The Mother Court by James D. Zirin

"The Mother Court" is where some of the nation's greatest trials took place. Linda Fairstein's glib praise-blurb on the back of this book ends with: "It would be criminal not to read this book." In a way, she's right, because aside from dusty (anyone want to pay for Alger Hiss information when it's on Wikipedia) cases, and the lack of juicy murder stories, there's some very interesting chapters on the mechanics of the criminal justice system. This includes how a lawyer chooses a jury, and "the lost art of cross-examintion"

The book probably will be best appreciated by those interested in becoming a lawyer, or those who already work in the legal system...people who can appreciate the technical jargon that is sometimes part of this raconteur's stories. Most involve famous cases, but also some lesser known lawyers and judges who hopped up and down the building steps at the US District Court for the Southern District of New York.

I confess (not words you normally here in a courtroom) to have not hopped those steps very often. I think I was there as a photographer during the Woody Allen v Mia Farrow matter. My own encounter with the well-remembered Judge Sweet, was when I was called to jury duty and facing the prospect of a several months of Mafia testimony. Usually writers don't get picked...lawyers figure it's easier to sway a housewife or a plumber. But somehow we reached the end of the process and I was one of the 12 facing an interminable sentence. A few days...ok. But months? And months? A very heavy toll for a freelancer to bear. Blind Justice herself didn't seem to care about how much money I'd be losing during the projected months of delays, or snore-inducing testimony about tax receipts. Judge Sweet routinely declared that if anybody had anything further to say, better say it now.

And so I raised my hand and said, "I believe that most lawyers are just as guilty as the criminals."

This got me excused.

My story is not in this book of course, but for fans of high-profile and important cases held before Judge Sweet, Judge Friendly, and other less-amusingly named judges, James D. Zirin offers his interpretations, and very often first-hand recollections. While Fairstein calls his writing style "informative, riveting, accessible and uplifting," the fact remains, he's a lawyer first, and the point is to be fair and balanced and not lurid. This might not appeal to the casual reader or "Perry Mason" fan, who might expect, at the very least, some juicy put-downs of Roy Cohn complete with vengeful snark about the man's hypocrisy. This includes his open hatred and put-downs of gays, despite (as someone else put it in some other publication) his sexual interest in being "...the biggest catcher since Yogi Berra."

Zirin's more tasteful remark: "Roy Cohn died of complications from AIDS a month after his disbarment, lying to the end about the nature of his ailment and the high-risk behavior that had brought it about." In a footnote, he mentions that those who want to know more about his "deeply closeted homosexuality" should read Tony Kushner's play "Angels in America."

Zirin's take on the professional Cohn:

"Roy could get away with anything — at least for a while, until things caught up with him. His glibness was amazing. I once saw him argue an appeal in a New York appellate court. The presiding justice opened the proceeding in a way that seemed quite ominous for Cohn. "Mr. Cohn, in your brief at page 31, you cite the case of Jones v Smith. My law clerks and I have searched the authorities for Jones v. Smith, and we can find no report of the case wehre you cite it — indeed no report of it anywhere. Are you sure that this case exists?"

Without blinking an eye, Cohn responded, "I'll have a letter on your Honor's desk at 10 tomorrow morning."

Zirin blithely wanders through the Linda Lovelace "Deep Throat" case and Mayor Giuliani's spirited attack on the "obscenity" of an oil and elephant dung painting at a local museum, without once cracking a joke or pun. He ends that chapter by noting:

"Outside of child pornography, which is properly viewed as criminal, there is now little legal activity in the field of art censorship....Contemporary community standards of what is obscene have become porous, perhaps because of the Internet. Indeed, the Internet, where pornography is freely available with epithetic descriptions and explicitly graphic videos, has made censorship virtually impossible.Only its dull repetitiveness and superfluous specificity differentiates pornography from the irrelevant sex scene of the modern cinema. What once was X has become R; Rhas become PG-13; the really dirty films have become NR- not even rated at all. We now have a new normal."

Aside from chapters on sex, and on Roy Cohn (but not on both at the same time), there's "U.S. v Official Corruption," organized crime, libel cases, "Some of My Favorite Judges," "The Red Scare" (including Alger Hiss) and of course his mentor Bob Morgenthau, who wrote the book's foreword. Most of this is handled as a law professor might; with enthusiasm for the subject at hand, and less interest in being entertaining about it. After all, it's history. Zirin is more amusing when it comes to choosing some of the cases he was personally involved in, and most certainly in getting the last laugh on some of the judges he found frustrating, if not weird.

