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The Dead Beat
Larry Fox es un joven procedente de un orfanato, que se dedica a desempeñar múltiples ocupaciones, entre ellas tocar el piano en tugurios de mala muerte. Asimismo, se dedica a chantajear cuando se presenta la ocasión. Larry tiene un lío con LaVerne, una mujer de vida virtuosa, a la que también quiere extorsionar. Entretanto, Larry consigue, recurriendo a la ficción, que le acojan en el hogar de Walter y Elinor Harris, matrimonio sin hijos. Ello da lugar a tensas situaciones, que adquieren un carácter dramático. Larry comete una serie de actos indebidos, que suponen, finalmente su perdición y ponen en peligro a los Harris.
- GenresCrime
144 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1960
1 person is currently reading
105 people want to read
About the author
Robert Bloch
1,091 books1,284 followersRobert Albert Bloch was a prolific American writer. He was the son of Raphael "Ray" Bloch (1884, Chicago-1952, Chicago), a bank cashier, and his wife Stella Loeb (1880, Attica, Indiana-1944, Milwaukee, WI), a social worker, both of German-Jewish descent.
Bloch wrote hundreds of short stories and over twenty novels, usually crime fiction, science fiction, and, perhaps most influentially, horror fiction (Psycho). He was one of the youngest members of the Lovecraft Circle; Lovecraft was Bloch's mentor and one of the first to seriously encourage his talent.
He was a contributor to pulp magazines such as Weird Tales in his early career, and was also a prolific screenwriter. He was the recipient of the Hugo Award (for his story "That Hell-Bound Train"), the Bram Stoker Award, and the World Fantasy Award. He served a term as president of the Mystery Writers of America.
Robert Bloch was also a major contributor to science fiction fanzines and fandom in general. In the 1940s, he created the humorous character Lefty Feep in a story for Fantastic Adventures. He also worked for a time in local vaudeville, and tried to break into writing for nationally-known performers. He was a good friend of the science fiction writer Stanley G. Weinbaum. In the 1960's, he wrote 3 stories for Star Trek.
Bloch wrote hundreds of short stories and over twenty novels, usually crime fiction, science fiction, and, perhaps most influentially, horror fiction (Psycho). He was one of the youngest members of the Lovecraft Circle; Lovecraft was Bloch's mentor and one of the first to seriously encourage his talent.
He was a contributor to pulp magazines such as Weird Tales in his early career, and was also a prolific screenwriter. He was the recipient of the Hugo Award (for his story "That Hell-Bound Train"), the Bram Stoker Award, and the World Fantasy Award. He served a term as president of the Mystery Writers of America.
Robert Bloch was also a major contributor to science fiction fanzines and fandom in general. In the 1940s, he created the humorous character Lefty Feep in a story for Fantastic Adventures. He also worked for a time in local vaudeville, and tried to break into writing for nationally-known performers. He was a good friend of the science fiction writer Stanley G. Weinbaum. In the 1960's, he wrote 3 stories for Star Trek.
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August 19, 2025
Anxieties About Youth?
The novel The Dead Beat (1960) exploits late 1950s anxieties about "youth" as a troubling sociological category through the character of Larry Fox and the dialogue of Jim Whittaker. Whittaker, a social scientist, views young people as a "mutation" or a "new breed" due to a "youth fetish" in society. He attributes this phenomenon to the effects of World Wars I and II and the Depression, which created a generation lacking traditional values or a clear sense of the future.
Larry Fox embodies these anxieties as a young man who is disconnected and lacking in a moral compass. He is described as a product of his environment, raised in an orphanage where he was told not to speak unless spoken to and to always follow rules. This upbringing, combined with a societal de-emphasis on traditional authority and wisdom, has turned him into a manipulator who relies on a "psychotic selfishness" and a "me-first, anything-for-kicks" attitude. He is a killer who has no respect for social norms or his elders, viewing them as obstacles to his personal gain. His actions are contrasted with older, traditional characters like the Harrises, who cling to their old values and are ultimately victimized by his amoral behavior.
Jim has a theory about the youth issue besetting the country in the last year of the Eisenhower administration:
[Jim] was telling Larry something about a book he had planned.
