, a point further emphasized by illustrations showing her behind the wheel, as in the first interior illustration of her first mystery, The Secret of the Old Clock. It’s also worth noting that she’s alone in this illustration. Billie is too young to travel unchaperoned, so she and her friends must recruit an older woman to travel with them in Inheritance. But Nancy’s ability to move freely about the world is also a result of her financial status. The car she drives is a gift from her father. The Bradleys are not so well off, and if Billie had not solved the mystery of her inheritance in her first “case,” she and her brother would not have joined the others at boarding school.

Both Billie and Nancy are described as pretty, popular, and athletic. Billie has brown eyes and curly brown hair and, in addition to being “gorgeous” (Classmates) is “the most popular, best-loved girl in all North Bend” (Inheritance). Moreover, this popularity extends to boys as well as girls. The point is made often that Billie is not overly feminine; she’s a real pal — and a tennis champion. Boys often compare her to a brother. One finds her “the nearest like a boy of all the girls he knew” (Classmates) and another declares that “a fellow can have more fun with her any day than he can with another boy” (Classmates).

It’s interesting that while Billie’s two friends seem to serve as prototypes for Nancy’s chums Bess Marvin and George Fayne — one dark, one fair; one more timid, one less so; one fonder of eating than the other — Bess and George do not appear in the earliest Nancy Drew mysteries, making their debut in the fifth book, The Secret of Shadow Ranch (1931). Instead, Nancy has a school chum named Helen who appears in two of her first three cases, but this character is not a best friend. Perhaps Edward Stratemeyer wanted to emphasize Nancy’s maturity and independence when he created his new detective. That would also explain the absence of a boyfriend until the seventh Nancy Drew mystery, The Clue in the Diary (1932). Billie is given — one is tempted to say “saddled with” — a boyfriend, who takes every opportunity to separate her from the others so that he can express his admiration for her in ways that this reader finds painfully extravagant. One example: when Billie remarks, “I do believe all a person would have to do to collect a crowd would be to stand on a soap box and say, ‘Isn’t this beautiful weather?” he responds, “You bet. Especially if that person were you” (Three Towers). (Aside: While we don’t know for certain who wrote each of the Billie Bradley books, at least one expert believes that they were all written by Duffield, but I disagree. Teddy is 15, but looks “quite a deal older than he was” (Classmates). In some books, the compliments he pays Billie seem relatively awkward and appropriately youthful, whereas in one or two of them, including Three Towers, he comes across as a junior Lothario.)

One thing Billie shares with her successor is her vocation for detective work. In Billie Bradley on Lighthouse Island (1920), another friend of Billie’s mentions their plans to form a Detective Club. Her friend Vi says of Billie, “As a sleuth, she has no equal” (Treasure Cove, 1928). Like Nancy’s cases, Billie’s typically benefit the downtrodden, such as a school outcast (School Mystery, 1930) or the impoverished widow of a dispossessed inventor (Classmates). And the Gothic lingers in these mysteries as well, with Billie called upon to venture into spooky spaces (Three Towers) and lay ghosts (Sun Dial Lodge, 1929).

In fact, many of the characteristics of Billie Bradley’s world will be familiar to aficionados of Nancy Drewland, from the innocent squabbling among chums to the less innocent stereotyping common at the time, especially of Black characters, old maids, and redheads (always associated with evil). These features of the girl detective narrative would have a longer wait for revision.

Billie Bradley and Her Inheritance; or, The Queer Homestead at Cherry Corners

Billie Bradley at Three Towers Hall; or, Leading a Needed Rebellion

Billie Bradley on Lighthouse Island; or, The Mystery of the Wreck

Billie Bradley and Her Classmates; or, The Secret of the Locked Tower

Billie Bradley at Twin Lakes; or, Jolly Schoolgirls Afloat and Ashore

Billie Bradley at Treasure Cover; or, the Old Sailor’s Secret

Billie Bradley at Sun Dial Lodge; or, The Chums Solving a Mystery

Billie Bradley and the School Mystery; or, The Girl from Oklahoma

Billie Bradley Winning the Trophy; or, Scoring Against Big Odds  

Six of the Billie Bradley books are available free at Project Gutenberg.

