Martha Brinson’s screams tore through the Pullman car, jolting passengers awake in the middle of the night. Moments later, she was dead — murdered in berth 13.
The killer was on the train from Oregon to Los Angeles. But I don’t believe it was Robert E. Lee Folkes.
Wartime paranoia and racism made Folkes the perfect suspect. Black. Working class. Union agitator. Southern Pacific’s second cook. From the moment Martha’s body was discovered, Folkes was railroaded — literally and figuratively.
He worked long shifts in the dining car, sweating over a hot stove, under constant supervision. The train’s conductor later testified there was no opportunity for him to sneak away, let alone murder a woman in her sleep. A physical exam found only flour and grease beneath his fingernails — not blood.
But Folkes was Black. In 1943, that wasn’t a description. It was an indictment.
And he wasn’t just Black. He was political. His father died in the 1920s during the violent white backlash against Black sharecroppers organizing in the Arkansas Delta. His mother, Clara, fled with her children to South Central Los Angeles, chasing safety that never fully arrived.
Folkes grew up in the shadow of that violence. He got his education, then joined Southern Pacific — one of the few decent-paying jobs open to Black men. He started as a fourth cook. He worked hard, and rose to second cook.
By 1942, he was a problem. The company assigned thugs to follow him. They didn’t forget. But Folkes kept pushing, and by January 1943, he’d earned the position of second cook — a step up, despite the pressure from above and below.
So, when Martha Brinson was found dead, the company didn’t have to look far. Despite the pressure, the surveillance, the threats — he remained unbroken. And that made him dangerous.
The detectives dragged him off the train. Stripped him. Locked him in a lavatory. Grilled him through the night. No lawyer. No charges. No real evidence.
Meanwhile, one passenger should have raised every red flag. Harold Wilson, a Marine, had the berth directly above Martha. He was the first to discover the body. He was found with her blood on his clothes. But Wilson wore khaki — and in 1943 America, that was a get-out-of-jail-free card woven into the uniform.
He wasn’t questioned, nor was he detained even though witnesses saw him crawl in and out of his berth. He acted suspiciously. Yet the investigation stayed focused on Folkes.
The trial was a farce. It was never intended to get justice for Martha, the twenty-one-year-old newlywed so callously murdered. The prosecution showed no regard for her as a person. Her death became leverage.
Wilson testified for the prosecution; but he faltered when asked if he could positively identify Folkes. The newspapers labeled Folkes a “zoot-suit wearing negro” — dog-whistle journalism dressed up as coverage. He was never just a suspect. He was a symbol. And symbols don’t get acquitted.
Despite inconsistencies, the unsubstantiated confessions, and a case built more on fear than fact, the jury — nine women, three men — delivered a verdict. Guilty. In Oregon, that meant death.
In 1945, Folkes was hanged. Wilson walked into obscurity.
The case against Robert E. Folkes unfolded against a tense backdrop of wartime fear, racial prejudice, and rising public paranoia. The press inflamed the tensions, describing Folkes as a “zoot-suit wearing negro,” a phrase loaded with menace, meant to reduce him to a caricature and paint him as capable of slashing the throat of 21-year-old newlywed Martha James.
District Attorney L. Orth Sisemore questioned the Black trainmen on board when the train stopped in Klamath Falls, Oregon. Southern Pacific Railroad detectives zeroed in on Folkes. Somewhere between Klamath Falls and Dunsmuir, California, on the night of January 22-23, they pulled him into a men’s lavatory, stripped him, and interrogated him through the night. They released him only for his shifts in the dining car. They treated the sleep-deprived and humiliated man as the prime suspect, even though they did not arrest him.
Not everyone on the train believed in Folkes’ guilt. The conductor stated Folkes couldn’t have committed the murder. According to him, the configuration of the diner and Folkes’ workload made it impossible. He pointed instead to another passenger—Harold Wilson, a white Marine who had occupied the berth above Martha’s. Given his proximity to the victim, Wilson should have been a suspect. Instead, they treated him as a material witness and quietly removed him from suspicion.
When the train arrived in Los Angeles on January 23rd, LAPD detectives took Folkes into custody. He was sleep-deprived, unrepresented, and vulnerable. They bounced him between Central Jail and Police Headquarters, questioned him without legal counsel. LAPD officers phoned Linn County District Attorney Harlow Weinrick in Oregon to report that Folkes had cracked.