“No, it’s not a novel—sort of a sociological commentary. Fetish and taboo.”
“You mean it’s about savages?” Larry asked.
“From the jungles of Darkest America.”
“In other words, people like us.”
“Present company always excepted,” Jim said. “I’ve learned to stipulate the fact—it saves me from getting into fist fights and having my glasses broken.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, primarily I’m interested in what I call the youth fetish. You find it cropping up in out speech patterns, in our dress, in our decorum—or lack of it, and in advertising, entertainment and all the arts. It influences business and government and religion, to say nothing of sexual attitudes.”
“Here we go again!” Minnie sighed.
Jill frowned. “Father, Larry doesn’t want a lecture.”
“Honestly, I’d like to hear about it,” Larry said.
Elinor hid her smile as Jim Whittaker continued.
“It all began with World War One, I suppose. Up until then, the traditional role of the young man in this country was that of an apprentice. In rural communities he started as a hired hand or helped his father on the farm. In the cities he entered business as a clerk or a messenger or an office boy. Youth accepted a subordinate position unquestioningly, even when the industrial era developed. Age was still synonymous with wisdom—every school boasted its venerable sage, every village had its elderly crackerbox philosophers, every family ran to Grandpa or Grandma for advice. Gray hair was associated with dignity and stature. Think about it seriously for a moment and you’ll begin to comprehend the truly tremendous change that has come over us in the past forty years or so.”
“You said it was World War One,” Larry murmured, spooning into his ice cream.
Jim Whittaker nodded. “War is the great glorifier of youth,” he said. “Blow the bugle, beat the drums, and suddenly every eighteen-year-old in the land becomes important. He is a soldier, and hence a man. The war broke down all the barriers—put women into business and industry on a huge scale, and offered financial independence to young people of both sexes. Financial independence was followed by social independence. There was a song popular around that time—‘How You Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the Farm, After They’ve Seen Paree?’ The answer was that you couldn’t keep ’em down. They never went back.
“And meanwhile, the usual war propaganda was magnifying the importance of youth. It suddenly became everybody’s patriotic duty to be physically fit, aggressive, alert, receptive to new ideas and changes in living patterns brought about by the war effort. From this, of course, it was only a step to the twenties, and the age of Flaming Youth. The flapper took over, the sheik stepped out into the world. They set the styles, the modes in manners and in morals.”
“You make it all sound so simple,” Min interjected. “But I don’t remember anything like that happening. It seems to me that our folks were still the boss.”
“It wasn’t simple,” Jim agreed. “And it didn’t happen to everyone overnight. The effect was cumulative over a decade or more.”
“I think I see what you mean,” Larry said. “It sort of sneaked up on the people.”
“Sneak up.” Jim lit a cigarette. “Also speak up and shriek up. Gradually advertising and the arts became spokesmen for the youth fetish. The basic appeal was directed to the young—in fashions, cosmetics, products for women. One was youthful if one bought a new car, a new radio, a new refrigerator—owning such products was desirable, and the advertisers did their damnedest to make folks think that the owners would become desirable too. In the arts, young composers jazzed up the classics, young painters were putting mustaches on the Old Masters, young writers debunked the past and extolled the superiority of youth and freedom.
“Of course, it wasn’t a one-sided struggle. The old folks put up a pretty good fight until the Depression came along. We know how they lost their savings, lost their investments—but sometimes we forget that they also lost their status. During the thirties, age suddenly became a liability instead of an asset. Younger men competed in the labor market and got whatever jobs there were. They worked for less, didn’t tire as easily, were more receptive to new ideas.
“World War Two completed the revolution. This time there was no question about it—of course we still had our Elder Statesmen, but the real prime movers were the young. The pilot heroes in their teens, the boy Commandos, the youthful executives, the bright young men of G2. As for the female—if Jill will pardon my vulgarity—there was a phrase to describe her new role. ‘If she’s big enough, she’s old enough.’ Add to this the slackening of parental discipline, the abandonment of the old moral standards, and the result is apparent. So here we are today, in a world where the youth fetish is an obsession.”
“It is with you, anyway,” Min said tartly.
