Myths and Misconceptions about the Roaring Twenties: It Wasn’t All One Big Party

By Stephanie Draven

Chances are that when you think of the 1920’s you think of wild liquor-soaked parties in speakeasies, incendiary Jazz music, and flappers wearing feather headbands dancing the Charleston. Consumers embraced new gadgets and inventions, the stock market was soaring and a Renaissance broke out in Harlem.

All of these things are a true reflection of the time, but they’re only part of the picture. Underneath the glitz and glam, a turbulent culture war took place in the country--one we’re still fighting, in many ways, today.

The Roaring Twenties were a time of sexual liberation, experimentation and exploration. Having just won the vote, women were at the forefront of social causes and societal change. In spite of—or perhaps because of—Prohibition, the Twenties were boom times. Young women attended college, flocked to major cities to find work and lived on their own in numbers never before seen in the history of the nation. Homosexuality was more public and more tolerated. Rules for dating changed. Non-marital sex became common and women began to demand and use birth control.

Flappers changed the world of business, fashion, politics and popular entertainment. The Hays Code wouldn’t be adopted and enforced until 1930, which meant major Hollywood films pushed the boundaries of propriety and gave the country some of its sexiest stars, including Clara Bow.

In short, the Twenties were a period of social transition—one of those pivotal times in history when women took one step forward, before being shoved two steps back. People from all walks of life came together to agitate for progressive change in the Twenties and, in many instances, African Americans led the way.

At the same time, the era was marked by the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan, inspired by D. W. Griffith’s race-baiting incendiary film of 1915, The Birth of a Nation. Immigration was suppressed and racial tensions rose. Even the nascent birth control movement was caught up in it, with Margaret Sanger arguing on behalf of eugenics. The suspicion of foreigners helped lead to the execution of two Italian immigrants, Sacco and Vanzetti, under suspicious circumstances. And the general fervor led to a red scare against suspected communists.

Much of the liberation of women in the twenties came about as a rebellion and reaction against the mores of previous generations. Whereas the women of the 1910's fought for the right to vote, the women in the 1920's had it--and didn’t do terribly much with it. The Equal Rights Amendment was introduced in 1923, but was never passed. And while women entered the workforce in great numbers, most of them left it upon marriage.

Another thing that harshed the buzz of the 1920's was the mob. Mob violence rose dramatically with Prohibition and organized crime used the ban on liquor sales to create criminal empires.

Of course, all this social turmoil makes the era not entirely unlike our own--and a perfect backdrop for fiction!

STEPHANIE DRAVEN is a bestselling, award-winning and RITA-nominated author of historical, paranormal, and contemporary romance. Her new 1920's historical erotic romances celebrate sex, women, and the Jazz Age. Stephanie is currently a denizen of Baltimore, that city of ravens and purple night skies. She lives there with her favorite nocturnal creatures–three scheming cats and a deliciously wicked husband. And when she is not busy with dark domestic rituals, she writes her books. StephanieDraven.com

Photo Essays: Summer in the City, 1920s Style

Anna C. Bowling

A hot summer day can make anybody cranky. Add a toddler and subtract modern conveniences such as air conditioning, television, computers, mp3 players, DVDs and refrigeration. For many, this may sound like the start of a story of modern horror. For those who lived before the age of modern conveniences, it was just summer, and family and friends provided plenty of entertainment.

One of the best parts of historical research is remembering that no matter what era it might be, the people who lived then have the same needs we do today. Since primary sources are the most accurate research tools, vintage photographs can be a window into a world of generations past.

Today, we'll join a young couple and their toddler son enjoying the great outdoors in 1924 New York City. Though these photos may not all be from the same day, it is the same family, and they've invited you to their summer outing.

Either this water is very interesting or someone is looking for the plug.


Gathering with friends means dressing up for everyone. Note the matching caps on the couple and the menswear on the Mrs.



No matter what the era, everything is better when shared with friends...



...and it's always good to go home at the end of the day.



Vintage photos give us the opportunity to exercise our creative muscles. Who are these people and what was important enough about this particular moment that was worth capturing to share with generations to come? Is it so that we can drool over the details of gorgeous clothing, play forensic psychologist and analyze subjects of the photos, or something else altogether? What is it about vintage photos that catches your interest?

Writing historical romances allows Anna C. Bowling to travel through time on a daily basis and make the voices in her head pay rent. Her current release, ORPHANS IN THE STORM, is available from Awe-Struck E-books.

The Entertainers: Mae West

By Delia DeLeest

"Give a Man a Free Hand and He'll Run It All Over You." - Mae West

First there was theater, then vaudeville, then the silent pictures. Many stars of the stage, both in legitimate theater and from vaudeville made a successful transition to silent pictures, but there were those who looked upon the new medium with suspicion and chose not to make the transition. Still others were waiting for bigger and better things. Mae West was one of the later.

Born in or around 1893 (she kept mum on the exact year), Mae West started on the live stage at a young age and when the 1920’s rolled around, those wild and crazy years seemed made to order for this brash, sexual young woman. She soon branched out from simply acting on the stage to writing plays of her own, her first being the notoriously, yet aptly named, “Sex”. Arrest and conviction on morals charges not only didn’t slow her down, but she basked in the free publicity.

By 1928, her fourth full-length Broadway play “Diamond Lil” drew rave reviews, but didn’t send Hollywood rushing out to wave movie contracts in her face. The infamous Hays Code, Hollywood’s self imposed morals police, banned the play as unsuitable for the screen. Mae wasn’t interested anyway. She was all about what you heard and how you heard it and wouldn’t translate well on the

silent movie title cards. But, then came the talkies.

Through the promptings of her friend, matinee idol, George Raft, Paramount pictures signed Mae to a two week contract to play a bit part in George’s upcoming melodrama, Night After Night. Mae changed her lines and practically directed her scene herself, which led to her infamous big screen debut. Gliding into a nightclub in a skintight dress, she passes her wrap to a coat check girl who gasps, “goodness, what beautiful diamonds!” to which Mae replies in her signature nasal drawl, “goodness had nothing to do with it, dearie.” The screen itself almost burst into flames. Mae West had arrived in Hollywood.