"One of the weirdest judges I knew was Irving Ben Cooper. Like the fictional Captain Queeg in Wouke='s "The Cain Mutiny, he was a Freudian delight..."

"...In one robing room conference I attended during a trial, he whirled on a junior lawyer: "Ive noticed you out there smirking at me. You don't understand. I'm here for life. The trouble with you...is that you think the judge is a schmuck."

It's those little moments of anecdotal chicken fat that lubricate this tome and keep it from being totally dry.

VALOR - MARK LEE GREENBLATT - true stories of bravery and courage

The bland title "VALOR" could be overlooked by the casual bookstore browser, but pick up the book and it'll be hard to put down.

File it in the category of "Profiles in Courage," where you go for an hour or two of breathtaking adventure and the even more satisfying feeling of inspiration.

Back when President Kennedy's "Profiles in Courage" came out, war was still glorified, and "two-fisted action" magazines with titles ranging from "True" to "Saga" enjoyed prime space on a newsstand. In a way, the writing style here harks back to that era. Here's a bit of Chris Choay's battlefield drama:

"Choay continued to creep up on the enemy. He finally got within sixty-five feet of the insurgents — he was an easy target for shooters of their ability. Choay stop;ped and prepared for the assault.

And that's when he realized he was all alone.

"I told my men to follow me, but it was so loud with all the explosions, shooting, and people yelling that no one heard me. I had no one there with me. They were all still back where I left them...(it was) the loneliest moment of my life. I was dead center in the middle of the objective, all alone. I was scared, and I was ready to die."

Is this why his story is one of the ones Greenblatt chose? No, it had to be even more horrific. Determined to go out in a blaze of glory...

"Choay took a deep breath and prepared to shoot. He pulled the trigger. The weapon jammed."

Now, under the most frightening conditions and the greatest pressure, the soldier had to keep his head (already a miracle it was still on) and figure out how to get his weapon to work...and how to somehow pick off three of the enemy without any of them instantly pin-pointing his location and blasting him to bits.

It's not all blood and guts in these stories, or brains or willpower. Some of the stories are memorable for their heart...including the story of Michael Waltz's terrifying experiences in battle. His Afghan guide was by his side: "Waltz could hear Sumar gasping in his arms. The man's blood covered Waltz's hands and drenched his uniform...." The guide did not make it, but the story doesn't end there...it continues with the soldier desperately communicating to other Afghans how vital it was to return the body home...no matter the danger. For Waltz, the memory of the event haunted him even when he made it safely back to the States. It extended to a different form of quiet heroism, as he vowed to help the guide's family...against all odds.

Again, "VALOR" is not a catchy title, and the praise on the back might be a turn-off for some. All the quotes come from military men, including Sergeant Fist Class Sammy L. Davis, who enthuses, "It's obvious from these incredible stories that we certainly do still have the spirit of Audie Murphy in our military." But what makes this book worth anyone's time and attention is that while much of the narrative echoes scenes in the war movies that Audie Murphy (or John Wayne) made, the stories aren't just glorifications of combat triumph. The author here doesn't present boastful soldiers happy to tell their stories...many here are modest, glad to have made it out alive, and traumatized by the fate of those who didn't.

AUTHOR: Is YOUR eBOOK being BOOTLEGGED on EBAY?

There's an epidemic of book thieves on EBAY.

What you see above is BRIGHTDREAMS11, a seller who has made $150 for doing nothing but stealing a John Green title.

Multiply that by ten more authors raped and humiliated, and this seller is pulling down $1500 a week. Or more?

CEO John Donahoe doesn't seem to know about it? Doesn't care?

This is no surprise. Thanks to something called the "Digital Millennium Act," which goes wayyy back to 1988, copyright owners have been shoved under the bus. The excuse back then was "affirmative action." As in: let these poor little Internet companies, like cute-named Google and adorable-named Ebay flourish. They're just little kiddies who don't know right from wrong. They should be able to say "we're just a venue." Maybe some day, when they're big and strong, they'll know better.

Know what?

They became big and strong. Power corrupts. Ebay, Google and Amazon have become Hitler, Hirohito and Mussolini. If you really need proof, see how easy it was for Jeff Bezos of Amazon to drop nearly a BILLION DOLLARS today to buy something called "Twitch." That's a "streaming" site for "gamers." As if he couldn't just build one himself. Bezos is the guy who is fighting book publishers over how much they should be able to charge for an eBook...and openly refusing to stock books just to play hardball.