Billie and her friends dig for treasure at

Treasure Cove.

Ghost-hunting at Sun Dial Lodge.

Nancy Drew’s debut: alone at the wheel.

https://dbborton.com/2501-2/

Female Self-Reliance

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The Female Barber Detective

Cover Illustration: The Female Barber Detective

The cover illustration shows an attractive young woman with lace at her collar and cuffs watching two men face off with pistols. She appears to be playing the stereotypical female role of passive observer. But she’s holding an open razor in one hand, and wait — is that a dark stain on the blade? Could it be — no, surely not — blood? This is just the kind of sensational, even titillating, image the dime novels were so fond of. In fact, the female barber detective in question never bloodies her razor in the story, but she threatens to do so and the cover illustration appears to back up that threat. The subtitle of the story, published in Beadle’s New York Dime Library in 1895, is “Joe Phenix in Silver City,” promoting it as a spinoff of Albert Aiken’s popular Joe Phenix detective series, even though Phenix himself never shows up in the narrative, which is not set in Silver City.

Before the titular detective, Mignon Lawrence, even arrives at her destination, a mining town called Bearopolis (I couldn’t make this stuff up), she undermines in spectacular fashion her cover story as an “unprotected female” (2) on her way to meet her uncle after the death of her father. A “road-agent” (a common term for a highway robber) attempts to rob the stage, and she coolly relieves him of his pistol, knocks him over the head, and announces her intention to take him with her and hand him over to the proper authorities. Since the authorities are bribable, they allow the robber to escape, giving Lawrence one of several enemies to contend with throughout the story. SPOILER ALERT: she always comes out on top.

Shortly afterward, we are privy to a conversation between two miscreants who are apparently expecting a detective to be following the trail of one of them from New York, but the other, who has attempted to ingratiate himself with Lawrence, observes: “It does not seem to be at all likely that the New York sharps would select a woman to do such a job as this” (2). He’s wrong, of course.

With no male relative in sight to protect and support her, Lawrence sets herself up as a barber and in no time is doing a land-office business. To explain her fortuitous possession of a collection of razors and shaving accessories, she tells the woman hotel-keeper that she possesses a “horrid mustache” (5) she must shave regularly. This is only the first overt reference to gender-bending, but there are more to come. In explaining her success as a barber, the narrator tells us that “she possessed the light touch and dexterity common to womankind, coupled with the strength of a man” (6) — a seemingly gratuitous observation since shaving and cutting hair are not usually thought to require strength. Later, when a customer gets fresh with her and tries to steal a kiss, she delivers two hard slaps to his face and throws him out: “He was as powerless in the grasp of the muscular and agile young woman as though he had been a half-grown boy” and an onlooker comments, “A professional pugilist . . . could not have delivered two better slaps” (17). Earlier, she has executed a “right-hand swing” (15) that enables her to escape from a female captor. All things considered, it might seem contradictory that she insults this same female captor by calling her “more a man than a woman” (15), but this story is filled with contradictions.

Eventually, the female barber disappears, supposedly on a mission to restock her supplies, and a young Mexican cowboy appears on the scene, “a well-built stripling of twenty or thereabouts, wearing the gaudy costume usually favored by ‘cow punchers’ of Old Mexico” (20). This is Lawrence in disguise. While she is awaiting an arrest warrant for her quarry, she has taken an interest in the affairs of Margaret Vanderbilt, “a real lady” (11) who is the target of a plot by the two miscreants mentioned earlier. They are corrupting her father with drink and gambling, drawing him further and further into dissipation and debt, so as to force a marriage with his daughter and get their hands on the mine he owns. The owner of the local gambling establishment is in love with Vanderbilt and, suspecting the plot against her, asks Lawrence for her help. When Vanderbilt’s father dies suddenly, Lawrence’s Mexican disguise is intended to entrap these two, insure that the mine ownership remains in Vanderbilt’s hands, and leave the two plotters with nothing for their efforts. This ploy succeeds.