Jim shrugged. “Look around. Our economic leaders, through the media of advertising, assure us that it is the duty of everyone to appear young; to buy products which enhance the illusion of immaturity. Our books, magazines, motion pictures and television programs inform us, not too subtly, that romance and adventure are the exclusive property of young people between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. Nobody over that age ever falls in love or experiences anything of lasting significance, except for a few oddball characters thrown in for comedy relief.
“And that reminds me—‘oddball.’ Our very language is dominated by youth consciousness. The cool sounds drown out conversation in the parlor and the Beat lexicon has taken over the campus. We dig the teen-agers the most; our women adopt slacks and blue jeans and our men wear the juvenile’s flattop. When Min invites a bunch of women over for a hen party, she calls up the ‘girls’—and believe me, they think of themselves as girls, even though they’re pressing fifty. And when I play poker with the ‘boys’ I’m used to seeing heads balder than mine. It’s significant that when a man my age wins any kind of worldly success, he achieves the ultimate accolade—youth. The papers are filled with stories about ‘young executives’ of forty-eight, and ‘youthful political leaders’ of forty-nine. That’s the question my book will deal with: why people have become afraid to act their age. I haven’t even begun to consider solutions. First, as the abortionist says, I must clear up a few misconceptions.”
“Jim!” Min Whittaker made a face. “You’re talking too much.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get started this way.”
“I’m glad you did. Maybe we can talk about it some more,” Larry said.
“Suits me. I’d enjoy hearing your viewpoint,” Jim said. And looked as if he meant it.
Elinor was pleased. She could see that Larry had made a good impression on Jim tonight.
But now Jill was putting her hand on Larry’s arm. “Would you like to go in the other room and try the piano?” she asked.
“Of course, the lesson.” Larry rose. Jill was already on her feet, and she still gripped his arm. She stumbled a little, or pretended to stumble, and brushed against him.
Elinor was disgusted. So obvious! And poor Larry, too polite to refuse. She’d have to do something about it. She glanced at her watch quickly.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I really think we ought to be moving along. It’s ten-thirty.”
“What’s your hurry?” Min asked. “You know we never go to bed before twelve.”
“Walter said he’d call,” Elinor explained. “I want to be home when he does.” She hesitated. “Of course, if Larry wants to stay—”
Larry looked at her, then shook his head. “No, you’re right. We’d better go.” He turned to Jill. “Tell you what,” he said. “Maybe I can stop in some time tomorrow. Or you can come over to the Harrises—if Elinor doesn’t mind, that is.”
“Of course,” Elinor joined in hastily. “We’ll work something out.”
All through the farewells, she saw to it that they kept heading for the door. Jill didn’t get a chance to interrupt again.
Then they were safely outside and Larry took over the driving and she could lean back. She smiled in the darkness.
Jim Whittaker might be a smart man, but he was all wrong about this youth-age business. Youth could still learn a trick or two from experience. And that’s what it really was, just experience. Elinor wasn’t old, but she knew her way around. That’s why she was so disgusted with a kid like Jill. Larry, on the other hand, was so much more mature. No wonder he felt more at ease with someone like herself. And he was at ease now, she knew, driving along and smiling and humming a little….
❖ ❖ ❖
Larry Fox shares some traits with real-life young killers of the era like Charles Starkweather and the Clutter family killers, Richard Hickock and Perry Smith, but he is not a typical representation. All three cases involved young men who committed violence with seemingly little remorse. Larry's "psychotic selfishness" and lack of empathy are similar to the detached attitudes described in the other killers. However, unlike Starkweather, who was often accompanied by his girlfriend, and Hickock and Smith, who were a duo, Larry typically acts alone, with his past accomplice LaVerne becoming a victim in his schemes. Furthermore, Larry's violence is not random, but rather a direct result of his attempts to maintain control and to escape what he perceives as a society that has wronged him. He kills not for a thrill, but to eliminate threats to his freedom and financial gain.
Passion or Camouflage?
