And now, ladies and gentleman, perhaps the finest writer of noir ever, the king of Philadelphia crime fiction:
#1: David Goodis
Oh, man, David Goodis… where do I even start? First off, as an artist, the man was beyond prolific. During his prime, Goodis wrote—under too many pen names to count—for virtually every pulp magazine in existence and was rumored to have churned out over 5 million words in a five-year period. And on top of that staggering output, he also wrote 18 novels and a dozen screenplays. But, despite his obvious brilliance, Goodis occupied a dark, zany world. During Goodis’ years in Hollywood, where he was making the staggering sum of $1,100 a week as a staff writer for Warner Brothers, he could have easily afforded to live anywhere he wanted, but instead chose to live in a skid row hotel operated by two prostitutes. Goodis' time in Hollywood was a tumultuous one, and after four years he returned to Philadelphia to live with his parents and help care for his schizophrenic brother, Herbert. At night, he would wander the streets of the city of brotherly love, frequenting the seedy bars and nightclubs which populated his fiction. On January 17, 1967, Goodis died of a stroke. Certain accounts report that it was caused by a head injury sustained during a bar fight, others that he simply collapsed while shoveling his front walk.
There are literally dozens upon dozens of stories of Goodis' eccentric behavior (including a personal favorite of mine, where a friend visited Goodis in Hollywood, and because Goodis' car lacked a windshield, he provided the friend with a gas mask to help protect him from the elements) and I encourage you to visit the excellent website Shooting Pool With David Goodis. But without question—at least in my very humble opinion—if any of the individuals on this list deserved to be called a genius, it was Goodis.
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