Eugène François Vidocq, Founder of the Sûreté and the First Private Detective

I recently ran into mention of Vidocq, would was the founder of France’s equivalent of Scotland Yard, the Sûreté nationale. I only know what I read in his biography on Wikipedia, but he’s an interesting character. He is possibly the first private detective, though perhaps more likely to be the first documented private detective. Interestingly, his being a detective predated the word detective as a noun by quite a few years—not that it would matter, since Vidocq was French.

He had a strange life, spending much of the first third of his life a scoundrel on the wrong side of the law. He eventually decided to turn his life around and so became an informant to the police. After providing them with a fair amount of help, he became employed by them, the Sûreté being founded with his hiring and him put in charge of it. This was during the time of Emperor Napoleon I, and Vidocq would work (on and off) for several French governments before his death. He also supplemented his income with private detection as well as running a private detective agency, though it doesn’t seem to have gone uniformly well.

The Sûreté became the model for many detective police forces in the world, including Scotland Yard. Also Vidocq published an autobiography, which may have even been partially true, which in turn spawned a fair number of entirely fictional stories based upon him or his life; this may well have influenced Edgar Allen Poe when he created the character of C. Auguste Dupin, and with him the genre of detective fiction.

Twitter Trending Is One of the Worst Ideas Ever

I’ve talked before about how bad social media is (in its current forms) in Social Media is Doomed and talked about some ways to deal with it (in its current forms) in Staying Sane on Social Media. Today I want to talk a little bit about how Twitter Trending is either designed or might as well be designed to amplify the worst aspects of social media. (If you’re not familiar with it, Twitter Trending shows you a realtime-updated list of hot topics that a lot of people are discussing this minute.

Twitter Trending, since it is a snapshot of what is being discussed in high volumes, necessarily captures what people are not taking the time to think about. When people take time to think about a subject, they do not all take the same amount of time to think, and so they will not post at the same time. To post the same time, people must be posting almost immediately upon hearing about the subject. (There is some complex stochastic mathematics I’m oversimplifying, but the conclusion is the same.) To post upon hearing something, one must either be a subject matter expert who can instantly recognize context people will need in order to understand the hot topic, or else one must fool enough to think that one’s immediate, unthinking reaction is worth other people’s time. The latter will naturally predominate among the people posting immediately, for the simple reason that subject matter experts are rare.

So we have a collection of posts, mostly by fools. How to make this work? How about not using a criteria for what to show people which has nothing to do with quality. Most recent, most viewed, and most responded-to would all do well to give the highest likelihood of not getting the best tweets (or are they called xits, now?) without having to laboriously rate all of the tweets for quality then pick the lowest.

Now that we’ve selected what may well be the worst of the worst, and is at best the average of the worst, Twitter Trending now adds one more layer of awful: importance. The very act of showing people these randomly (with respect to quality) selected tweets makes them important. Since they’re likely to be the dumbest comments of fools, this will naturally spark outrage, because it is particularly bad when the worst fools have to offer is elevated within society. Worse still, Twitter Trending presents this, not as a window into the dregs of what humanity has to offer, but as something neutral. Since, among non-psychopaths, the default reason to call someone’s attention to something is because their life will be better for it, Twitter Trending implicitly calls this garbage, good.

Some day Twitter will be able to use AI to show people a curated feed of the worst things ever tweeted, but until then, Twitter Trending is about the closest humanity can currently come.

There is, however, some good news. At least if you use Chrome, or one of its derivatives, like Brave (which is what I use): Twitter Control Panel. It removes a bunch of the worst features of Twitter, as well as doing some other stuff I don’t much care about (mostly changing the rebranding of Twitter to X). It’s still social media, but it helps to limit the worst excesses of present-day social media.

(Note, because internet: so far as I know Twitter Control Panel is not a commercial enterprise and I have no affiliation with whoever it is who makes it.)

Looking Up MST3K Callouts Can Be Interesting

Mystery Science Theater 3000 callouts often involved references to movies, television shows, commercials, and other things in popular culture which the writers expected people to recognize. Since MST3K ran (scripted) from AD 1989 through 1999, and since people tend to assume that most people recognize things they experienced as universal, and since the writers were adults at the time MST3K started, and since people remember things since they were about five years old, this means that the writers tended to reference things from, roughly, 1965 through 1999. That’s not quite accurate, though, since in the 1970s and 1980s re-runs of television shows were quite common. So the references tended to be of things, roughly, 1960-1999. Since I grew up in the 1980s, I get a lot of these references, but there are also plenty I don’t get. And it can be very interesting to look these up.

For example, in Manhunt in Space there was the callout:

“Hazel, will you cook up something for dinner?”
“OK, Mr. B.”

Each was done in a voice that was not the host’s, especially the “OK, Mr. B,” so it was clearly a reference. I threw “Hazel OK Mr. B” into google and discovered that there was a TV show called Hazel which ran from 1961-1966. It was based on a single-panel comic strip of the same name and starred Shirley Booth as the eponymous Hazel. She was a live-in maid for the Baxter family and referred to Mr. Baxter as “Mr. B.” The comic strip upon which it was based was created by a man by the name of Ted Key in 1943. The strip finally ended in 2018. (Key was born in 1912 and died in 2008.)

Looking it up on YouTube, it looks like it was a funny show:

Sometimes Superstition is About Laziness

As I said in Naturalistic Superstition, superstition—whether supernatural or natural—is frequently aimed at trying to achieve control over the world that one does not actually have. It is obvious why someone would do this when they have no control. No one likes to feel helpless. Oddly, though, people will also try to use superstitious means to exert control over the world even when they do have control, but don’t like the kind of control that they have.

An example I used of naturalistic superstition is the attribution to vitamins of powers that they don’t actually have. Vitamins are miracle cures for vitamin deficiency diseases, but they (or at least the known vitamins) are building blocks for processes that go on in the body, not regulatory hormones. Once we have enough, further intake of them doesn’t do anything. (Unlike, for example, anabolic steroids.) Take vitamin C for example. If you don’t have enough, your body doesn’t have all of the building blocks it needs for your immune system to function well, and you get sick easily. Once you get enough vitamin C, that part of your immune system can be built to full capacity and it will function as well as it can. However, there are other things that go into one’s immune system, one of the big ones being getting enough sleep. But getting enough sleep is hard, while taking extra vitamin C is easy. By putting enough superstitious weight onto the power of vitamin C to boost their immune system a person can fool himself into believing that he’s compensating for a chronic lack of sleep. The person does have the control that he wants. The problem is that he doesn’t want it that way. So they he invents another way to (pretend to) have that control so that he can feel like he’s exercising control without the hard work of actually doing it.

Another common place I’ve seen this is organic food. Organic food may be more dense in micro-nutrients than conventionally grown food is. (I suspect it depends greatly on the particular organic farm vs. the particular conventional farm.) But if we suppose, for the sake of argument, that organic food is more micro-nutrient dense than conventional food, and is therefore healthier, the difference may be measurable, but it is not huge. Moreover, while there may be a difference in micro-nutrient content, what no one disputes is that there is no significant difference in macro-nutrient content. That is, organic cane sugar may or may not have more zinc, copper, iron, and manganese than conventional cane sugar. (Neither, in any event, has a ton of them.) What it most certainly does not have, and what no one suggests that it has, is less sugar. If you are eating a fixed amount of cane sugar, it may well be a little healthier to make it organic cane sugar. But that pales in comparison to the health benefits of eating less sugar (unless you already only eat very little sugar except for special occasions, which by definition are rare). But sugar tastes very, very good, so eating less sugar is hard.

So when you make lemonade you use organic cane sugar instead of conventional cane sugar, or coconut sugar instead of cane sugar, or use honey instead of coconut sugar, or use honey with pollen in it instead of filtered honey. There are natural explanations you can put forward for why those are better than the alternative sugar, and that’s not identical with the supernatural explanation for why using holy water to make your lemonade will protect you from all of the sugar in it, but in both cases you’re using some means you have no reason to suppose will achieve the effect you want in order to avoid achieving the effect by means you know are reliable—in this case, not drinking the lemonade.

Once you start looking for this pattern, you’ll notice it’s all over the place. People frequently prefer easy means that don’t actually work to difficult means that do—when the effect is uncertain or won’t happen for a while. People are a lot less superstitious about what prevents one from slipping on ice while they’re walking on ice. People are almost never superstitious about what will slake their thirst when they’re thirsty. I’ve never yet heard of a man who was superstitious about what will keep his hands from getting burned while he’s taking a pan out of the oven.

But when there’s any plausibility that the easier means will work—well, human beings are often lazy.

Naturalistic Superstition

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, there are four species of superstition:

  • improper worship of the true God (indebitus veri Dei cultus);
  • idolatry;
  • divination;
  • vain observances, which include magic and occult arts.

What most, or possibly all, of these have is the desire to control things beyond one’s power. Creating idols, for example, is the attempt to localize God (or some minor power) into a place where one can interact with it on one’s own terms, so one can convince it to do what one wants through worship. (Interestingly; this is the purpose of the golden calf—it is not supposed to be a strange god. Once it is cast the people said, “This is your God1, O Israel, who brought you out of Egypt.” The whole point is that they want to be able to worship it directly, rather than having to wait for Moses to come back down from the mountain.)

I will not waste your time, dear reader, pointing out how divination and vain observances are attempts to go beyond one’s power.

The exact same thing—the vain attempt to go beyond one’s own power—can be done in entirely naturalistic ways. From my observations, it behaves in exactly the same ways superstition. But we don’t have a word for it.

I suspect that we’ve all seen this sort of thing. Vitamins and other supplements are a very common form of it. Vitamins are real, of course, as are all manner of nutrients. But people attribute all sorts of powers to these things which they have no reason to believe that the things have, and with no curiosity whatever to find out what their real powers are.

People go from the fact that vitamins are miracle cures for vitamin deficiency diseases to holding that the vitamins have unlimited powers to confer their effects. They ignore that the vitamins work by doing something, and that the body does not need an unlimited amount of that thing. For example, vitamin C is used by the body in the process of making collagen (it’s just one of many things, but it’s noticeable here for our body not being able to make it). If you have no vitamin C, you stop being able to make collagen, and the parts of your body that need to make new collagen start to greatly suffer from not being able to make it. But contained in this is the natural limit to the effects of vitamin C: once your body has made all of the collagen it wants to make, more vitamin C does no good. (I’m oversimplifying, of course, because vitamin C is used elsewhere in the body, too, but to the best of human knowledge it’s the same story all over—once you have enough, your body can do what it needs to and more does nothing.) It’s like building a house. If you don’t have enough wood, you will build a rickety and drafty house. If you have twice as much wood as you need, you will have a well built house and a big pile of wood. If you have three times as much wood as you need, you will have an equally well built house and a pile of wood that’s twice as big.

Taking large amounts of vitamins as if their effect scales with their dose is directly analogous to superstition, especially to the improper worship of God (such as holding that if one says a prayer in a particular way it will automatically be granted exactly the way you ask for it). Then we come to other ways which are more analogous to divination and vain observances: attributing vague positive benefits to things.

Example of this sort of thing are saying that garlic is “anti-cancer” or that 5G makes chickens lay fewer eggs. Cancer isn’t even one thing, and there’s no reason to suppose that a somewhat improved packetization scheme for data in the radio transmissions used to transmit data to and from cellular phones could have any effect whatever on the way that chickens lay eggs. (I suspect that the fear of 5G was actually about millimeter-wave cell bands, but those are deployed in very few places because they’re so high frequency that they penetrate approximately nothing; on millimeter-wave bands standing in front of your cell phone is enough to have no reception. So far as I’m aware they’ve only been deployed in a few cities and in a few sports stadiums. Most phones don’t even bother incurring the expense of supporting millimeter-wave radio.)

The world is a strange place, we know very little about it, and all sorts of things have effects that we do not know that they have. The problem is not the supposition that effects we do not understand are occurring. The problem is the wild mismatch of certainty to evidence. This is selectively believing in our ignorance; it is believing in it only where one wants to. Is it possible that despite us having no idea how, garlic can cure all forms of cancer? Yes. But there’s just as much reason to believe that garlic causes cancer, or that garlic causes cancer if you take more than twice as much garlic as you eat olive oil, or that garlic causes strokes if you eat more of it than you eat oregano. Lots of things are possible. When one has moved from possible to probable or certain only out of the desire to achieve the effect, this is the naturalistic analog to superstition.

And I really wish we had a word for it.


1. Technically the Greek is plural and many English translations render it as “These are your gods,” but I suspect the translations which take this to be a plural of respect are the more likely to be correct. (An example of the plural of respect is a king saying “we” instead of “I”.) The Jews were certainly not monotheistic at this point, but it makes no sense for them to attribute the bringing them out of Egypt to multiple gods, and still less sense to call one calf multiple gods. No matter how you take it with respect to “theoi”, you certainly have the problem of the plural being used to refer to one thing in the calf.

I Can Believe It’s Not Butter

Margarine, which was originally named oleomargarine, was developed in the second half of the nineteenth century by Hippolyte Mège-Mouriès. Butter was in short supply and Napoleon offered a prize for anyone who could create a butter substitute. Hippolyte’s “oleomargarine” was made with beef tallow and skimmed milk (and a somewhat involved process) but produced something very similar to butter that was cheaper and more readily available, helping to lessen the impact of the butter shortage.

As time wore on, processes became more advanced and cheap vegetable oils (for a long time, partially hydrogenated, produce trans fats) were used to make margarine instead of animal fats. This was especially exacerbated by the various shortages of the second World War. However, once butter became widely available again, the attraction of margarine waned.

Then Science came to the rescue with the utterly incorrect and now-discredited but then-widely-believed hypothesis that cholesterol causes heart disease . Butter has plenty of cholesterol, but margarines made from plant oils don’t. Talk about a marketing win for margarine!

The only problem was that it didn’t taste nearly as good as butter. Then in 1979 the J.H. Filbert company came to the rescue with a margarine that actually tasted like butter and one of the greatest product names that ever named a product. Here’s the ad I remember seeing as a child when this was new:

I think it’s a great pity that more products aren’t named this way. Imagine how well Hydrox might have sold if, instead of something that sounding like a villain that G.I. Joe defeated on a regular basis they had been called “I Can’t Believe They’re Not Oreos.”

I Really Prefer Later MST3K

I’ve been watching a fair amount of Mystery Science Theater 3000 lately. I should say, re-watching it, as I’ve been watching episodes I’ve already seen before, often several times before. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I really prefer later seasons of MST3K. I used to think that I had preferred Mike to Joel as the host, but I’ve discovered that’s a bit of an artifact of how I saw MST3K.

I began watching MST3K in college. I would watch it in the common room of the dormitory I was in, which was how I was introduced to it (someone had put it on the TV in the common room and it caught my attention). This was towards the end of season 8. Later on I started collecting MST3K DVD box sets and that’s where I ran into Joel episodes. With a few exceptions (most notably Cave Dwellers and Manhunt in Space) I didn’t like them nearly as much as I enjoyed the Mike episodes I had seen back in college. I concluded, naturally enough, that I just preferred Mike to Joel.

Then I got even more boxed sets and watched some of the Mike episodes from seasons five and six.

While it is still true that I do generally prefer Mike to Joel, I’ve come to realize that the biggest factor is that the writers just got better over the years. Having watched some special features, they put more time and effort into the jokes as the years went on, which certainly improved the quality. More than anything else, though, the writers learned to work with the movies, rather than working against them.

In the early years, it was not uncommon for Joel or the bots to talk over important parts of the movie, making the movie hard to follow. This made the entire experience less fun, since you didn’t get a chance to enjoy any of the movie, but worse was that it eliminated the possibility for jokes about plot holes. You can’t make jokes about plot holes if no one knows what the plot is.

Allowing the audience to hear the movie had a second benefit, which was that it encouraged the jokes to be about the movie. Obviously, they weren’t always about the movie, and there were plenty of good jokes which were tangential to the movie or just based on visual coincidences or whatever. Still, a lot of the really enjoyable jokes were about the movie that we were watching, and that was a lot more fun.

I don’t want to make too much of this. Cave Dwellers is one of my favorite episodes and it’s from the third season. I also really enjoyed King Dinosaur, which was from the second season. Still, I find that the pattern holds that later seasons tended to be better, and it’s not really surprising that the MST3K crew got better at what they did when they had more practice.

Throwing Out Food is Hard

My mother’s side of the family is all Greek (my maternal grandparents were a Greek immigrant and a first generation American whose parents were both Greek immigrants). From that side of the family I inherited the idea that it is a sin to waste food. (Well, that it is especially sinful, since all waste is, technically speaking, imperfect and in that sense sinful.) Part of this is that Greece has always been poor; as someone put it—I don’t know who—there’s little in Greece besides goats, olives, rocks, and philosophy. However, I’ve been coming to learn that it’s not just that.

Greece had been oppressed by Turkey for hundreds of years, which certainly did nothing to make food plentiful. Then the first World War made food scarce throughout Europe because war is always destructive, and of food in particular it is destructive in a variety of ways. Then there was the Great Depression and the various food scarcities that that introduced. So the idea that food is very precious and never to be wasted certainly came from somewhere.

But that’s the thing—I know where it came from. My Greek relatives thought it terrible to waste food because food was scarce and it was important to eat every Calorie you could because you might have to rely on them for days, weeks, or more. During the second World War, starvation was a real problem in Greece. One German administrator (the Nazis had conquered Greece during WW2) famously wired his superiors in Germany, “send wheat or coffins.”

Starvation is not a problem in modern America. Apart from the way that obesity is the major health concern of our times, this was really brought home to me by an African grad student I knew when I was in grad school, who asked me the simple question: “what’s the longest you ever went without eating involuntarily?” I had never considered the question before and was shocked that my best guess was six hours, perhaps eight. (This was radically different from his own experience in Africa, despite being the son of a chief, if not the first son and not of the chief’s first wife.)