After that movie stealing scene, Paramount was more than eager to sign Mae to a long term contract. Almost single handedly, Mae’s movies pulled the studio, struggling during the depression, from near-bankruptcy to solvency, and Mae into one of the most famous women in America. Of course, making a Mae West movie wasn’t an easy way to make money, the studio had to deal with the men enforcing the Hays Code. These enforcers would carefully examine every script Hollywood planned to produce. They would mark any scenes not conforming to their idea of morality and any word or phrase that didn’t pass the decency code. Since Mae wrote many of her own scripts and was a very smart woman, she could get her scripts passed with a minimum of corrections, but only because Mae could turn something that looked totally innocent written down on a piece of paper into a eye rolling, snickering innuendo with merely her delivery. Once the Hays men saw what they thought was a relatively innocent comedy turned into, for that time, a spicy, slightly raunchy laugh fest, they started cracking down on the edgy Miss West.

Once the production code and censorship people got a hold of her movies, they turned them into sanitary, whitewashed versions of Mae’s original visions. The more sanitized the movies became, the less the public was interested in them.

Frustrated with upper level meddling, Mae left Hollywood as soon as she was able, recaptured her image and put it back on the stage, this time in a city made in her image, Las Vegas.

Mae had a resurgence in popularity in the free-wheeling days of the 60’s and 70’s and made two more movies, both of them wincingly campy. Despite her new title as The Queen of Camp, Mae’s inimitable delivery of her wonderful double entendres have made her still famous and oft quoted even today, over thirty years after her death.

Delia DeLeest is fascinated by all things 1920s. She suspects she was once a flapper or, more probably, a bootlegger in a previous life. Her third 1920s era book, NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, is available now from The Wild Rose Press.

15 Minutes of Fame: Clara Bow

by Lorelie Brown

Clara Bow was the It Girl of a generation, and yet today people hardly know her name.

Born in a Brooklyn tenement in 1905, Clara did not have an easy life. Her mother, Sara, had suffered a head injury at 16 and suffered from “psychosis due to epilepsy.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, Clara’s father was apparently a useless case who couldn’t keep a job and often disappeared for long periods. Clara became Sara’s primary caretaker through psychotic episodes and fits of madness. In 1922, Clara even woke up to a butcher knife held at her throat by Sarah.

Unsurprisingly, Clara didn’t have a lot of friends. She lived for the movies and went as often as she could. She entered a talent contest run by movie magazines and won it in 1921 at 16. The terms of the contest were supposed to get her a movie part, but it seems like hanging around the New York studios eventually proved the better part of valor. She pestered them into giving her a real role. Luckily it turned out she could act. Handy, that was.

Over the next few years, Clara Bow took the movies by storm. First working out of New York (yeah, did you know that Hollywood wasn’t the original home of the movies? Nope, certainly weren’t.) she moved to California in 1923 to work for Preferred Pictures as a contract actress.

Bow was first cast as a flapper, the eponymous female of the 20s generation, in 1923’s “Black Oxen.” Reviews on Bow’s performance were mixed, but one thing was for sure. Clara was apparently the perfect flapper. Free spirited, lively, with a messy mop of red hair (she used henna to amp up her natural color) and a lush mouth that was perfectly accented with lipstick. Such a naughty girl! That air of naughtiness always kept her set slightly apart from most of Hollywood’s social elite. She wasn’t fancy enough, essentially. Cussing like a sailor tends to mark a girl out as...let’s say rougher class, shall we? Beyond that though, Clara wasn’t really that bad. A few love affairs, a couple broken engagements that were partly publicized to emphasis her flapper-girl status. But her outsider status as a whole left her vulnerable to vicious rumors.

Despite that, Clara kept working at a steady pace. The apex of her career was 1927, when she starred in “It,” as the most famous flapper role ever. (For the record, “it” is sex appeal, which had been only very sparingly used in the movies prior to Clara, who had it in spades.)

General assumption is that Clara didn’t make the transition to the talkie pictures well due to her Brooklyn accent and slight stutter. But that’s not true at all. She actually starred in eleven talking pictures.[Image] The real problem came in 1931 when she had a nervous break down. The stress of making too many pictures at once, combined with her slightly fragile mental health to begin with, became too much. She was checked into a mental health facility for a stay. Still, she was well enough by the end of the year to marry cowboy star Rex Bell. They semi-retired to Nevada, where they owned a ranch and Bell entered politics. Still, Clara was never exactly well. She returned to the screen in 1933 for only two pictures, driven by financial needs, but afterwards went back to her ranch to have two children. She fought mental health issues most of her life, eventually dying in California at the age of 60.

Lorelie Brown's first book, JAZZ BABY, is currently available from Samhain Publishing in both e-book and paperback formats. Her second romance, an 1880s-set western, will be published by Carina Press on 18 July.

Excerpt Thursday: Elizabeth Lane

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming long-time contributor Elizabeth Lane as she celebrates the release of her latest Harlequin Historical romance, THE WIDOWED BRIDE, set in the 1920s American West. Join us Sunday when Elizabeth will be here to talk about her latest and give away a copy! Don't miss it. Here's the blurb:

A PROHIBITED PASSION...

Ruby Denby Rumford endured her monstrous husband's abuse until death--by self-defense--did them part. Now she and her daughters seek a new beginning in Dutchman's Creek, Colorado, but will her past stay buried?

With an obligation to uphold the laws of prohibition and an undercover persona in place, U.S. Deputy Marshal Ethan Beaudry comes to town ready to end a shady bootlegging ring. He doesn't expect to find beautiful, mysterious Ruby involved--or to be forced to choose between duty to the law and this forbidden passion.

***

Dutchman's Creek, Colorado
May, 1920

The sooty cobweb stretched from the chandelier to the high ceiling, a good four feet out of reach. Lurking near its center was a spider--a monster with long, prickly legs and a body as big as a copper penny.

Ruby Denby Rumford glared up at her adversary. She'd always had a mortal dread of spiders, but she couldn't let this one get the best of her. If she wanted to attract good tenants for her boarding house, the place would have to be spotless from floor to ceiling. The spider had to go.

Circling warily, she plotted her attack. She might be able to reach the web with the broom. But if she knocked the spider loose, it could end up anywhere--in her hair, in her face, down her blouse... Ruby shuddered as she weighed her options. The only way to make sure the creature didn't land on her would be to capture it first.

A dusty Mason jar with a lid sat on the kitchen counter. That would do for a trap. But she'd need something to climb on. Ruby sighed as she surveyed the rickety cane chairs that had come with the old boarding house. Maybe she should have paid $4.50 for that stepladder at the hardware store. But buying the property had taken almost all her money. Until the rents started coming in, she would need to hoard every cent she had left.