Meanwhile Ebay, now trying to get out of being the Internet garage sale for back date magazines and "Granny's postcard collection," is looking the other way when it comes to literally stealing eBook sales away from Amazon.

How outrageous is the abuse? Just type in a key term: EBOOK. Then add an author. Or a title like "Wimpy Kid" or "Heavenly Fire" or "Vampire."

You'll discover blatant frauds and liars with eBay names such as:

damommastreasure, sarsar412, mojosstuffgalore, brightreams11, houseofaddarav, collegestudentmom — among others — happily bootlegging in violation of both copyright and EBAY rules.

How? EBAY looks the other way if a seller merely writes: "I will send this item by postal mail. Sending this item by email or by any other digital delivery method is not allowed and violates eBay policy."

In fact, a seller doesn't even have to write anything at all. Just don't charge a shipping fee and (nudge nudge wink wink) the bidder knows that an e-mail will arrive with the password to a cloud or the link to a Rapidshare file.

As to THE BIG LIE:

"Attention eBay Staff: I am an Authorized Reseller of this product and also the copyright holder and I have resale rights to this eBook or item. Full Resell Rights are Granted by the copyright owners to sell these eBooks with Resell Rights or Master Resell Rights Granted! This ad complies with all eBay rules and regulations."

And what happens if an author of book company stops that auction on "Shades of Grey Trilogy?" The seller continues to offer the other dozen or two dozen bootlegs, and if EBAY asks (and they never do) say "Gee, I made a mistake on that last one. But honest...I AM the copyright holder on Wimpy Kid..."

Farce? More than a farce. It's a bloody crime.

BRIGHTDREAMS11 is still on EBAY despite many negatives for blatantly selling fake items and bootlegs:

EBAY? No numbers to call. Letters go right into the garbage. Business as usual.

What happens if you ask Kari Rameriz, the publicist for EBAY at press@ebay.com? Find out for yourself. The answer is usually NO REPLY. Or the robot: "If you are a copyright owner, jump through some hoops, fill out some forms, and send them to vero@ebay.com. PS, if you complain that the seller is bootlegging everybody's books on our site, we will ignore you. We won't ask the seller to fax us "under penalty of perjury" any license agreements at all. We are THAT desperate for sales on our site. That's why we don't even let sellers leave negatives on deadbeat bidders, or allow them to block bidders who extort and cheat sellers or return DVDs after copying them, or books after reading them."

AUTHORS...PUBLISHERS...the best thing you can do, aside from perhaps joining to create the Mother of All Class Action Lawsuits...is to join EBAY's "VeRo" (verified rights owner) program and file against the bootleggers. This IS a war. Copyright holders are losing ground every minute while Internet giants like Google and Amazon bellow about how everything should be "Free" and copyright should bow to "Freedom of Speech." Ebay has the nerve to allow sellers to pretend they own the copyright to every best seller! How do they get away with this? "Because they can." They are being enabled...by copyright owners who don't take action.

Myths of Love by Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Jerome Singerman

Yes, "Dr. Ruth," the ebullient little sex therapist who had best sellers and was a talk show favorite years ago...is back. At 86, and with no Johnny Carson or Merv Griffin to amuse, she's not been booked on high profile talk shows, and her new tome isn't from a major book company. The benefit is she can do as she pleases, which might explain this very silly excuse for a book.

It was sold to an indie company, and they are attempting to sell it to you, as something that "analyzes ancient myth and its relevance to 21st century relationships." Maybe. Maybe not. The main problem is that the book doesn't seem co-written by Westheimer. The tone is very academic, reflecting the lecture style of Harvard's Jerome E. Singerman. Having met them both, I can't quite understand the problem except that Dr. Ruth, who is as peppy as ever in person, apparently didn't have many juicy case histories to balance what reads like lecture transcripts.

The chapter on Narcissus is typically dry: "The dictionary defines a narcissist as someone exhibiting excessive vanity or self-admiration..." This could've led to some recollection of a comically pathological egomaniac, but instead, the chapter ends with a cut-and-paste joke: "Woody Allen once said that the nice thing about masturbation is that it's sex with someone you love. This is apparently not a thought that would ever occur to a character in Greek or Roman mythology..."