This is not to say that food cannot become scarce in America. Disasters can happen. Times can change. But we live in the times in which we live, not in times that may come. And while it can be wise to prepare for bad times, it’s not really practical to lay in five+ decades worth of multi-decade-shelf-life food stores and in any event that’s not the food we buy to eat on a daily basis, anyway.

(There is also no point in bringing up places which don’t have the abundance of food that America does, because their main problem is not the inability to grow food but poor logistics (roads, economic & political stability, etc.) which means we can’t, realistically, ship them our excess food no matter what we do.)

In our current environment and for the foreseeable future, we can grow quite a bit more food than we can eat. And what’s more, we should. In an uncertain world it would be madness to try to grow exactly the amount of food that people will eat. That would mean that anything going wrong, anywhere, would result in people starving. We absolutely should aim to grow more food than we can eat so that even when things go wrong—and they certainly will—we still have plenty of food. Which means that the only open question is whether we waste that food at the individual level or whether we are individually efficient and waste the food as part of government programs where we pay people to collect the uneaten food and destroy it (once it’s too old to be eaten). Between those two, the former is more efficient, especially at the edges of individual uncertainty, such as suddenly needing more food or mice getting into one’s pantry and needing to lean more heavily on the food in the fridge.

Despite all that, I still find it very hard to throw out food. A part of me really wants to hoard it and let it choke up my shelves until I finally get around to using it—even though I’ve no interest in eating it anymore and it is probably six months past tasting good. That would certainly make sense if the Turks or the Germans were making starvation a reality, but in America , right now, that does no one any good, and does everyone who lives here very minor harm (it’s harder to find the things that people do want because the shelves are too clogged).

It’s curious how this sort of thing works. Sometimes it’s very hard to accept what one knows to be true.

(These thoughts were occasioned by me developing the willpower to actually throw a bunch of stuff out and clean out a bunch of the shelves, so don’t fear for me. I’m in no danger of being crushed by seven foot tall piles of stuff.)

A Lot of Classics Aren’t Classics

As my children grow older and I continue to consider what books, movies, and TV shows to recommend, I’m increasingly coming to the realization that a great deal of what made up the “classics”—stuff from the 1930s through the 1970s—actually aren’t classics. They spoke to the generation they were written for, and a little bit after that, but they don’t speak to the universal human condition. It only felt universal at the time because it was the dominant lens through which everything was viewed.

Take classic Science Fiction: it’s not all garbage, but a shockingly large amount of it actually was. It’s not its fault, precisely; the problem is that it reflected the societal chaos of the inter-war and post-ww2 periods. Unmoored from any sense of human nature, it expresses nothing of any value to people who haven’t grown up in a similar cultural maelstrom.

Even a lot of Englightenment and post-Enlightenment era classics suffer from a similar sort of limitation. Take one of the great romantic-era poems, The Tyger, by William Blake. That’s the one that begins:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

It’s a very well constructed poem, but when we come to one of its best verses:

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

The problem is: the answer is yes. Any well-educated child knows that. God looked on all he made and saw that it was very good.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good poem. But it loses a lot of its power when you’ve received an even mildly decent education.

A lot of classic science fiction boils down to, “maybe we can fornicate a lot on other worlds.” Maybe you can, but it will still be wrong. It will still be lying to yourself about what you’re actually doing. On a lonely planet with no sun, warmed only by volcanic activity where every man who visits automatically gets twenty concubines with ten breasts each, fornication will still just pretending that one can have the happiness of having children without any of the work of having them. (At its best; at its worst, it will still just be drug addiction to endogenously produced drugs.) A story in which unhappy people pretend that they’re happy and then that’s it, that’s the end, the author is pretending the guy is happy too—that isn’t a good story even if you set it on Mars.

All of this stuff was new and exciting when desperately unhappy people who still had the optimism of youth thought that perhaps technology offered a way to escape and then told each other fantasies of that working out. That’s really what a shockingly large amount of classic science fiction really was.

Movies, oddly, tended to be better, in that they tended to be morality plays. They were mostly variations on men whose reach exceeded their grasp trying to take the power of gods and then being smashed by the natural consequences of their inability to control the power they put their hands on. In some ways the greatest of these, or at least the most explicit, is Forbidden Planet.

I don’t have any grand conclusions to this. There is good stuff among these “classics.” It’s just so much fewer and farther between than I had realized when I was a kid, and I’m realizing this is quite a surprise to me.

Buying a Car is Strange

My wife and I recently got into the market for a new car and in consequence did some car shopping. This is a strange experience.

In one sense it’s a fairly straightforward activity. You decide on approximately what you want, then read up on the various offerings in that niche and pick suits you best. The car market is so mature (and regulated) these days that while there are better and worse options, there aren’t any bad options. But the very fact that there are no bad options makes the process more difficult.

If there were bad options, they would be easy to rule out, and one would feel like one has done some definite work. When all of the options are good options, a lot of research can leave one feeling like one still doesn’t know anything.

Worse, this is a very expensive decision that one gets very little practice in making.

Even worse, it’s more-or-less the industry standard to lie in various standard ways that, because they’re universally known, aren’t really dishonest.

The biggest example of this standard lying are the prices of vehicles on carmaker’s websites. The prices listed are the price of the vehicle at the factory at which it was made. However, no one buys vehicles at the factory (with some incredibly rare exceptions that mostly apply to foreign sports cars, as I understand). In consequence there is always a delivery charge on the vehicle, usually somewhere in the range of about $1200. It is not cheap to bring a car thousands of miles away so it is not unreasonable that it must be paid for, but it is misleading that the prices are quoted in a configuration that is not a normal way to get it.

Speaking of which, the starting prices are usually for models which are not how anyone gets the vehicle, as can be evidenced by the way that they’re virtually never in stock in the dealer’s inventories. Admittedly, in the last several years very little has been in stock due to the vehicle shortages caused by the non-expansion of fabrication capacity of obsolete semiconductor nodes. This has finally eased, at least somewhat, though, and yet a search of dealer inventories almost always shows no base models available. (The major exception to this in my area is Tesla, who actually had base model 3 vehicles in stock, some even to the point of being slightly discounted for being on the lot for over a month.)

The higher-end models frequently (though not always) involve important features before you get to the “luxury” version, too. Adaptive cruise control was often missing on the base model and available on higher end models. The result was that cars which looked cheaper than competitor’s models turned out to be extremely similar in price once one selected the models which gave feature-parity. This probably shouldn’t be surprising since car-making is largely mature and is certainly highly competitive.

The main exception to this is electric cars, which is nowhere near a mature market. The landscape for electric cars is different, though in parallel ways. On the one hand, electric cars tend to be very feature-rich in their base models, often the result of going the route of complete computer-control of features. The epitome of this is probably Tesla, though others are fairly similar; instead of an array of buttons there’s one large touchscreen and the central computer controls everything. This saves on cost (injection-molded buttons are not cheap, and nor are wire harnesses to connect them all to inputs, and buttons are notoriously failure-prone in the electrical engineering world) but without sacrificing quality, at least if the touchscreen interface is done well. The result of having a computer control everything is that it’s inexpensive to add features which are normally only found on high-end cars. The bigger thing you sacrifice on the low-end model of electric cars is range. Higher-end models typically feature 300-350 miles of range, while low-end models will feature 200-250 miles of range. And these are right in the area for driving that makes a big difference. It wouldn’t matter much of it was 800 miles vs 900 miles of range; people can’t drive that far without long rests anyway. 200 miles of range is less than three hours of driving at seventy miles per hour, which is very much within the range of what’s possible and even normal for human beings to drive.

And, of course, the range numbers on electric vehicles are misleading, too. This is largely the EPA’s fault because they developed the standard for measuring range which everyone quotes. As far as I can make out, their estimation of range is based on driving at thirty miles per hour at 65 degree Fahrenheit in beautiful weather. That’s actually a bit of an exaggeration, but they do make the range estimates very heavily city-driving based, which tend to be a best-case for electric cars for two main reasons: speed and regenerative braking. Speed is really the big one; regenerative braking just means that all of the stopping imposes very little inefficiency. City driving is typically done at speeds of 20-40 miles per hour and wind resistance is pretty negligible at these speeds. When you’re going at 65 or 70 miles per hour, wind resistance becomes far more significant and this meaningfully cuts into the range of electric vehicles. (This is part of why electric vehicles work so hard to be aerodynamic.) This is an issue on gasoline vehicles as well, though people tend not to notice nearly so much because gasoline engines are generally designed to be able to power far more acceleration than they normally provide and so they never get near their peak efficiency. This is why some hybrid designs add an electric motor on the rank shaft to help with acceleration and thus size the gasoline engine to be at peak efficiency at highway speeds (The Honda Insight of the early 2000s used this approach and with its tiny 3-cylinder engine got 49MPG highway.)

Anyway, once you figure in the inefficiency of driving at 65MPH, possibly needing to spend energy on heating or headlights or other things, and take into account the fact that you want to always keep at least about twenty miles in reserve for emergencies, 200 EPA miles of range makes for a very iffy proposition on road trips. This is a place where Tesla does better than most—in contrast to its “lie to me” button on the order page which defaults to showing an imaginary number that takes into account every possible savings they can think of including not having to do oil changes over the course of five years as if it were the purchase price. The websites of Ford and Kia feel like they’re trying to hide the range of the base model until the last possible moment. (Of course, all of this changes frequently, I’m only speaking of how things were in October through December of the year of our Lord 2023.)

The electric car situation is likely to improve significantly within a few years. There are several improvements in battery chemistries which are currently in the process of commercialization which promise to improve energy density, cost, and charging rate. Moreover, it’s likely that at least some of these will work out because there are so many different approaches, many of which can be combined into other batteries. There are solid-state and semi-solid-state batteries which are very promising. There are also improvements in LFP (aka LiFePO4, aka Lithium-Iron-Phosphate) batteries, including ones that add manganese to achieve Lithium-Ion like levels of energy density. And there are a bunch of other improvements in battery chemistries that are being worked on; it seems likely that at least some of these will work out. If we can get to base models with 350 miles of range and charging times cut in half, that cost about $10k less than current base models, it will be a huge improvement in the viability of electric cars for most people, and I think that these improvements are plausible by 2040. That also gives time for the building out of the infrastructure to support charging electrical vehicles, which needs to happen no slower than the rate of adoption of electric vehicles. The good news is that most of the time people who live in houses can charge their cars at home, and the electric grid is already well build-out to houses. (You don’t need to charge super fast at home; if you charge at a rate of 8kW you can fully charge an 80kWHr battery in 10 hours. That’s the power draw of a moderate-sized house AC unit or around twice the draw of an electric oven. And it’s rare to need to pull into your house with 0% left.)

Anyway, it’s weird to have to learn all of this stuff and for a $30k to $50k decision to rest on the results of this research in a relatively short space of time, and with no practice, and to have to get used to the standard lies in order to understand what they’re actually communicating just to forget it all for, God willing, another ten years.

The Idolatry of Art

Something I’ve come across in real life, but far more in (English) literature from the early-through-mid 1900s, is a weird idolatry of art. In real life this tends to be an excuse by young women to tolerate things they shouldn’t tolerate from good looking men they’re attracted to. In literature, though, there is generally far less of an obvious explanation for it.

Chesterton talked about the phenomenon as “art for art’s sake” and the thing always strikes me as having one of the great hallmarks of desperation: a mighty struggle to pretend that a thing is what one wants it to be.

I think I would do well, at this point, to give an example of what I mean. A good one that comes to mind is in Dorothy L. Sayers’ masterpiece, Gaudy Night.

“You see how easy it is, when you stick to the rules,” said Wimsey. “Miss Vane feels no compunction. She wipes me out with a firm hand, rather than damage my reputation. But the question isn’t always so simple. How about the artist of genius who has to choose between letting his family starve and painting pot-boilers to keep them?”

“He has no business to have a wife and family,” said Miss Hillyard.

“Poor devil! Then he has the further interesting choice between repressions and immorality. Mrs. Goodwin, I gather, would object to the repressions and some people might object to the immorality.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Miss Pyke. “You have hypothesized a wife and family. Well—he could stop painting. That, if he really is a genius, would be a loss to the world. But he mustn’t paint bad pictures—that would be really immoral.”

“Why?” asked Miss Edwards. “What do a few bad pictures matter, more or less?”

“Of course they matter,” said Miss Shaw. She knew a good deal about painting. “A bad picture by a good painter is a betrayal of truth—his own truth.”

Now that I’ve typed it out it’s not quite what I had in mind. You can see it, perhaps more clearly, in The Unsolved Puzzle of the Man With No Face. I can’t give details without spoiling the story (it’s a short story), but murder is committed because of an obsession with art and offense taken at the quality of the art not being recognized.

You also see this kind of thing, though not shared by the rest of the cast, in the character of Henrietta Savernake in The Hollow. She is disconnected from the rest of humanity because she is so intensely an artist, and art is more important than life. She went around in a daze trying to find the perfect model for a statue she was sculpting, then destroyed it because she realized she had, in some indefinable way, included the spite of the model (who blathered on self-importantly while modeling) into the face which otherwise had exactly what she wanted. But she wasn’t just discontent with it, she woke up from sleeping with this terrible revelation and had to run and destroy the sculpture immediately while she still had the power to do it and wasn’t too attached to it. You can also see this in how she couldn’t mourn the victim, she could only make a sculpture to express her grief.

You can see a similar thing, though in negative, in the discussion of Ann Dormer’s paintings in the Lord Peter story The Unpleasantness At the Bellona Club. Ann Dorland’s paintings were judged terrible. Not merely incompetent, but outright bad. It has something of the flavor of the ancient Greek horror at hubris.

I’ve seen many similar things which, unfortunately, are not coming to mind; hopefully you have too and know to what I am referring.

The phenomenon of artist-as-creative-god seems to be a phenomenon of, primarily, the first half of the nineteen hundreds. As far as I can tell it did predate the first world war, though it does not seem to have outlasted the second.

I can’t help but wonder if this is related to what G.K. Chesterton said (in Orthodoxy) about the will-worshipers:

At the beginning of this preliminary negative sketch I said that our mental ruin has been wrought by wild reason, not by wild imagination. A man does not go mad because he makes a statue a mile high, but he may go mad by thinking it out in square inches. Now, one school of thinkers has seen this and jumped at it as a way of renewing the pagan health of the world. They see that reason destroys; but Will, they say, creates. The ultimate authority, they say, is in will, not in reason. The supreme point is not why a man demands a thing, but the fact that he does demand it. I have no space to trace or expound this philosophy of Will. It came, I suppose, through Nietzsche, who preached something that is called egoism. That, indeed, was simpleminded enough; for Nietzsche denied egoism simply by preaching it. To preach anything is to give it away. First, the egoist calls life a war without mercy, and then he takes the greatest possible trouble to drill his enemies in war. To preach egoism is to practise altruism. But however it began, the view is common enough in current literature. The main defence of these thinkers is that they are not thinkers; they are makers. They say that choice is itself the divine thing. Thus Mr. Bernard Shaw has attacked the old idea that men’s acts are to be judged by the standard of the desire of happiness. He says that a man does not act for his happiness, but from his will. He does not say, “Jam will make me happy,” but “I want jam.” And in all this others follow him with yet greater enthusiasm. Mr. John Davidson, a remarkable poet, is so passionately excited about it that he is obliged to write prose. He publishes a short play with several long prefaces. This is natural enough in Mr. Shaw, for all his plays are prefaces: Mr. Shaw is (I suspect) the only man on earth who has never written any poetry. But that Mr. Davidson (who can write excellent poetry) should write instead laborious metaphysics in defence of this doctrine of will, does show that the doctrine of will has taken hold of men. Even Mr. H.G.Wells has half spoken in its language; saying that one should test acts not like a thinker, but like an artist, saying, “I FEEL this curve is right,” or “that line SHALL go thus.” They are all excited; and well they may be. For by this doctrine of the divine authority of will, they think they can break out of the doomed fortress of  rationalism. They think they can escape.

The Modern world, which was very much confronting the problems of Modern Philosophy in the late 1800s, faces the problem of the radical skepticism which defined Modern Philosophy. It is in the prison of doubt and has trouble bringing itself to that faith required even for simple things like getting up in the morning. (If anyone doubts this, one merely needs to look at the rate of prescriptions for antidepressants.) It strikes me that there might be a relation, here. That is, the worship of art was, perhaps, a moderately disguised worship of will in an attempt to evade the mental paralysis of Modern Philosophy. It was not sensible because it was driven by desperation.

I don’t know if this is the explanation, but it does explain the phenomenon.

Murder, She Wrote: Deadly Lady

On the seventh day of October in the year of our Lord 1984 the first regular episode of Murder, She Wrote aired. Unlike the pilot episode of the series, it was set in Cabot Cove and was called Deadly Lady.

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The lady to which the title is referring is a hurricane as the giant wave in the overly dark opening scene suggests. (My guess is that it’s so dark in order to disguise a model set; the coastline of Cabot Cove was played by Mendocino, California and it would probably be difficult to get a hurricane at a convenient time in California, since they don’t occur on the west coast of the USA. (To be fair, they can get cyclones, which are basically the same thing, but waiting around for one would be impractical and getting helicopter photography during one would be of dubious safety.))

After the establishing shot and opening credits we go to Jessica typing on her typewriter.

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The lights flicker, then go out. As Jessica gets some matches and an oil lamp, we hear knocking and a male voice. Jessica goes to the door and opens it. It turns out to be a friend of hers named Ethan. She upbraids him that he shouldn’t be out of doors on a night like this.