Moving a chair to the center of the room, she tried standing on the seat; but the spider was still out of reach. She needed something more--that wooden crate in the corner might do. Placed on the chair, it would raise her a good eighteen inches.

With the crate in place, Ruby retrieved the jar and prepared for battle. She could do this, she lectured herself. A woman who'd fired three bullets into her raging, two-hundred-pound husband at point blank range should have no trouble facing down a creature the size of her thumb.

Hollis Rumford had deserved to die. Even the jurors had agreed after they'd heard how Hollis had abused her and threatened worse to their two young daughters. At the urging of the best lawyer in the state, they'd acquitted Ruby on grounds of self defense. But her wealthy friends--mostly Hollis's friends--had been less forgiving. The Springfield Missouri social set had cut her off cold.

Exhausted and needing a change of scene, she'd fled to Europe with her little girls. A few months later she'd returned to discover that her late husband's estate had been gobbled up by creditors, leaving her with little more than a pittance.

There was nothing to do but pull up stakes and make a new start.

Dutchman's Creek had been a natural choice. Ruby's brother Jace, her only close kin, had settled on a nearby ranch. He and his spirited young bride Clara were expecting their first baby. They'd urged Ruby to come to Colorado so their children could grow up together.

Ruby had welcomed the invitation. She'd seen the town on an earlier visit and been captivated by its peaceful mountain setting. She'd always been close to Jace, and Clara was like a sister to her. But she had no intention of becoming a burden to them. Whatever it took, she'd vowed, she would find a way to provide for herself and her children.

The vacant boarding house at the south end of Main Street had looked like an answer to her prayers. She and her daughters could live on the main floor and rent the four upstairs rooms for a steady income.

Only now was she beginning to realize how much she'd taken on.

Clutching the jar in one hand, she hitched up her narrow skirt and hoisted herself onto the edge of the chair. Her brother had offered to come and help her get the place in shape. Ruby had turned him down out of stubborn pride. Jace had already done enough for her, risking his life and freedom to protect her after Hollis's death. It was time she learned to manage on her own.

That aside, she'd gladly accepted Clara's invitation to take the girls for the week. Mandy and Caro were having the time of their lives on the ranch, riding horses, climbing trees, bottle-feeding orphaned calves and gathering eggs in the chicken coop.

Meanwhile, their mother had a spider to dispose of.

Holding her breath, Ruby mounted the crate. Her knees quivered as she steadied her balance on the wooden slats. Seconds, that was all she'd need to do the job.

Close up, the spider looked bigger and nastier than ever. Steeling herself, Ruby twisted the lid off the Mason jar and positioned it below the creature. A little more stretch and she could use the lid to maneuver it inside. Heart pounding, she eased onto her tiptoes...

A wooden slat splintered beneath her weight. Thrown off balance, Ruby lurched upward. The jar shattered against the floor as she grabbed for the chain that suspended the small chandelier. Miraculously, the chain held. But her thrashing feet had toppled the crate and chair, leaving her to dangle above the wreckage. The distance to the floor wasn't all that far, but falling could land her on a splintered board, a jutting chair leg or shards of broken glass.

The web was empty now. The spider, she realized, could be anywhere. Panic clenched Ruby's stomach. Her grip was getting weaker, and she had no safe place to fall. There was only one thing she could do.

Scream bloody murder.

* * *

U.S. Deputy Marshal Ethan Beaudry had been assigned to weed out bootleggers, not rescue females in distress. But the shrieks coming from the old boarding house were too urgent to ignore. Vaulting the picket fence, he charged up the steps and burst through the front door.

His breath caught in his throat.

The woman had stopped screaming. She hung by her arms, staring down at him from beneath a tumble of red-gold hair. Her eyes were as blue as the heart of a mountain columbine.

She did make a fetching sight, dangling like an acrobat from the chandelier chain, with her white blouse pulled loose and her skirt hiked over her shapely calves. Ethan was tempted to spend a few more seconds admiring the view. But then she spoke.

"What are you staring at, you fool? Stop gawking and get me down from here!"

Her voice was low, with a taut, gravelly edge that roused Ethan's senses. "Do you trust me to catch you?" he teased.

"Are you sure you're strong enough?" she retorted. "I'm not what you'd call a little woman."

No, she certainly wasn't, Ethan observed. At five-foot eight or nine with a body that could grace the bow of a frigate, she'd make an armful for any man.

He wouldn't mind being that man.

Kicking aside the debris, Ethan stood beneath her and held out his arms. "Come on," he said.

She hesitated, her eyes taking the measure of his broad shoulders and six-foot, two-inch height. One by one, her fingers peeled away from the chain.

With a little yelp, she dropped straight down, feet first. Ethan caught her awkwardly around the knees. From there she slid down the front of him, delicious curves gliding intimately down his face, over his chest, down his belly to--

Lord have mercy, he was in trouble now. His erection had sprung up with coiled-spring efficiency, ready for playtime. She would have felt it all the way down.

Feet touching the floor, she pushed away from him. Her face was flushed, her full lips parted. Ethan fought the temptation to fling caution to the wind, seize her in his arms and kiss her till she burned. The lady would probably slap him hard enough to dislocate his jaw. And she was a lady. Ethan made a practice of reading people, and he was certain of that. Her clothes were simple but expensively made. The Irish linen blouse, smudged with dust and edged with the barest touch of lace, looked European, as did the daintily pointed kidskin oxfords. And he would bet money that the pearl studs in her earlobes were as genuine as her upper-class Midwestern accent.

So what was such a woman doing in this run-down boarding house, a rumored delivery point for the bootlegging trade? He couldn't believe she was involved. But he'd known stranger things to happen.

A flick of her tongue moistened her lower lip. Her complexion was like a porcelain doll's, but close up, Ethan could see the careworn shadows beneath her eyes. He estimated her age at about thirty, and something told him she'd had her share of troubles. He'd noticed right off she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. But she was far too stunning not to have married. A widow, Ethan surmised. A luscious redheaded widow who'd been around the block and knew every step of the way.

Intriguing. And damned tempting...

Movie Adaptations: St. Valentine's Day Massacre

By Delia DeLeest

My original impulse to watch this movie had nothing to do with an interest in the 1920s. I didn't know a thing about the decade besides a passing acquaintance with Betty Boop (who, it turns out, didn't come onto the scene until 1930, but I didn't know that then either). The St. Valentine's Day Massacre of 1967 topped my wanna see list because the late 1960s version of David Canary is just about the sexiest thing to walk the earth. Yep, interest in the jazz age took far off second place to delicious man-candy.