For Larry, his identity as a jazz musician is a form of social camouflage. He initially plays the piano as a job, faking his way through the numbers. He consciously adopts different personae to manipulate people, such as portraying himself as a "poor kid" or a "budding composer". He uses his musical abilities to present himself as a sensitive artist, someone who is "cool" and creative, which makes him more appealing and trustworthy to those he targets. He is able to switch between vocabularies and personas, demonstrating a detachment from his own identity. The persona of a jazz musician allows him to infiltrate different social circles and deceive people like the Harris and Whittaker families, who are drawn to his supposed talent and artistic nature. His music is not a true passion, but rather a tool he can use to get what he wants from others.
The novel The Dead Beat (1960) exploits late 1950s anxieties about "youth" as a troubling sociological category through the character of Larry Fox and the dialogue of Jim Whittaker. Whittaker, a social scientist, views young people as a "mutation" or a "new breed" due to a "youth fetish" in society. He attributes this phenomenon to the effects of World Wars I and II and the Depression, which created a generation lacking traditional values or a clear sense of the future.
Larry Fox embodies these anxieties as a young man who is disconnected and lacking in a moral compass. He is described as a product of his environment, raised in an orphanage where he was told not to speak unless spoken to and to always follow rules. This upbringing, combined with a societal de-emphasis on traditional authority and wisdom, has turned him into a manipulator who relies on a "psychotic selfishness" and a "me-first, anything-for-kicks" attitude. He is a killer who has no respect for social norms or his elders, viewing them as obstacles to his personal gain. His actions are contrasted with older, traditional characters like the Harrises, who cling to their old values and are ultimately victimized by his amoral behavior.
Jim has a theory about the youth issue besetting the country in the last year of the Eisenhower administration:
[Jim] was telling Larry something about a book he had planned.
“No, it’s not a novel—sort of a sociological commentary. Fetish and taboo.”
“You mean it’s about savages?” Larry asked.
“From the jungles of Darkest America.”
“In other words, people like us.”
“Present company always excepted,” Jim said. “I’ve learned to stipulate the fact—it saves me from getting into fist fights and having my glasses broken.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, primarily I’m interested in what I call the youth fetish. You find it cropping up in out speech patterns, in our dress, in our decorum—or lack of it, and in advertising, entertainment and all the arts. It influences business and government and religion, to say nothing of sexual attitudes.”
“Here we go again!” Minnie sighed.
Jill frowned. “Father, Larry doesn’t want a lecture.”
“Honestly, I’d like to hear about it,” Larry said.
Elinor hid her smile as Jim Whittaker continued.
“It all began with World War One, I suppose. Up until then, the traditional role of the young man in this country was that of an apprentice. In rural communities he started as a hired hand or helped his father on the farm. In the cities he entered business as a clerk or a messenger or an office boy. Youth accepted a subordinate position unquestioningly, even when the industrial era developed. Age was still synonymous with wisdom—every school boasted its venerable sage, every village had its elderly crackerbox philosophers, every family ran to Grandpa or Grandma for advice. Gray hair was associated with dignity and stature. Think about it seriously for a moment and you’ll begin to comprehend the truly tremendous change that has come over us in the past forty years or so.”
“You said it was World War One,” Larry murmured, spooning into his ice cream.
Jim Whittaker nodded. “War is the great glorifier of youth,” he said. “Blow the bugle, beat the drums, and suddenly every eighteen-year-old in the land becomes important. He is a soldier, and hence a man. The war broke down all the barriers—put women into business and industry on a huge scale, and offered financial independence to young people of both sexes. Financial independence was followed by social independence. There was a song popular around that time—‘How You Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the Farm, After They’ve Seen Paree?’ The answer was that you couldn’t keep ’em down. They never went back.
“And meanwhile, the usual war propaganda was magnifying the importance of youth. It suddenly became everybody’s patriotic duty to be physically fit, aggressive, alert, receptive to new ideas and changes in living patterns brought about by the war effort. From this, of course, it was only a step to the twenties, and the age of Flaming Youth. The flapper took over, the sheik stepped out into the world. They set the styles, the modes in manners and in morals.”
“You make it all sound so simple,” Min interjected. “But I don’t remember anything like that happening. It seems to me that our folks were still the boss.”
“It wasn’t simple,” Jim agreed. “And it didn’t happen to everyone overnight. The effect was cumulative over a decade or more.”