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He replies, “I know that, woman. You think I’m a nitwit?” She replies that he shouldn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answered, and after a bit of banter we find out that he’s here to check on Jessica and provide some exposition. It’s a real bad hurricane and the coast guard is picking up signals from some fools in a yacht. No one can get out to them before the storm clears, so they’re on their own.

His exposition delivered, he bids Jessica a good night and leaves to go to his own bed.

The next scene opens with clear blue skies and Jessica taking a morning jog along the docks. She meets a fisherman sorting through something who tells her that Ethan went out about an hour ago to see if he could help the people on the yacht. He couldn’t say what happened to them because he lost radio contact with them. Jessica asks him to have Ethan call her when he gets back.

She then jogs home to find a strange man trimming her hedges.

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She tries to explain to him that her yard is private property but he only remonstrates with her about having let weeds get a toe-hold in her garden. His name is Ralph and he’s mighty hungry but doesn’t believe in taking handouts, so he’ll happily work for his breakfast. After a bit of discussion, they agree and Jessica cooks him some eggs and bacon after he finishes with the hedges.

As they sit down to eat Ralph claims to have been hoboing around for about as long as he can remember, but he’s not a bum, he works for what he gets. He then recognizes her from a book on her counter, saying that he read it and it was a good book.

Jessica tells him to sit down to breakfast as she points out the problems with his story. First, the book is a pre-publication copy and not available to the public yet. Second, his clothes may be faded but they are exquisitely tailored. Third, the term is “boin'” not “hoboing.” Fourth, there’s an imprint on his wrist from where a wristwatch used to be. She asks where he has it stashed.

He grins and pulls the watch out. It’s rather expensive looking. He says that he didn’t steal it and Jessica replies that she didn’t think that he did.

Ralph comes clean or makes up a more plausible story, we’ll find out later. He has been hoboing, just not for very long. He was just forced into retirement and decided that he wanted to see America “from the ground up.”

He asks if Jessica is mad and she replies that she’s willing to stick to their arrangement if he wants to do work around the house. They’re then interrupted by a call from Amos Tupper. Ethan just came in with the yacht and something peculiar has happened. Murder, peculiar. Jessica says she’ll be right there. Ralph is surprised to hear about a murder in this town. Jessica excuses herself and Ralph says that he’ll keep busy outside, but watches her go out of her window and doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get outside.

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Jessica gets down to the dock and after a bit of pointless bickering between Ethan and Amos, Amos explains to Jessica what’s up. Some rich fellow, by the name of Steven Earl—he sells cosmetics and Jessica recognizes the name, “Mark of Earl”—was out sailing with his four daughters and last night, during the storm when… Ethan interrupts him demanding that the “girls” tell their story and Jessica concurs.

Amos agrees and introduces Jessica to the “girls” and asks them to tell Jessica their story, but Jessica insists on meeting them first.

First is Nancy Earl, who goes by Nan.

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Jessica admires her sweater and asks if she knitted it herself. She didn’t, but she did design it. Jessica thinks it’s lovely. Next Maggie Earl comes forward and introduces herself.

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She’s read Jessica’s latest book and it was a hoot. Jessica thanks her, saying that it was a hoot to write. Then comes Lisa Earl Shelby. Her husband has been notified and is on his way.

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Jessica thinks this is nice. And finally there’s Grace Earl Lamont.

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Her husband hasn’t been notified and isn’t coming. She last saw him four years ago.

Which rounds out the lot. Jessica then suggests that they would be more comfortable “inside,” I presume because it’s cheaper to film indoors than on a dock.

Anyway, they left Bridgeport (I assume, Connecticut) four days ago. They thought surely the storm would blow out to sea, this far north, but when they realized their mistake it was too late. Around midnight they were huddled in the cabin in their boat when they realized that their father was still topside. Lisa was the first one up, then Grace after her. Lisa was almost to her father when Grace saw a huge wave come over the boat and knock their father off.

It then turns out that we’re here because Grace asked the Sheriff how soon they could expect a coroner’s inquest, which he thought a mite suspicious. Given the suspicious circumstances, he’s not very inclined to hold an inquest until he has a body. Ethan says that, given the tides, the body should show up within a day or so.

The four daughters walk off. Amos asks Jessica what she thinks and she says that she doubts that any of them will be wearing black for long. Amos asks about the death—one hundred million dollars is a whale of a motive. Ethan accuses him of reading too many of Jessica’s books, but Amos retorts that he hasn’t read any of them.

Jessica leaves them to invite the four women to stay at her house, but they decline as they already have hotel reservations. Most of them walk off but Jessica gets a moment with Grace. She extends her condolences and Grace says that none of them will miss their father. He broke up her marriage and has prevented Nan from getting into any relationships, and turned Maggie into “a dull hausfrau.” There’s really no love lost between any of them. She then excuses herself.

Jessica watches her go with a look of perplexity.

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And we go to commercial break.

When we get back, Jessica comes home on her bicycle and goes into her house. She calls to Ralph but he’s not inside. A phone call comes in and it’s Latisha from the phone company letting Jessica know the charges for her call to Paris. She finds Ralph outside resting in her hammock and listening to Mozart on his walkman since the weeding was done and there’s not much else he can do without supplies. She asks him about the call. At $9.97, it must have been a short call to France, she says. He clarifies that it’s Paris, Kentucky—he has a friend who is a horse breeder down there, and he will take care of the charges.

He then takes her to look at some rotten wood on the inside of the house which needs some putty and paint. He can fix it but it will take $10-$15 in supplies. Jessica says it’s a bargain and goes to get the money. While she does this, Ralph admires a pipe that was sitting out on a table. It belonged to Frank—Jessica’s husband who died years ago. He remarks, pensively, “I guess besides a good meal, the thing I enjoy most is a good pipe.” After confirming that it was her husband’s, he compliments Frank’s taste in pipes. It’s an excellent Meerschaum.

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Jessica then offers it to him, perhaps because she was touched by the sappy background music which has been playing since Ralph started looking at the pipe. He tries to refuse but she presses him. “I want you to have it. Better you should smoke it than it should sit there gathering dust.” She looks like she’s about to cry and hurries off.

Ralph puts it in his pocket and the scene then shifts to a helicopter landing in a grassy field. Lisa runs up to it and greets her husband. They proceed immediately to the Sheriff’s office.

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His concern is that the death of Steven Earl could throw Mark of Earl cosmetics into a financial tail-spin. He wants an immediate inquest so that the reins of leadership can smoothly pass on to Steven Earl’s successor.

This attitude—that corporations are like feudal baronies on the borderlands and that stability comes from the loyalty of the soldiers to the individual under whose banner they will fight—is something we’re going to see a fair amount of on Murder, She Wrote. I don’t know how much the writers actually believed it and how much it was just an excuse to move the plot along because they need dramatic tension. In reality, large profitable companies do not live by their day-to-day stock prices and those stock prices can’t lose 99% of their value from a few days or even a few weeks of uncertainty in who the CEO is. Companies—and especially large, established companies—take a long time to develop their products and marketing campaigns. It is possible for an army to get a significant advantage over another because uncertainty in leadership causes one to stay where it is rather than repositioning itself when the one with active leadership moves, but there’s nothing that can happen to a large cosmetics company that requires a response within hours or it could be devastated. It’s just not a thing.

Anyway, Amos stands on his insistence that there will be no inquest until they have a body, and we go back to Jessica talking with Ralph.

Ralph tells Jessica about how he lost his wife years ago, and for a long time couldn’t bear to think about it. He asks if she has children and she replies that she and Frank were never blessed that way. He repeats the word blessed and chuckles. He then gets up and leaves because he has things to do, bidding Jessica a good night. After he leaves she goes to do the dishes and after unplugging the drain in her sink sees the water swirling down the drain and gets an inspiration. She runs over to the docks where she finds Ethan. She needs his help and advice. The help seems to largely consist of letting her have a map and a compass, which she uses to draw a circle on the map.

Ethan’s advice seems to primarily consist of saying, “Well, I’ll be a skinned lizard” and then asking Jessica how she knew. Her answer is, “Didn’t it seem strange to you that those girls knew exactly where they were in the middle of a storm?”

A call to Amos Tupper and a trip over to the local hotel later and Jessica confronts the four sisters with the fact that at midnight, in the location they said they were at (3 miles due east of Monhegan Island), they would have been in the eye of the hurricane and there would have been no waves to sweep anyone over. Lisa makes the extremely obvious statement that they must have been mistaken as to their location but Maggie won’t have it. She confesses to murdering her father.

Their father didn’t die the night before, but rather two nights before. Maggie and her father were alone on deck, he was drunk, and they fought as usual. She has a gun in her purse she keeps for protection and when he came at her she fired, twice. When the sisters got up on deck there was blood everywhere and his pipe was still warm, but he wasn’t there. Amos arrests her.

Amos, as we will get to know about him, will arrest anyone at the drop of a hat. That said, this time it seems pretty justified.

Jessica isn’t satisfied but can’t explain it. Then a newspaperman comes it with a fresh edition about the millionaire who drowned. Jessica looks in it and sees the photo of Steven Earl—an old photo, taken from the dusk jacket of his autobiography called Grease Paint Millionaire about how he started as an actor and got into makeup almost by accident. Jessica asks if the book was old and the newspaperman says perhaps twenty years out of print.

Jessica goes to her house (with Ethan) looking for Ralph but can’t find him. Some comedic misunderstandings later, Jessica explains to Ethan that Ralph is Steven Earl. Ethan thinks that she’s batty, but agrees to help her look around Cabot Cove for him.

Unfortunately, Ralph/Steven Earl is found by some kids the next morning.

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And with the reveal of the body we go to the midpoint commercial break.

When we get back Nan and Lisa identify the body with Amos Tupper. Then Jessica arrives  as they’re leaving the chapel where the body is. Then a car screams up and parks. A man gets out who Nan recognizes as “Terry.” He says that he just heard the news in Kentucky and flew right in. Lisa explains to Jessica that he isn’t a relative but would like to be—about a year ago he and Nan were engaged and then he just walked out of her life.

Jessica goes inside and identifies the body as Ralph. This angers her and she swears vengeance in her folksy way.

Then there’s an unpleasant scene between Lisa and her Husband in their hotel room which doesn’t really advance the plot but is there to make them both seem like suspects.

Then we go to the Sheriff’s station and he brings Maggie out to interview her with Jessica present. He tells her that the body was found, shot twice in the chest, just as she described. She’s shocked and says that it’s impossible. He can’t be dead. He left the yacht on an inflatable raft he hid away before they left. It—the trip, everything—was all a scheme to unmask a fortune hunter named Terry Jones.

A year ago he paid Terry half a million dollars to disappear but after suffering a heart attack six months ago he was afraid Terry would show up again when he was dead. So they cooked up this scheme in order to lure Terry out of the woods so Steven could prove to Nan what a terrible guy Terry is. How, Maggie does not say, because I can see no plausible way for that to work, especially without revealing how Steven paid him to leave, which he wanted to keep from Nan. “My beloved daughter, I faked my death, causing you tremendous grief, in order to lure your former fiance to come back to you, which he did. Don’t you see how this proves he is the one who doesn’t really love you?” He could try to gussy that up, but it does not seem plausibly persuasive. Nor loving.

Anyway, Amos isn’t buying any of it but Jessica is, and leaves Amos to wait for the coroner to tell him what Jessica already knows. She bicycles over to the hotel to look for Terry Jones but he and Nan went to the church about twenty minutes ago. As Jessica leaves she encounters Maggie, who was released because the shots that killed her father didn’t come from her gun. Lisa’s husband tries to tell Jessica to butt out of a family affair, but Jessica retorts that Steven Earl was no stranger to her. She wishes him a good day in a way that makes it clear that she very much hopes he will have a bad day—somewhere far away from her.

We then see Terry talking with Nan in a cemetery. He claims to her that he left because her father threatened to ruin him if he didn’t. She’s not buying it.

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He proposes to her and she doesn’t know what she wants to do. She says she needs to be alone and walks off.

As she does, Jessica rides up on her bicycle and greets Terry. With little formality, she tells him that he lied when he said he heard about the death this morning. In reality, he heard it from a phone call yesterday from Steven Earl. He replies that the guy on the phone said he was a reporter, but it might have been Earl—he was a good actor. Terry explains that he flew into Portland last night and to his surprise found Nan waiting for him. Maggie had told her about their father’s plan to trap Terry. He says that some people, like Maggie, secretly believe in him. He and Nan spent the night together at a hotel near the airport. She left early in the morning, he slept in. When he heard the news of Steven Earl’s real death, he immediately came to be by Nan’s side.

Jessica then goes to the Sheriff’s office but Amos isn’t there. She overhears a conversation with one of his deputies and someone else on the radio that Amos is down at Cotter’s Beach with a search party because he got an anonymous note shoved in the mailbox which said that there were funny goings-on at about 10pm the night before.

Jessica goes down to Cotter’s Beach and asks Amos to see the note, which he shows her, but the camera does not show us. Then one of the searchers runs up because he found a pair of new-looking pink high-heel shoes half-buried in the sand. One had a heel broken off of it. Jessica remarks that half-buried means half-exposed and scampers off. After a few moments of searching next to where the shoes were, she finds the missing heel.

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Amos praises Jessica for finding it and says that all they have to do now is to find to whom the shoes belong. Jessica says that without doubt they belong to Nan and we go to commercial break.

When we come back from commercial break, Jessica and Amos are in Nan’s room as Nan is searching for the shoes. She never unpacked them and yet is somehow certain that they were here last night. Amos shows her the shoes and she identifies them as hers—she designed them and had them custom made.

Jessica asks Nan to try them on. Nan doesn’t understand, but complies. Presumably this is so that Jessica can get a look at the bottom of Nan’s foot (the shoe fits, but we knew that before she tried it on):

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I assume that the thing Jessica was looking for are scratches or something like that, since if Nan was there and broke a heel and lost both of her shoes she’d have had to scramble over the rocks barefoot and she’s a city slicker with, presumably, tender feet. Let’s zoom in:

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I can’t see any sign of scrambling over cliffs, though the resolution really isn’t wonderful for that. Presumably Jessica will confirm this soon. Anyway, Amos takes the fact that the shoe fits to mean that he has to arrest her for the murder of her father. Jessica objects saying that Nan isn’t guilty, then gets an idea and advises Amos to take Nan into custody. Jessica then asks Amos and Nan to keep the evidence absolutely confidential.

The scene then shifts to the Sheriff’s office, where Terry Jones shows up, angry that Nan has been arrested. He protests that there’s no way Nan could have killed her father because she was with him. Amos suggests that perhaps they were in it together. The Portland hotel desk clerk saw them check in but didn’t see either of them leave. They easily could have snuck back to Cabot Cove and committed the murder together. Terry starts to panic and says that he didn’t have anything to do with Steven Earl’s death, but if Nan did kill him before she came to Terry, he would have no idea. Amos says that he better not, since in Maine being an accessory to murder is about as bad as being the murderer. But as long as he’s here, Amos sees no reason why Terry can’t see Nan. Terry then excuses himself, saying that he has business to take care of, and beats a hasty retreat.

Amos then goes to the door to the jail cells, which this conversation took place next to, opens it, and asks Nan (who walks out) whether she heard it. Finally disillusioned about Terry, Nan replies, “Yeah. I heard it.”

The scene then shifts to the hotel, where Lisa, her husband, Maggie, and Grace come back, all of them laughing and perhaps a bit drunk. Lisa’s husband is shouting in jubilation. They’ve all been celebrating Maggie’s exoneration. Jessica breaks the news about Nan’s arrest. When asked why, Jessica lies and tells them that the Sheriff found a heel from a shoe, which Nan admitted was hers, on the beech very near where the body of their father was found, but the shoes are missing. Jessica then says she knows how sisters are, and how they trade clothes, and asks if it’s possible if one of them wore those shoes.

Lisa asks if Jessica wants to search their rooms and Jessica says, “something like that.” Lisa replies not without a warrant, and not by Jessica, then leaves with her husband. Grace says that she has nothing to hide and so Jessica can search her room if she wants. Maggie says that Jessica can search her room, too, but she and Nan are different shoe sizes and besides, she doesn’t wear pink.

Later, Maggie walks Jessica out of the hotel and Jessica tells Maggie that she’s exhausted and will sleep in late. She also says that the Sheriff will be over later and asks Maggie to give the Sheriff a bag that she was holding (we were not shown what was in it).

The scene then shifts to Jessica’s house where a gloved hand breaks the window to Jessica’s door, reaches through, and opens it. The dark figure who belongs to the gloved hand then slowly and softly walks in and starts walking upstairs but stops when it hears creaking. It reverses course and then Jessica calls out, “that wasn’t very thoughtful.”

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The figure walks up and we see who it is.

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I like the TV burglar outfit Maggie is wearing. Also, this turns the title of the episode into a curious pun.

She asks, “You were expecting me, weren’t you?”

Jessica replies, “You know I was.”

In fact, Maggie wasn’t sure. But she looked inside of the bag and found a blue heel to a shoe and figured that it was a message. She asks if she slipped and Jessica points out that she said that she doesn’t wear pink, but Jessica never mentioned the color of the shoes.

Jessica adds that if it makes Maggie feel any better, she knew Maggie was guilty because everything pointed to an obvious framing of Nan. Maggie objects that it wasn’t obvious; Nan and Terry could have done it. Jessica points out that the shoes prove that she didn’t; had she lost her shoes her feet would have been scratched, which she found they were not when she asked Nan to try on the shoes.

Anyway, once it was clear that Nan was being framed, it was also clear who did it: the only person with the requisite knowledge to set up the frame by telling Nan about Terry Jones’ arrival at Portland.

Maggie tells Jessica that she’s very clever but Jessica demurs. She was merely logical; Maggie was the clever one. Confessing to the murder knowing that the police investigation would exonerate her was brilliant.