After watching it (and rewinding the David Canary parts so often I almost wore the tape out), I got to thinking about gangsters, those men who openly flouted the law, and the women who loved them. I became interested in all things criminal that happened in Chicago during the 1920s.

I learned a lot of things, one of which is that the movie is incredibly inaccurate. Like Carrie mentioned in an earlier post, Hollywood tends to put older men in the roles that in reality were lived by much younger men. This phenomenon was particularly apparent in the (mis)casting of 47-year-old Jason Robards as Al Capone, who, at the time of the massacre had just turned thirty. Ironically, one of the oldest players of the real life massacre, Frank Gusenberg, was played by one of the youngest actors (Canary) in the movie. This gives the impression that Chicago's underworld was being run by a bunch of middle-aged men, when, in reality, most were in their twenties and early thirties when they took over the town. The life span of a Chicago gangster was really short in those days, so when one young man was gunned down, another one would quickly take his place.

But enough of what this movie wasn't. Let's get on to what it was and did. Though some of the people and events weren't very accurate, many other things were. Many quotes made by the movie characters were really said. Things like Frank Gusenberg's last words to the police as he was dying of multiple gunshot wounds: "Nobody shot me. Leave me alone," were Frank's true last words. It gives the viewer a taste of the bizarre code of honor held by these blood thirsty men. Moran's reaction to the massacre, "Only Al Capone kills like that," was also taken directly from reports of the day.

It gives you the feel of what it was like in Chicago during the Roaring Twenties, which brings us into speakeasies, dark streets, mansions and dingy rented rooms. I loved those scenes that took us into the characters homes. From the child-filled one room tenement of Johnny May to the gaudy apartment of Pete Gusenberg and the old-world elegance of the home of Patsy Lalardo, the movie gives you a peek at the lifestyles of the many different kinds of people living and trying to survive in Chicago at the time.

But, in my opinion, the best part of the movie (besides the shirtless David Canary scene) is the wonderful, sometimes dark humored, voice-overs that set up the key scenes and introduce the characters. The movie was shot as a docudrama, and the narrator tells us a little about each of the characters as they come into the movie. We get to hear about Pete Gusenberg's childhood, his brother Frank's two wives, Jack McGurn's father's murder and Jack's revenge on the killers.

This introduction to their background makes us feel closer to men we'd otherwise feel animosity toward. The movie continues to make them more human by showing them with their wives, mothers and lovers, as well as their interaction with each other. One part that never fails to make me laugh is when Moran's men are told that the Northsiders (Moran's gang) made a deal with one of the despised Italians. Despite being corrected numerous times, the Moran lackeys can't seem to pronounce his name correctly and continue to refer to Joe Aiello as Joe A Yellow. These were regular, blue collar men, whose job just happened to involve machine guns, killing and illegal booze.

Though shocking at the time, today's viewers are probably immune to the relatively mild (according to today's standards) violence found in the movie. The scene near the end, portraying the massacre itself is breathtaking though, not because of the blood and gore, but because of the sheer cinematic genius and odd beauty of showing the men dying and falling to the floor in slow motion. I've read that the director had the actors study the police photos of the actual murder scene and had the men land exactly the way their real life counterparts did. It's incredibly realistic.

The thing about the movie that especially endears it to me is its shout-out to Hollywood's most famous movie gangster and one of my favorite actors, James Cagney. The opening scene in St. Valentine's Day is a copy, almost word for word, of one of Cagney's best in The Public Enemy. Later on, a fight Pete Gusenberg has with his moll features him shoving food in her face, much like Cagney's famous scene, also in The Public Enemy, where he shoves half a grapefruit into Mae Murray's face. In fact, the whole film feels more like a 1930s gangster flick than something filmed in 1967.

You probably haven't seen this movie; most people haven't. In fact, it's listed at number seven on the list of the "Top Ten Best Gangster Movies You've (Probably) Never Seen." But, if you ever get the chance, give it a watch. Maybe it'll turn you into a Roaring Twenties addict like it did me.

Delia DeLeest is fascinated by all things 1920s. She suspects she was once a flapper or, more probably, a bootlegger in a previous life. Her third 1920s era book, NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, is being released from The Wild Rose Press at the end of October.

Guest Author: Lorelie Brown

This week on Unusual Historicals, we're celebrating with contributor Lorelie Brown because her debut historical romance, JAZZ BABY, was just released by Samhain in paperback. Here's the goods:

Of all the juice joints he had to bust, this one had to be hers...

In the world of illegal speakeasies, Kate Kirkland has her life running smoother than a Model T. Maybe moving the family bar into the basement wasn't the best choice for her alcoholic brother, but Kate's making them a living--until a local gangster tries to expand his territory. Right into her bar.

Luckily Micah Trent, her handsome and too-suave bootlegger, is ready and willing to offer her a helping hand. If Kate can bring herself to accept it. Since sharing one sensual dance to seal their deal, she can't ignore the delectably wicked way he makes her feel.

Micah is keeping secrets of his own. He's a Prohibition Agent, sworn to shut down the gin mills and distilleries that keep illegal booze flowing. Kate's speakeasy is next on his list--right after he uses her as bait to catch the gangster hunting her.

But even if Micah and Kate can maneuver their way through the gangsters' dangerous underworld, will their love survive the trial by fire?

***

"There's always one book that really sticks with me after I finish reading. My top 5 are all examples of this, but I would specifically like to recommend JAZZ BABY by Lorelie Brown. I commend Lorelie for writing a very atmospheric story with a wonderful romance. This is one debut author who I look forward to reading and one I urge you all to try. JAZZ BABY is a perfect romance for any romance reader." ~ Babbling About Books

***

What drew you to the idea of setting a romance in the Roaring Twenties?

Everyone knows the 1920s are a really hard sell across the board. Not only to editors and agents, but to readers. But I loved the idea that popped up in my head. A speakeasy owner and a Prohibition agent. I mean, hello! Instant conflict. Absolutely delicious. And I'd get to research the era of beautiful dresses, sexy menswear and fast (for their time) cars.

Yeah, so what's with the fedoras?

They're hot. They make any guy wearing one even hotter. Nothin' more to it...as you can see by the photographic evidence presented here. Irrefutable!

If you lived in the 1920s, what do you think you'd be?

Think I'd be for real? Probably a housewife who got PhotoPlay magazine and lived vicariously through all the cool kids. But I'd want to be a flapper, wearing daringly short dresses and visiting exciting speakeasys like Kate Kirkland's place--once Kate got rid of her gangster problem, that is.

Are you writing any more 1920s books right now?

Unfortunately, no. I've got the sequel to JAZZ BABY that I want to write soon, but my plate's been seriously full with so many projects!

So what is coming up for you right now?

I've got a western, tentatively titled CATCH ME, coming from Carina Press this summer. It's about a sheriff's daughter who robs a bank and the bounty hunter who's sent to track her down. I've also written two other books alone, and I've started co-writing with a Supah Sekrit Partner of Awesomesauce. We write contemporary together. Seriously, it's been so much fun it oughta be illegal. We've done three books that I have high hopes for. Lots to look forward to!

If you came with a warning label, what would it say?

"Contents Under Pressure." Totally. Most of the time I look fairly laid back and I'm a little class clown-ish, but I'm convinced it's impossible to be an author without hiding a slight mess under the surface. We use our books to neaten it up!

How many times a day do you dance in your kitchen using a wooden spoon as a microphone?

Well, I don't usually do the spoon as a microphone. (My singing voice is so awful that I can't even make-believe that people would want to listen to it.) But I do plug my fancy-dancy headphones into my iPod while I'm cooking and wiggle my butt as I make my way to the pantry. That totally counts!

***

Totally! Now readers, you need to get your hands on this book. The most cost effective way, naturally, is to snag a copy from Lorelie in your choice of print or ebook. Since we're on a roll with these hats, let's talk men's fashion. What men's fashion of old do you wish would make a come back? Feel free to add links to pictures, but keep 'em clean ladies. I'll draw a winner at random next Sunday. Void where prohibited. Best of luck!

Excerpt Thursday: Lorelie Brown

This week on Excerpt Thursday we're celebrating with contributor Lorelie Brown because this week her debut historical romance, JAZZ BABY, is released by Samhain in paperback. JAZZ BABY is set during the Roaring 20s and was recently given special mention on Babbling About Books as a one of the best books of 2010. Join us Sunday when Lorelie will be here to talk about her ongoing fascination with the Prohibition Era and men in fedoras, as well as give away a copy!

Of all the juice joints he had to bust, this one had to be hers...

In the world of illegal speakeasies, Kate Kirkland has her life running smoother than a Model T. Maybe moving the family bar into the basement wasn't the best choice for her alcoholic brother, but Kate's making them a living--until a local gangster tries to expand his territory. Right into her bar.

Luckily Micah Trent, her handsome and too-suave bootlegger, is ready and willing to offer her a helping hand. If Kate can bring herself to accept it. Since sharing one sensual dance to seal their deal, she can't ignore the delectably wicked way he makes her feel.

Micah is keeping secrets of his own. He's a Prohibition Agent, sworn to shut down the gin mills and distilleries that keep illegal booze flowing. Kate's speakeasy is next on his list--right after he uses her as bait to catch the gangster hunting her.

But even if Micah and Kate can maneuver their way through the gangsters' dangerous underworld, will their love survive the trial by fire?

***

He found Kate near the hallway to her office. Even in the dim lights, she looked flushed. An empty wine glass dangled from one hand. In the other she had a half-empty bottle of wine. Micah knew exactly when she spotted him. She stood upright from her slump against the table. Her cupid's bow mouth pinched tight as her straight, dark brows lowered. Jesus, she was beautiful, even when annoyed. Especially when annoyed. It added a dash of hectic color normally absent from her pale, porcelain skin.

"You. I do not need to deal with you tonight." Her words were slow and rounded at the edges.

"Are you sloshed?" Micah's jaw gaped open. It didn't seem right that carefully controlled Kate should be tipsy.

She paused for a moment and tipped her head. "So what if I am? It's been a really bad day."

"It's nothing to me. I'm just a little surprised." Another couple passed by, leaning on each other, so close that one wrong stagger would send them crashing into Kate. She didn't flinch. He angled his body so he blocked her from view.

"I guess you don't know me half as well as you thought," she said. "Regret chasing me now?"

The light in her eyes was hard to read. She seemed on edge despite her slightly drunken state. She kept looking around for something. "Let's go in your office." He felt like he should get her away from the crowds. Big bad day or no, she'd regret this tomorrow.

"You too, huh?"

"What?"

"Everyone wants to get me in my dang office. You got a business proposition for me also?"

"We already do business, remember? I'd like to be paid." Micah flashed his most charming smile. It had never really worked with her before, but drunken Kate seemed slightly more manageable.

"Oh, yeah." She kept the wine bottle and headed for her office. He followed, scratching the back of his neck. This was completely out of character for her. He wondered what had upset her so badly. Not that there weren't certain compensations, he thought, watching the exaggerated sway of her slender hips, encased in a curve-skimming dress.

In the office, she hopped up and sat on the front of her desk, then leaned over to unlock a drawer the hard way. Her hem drew all the way up to her knees.

He could see the sleek curve of her calf glimmering in silk stockings. His mouth went dry and his fingertips itched. He could practically feel how smooth those legs would be. Oh, yeah, there were definite advantages to her having an edge on.

Mentally, he shook himself. She did not need him to turn into a drooling letch, not now or ever, for that matter. He was on the verge of disgusting himself. He'd never been this obsessed with a woman before.

She waved a fat, white envelope in his face. "Halloo," she crooned. "I'm up here and I'm barely smashed, not oblivious. You'd think you'd never seen a woman's legs before."

"Oh, I've seen quite a few." He chuckled. "I've found myself pretty astonished at how often I see them lately."

"A closet prude, are you?"

Micah grinned. Was that a speck of disappointment in her tone? "Not at all. Would you like me to prove it?"

Movie Adaptations: Public Enemies

By Lorelie Brown

My husband and I don't go out together by ourselves that often. I know date night is supposed to be the thing, but we're homebodies. We're way more likely to play a game of Monopoly together than go out for dinner and a movie. But when I first saw a trailer for Public Enemies, I looked at my husband without saying a word. He immediately nodded. "We'll go, we'll go."

Darn skippy we did. (Don’t we sound all Ward and June Cleaver-like. Heh.)

But really, just look at that trailer.


Doesn't it make inappropriate places on ya warm?

There was no way I was missing Johnny Depp as the charismatic, fast-talking bank robber John Dillinger. I'd just spent the previous two years studying the Prohibition Era to write JAZZ BABY. Dillinger was the poster-boy for the era, in a way. Yes, he was a bank robber, but he intentionally cultivated a Robin Hood sort of persona, which bought him plenty of press time and plenty of love from most of America. Except J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the relatively new FBI.

Hoover declared Dillinger a public enemy--which is where Marvin Purvis comes in. Played by Christian Bale in the movie, Purvis was the FBI agent who led the manhunt for quite a few various public enemies. Oh, and that's the main thrust of the movie--will Purvis get his man or will Dillinger escape?

So probably unsurprisingly, the movie was missing an element of tension for me. I already knew what was going to happen, unless they took really big liberties with history. (And then that'd tick me off.)

Does that keep Public Enemies from being a good movie? Nope. Not at all. Depp's got the amazing charismatic presence needed to pull off being Dillinger and there's danger and excitement abounding. Even a romantic thread with Dillinger's long-time girlfriend, Billie Frechette. And the costumes are just bloody awesome. (I have a weak spot for men in fedoras. It's the truth.) The movie's pretty much accurate. In fact, at the scene with the wooden gun they soften up history because Dillinger would seem too insanely awesome otherwise.

Oh, and I know certain people who'll be happy to hear this one--Channing Tatum is in it too! Well, he dies early. And bloodily. Christian Bale kills him in one of the most memorable scenes of the movie.

I give up. Go rent the movie. It'll be in the cheap bins at this point, so it'll be really impossible to regret. And I'll stop pretending I can put together a logical post today. My debut book is available in paper as of yesterday! Can you believe it? All the last hold-outs of my family, the ones who doubt I'm an author because they couldn't hold a paper copy? They have to suck it. Heh.

Lorelie Brown's first book, JAZZ BABY, is currently available from Samhain Publishing in both e-book and paperback formats. Her second romance, an 1880s-set western, will be published by Carina Press in Summer 2011.

Guest Author: Delia DeLeest

This week on Excerpt Thursday we're featuring one of our regular contributors, Delia DeLeest as she celebrates the release of NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, set during Roaring 20s. Join us Sunday when Delia will be here to answer questions and give away a digital copy of this sexy romance.

How could someone not looking for trouble stumble upon it so easily? Susan Kent wonders this exact thing when she finds the man of her dreams, only to discover that he lives in a nightmare of his own making.

Jake Kelley thought he found the peace and simplicity he'd been looking for all his life. But in bringing Susan into his world, is he only dragging her down instead of pulling himself up?

The dark underworld of gangland Chicago throbs with intrigue, thrills and danger--those who venture there seldom leave intact…if they leave at all.

***

Tell us about NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE.

Though NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE is my third published book, it's actually the second manuscript I ever wrote, my first being a western that will never see the light of day. After watching a few old gangster movies (I may be in love with Jimmy Cagney) I became interested in the Roaring Twenties and all the incredibly interesting characters that came from that era. Okay, interested is kind of mild, let's just say I got a mite bit obsessed right down to the point when I could identify all the victims in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre in a police crime photo. Then I got to wondering about the women in these men's lives. Who were they? What drew them to these men? And how did they deal with consequences of living a life on the edge of crime? It was these things that created a story in my head just begging to be told and NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE was born.

What was 1920s Chicago like?

Though bootlegging was prevalent throughout the country in the 1920s and there were gangs controlling every major city at that time, Chicago is the one that has captured my imagination. The mood of the people of that time was reflected in this wonderful city. There was an underlying franticness, people out searching for just one more good time, regardless of its safety or legality. Chicago could be a dark, dangerous city, full of evil men whose only goals were money and control and they'd stop at nothing to get them. Winters in the Midwest are cold and unforgiving and I couldn't help coupling the atmosphere of the city with the uncompromising weather to portray the mood of the characters in my book.

What do you enjoy the most about researching the 1920s?

I've got an unhealthy attraction to my reproduction 1923 Sears and Roebuck catalog. That, along with a 1927 yearbook from a Chicago high school, can keep me entertained for hours. Something as simple as a description of a gas stove or a picture of the Senior class play can give me ideas that can turn into an entire scene or plot point.

But, it's reading mini-biographies about real people who lived in the time that I just can't get enough of. By reading about people's lives, societal expectations, rules and morals come to light, things that may never come up during a surface study of the time. While I love reading fiction, it just can't beat the lives real people and their true life struggles and victories.

Though the music of the times takes a little for our modern ears to get used to, I've been enjoying listening to it. I even found a dance tutorial online and my kids and I had a great time learning to do the Blackbottom, the Foxtrot and the Charleston.

What do you have in the works?

I've got a few manuscripts sitting in the darkness of my hard drive patiently waiting for me to make them readable. I feel guilty about these neglected children, but not yet guilty enough to whip them into shape. At the moment I'm attempting to store up my creative energy so it can burst forth in it's wondrous beauty on November 1, when I participate in my fifth year of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). That's the plan anyway, I'm not sure if my creative energy got the memo.

***

If you'd like to win a digital copy of Delia's NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, leave a comment or question here. Maybe let us know what elements of pop culture you like from the early 20th century. Music? Movies? Any favorites you'd like to share? I'll draw a winner at random next Sunday. Void there prohibited. Best of luck!

Excerpt Thursday: Delia DeLeest

This week on Excerpt Thursday we're featuring one of our regular contributors, Delia DeLeest as she celebrates the release of NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, set during Roaring 20s. Join us Sunday when Delia will be here to answer questions and give away a digital copy of this sexy romance.

How could someone not looking for trouble stumble upon it so easily? Susan Kent wonders this exact thing when she finds the man of her dreams, only to discover that he lives in a nightmare of his own making.

Jake Kelley thought he found the peace and simplicity he'd been looking for all his life. But in bringing Susan into his world, is he only dragging her down instead of pulling himself up?

The dark underworld of gangland Chicago throbs with intrigue, thrills and danger--those who venture there seldom leave intact…if they leave at all.

***

"Susan!" Katie exclaimed in awe. "Are those really for you?"

Robbie was dancing around the room chanting, "Susie's got a boyfriend! Susie's got a boyfriend!"

"Who are they from?" Rose asked.

I searched through the flowers for a card of some sort, and quickly found it. All it said was, "I'm sorry." That was it, nothing more. Of course, I knew who they were from.

I tucked the card in my pocket before anyone else got their hands on it. The last thing I wanted to do was explain why Jake was apologizing.

Everyone was looking at me expectantly, so I had to say something. "They're from the fella I went out with last night. I'm going to put them in a vase." Ignoring their curious stares, I rummaged through the cupboard until I found a vase big enough for the flowers. A dozen roses! I would say a fella's got to be pretty sorry to send a girl a dozen roses. I filled the vase with water, and put them in the middle of the kitchen table. The room was already starting to fill with the beautiful scent of the flowers.

Dad looked over his paper and scowled at the flowers, then flipped it back up and continued reading, muttering something about dirty Irish. It was obvious the flowers didn't impress him nearly as much as they impressed the rest of the family.

Rather than sit and get the third degree from my sisters and brother, I retreated to the bedroom I shared with my sisters. Since Mom wouldn't let Katie or Robbie leave the table until their homework was done, I was guaranteed a little bit of privacy in there. It wasn't long before Rose came in after me, though. I didn't mind talking to Rose. She was closest to my age, and we were as much friends as we were sisters.

She flopped down on the bed beside me. "So, what's the story? You might as well spill it, because I'll bug you until you do."

I knew that was no idle threat, she'd done it before. I told her all about meeting Jake at the store, going out to Groeb's and the ride home. "Well, after he kissed me, I slapped him across the face and went inside."

"You didn't!" she exclaimed in delighted disbelief.

"You better believe I did, and you should do the same if some piker tries to put the moves on you."

"But he's not a piker, that's pretty obvious, since he sent you those flowers. Think how much they must have cost. Imagine, roses in January! So, what are you going to do now?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I don't know how to get in touch with him or where he lives or anything. I suppose he'll stop by the store tomorrow or something."

"What are you going to say to him?"

I traced the floral pattern of the bedspread with my finger for a moment while I thought about her question. "Well...he did apologize and send me flowers, and I really do like him. But, I can't make things too easy for him either, can I? He might think I'd let him get away with it again."

"Would you?"

I smiled at Rose. "I might."

Money Matters: Inflation in Pre-Hitler Germany

By Delia DeLeest

Hyperinflation is exactly what it sounds like: money becoming worth less and less in a very short period of time. Pre-World War II experienced this and the result affected the entire world and the course of history.

Though the Armistice in November of 1918 ended the actual fighting of World War I, it took over six months of negotiations to form an actual peace treaty. The Treaty of Versailles was signed June 28, 1919, five years to the day of the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand (and the Mrs. Archduke, who is always forgotten), which is the event that started the whole war ball rolling in the first place.

One of the provisions of the treaty was that Germany accept full responsibility for the war and that they pay reparations of $31.4 billion (equivalent to $400 billion in 2010 U.S. dollars). It was felt by many, both Germans and others, that this was excessive and the signing of the treaty caused distrust of the government and extreme unrest among the German people. Along with the monetary reparations, Germany was also stripped of its provinces and territories. There was no way Germany was going to be able to pay this bill and they didn't even bother trying. This, of course, did not go over well with their creditors.

The original war debt created within Germany itself also had to be figured into this equation. During the war, the mark was also taken off the gold standard, thus making it easier to simply print more money as it was needed, thus feeding the inflationary need for more money for purchasing. These are only a few of the factors that caused the horrendous decline of the mark; thousands of other things combined from before, during and after the war to decimate the country's monetary system.

In December of 1919, the exchange rate was 47 marks to one US dollar, by December of 1922 it was 7,000 to 1 and by December of 1923, (are you ready for this?) one US dollar was the equivalent of 4,200,000,000,000 marks. I double and triple checked and, yes, that is the right number of zeros. Children were given stacks of marks to play with like building blocks, because it was cheaper than buying actual blocks to play with.

The result of this inflation was awful. Those who thought they were well-off became paupers overnight. Exchanging your money for foreign currency was illegal, as was hoarding food and other necessities. If you wanted to survive, you were forced to break the law. Farmers who had food available in the country refused to ship it into the city. If the food made it to its destination without being stolen along the way, the money people wanted to use to pay for the produce was relatively worthless. There are heartbreaking stories of farmers dumping their milk while people starved in the cities. Policemen were pulled from their horses and the unfortunate animals were butchered right there in the street in a frantic quest for sustenance.

In response, the government tried various things, but printing more money only fed the inflationary fire and raising taxes only increased the cost of living, which again, fed inflation. Is it any wonder that during those times one such as Adolf Hitler, a charismatic nationalist who promised a bright future, came into power? The inflation didn't create Hitler, but it made Hitler possible. The people were looking for a savior, someone who was willing to do something different than their government in the past and he certainly fit the bill.

Delia DeLeest is fascinated by all things 1920s. She suspects she was once a flapper or, more probably, a bootlegger in a previous life. Her third 1920s era book, NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, is being released from The Wild Rose Press at the end of October.

Tragic Tales: Fatty Arbuckle

By Lorelie Brown

Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and...Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle? Who the heck is that?

While almost everyone has heard of the first two, Arbuckle has all but faded from public memory, and it was all because of one woman’s death.


Fatty Arbuckle (he supposedly hated the nickname Fatty, but I can hardly make myself think of him by any other name) started in Vaudeville as a fairly young kid. He moved to motion pictures in 1909. But he didn't get his really big break until he moved to Universal Pictures in 1913 and starred in the Keystone Kops franchise. After those, Arbuckle became huge--his fame grew to match his very large body type. Arbuckle was somewhere between 250 and 300 pounds, but the remarkable part of him was that everyone remembered him as having a light graceful step that belied his large size. Along with helping to mentor Chaplin and Keaton, he also helped out Bob Hope by hooking him up with Hollywood contacts.

By 1921, Arbuckle was on top of the world, career wise. He'd moved to Paramount Studios for a then-amazing $1 million per year. Arbuckle and two friends drove up to San Francisco for Labor Day weekend and rented a total of three rooms at the St. Francis Hotel. After a few calls, illegal booze and catered food were both delivered and a party was in full swing.

Among the guests were Virginia Rappe and Maude Delmont. Though Rappe would later be described in newspapers a sweet and innocent girl, that was far from the truth. She'd clung to the outskirts of Hollywood for years, occasionally getting tiny roles and more frequently showing up at Hollywood parties. Delmont was even worse, being known for intentionally seducing men for the sole purpose of later blackmailing them.