But in every official statement before the supposed confession, Folkes had denied guilt. He did not sign or review the alleged confession. The investigators did not record it; the lawyer did not witness it; it seemed coerced.
LAPD’s interrogation practices at the time weren’t just aggressive — they were dangerous. Coercion took many forms: physical abuse (beatings), psychological pressure (threats against family, exploiting a suspect’s fear of mob violence or racial prejudice), or improper inducements (offering alcohol, sexual access, or other rewards). Days earlier, the department faced scrutiny after Stanley Bebee, a 44-year-old accountant, died following a brutal beating in custody for public intoxication. The jury acquitted the officers. However, the case highlighted the LAPD’s violent methods.
Although the Folkes investigation showed no proven evidence of bribery or case-fixing, the environment surrounding his interrogation was badly compromised. Some interrogators used coercive tactics, custody chains were blurred, and courtroom conduct varied from irregular to unethical. It is easy to conclude that the LAPD mistreated Folkes while he was in custody.
There was no physical evidence linking Folkes to the crime. No eyewitness identified him. But the so-called confession was enough for an arrest. Initially, Folkes refused to waive extradition to Oregon. But during arraignment before Judge Byron Walters, he relented and agreed to return north for trial.
On the night of January 29, 1943, accompanied by Sheriff Clay Kirk of Linn County and two Southern Pacific special agents, Folkes boarded a train for Albany.
His trial began in April. The jury of eight women and four men was unusual. In Oregon, women could serve only if they filed a written declaration, making their presence more striking. Their makeup may have influenced how testimony was weighed.
The state’s only link between Folkes and the murder was the testimony of Harold Wilson—the Marine who had been in the berth above Martha. His description of the suspect was vague: “a swarthy man in a brown pinstriped suit.” He never identified Folkes. And witnesses saw Folkes in the kitchen, dressed in his work clothes, minutes after the murder occurred. The police never found a brown pin-striped suit.
Though the defense objected, the court admitted two alleged confessions into evidence. Many red flags riddled both confessions. On April 16, LAPD Lieutenant E. A. Tetrick testified Folkes gave an oral confession after officers brought him a pint of whiskey and let him visit his common-law wife, Jesse. Circuit Judge J.G. Lewelling called the practice “reprehensible,” though he insisted Folkes was sober and in “full possession of his faculties.”
Dr. Paul De River—LAPD’s controversial police psychiatrist—later infamous in the Black Dahlia case, testified that he spoke with Folkes after the confession. According to De River, Folkes “may have had a drink or two,” but was not intoxicated. No one asked how he had reached that conclusion. De River also reported no physical injuries on Folkes’ body and described him as “in good physical condition.”
Robert E. Lee Folkes consults with his defense attorney, Leroy Lomax, left, as his friend and adviser William Pollard, right, looks on. (Image: Oregon Journal)
On cross-examination, Folkes’ attorney, Leroy Lomax, asked if De River had referred to Folkes as an exhibitionist. De River replied, “I might have said that.”
The defense rested its case on April 20, 1943.
The jury began deliberations but returned to the judge saying they couldn’t reach a verdict. He ordered them to continue and provided army cots for them to sleep on inside the courthouse. After thirty hours of deadlock and courtroom drama, the jury filed in at 3:13 p.m. on April 22. Their verdict: guilty of first-degree murder. Death was mandatory.
“I know it was a fair and impartial trial,” Folkes said afterward. “I’m sorry the jury thought I did it, as I didn’t, and I’m sorry my mother and Jesse had to go through this.”
In a letter to his mother, Clara, he was more candid:
“I was not convicted on evidence. I was convicted through prejudice.”
Folkes added: “I truly believe that I could take any one of those jurymen that convicted me, or even the judge who heard the case, and on the same grounds, either one of those people could be placed in front of a Negro jury and convicted. Of course, this incident will never happen, but I assure you it is amazing what prejudice can do.”
On November 5, 1944, a group of Los Angeles clubwomen formed the Robert Folkes Defense Club and pledged to raise $2,000 to bring his case to the U.S. Supreme Court. The court declined to hear the appeal on November 23.
Lomax worked tirelessly, appealing to the Governor of Oregon to commute the sentence to life. The governor refused.
On January 5, 1945, at 9:13 a.m., Robert E. Folkes died in Oregon’s gas chamber for a crime he insisted he did not commit.
NEXT TIME: In the conclusion of “The Lower 13th Murder Case”, we’ll examine the case more closely—and ask whether wartime prejudice condemned an innocent man.