Maggie then explains her motive. She spent her whole life taking care of her father, making a home for him, keeping the peace, and for what? The only one who her father actually loved was Nan. After a bit of crying, she apologizes to Jessica for having to murder her in order to get away with the murder of her father. She explains her plan: it will look like she surprised a burglar who killed her in a struggle.

Jessica chides her for this plan. For one thing, they don’t have burglars in Cabot Cove. Second, and perhaps more to the point, the moment the back window was broken she called Sheriff Tupper, who has been listening in to the whole conversation. Jessica then moves some dead flowers in a wicker basket to reveal the phone off its hook.

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I must confess, given how low they were speaking, Amos couldn’t have heard much, but this is enough to dissuade Maggie from murdering Jessica. Jessica picks up the phone and says that Maggie wants to give herself up, then hands Maggie the phone so she can confirm this with him.

The scene shifts to the next morning, at the hotel, where Nan and Jessica are talking as Nan goes to her taxi. She tells Jessica that she understands how her sisters feel but her father was actually a decent man. Jessica concurs, reminding Nan that she did know him, if only for a short time. Jessica summarizes, saying that in her experience if you give love, that’s what you get back. Nan laughs and says, “Not always.” She then considers that her father was right about Terry and she didn’t see it, but Jessica tells her not to be too hard on herself. Terry was a very clever young man and she pities whoever gets him next.

Nan bids her farewell and gets in her taxi, then Ethan pulls up in his pickup truck and offers to take Jessica out to fish for sea bass, as he’s heard that they’re biting. Jessica accepts and tells Ethan that she’s going to teach him some of the finer points of deep-sea angling. As the pickup drives off, Ethan asks if that means that she’s going to want him to bait her hooks, too, and she replies, “Of course. You always do, don’t you?”

Then we go to credits.

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This was a very interesting episode. While there was also a pilot episode that aired the week before, this was still very much an introductory episode. More, perhaps, than the pilot, since this episode took place in Cabot Cove while the pilot took place in New York City. That is arguable, since most Murder, She Wrote episodes don’t take place in Cabot Cove (in most seasons it’s between a quarter and a third), but still something to consider. Another sense in which this is an introductory episode is that it’s the first regular-length episode, so it’s the first time we’re seeing what the show is really going to be like. It’s also quite likely to be the first time many people saw the show since there are all sorts of reasons to not see the pilot. (Among other things, people would take their guesses as to what they would like when a new TV seasons rolled round but they might be disappointed and try other shows. Plus there would be recommendations from people who did watch the pilot, etc.)

This being an introductory episode manifests itself in all sorts of ways, but part of it is that they put a lot of effort into showing how clever Jessica is. In particular, she shows off her deductive skill far more than she would come to later. For example, before the first commercial break she tells Ralph why he’s “full of clam chowder” with a four-point list of observations. She sees through the sisters’ story about their father being washed away in the storm by plotting their location on a map with a compass. She rushes off and finds the missing heel from the shoes and off-handedly knows that they belong to Nan. And all this is well before she solves the mystery. In later episodes Jessica will do a fair amount of investigation, but it’s rare that the next bit of investigation comes from clever deduction from the previous piece of investigation. In this episode each step follows from Jessica having been clever in a way we can clearly see. I suspect that this faded in no small part because it’s hard to write, but that’s a pity because it’s a lot of fun.

There’s another interesting aspect to this being an introductory episode, which is that they’re trying to paint Jessica’s personality. I think you can really see the influence of Miss Marple on the initial conception of Jessica in this episode.

(This is probably a subject that merits its own post, but if you’re not aware: Miss Marple was one of the main inspirations for Jessica Fletcher. The creators acknowledge this if you watch the special features, but even without that, it would be obvious. Miss Marple was both an old woman who lived in a small, obscure village solving crimes and also an extremely popular detective. The last Miss Marple novel was published in 1976, a mere eight years before Murder, She Wrote first aired. There’s also an interesting connection with the title of Murder, She Wrote. There was a 1961 movie based upon the Miss Marple novel The 4:50 From Paddington which did not use the book’s title. Instead, it used the title: Murder, She Said.)

In contrast with later episodes, Jessica seems far more embedded in the Cabot Cove community. This is not so much about people knowing her, but rather that she seems to be a part of it, and more importantly, it seems to be a part of her.

Another interesting thing is that she seems to have small-town manners. Small town manners tend to be more oriented around building relationships because in a small town you’re fairly likely to see people again. Plus you meet few enough people you have the time and energy to spend on them. Cosmopolitan manners, by contrast, tend to assume more between people but at the same time have an emotional distance that is maintained because actually getting to know people or forming relationships is work that is quite likely to not pay off since for any given person you’re not very likely to ever see them again. Before too long, Jessica would have cosmopolitan manners, but in this episode she had small-town manners. You can see this in the way she insisted on being introduced to the four sisters before hearing their story. You can also see this—to some degree—in the way she related to Ralph. She had neither  cosmopolitan easiness nor cosmopolitan coldness.

When we come to the episode itself, it’s something of a mixed bag. The plot is interesting, though the events which form the mystery don’t hold together overly well. Starting with the boat trip: how did Steven Earl convince all four of his daughters to go on a boat trip with him? Nan might be willing to do it out of affection and Maggie did it as part of the plan to murder her father, but why on earth did Lisa or Grace consent to the trip?

Then we come to the faked death. I can’t help but ask why Steven Earl thought that faking his death was a good idea. In theory this was to draw Terry out of cover, but I can see no possible purpose drawing Terry out of cover would actually serve. Steven knew where Terry was—he had this phone number—so it wasn’t about finding Terry. And I don’t see any way this could possibly convince Nan that Terry was a bad guy. About the only possible good this could serve was proving to Steven that he still had to worry about Terry, but that’s really more about how Nan feels about Terry rather than whether Terry is interested in Nan. Further, the right way to handle that would be to set up something with his lawyers where Terry would get periodic payments, made by the lawyers, if he stayed away from Nan, so this could carry on after Steven’s death.

But if we pass over this and just accept that he wanted to fake his death, I can see no possible explanation for the faking of his death being done by pretending that Maggie shot him. Unless, of course, that wasn’t his plan but Maggie’s. She did this faking long after he had rowed away. It is possible that she was supposed to say that he had fallen overboard or something like that. He was long gone so she could say anything she wanted and since this was premeditated she could have brought the fake blood and then staged it as she described to Amos. The question is never asked, though Steven’s reaction to hearing that the supposed murder was actually just an accident makes this seem like it was not what was intended.

The character of Ralph/Steven Earl is another issue within this episode. Ralph was interesting, though that is limited by how much of what he said was lies. There’s the further problem that it’s hard to make the parent of bad children out to be sympathetic. Children are their own people, of course, and one bad child may be misfortune. Several bad children sounds like bad parenting. Especially when the children seem to have bad principles and worse manners. Basically, spoiled children have to be spoiled by someone, and there’s no way for that to happen which lets the father off the hook.

The murder itself was clever, and there were a decent number of twists and turns. They did a pretty good job of making Maggie the least likely suspect without making her being the murderer seem completely unbelievable. I’m not sure that Maggie hating her father made all that much sense, and I especially think that they never justified Grace thinking that their father ruined Maggie’s life. She told Jessica that he turned Maggie into a “Hausfrau” but I don’t see how he could have. It is not believable that Steven Earl was such a regular homebody that he was constantly around to dominate Maggie’s time, or that he kept an elaborate home which he made her constantly clean because he was too cheap to hire any help. It would make more sense that she tried to earn his love by being a “hausfrau” and it didn’t work and she resented him for it. To some degree they did hint at this in Maggie’s confession, though her saying, “I hated him for what he did to me” undermined that.

I think that this was less of a big deal here than it might be in later episodes because this episode was more about the investigation than it was about the murder.

The character of Amos Tupper is also curiously inconsistent in this episode. For most of it he seems annoyed by Jessica’s interference. This is hard to reconcile with the fact that Jessica is involved because he asked for her help. Even more, he told the sisters that Jessica is there because she’s a “good friend of mine who from time to time I like to look to for advice.”

Ethan is also a curious character. Clearly a long-time friend of Jessica’s, he’s got a great voice but it is annoying how much he bickers with everyone, especially Amos. To a great degree this was just the nature of television at the time. Conflict makes people less likely to change the channel, which was the all-pervading fear of TV writers.

One thing I think a pity is that Jessica didn’t have any female friends. I suspect that this was because male-female interactions always have a bit of electricity to them, even where they are completely non-sexual, in a way that male-male and female-female interactions don’t. That ever-present fear of the viewer changing the channel probably meant that the energy always needed to be turned up to 11.

That said, it’s possible that this hits differently, now, watching the episodes via DVD where I’m extremely unlikely to change the channel and there isn’t just one family TV that someone might want to change the channel on “just for a minute”. That makes for a different viewing environment, too. The overall more stressful environment of the one family TV in the living room was more stressful, and so the energy on everything being turned up probably seemed less unnecessarily high-energy. Oh well.

All told, as a first episode, I think that Deadly Lady was pretty good. Next week we’re going to San Francisco for Birds of a Feather where one of Jessica’s many nieces is going to get married.

When Helping Someone Compose a Short Message

I just want to share a small tip I’ve learned from experience when helping someone to compose a short message, such as an apology, condolences, etc. This is for when they don’t know what to say and feel lost and you’re giving them a sample to help them write their own message, but the most realistic outcome is that they’re going to use what you gave them with small modifications. And the tip is: do a good but not great job. In particular, leave an obvious improvement or two possible. I don’t mean to leave anything that would be bad if the person were to send it as-is, just something where it’s highly likely they’ll see how to improve it before sending it.

This serves several purposes.

The first is that the person will feel better if they make some modification so that they will feel like the message did come from them. When a person wants to do something to help a human connection—the purpose of sending written messages—they want it to come from them in more senses than just having been the person who hit the “send” button. (Even if that’s all they do, that’s still more than doing nothing, but it can easily feel like very little more than nothing.) Leaving an obvious improvement or two will help the person to feel like the message sent actually did come from them and not just the message, but some of its goodness.

The second purpose is that it will help the person to not feel bad about asking for help. If you want to do something and have to ask for help and then the help you receive was so overwhelmingly superior that the only changes you have the ability to make will make it worse, that will leave a bad taste in your mouth over having asked for help. In theory, of course, it shouldn’t, but we’re fallen creatures and properly appreciating other people’s superiority is very difficult for us.

A third purpose it serves is to sound more true to the person’s own voice. A person who finds the task of composing a message so difficult that he asks for help is unlikely to compose something really eloquent. If you make it too good, in an absolute sense, you make it less fit for its main purpose of connecting the person who is sending the message to the person receiving it.

Science vs. Religion Show Why Heresy Matters

The “war between science and religion” does not really exist according to those English words in that order, and was a terrible name for what it actually did refer to. What it really should have been called was “the war between science and a particular widespread-in-the-english-speaking-world Christian heresy.” Because that’s what it actually was. I’m going to explain, briefly, before I get to the main point, which is that heresy matters.

The Book of Beginnings (more commonly known as the Book of Genesis since it frequently gets left untranslated) is obviously not meant to be anything like a science textbook, for the very obvious reason that it contains, back-to-back, two creation stories which disagree with each other about the sorts of things that a science textbook primarily concerns itself with. Whether Human Beings are the pinnacle of material creation as the end of a triumphant process or whether they are the pinnacle of creation as being given the right to name everything does not much matter to the central point of Human Beings being the pinnacle of material creation, but it matters very much to the question of which came first: the human or the chicken? It does not take a genius to figure out that the book can’t have been written primarily to answer questions it treats as irrelevant.

It doesn’t take a genius, but it does take someone who has thought about this a bit and can understand things like literary purpose. That’s not everyone. And here we come to the heresy of Sola Scriptura.

Sola Scriptura, which is the doctrine that scripture is the only authority, requires a somewhat lengthy treatment to be dealt with in full. This lengthy treatment can be found in many places so I’m not going to present it here. The relevant part to the moment is that Sola Scriptura means, as a necessary consequent, that any person (of good will/faith) who reads the bible must understand it fully and completely. (Martin Luther tried to get around this problem, in On the Bondage of the Will, by claiming that the parts of scripture that are hard to understand say the same thing as other parts, just less clearly, and so it’s not necessary to understand any part that’s hard to understand. Setting aside the astonishing hubris of claiming to fully and completely understand scripture, that doesn’t actually help anyway.)

This means that people who don’t get the concept of literary purpose, metaphor, etc. must be able to entirely understand scripture. Worse, this must be without any learning, because there are plenty of uneducated people in the world and even if there weren’t the educators would then have some of the authority since they would be teaching how to properly interpret.

The unintended consequence of this is that people who believe Sola Scriptura and who know any uneducated people or people who otherwise don’t understand things like literary intent and metaphor are forced to hold that the Book of Genesis is in fact meant as a science textbook. This puts them at war with actual science, because actual science disagreeing with the parts of Genesis which were never meant to be a science textbook will show that Sola Scriptura is false. This is “the war between science and religion.”

And this is where we come to the part where ideas have consequences: “the war between science and religion” has hurt a lot of people. Sola Fide has hurt even more people, since Sola Scriptura is just a consequence of Sola Fide. Sola Fide wouldn’t even be so bad except for Martin Luther having redefined faith from meaning, roughly, “acting according to truths we know but for which the evidence is no longer apparent” to “the will creating reality.” More colloquially, “trusting someone trustworthy” to “generating an interior feeling of certainty.” Moving faith from an act of the intellect and will in harmony to an act of the will against the intellect is, in essence, rejecting truth. And here’s the thing: Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. What Martin Luther tried to do, with Sola Fide, was to have Christianity without Christ. But you can’t do that. Which is why Martin Luther’s protestantism is proto-atheism. At some point you can’t keep up the pretense of having Christianity without Christ. Or to put it more simply: the fact that, within Christianity, there is nothing more important than the truth will eventually reassert itself. The bible cannot be the only authority because it cannot be any kind of authority. It’s a book. It is the thing authored, it is not an author itself. If the bible is the only authority, then there is no authority, and that this is logically necessary can only be evaded by an act of the will for so long. Historically, that turned out to not be very long.

It is not pleasant to call a heresy a heresy. When Saint Thomas More called William Roper, who had just asked for the hand of Sir Thomas’s daughter, a heretic, Roper replied, with great feeling, “Now that’s a word I don’t like.” To which Sir Thomas replied, “It’s not a likable word. It’s not a likable thing.” That gets to the heart of it: it’s not a likable word because it’s not a likable thing. It’s natural that people don’t like things which are not likable, but it remains important none the less.

Ideas have consequences. It is not pleasant to fight over ideas, but if we don’t fight over ideas we will still end up fighting. We will just fight over the consequences.

Starting Murder, She Wrote From the Beginning

I’m thinking of going back to the beginning with my reviews of Murder, She Wrote. When I started writing the reviews I was doing it in a very haphazard way, just picking out ones that struck me fancy. Then, starting with an episode that was towards the last quarter of the fourth season, I started doing them in order, where I would end each review with what “next week’s” episode would be. I like this format as it captures a bit of the feel of having watched them back in the day, and also forces me to review the episodes which aren’t as good, which I think has value since the exercise is largely about learning from a great show and analyzing mistakes is valuable, if not as valuable as analyzing what was done well.

While I like this format, it does feel a bit funny to start it partway through season 4. So I’m considering going back to season 1 and doing the episodes in order from there. (Where I come up to episodes I already reviewed I’m just going to edit them into the appropriate format with the link to the previous one at the top and the link to the next one at the bottom.) I do plan to skip the pilot episode, The Murder of Sherlock Holmes, for two reasons:

  1. At an hour and a half long, it would be a ton of work.
  2. It’s a pilot episode and like most pilot episodes it’s fairly different from the main series.

It’s that second one that makes me put so much weight on the first point; a lot of extra work would be worth it if there was a lot more to get out of it. But analyzing a pilot will, generally, not help in understand a show because there are always so many changes. For example, in the pilot Jessica is shocked by encountering murder for real, even though it’s someone she didn’t know, and was deeply cut up about figuring out who the murderer was, despite barely having known him (admittedly, there was a bit of a romantic sub-plot between them). That would have been hard to stomach on a regular basis and so it was, wisely, dropped. (Or at least was dropped for most of the episodes. The ones that took it up again tended to suffer for it, the exception I can think of being When Thieves Fall Out.)

It’s going to be a few days before I start on the next review, so if anyone has any thoughts to share on this, I’d be grateful for them.

Coal Miner’s Slaughter

On the twentieth day of November in the year of our Lord 1988 the Murder, She Wrote episode Coal Miner’s Slaughter first aired. (Last week’s episode was Snow White, Blood Red.)

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Set in rural West Virginia it’s in a small town where the major employer is the Colton Mining Company, which mines for coal. The episode opens at the Coal Miner’s Shindig, where a banner proclaims that the shindig is celebrating “Top Productivity.”

The camera pans over many people dancing to fiddle music, until it finally comes to rest on three people.

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The older man on the right is Tyler Morgan. The man in the middle is his son, Reese Morgan, and he hates everything about this shindig, declaring it to be a waste of good company money. The woman is  Nora Morgan. She is Tyler’s husband and Reese’s mother. From everything he says, they seem to have done a terrible job raising him.

The shindig is Tyler’s way of getting the men to accept a work speedup. Reese thinks that they should instead use computers to run the company, which would save them 20%. Tyler answers that he ran the company at a profit for thirty years, not by using computers, but by using his brain, and he’s going to keep it that way until they carry him out feet-first.

