Out In The 1950s Film Noir Night-With Cornel Wilde’s Shockproof In Mind

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Jenny Marsh grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, the 1930s Great Depression wrong side of the tracks that made it very wrong, made it much worse for the ninth child of a drunken father and a hard-pressed mother trying to keep nine growing hungry mouths fed. And not succeeding. Trying to raise nine kids in a small one room cold- water flat in expansive Westminster just outside Los Angeles. So all Jenny knew was wants, all she knew was nots, not this not that, all she knew was cramped spaces and not room to breathe, no room to do anything but claw her way out, claw her way out just as fast as she could. Any way she could. With anybody she could, knowing that if there was a role call count at the Marsh household one child more or less would not be missed. She would not be missed especially since Jenny as the last child was the end of the road on the hand-me-downs. That was the way her sweet young life had played out, kind of the child left behind of the lot and while she never spoke of it one way or the other, never expressed any bitterness about it publicly; she early on saw the writing on the wall and acted accordingly. Kept her thoughts, her emotions, and her angers in check, from the rest of the brood. But any outsider could see, any observant outsider could see, she was holding some flames, some burning desires inside.

At thirteen, not being much of a student, and not having anybody looking over her shoulder to see that she attended school one truant day Jenny met Soldier Johnson down at the arcade, down at the Santa Monica pier. Soldier the well-known and feared leader of the biker corner boy gang in Westminster saw her budding womanly figure, her dark blue eyes, her long brown hair grabbed her up without a second thought (although he was married, very married as she found out later, too much later) and staked his claim to her. Needless to say she lost her virginity to him quickly. But she also lost, lost in the shuffle of being paid attention too, of the thrilling thought of being some man’s girl, of being the small time boss man’s girl, her moral compass. While Soldier never abused her, never hit her like some of the gang members did with their women, or anything like that he had an evil hold on her, on her needs and on her naïve in this wicked old world. After a couple of years of her undying devotion he felt no compulsion about pimping her to the squares a few times when he was strapped for cash. She in love, or just tired of wanting obliged him as her walking daddy, no questions asked, and while hustling for tricks at the bars in Westminster and later along Hollywood Boulevard, accumulated a few thirty day stays in county for her efforts.

That arrangement went on until Soldier Johnson drew to an inside straight one night, got caught in a jam with some rival chieftain of the Inglewood bikers, picked up a dime for manslaughter and flew the coop to the Q (San Quentin, if you didn’t know). He left Jenny, who said she would wait for him (that was when she found out he was married, married with two kids) stranded, stranded walking the streets picking up an odd trick or two without the benefit of her walking daddy to protect her. Thus she was picked a couple more times for the thirty day cure. So times were no question tough, although not as tough as hanging around some nine to a room cold water flat at least that is how Jenny scoped the scene. Then Harry came along.

Yes, for the record, Harry picked her up one night on the streets when he had a manly urge and she was walking, walking from hunger, so their romance, and whether you or I see it that, way it was a romance, was not something built from watching some melodramatic movie. But for Jenny Harry had something, had something to hold onto. See Harry was a college guy, a guy who came from some blueblood family back east that had fallen on hard times and so Harry was left to do the best that he could do. And for Harry the best that he could do, the best that he wanted to do, was to be a gentleman gambler. And for the most part he was good at it. Jenny was enthralled, since her idea of a good man turned out to be a guy like Harry. Harry who moreover taught her how to dress, taught her some gentle manners, and taught her how to talk without swearing out every other word. Our Harry was a regular Professor Higgins. Well almost. See Harry took his gentleman gambler job seriously, seriously enough to scorn the idea of working when times were tough, times when lady luck was against him. So well-dressed, well-mannered, well-spoken from time to time Jenny had to work in some high-end whorehouse that Harry knew of until his luck changed. She didn’t mind, not after all Harry had for done for her, not after he was the first man who cared for her, really cared for her. She would do anything for Harry, anything.

And as luck, bad luck, would have it she was taken up on that pledge one night when the other shoe dropped. It seemed some guy, another gentleman gambler, Frank Little, was spreading the word that Harry’s luck was, well, enhanced, was helped along by a little manipulation. Jenny who couldn’t stand to hear anything like that about her walking daddy in a fit of anger blasted him with a couple of shots in the heart that night. As so for protecting her walking daddy, for protecting her man’s reputation, Jenny drew dime up at the Women’s Prison in Los Gatos. Harry said her would get her help, get her out somehow, and stand by her. And funny thing he did, did stand by her and did grease enough palms to get her paroled after five years. So it must have been some kind of love Harry carried for Jenny, although you and I might not appreciate the finer points of that love.

But this California parole stuff is a drag. Jenny couldn’t, couldn’t do a million things, including being seen with the likes of Harry. What she could do was get a legitimate job, one approved of by her parole officer. That turned out to be serving them off the arm working for Jeff, Jeff Morse, who owned a hash house on the Pacific Coast Highway above Malibu. Jeff, a friend of the parole officer, was supposed to enforce the regulations to the letter. So for a while, a fairly long while, about a year, there was a tug of war between Jenny and Jeff over her relationship with Harry since she was seeing him on the sly. At one point Jeff, fed up with covering for Jenny, had her down at the station all ready to be sent back to Los Gatos so things were dicey. But here is the funny part throughout these tussles Jeff and Jenny were kind of falling for each other, falling hard once Jenny started to see that Harry all about Harry (with Jeff egging that idea on by reminding her that she did the time for Harry not the other way around). After a few months (and more than a few nights under the sheets over at Jeff’s apartment) they were married.

So Jenny tried to break it off with Harry. But guys like Harry don’t get to be guys like Harry by taking a hit to their pride and pocketbook so Harry threatened to expose he knew about her and her whoring days. Jeff would not like that, for sure. So one night, a night very much like the night Frank Little went to his just rewards Jenny put a couple of random slugs in Harry. And that action started a whole cascade of madness once Jenny explained to Jeff what Harry was trying to do. And Jeff bought her story, bought it without rancor. So he too became an outlaw as they fled town not sure whether Harry was dead or alive but also not wanting to stay aroundto find out.

So they bummed around, Jeff working odd jobs, and Jenny keeping house, keeping on the move though, waiting, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And somehow through this entire trauma Jenny developed a moral compass, or the one she always had hidden showed up, because she was the one who said they had to go back and face the music. And they did. Here is how things get a little crazy in human existence though when it came time for Harry to press charges he passed, passed when he saw the Jeff-Jenny set-up as real. Yes, that Jenny must have had something, even if she did come from the wrong side of the track.