On the night of January 22, 1943, a young woman boarded the Klamath, from Oregon, a crowded wartime train bound for Los Angeles. Her name was Martha Virginia Brinson James. She was twenty-one, newly married, and hopeful—one of thousands of wives trying to reconnect with their men in uniform.
Before the sun rose, she would be dead—her throat slashed in a sleeper car while dozens of passengers slept nearby. The man accused of the crime confessed, then recanted. No one saw him do it. No physical evidence tied him to the murder. Yet he stood trial, and the country watched.
The Klamath c. 1940s
Martha and her husband, Richard, would have preferred to travel together, but heavy wartime ridership made it impossible. She socialized with other Navy wives, each of them looking forward to a reunion, then she retired to a lower berth, number 13.
Typical Pullman car. c. 1940s
About 3:00 a.m., people in the sleeping car heard a woman scream, “My God, he’s killing me!” It was Martha. Bleeding, her throat cut, she tumbled from her berth and stumbled to a nearby lavatory where she died.
Private Harold Wilson, a Marine, occupied the berth above Martha’s. When he heard the scream, he opened his curtains in time to see a burly, black-haired man in a brown pin-stripe suit rushing down the aisle.
Detectives E. A. Tetrick and Richard B. McCreadie met the Klamath at Los Angeles Union Station. Oregon authorities requested they hold the train’s second cook, Los Angeles resident, Robert Folkes, as a material witness. Due to a legal technicality, they booked him on suspicion of murder instead.
Folkes, a 20-year-old black man, came to California from Arkansas with his mother and siblings in the late 1930s The family was part of a large influx of people fleeing the Jim Crow south. They heard that Los Angeles offered more opportunities—which was true to a point. There were restrictions that forced blacks to live in segregated, neighborhoods. Like many of the transplants, Folkes’ family landed in South Central.
Martha Brinson James
Wilbur Brinson, Martha’s father, made a good living as a manager for a coal company. Her mother, Grace, was a housewife and the family had a live-in black maid. They lived on North Shore Road in Norfolk, Virgina. The homes on North Shore Road were large, situated on beautiful tree-lined plots of land; walking distance from the Lafayette River, near the Chesapeake Bay. Nothing about Martha’s background could have prepared her family to lose her in such a brutal way.
LAPD detectives conducted a background check on Folkes; standard procedure for anyone involved in a murder case. They discovered he had a police record. On August 24, 1940, he was arrested on suspicion of assaulting a white woman. She refused to prosecute. On July 30, 1941, police arrested Folkes on a drunk charge after he entered a home and went to sleep. On December 28, 1942, Folkes cut the screen on a house in which three women slept.
During initial questioning, Folkes made a bizarre statement. He said, “I didn’t do the actual killing.” But then he confessed to Captain Vern Rasmussen of LAPD’s homicide detail. A confession he immediately retracted. Something about Folkes’ demeanor made detectives think he might be protecting someone.
Police wanted Folkes to open up, so when he promised to tell them “something important” if they allowed him to visit his wife at home, they took him there. Once the visit was over, he reneged on his promise and continued to maintain his ignorance of the murder.
Police psychiatrist Paul De River questioned Folkes and pronounced him “sane, but a definite exhibitionist.”
On January 27th, District Attorney Harlow Weinrick of Linn County, Albany, Oregon, told the Associated Press he had filed a first-degree murder charge against Folkes. Los Angeles would have to send him there.
Folkes continued to flip-flop. The authorities would not immediately release the details of his confessions until Oregon officials arrived. However, sources said Folkes admitted whetting a boning knife before going to Lower 13, where he attacked Martha James. According to Detective Rasmussen, Folkes admitted getting drunk on the train and walking through Car D, where he noticed Martha sitting up in her berth. He said she “appealed to him.”
He set his alarm clock for an hour earlier than usual, 3 a.m., and when he got up to prepare the galley stoves, he picked up a knife and sharpened it. He slipped it up his sleeve.
He walked past Lower 13 several times to determine if Martha was awake. She was sleeping. He unbuttoned the curtain, and climbed into the berth. Martha resisted and screamed. He cut her throat.
One story Folkes told police was that a man paid him $1000 to kill Martha. Nothing supported that story.
Once Folkes was identified as the chief suspect, much of the reportage focused on his race and referred to him as a “zoot suit wearing negro”—a highly pejorative characterization. Racial and cultural tension in Los Angeles was high, and zoot suits exacerbated the situation.