Lawrence often lays claim to that most Emersonian of virtues, self-reliance. When the road-agent holds her at gunpoint, she tells him, “Though I am a woman, I am not one of the fainting kind, and am, as a rule, usually able to take care of myself” (14), and the narrator tells us that “she felt a strong inclination to give the rascal a right-hander which would knock him heels over head” (14). To her gambler ally, she confesses that she’s tired of the sneak attacks she’s been subjected to and plans “to put a stop to it”: “I have always been able to paddle my own canoe pretty well” (17). Every time she’s attacked, she attests to her fearlessness, as when she protests to the road-agent: “Oh, I am not at all frightened” (3). We later discover one reason for her sangfroid when she draws “the revolvers which she always carried in her breast” (15). (No, gentle reader, I cannot explain the physics of this feat, not even if the revolvers were derringers.)

We know little about Lawrence’s background, except that she is fatherless (13); we might suspect that she is motherless as well, given the high mortality rate of women in the 19th century. What we do know is that she is a professional — so skilled at her job that her male boss would send her alone to a Western mining town. In order to be good at her job, she must be an accomplished liar and as adept at disguise as she is at gunplay and fisticuffs. Since Albert Aiken himself was a popular actor as well as an author, he was presumably well acquainted with women skilled at masquerade. According to the Albert Aiken entry in the Edward T. LeBlanc Dime Novel Bibliography,  he wrote under several female pen names, including A Celebrated Actress, Adelaide Davenport, and Sara Delle.

You can read The Female Barber Detective here.

If You Want Something Done Right . . .

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Nita, the Female Ferret

Cover Image: NITA, THE FEMALE FERRET

What do you do if you report a robbery to the police and they don’t believe you? You resign yourself to becoming a detective and solving the crime yourself. That’s how 18-year-old Juanita Henriques becomes the “female ferret” in Police Captain Howard’s 1885 dime novel, Nita, the Female Ferret.

When a plainly dressed young woman presents herself at the police station to report that she has been robbed of several pieces of diamond-studded jewelry, the superintendent and one of his detectives don’t believe her, even though she makes a strong impression on them. She tells the superintendent that if she knew who the thief was, she would not have come to him; instead, she says simply, “I would have received back my property, or else killed the robber” (2). The superintendent concludes that “she is a singular young woman . . . and has the sharpest eye I ever saw in a woman’s head” (3), and sends a Detective Mason to investigate. At the house where Miss Henriques boards, the landlady tells Mason, “She impressed me as a young lady of extraordinary strength of mind and will power. She is well educated, and as deep as the ocean” (3). In fact, Nita’s past is shrouded in mystery; the residents of the house find her quiet, well bred, and rather withdrawn. Mason is the first to admit to her, “Miss, had you been born one of my sex you would have made a first-class detective” (4). The landlady chides Miss H for not confiding her suspicions to him, but she says, “It’s a detective’s business to find a clew [sic]. If I had a clew I could follow it up myself, and would do so to save the expense of employing a detective” (4); after he’s left, she declares, “My suspicions are not a clew” (4). The next day she returns to the superintendent with a set of diamond earrings and brooch that were not taken in the robbery, and when she is told that the police detective “could see nothing to show that any robbery was committed there,” she responds, “Which shows that he was not much of a detective” (5). Enter Nita, the female ferret (“ferret” was one of many slang terms for a detective).

Her first act is to don a disguise: she tells the landlady that she will be away for a while and will send a friend, Nita Endicott, to occupy her room in her absence. Nita is very like Juanita in stature, but blond rather than dark-haired, and most importantly, lively and outgoing. In no time, Nita is captivating the household with her piano playing, singing, beautiful new dresses, dazzling diamonds, and especial kindness to the maid, Margaret. This is the first of two disguises Nita uses to gather evidence. Quite early, her suspicions fall on Margaret’s lover, Tom Nelson, and she adds a second disguise as a boy so that she can tail Nelson unrecognized and follow him into saloons. As the lovely and enchanting Nita, she dazzles Nelson, goes on carriage rides with him, and permits him to make love to her. As Randy Holland, she follows Nelson and even gets the better of him in a bar confrontation.