I don’t know whether they’re going to carry this through, but they’re setting up a John Henry type story of man vs. machine. It’s a very unrealistic man-vs-machine scenario. Computers, and especially the computers of the late 1980s, could not run a mine in any meaningful sense. What they could do is a whole lot of calculations. The labor that they would replace would have been done, not by the wise old man, but by a group of clerks whose names he probably didn’t know because he treated them, insofar as he could, like machines. The flip side of this is that the old man’s only real objection to computers would be their cost and reliability. The John Henry story they’re setting up is less John Henry vs. the spike driving machine and more John Henry who wanted to keep using a rock to drive spikes rather than upgrading to a hammer.

That said, realism is, of course, not the point. Rather, this is setting up a favorite theme of Murder, She Wrote: that old things are still valuable.

The issue with bringing computers into a business, apart from their expense and reliability, is that they are specialized tools which most people are not familiar with because they are new tools. Older people will have developed considerable skills with tools that are used differently—slide rules, desk calculators, binders of paper, etc. The new tools require different skills and so the older people will feel like their built-up skill’s value has become diminished (because it had). This has some unfortunate side-effects, though in reality it mostly made people uncomfortable for a year or two and then they became more productive with the new tools. There did become something of a class of maintenance workers for the new machines which were not needed for the old tools, just as the advent of cars created the job of car mechanic which did not exist in the age of horses. This did also create a feeling of dependency which many found unwelcome. Again, though, in practice people got used to this very quickly since almost none of them did their own plumbing or their own electrical work, and they owned cars which (in the 1980s) most of them took to mechanics to keep in working order. The modern world is highly interdependent because of all of the specialized tools that we have, and that does come with tradeoffs. They are, for the most part, livable tradeoffs. Civilization has always involved interdependence and it was no less doable to run away from civilization and live off of squirrel stew in the mountains in the 1980s than it was in the 1680s.

Murder, She Wrote did not address the real concerns of people actually doing the work, though. It addressed the concerns of people who saw this coming in their future or else (judging by the denture and term life insurance commercials which tended to play at commercial breaks) had retired and would never be taking the trouble to learn the new ways because they were never again going to do that work. Portraying computers as something that replaced human beings’ humanity, rather than low-level clerks drudgery, speaks to those concerns far more symbolically.

Anyway, Tyler walks off and Reese remarks to his mother that his father can’t die soon enough to suit his tastes. His mother rebukes him, saying that he owes his father respect. Reese replies by asking what kind of respect his father showed his mother, cheating on her all these years?

They’re certainly planting the motives thick for the old man’s death.

Taylor gets up and makes a speech, thanking everyone for coming, saying that the mine has been extremely profitable, and that what’s good for the mine is good for the miners. When he says this last part, a woman calls out, “That’s a lie and you know it!”

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(It’s good to see that shoulder pads are still alive and well in 1988.)

She walks forward. He says, “I don’t believe we’ve met,” and she replies, “Actually, we have. Ten years ago, at my father’s funeral.” Her name is Molly Connors.

Tyler lays the southern stuff on thick, “Joe’s little girl? Well. Well. Well. You certainly have turned into a right fine filly.”

They talk back and forth a bit, but the upshot is she’s just passed the bar exam and her first case is to prove that he killed her father.

He replies that it will be quite hard to prove what never happened, especially from the inside of a jail cell, and directs the Sheriff to arrest her for trespassing on private property by attending a private party at a private venue to which she was not invited.

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She says that he’ll never make this stick. He says maybe so and maybe not, but it might take a while to find out. (The judge is fishing at Tyler’s private fishing lodge and while Tyler will give the judge a call, if the trout are biting, the judge may well refuse to come back early from his vacation.)

As the Sheriff is taking Molly out of his car next to the police station, her grandfather (name of Eben) shows up and demands her release.

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The Sheriff refuses. Eben goes for his shotgun but the Sheriff tells him, at gunpoint, to not pick it up. Molly pleads that she’ll be alright. She is entitled to a phone call and she knows someone who will help.

That someone is, of course, Jessica.

She arrives by bus, presumably the next day.

The next scene is the Sheriff talking with Molly; he offers her the advice not to fight fights she can’t win. She tries to accuse him of following his own advice, but he maintains that he does his best to uphold the law. He then opens the cell and tells her to get going as her bail has been paid in person.

(Obviously, this aspect of getting the legal system wrong is probably pure convenience, but for the record: bail is set by a judge at the defendant’s initial arraignment (which is required to take place within 48 hours of arrest or, if the arrest was on a weekend, within 72 hours). Bail is not set by Sheriffs or by a standard schedule. With the judge out of town, it would not be possible for Molly’s bail to have been set, so Jessica could not possibly bail her out.)

They do some chit-chatting to establish that they know each other (she was one of Jessica’s brightest protegés), then leave the Sheriff’s office. On the way out they run into Carlton Reid.

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He came to bail her out as well. He’s the local miner’s union representative. He’s mighty glad to see that she’s out.

Tyler shows up at this exact moment and walks over and politely tells Molly that he seems to have underestimated her resourcefulness. This is a bit odd because all he really wanted was for her to stop interrupting the shindig, but whatever. I guess his villain nob needs to be turned up to eleven.

He then looks disapprovingly at Jessica and says, “I’m not sure about the wisdom of bringin’ a stranger in on something that’s none of her affair.” I’m not really clear on how Molly isn’t effectively a stranger since she was last here as a young child.

Jessica objects to this on the grounds that she and Molly aren’t strangers. I suppose she’s deliberately missing the point for some reason that’s not immediately obvious.

Tyler replies that it’s good that they’re so close since Eben’s place is hardly big enough for him and Molly. A young boy then offers that Jessica can stay with “us.” The camera then pans over to them.

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The boy’s name is Travis and his mother is Bridie Harmon. They own a boarding house up the road. Rooms are $10 a day, meals are extra, and she locks up at 11:00pm. Jessica accepts. As Bridie tries to leave she has to call Travis several times because he’s busy having a staring contest with Tyler.

After they leave, Tyler bids Jessica welcome to Colton, then walks off and the scene shifts to dinner at Eben’s house. Jessica compliments the cooking and they reminisce about how Molly’s mother helped with the PTA and when Molly was in Jessica’s class, lugging around a huge book of Shakespeare. Apparently she and her mother moved to Cabot Cove after her father died. From West Virgina to Cabot Cove is quite a move, though it’s later explained that this was because her mother had kin in Maine. Anyway, the big Shakespeare book was the one thing of Molly’s father that she brought with her to Maine. We also get the detail that everyone in town knows that the explosion which killed Molly’s father was no accident (according to Eben).

Next we see Tyler receiving a phone call from an unnamed caller. Tyler recognizes the caller, though, as he says, “I thought I’d be hearing from you.” He then accepts an appointment to meet the caller at the cabin in half an hour. After the caller hangs up he thinks that Nora is listening in on the phone again, though when he asks if that’s her listening in, the phone just clicks. He then puts on his coat and leaves his house.

Then we see Molly dropping Jessica off at the boarding house. After she says goodbye Bridie asks if Jessica needs anything else because she’d like to lock up and get to bed. A minute later, Jessica goes to close the window and sees Bridie, outside, putting on a coat and covertly hurrying off somewhere.

Over at the cabin, we see the shadow of someone with a gun walking along.

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The mysterious figure looks in the window and sees Tyler putting logs on the fire. It puts the handgun away and then slowly opens the door and takes a rifle from a rifle stand next to the door, aims at tyler, cocks, and shoots. We get an exterior shot of the cabin in the storm for a moment, then fade to black and go to commercial.

It’s pretty irresponsible for the rifles to be kept loaded in the rifle stand, but I suppose that was mostly just to save the time of creeping around and finding the ammunition and loading the rifle.

We come back from commercial to a bright and cheerful day.

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After a few seconds of panning the camera to allow people to get back from the bathroom, Jessica walks along a bridge. When she gets to the other end Tyler’s son, Reese, tells her, at gun point, to stop moving. The scene then shifts to inside of the cabin where the Sheriff asks Jessica whether it’s a bit early for a city woman to be prowling about and she replies that she wouldn’t know, being from a small town, herself.

Apparently Jessica was walking to Eben’s house and took the wrong path, bringing her onto Morgan land. The Sheriff tells Reese that he can handle it alone and doesn’t take no for an answer, so Reese leaves. Jessica catches on that Tyler is dead and begins asking about it. The Sheriff says that, from the condition of the body, he died somewhere between 11:00 and 11:30 last night, but he’ll know more when the county boys in Yanceyville get done with him. He’s got plenty of ideas for who killed Tyler but no evidence to back up any of them.

He asks Jessica where she was between 11:00 and 11:30 last night. She tells him that she was in bed then sleeping, but would be hard-pressed to prove it. The Sheriff tells her to not worry about it since she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman to kill a man she barely knew and moreover she looks about as handy with a gun as he is with knitting needles. She asks why he asked where she was if she didn’t need an alibi, and he replies that he was hoping she might be able to supply an alibi for someone who does need one.

So far, the Sheriff is my favorite character in this episode, by far.

The Sheriff and Jessica go to Eben’s house, where Molly is surprised that Tyler is dead and Eben merely calls it hill justice. The Sheriff points out that the law calls it murder and he needs to know where they were. Molly got a flat tired on the way home from dropping Jessica off and so she didn’t get home until 11:30. Eben stayed put the whole night.

The scene then shifts to town, where Jessica and Molly come out of some building. Carlton Reid comes up and offers to give them a lift home. With the way tongues are wagging they’re likely to run into trouble if they stay. Molly will not be intimidated, though, and, spotting Mrs. Morgan and Reese, goes up and gives her condolences. These are about as well received as you might imagine, given that the Morgans believe she killed their husband/father.

Jessica and Carlton come up to try to make matters worse, Jessica in a somewhat conciliatory tone and Carlton in a far more aggressive tone (he all but accuses Reese of killing his father).

The Sheriff interrupts this to bring the news that he found Tyler’s rifle in molly’s car when he took her up on the offer to search where he wanted that she indignantly made when he was talking with them earlier.

He arrests her for the murder of Tyler Morgan and we go to commercial break.

When we come back we hear Jessica asking the Sheriff “What do you mean, no bail?”

He explain that mountain folk have long memories and short fuses, not to mention funny ideas about the law, and if he let Molly out on bail he might as well hang out a sign saying “hunting season is open.”

Jessica’s protests are interrupted by Eben storming to get Molly. When the Sheriff tells him that he can see her but he can’t take her home, Eben threatens that he’ll be back and he won’t be alone. (There’s also some talk by Jessica of appealing to higher authorities which Eben disregards.)

The scene shifts to the boarding house where Jessica is talking with Carlton Reid about how the miner’s legal society will help out. They’re interrupted by Bridie arguing with Travis. She demands to know where he was and he says that he was out hunting. She asks, incredulously, “until 3am?” He replies that he’s not a baby anymore and can stay out at night if he wants to, then adds in a highly accusatory tone that she does.

Carlton follows Travis outside and talks with him a bit. It’s done in such a way as to incriminate Travis, which almost certainly means that he’s innocent.

After Carlton leaves Jessica gets Bridie to come help her open a window that always sticks after the rain, then tries to ask her about her having gone out as if it was small-talk. Bridie lies, though, and says that she didn’t go out. After some pressing, she admits that she was Tyler’s mistress because she needed financial help. Though they got closer over time. However, she was worried Travis would find out since he was nearly grown.

I’m not sure what she’s talking about here; Travis looks like he’s twelve and the actor was fourteen at the time of filming, which is not “nearly grown.” He’s still quite a bit shorter than she is. Be that as it may, this was her concern and so she went up the cabin last night to try to end it once and for all.

When she got there, Tyler was dead.

She didn’t call the Sheriff because that would have let the whole town know about her and Tyler. Jessica was surprised that no one knew and she said that Nora (his wife) had an idea a few years ago and she threw such a fit it scared Tyler off of seeing her for a while. She doubts that Nora knew he’d started up again, though. If she did, she’d probably have killed Tyler.

Jessica takes this as her cue to go interview Mrs. Morgan.

Her pretext is asking for Mrs. Morgan’s help in calming down the situation which Reese is stoking. Not much comes of it except for admiring Reese’s skill with a gun, which she takes to be responsible for the shooting ribbons near a bunch of guns over the fireplace and Mrs. Morgan saying that they’re actually hers, not her son’s.

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Jessica congratulates her but she demurs. Around here most people can shoot the petals off of a daisy before they’re ten years old. They’re interrupted by a phone call from the funeral parlor and Jessica goes to leave. As she’s almost out the door Nora tells her that she’s sorry that she couldn’t help—Reese is much like his father: it takes a loaded gun to get his attention.

On her way home Carlton drives by and picks her up, saying that there’s trouble—the Sheriff says that he’s got Molly cold. Jessica objects that the loaded gun was obviously planted. Carlton concurs, saying “Hell yes. I mean, anybody could have grabbed that gun out of that unlocked rack by the door and shot Tyler.”

After making this unnecessarily detailed and thus incredibly self-incriminating statement he then explains that that’s not all the Sheriff has, though. Reese went through the cabin and found a ledger sheet had been stolen out of the company’s 1978 payroll. (This is the year that Molly’s father was killed.) The Sheriff thinks this cinches it.

Complicating the matter, Eben has gathered his friends and is planning to storm the jail to take Molly. Jessica suspects that if Reese finds out, there’s likely to be an all-out war.

They arrive at the Sheriff’s office just as Eben and his mob are coming.

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Jessica tells Carlton to get the Sheriff while she tries to hold them off. The sound of a gun being cocked announces that Reese and his men have showed up. Both groups file into the area in front of the Sheriff’s office. You can’t see it in this picture but a surprising number of the men on both sides are armed only with sticks or gardening implements, which is a bit odd given that they would all almost certainly own a half-dozen rifles each.

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Jessica looks back and forth, worriedly, and we go to commercial break.

When we get back, there’s some yapping on all three sides until the Sheriff comes out, explaining that he’s going to follow his duty in keeping Molly in jail, but without any uninvited help from Reese.

He points out to Eben that Molly’s innocence is for a court to decide, not them, and Molly would be the first to agree. Eben relents, but with the warning that if any harm comes to Molly a court will not be involved in settling the score. He and his men leave. Reese and his men also leave.

Jessica follows the Sheriff inside.

Jessica makes the point that Molly would not have bothered to steal the payroll records when a subpoena would have forced the company to hand it over, and she told Jessica (in front of the Sheriff) that she was planning to subpoena those very records.

The Sheriff very reasonably points out that this doesn’t make sense as an attempt to frame Molly since only Molly, Jessica, and the Sheriff knew that she was planning to subpoena those records. Jessica admits this and says it leads her to the conclusion that somebody stole the record because he or she didn’t want what was on the records found for his own reasons. (Why old payroll records were kept at Tyler’s cabin rather than at the mining company headquarters was not discussed.)

The Sheriff’s phone call that he was trying to make while he was talking to Jessica finally goes through and he manages to talk to someone who he asks help from, explaining that he lost the key to his rifle rack and needs the guy on the other end of the phone to pick the lock. Jessica suddenly realizes what she heard earlier and leaves.

We next see Jessica finishing up a phone call back at the boarding house. Bridie comes in and brings her black coffee. Jessica asks Bridie about the explosion which killed her husband and Molly’s father. Bridie said that she and Tyler spoke about it and he always swore that he wasn’t involved. Jessica points out that this phrasing makes it sound like Bridie doesn’t believe it was an accident either and Bridie says that it was a long time ago and best forgotten about.

Jessica pushes and Bridie tells what happened. Her husband had told her that Joe Connors had found some document that proved that there were fishy doings on at the mine and that he was going to read the document aloud at the union meeting the next night but when he went into the mine in the morning he never came out again. That was that. Molly’s mother took her to kin in Maine. Eben and some friends nearly tore Joe’s place apart looking for the proof but never found anything.

Jessica then says that she may know who killed Tyler Morgan and why, and when she goes to Eben’s house she may find the evidence to prove it. Bridie asks if she oughtn’t to tell the Sheriff her suspicions and Jessica replies, “the moment that I have proof.” This allows the setting up of the complicating factor of Travis eaves-dropping on them. His face looks like he’s planning trouble. Then, after an establishing shot of Eben’s house…

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Eben gets cold-cocked while sharpening an ax in his shed. When Jessica comes up to the house, no one answers. So she goes in and checks out the big Shakespeare book which was the one thing of her father’s that Molly had brought to Cabot Cove (meaning that it wasn’t left behind to be searched). Jessica finds a paper carefully hidden in it.

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Perhaps he hid it so carefully because he expected someone to come and try to find it while he was in the mine. A bit of a strange precaution to take against his house being searched, but not crazy.

Jessica looks at the document and, her suspicions confirmed, she uses the telephone to call the Sheriff’s office. (She asks the operator to connect her.) While she waits, someone uses an ax to cut the telephone line. And by “someone,” I mean the guy who had earlier provided unnecessary details that incriminated himself in the murder of Tyler Morgan.

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After ensuring that the blade is still sharp, Carlton walks toward the front of the house. As he’s on his way, Jessica notices that the phone line is dead, puts down the phone, and takes a closer look at the payroll and notices some evidence.

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A bit weird to put this on the books, but I suppose there was no real downside from the Mine’s perspective. (According to an inflation calculator, $10,000 in 1978 would be worth $49,124.16 in 2023.)

Carlton intercepts Jessica as she walked out the front door. She tries to lie her way out of it but Carlton was looking through the window and saw her find the document in the book. He asks her how she knew he killed Tyler.

She replies that she didn’t know but did suspect because of what he said about the unlocked gun rack next to the door (we even get a flashback). Only someone who had been to the cabin would have known that the gun rack was unlocked and next to the door. Also, Jessica checked up on the union meeting that Carlton was at and while he was there earlier in the evening no one remembered seeing him after the meeting started.