This is supposed to be a book, not a collection of easy-going lectures on mythology, but the formula for each chapter is the same. There's a reminder of who Iphis and Ianthe were, or Pasiphae, or Pygmalion...and nothing from Dr. Ruth to explain how these dimly colorful figures relate to people today, or the problems related to sex on the Internet, STD's, rampant porn, lifelike rubber sex dolls or anything else that might get in the way of, or enhance, sexual gratification in the 21st Century.

Leda and the Swan? Well, one doesn't expect that Dr. Ruth ever had a patient who had sex in an aviary. So why bother?

That would be a question for co-author Singerman, perhaps, as the un-Ruthian prose strays from the myth itself to a rumination on how this myth was depicted in art:

"The artists of the Italian Renaissance seem to have loved the story of Leda nad the swan. Correggio places the couple at the middle of a jolly forest scene. Here, Leda is sitting in the shade of a tree by the edge of a pool or a stream, facing forward. The swan stands between her open legs, his neck curving upward between her naked breasts, his bill reaching just far enough to chuck her under the chin. She looks down rather sweetly at him..." A photo of the painting would've sufficed instead of all the padding. Perhaps Dr. Ruth did add the final paragraph, recalling "...some very curious medical illustrations of the following centgury that depict the elongated but obviously non-erect human penis oddly but gracefully curving — like the neck of a swan perhaps? In one example I have in mind, the artist has even omitted any representation of the testicles, but has drawn a setion of the legs flanking the organ so that they look very much like the outspread wings of the bird. I don't want to put too fine a point on it, but if all this is not quite as anatomically impossible as a woman who lays eggs, I nevertheless suspect that the two are very closely related."

I don't want "to put too fine a point on it" either, but the reason Dr. Ruth was so popular on TV and in her early books, was that she didn't sound like some guy from Harvard recalling old paintings and what he remembers from Mythology 101. Why even include this Leda business, and with no photos? Rather than ask Singerman, the question is put to Westheimer. It turns out the "Leda" legend is one of her favorite myths because... "I love swans. Every year when I go to Zurich, I say hi to the swans on Lake Zurich. It reminds me of the years I was a child in an orphanage in Switzerland...and now I am coming back to visit as Dr. Ruth." Oh. Ok.

The Westheimer name will probably help dispose of copies to libraries, and should be one of the more successful titles from the indie press involved. It's also nice to see that she hasn't been soured on publishing after offering what she remembers as one of her better manuscripts to the infamous S.P.I. book company circa 1988. They slipped into bankruptcy, intentionally leaving printers, authors and even its defense lawyers stiffed, and were, far more than Westheimer, experts in the art of screwing.

America's Got Talent Winner: Landau Eugene Murphy Jr.

As "America's Got Talent" plods towards another forgettable finale, with the usual back-story sobs, inane hoopla for every magician and dance act, and votes being cast for every reason except actual entertainment value, some ask...

...who won last year? The year before? The dog act never even got a Letterman booking? The mediocre country singer got dropped after one album?

One of the more memorable winners is Landau Eugene Murphy Jr., who certainly benefitted from the novelty factor...a black guy in dreadlocks singing Sinatra-type lounge tunes. He's written a slim (128 pages, plus photo section) book that had me asking him the most basic question: "Why now?"

"I got an offer to write the book right after I won," he admitted, "but I got super-busy. I've been on tour for the past three and a half years!"

While it's doubtful most winners have done much in the years after their big splash (ventriloquist Terry Fator would be an exception, doing well in Las Vegas), Murphy has the advantage of a universal appeal (swingin' lounge music didn't die with "Old Blue Eyes") and great charm. Although the tax man took half of the million dollars, he quickly earned it back through touring and his initial album deal. "After being on the road I got back up to a million dollars again. That's not what reallly matters…it's the smiles on peoples' faces. I work a lot for charity..." That includes everything from the Heart-to-Heart Foundation to the homeless of West Virginia, where he still proudly lives. His book talks a great deal about the little town of Logan, and most of the chapters simply give the reader a vicarious thrill...imagine the excitement of appearing on the show...reaching the finals...having a parade in your honor...doing your first professional recording session...

Titled "From Washing Cars to Hollywood Star," the book does indeed mention some of the bad breaks and poverty of his early years, but it's not a sad tune heavy with strings bringing everything down. The tone is upbeat, the message more along the lines of any traditional "inspirational" volume. Landau also side-steps any vivid pictures of crime in the Detroit area (where he lived for a while) and there's even a kind of sweet take in recalling his poverty: "I learned how to make a syrup sandwich when we didn't have nuch else to eat." He doesn't swell on the problems of failed relationships that involved kids. The important thing, in the latter case, is that he was able to provide for them, and the enduring message is about the importance of family (he has a successful marriage now) friends...and even getting along with strangers. The book is, after all, dedicated not to wife, kids or parents or pales but "To the people from the great state of West Virginia (and especially the citizens of Logan).

The excitement and preparation for "America's Got Talent" had an unexpected effect on Landau Murphy. It just plain wore him out. Before his final performance, he "went to the Green Room, curled up on the couch, and went to sleep. I heard later a couple of the acts complained I was sleeping in the Green Room. Sorry guys, but I was tired." That kind of simplicity and humanity keep this admittedly slim volume moving along. It's not strong on touching moments of pathos, or vivid pictures of tragedy or triumph, as much as it's a steady account of keeping to the dream and taking some chances, as we all do, even though usually for a much lesser payday and much fewer people noticing.

It's probably not a surprise to know that most "America's Got Talent" winners simply have good memories and a decent bank account to show for their victory. It might come as a mild surprise to discover that Landau Eugene Murphy Jr. is one of the few (Michael Grimm, a "Billy Joel" to Landau's "Frank Sinatra" would be another) who can use the title "Winner" to get gigs in America and even around the world, and continue to do what they love to do. A lot of times, a book reviewer has to skim through a book due to deadline obligations, but if you do that with a 128 pager, there's something wrong...especially when the book is a pleasant, upbeat journey. You'll go from Logan to Detroit to New York to California to...well, back to Logan...and you'll enjoy the trip.

Serial Killer JOHN CHRISTIE of RILLINGTON PLACE

"Christie was the murderer, and the judge and jury too!"

The song, sung by Judy Collins and most recently Irish folk singer Karan Casey, was written by Ewan MacColl. The powerful anti-capital punishment song was written in response to the execution of Tim Evans for a crime most believe was actually committed by his neighbor at 10 Rillington Place, John Christie. Curiously, there's no mention of it ("The Ballad of Tim Evans," aka "Go Down Ye Murderers") in what is the most recent but not completely definitive or satisfying book in the Christie case. Jonathan Oates is not an interesting writer at all, but his selling point is being factual, and uncovering details that he insists were either missing or slanted by previous authors.

So what do all these facts produce? Not much. The main controversy (was it one murderer or two) continues. Oates in his "Conclusion" chapter even points out the various writers who believe a) Evans killed his wife and child, b) Evans only killed one of them, c) Evans conspired with Christie, d) Christie killed two women before Evans and his wife and child arrived at the fateful house, killed them, and killed four more women before he was captured.

There's some interest in Christie because physically, he's an unlikely-looking mass murderer. Hardly a Manson, with wild-eyes and a psychotic credo, Christie, 5'8" and 150 pounds, was soft-spoken, balding, and seemingly nothing more than an office drone and petty martinet,

The book, only 186 pages (if you don't include the notes and index) thinks so little of Tim Evans that there's no picture of him...while there are shots of such lesser players as Derek Curtis-Bennett and Beresford Brown. Is this due to some "rights" issue? The same reason not a single line of the famous song (which would be "fair use") is quoted?

Or wasn't there room for such thought, when the author was so seriously involved in such less-than-pithy summations as this one: "Although long dead, Christie has not been forgotten."

No, Christie isn't forgotten, because his balding, bland "just like anyone else" wax figure stands in a Madame Tussaud's, the song about Tim Evans is still played, and the film "Ten Rillington Place" based on the Ludovic Kennedy book is on DVD (with John Hurt as Tim Evans).

The main interest in the case is not really the crimes (Christie was no gruesome "Jack the Ripper" in a top hat) but the nagging question among conspiracy buffs, as to Evans' involvement. While Ludovic Kennedy's book (like MacColl's song, mainly aimed at proving Evans innocent and that capital punishment is not reversible) remains Exhibit A for "Christie did it all," others, especially Jonathan Oates, aren't comfortable with the amount of times both Evans and Christie outright lied, or offered impossibly confusing recollections. Evans, an acknowledged dimwit, who was also a loudmouth stuck in an increasingly hapless marriage, confessed several times in detail but ultimately recanted. Christie's "the more the merrier" confession to killing Evans' wife may have been part of a campaign to get off on an insanity plea...while his denial of killing the Evans baby could've been to save himself from vigilante justice within prison.

This volume, concerned as it is with Christie, his childhood (50 pages of bland detail) and his periodic petty crimes and the last series of murders (which included his own wife), tries to be sympathetic. "Christie was not evil, though he was capable of evil deeds," writes Oates, "nor was he a sadist, as were Brady and Hindley and the Wests (the author seems baffled but persistent in dragging in other serial killers and comparing them and their motives). "He was, in many ways, the ordinary man, on the surface, similar to our neighbors and colleagues, who was nevertheless a mass murderer." From a convoluted, comma-stricken line like that, you can see how this author tends to be a cartoon of Sherlock Holmes, his magnifying lens on the floor, walking around and around in circles. "To label him as a monster is simplistic and emotive," we are assured, "for Christie was just a sexual inadequate who murdered to sate his lusts." There is, it should be noted, conflicting testimony on that last statement, as semen stains were found on the murderer's clothes, and his own confessions included necrophilia...having sex with the women after they were strangled.

In the end, this book has some merits; the author's dug up some fresh quotes, pulled some facts out of dusty files, and offered some photos of some of the victims and bystanders. There's even some disturbing sociology not mentioned by others; that Christie's pathetic dwellings were also home to Jamaican musicians and other blacks who he detested for their noise and their lack of civility. The author doesn't use Christie's hatred of his neighbors and his poverty as an excuse for violence or vengeance...he's careful to let motivation remain the province for amateur psychologists. Oates might even be commended for resisting an author's temptation to color in some details, if only to make the book a more vivid read. But after 182 pages, his alternating smugness and confusion lead to this confession:

"Most readers will, by now have added to their knowledge of John Christie, the mild-mannered man who made a mortuary of the house in which he lived. There is, however, much that we will never know for certain."

The most eye-opening factor here, is his belief that Evans was guilty, so for "fans" of Christie, it's a must-read to try and figure how he came to such a conclusion, when it's so opposite several other respectable opinions.

There's no paper shortage, to my knowledge, in Great Britain. The book could have been extended another 20 or so pages, to examine in detail Ludovic Kennedy's contentions about the timeline involving Evans and construction done at the house, discuss the testimony of Evans' half-sister Mary Westlake in leading the government to overturn the Evans conviction in the slaying of his wife Beryl, and to examine more closely theories of why a man with no background of violence and murder (Evans) should be considered guilty while living in the house of someone who had killed twice. Tim's sister, Eileen Ashby, is also not given a chance to voice the arguments on behalf of her brother. Many readers will remain hopelessly lost in trying to determine where Evans, Christie and his wife were at the time of Beryl's death, what motive is strongest, what kind of coincidence it would be for two men in the same house to choose strangulation as the means of crime, and what facts (or fallacies) led to Evans' death being found a "wrongful execution." It would not have taxed "fair use" to summarize some of Ludovic Kennedy's arguments on behalf of Evans and debunk them.

One thing untouched here, which was so important to Ewan MacColl and Ludovic Kennedy, is the question of capital punishment. Should it be abandoned, or at least restricted in cases as confusing as this one? Perhaps one can form a conclusion based on how Christie, most definitely the killer of six women, met his death. As described here by the executioner, he did not beg for mercy or call his approaching death a murder: "Faltering pitifully, his moevements were not so much a walk, as a dfrifting forward, his legs stumbling. I thought he was going to faint."

"Mixed Messages" left by The Late Arlene Martel

"T'pring" might seem like an odd ringtone to most, but to "Star Trek" fans, this was the beautiful "Bride of Spock" in a classic episode. The role was played by Arlene Martel, who had a cult following for this. She'd autograph T'pring memorabilia at many a "signing convention" in Hollywood and Las Vegas. As she sat at her table, autographing photos, fans would see she had stills from her appearances on other iconic 60's shows: "The Monkees" "Hogan's Heroes" "Wild Wild West" and "Outer Limits" among them. "Twilight Zone" fans came by to get her autograph, revelling in her iconic five words as a morgue nurse: "Room for one more, honey."

Sadly, Arlene died of a heart attack on August 12th. Until a few months ago, she'd been a Facebook regular, posting photos of herself, and offering a variety of links to health websites that involved recipes for organic foods and holistic treatments for illness. A cancer survivor for many years, she was very interested in any new vitamins or health regimens, and ways to improve both the mind and body.

Her book...self-published by one of the many "print on demand" vanity outfits now flourishing, is not about health. Despite the tag of written "with" someone else, it's not an autobiography. Just what is it? It's a peculiarly self-indulgent reprint of e-mails between the 74 year-old actress and a fan-admirer some 25 years younger (who worries his erectile dysfunction might hurt the potential of a meeting following their mutual admiration correspondence).

Yes, there could've been voyeuristic potential in a "fan gets to bed his dream idol" book, but not when there's no erotic writing and very little wit. Sadly, this 182 pager (with liberal spaces between e-mails to pad it to any kind of book length) is often boring and even embarrassing. Much of the e-mails concern mutual health concerns. Entire pages are loaded with technical details on medications: "...an Italian study done at a reputable Milan tertiary hospital showed that melatonin supplementation enhanced the effect of Arimeidex considerately...if this 9 mg dose is well tolerated, we can titrate up the 20 mg." Any typos in there...well, who at Author House would've been awake to proofread them?

The fan-man doesn't ask Arlene for details about her film and TV roles, so aside from one page where he mentions re-watching "Star Trek" and she comments on her hair and make-up, there's nothing for Trekkers or anyone wondering "what was it like to work with Bob Crane?" The e-mails reflect health-obsessed and self-involved people: "As far as your headaches go, a colonic could make a huge difference..." "...I hate much too much food. Thought about you several ties during the Thanksgiving Day."

Each e-mail is padded on the page with the time and date and who is sending and receiving. Eventually, these begin with ever more nauseating terms of endearment. "Hi Sweetheart" turns into "Hi Kalecake..." and "Hi Honey Bear" and "Hello Sweet Potato."

Arlene and Jeff's very slow ripening from mere e-mail pals to potential lovers, is sometimes ripe with cringeworthy cliches. Arlene: "I'm more of a Dapple Grey Mare who prefers being courted by a sensitive powerful Stallion." There aren't many of these Shades of Groan gaffes...not enough for "so bad it's good" page-turning. After 76 pages, the reader is alerted: "First Face to Face Encounter. To Whom it May Concern...use your imagination." In other words, you, dear reader, mare or stallion, do NOT get any real bedside reading.

At best, Martel declares, "Life is bubbling with rainbows in each bubble and just when one bursts out of its own excitement another bubble is born...so there's no depletion...only abundance. New title for our book? "Jeffrey and the Juicy Old Crone."

More often, the e-mails are duller than ones you send to your granny: "Sweetheart Happy Valentine's Day. So glad that you're in my life. Sending my love to you today (and always) Jeff." An entire page is devoted to a Rabindranath Tagore poem Jeff decided to send to Arlene. As one might scroll through e-mails to delete them, one ends up quickly scanning pages for something actually worth reading. Toward book's end, these two aren't even writing very often to each other. Arlene: "Jeff, I haven't heard from you since June 8th. I'm concerned...you might recall our conversation about your visiting for a few days...to complete the book with me..."

The book ends with no assurance that Jeff and Arlene will keep e-mailing, much less having conjugal visits. When she died, there was no posting from Jeff on Facebook, nor had their been any mention of him (as opposed to her daughters and her pet dog). She never hawked her book on Facebook, either.

Way back on page 35, this guy burbled about how beautiful she looked as T'pring, and creepily added that after watching the re-run, "I wondered what you ate for lunch...I wondered if you were in love at that point in time. If so...whether you were well-loved. I wondered if you had kissed someone that day....I wondered. And I inhaled you. And for the briefest moment...I was inside you...please excuse those figurative references...They were not to infer anything sexual." To this typical Californian pseudo-poetic overly extroverted nut, Marlene replied: "I'm not to infer anything sexual? Boy, talk about sending mixed messages."

Here and there, fans of Martel, or perhaps friends and relatives, get some glimmers of the woman's personality, and she might "live again" in the passages where she obsesses on various drugs and treatments which seem to have been a big part of her daily routine. Once in a great while there's a brief mention of her parents, her granddaughter, or growing up in the Bronx, but these are few. Perhaps she was saving all that for the autobiography that probably will never be published, and might only exist in a few manuscript pages. Considering the high list price of print-on-demand books, it's hard to recommend this to any but the most devoted Martel fans, since 80% of it is as boring as everyone else's e-mails. It's a high price to pay just to have more of a keepsake, my dear "Kalecake."