Mastery of disguise and role-playing was an essential trait to a dime-novel detective at a time when deceit was regarded as a serious moral failing in a well-bred young lady. Yet unlike some other female detectives who regret the necessity for masquerade, Nita quite enjoys her new persona. She tells herself, “This is the best thing I ever did” (10) and even muses,

“Oh, I wish I was not afraid of betraying my sex in a fine suit of clothes. I’d go to the theaters and operas and mash the girls just for the fun. But this detective business is fun enough just now, and it grows more interesting every hour, and I like it more and more every day.” (17)

But as if concerned that this kind of declaration might risk the reader’s disapproval of Nita, Howard follows immediately with an encounter that underscores Nita’s true sex: she comes to the aid of a weeping young woman because, we’re told, “Nita had a true woman’s heart, and this unmistakable sign of distress touched her deeply” (17). The young woman, Sadie, turns out to be one of many that Tom Nelson has “married” and abandoned; “Randy” reveals her true sex to Sadie and rents some rooms for her in his new role as Sadie’s husband. In fact, however, she plays Tom Nelson’s role of “masher” the next day when a young woman flirts with him, playfully doubting his strength, and he tells her, “I can take a much heavier girl than you are and hold her on my knee, and talk to her all the evening” (20). After a night (alone) in a hotel room, she reminds herself, “Oh, I came near forgetting that I have a wife down in Twenty-second street” (20). She wasn’t the first girl detective to discover the liberating power of cross-dressing. It permits her entry into some spaces that are generally off-limits to respectable middle-class women.

Once Nita has caught the culprit and explained all to her landlady and landlord, the landlord tells her of two “mistakes”: “First, that you were not born a man, that you might have been the greatest detective in the world” and “Second, that being born a woman, you did not go on the stage and become known as the greatest actress that ever lived” (27). The second compliment is sincere, but perhaps unintentionally backhanded, since actresses were considered of dubious moral standing at the time. Indeed, the liberties she permits Tom Nelson — embraces, kisses — are justified, but perhaps not justifiable, by the role she’s playing, and after reminding readers what’s at stake, the narrator observes: “The reader can readily understand then, the extraordinary will-power of our heroine, which enabled her to smile when Nelson kissed her in the carriage” (10). Indeed, Nita’s “will power,” mentioned here and in the previous quotation, set her apart from the feminine ideal, as does her willingness to spend time in cheap dives among disreputable company, where:

   The men and women talked with a freedom of expression that made our heroine wish herself a   thousand miles away.

   But she stood it for the sake of her mission. (15)

As you might guess by now if you have been following this blog, Nita doesn’t rely solely on her acting skills and men’s clothing to keep her safe in dangerous places and situations. Her small pearl-handled revolver makes its first appearance in a wonderfully comic scene in a restaurant, where Tom Nelson picks a fight with Randy Holland for — wait for it — wearing his hat at the table. Insisting on his status as a gentleman, Tom menaces the offending Holland until s/he calmly draws “a tiny revolver” and aims it at him. Confident of his own shrewdness, Tom offers her ten dollars to relinquish the gun to a waiter, and when she takes him up on it and collects her cash, he springs at her again, only to be repulsed this time by “a long bright bladed dagger” (11). Slow on the uptake, Tom offers another ten dollars if she’ll relinquish the dagger, and when she does, the inevitable ensues: Tom lunges for her, only to be brought up short by “a tiny pearl-handled revolver” (12). Clearly, Nita is armed to the teeth. Later, Randy tells a gang of would-be assailants, “The man who comes up to pick a fight with me will get both steel and lead” (16), and she proves it by shooting their leader. Like other girl detectives, however, Nita also demonstrates that she has the physical prowess for the job when she pursues the escaping Tom across roof-tops, at one point leaping ten feet down from one rooftop to the next.