He says that Jessica must think that she’s real smart. Tyler thought he was real smart when he threatened to expose their financial arrangement unless he (Carlton) got Molly off of Tyler’s back.

Jessica asks how far back those financial arrangements went—it must have been a long time. Carlton replies that he never meant to kill Joe. He even offered to cut Joe in on the take, but Joe wouldn’t do it. And as for Danny Harmon (Bridie’s husband), it was just his bad luck that he was working with Joe when it happened. Just like it was her bad luck that she found out the truth with no one around. He pulls out his gun and marches her to his pickup truck. There are places in these hills that only the wolves know about.

As they drive off the front left tire blows out and the car runs through a fence and stops next to a tree that keeps the driver’s side door from opening. Jessica gets out and starts running away. Carlton gets out on the passenger side and starts to follow her but a bullet strikes the ground in front of his feet.

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Carlton puts his hands in the air. Travis looks to Mrs. Fletcher to see whether she thinks it would be a good idea to shoot Carlton and Jessica shakes her head in the negative. Travis then relaxes but keeps his gun trained on Carlton, and we fade to Molly and Eben with Jessica at the bus stop.

There’s some minor talk where they ask Jessica the obvious questions and Jessica gives the obvious answer. Then Molly says that the miner’s union has asked her to help with the prosecution against Carlton and if it works out they’re going to put her on retainer to handle all of their litigation. Why, is not said, since she’s done precisely nothing to indicate that she’s a good lawyer.

Jessica gets on the bus and waves, and we go to credits.

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I have to say that I’m disappointed that the few remaining moments were spent with Eben and Molly rather than with the Sheriff. I get why they went the way they did, but the Sheriff was the more interesting character.

This was a good episode, overall. It had a complicated mystery with multiple genuine suspects and a least-likely murderer that both legitimately seemed unlikely but also had believable motives for what he did. It also had some decent characters and even a likable and respectable Sheriff.

My biggest complaint is about missed opportunities. Tyler Morgan is a man of tremendous influence within the small town of Colton but half the time is portrayed as if he is the unjust administrator installed by a foreign power who conquered the area. These things are not interchangeable. A man of influence has his influence because he benefits a lot of people in ways that they recognize. A territorial governor can exert influence through power over people he does nothing for, though even that doesn’t tend to last because exerting power costs money while obtaining cooperation tends to be profitable. (For a good example of this, look into why Pontius Pilate was eventually replaced as governor of Judea.)

Tyler Morgan was not the territorial governor of Colton, installed by some foreign power to keep the locals in check. He merely owned the biggest company in town. His having influence would be primarily through the benefits that he gave people and the respect he earned by being beneficial to those people. This is especially true in tight-nit small communities where people had long memories, funny ideas about the law, and most people could shoot the petals off of a daisy by the time that they’re ten. A rich man may be able to get away with bullying people into submission using his money in a city; no one knows each other in a city and everyone is replaceable. In a small town it’s the opposite. A man who wants influence can’t afford to alienate people who have kin nearby that aren’t going anywhere.

The funny thing is that they got this right in the opening scene, where Tyler smiles at all of his workers at the shindig while his fool of a son scowls. He needs the good will of the men there and he knows it. Moreover, he’s clearly well-practiced at being likable to ordinary people, and they generally react well to him. And these are the men who work in his coal mine. How much more must the ordinary people in the community love him, who only benefit from his largess?

All of this is a very missed opportunity in the episode for dramatic tension. Molly’s certainty that Tyler was guilty would be an interesting contrast against the equal certainty of someone who thinks Tyler a saint who would never do something like that. The revelation of Tyler’s affair would hit harder when you think of all the people he let down by it besides just his wife and son. Molly having been wrong that Tyler killed her father would hit harder if there was someone to whom she had to admit that they were right.

That would have been great.

My only other real complaint is mostly just how much we more could have been done had the episode been twice as long, which is not the fault of the writers! They managed to fit a lot into forty seven minutes and they sketched out a bunch of characters who would have been great to learn more about.

There are some nits I am inclined to pick. The biggest among them is that I find it a bit odd that ten-plus year old payroll records were kept in Tyler’s private cabin. It is, frankly, a bit surprising that ten year old payroll records were kept at all. I realize that data retention policies were more primitive back in the 1980s (before a number of high-profile cases of record keeping bit companies in the rear end, as well as some instances of irregular record destruction). And it’s fairly easy to hang onto relatively small records when land (and therefore storage space) is cheap.

Another thing which is not entirely clear to me is why Carlton was “on the take” to such a large degree. As a union rep, the amount that he could do for the company was not trivial, but nor was it enormous. In theory, he could overlook violations of the union contract or of labor laws, but in practice this would probably be substantially limited by his fellow workers having eyes and ears. He could fail to report some fraction of violations, but if he tried to report none of them he would be found out pretty quickly.

The part where Tyler threatened to expose Carlton unless Carlton got Molly off of Tyler’s back was also a bit weird. There has to be something illegal about bribing a union rep to not report labor law violations and even if not, revealing that he’s been doing it for the last ten years would certainly hurt Tyler’s standing within the community. Further, this would rather unnecessarily tie him to the death of Joe Connors in the minds of the town folk since now he would have (to their minds) a motive for it, whereas mine accidents certainly don’t benefit the mining company and decent people need a reason to commit murder. That said, this was only established in a single line and the crime, if anything, makes more sense without this line, so it’s easy to ignore.

Carlton would have gotten nervous with Molly trying to dredge up the ten year old murder that he committed, so his desire to get rid of the old copies of the records makes sense on its own. What makes a little less sense is why there was only one payroll record he needed to destroy. Presumably he would have needed to get rid of all of the records since they’d all contain payments to him. Perhaps he only got paid once a year or something like that; if he was being paid nearly $50k (in today’s money) that might not be a monthly payment. However that goes, it would make sense that at just about his first opportunity he would sneak off to where the records were kept and try to steal them. On finding Tyler there (which he really shouldn’t have been, given the storm) it could easily have made sense to him to kill Tyler in order to get at the records and that, as a bonus, this would allow him to frame Molly which would pretty effectively end her threat of digging up the past.

Those nits picked, I’ve got to say that I really appreciated how the episode had mostly decent characters. Tyler’s son was an awful cardboard cutout, in part the result of the tyrannical aspect of Tyler that the episode occasionally flirted with, but other than that they were all good.

The Sheriff was, of course, my favorite. He had real depth and felt like he had an actual history to him which shaped his character now. He was a decent man doing his best in difficult circumstances, but he was doing a fairly good job. So often the decent Sheriff in this kind of circumstance has basically given up until he finally finds his backbone because of a stirring speech from the hero. Here, he had a backbone from the beginning, and wasn’t pushed around by Jessica any more than he was pushed around by the local figures.

Bridie was one of the better depictions of a prostitute I’ve seen. She had a weakness of character that would make her give into it, but she had other qualities too; she became emotionally attached to Tyler, for example, and she did care about her son. It was a very human touch that she wanted to break off things with Tyler because her son was getting old enough to realize what was going on, but she was several years too late because he understood much better than she knew. People are very prone to think that they’re getting away with things that they aren’t.

Molly was an interesting kind of ingenue. She grew up in Cabot Cove and went on to get a law degree and pass her bar examines in West Virginia but was still very innocent and had an extremely simplistic view of the world. She accepted without question her grandfather’s fairy tale of the wicked mine owner who smited her father with impugnity but who, for some reason, her grandfather never shot as hill justice, despite whole-heartedly endorsing the concept of hill justice. Since she was one of the last characters we saw, it would have been nice if we saw some growth from having learned the truth that her initial understanding was way off.

Travis, the young son of the miner who was killed as collateral damage of murdering Molly’s father, got a nice ending to his story, where he saved Jessica and captured the man who murdered his father. It was a bit of a pity that the actor didn’t look like he was fourteen years old, as the coming-of-age aspect didn’t come across as much because Travis looked like he was still very much a child. Still, it’s a nice touch that he was the one who brought Carlton to justice.

Next week we’re back to New York city for the episode, Wearing of the Green.

It Is Good to Be Easily Amused

Occasionally, throughout my life, I’ve had people tell me that I was easily amused. Their tone of voice made me think that this was a tone of reproach, but I was very tempted to answer in the words of the Dread Pirate Roberts (from the movie The Princess Bride) when Inigo Montoya told him that he was wonderful (as the two were fencing to the death):

Thank you. I’ve worked hard to become so.

It would be absurd to pretend that I didn’t understand what they meant by the reproach. I know why it is a reproach. It’s just wrong. It’s the same mistake that Ahab made in Moby Dick.

Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power.

It’s a common mistake. People who strive to enjoy something difficult to enjoy can lose the power to enjoy things that come more naturally because comparison makes it hard to see the good they’ve previously seen. This is an understandable weakness, but it is disastrous when it’s taken to be a virtue.

And, indeed, Ahab knew this, which you can clearly see if you read the whole passage:

Dry heat upon my brow? Oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so the sunset soothed. No more. This lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since I can ne’er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned in the midst of Paradise!

A Charlie Brown Christmas is an Advent Movie

Since the cold weather has finally arrived in the part of the world in which I live, I would like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that the short film, A Charlie Brown Christmas, is, properly speaking, an Advent movie, not a Christmas movie. If you pay attention as you watch it, you’ll see that it is all about the preparations to celebrate Christmas, but Christmas is, as the children sing Hark! The Herald and the closing credits start to roll, yet to come.

In consequence, if I start watching it now, you can accuse me of celebrating Advent early, but not of celebrating Christmas early.

Thank you.

The Argument From Evil You Usually See Is Stupid

The argument against God’s existence from evil comes in a few forms. The most reasonable form was given by Saint Thomas Aquinas in the Summa Theologica in the 1200s.

It seems that God does not exist; because if one of two contraries be infinite, the other would be altogether destroyed. But the word “God” means that He is infinite goodness. If, therefore, God existed, there would be no evil discoverable; but there is evil in the world. Therefore God does not exist.

This rests on a misunderstanding of evil, seeing evil as a positive thing rather than a privation of good that only appears to exist in the same way that shadows appear to exist. That’s not immediately obvious about evil, so this form is not stupid.

The simpler answer, btw, is that God permits evil so as to bring about greater good from it, or as Saint Thomas said:

As Augustine says (Enchiridion xi): “Since God is the highest good, He would not allow any evil to exist in His works, unless His omnipotence and goodness were such as to bring good even out of evil.” This is part of the infinite goodness of God, that He should allow evil to exist, and out of it produce good.

This form of the argument from evil is reasonable because it depends on a kind of ignorance which a reasonable person may have. That is, reasonable people may make this argument. The thing is, once answered, because they are reasonable and merely lacked some knowledge necessary to understand, once answered (well), they are intellectually satisfied and stop bring forth this argument.

This is like the people who have not heard the evidence that the earth is spinning on its axis and orbiting about the sun, and who naturally assume the earth to be stationary and the sun to be moving around the earth because this is the evidence of their senses. It is a reasonable conclusion given their limited knowledge but once their knowledge is expanded, they stop making the argument.

Then we come to the argument from evil as one tends to encounter it today.

This takes on quite a lot of forms, often from the same person. I’m only going to present one example since they all amount to the same thing, and as the ancient saying goes, one does not need to drink the whole sea to know that it is salt.

If a human father allowed his child to die when he had the power to save him, we would say that he is evil. Since God is omnipotent he could stop all death, so if you didn’t give God a special exception, you would admit that he is evil. Therefore God is either not good or does not exist.

To state the obvious (since atheists do occasionally read my blog posts) this argument rests on an obvious category error, as well as a misunderstanding of human fathers.

To briefly address the first, God is not a human father, and is only our Heavenly Father by analogy to a human father. As you can see from the argument from contingency and necessity, God is the ground of our being. His relationship is in some ways more analogous to that of an author to the characters in his novel than it is to a human father. (NOTE: I am not criticizing the metaphor that God himself gave us, I’m only noting that that’s a general analogy and that, for the purposes of this particular narrow concern that it was not meant for, it is less illuminating.) A human father is another creature in the same time and space as his child. God creates time and space as well as the human beings in it. This is why he is omnipotent and omniscent, but also why his violations of the rules which govern us do not violate their spirit. Rules are abstractions meant to enable finite creatures to navigate a world which is too complex for them. God fulfills the spirit of the rules—goodness—without being limited to the abstractions because his complete knowledge and ability to handle it all enables him to do so. Embedded within all human ethics—for those who take some trouble to try to understand human ethics—is the fact of our necessarily limited knowledge.

But the difference is still greater.

We are finite beings, which means that what we are given is finite. It is no harm to us to not give us more than we are given, since we are owed nothing. Every moment we are given is a gift. Humans are not to try to cut that short (except for a variety of justified exceptions) because it is the gift of God, not the gift of humans, and so we have no right to try to limit the gift of God. The existence God gives to people is His gift, however, which gives him the perfect right to limit it to whatever finite quantity of generosity His wisdom decides is good.

(There will be atheists who will take this as an occasion to complain that they were given more than they deserved but they feel like they deserve infinitely much. These are just bad people who are pouring forth badness out of the store of badness in their hearts. There is no possible defense for a person who received a gift—that is, something he did nothing to deserve—complaining that he wanted a bigger gift.)

There are still further differences which are pretty obvious yet these atheists seem completely oblivious to them. We, because of our limited vision, see the death of a person as the end of that person. God, outside of time, necessarily sees it as a transition to the afterlife. From God’s perspective it’s far more like when a kid graduates college and gets a job—one phase of their life is over but the next has begun.

There’s more, but I think that suffices for my point. The other thing is that there are times when a loving father must let his son die when he could stop it. A simple example is when the son can go on a mission that will certainly result in his death but which will enable him to save many other people. The father could sabotage the son’s vehicle and save his life, or drug his food and save his life, but he would be a bad father to do this.

An atheist who saw that would, no doubt, scream about how maybe a father should do that—actually, though, these days I don’t trust them to have even that much moral sense, so it’s not a given—but that God is omnipotent so he could just save the people himself or whatever.

Which brings us to the point. Whatever exactly is going on here, it’s not thinking. They are not considering the things that they are saying as ideas, it’s all just fragments of ideas as a means to an end. It may just be a complaint that they don’t understand and will not trust. It may be something else. But whatever it is, it’s not anything like a coherent train of thought meant to get at truth.

I don’t know what such people need. Probably what they need more than anything is to repent, which we can’t do for them. Probably also to forgive their parents, though that could easily be related to the repentance. Holding onto the harms others have done us tends to be wrapped up in holding on our own evil. This, again, isn’t something we can do for them. Beyond that, my guess is that they need a good friend who will be there for them in bad times as well as good, and for a good long time. This can’t be done over the internet.

So about all I can think of is to pray for them. That’s really obvious, of course, but it does no harm to repeat it.

Lord, have mercy on them, and us.

Requiescat In Pace, Michael F. Flynn

I recently learned from a post on his blog by his daughter that Michael F. Flynn, perhaps better known in the blogosphere as TOF, has passed away. Her post includes a tribute to him which is worth reading if you ever encountered him or his writing.

I must confess that when it comes to his fiction I only read a few of his short stories, which were extremely well written. The thing he wrote which I think everyone should read, though, is his fantastic history of the Copernican revolution called The Great Ptolemaic Smackdown. It is absolutely excellent history, very well written, engaging, and enlightening about the scientific revolution of going from the Ptolemaic model to the Copernican model of the solar system. It’s not a short read but it is absolutely, unquestionably worth the time.

Having said that, join me, if you would, in praying for Michael Flynn, with this prayer I remember from many funerals I attended in my youth:

Lord God, have mercy on your servant Michael. Forgive him his sins and grant him eternal life. This we ask through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Murder She Wrote: Trial By Error

On the twelfth day of January in the year of our Lord 1986, the Murder, She Wrote episode Trial By Error aired. It was the thirteenth episode of the second season. (I’m reviewing this one out of order because I just served on a jury, though in a civil trial, not a criminal trial, so I thought it would be fun to review this episode while the memory is still quite fresh.)

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The show opens at the scene of an accident. A red sports car has slammed into a telephone pole. The driver is out, not very injured, and seems to have sustained only minor injuries. The passenger is his wife and is in very bad condition. There’s a tense moment as the rescuers use the jaws of life to remove the door so that they can get her out. When they get the door off, she’s alive but very injured.

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She doesn’t seem able to move. They put her on a gurney and move her towards the ambulance. As they do, the distraught husband asks repeatedly if she’s going to die while no one answers him.

Laying on the gurney, she sobs to her husband, “I don’t understand.” He replies, “it was the kid on the bike. I swerved to avoid him.”

The scene then shifts to the hospital while some guy in green scrubs (possibly a doctor) talks to the distraught husband. He says that, according to the EMTs, he fractured his collarbone. The husband says that he’s fine. The doctor then asks the husband if he wants to be with his wife and he says no.

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“I can’t look at her, knowing that I’m the one who…”

The doctor says that he understands. He then relays that if the guy’s wife wakes up, it won’t be for several hours. She does have a good chance of pulling through, but it’s also likely that she’ll never walk again due to severe spinal damage.

The husband, whose name turns out to be Mark Reynolds, exclaims, “Oh, my God!” and runs away.

We next see the husband in a bar. He takes a seat next to a woman in red, who is concerned for him.

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She has absolutely enormous shoulder pads, since this is the mid 80s. As they’re talking to each other about the accident, a weird creepy guy comes into the bar and looks intently at them.

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A few moments later, when a waiter comes up and asks for his order, he asks, “Who’s that talking to Becky Anderson?”