“I think I see what you mean,” Larry said. “It sort of sneaked up on the people.”
“Sneak up.” Jim lit a cigarette. “Also speak up and shriek up. Gradually advertising and the arts became spokesmen for the youth fetish. The basic appeal was directed to the young—in fashions, cosmetics, products for women. One was youthful if one bought a new car, a new radio, a new refrigerator—owning such products was desirable, and the advertisers did their damnedest to make folks think that the owners would become desirable too. In the arts, young composers jazzed up the classics, young painters were putting mustaches on the Old Masters, young writers debunked the past and extolled the superiority of youth and freedom.
“Of course, it wasn’t a one-sided struggle. The old folks put up a pretty good fight until the Depression came along. We know how they lost their savings, lost their investments—but sometimes we forget that they also lost their status. During the thirties, age suddenly became a liability instead of an asset. Younger men competed in the labor market and got whatever jobs there were. They worked for less, didn’t tire as easily, were more receptive to new ideas.
“World War Two completed the revolution. This time there was no question about it—of course we still had our Elder Statesmen, but the real prime movers were the young. The pilot heroes in their teens, the boy Commandos, the youthful executives, the bright young men of G2. As for the female—if Jill will pardon my vulgarity—there was a phrase to describe her new role. ‘If she’s big enough, she’s old enough.’ Add to this the slackening of parental discipline, the abandonment of the old moral standards, and the result is apparent. So here we are today, in a world where the youth fetish is an obsession.”
“It is with you, anyway,” Min said tartly.
Jim shrugged. “Look around. Our economic leaders, through the media of advertising, assure us that it is the duty of everyone to appear young; to buy products which enhance the illusion of immaturity. Our books, magazines, motion pictures and television programs inform us, not too subtly, that romance and adventure are the exclusive property of young people between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. Nobody over that age ever falls in love or experiences anything of lasting significance, except for a few oddball characters thrown in for comedy relief.
“And that reminds me—‘oddball.’ Our very language is dominated by youth consciousness. The cool sounds drown out conversation in the parlor and the Beat lexicon has taken over the campus. We dig the teen-agers the most; our women adopt slacks and blue jeans and our men wear the juvenile’s flattop. When Min invites a bunch of women over for a hen party, she calls up the ‘girls’—and believe me, they think of themselves as girls, even though they’re pressing fifty. And when I play poker with the ‘boys’ I’m used to seeing heads balder than mine. It’s significant that when a man my age wins any kind of worldly success, he achieves the ultimate accolade—youth. The papers are filled with stories about ‘young executives’ of forty-eight, and ‘youthful political leaders’ of forty-nine. That’s the question my book will deal with: why people have become afraid to act their age. I haven’t even begun to consider solutions. First, as the abortionist says, I must clear up a few misconceptions.”
“Jim!” Min Whittaker made a face. “You’re talking too much.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get started this way.”
“I’m glad you did. Maybe we can talk about it some more,” Larry said.
“Suits me. I’d enjoy hearing your viewpoint,” Jim said. And looked as if he meant it.
Elinor was pleased. She could see that Larry had made a good impression on Jim tonight.
But now Jill was putting her hand on Larry’s arm. “Would you like to go in the other room and try the piano?” she asked.
“Of course, the lesson.” Larry rose. Jill was already on her feet, and she still gripped his arm. She stumbled a little, or pretended to stumble, and brushed against him.
Elinor was disgusted. So obvious! And poor Larry, too polite to refuse. She’d have to do something about it. She glanced at her watch quickly.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I really think we ought to be moving along. It’s ten-thirty.”
“What’s your hurry?” Min asked. “You know we never go to bed before twelve.”
“Walter said he’d call,” Elinor explained. “I want to be home when he does.” She hesitated. “Of course, if Larry wants to stay—”
Larry looked at her, then shook his head. “No, you’re right. We’d better go.” He turned to Jill. “Tell you what,” he said. “Maybe I can stop in some time tomorrow. Or you can come over to the Harrises—if Elinor doesn’t mind, that is.”
“Of course,” Elinor joined in hastily. “We’ll work something out.”