Cab Calloway in a zoot suit for the 1943 film, Stormy Weather.
A zoot suit was an oversized style of clothing. Long jackets with heavily padded shoulders, wide lapels and baggy trousers pegged at the ankles. Wearers accessorized the suit with a wide-brim hat and a watch chain. Many people considered the zoot suit unpatriotic. Cloth was rationed, so the zoot suit was seen as wasteful. In the minds of most zoot suiters their clothing was a form of self-expression, defiance, and protest.
The suit resulted in racialized policing. Wearing a zoot suit was a sure way to bring unwanted attention from the police. Fueling the already volatile situation, the media linked crimes to zoot suiters and stoked fear and prejudice.
Folkes made another confession, which he refused to sign. He said, “If I were not guilty, I would not make this confession. I have kept my word. As long as she (the stenographer) has it down and I read it thoroughly and understand it, I will be willing to take the medicine, which the killer should take.”
About the murder, he said: “It was all in a fog to me. I reached first with my right hand, then with my left, but evidently in my mind I figured. . . And there is where I killed her . . I guess I cut her . . .”
Chief Deputy Clay E. Kirk of Linn County, Oregon, arrived in Los Angeles to take Folkes into custody and return him north. Folkes waived extradition.
Soldiers armed with submachine guns patrolled the Albany train station platform to discourage any attempt to harm the prisoner. To ensure his safety, they took Folkes off the train at Springfield, 48 miles south of Albany, and transported him to the jail by car.
Not everyone took Folkes’ guilt for granted. The California Eagle, a newspaper serving Los Angeles’ black community, reported that a spokesman for a Citizens Committee, said, “Grave doubts exist as to Folkes’ guilt and it is imperative that his constitutional rights to a fair trial be safeguarded by seeing to it that he has competent counsel.”
Louise Beavers
The Eagle also reported that despite Folkes’ conflicting statements and numerous confessions, the physical evidence was non-existent. Detailed examinations of his clothing and chemical analysis of scrapings from his fingernails and shoes showed no blood or other incriminating evidence of any kind was found.
Hollywood stars including Ben Carter, Hattie McDaniel, and Louise Beavers came forward to support Folkes. They planned to appear at a dance at an Elks Club to raise money to fund his defense.
The marine who saw a man fleeing the scene was vague. He couldn’t identify Folkes—and he couldn’t explain how one minute he was in his pajamas in his berth, and the next he was fully dressed and chasing the killer.
None of Folkes’ co-workers believed him guilty. He performed all his usual duties on the morning of the murder. Nothing in his demeanor was unusual.
Folkes said he would prove his innocence at his trial in April.
NEXT TIME: Folkes’ trial and the conclusion of The Lower 13th Murder case.
Aggie Underwood interviews an unknown woman (possibly at Lincoln Heights Jail)
This is the second of a series on California’s unique women’s prison, which has bestirred national interest among sociologists and penologists. An International News Service staff correspondent was able to obtain the first comprehensive “inside story” of the institution where Clara Phillips and other noted women offenders are now confined.
Tehachapi, Cal., May 1, 1935 — Eight months in the “death house!”
Eight months in which to sit in one tiny room, forbidden to talk to anyone except matrons–Eight months in which to remember–what?
Possibly the sound of six shots, ringing out in the still of night–six shots which ended the life of Eric B. Madison, movie studio cashier.
Eight months in which to hear over and over again, the voice of a judge saying “You are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead”.
That is the fate of Nellie B. Madison, comely widow, who is the only woman in California now under sentence to die on the gallows.
Nellie Madison [Photo courtesy LAPL]
Just eight months ago last March 12, Nellie Madison entered Tehachapi prison and was placed in the “death cell.”
This “cell” is merely a room in the prison hospital. Architects who designed the state institution for woman at Tehachapi omitted “death cell.” That’s another way this prison is different.
So, in this room on the second floor of the administration building, Nellie Madison sits day after day. She seems a quite different person from the Nellie Madison who amazed Los Angeles court attaches during her trial with her cool, calm demeanor.
Her nattily tailored clothes are, of course, discarded for the regulation prison costume–blue denim dresses with a white pinstripe.
Her jet-black hair, now greying, has grown from the trim modern bob until it almost reaches her shoulders.
“In Los Angeles, I was thoroughly benumbed by all that had happened,” she said after the first glad welcome of seeing someone whom she had seen in the outside world.