Several hours later Becky notices the time and says she has to go. She offers to give him a lift to the hospital but he says that he can’t face his wife until the morning. She then offers to make him a cup of coffee, and at first he refuses, but then he accepts and the two leave together.

The creepy guy comes and sits down where they were and we learn from the bartender that his name is Mr. Detweiler. He says that this looks like a sympathy jump in the making and the bartender disagrees. Detweiler asks for another beer then goes and makes a phone call.

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The call is for the man in blue, whose name is Cliff. It turns out that Becky is his estranged wife on a trial separation and he’s very incensed when Detweiler tells him that she just picked up some guy at the bar and they’re going back to her place. As he leaves the apartment he announces that he’s going to “kill that broad.”

The scene fades to an establishing shot of a courthouse, then we go to the interior where a judge is charging a jury. Apparently, Reynolds is charged with the murder of Cliff Reynolds, while his defense is that he killed Reynolds in self defense. It’s a TV charging of the jury, containing information that the audience needs but making no reference to the law that the jury must consider, nor any instructions on how to consider testimony, etc.

As the judge is speaking, the camera slowly pans over the jury. Then we find out why.
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Somehow Jessica is already the foreman of the jury, despite deliberations not having started yet. (That’s not impossible, since the jury could have decided on who their foreman was at any time when they were together outside of the courtroom, but I don’t see how the judge would have known that since judges are careful to not talk to the jury about the case except inside the courtroom and on the record.) The judge then sends them out to deliberations.

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There is some initial discussion, wherein several people firmly express the opinion that it’s an open-and-shut case and they’ll be done with their deliberations very soon. Jessica then takes charge of the discussion since she’s the foreman—which, as far as I can tell, is just a TV thing. Perhaps it’s different on criminal juries, but our instructions were that the foreman’s only role was to write any questions we had for the judge (they had to be submitted in writing) and to read the verdict. Turning the foreman into an authority figure makes the scene more tense, or at least makes it easier for Jessica to take charge, but this seems to be purely a dramatic thing.

One of the jurors suggests that everyone is in agreement so they should just take a vote immediately. Jessica replies, “Don’t you think that we should examine the evidence first?”

This makes a ton of sense from the perspective of a TV show which skipped to the jury room and needs to tell the story in flashbacks. In real life it would be very reasonable for any of the jurors to reply that they already examined the evidence during the trial, as it was being presented. Important evidence does not go by in a flash during a trial. Trials are slow and methodical even when there is no repetition. If the lawyers involved are even slightly competent, any important evidence will be repeated and there’s plenty of time to examine the evidence presented during the trial itself, plus plenty of time to think about it after one goes home for the day. I found it hard to think about anything else when I went home, and that was just a civil trial over breech of contract.

That’s not to say that deliberation is pointless. On the contrary, thinking things through with other people can be highly profitable. My issue, here, is that Jessica says what she did as if no one at the table knows what the evidence is. That’s absurd. There were more realistic ways to try to get the flashbacks started.

Anyway, another juror declares that the evidence shows that Mark is innocent, and this begins some general discussion. One juror declares that the only thing that Reynolds is guilty of is picking the wrong time to go bed with another man’s wife. At this point another juror objects that this is putting too little weight on the fact that Mark was in bed with another man’s wife—and killed that man when he walked in.

They end this commotion by taking a vote. They do this anonymously, with folded pieces of paper. I’m not sure why they do this; presumably because it’s more dramatic. In real life, since the next step is for people to try to persuade each other of their point of view, it’s very helpful to know who you’re talking to and of whom you’re asking questions. It is the duty of a jury to try to reach a verdict so it’s not like staying out of the fray is a responsible option. And once you start arguing for a conclusion, everyone will know how you voted anyway.

The vote is nine in favor of not-guilty, two in favor of guilty, and one undecided.

Jessica suggests that they start reviewing the evidence now that they know where they stand. Finally, the flashbacks can begin.

They start with a flashback to some testimony about how Mark Reynolds felt and why he went to the bar. He felt guilty and wanted to die and went to the bar to get drunk and drown out reality. On cross-examination, the DA asks him why he went to that particular bar, since there were six closer to the hospital. He asks if it was to meet Becky Anderson.

Several jurors discount this for some reason which is not clear to me, then they move on to recalling Mark’s later testimony. He and Becky went back to Becky’s place, then as they were naked in bed together they heard a noise. Mark got up and put his pants on, then Becky’s husband barged through the door holding a gun. Mark fought him for it.

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They struggled into the next room and over to the fireplace. In the struggle the gun went off, then Mark picked up a poker from the fireplace and hit Cliff on the head with it, hard. Then Becky called the police and they came and picked Mark up. He used his phone call, not to call a lawyer, but to call the hospital, where they told him that his wife had died without regaining consciousness.

We come back from the flashback to some fighting among the jury. One of the jurors is utterly convinced that Mark Reynolds is guilty as sin and lying, though he only knows it by his gut. He says that they can stay there until Christmas if everyone wants, but he will never change his mind. (They go to commercial break on this statement.) I wish I could say that this part sounds like dramatic exaggeration but something similar happened on the jury on which I served. It didn’t have as much impact because the jury in a civil trial in Pennsylvania only requires ten jurors to agree in order to reach a verdict, but I can say from experience it is possible to have people who are convinced of a conclusion and will neither listen to persuasion nor attempt to persuade others, and their inability to even begin to try to convince others (possibly due to a lack of relevant social skills) can make them angry. I could easily see how the heightened tension of a murder trial could make them even more angry.

Anyway, after a bunch of angry shouting, Jessica talks them into reviewing more evidence.

They go to a flashback of Becky Anderson’s testimony. Becky says that not only was she separated from her late husband, but she had a restraining order against him. This is a bit remarkable since a restraining order generally requires evidence of physical danger to get. Further, the DA presses her on the reason for the divorce. She says that it was irreconcilable differences but the DA then asks if Cliff counter-sued for divorce on the grounds of infidelity. All of this is dramatic, but at the same time hard to square with Cliff having believed that they were only on a trial separation. I don’t see how one can counter-sue for divorce on the grounds of infidelity and expect that you’ll remain married and get back together in a few months. The existence of a restraining order is also hard to square with a “trial separation.” There’s then some pointless questioning about how many men she’s picked up from bars. The defense objects and the judge sustains it, admonishing the DA. The odd thing about this is that the only point which makes sense for the DA to make is that she never picks up men, making his theory that she and Mark already knew each other more likely. It’s played as if he was trying to paint her as a slut, but that’s the opposite of what he would want to do.

Back in the jury room they fight a bit more. Someone refers to Mark as rich and used to having his own way and another juror objects that it was the wife who was rich, not Mark. After some bickering and insults, they go to a flashback of the testimony of a Mr. Fenton Harris (played by Alan Hale Jr. who is probably best known for playing the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island).

Incidentally, while this part of my experience is not something to generalize from, while some jurors did express offense, none of us ever insulted any of the other jurors. The one juror who picked her words badly and gave offense made a point, after she realized it, of being more careful. This is only practical; in order to get out of deliberations and in order to get a verdict which one thinks is just, one needs to persuade the people to whom one is speaking. Open insults are too obviously a way to spend a long time then return no verdict, making the whole thing a colossal waste of time. It’s one thing to give up a lot of time and inconvenience one’s family and co-workers to help justice be done. It’s another thing to do it for no benefit to anyone. That said, after we decided on a verdict and were waiting around to return it some people compared this experience of jury duty to other times that they’d served and one told of a time she was on a criminal trial where some of the jurors were openly accusing other of the jurors of being racists. (They did not return a verdict and it was declared a mistrial.)

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Mr. Fenton runs a motel called the Bide-A-Wee. It’s located about fifteen miles out of town, on Route 37. In his business it’s a good practice never to recognize the customers, but he does recognize Mark. He came to the hotel somewhere between four to six times. He thinks he saw Becky once with Mr. Reynolds, but she didn’t come into the office; she stayed outside in the car.

This generated a ton of talking in the courtroom and the judge had to bang his gavel, calling for order in the court. (I don’t know if the judge in our trial even had a gavel; he certainly never banged it nor did anyone lack the self control talk audibly about what a witness just said.)

The DA concluded by asking about the timing, which put it about three months before Mark Reynolds and Becky Anderson claim to have met for the first time.

We then come back to the jury room, where they discuss the fact that Mr. Fenton only thinks that he saw her but isn’t sure. I’m not sure why no one brings up how difficult it would be, from inside an office, to recognize someone sitting in a car. For one thing, this would require the office to have a clear view of where Mark parked. This would be entirely under Mark’s control (assuming he was driving), which would mean that Mark was unbelievably careless while trying to be discrete. Even apart from that, seeing someone you don’t know, inside a car, well enough to be able to recognize them months later, in a different context—that’s really hard to do even under favorable circumstances.

Anyway, they argue and bicker for a while.

Eventually Jessica points out that if Becky and Mark knew each other beforehand, that their pretending to meet at a bar where Becky was a regular and where many of Cliff’s friends were known to hang out meant that they meant to be seen and to attract Cliff’s attention.

They then flash back to the testimony of the guy Cliff was living with (they were fishing buddies). When questioned, he said that Cliff had no gun when he left to confront Becky.

Jessica says that this is puzzle piece number one: where did Cliff get the gun? It was midnight when he got the call. He couldn’t have bought it.

With the help of some flashbacks to the testimony of a ballistics expert as well as just general recall, Jessica establishes that the gun had the fingerprints of both Mark and Cliff on it but no other fingerprints, that a nitrate test showed that both men had held the gun when it was fired, that only one shot was fired, and that a matching bullet had been taken out of the wall.

After some more bickering and insults (which, frankly, are beginning to feel like an attempt to pad out the episode), they then proceed to consider the testimony of Becky Anderson’s neighbor.

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When he came home Cliff’s car was in the way and he had to park in the street. He didn’t say anything because Cliff Anderson had a volatile temper; it was a good thing that Mark Reynolds grabbed that poker because if he hadn’t, when he looked through the window a few hours later it would have been Mark’s body taken out on a stretcher, not Cliff’s.

No one remarks on the several hours between when the guy tried to park and when he was looking through the window and seeing Cliff’s body being removed. Instead, we just get some remarks on how reliable it was to get Cliff to show up angry, then a flashback of the DA’s closing argument where he gives his theory of what happened. The two were not in bed, they were waiting for Cliff. Cliff came in, then as he went to talk to his wife, Mark killed him in cold blood. Mark had the gun, not Cliff, and used it after Cliff was dead to create a claim of self defense.

We come back to the jury room and as people are starting to agree that it was murder, Jessica says that the one thing that she’s willing to believe is that Cliff did bring the gun himself. She reminds them about the testimony of a traffic officer from a year ago who stopped Cliff and confiscated a gun in his glove box. Jessica says that a man like Cliff would almost certainly have gotten another gun soon after. Jessica doesn’t explain why she’s only just thought of that now when she listed it as a puzzle piece only a few minutes before.

After some more bickering and insults, which have crossed the point of being tiresome, Jessica points out that they’ve been overlooking something. According to the paramedics, Mark had broken his collarbone in the accident. How, then, was he able to successfully struggle with Cliff for the gun? The paramedics testified that his left arm was practically useless, yet the powder traces were on his left hand.

They then go back to a bunch of angry bickering.

Then Jessica says that one of the people made a good point, that it seems a bit ludicrous that these two people with Mark’s wife lying critically ill in a hospital bed chose this particular night to lure Becky’s husband to his death.

They then go back to a bunch of angry bickering.

Jessica then says that there is a third possibility between Mark murdering Cliff and Mark killing him in self defense, which none of them have yet considered. Instead of stating it, she brings up the time discrepancy between Mark and Becky’s timeline and what the neighbor said. She then says that this leads to only one inescapable conclusion, and only one possible verdict.

We then go to the court, where the jury returns the verdict of Not Guilty.

They get the basic procedural stuff wrong, I think just because they want to skip it for the sake of brevity.

Jessica then approaches the DA, who says that he guesses he might as well not bother going after Becky Anderson. Jessica says that it’s more important now than ever and asks if they can meet in his office in thirty minutes. She then asks him to have Becky and her lawyer present. He asks what this is about and Jessica explains off-camera.

The next scene is thirty minutes later, in the DA’s office. Jessica is late for some reason which is never explained and doesn’t add anything. They might really have wanted to pad this episode out, which is the opposite of most episodes of Murder, She Wrote where they don’t have the time to fit everything in.

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The DA’s office has a curious layout, with his desk in an anteroom to the conference table (I think that this is just a standard Murder, She Wrote set that they repurposed to be the DA’s office). Anyway, over a fairly protracted discussion with a lot of interruptions by Becky and her lawyer, Jessica explains what really happened. For brevity I’m going to present it together with bits that Becky added toward the end:

Mark and Becky were lovers but Mark’s wife of less than a year had all the money. Mark wanted both, so he tried to murder his wife, who never wore a seatbelt, by slamming their car into a telephone pole, passenger-side first.  This is what she meant by asking him “Why?”—she was asking him why he tried to kill her. Later, at the hospital, when he heard that she might regain consciousness (and incriminate him), he panicked and called the one person whose help he could rely on—Becky. They arranged to meet at the bar then for her to take him home so she—a supposed stranger—could give him an alibi for when he had to go back to the hospital and finish his wife off.

Unfortunately for them, Cliff found out and came to Becky’s apartment demanding to know where the man was. When he finally believed that no one was there, he demanded to know who the man was. Cliff became abusive and threatened to find the man and kill him, and then to kill her. As part of this, he threw Becky to the ground she picked up the poker and struck him in self defense. Half an hour later Mark came back from finishing his wife off in the hospital by smothering her with a pillow. He told Becky that, in his wife’s weakened condition, she died almost instantly. Their problem now was that they couldn’t let anyone know that Cliff had found Becky alone so they came up with the idea that Mark had been the one to kill Cliff in self defense. In fact, this was an even stronger alibi than just spending time with her.

Becky admits everything and takes a plea deal from the DA because he really wants Mark.

After this, in some building which I assume is meant to be the same building as both the courthouse and where the DA’s office is, Mark runs into Jessica and thanks her for her verdict. She says that there’s no need—the satisfaction is knowing that the right thing has been done. Mark then says that he’ll always remember her. Jessica replies, “Oh yes, I’m quite sure you will.”

He makes it about ten steps towards the exit when two police officers arrest him. He looks over his shoulder at Jessica.

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She looks at him.

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Then she turns and begins to walk away and we go to credits.

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This was an interesting episode, and not just because I got the chance to compare it with my recent service on a jury. As Murder, She Wrote goes, it’s more of a pure puzzle than many of the episodes are. As a puzzle, it’s well constructed. The story is set up in such a way that we’re operating within a framing that the murderer chose, though with some additional clues that came about despite the murderer’s efforts. Within the framing the murderer provided, the story together with the facts the murderer tried to exclude don’t really make sense. That’s an excellent setup for a murder mystery.

My biggest complaint about this episode is the incessant bickering. It got so bad that they even gave one of the characters the role of the audience in telling one of the worst offenders to shut up. To some degree this is an artifact of the medium; television needed to be maximally compelling at all times out of the constant fear that viewers would change the channel. One way writers tried to cope with this was to create as much conflict as possible, since conflict tends to demand the attention of people who see it and makes us want to see if it’s resolved. It’s a cheap trick and hurt the episode, but the temptation to it was, perhaps, understandable. It’s a good lesson, I think, in how the accidents that can give rise to good things can also impose limitations on them.

A much smaller complaint is that the episode didn’t entirely take its premise of being about jury room deliberations seriously. This is always forgivable in little things for practical reasons, such as the judge’s instructions being for the audience, not the jury. A skilled writer could have done a better job making it for both, but forgiveness is a highly practical virtue in a fallen world, and this is a very minor thing, more or less on the level of how characters don’t need to use the bathroom on television. Less minor is that the jury tended to act like they hadn’t heard a piece evidence until a flashback of it happened. This was practical, but false to how juries actually work. Unless jurors are shirking their duty, they are actively listening to testimony and trying to fit it in and make sense of it as they hear it. This is part of why each side in the case has an opening statement—in their opening statement they explain the framing of the evidence that they propose so that jurors can do this kind of analysis. The jurors in this case, except for Jessica, had conclusions, but no independent thoughts.

Well, that’s not quite true. A Mr Lord made the point that picking the night of Mark’s car accident which killed his wife to lure Cliff Anderson to his death would have been a crazy plan. He didn’t explain, but he was right that it was too filled with contingencies that had to happen correctly for Cliff Anderson to die at all, and if they didn’t work out, the couple would have then been in a terrible position to try to kill Cliff again.

Other than that, I can’t think of an example of a juror having an independent thought from Jessica. Which is a pity, because Jessica navigating actual thoughts instead of meaningless ranting and insults would have been more interesting.

All that said, the presentation of the case was quite interesting. We get about six minutes of the case as it happens, which throws a lot at us, then we move to a retrospective examination in the jury/court room. This change of perspective is, on its own, an interesting setup. There’s less to keep track of and it presents itself as more of a challenge to try to remember it. The flashbacks which follow, and present further evidence, are also very clearly delineated as evidence being presented. In a normal Murder, She Wrote episode, while clues are given, they are disguised as being part of the action which is there to move the plot forward (while red herrings tend to be held out as obvious evidence). In a normal episode it’s easy to sit back and watch the action, as it were. Here, our attention is focused.

I also like how the episode misdirects us on the question of who the principle murderer is and who the accomplice is. With the initial setup, if Mark and Becky had actually planned to kill Becky’s husband, she would be the murderer and Mark the accomplice. The reversal to Mark being the principal murderer and Becky the accomplice, and for a different death, was an extremely well-done bit of misdirection.