Nita’s “masculine” traits and abilities contrast sharply with the those of the other women characters in the story. Tom’s two female victims, Margaret and Sadie, are characterized by their tears, whereas we never see Nita cry. Both women are blinded by their love for Tom. Margaret refuses to heed Nita’s warnings about him up to the point when Nita reveals the other wife she has met. Then Margaret becomes a picture of female vengeance: “True, she thought of Tom, but only how she might avenge herself” (21). In the cheap dive mentioned above, two gin-soaked women engage in a catfight motivated by jealousy over Randy Holland. When Nita pursues Tom across rooftops later, he enters a house through a window and terrifies the women inside, who, after “raising a terrible racket,” demonstrate their panicked incompetence by running “screaming from room to room in the house, locking the doors to protect themselves, but in reality preventing him from getting out” (25). It’s difficult to see how Nita developed her strong will, her sangfroid, her intelligence, and her adventurous spirit if these were the kinds of female role models available to her. We know little about her background, except that she, like so many other girl detectives, is an orphan.

The ending of the novel is something of a disappointment, if perhaps an inevitability. Nita’s celebrity in the press makes her the talk of the town, especially after she testifies in court to the incompetence of the police, and she’s confronted by an importunate millionaire banker who wants her to investigate bank thefts and won’t take no for an answer. She cracks the case in very short order because she visualizes the theft in a dream! Delighted, the banker gives her a blank check in payment for her services, and when she threatens to take the whole bank, he insists that the banker himself would have to be included. Later, when she next shows him the check, she has filled in the amount to read “the banker himself” (29), thus strengthening our impression of Nita as a young woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. They are married immediately and live happily ever after, especially when the papers she has recovered along with her stolen jewels prove her claim to an English fortune that doubles her husband’s. So her unconventional story ends in a conventional way, and we are left to consider that it is, perhaps, just as well, since a professional detective could hardly rely on visionary dreams to solve the average case.

 

I’ve been unable to locate an online version of this text. According to The Dime Novel Bibliography published by the Edward T. LeBlanc Memorial Library, “Police Captain Howard” was a “pseudonym used by multiple people.”

Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher; or, A Son’s Vengeance

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Cover illustration for SANTA FE SAL
Sal confronts a roomful of barroom rowdies.

Detective stories and Westerns were two of the most popular genres appearing in 19th-century dime novels and story papers, so it’s not surprising that they were frequently combined to enhance appeal. E.L. or Edward Wheeler was a prolific writer of dime novels who contributed several entries into the history of the girl detective, as you may remember from New York Nell, the first character whose exploits were reported in this blog. But whereas New York Nell is a good example of the urban detective, Santa Fe Sal is a Western figure.

The story is set in the Buckshot mining camp in Arizona. It opens in a barroom where a local tough proposes to bully a blind, elderly organ grinder into rolling dice for his organ, which is his sole means of livelihood. In the fashion of all Western heroes, Santa Fe Sal bursts onto the scene to see justice done:

   “I’ll see that you ain’t cheated, old man!” cried a ringing voice — a voice that was so strange to the crowd that they wheeled about, simultaneously.

   They beheld, standing near at hand, a girl of beauteous face and figure — a girl with midnight eyes and flowing dark-brown hair — a girl attired in [a] stylish, elegant-fitting gray suit of male attire, including patent-leather shoes, and a jaunty white slouch sombrero. She stood there smiling, while she twirled a light cane in her white hand. (2)

The strangeness of this apparition no doubt constituted a large part of its appeal to the reader.

Like New York Nell, Santa Fe Sal appears cross-dressed, the cane a superfluous ornament quickly abandoned by the narrator as an unworthy weapon. Later the villain will try to stir the crowd against her by referencing her male attire:

“She is evidently a desperate character; the very fact that she sports around in men’s clothing is against her, and casts a reproach on the fair reputation of your wives and daughters. I say the woman ought to be strung up without mercy!”

When another woman tries to shame Sal for her clothing, the detective nonchalantly cites economic practicality as her motive: “I’m bobbin’ around all over, and the petticoats I’d have to buy, through gittin’ ‘em tore, would bankrupt me.” Like other girl detectives, and detectives in general, Sal is also a master of disguise and enters one scene as Howlin’ Hank from Hardpan, whose true identity is exposed when an irate gambler makes to cut off Hank’s whiskers, only to have them come off in his hand. Disguise serves deception, another trait that was considered decidedly unladylike.

Like many early girl detectives, Sal invades forbidden space, the all-male space of the saloon; in contrast, the more conventional heroine of the story, the saloonkeeper’s daughter, says that she has tried to talk her father out of “that low business” and declares, “I never enter the saloon” (5). Although we hear of wives and daughters in the camp, its public spaces are dominated by men.