“I couldn’t realize just what had happened to me, but now that I have been here–let’s see is it only eight months or is it ten years–well, I’ve begun to get all the confidence in the world that the State Supreme court will reverse my conviction.”
This was Mrs. Madison’s only interview since she has entered the state institution.
“It seems to me that one’s conscience would be the greatest punishment in the world,” she said.
“My conscience doesn’t bother me one bit, but I do feel the disgrace that I have brought on myself and my family. One’s past good name and character seem to mean nothing when a person gets into trouble, but it apparently doesn’t mean a thing.”
Mrs. Madison’s recreation consists of short walks on the grounds each day–in company with a matron and the letters she receives from friends.”
Aggie became interested in Nellie’s case when she covered it for the Herald. As she learned more about the abuse Nellie suffered at the hands of her husband, Eric, the less she believed Nellie deserved to hang. Through her coverage of the case, and her advocacy, Aggie and others were successful in getting Nellie’s sentence commuted to life; which made her eligible for parole. On March 27, 1943, nine years and three days after the murder, the state released Nellie.
In her 1949 autobiography, Newspaperwoman, Aggie said this about the case.
“While one’s work as a reporter may serve justice and work for or against a defendant, one shies from taking bows for presumed triumphs. Even in commendation, one does not want to feel one’s fairness impugned. I was embarrassed, therefore, when Nellie Madison embraced me gratefully at Tehachapi when I informed her that her sentence to be hanged had been commuted to life imprisonment by Governor Frank F. Merriam.”
“‘You did it! You did it!’ she wept. ‘I owe it all to you!’”
NEXT TIME: In the third article, Aggie tells of interviews with other inmates at Tehachapi.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. Tonight’s feature is the LADY OF BURLESQUE (aka THE G-STRING MURDERS) directed by William A. Wellman and starring Barbara Stanwyck and Michael O’Shea. While not a classic noir film, it is a murder mystery and, I think, it pairs nicely with the post on Betty Rowland.
Gypsy Rose Lee (Photo courtesy New York Public Library)
LADY OF BURLESQUE is based on the novel The G-String Murders written by strip tease queen Gypsy Rose Lee. There have been claims that Craig ghosted the book, but I believe Ms. Lee did it on her own.
If you’re not familiar with Craig Rice, she wrote mystery novels and short stories, and is sometimes described as “the Dorothy Parker of detective fiction.” She was the first mystery writer to appear on the cover of Time Magazine, on January 28, 1946.
Before we roll the feature, let’s enjoy one of Gypsy Rose Lee’s dance routines–followed by a clip from a Tex Avery cartoon starring the lecherous wolf character.
TCM says:
S. B. Foss, owner of the Old Opera House on Broadway in New York City, promotes his new recruit, burlesque dancer Dixie Daisy, hoping that she will draw a large audience. Dixie’s performance draws cheers from the crowds and from comedian Biff Brannigan, who ardently admires Dixie even though she hates comics because of past experiences with them. When someone cuts the wire to the light backstage that signals the presence of the police, the performers are surprised by a raid, and pandemonium ensues. As Dixie flees through a coal chute, someone grabs her from behind and tries to strangle her, but her assailant escapes when a stagehand comes along.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open. Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. It is burlesque week at Deranged L.A. Crimes–beginning with the post, NO, NO, BABETTE, and wrapping up with tonight’s feature, LADY OF BURLESQUE, starring Barbara Stanwyck, Michael O’Shea and Pinky Lee.
The movie is based on the 1941 novel by burlesque queen, Gypsy Rose Lee. Rumor has it that the novel was ghostwritten by mystery writer, Craig Rice. Rice (Georgiana Ann Randolph Craig) was the first female mystery writer to be featured on the cover of TIME MAGAZINE.
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However, there is sufficient evidence to prove that Ms. Lee wrote the book on her own. Either way, it is a fun read and makes for an equally entertaining movie.
Enjoy the movie!
TCM says:
S. B. Foss, owner of the Old Opera House on Broadway in New York City, promotes his new recruit, burlesque dancer Dixie Daisy, hoping that she will draw a large audience. Dixie’s performance draws cheers from the crowds and from comedian Biff Brannigan, who ardently admires Dixie even though she hates comics because of past experiences with them. When someone cuts the wire to the light backstage that signals the presence of the police, the performers are surprised by a raid, and pandemonium ensues.