Rappe took sick. That much is for sure. Beyond that, things are fuzzy. Arbuckle claimed he retired to his room to change clothes and found an obviously-ill Rappe in his bedroom. People were called in, ice was placed on her midsection and most everyone said she was ill from drinking too much alcohol. Several doctors treated Rappe in the hotel, and most agreed with the alcohol poisoning diagnosis. (Though what always makes my eyebrows go up is that one doc gave her morphine. For alcohol poisoning! Totally normal at the time, but now the idea of treating that with a depressant makes little sense to non-medically-educated me.) After four days in the hotel, Rappe was moved to a local hospital. She died there on 9 September of peritonitis and infection from a torn bladder.

Delmont, however, claimed that Arbuckle had raped her friend. It would be her claims that carried the day. The San Francisco Prosecutor at the time, Matthew Brady, was very ambitious and seemed to think he could ride a conviction of Arbuckle all the way to being governor of California. Prosecutors decided that Rappe's bladder had been torn by the very large Arbuckle's weight bearing down on her during the alleged rape. (In reality, Rappe's bladder was probably damaged by a botched abortion she had days before joining the Arbuckle party in San Francisco.)

Arbuckle was tried three times for Rappe's death. The first trial ended with a hung jury that was locked up at 10 to 2 for acquittal. The second was 10 to 2 for conviction. The third ended in a complete acquittal and the jury even went so far as to write Arbuckle a letter of apology that he had been put through so much.

But the damage was already done. In an ironic twist considering William Randolph Hearst's role in suppressing the 1924 Ince scandal, newspapers owned by Hearst pushed Arbuckle's guilt. Headlines had pretty much already convicted him. Articles carried lurid details and didn't hesitate to pass along rumors that Arbuckle had violated Rappe with foreign objects such as a coca-cola or champagne bottle.

Arbuckle's career was sacrificed on the pyre of public opinion. He was banned from movies for the better part of a year, but even after the ban was lifted he was never as famous again. He had a little comeback at the end of the 20s but it didn't last long. He died before he could really make it to the top again. And our collective memory lost a great actor.

What Surprised Me: Don't Know Much About History

By Delia DeLeest

I've always been a history buff. When I was little, my favorite TV show was "Little House on the Prairie." My favorite book was about four kids who were required to clean an old vacant house as community service and ended up researching the house's history in an attempt to save it from the wrecking ball. I wanted a time machine so I could go back to ancient Egypt.

It's always amazed me that there are so many people out there who just flat out aren't interested in history and therefore, know nothing about it. I didn't realize that historical ignorance was as bad as it was until a reader once questioned my character's use of a telephone in my 1920s era upcoming book, NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE. Telephones were old hat by that time, yet this person had no idea.

My love for history turned into a love for historical romances. Though those early novels weren't always totally historically accurate, it was through them that I gleaned nuggets of information about the Civil War, the Norman invasion of Saxony, and--thanks to the wonderful, dearly departed Kathleen Woodiwiss--sugar plantations in the Caribbean. Those books were simply starting off points, from there, I dug into actual history books and rounded out all those wonderful history bites the romance books provided.

But even when I didn't dig deeper into a subject, my mind is still teeming with wonderful little bits of historic trivia provided by all those books I've devoured over the years. What a wonderful community service we historical romance writers are providing to the public when a reader cracks open a book and not only gets a wonderful story, but can take something else away that can give them an appreciation for past people and places. I get the warm fuzzies just thinking about it.

I feel bad for people who don't know who fought in the French and Indian war, how a wagon train made its way to California, or how bootleggers smuggled illegal hooch in from Canada. Too often it's felt that history is in the past and since there's nothing we can do about it, so why bother learning? Of course George Santayana said it best with, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." But I couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride when my sixteen-year-old daughter stated the other day, "You know, if people would just learn from history, there'd be a whole lot fewer problems, wouldn't there?"

Yep, there's hope for the future.

Disasters: 1929 Stock Market Crash

By Lorelie Brown

I think I must have been feeling particularly full of hubris when I volunteered to post on the stock market crash of 1929. Really. At this moment, I feel like I'm circling a rattlesnake and poking it with a stick. Please Mr. Snake, won't you hop in this neat little sack for me? And while you're at it, can we try and make this entertaining?

OK. Here we go, Cliffs Notes style.

The 1920s rocked. People were having a grand old time, business was booming. The common man felt like the sky-rocketing stock market was both accessible and understandable. If they didn't have enough ready cash to buy in, banks were handing out loans for goodness sake. I mean, if a bank's ready to hand out cash for a bloke to buy stock (called buying on margin), it must be safe, right? The banks themselves were even investing in the stock market. Economist Irving Fisher was quoted as saying, "Stock prices have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau." (For the record, the Dow Jones high of the period was the 3rd of September, at 381.17. The moment I'm writing this, the Dow Jones is 10,598.17.)

The beginning of the end came on October 24, 1929. There'd been plenty of fluctuations the weeks prior, and they were later attributed to a certain tariff bill's maneuvering through Congress. But on the 24th, later known as Black Thursday, stock trading went through the roof, four times the normal high. And it seemed like everyone was selling.

By one in the afternoon a contingent of bankers met to find a solution. We're talking the big-wigs here--representatives from both Morgan Bank and Chase Bank, among others. They decided to make a show of good faith by buying up huge blocks of US Steel and other "blue chip" stocks at above market prices. It had worked before, in 1907, and they had no reason to think it might not work again. And phew, it sure did seem like it worked. The market stabilized.

But it didn't last long.

Over the weekend, word got out about the huge slump. People got scared. Small banks got scared. By Tuesday the 29th, people were selling like mad. Over 16 million stocks were traded, almost all of them in a downward direction. Black Tuesday was even worse than Black Thursday. There's a myth that investors were jumping out of Wall Street windows to their deaths by the boatload, but it's not really true. There were suicides linked to the stock market crash, but not the way the urban legend would have it--not the way we as Americans wanted it to be, filled with immediate guilt and knocked low by their own hubris. But the bubble had officially burst, and that wasn't even all.

The market kept choking until 1932. When average Joes heard banks might be in trouble, there were bank runs where they demanded their money back. And not all the banks had it to give, causing further panic. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation was created as a direct result of all this. You know that little "FDIC Insured" notice at the bottom of your bank statements? Yup, that one. The one assuring you that even if the bank rolls over and dies, you'll still get your money back. Didn't exist then. The money was flat-out gone. Poof.

People have arm-chair-quarterbacked the 1929 market to death, saying that it should have been predictable. But...particularly considering the recession we're in now...I can't help but have sympathy.