I have moved all my stuff out of the bedroom and back into E's room, so I have no excuse not to get working.
Somehow I managed to get through my shopping spree with money left in my pocket- my budget was $100- although I came home with more than I could carry into the house in one trip! Who would have thought that when my daughter went off to college, she would end up taking a class with someone who does work this beautiful and close to doll-making. Written by Christopher Morley’s daughter Louise before her death in 2012, and brought out between covers now by her children, to the benefit of we who care about the founder of The Baker Street Irregulars! Alfred Street by McLauchlin, three years later (Detroit: Conjure House, 1946), does get very specific about Sherlock Holmes in one chapter. Few works in our literature capture as this book does the time and ethos of the early Irregulars as they first encountered, and learned to not only love, but study, the Sherlock Holmes stories.
Inspired by the work of Jon Lellenberg (the BSI’s Thucydides), Music has just brought forth his From the Lower Vault, which draws upon the Donovan file and Harris’s papers and reminiscences to give us a sense of how a Sherlockian society comes into being, and displays the sparkling wit of Russ McLauchlin and Bob Harris in its pages, where all of McLauchlin’s high-spirited periodic dispatches to the membership (his Encyclical Letters) are reproduced. Now Lellenberg, having written an entertaining spy novel about the Baker Street Irregulars, takes a new approach (at least for this reader) by producing a “companion volume” to Baker Street Irregular, addressing the background of the events and personalities in the original story with commentary and notes, both personal and objective. The affairs of the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club and the Hoboken Theatrical Company were inextricably commingled, and the two organizations shared the Foundry between them. It is a distinct pleasure, particularly in these dumbed-down days, to encounter a solid work of old-fashioned, literate, witty disputation in the Canon; or rather, to honor Sauvage’s insistence, the Conan.


The next morning, before I left for work, our potential renter stopped by to look at the house. We had a total of six days to get moved out while also getting our rental house ready for our renter.
The Waldorf-Astoria gets two pages, but many New York hotels, and their bars and restaurants which were vital to the city’s life, get unaccountably short shrift. Of course, there is no overlooking the fact that the author left this book unfinished at his death twenty-two years ago, so that, rather like the appearance of the Hound in its own day, it is of necessity a retrospective work rather than a harbinger of restored better times. Mesdames McKuras and Vizoskie are to be congratulated heartedly for their excellent work of investigation, reconstruction, editing, and annotating. The only area approaching this minor art form is his distaste for those aspects of American punctuation that put terminal punctuation inside closing quotation marks; then again, the editors did not permit this to survive their work, so the minor issue is moot in this publication. They demonstrate the state of mind of a youngish Starrett trying to work from his reporter’s notebooks, showing his growth toward writing his biography.
His vignettes are based a good deal on pre-war travel of his, from his home state’s and Canada’s lake districts and wildernesses to sites in Europe, not only ones like London and Paris, but obscure ones as well both then and now. I was one of his beneficiaries in both ways, but it was his time and knowledge I appreciated most, working with him on his superlative contributions to Baker Street Miscellanea when I was one of its editors, and on an essay by him for my 1987 book The Quest for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Rufus Tucker (“The Greek Interpreter,” 1944), an economist who lived close by but worked in Manhattan at General Motors Overseas with Edgar W.


The Algonquin, despite manifold literary and theatrical associations, gets not a single word.
Although I ended up working on some of his Baker Street Journal contributions, first in the years I helped Julian Wolff at Julian’s dining-room table and later as the Journal’s publisher, I really knew Leo through Julian. But the answer’s in the reading of it: it was written and published for civilized men and women waiting and working for that war to end, with democracy victorious. Sonia also does an excellent job on Bliss as a collector, and how he made his collection work for him, and thereby for the rest of us as well. He was the first author professionally assigned to me when I started work at Doubleday’s, in 1913. You are now, yourself, at liberty to write that paper on the Scandal, and I shall look forward to it. Christopher Morley, who modestly describes himself as steward in perpetuum to the Three Hours for Lunch Club, but is really the whole works.



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