I’ll open with a short subject, a performance of PUT THE BLAME ON MAME with Gypsy Rose Lee from the 1958 film SCREAMING MIMI. Gypsy’s rendition is okay, but I prefer Rita Hayworth in GILDA.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. Tonight’s feature is SHADOW OF A DOUBT, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and starring Teresa Wright, Joseph Cotten and Macdonald Carey — with a fine performance by Hume Cronyn.
The script was a collaboration between Thornton Wilder, Sally Benson and Alma Reville (Hitchcock’s wife). This was Hitchcock’s favorite of his films.
Of course Hitch makes a cameo appearance in the film, and Wikipedia tells you when to look for him:
Alfred Hitchcock appears about 15 minutes into the film, on the train to Santa Rosa, playing bridge with a man and a woman (Dr. and Mrs. Harry). Charlie Oakley is traveling on the train under the assumed name of Otis. Mrs. Harry is eager to help Otis, who is feigning illness in order to avoid meeting fellow passengers, but Dr. Harry is not interested and keeps playing bridge. Dr Harry replies to Hitchcock that he doesn’t look well while Hitchcock is holding a full suit of spades, the best hand for bridge.
Before the feature, enjoy this short subject from the CRIME DOES NOT PAY series.
Crime Does Not Pay was an anthology radio crime drama series based on MGM’s short film series which began in 1935 with Crime Does Not Pay: Buried Loot. The shows were transcribed at MGM’s New York station, WMGM.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. Tonight’s feature is the LADY OF BURLESQUE (aka THE G-STRING MURDERS) directed by William A. Wellman and starring Barbara Stanwyck and Michael O’Shea.
Gypsy Rose Lee
LADY OF BURLESQUE is based on the novel The G-String Murders written by strip tease queenGypsy Rose Lee (with ghost-writing assistance from mystery writer Craig Rice).
Craig Rice.
If you’re not familiar with Craig Rice, she wrote mystery novels and short stories, and is sometimes described as “the Dorothy Parker of detective fiction.” She was the first mystery writer to appear on the cover of Time Magazine, on January 28, 1946.
Before we roll the feature, let’s enjoy one of Gypsy Rose Lee’s dance routines–followed by a clip from a Tex Avery cartoon starring the lecherous wolf character.
Turner Classic Movies says this about LADY OF BURLESQUE:
S. B. Foss, owner of the Old Opera House on Broadway in New York City, promotes his new recruit, burlesque dancer Dixie Daisy, hoping that she will draw a large audience. Dixie’s performance draws cheers from the crowds and from comedian Biff Brannigan, who ardently admires Dixie even though she hates comics because of past experiences with them. When someone cuts the wire to the light backstage that signals the presence of the police, the performers are surprised by a raid, and pandemonium ensues. As Dixie flees through a coal chute, someone grabs her from behind and tries to strangle her, but her assailant escapes when a stagehand comes along.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. Tonight’s feature is A NIGHT FOR CRIME starring Glenda Farrell and Lyle Talbot. Enjoy the movie!
TCM says:
One night in Hollywood, Joe Powell, the publicity director of Motion Picture Associates Studio, visits his girl friend, reporter Susan Cooper, at her apartment, and arrives during a blackout. When they hear a woman’s scream, they go across the hall and find neighbor Ellen Smith strangled to death in her apartment. The building’s switchboard operator tells policeman Hoffman that Ellen tried to phone the police but never finished her call.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open. Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat.
Tonight’s feature is, A STRANGER IN TOWN, starring Frank Morgan, Richard Carlson, and Jean Rogers.
Enjoy the movie!
TCM says:
After instructing his secretary, Lucy Gilbert, not to reveal his destination to anyone, John Josephus Grant, a cantankerous U.S. Supreme Court justice, embarks on an overdue duck hunting vacation. On his first day out, Joe is confronted by Orrin Todds, a game inspector, who demands to see his hunting license and then informs him that he needs a local stamp, which will cost him five dollars, plus a “tip.” Annoyed, Joe refuses to pay Orrin and, without revealing his occupation, accompanies him to court in nearby Crownport. Citing the letter of the law, the judge, Austin Harkley, upholds Orrin’s actions and fines Joe $100. Later, at the Crownport barbershop, Joe encounters young lawyer Bill Adams, who is running for mayor, and Jim Connison, the crooked incumbent, with whom Harkley is in cahoots.
Welcome! The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open. Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat.