THE BLUE KNIGHT

More of that gritty schmaltz about another new centurion — #4207, the honest if homely old kisser of Bumper Morgan, the "finest cop money can buy" (not really cash — a few cigars here, a little yogurt there). If you were to visualize this heart of gold under the badge of bronze proudly worn by the big, shambling man who's been on the L.A.P.D. force for twenty years, he might look a little like Victor McLaglen once did — or Jack Carson. He runs to fat and sweat. Bumper had been in the army for years and he's still a soldier — but on his own. He'll shut a mailbox lid hard on the hand of the snitch whose arm he's going to twist to get information; he'll show his softer side toward a youngster with a handful of bennies. And during this last week before he plans to retire and marry Cassie who calls him her Blue Knight, he's seen here and there — making a fool of himself with some young activists, testifying in court, saying goodbye to his old friend Cruz, etc. etc. until. . . . This once again has both the virtues and the weaknesses of the earlier book — the explicatory didacticism, the true true-blue dedication, the commanding detail and vernacular — and who's to guess whether it will have an equivalent readership over the same gun barrel.