Sal violates feminine norms in other ways, as well. She is a practitioner of that Western art that so captivated Mark Twain: the art of the boast. Here’s her introduction:

“Who am I?” was the pert reply. “Well, if you want to know, I’m an angel without wings — a regular la-lah, you bet! I hail from Texas-way, an’ down there I’m known as Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. Are you happy to meet me?”

After praising her own marksmanship with a gun, she introduces herself again:

“Down whar I cum from they call me Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher, ‘cause when I git inter a soiree, an’ hev a six-inch bowie, I kin carve the hull crowd, in no time!”

These are remarkable statements for a woman on many counts. They violate feminine ideals of modesty, certainly. They demonstrate an enjoyment of fame and a comfort with publicity that was supposed to be anathema to the Angel in the House, the 19th-century feminine ideal that Sal may be referencing here. And if they paint her as a woman of action, they also evince Sal’s fluency in slang, language that carried a heavy weight of social disapproval when used by men, much less by women. Indeed, she has the nerve to chastise the villain for his own language, which includes the words “thunderation” and “the deuce”: “You’r’ a reg’lar old hoss on expletives, ain’t ye? (5).”

In spite of her sobriquet, Sal’s first weapons are a pair of revolvers, as depicted in the cover illustration. On the second full page of the story, she kills a man, one of a threatening mob, who disregards her warning to stay back. Nor does she show any remorse, saying, “That man earned his fate! . . . And if any of the rest of you want a funeral just notify me” (3). When she is later called a “murderess,” she objects: “I put a pill in that feller’s cabeza, ‘ca’se I’d told him if he come for me he was a dead man. He came, and you bet he went, quicker’n he came” (5). But eventually Sal feels forced to draw her knife and justify her moniker, addressing an angry mob:

“Ef you’re bound to crowd on me, all I ask is that you leave yer shootin’-irons alone, and draw yer carvin’ tools, an’ meet me more on terms of equality. I’d ruther not have any scrimmage with you at all, fer some one’s bound to get dissected, but ef yer bound ter all pit yerselves ag’in’ one lone girl, you’ll be pretty apt to find Santa Fe Sal right to home, and the latch-string out!”

This speech so shames her would-be attackers that they back off and we never get to see a demonstration of Sal’s carving skills.

SPOILER ALERT. It may not surprise you to learn that Wheeler’s imagination only extends so far in the matter of gender-bending. Sal’s male client tells her at one point:

“This is no life for one to lead who is so beautiful and accomplished as yourself. If I live, we will take little Bertie and go to my home in the East, where your sole business will be to act as his governess.”

The modern reader may well wonder if little Bertie is quite prepared to learn shooting and knife fighting at the hands of his new governess, not to mention why the speaker believes that this vision of domestic life would appeal to Sal the Slasher. Our skepticism is further aroused when the narrator observes:

He spoke earnestly and kindly, but not passionately, yearningly, as a lover might have spoken.

So imagine our surprise when Sal blushes and considers the proposal in language devoid of slang:

“I wonder if I ought to take advantage of it, and give up this wild, roving existence? He is a true gentleman, and offers me a home, and — and maybe —”

    The color came faster into her cheeks, and her eyes glowed bright as the stars that twinkled in the blue dome above. (12)

Yes, reader, she marries him, in a single sentence that strips her of her colorful sobriquet: “And Santa Fe Sal (otherwise Sara Wilmot) came with him, and became his wife” (15). This event marks the end of “the detective firm of Santa Fe Sal & Green” (15). A disappointment, surely, but perhaps we ought to acknowledge that a writer as prolific as Wheeler knew his audience and presumed that they wanted the ending that readers are said to have wanted from many generations of storytellers: a wedding.

Santa Fe Sal is not available in full text online.