All through the farewells, she saw to it that they kept heading for the door. Jill didn’t get a chance to interrupt again.
Then they were safely outside and Larry took over the driving and she could lean back. She smiled in the darkness.
Jim Whittaker might be a smart man, but he was all wrong about this youth-age business. Youth could still learn a trick or two from experience. And that’s what it really was, just experience. Elinor wasn’t old, but she knew her way around. That’s why she was so disgusted with a kid like Jill. Larry, on the other hand, was so much more mature. No wonder he felt more at ease with someone like herself. And he was at ease now, she knew, driving along and smiling and humming a little….
❖ ❖ ❖
Larry Fox shares some traits with real-life young killers of the era like Charles Starkweather and the Clutter family killers, Richard Hickock and Perry Smith, but he is not a typical representation. All three cases involved young men who committed violence with seemingly little remorse. Larry's "psychotic selfishness" and lack of empathy are similar to the detached attitudes described in the other killers. However, unlike Starkweather, who was often accompanied by his girlfriend, and Hickock and Smith, who were a duo, Larry typically acts alone, with his past accomplice LaVerne becoming a victim in his schemes. Furthermore, Larry's violence is not random, but rather a direct result of his attempts to maintain control and to escape what he perceives as a society that has wronged him. He kills not for a thrill, but to eliminate threats to his freedom and financial gain.
Passion or Camouflage?
For Larry, his identity as a jazz musician is a form of social camouflage. He initially plays the piano as a job, faking his way through the numbers. He consciously adopts different personae to manipulate people, such as portraying himself as a "poor kid" or a "budding composer". He uses his musical abilities to present himself as a sensitive artist, someone who is "cool" and creative, which makes him more appealing and trustworthy to those he targets. He is able to switch between vocabularies and personas, demonstrating a detachment from his own identity. The persona of a jazz musician allows him to infiltrate different social circles and deceive people like the Harris and Whittaker families, who are drawn to his supposed talent and artistic nature. His music is not a true passion, but rather a tool he can use to get what he wants from others.
April 17, 2021
Another gripping fast paced short novel screaming pulp all the way, with very original tracts and refreshing characters, almost ahead of its time.
The quite unremarkable ending cuts the climax down to a more traditional exhaling leaving the reader with a sort of 'I told you so' taste in their mouth. A wannabe Fredric Brown-esque story without the unmistakeable shocking twist.
The quite unremarkable ending cuts the climax down to a more traditional exhaling leaving the reader with a sort of 'I told you so' taste in their mouth. A wannabe Fredric Brown-esque story without the unmistakeable shocking twist.
July 9, 2024
Más noir que terror al uso.
Libro bastante correcto, que si bien no llega a la grandeza de Psicosis, si que parece jugar bajo sus mismas reglas; reglas marcadas por una sexualidad y una violencia ocultas a los ojos de los protagonistas pero de presencia latente en el interior de sus mentes.
Sin ser nada del otro mundo, recomendado.
3 estrellas y media.
Libro bastante correcto, que si bien no llega a la grandeza de Psicosis, si que parece jugar bajo sus mismas reglas; reglas marcadas por una sexualidad y una violencia ocultas a los ojos de los protagonistas pero de presencia latente en el interior de sus mentes.
Sin ser nada del otro mundo, recomendado.
3 estrellas y media.
November 18, 2022
No es un gran libro y peca de ser un tópico típico constante, pero tiene un par de reflexiones bastante potables. Quizá está más cerca de las 2,5 estrellas que del 2.
April 4, 2023
A surprisingly bad book from Bloch, who makes a liar of several blurbists with this tale of a low-life boho jazz musician trying to blackmail a moll in the middle of Levittown.
January 20, 2016
This is a fun little book, though I think many will find that it doesn't stand the test of time (given that it is written in the late 50's, early 60's that shouldn't be surprising). That said, Robert Bloch is a master of the slow burn and there is some great comments on the young generation versus the middle-aged generation of the early 60's.
If you don't mind books that date themselves and have read any of Bloch's short stories you'll probably enjoy this little book.
If you don't mind books that date themselves and have read any of Bloch's short stories you'll probably enjoy this little book.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews