The Ides of Perry Mason 72

Note: In the ancient Roman calendar, the Kalends, Nones, and Ides were three special days that marked the beginning, middle, and end of a month's counting period. In hat tip to those Stoic Romans in late antiquity (may their wisdom inspire us), on the first, fifth or seventh, and the fifteen of every month, we will run an article about Erle Stanley Gardner's various contributions to the mystery genre. So many pieces are in the can, why not release more often? It's not like saving them accrues interest and I'm not exempt from the universal experience of our species. 

Three Perry Masons

Author Michael McDowell has published three Jack and Susan mysteries: Jack and Susan in 1913, Jack and Susan in 1933, and Jack and Susan in 1953. The titular pair are always 27 years old. They always keep a white shaggy dog. And Jack always ends up exonerating Susan when she finds herself accused of murder.

How could agelessness as artistic and marketing choice not bring to mind Our Favorite Lawyer? Perry Mason is always the same age even if the Mason novel is set in the era of depression, wartime, nervous prosperity, or tumultuous change. His sidekicks Paul Drake and Della Street and his nemeses Lt. Arthur Tragg and DA Hamilton Burger are ageless as well. In a 1986 interview, Raymond Burr said, “[Gardner] also feared that making Perry and Della a certain age would date the books, which always remained in print for years. He learned that lesson once when he used the running board of a car as a major plot element—and then cars stopped having running boards.”

A lifelong learner, Gardner did use changing law, forensics, technology, and cultural values in the Mason novels, but as Burr said above, he had the marketing intuition not to age his characters.

And that’s okay.

Despite this agelessness, Gardner’s most famous character changes as three eras come and go. From the early Thirties to the early Forties, the Perry Mason character is true to his pulp roots. Gardner was a professional writer down to his toes. As such, he was committed to give the pulp audience – mainly male – what it expected: non-stop action and a smart-ass hero.  Mason is cocky, outspoken or cagey depending on the situation. His silences resonate. He can speak “tonelessly.” He’s harsh in conversation with crooks and impudent with cops. He smiles “fiendishly” and calls women “sister.” He speeds and takes corners at 30 (not easy, I imagine, in giant cars with no power brakes or power steering). He punches bad guys. He throws shyster lawyers out by the seat of their pants. He uses skeleton keys for illegal entry. He pulls shenanigans with evidence.

From the early Forties to the mid-Fifties, determined to appeal to a mass audience in big circulation weekly magazines, Gardner smoothed Mason’s rough edges. Mason began speaking more temperately. He rarely slugged anybody. Gardner teased readers with a love interest between Della and Perry. Mason was less prone to resort to evidentiary hijinks. In public service digressions, Perry counseled readers to drive safely. In brief tangents, Mason takes the role of the life coach, helpfully suggesting that being on time for appointments establishes a professional image.

From the late Fifties to the mid-Sixties, the TV Mason began to influence the Mason of print. For many of us fans born in the Fifties, because we watched episodes in syndication before we read the books, Perry Mason is Raymond Burr when Burr was in his early 40s and at his most lissome in the late 1950s.

Although Burr lost 60 pounds to land the TV part, he steadily put a percentage of it back on as the nine years of the series went by. One disgruntled fan likened a stationary Burr to a refrigerator. On the other hand, the extra weight contributed to that imposing presence and gravitas that contribute to the caliber of Our Favorite Lawyer. As DeLillo had a character observe in White Noise, “I suggested there was an honesty inherent in bulkiness if it is just the right amount. People trust a certain amount of bulk in others.”

Burr’s Mason of the piercing eyes rarely smiled. He was grave, self-possessed, and ever polite. The only time he was rough was when he zeroed in on the wretched culprit quaking on the stand. “But you couldn't wait. You were tired of being poor. You were tired of playing the nice, clean-cut boy. And once you and Edna were married, you'd wind up with the money in your hands. Isn’t that so? Isn’t it?”

I’ve never taken to watching Burr in his late sixties in the Mason movies produced from 1985 to 1995. The fourth Perry Mason just doesn’t work for me. And not just due to the salt and pepper beard and looking nearly 300 pounds. The stories seemed as far-fetched as an episode of Columbo, not all too plausible like the original series’ plain illustrations of the consequences of letting fear, love, hate, lust, money, property, ambition, vanity, envy, shame, contempt, anger or sheer foolishness shove reason and caution aside.

Lots of people became lawyers because they were inspired by Perry Mason, but uncountable must be the fans who have taken him for a role model of integrity, rationality, resourcefulness, and professional markers like imperturbability and snazzy attire.