Frisco Kid (Warner Bros.) (1935)

Flot tONI]Z Al FO A Warner Brothers motion picture, starring James Cagney, featuring Margaret Lindsay, Ricardo Cortez, Barton MacLane, Donald Woods, George E. Stone, Fred Kohler, Lili Damita, Joseph King, Joseph Crehan, Joseph Sawyer. Directed by Lloyd Bacon. Fictionized by Joseph Jefferson O'Neill. CHAPTER I ‘*Stroike me—wotta woman! "Oo is she, shipmate?’’ The little British foreecastle hand, his drink almost to his mouth but untouched, gazed in amazement at the ponderous creature on the other side of the bar. A creature with shoulders of a wrestler, triceps of a village smithy, fists that quadrupled his own in size—and in hard ness, too, had he known. ‘‘Never shipped to Frisco before, eh Limey?’’ asked his newmade Yankee friend. ‘‘That’s what I thought. Well, that there barmaid is one o’ the sights 0’ this town. ‘The Jumpin’ Whale’ is what they calls her. Fill ’em up again, Whale! ’’ The little Englishman drank, looked around the _ smoke-filled bar-room, pointed, and _ asked, ‘That big feller over there with the curly ’air—’Oo’s ’e? That feller with the ’ook at the end of his arm instead of a ’and.’’ ‘‘TLimey, there’s many a queerlookin’ character yer’ll see in this Jere Frisco of 1854,’’ replied the American. ‘‘That there’s ‘Shanghai Duck,’ the worst crimp on the waterfront. Any cap’n of a hellship that needs to fill up his crew in a hurry before his sailin’ date A Warner Brothers motion picture, starring James Cagney, featuring Margaret Lindsay, Ricardo Cortez, Barton MacLane, Donald Woods, George E. Stone, Fred Kohler, Lili Damita, Joseph King, Joseph Crehan, Joseph Sawyer. Directed by Lloyd Bacon. Fictionized by Joseph Jefferson O'Neill. —he just tells Shanghai how many men he’s short, and Shanghai gets Y’em . . . $250. a man. No ship sails shorthanded outa this Frisco.”? ‘‘Gor bli’ me—50 pounds!’’ ejaculated the Britisher. ‘‘ Keepin’ away from that bloke, I’ll be! ’? ““ An’ keep away from that bloke next to him, that they calls ‘Slugs’ Crippen. An’ the next, The Weasel. An’ at the end o’ the table there, Spider Burke, that owns this Occidental Hotel we’re Ineo Shuffling of feet sounded on the wooden sidewalk outside of the Occidental. The Jumping Whale, the Shanghai Duck, the Weasel and the rest of the occupants of the unpainted taproom, rough-hewn, Synopsis of Preceding Chapter The ‘‘ Shanghai Duck,’’ a notorious crimp whose hangout is the Occidentai Hotel in the Gold Coast of San Francisco, and his henchman, ‘‘ Slugs’’ Crippen, drug a young sailor, Bat Morgan and shanghai him for a fee of $250.00 CHAPTER II Water splashed upon the face of Bat Morgan — water from the tops of little wavelets in San Francisco Bay, wavelets struck by awkwardly-wielded oars in the hands of Slugs Crippen. The cold splashes brought consciousness to Bat, lying in the bottom of a skiff whose nose pointed toward a heavy schooner anchored in midstream. ‘‘Shanghaied!’’ The whole thing came back to him—the wheedling voices of the men in the Occidental, the drink, the daze, then the crushing blow upon his head. Not a lad to move swiftly, was Bat Morgan. He merely halfopened his eyes as he watched Slugs Crippen sway back and forth Jeisurely at the oars. He squirmed his way toward the erimp, inch by inch. He made a certain calculation. Then as Slugs swayed toward him, with oars out of water, Bat suddenly gripped both sides of the skiff, elevated his right foot, and shoved it squarely against Crippen’s jaw. The push was strong enough to send Slugs on his back in the bow of the boat, and to make him lose hold of his oars. But it was not strong enough to knock him out, as Bat had intended. Morgan rolled over the side of the skiff and struck out in the chill waters of the Bay. Clinging to a spar, paddling, kicking his feet, Bat Morgan made his way slowly to shore. Out over the water projected a building on spiles. For this he headed. His lifted themselves out of their listlessness. Alone, just in advance of four or five seamen who formed a little companionable group of their own, there entered the room a young sailor with his dunnage bag over his shoulder—a young red-haired sailor, his dark blue cap a bit aslant, his chest and shoulders bulging out the seams of his weather-worn pea-jacket. He advanced to the bar. ‘‘Now,’’ said the Shanghai Duck to his skipper companion, “‘you’ll only be short one man.’’ He nodded to Slugs Crippen. Slugs hoisted himself to his feet and moved idly toward the rough pine drink-counter. He took a place at one side of the newcomer; the Weasel adjusted himself on the other side. ‘<Just offa the North Star, hey? I shipped on her once, myself,’’ ventured the Weasel. ‘‘Have a drink???’ The Jumping Whale moved up, wiping the bar, and looking not at the customer but at the Weasel. The Weasel’s left eye closed slowly, then reopened. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘<Straight whiskey,’’ ordered the sailor. ‘‘I’m quitting ship here,’’ he volunteered. ‘‘Going to try my luck in the goldfields.’’ ‘¢What’s yer name, Fella?’’ asked the Weasel. ‘‘Bat Morgan, huh? Well, Bat, here’s good luck to the goldfields!’’ The three drank. The sailor gagged a little on his drink, but manfully put it down. ‘<Have a—’’ he began, but didn’t complete the sentence. Slugs Crippen and the Weasel scrutinized him closely, paying particular attention to his eyes. They began to glaze. The sailor gripped the edge of the bar with both hands for a moment, then relaxed them, turned, and staggered toward the stairway which led upward to the lodging-rooms on the upper floor of the Occidental Hotel and Seamen’s Rest. (To be continued tomorrow) FRE Theatre on voiced plaint. The little merchant lighted a lantern, made his way down the steps of the water’s edge. There, half in and half out of the dirty wavelets, he found Bat Morgan, helped him up to the store, sat him down in a chair and poured him a cup of hot coffee. ‘““So it was the Occidental you were in? No wonder they tried to shanghai you! And the fellow had a wide scar on his cheek? Slugs Crippen, handy man for the Shanghai Duck, a big fellow with a steel hook instead of a hand. You are fortunate, my friend, that you’re not in the hold of a hell head ached terrifically, the water chilled him to the bone, but what Bat Morgan started he always finshed. He finished this, too, collapsing on the mud of the beach by the spiles. Overhead, in the _ projecting frame structure, little Solly Green, Semitic pack-peddler, who had made his way with the thousands of other adventurers into that strange San Francisco, was counting the day’s proceeds from the sales in his ‘‘ Emporium.’’ Over the lap-lapping of the water below, sounded something like a groan. Solly listened more intently. Again came the low °*T want a suit of clothes — and this chair leg. You’ll see why I want the chair leg — or you’ll hear about it’’. .. (James Cagney and George E. Stone declare war on the gangsters of San Francisco’s ‘‘Gold Coast’’ in ‘‘Frisco Kid,’’ the Warner Bros. picture opening at the (okt pitas saat TERGCO UL ENON ten cites. .odiceee ene Ten-day fictionization of the story of the film is available in mimeographed form, with ten stills to illustrate. Read the first two chapters on this page and then show it to your editor. Not only is it a gripping dramatic story, but it was fictionized by Joseph Jefferson O’Neill, one of the greatest reporters in America today. If your editor gives the O.K., order the fictionization and stills from Campaign Plan Editor, 321 W. 44th St., N. Y. C. and you'll receive them by return mail. 10 chapter headings, one for each chapter, are available in mat form. Order mat No. 501—50c. As the crimp reached for his knife, Bat Morgan swung his cudgel. “‘Shanghai me!’’, he breathed. ‘‘Here’s a happy voyage on the Hell ship to you.’’ Down came the heavy club... Sawyer in an exciting scene from ‘‘Frisco Kid,’’ Warner Bros.’ picture of the days of the Barbary Coast, which opens at the (James Cagney and Joe ship outward bound.’’ ‘¢You’re a good mate—what’s the name?—Solly! I won’t forget what you just did... I’ll repay you for it some day. But just now—I want a suit of clothes— I got enough to pay for them— and I want this chair-leg.’’ ‘CA chair-leg? Sure, but what—’’ ‘¢You’ll see—or if you don’t ' gee, you’ll hear about it.’’ It was not long before Solly— and most of San Francisco’s waterfront population—did hear about it. They heard about how a new ‘““bully boy’’ had made his presence known and felt. How Bat Morgan, red-headed youngster who didn’t know the meaning of fear, had laid in wait for Slugs Crippen the crimp. How Bat, giving Crippen fair warning and time to get out his slungshot, had eracked him over the head with a chair-leg, and, while he was unconscious, calmly appropriated the $250 that Slugs had been paid for his abduction. Bat was by way of being the hero of the day. First there was a great laugh along the waterfront at the expense of the sear-faced Slugs, whose profession, crimping, was detested by everyone except those engaged in it and the sea captains they served. This didn’t spoil Morgan. But there was one man along the waterfront who neither laughed at Bat Morgan’s adventure, nor forgot Bat Morgan himself. This was the Shanghai Duck, the gigantie crimp with the needle-pointed steel hook at the end of his left arm, ‘*So he’s swaggerin’ around, is he?’’ said the Duck. ‘‘He’s tellin’ the town how he made a fool o’ me and my men! Well, we’ll see how Mr. Bat Morgan likes— this!’’? He extended the vicious, eurved bit of steel. (To be continued tomorrow) Page Nine