I grew up watching reruns of The Adventures of Robin Hood starring the photogenic Errol Flynn. In due time, I probably saw most of the other swashbuckling classics he starred in: Captain Blood, The Sea Hawk, along with lesser examples such as Don Juan and Against All Flags. Although I now find such films, even the best, pretty much unwatchable, there was obviously something about them that appealed to me as a lad. It must have been Flynn's devil-may-care charisma. A shy, scrawny, awkward boy, I was as far from an alpha male like Flynn as could be imagined. But at least I could enjoy the experience vicariously through his cinematic adventures.
It was a shock, then, to learn that Flynn was a Nazi sympathizer who supplied vital intelligence to the Axis powers during W.W.II. That he'd been recruited during his youth in Australia, before he'd ever set foot in America. That he went to Hollywood not to become a star on the silver screen, but to further the fascist cause by embedding himself in a respected position in American society. And this fantastic story was true--I mean, it just had to be--because this book said so, and it was shelved in "non-fiction" in the Brentwood, New York public library. What a distressing and depressing revelation!
The sensational revelations of Charles Higham's "biography" of Errol Flynn have long-since been debunked as wildly speculative and unsupported by a shred of serious evidence. I believed them for the same reason I believed Flynn's screen personae: youthful credulity. The realization provided an early lesson in the importance of skepticism. "Non-fiction" isn't necessarily synonymous with "true."
If anything good came out of this disgraceful book, it seems to have inspired the idea for the villain (Timothy Dalton) of the retro-pulp classic of early 1990's cinema, The Rocketeer.