I’m not sure whether a jury-room setting could be made to work for a novel. As I’ve mentioned, TV is really, structurally, a short story. I think a jury-room short story would be very doable. It would be difficult to actually get a detective on to a jury for a murder trial—previous experience that might bias you is a for-cause strike and both sides have an unlimited number of for-cause strikes. Still, it could be fun. I think that the main thing to take from this episode in terms of story construction—since very few people are writing short stories these days—is the interesting structure of the framing provided by the murderer vs. the correct framing, especially with regard to a putative victim and a real victim and a putative principal murder vs. the real principal murderer.

Just as a side note, I found it amusing that two of the witnesses had Maine accents (Mr. Fenton and the next-door neighbor) while the rest had standard Californian accents. That’s typical of Murder, She Wrote episodes set near Cabot Cove. So few people try for Maine accents that it sounds a bit weird when someone actually does one. It makes me wonder how the few guest actors who did Maine accents ended up doing them.

Oh, one final thought on the episode: a big part of the mystery and twists and turns of the case was done by how the episode directed our attention throughout.  We saw Mark when his shoulder was injured but then we saw him months later, healed up, before we saw the flashback in which we saw the actor (with a perfectly good shoulder) wrestling for the gun. This made it a lot easier to forget this crucial piece of evidence and for it to be a revelation when Jessica reminds us of it. It’s a good lesson in the importance of being careful to direct the audience’s attention away from the important things so they will feel fooled when the detective reveals the solution.

A second final thought on the episode: while most episodes feel rushed, this episode actually took its time, which I think also helped. It took its time so much it may have run into the opposite problem of a normal episode, and actually included things for padding. Towards the end the bickering felt really pointless. That said, the bickering was annoying but not too hard to ignore, and I really appreciated the less rushed pace. It could have been used better, but it gave characters more time for characterization, making the episode feel a bit richer, I think.

The Most Amazing Trailer Reaction of All Time

A while back, before the final Disney Star Wars sequel was released, they released a trailer for it, and some guy on the internet put up a trailer reaction video on his YouTube channel. His reaction was… well, you kind of need to see it for yourself to believe it.

Much was said about it at the time; I’m commenting now because I think enough time has elapsed that this can, in no way, be considered timely. Timely commentary is often prone to getting caught up in the prevailing emotions of the moment, as well as the factions that form around everything that gets talked about on the internet. Also, at this remove, this reaction is all the more interesting because we know what the movie was like.

By all accounts, the movie was absolutely terrible.

In full disclosure, I was reminded of this because, after mentioning my 17 kiloword review of The Last Jedi, a friend was trying to recommend to me that I watch The Rise of Skywalker and review it because it was, somehow, even worse than The Last Jedi. (I also mentioned how my oldest son wants me to watch it and review it.)

Anyway, I’m not quite sure what to make of the video above. It has been called the ultimate example of consumerist culture; the man is ecstatic with pleasure he cannot express at the trailer for a movie which reasonable people expected to be bad. I do tend towards believing the old saying de gustibus non disputandum est — there is no arguing matters of taste. That said, something seems off with this reaction.

On the other hand, if a man can feel a childlike sense of wonder and amazement over this, there is something good about that. It is possible we do not marvel at grass enough, and if one can marvel at grass, perhaps one could marvel at this trailer, too. But the thing which troubles me about this trailer is that that’s backwards. Grass is, properly considered, a more amazing thing than this trailer.

The real problem is not that he’s so amazed at this trailer, but that he is more amazed at this trailer than at the chair he’s sitting on and the trees he can almost certainly see outside of his window. He was not giggling in giddy exultation over the blue sky and the clouds at the beginning of this video.

The real problem is not that the man in the video finds the trailer to be very good. The real problem is all of the great things in real life that he is missing.

I Just Served on a Jury

Earlier this week I served on a jury. It was a civil case, where the Party of the First Part (to use terminology from A Night At the Opera) was suing the Party of the Second Part for damages over a breech of contract. Specifically, the Party of the First Part alleged (and tried to prove) that the Party of the Second Part had failed to pay what was agreed in the contract for services that the Party of the First Part rendered. Why this came to trial is that the parties only had a verbal contract and they disputed what the terms of that contract were.

It was, in some ways, a very strange case. The lawyer for the Defense, in his opening argument, wrote several dates on a whiteboard and told us that the case would hinge on these dates. Those dates were never mentioned again. The Defense claimed that the contract was for a lump sum payment and that payment was made. The Plaintiff claimed that the contract was for a day rate and that this resulted in money that was still owed. It never seemed to occur to the Plaintiff to bring into evidence (even through testimony) what the day rate was nor how many days were worked, so even though (in some sense) we found for the Plaintiff, it was impossible to award any damages because precisely no evidence was presented that damages were actually owed under the day-rate theory. (This is an over-simplification, for several reasons, including some jurors firmly believing that the agreement was for a day rate capped at the total amount on the bid sheet. However, what allowed us to come to a verdict was that there were some documents including invoices and time sheets entered into evidence, but when we totaled them up for ourselves, the number we came to suggested that the Party of the First Party had been overpaid. There was a further complication that the invoices were put together by a woman who did the invoicing for the Party of the First Part who testified that she didn’t know what the agreement was, she just put together invoices as best she could, and when there were problems she’d have their operations manager handle it. The invoices that the Plaintiff entered into evidence were not supported by the time sheets that they entered into evidence, and the portions that were resulted in much lower charges than were paid, even when we added in items on the invoice which contradicted the testimony of the operations manager for the Party of the First Part.) At one point the lawyer for the Party of the Second Part tried to get a witness who had been operations manager for the Party of the First Part to admit that some numbers on a bid sheet were in his handwriting, which he denied, and the lawyer even tried to argue that the 9s were nearly identical between this bid sheet and one he candidly admitted was in his handwriting. A few hours later the witness for the Party of the Second Part candidly admitted that the writing on the bid sheet at issue was in his handwriting. That is, the lawyer for the Party of the Second Part argued with a witness over something which was soon contradicted by his own witness!

It is well known that the best way to convince somebody of one’s version of what happened is to present a narrative which explains all of the known facts. Neither side tried to present a narrative of what actually happened which even tried to explain the facts that were available. They just argued over various scattershot bits and pieces then dumped the whole mess on us.

It was a bit incomprehensible how the case could have been presented as badly as it was by both sides. That said, since the case only came to trial because both parties were incompetent at running their businesses back at the time the agreement was made and acted upon, it should not be surprising that they were not competent at picking good lawyers, either.

Important Cultural References

I think that one of YouTube’s most important functions in society is to preserve important cultural references, such as 1980s anti-drug PSAs.

I don’t know whether The Partnership for a Drug Free America ever convinced anyone to not use drugs. For all I know, their over-the-top ads may have had the opposite effect and convinced some people that drugs were cool, or at least not that bad if people need to resort to this kind of ad rather than actual argumentation or fact. (One of the potential hazards of rhetoric which is devoid of rational argumentation rather than an augment to rational argumentation, since the drugs they were primarily concerned with such as cocaine and heroin are, in fact, extraordinarily bad ideas to mess around with.)

Then again, for all I know these ads actually did some good and scared someone enough to not try drugs that might have wrecked their life.

Either way, the Partnership for a Drug Free America sure gave us some wonderful cultural references to make jokes with. And YouTube enables us to explain these jokes to our children in ways that they get.

Death of a Gossip vs. Appointment With Death

I recently read Agatha Christie’s Poirot novel, Appointment With Death. I was very annoyed with how much it reminded me of the Hamish MacBeth novel, Death of a Gossip. First, because this is entirely the wrong way around. Death of a Gossip was published forty seven years after Appointment With Death. It’s just an accident that I happened to read them out of chronological order. Also, though I didn’t find Appointment With Death satisfying, it was a much, much better book than was Death of a Gossip. (If you’re curious, here’s what I wrote about Death of a Gossip and here’s what I wrote about Appointment with Death.)

(Spoilers follow, of course.)

I doubt that Death of a Gossip was based on Appointment with Death, but it is a weird coincidence that both of them feature the victim being a cruel older woman who likes to torment people with old secrets who is killed by a female American social climber during a private appointment the victim made with the female American social climber in order to taunt the murderer with the secret.

Admittedly, Lady Westholme (the murderer in Appointment with Death) reminded me more of the victim in Death of a Gossip than the murderer. And the murder was premeditated in Appointment with Death while it was… probably spontaneous (even though that introduces a bunch of major plot holes) in Death of a Gossip.

I can’t help but wonder if this similarity made me enjoy Appointment With Death less than I otherwise would have had the similarity to a bad mystery not occurred to me.

Come to think of it, there’s also a minor similarity to the Murder, She Wrote episode Showdown in Saskatchewan. That episode features a former officer of a prison who recognized someone who used to be an inmate there, and paid with his life for his extraordinary memory for faces.

It’s an interesting problem to consider that lesser books which steal from classics may hurt our enjoyment of the classics if we read them out of order.

Appointment With Death

I recently read Agatha Christie’s novel Appointment With Death. Published in 1938, it was the sixteenth novel featuring Hercule Poirot. Despite it being very well done, I find it a strangely unsatisfying book. Curiously, I’m inclined to say that I find it unsatisfying because it does such an excellent job of following play fair rules, and even of following G.K. Chesterton’s (good) advice on writing mysteries. That is, I think it does such a good job as a puzzle that it suffers as a novel. (note: spoilers follow.)

There is the issue that the subject is somewhat intrinsically a downer. A family is tormented by their cruel mother who holds the purse strings and was so heavily manipulated that none of them decided that there are more important things than money and struck off on their own. (To be fair, as one of the characters pointed out, they had no skills and it was during the Great Depression, which was a particularly difficult time to find employment as an unskilled laborer.)

I think that the thing which really made the solution unsatisfying was that it was—basically—unrelated to the main plot. Most of the book was taken up with Sarah King and the Boyntons and their obsession with getting free of Mrs. Boynton. Now, to be fair, this is practically the ideal when it comes to detective-novel-as-puzzle stories. That it turns out that the murder was really about something that was in front of our face but we didn’t notice would be how many people would describe the goal of a detective story, or at least a classic, golden-age detective story. The problem comes down to an unwritten rule of this type of detective story: if a red herring is completely unrelated to the solution, it must be a minor part of the story.

The connection between the red herring and the solution does not need to very strong. It suffices, for example, that the red herring helped to give the murderer opportunity. Another possible connection is that the murderer used the red herring as cover. In extremis, the murderer can even use the red herring as a red herring (the original red herrings were smoked fish dragged across a scent trail to try to fool hounds). This would consist of bringing the red herring to the attention of the detective when he should know that it isn’t related, which would then be evidence that he has some motive, leading the detective to him.

What I find disappointing about Appointment With Death is that most of the book is an unrelated red herring. Nothing that any of the suspects did was in any way related to the murder, which had taken place before all of their actions anyway. Indeed, the victim had specifically gotten them out of the way.

Now, there was a great deal of interesting detection in getting all of the Boynton family out of the way; I very much enjoyed how this culminated in Poirot pointing out how strange it was that a servant went to fetch Mrs. Boynton because none of her family did, suggesting that they all knew that she was already dead and didn’t want to be the one to have to officially find out. It was also a well-crafted inter-relationship of everyone suspecting each other, motivating these actions. This part was all great, but it was really a different book from figuring out who killed Mrs. Boynton. Once it was all cleared away, Poirot them brings out the evidence of who killed her. This, I think, is really my objection. There was no need, story wise, to clear everything else up before bringing out this evidence. So much so, the revelation of all of the evidence related to the killing of Mrs. Boynton was in its own chapter.

This evidence that Lady Westholme was the murderer stood on its own and didn’t need any of the family’s muddling to be cleared away first. It would have worked equally well to have shown the evidence that it was Lady Westholme who killed Mrs. Boynton, then afterwards to explain why everyone lied in giving the wrong time of death. It would have been far more satisfying, I think, if it would not have worked equally well in that order.

In a sense, this gets at the same problem as I discussed in my post about a Star Trek: Deep Space Nine scene. In the scene, one character asks another about what was true in all the things he said. The other replies that it was all true. “Even the lies?”

“Especially the lies.”

Now, Deep Space Nine never paid that line off, but this is a decent way of describing the ideal in a mystery. The evidence should be available and everyone but the brilliant detective should misunderstand it. But they should not completely misunderstand it. The pinnacle of achievement in a mystery story is for the author to come up with a way in which even the lies are true. That, I think, is what makes it a truly human drama and not merely a puzzle.

The way that Appointment With Death was written, it was really two stories that interleaved with each other but did not relate to each other. One is a novel about an unhappy family, the other is a short story about the correct interpretation of an ambiguous statement.

There’s also a curious aspect to reading this story now, in the year of our Lord 2023, with it having been published in 1938. Agatha Christie couldn’t have known this but the book was published very shortly before World War 2. It contains an epilogue set five years later, which would place it in the heart of the war. Yet in the epilogue everyone is happy. This could work if the main story was set several years before, say, in 1934. With the Boyntons being Americans, the care-free atmosphere could make sense in 1939 since America was not to (officially) join the war until December of 1941. This would not be unreasonable. And there is precedent for the books being set out of their publication order. In an afterword in Murder in Mesopotamia, published in 1936, which explicitly sets it right before Murder on the Orient Express, which was published in 1934.

Anyway, This is no fault of the construction of the book, of course, but it still makes it a little bit of a weird experience to read it.

Incredible Motives for Murder

Having recently watched the Murder, She Wrote episode Deadpan with my oldest son, the superficially far-fetched motive for murder became a subject of conversation. I pointed out how it amounted to  the motive being narcissistic injury and the murderer was portrayed as a raging narcissist so it did have psychological truth to it. The issue, I suspect, is that the murder was complex and clever and it doesn’t feel true to life that someone who could plan in this careful and patient way could take this kind of insult so seriously that he would change the course of his life over it and then eventually murder the person who insulted him so many years later.

But then it occurred to me, this may be a bias that in real life we’re only familiar with the motives of murderers who are caught. There are unsolved murders. For all we know, people do carry twenty year long grudges and eventually kill people because of them in carefully planned ways but they plan the murders well enough that they never get caught, so we never find out why they did it. (This may be especially true of poisons which mimic death by natural causes; absent a brilliant detective to bring the poisoning to light, these deaths would never even be known as murders.)

I’m not saying that it does happen frequently; it would be absurd to argue from a lack of evidence that they happen at all to the conclusion that they happen frequently. That said, it is not much better an argument that the lack of evidence means that they never happen. I get why it’s easy to make that latter argument, though. The death of people who are not old and sick is rare, so murder must be rare, and it is not easy to believe that rare things are real. Further, most obvious murders take place in cities and seem to be intertwined with criminal gangs or with semi-professional thieves, so a murder like one sees in this episode of Murder, She Wrote must be extremely rare, since it was an obvious murder. (This, incidentally, is probably why so many clever murderers try to pass off their murders as having been committed by thieves as adjuncts to the theft.) But this is a mere prejudice; it is the mistake of going from statistical certainty to real certainty. It is like going from the fact that for any given man it is vanishingly unlikely that he will ever be president of the United States to concluding that there are no presidents of the United States.

Of course, it doesn’t actually matter if the thing is realistic; being realistic is not the point of murder mysteries. What matters in murder mysteries is being logically consistent. Murder mysteries must have no plot holes (I mean, as an ideal). Murder Mysteries do not need to be historical documentaries with the names changed. Indeed, the latter would largely defeat the purpose of fiction.

Modern fiction has, for the last several centuries, adopted the art of using fake details to lend an air of reality to stories. This is fun, but it can be misleading. The reason why we read stories is because they condense the events they describe into intelligible patterns, so that we can learn to recognize these patterns in real life where the far greater level of detail makes it harder to see the patterns in real life for what they are.

In real life, people do carry grudges which harm relationships for decades. It’s more often against family members than against newspaper critics, but that doesn’t matter to the symbolism. Indeed, making it less familiar can make it easier to see since it gets past the defenses people have erected to fool themselves into believing that they are not behaving as badly as they are. For the more common case of people reminding themselves of these truths lest the fall into them, a less common presentation can help to make the pain feel unreal while the intellectual lesson is not diminished.

That said, you never do know. It is always possible that murder mysteries are more realistic than we give them credit for because we don’t have the brilliant detectives, in real life, to bring these crimes to light.

Why Consequentialists Pretend to be Superheroes

It is a common thing in the modern world to see people pretending to be the savior of some group or other. There are several commonly given reasons for this which have some explanatory power. They want to feel important. They want the power conveyed by some group trusting them. They want to be in charge. They want to cosplay the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

In any complex thing there are often multiple causes which work together, no one cause being solely responsible, but I recently came across a simpler and less historically contingent explanation: these people are consequentialists. (Consequentialism is the moral theory that there are no principles such as “stealing is wrong” but that every act is good or bad solely based on its consequences. For why it can’t even work in theory, see my video Why Consequentialism Doesn’t Work.)

Here’s why that matters: for a consequentialist, if he pretends that he’s working for the betterment of a mass of people it justifies everything he does at the individual level. Even a fairly minor benefit, to a million people, will outweigh almost anything he can do to a single person. The thing is, For virtually all of us, life is lived at the individual level. The result is that average consequentialist who pretends to be working for the betterment of the masses can do whatever he wants for twenty three and three quarters hours per day. (The fifteen minutes is for pretending he’s doing whatever it is he thinks he’s doing for the sake of the masses; he will need to dedicate some time to this in order to convince himself.)

This helps to explain why such people are often unpleasant if not downright nasty. That’s the point. They don’t want to improve, and they’ve found an excuse to avoid it.

This also explains why they never seem to be effective: they’re not actually trying. Plus, on some level, they probably intuit that if the problem that they’re pretending to solve goes away, so does their excuse for how they behave.