Perry Mason

I love a hero, and my favorite hero of all time is Perry Mason.

Perry Mason has a long and honorable run. Created by Erle Stanley Gardner (1889-1970) and introduced in his first pulp-fiction novel, the Case of the Velvet Claw (Roslyn, NY: Walter J. Black, 1933), Perry stars in murder mysteries, radio serials, television shows, and made-for-tv movies from the first book until the last movie in 1993.

Perry is a fictional defense attorney in the Los Angeles of his day. (You can sometimes tell which year by the car he drives.) He defends his usually wealthy clients against murder charges by discovering the real killer and by using whatever legal, if unorthodox, means are available to him in the courtroom. He relies on his own wits and the help of his bright and loyal secretary, Della Street, and his man-about-town private investigator, Paul Drake.

Let me remark at this point that Perry is not the classic tragic hero with a fatal flaw; he is the good-guy hero of melodrama. For melodrama is story set to music, with the sound track cuing our feelings, whether joyful or fearful, like the organist at the silent-movie theater.

Aside from the fact that I love him (Oh! too much sharing?), there are numerous signs that Perry Mason is the good guy. Among them, I mention a repeated motif: His client is never guilty, no matter how bad things look in terms of motive, means, and opportunity. And another: When Perry confronts the bad guy in his home or office, the bad guy mixes himself a drink and offers one to his guest, but Perry never accepts. Perry is not a tee-totaller and often has a shot of whiskey or a glass of wine (after dark, of course) once a case is won. Even now, these details play out in modern television shows about crime.

Perry Mason is a man of strength, courage, and integrity. In short, a man after my own heart.

Well, how about a little dose of real life? Raymond Burr, who played Perry Mason on television, was gay, but, for fear of American public reaction, did not reveal his sexuality until late in his life. Apparently, a publicist made up a sad but phony story about a lost wife and son that stuck to him and helped camouflage his 35-year relationship to the love of his life, Robert Benevides. Burr did not outright deny the story about the wife and child; he just refused to discuss it.

But I'll take my heroes where I can get them, and Perry Mason, conflated with Raymond Burr, is still my hero, for his loyalty and steadfastness to his partner and his other great qualities.