As so often happens after the death of a celebrated author, it’s become somewhat fashionable in literary circles to memorialize the legendary writer Emerson LaSalle, who passed away suddenly–under circumstances befitting one of his own “pulp”-style adventure stories– around this time last year.
Everybody, it seems, has a LaSalle story. Countless websites and blog posts have cropped up, and at this point, it’s become almost impossible to separate the true tales from the apocrypha (which, I imagine, is just how LaSalle himself would have wanted it).
Anyway. In my opinion, the best of these can be found here. I’m not a scholar, just a fan, and as such I’m definitely interested to hear more about this posthumous Atomic Bob trilogy.
Someone told me that actually, there were four different Emerson LaSalle’s. That as each one came near death, he passed the “mantle” off to another man, provided the man was willing to cut off his hand and replace it with a hook. Kind of like James Bond. But the guy who told me was speaking another language I didn’t understand, so maybe I was daydreaming.
Jim Crumley used to talk about witnessing LaSalle trying to trade a big lump of uranium for a dime bag on a back street in Tangier and then huffing the uranium when the dealer said no: “Fucker’s nostrils glowed green for a week.” One of the few times I ever saw the master in awe of anyone else’s unlawful appetites.
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