“A mark is a noun and defined in Dictionary of American Slang, Thomas Y.
Crowell Co., 1960 as an easy victim; a ready subject for the practices of a
confidence man, thief, beggar, etc.; a sucker. That's the long definition of a
mark. But there's a shorter one.
It goes: * mark n. Fred Fitch
What, you ask, is a Fred Fitch? Well, for one thing, Fred Fitch is the man with the most extensive collection of fake receipts, phony bills of sale, and counterfeit sweepstakes tickets in the Western Hemisphere, and possibly in the entire world. For another thing, Fred Fitch may be the only New York City resident in the twentieth century to buy a money machine. When Barnum said, "There's one born every minute, and two to take him," he didn't know about Fred Fitch; when Fred Fitch was born, there were two million to take him. Every itinerant grifter, hypester, bunk artist, short-conner, amuser, shearer, short-changer, green-goods worker, pennyweighter, ring dropper, and yentzer to hit New York City considers his trip incomplete until he's also hit Fred Fitch. He's sort of the con-man's version of Go: Pass Fred Fitch, collect two hundred dollars, and move on. What happens to Fred Fitch when his long-lost Uncle Matt dies and leaves Fred three hundred thousand dollars shouldn't happen to the ball in a pinball machine. Fred Fitch with three hundred thousand dollars is like a mouse with a sack of catnip: He's likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. Add to this the fact that Uncle Matt was murdered, by person or persons unknown, and that someone now seems determined to murder Fred as well, mix in two daffily charming beauties of totally different types, and you have a perfect setup for the busiest fictional hero since the well-known one-armed paperhanger. As Fred Fitch careers across the New York City landscape-and sometimes skyline-in his meetings with cops, con men, beautiful girls, and (maybe) murderers, he takes on some of the loonier aspects of a Dante without a Virgil.”
What, you ask, is a Fred Fitch? Well, for one thing, Fred Fitch is the man with the most extensive collection of fake receipts, phony bills of sale, and counterfeit sweepstakes tickets in the Western Hemisphere, and possibly in the entire world. For another thing, Fred Fitch may be the only New York City resident in the twentieth century to buy a money machine. When Barnum said, "There's one born every minute, and two to take him," he didn't know about Fred Fitch; when Fred Fitch was born, there were two million to take him. Every itinerant grifter, hypester, bunk artist, short-conner, amuser, shearer, short-changer, green-goods worker, pennyweighter, ring dropper, and yentzer to hit New York City considers his trip incomplete until he's also hit Fred Fitch. He's sort of the con-man's version of Go: Pass Fred Fitch, collect two hundred dollars, and move on. What happens to Fred Fitch when his long-lost Uncle Matt dies and leaves Fred three hundred thousand dollars shouldn't happen to the ball in a pinball machine. Fred Fitch with three hundred thousand dollars is like a mouse with a sack of catnip: He's likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. Add to this the fact that Uncle Matt was murdered, by person or persons unknown, and that someone now seems determined to murder Fred as well, mix in two daffily charming beauties of totally different types, and you have a perfect setup for the busiest fictional hero since the well-known one-armed paperhanger. As Fred Fitch careers across the New York City landscape-and sometimes skyline-in his meetings with cops, con men, beautiful girls, and (maybe) murderers, he takes on some of the loonier aspects of a Dante without a Virgil.”
God Save the Mark enjoys the
distinction of being the only novel Donald E. Westlake ever wrote that won an
Edgar Award –it beat out in Rosemary’s Baby in 1968. It is also another funny
novel by the master of capers and things that go wrong with the capers. I’m
unsure if there are people like Fred Fitch in real life, because he seems
rather clueless for a thirty-one year-old man (though as I read the book, I
sort of felt Fred was way older). It makes you wonder how he’s functioned so
far. Still, he is an interesting character and the book is just another
delightful romp from the prolific Westlake.
I do enjoy the style, the setting
(New York in the 60’s and 70’s) and the observational humor, the drollness of
supporting characters. While Westlake wrote under numerous pseudonyms, I need
to start reading his Parker novels he wrote under the Richard Stark moniker –as
I’ve been told multiple times that voice, that Stark voice is much different
than the books written using his real name (and Westlake had maybe close to a
dozen different names he wrote under (just like his friend Lawrence Block).
I’ve got plenty to read in 2020, so
we’ll see how it goes. I would really like to achieve reading two books a
month, but the internet and TV provide numerous distractions. But it’s a plan,
a goal, or maybe hopeful thinking.
Anyways…Happy New Year and let’s
start new decade off.
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