Jeffery Barns, veteran photojournalist, was sitting alone as usual in the News Brief, a not so plush cocktail lounge and hangout for the local paparazzi of the Twin Cities. Gloria Stevens, a young, enthusiastic cub reporter from a rival paper, boldly walked up and asked, “Mind if I join you?” Before he could object, she slid into the booth facing him.
Gloria said, “I’ve admired your work for some time Mr. Jeffery Barns. I followed you this afternoon and it was exciting watching you work with that antique camera of yours. It’s no wonder you’re a seven-time Pulitzer Prize winner. What I don’t understand is how you always seem to know exactly where to be to get the picture and story; like today, being on the scene before the crime started and getting the picture before the cops even got there. How did you know?”
He smiled smugly and answered, “Just lucky, I guess.”
“There’s more than luck involved in what you do. I’ve researched and studied your career since you were a cub reporter and I mean to learn your secrets.”
“There’s no secret; I told you, I’m just lucky.”
For the next three days, Gloria, being careful not to be observed, secretly followed Jeff. Twice during that time, he was on location before the incident, got his picture, then wrote the front-page story. Now she was positive that he was getting inside information from someone or something. She pondered, “Is this man psychic?”
Overwhelmed with curiosity, Gloria arranged with a friend from their surveillance team to help her set up a watch post overlooking Jeff’s apartment. That night, she sat with a video camera mounted on a photographic telescope, a recorder connected to a shotgun microphone and waited.
She had a good view of the entire place. At
“That can’t be,” she thought, “I have been here all night and no one has entered or left his apartment.”
She listened and heard him say, “Today at
She rewound the videotape and played it back in slow motion. The tape of the brightly lit kitchen disclosed what she had missed during her twilight period. “Thank goodness for instant reruns – woo! What’s that?” she thought. There on the kitchen counter was a bag of some sort. She used the zoom feature on the recorder to magnify the object.
“That looks like an old gadget-bag from 40 or 50 years ago,” she said, “Now he’s got me talking to myself.” She still framed the picture and made a print out of the image. She called her editor, “Hey, Chief, I’m onto something, but I don’t know just what it is yet. I’ve been up all night so I won’t be in until tomorrow. I still have some questions to be answered before I can fill you in.”
At
That evening she found him sitting in his usual seat in the News Brief. He looked up as she approached, and said, “Come sit down, I’ve been expecting you.”
She slid into the booth again and said, “That’s good, I have some questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“About this,” she said as she slid the picture of the gadget bag across the table.
Jeff looked at the picture, cocked his head slightly, pushed his hat to the back of his head and asked, “Where did – or rather, how did you get this?”
“With stealth, but perfectly legal,” she stated.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what it is.”
“What it is,” he said, resetting his hat, “is obvious. It’s my gadget bag, I’ve had it for years.”
“Where did you get it?”
He pushed the photo back to her and tried unsuccessfully to change the subject, “Stay or go as you like, but stop pestering me with this.”
She persisted, “I know you didn’t buy it new because that bag is older than you are.”
“All right!” he exclaimed, “what do I have to do to get rid of you?”
“Tell me about the bag, the camera, and how you know what’s going to happen beforehand.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He protested.
“Maybe not what, but certainly when and where,” she said encouragingly.
“How do you know that?”
He fixed his gaze on her face and studied her closely, then said, “Off the record.”
She hesitated, smiled and said, “I sense a large human interest story here.”
“I can see I am not going to be rid of you until I tell you the story. But!” he emphasized, “If you want to hear it, you will pledge that everything remains totally off the record.”
“Before I agree, tell me why.”
“Because no one will believe it – not even you.”
“Then I agreed,” she said, “Tell me.”
“Just like you, when I was a cub reporter and aspiring to become a journalist, old man Jenkins, – my editor, now deceased – called me into his office and told me that if I wanted to be more than just a reporter, I had to go find the stories because they weren’t going to come to me. That night as I was walking home to my coldwater flat, something caught my eye in the shadows of an alley. There it was, just sitting on the ground.”
“What was?” she asked.
The gadget bag; at first I thought it was a suitcase someone had lost. I looked around for the owner but there was no one in sight so I carried it home. When I opened the bag I found the camera, a flash bulb, a film holder, and a small chalkboard. The message on the board read, “Check with me every morning and I will tell you where and when to go. The camera will get the picture you need to go with your story.”
“Is that all?” Gloria asked.
“That’s all. Every morning there’s a new flash bulb, fresh film in the holder along with the time and location written on the board. When I get home, I develop the film and write the story. It was 40 years ago today that I found it.”
“Did you ever learn whose it was or where it came from?”
“I have no idea where it came from but I do know who it belonged to.”
“Who for pity sake? – Tell me.”
Jeff picked the gadget bag off the seat next to him and slid it across the table saying, “Open the lid.”
Gloria moved the carrying handle out of the way and opened the bag. Embossed in the leather on the inside of the lid was, “Casey Crime Photographer.”
She slowly raised her eyes, looked at Jeff, and said, “Casey is a fictional character of radio and TV from the 40’s and 50’s.”
“As a matter of fact,” Jeff said, “that’s right.”
“No wonder you said no one would believe it – not even me.”
“Oh, but you will,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Read the slate,” he directed.
She moved the camera aside, removed the chalkboard, and read the message. “Jeffery, it has been a pleasure working with you but it is time to pass the gift along to the most promising young reporter you know.”
As she looked up and their eyes met, he said, “Gloria Stevens, the camera is yours. Go and fulfill your dreams.”
Casey, Crime Photographer
Based on the stories
by George Harmon Coxe
The adventures of Casey, crack photographer for The Morning Express, aired in a radio series, which moved to television after a highly successful run in the 1940’s.
The program first aired under the title of Flashgun Casey in 1943. It was eventually changed to Casey, Crime Photographer and remained on the air until 1955.