 

 

Josie O’Gorman, Secret Agent

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Dorothy of Oz fame wasn’t the only adventurous girl hero created by L. Frank Baum. Often writing under pseudonyms, Baum loved to put girls and young women at the heart of a mystery. Writing as Edith Van Dyne, Baum published four novels in the Mary Louise series beginning in 1916; a fifth book was completed after Baum’s death by Emma Speed Sampson, who continued the series with three additional books. The series was intended to focus on the titular character, Mary Louise, but for many the true center of interest was the detective Josie O’Gorman, which Sampson and the publishers recognized by giving Josie her own book, Josie O’Gorman, in 1919. Josie is one of the candidates for the title of first modern girl detective, in part because her books were written for girls, not adults (though sadly, not illustrated).

In the first book, Mary Louise, 15-year-old Mary Louise Burrows discovers that her mother and her adored Gran’pa Jim, with whom she and her mother live since her father’s death, have disappeared in the middle of the night, and that he is wanted by the government for giving state secrets to the enemy. Before this happens, her grandfather has told her to write to him care of his attorney. After a brief interrogation by a blustering Secret Service agent, she leaves school and travels on her own to see the attorney, an old family friend named Conant, but she is followed. The detective who follows her turns out to be the famed John O’Gorman of the Secret Service, who speaks kindly to her, pays for a hotel room, and treats her to breakfast, telling her that she reminds him of his own daughter.

The Conants invite Mary Louise to spend the summer with them at Hillcrest Lodge, their rented summer place, which they hope will be remote enough to discourage the government’s unwanted attentions. Their new neighbor is a fashionable single woman, accompanied by a secretary, whom Mary Louise and her new friend Irene Conant come to know and like. When a dull-witted Irish girl shows up at the door claiming to have been offered employment by the house’s owners, the Conants hire her for the summer. In fact, the plan to avoid government agents fails because the woman neighbor and her secretary are crack Secret Service agents, and the dull-witted Irish girl is none other than Josie O’Gorman, John O’Gorman’s daughter, who has been trained in detective work from her infancy. It is Josie who brings back Gran’pa Jim and establishes his innocence to the astonishment of the two women agents. They have heard of Josie, but never met her: “Everyone who knew O’Gorman had often heard of his daughter Josie, of whom he was accustomed to speak with infinite pride. He always said he was training her to follow his own profession and that when the education was complete Josie O’Gorman would make a name for herself in the detective service” (1st World Library edition, p. 181).

In subsequent books in the series, Mary Louise continues to encounter various mysteries that need solving, and to engage Josie, now a good friend, to solve them. In fact, after the death of her father, Josie moves to the same town to be close to Mary Louise, even though her increasingly busy detective career often takes her away. We learn more about her training, carefully supervised by her father, and her passion for her work: “Josie O’Gorman loved mysteries for their own sake. She loved them because they required solutions, and to solve a mystery is not only interesting but requires a definite amount of talent” (Mary Louise Solves a Mystery, 1917, Echo Library Edition, p. 74). Published during the war years and soon after, these books are often patriotic, even jingoistic.

Nancy Drew and my own girl detective, Dizzy Lark, are direct descendants of Josie O’Gorman, and students of girl detectives will be interested in both similarities and differences. Most notably, Baum does not make Josie beautiful, like Titian-haired Nancy Drew: “Josie O’Gorman was small and ‘pudgy’—her own expression—red-haired and freckle-faced and snub-nosed. Her eyes redeemed much of this personal handicap, for they were big and blue as turquoises and as merry and innocent in expression as the eyes of a child” (Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls, 1918, Biblio Bazaar edition, p. 52). Like girl detectives who came before her, Josie is a master of disguise, with a talent for deception not generally encouraged in girls and young women. And Mary Louise and her friends are referred to as “chums” (Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls, 1918, Biblio Bazaar edition, p. 40, for example)—a word that I will always associate with Nancy, George, and Bess.

 

Some of the Mary Louise books are available from Project Gutenberg:

Mary Louise, 1916

Mary Louise in the Country, 1916

Mary Louise Solves a Mystery, 1917

Mary Louise Adopts a Soldier, 1919 (with Emma Speed Sampson)

Josie O’Gorman, 1919 (Emma Speed Sampson)

Mary Louise at Dorfield, 1920 (Emma Speed Sampson)

Mary Louise Stands the Test, 1921 (Emma Speed Sampson)