Noir Factory Podcast

Sitting about a mile and a half off San Francisco in the middle of a bitter, inhospitable California bay, Alcatraz Island is a lot like many other pieces of bay area real estate. Many have claimed ownership and many court battles were waged over ownership.   But unlike other prime pieces of San Francisco real estate, few have wanted to call it home. The Island, Alcatraz Island, is also known as “The Rock.” And those who did call it home didn’t care for the experience.   The island, one of a group of small islands sitting in the bay, was known to the Native American population of the area but was not inhabited by them.   In truth, there was nothing to lure them, or anyone else, to the rock. Vegetation was almost non-existent. The island was composed mostly of irregular, stratified sandstone. It was described by an American officer as “entirely without resources within itself and the soil scarcely perceptible being rocky and precipitous on all sides.”   The rock itself was 1700 feet long, 580 feet at its wid

The Great Santa Claus Bank Robbery-An APB on Old Saint Nick! As a crispness fills the air and the scent of gingerbread begins to waft from the kitchen, one only has to pull on an ugly sweater and curl up with a tablet to find some old-fashioned, weird Christmas crime. And as always, Texas is as good a place to start as any. In 1929 banks in Texas fell victim to robbers almost daily, and it was with an eye to protect what was theirs that the Texas Bankers Association offered a reward of $5,000 to anyone who killed a bank robber in the course of a crime.

  CHAPTER FOUR It took me a while to catch up with Mike McCarthy. He was the Special Investigator for the District Attorney, which meant that he played catcher to all the screwballs that came across the court system. If a crime was reported or investigated, he knew about it. The only variable was that not all of the crimes in the city were reported or investigated. If you knew the system under the system, you could get something buried so deep that it turned to crude oil.      

Christmas time is special at the Noir Factory. The snow cleans up the chalk outlines on the sidewalk outside and the fellons wear a snappy smile as they lift your wallet. Today is part one of a holiday bonus for the Factory. It's a holiday caper designed to lift the spirits and take a break from real life. If it isn't your thing, and you are here for the usual biographical and historical crime and noir, then feel free to skip this. You won't hurt my feelings and next week we'll be back with a real-life case of the worst Santa ever. If you like the story so much you can't wait for part two, then head over to Amazon or Kobo for the ebook version. It is always free, becasue, y'know, Christmas. And if you would like to hand the story down from season to season, as well as help us out at the Noir Factory, you can purchase a paperback copy of Kringle Noir from Amazon as well.  

It’s hard to tell where exactly the story begins because there was no huge discovery. At the tips of your fingers there are marks. Loops and swirls, whorls and arches. It was kind of like telling the world that you were the first to discover ...your belly button. It just didn’t go over well, but unlike your bellybutton, the patterns on the tips of fingers meant more than just a physical oddity. The patterns on your fingers tell a story. But yeah, I guess so does your belly button.  

  In the 30's, the FBI used the term “Public Enemy Number One” as a designation of infamy. Although that period in time became known as the “Public Enemy Era,” there were only three people actually held that designation.   The first one wore the title like a crown.   John Herbert Dillinger was born in Indianapolis, Indiana on June 22nd, 1903. His father, John Wilson Dillinger, owned a small grocery store. His mother, Mary Ellen, died from a stroke when he was three.   His sister, Audrey, was fourteen years older than John and the responsibility of caring for the child fell to her. She carried on with that responsibility until she married and moved out to begin her own family.   That left John Wilson Dillinger to raise his son on his own, and raising kids wasn't his strong suit.   Accounts of John Dillinger's childhood vary. His father was at times abusive and at other times gracious, lavishing money on his son for toys and treats. Those same accounts vary on John Dillinger's behavior.   Some say that the you

The partnership between mankind and canine is one of the oldest and most successful relationships on Earth. Every since early man sat around a fire and tossed scraps of meat to a curious gray wolf, the relationship between the two was based on trust.   Virtually all breeds of dogs stem from the gray wolf and they have been tied to mankind ever since.   It isn't just by accident that the scientific name for the dog is Canis Lupus Familliaris . The canine has been man's constant companion for centuries, and with apologies to cat lovers everywhere, they have earned the nickname “man's best friend.”  

Life changed quickly for the people of Norfolk County, England in the 1800’s. The large estates were falling. The families of privilege, who employed large households full of servants, often for life, grew more scarce by the day. John and Maria Bowles could see the writing on the walls, so to speak. Their way of life, their means of support, was going away, never to return. They had to make some big decisions. With a meager savings and nine children in tow, they made their way across the ocean, to the land of second chances. They went to America. What they found there was farmland, and they were used to that. With many strong sons, enough funds to buy some land, and the vision to use the resources they had, the Bowles family settled into Jefferson County, in upstate New York, and grew their farm to a 100-acre homestead. And the man who would become Black Bart grew up the farm outside of Plessis Village, with much grander dreams than a life of working the soil. Born Charles Earl Bowles, Charlie was two when hi

He was born on March 9, 1918 in Brooklyn, New York and raised in Elizabeth, NJ, in a neighborhood he called “grimy, industrial, and working class.” It was exactly the kind of neighborhood you would expect a tough-guy to grow up in. Mickey Spillane was christened Frank Morrison Spillane by his Protestant mom, Catherine Ann. Apparently his Catholic father, John Joseph wasn’t having any of that. Whether he didn’t care for the name “Morison” or simply forgot his son’s middle name we’ll never know, but he was baptized as “Frank Michael Spillane. Not that that either name mattered. His father nicknamed his son “Mick” after his Irish heritage and the name stuck. Besides, as the man said later “women loved the name ‘Mickey.’

FOR A BETTER VERSION OF THIS EPISODE, SEE CASE #01.5: Kate Warne- America's First Female Detective REVISITED    When the door opened at the Pinkerton Detective Agency on August 23rd, 1856, Allan Pinkerton, the legendary chief of the most famous detective shop in history, had no idea what lay ahead of him. She was, as Allan later described her, “A commanding person, with clear cut, expressive features.” He said he wouldn’t call her handsome, but a “slender, brown-haired woman, graceful in her movements and self-possessed.” He also said that she was of an “intellectual cast.” Despite holding her in high regard upon meeting her, however, it never occurred to Pinkerton that she was there for a detective job.

  The Noir Factory Podcast is created for the mystery reader, noir movie goes, or true crime buff who wants a closer look into the genre. Mystery writer Steven Gomez looks at crime history, pulp stories, noir films, and the men and woman who made them. Each week we will examine an event or figure in crime history, a pulp or noir writer, or a piece of detective work, both fictional and in real life.   If you have an interest in crime of any kind, THIS is the podcast for you!