"The Three Stooges Shtick at Euclid Beach" - April 17, 2025
A clown becomes the victim of a violent crime in a bygone Cleveland amusement park...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “The Three Stooges Shtick at Euclid Beach,” from the anthology 13 TURNS, available on Kindle, and in paperback.
There’s a lot of personal history behind this story, and I figured the best way to present that is from the NOTES section of 13 TURNS where I recount its origins:
My paternal grandfather Henry Joseph Carr was a newspaper man in Cleveland back in the early part of the 20th century. He reported for the (now defunct) Cleveland News in the 1930s and later wrote for a variety of sources following the Depression. After his death in the 1980s, we were cleaning out his attic, and I stumbled upon a stack of his writings. A lot of them were short anecdotal features, but among them was a short mystery novel called The Ghost in Green Bloomers.
I took it home and read it, somewhat impressed by my grandfather’s hand. I had never known him as an adult because he developed Alzheimer’s disease while I was still in elementary school, so this was a fascinating way to get to know him after he was gone.
Soon after finding the book, I decided to develop it myself into a full novel. (It was a little short for publishing at the time, and I think it was close to a first draft for him, with some minor edits on the typewritten pages.) While I was working on developing the novel, I thought it might be neat to develop a few short stories based on the characters in the book. “The Three Stooges Shtick at Euclid Beach” was one of the results, giving a little more life to Padraic Fogerty, Diddy Malone, and Magg.
Further inspiration from my family history came from my father’s tales of going to the Euclid Beach amusement park in the summer. Euclid Beach closed in 1969, and the area is now an apartment complex on Lake Erie on the east side of Cleveland, but back in the 1940s and 1950s, it was a premiere entertainment destination. I took some liberties with the layout of the park and the names of some of the rides and concession stands, but I tried to give the story some local history.
And now on to the murder mystery. (Of course, if you want to know the answer to the mystery, you just might have to get a copy of the book itself.)
-Kevin Carr
Click here to buy my books on Amazon.
Click here to buy my audiobooks on Audible.
Click here to follow me on TikTok.
Illustration courtesy of The Cleveland Public Library
The Three Stooges Shtick at Euclid Beach by Kevin Carr
I expected that warm summer day in 1953 to be recreational, but instead I found myself on the job to solve a murder.
I didn’t see the clown fall to the Racing Coaster’s tracks, but I heard the thump – then the screams. By the time I pushed my way through the line to see him, the roller coaster cars had already stopped, fifty feet beyond the clown and just short of the top of the first hill.
The clown was still alive. The largest part of him had fallen off the Racing Coaster’s track and to the ground below. I saw the body twitch and heard a soft “Help me...”
Immediately, I threw my leg over the wooden railing. Before I dropped to the ground, I grabbed a coaster attendant’s arm.
“For God’s sake,” I hissed. “Call an ambulance!”
I didn’t wait to see if he responded and dropped to the grass. My ankle twisted slightly, causing me to lose my footing and fall on one knee. I know I got a grass stain on my trousers, but considering the circumstances, my fashion sense could relax a bit. I picked myself up and scrambled over to the clown. The first hills of both the Racing Coaster and the Thriller – two of Euclid Beach’s premier roller coasters – ran side by side. Only a small space separated them; this is where the clown landed. As I ran between the two hills, I looked up and figured what had happened. The clown must have fallen – or had been pushed – from the frame of the Thriller and onto the tracks of the smaller Racing Coaster.
When I got to the clown, I felt a chill. It was bad – his left arm and leg severed clean. He wasn’t going to make it.
Still, I stripped off my suit coat, wadded it up, and pressed it against the stump where his arm used to be. Then I knelt by his side and pressed my knee down hard on his severed thigh. Already in deep shock, he didn’t even wince.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I lied.
The clown turned his painted face to me, but his eyes stared over my shoulder, not focusing.
With his right hand, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a bloody five dollar bill. Stuffing it in my hand, he coughed, then spoke:
“He wanted the Three Stooges Shtick...”
“Who?” I asked.
“Pushed me... hired for a trick about an hour ago... trick was on me...”
The clown’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he let out a long sigh. I felt the soft pulsing from his arm slow, then stop.
“Fogerty!” I heard my secretary’s voice call from the Racing Coaster’s loading platform. “An ambulance is on its way!”
“Forget the ambulance,” I called back. “Better call Magg at Homicide.”
• • •
I looked over to my secretary. “Some day off, right Moire?”
She threw me a glare and responded with a stage whisper: “It’s ‘Diddy,’ Fogerty.”
I rolled my eyes. Her real name was Moire, but since she took the job as my secretary, she adopted a “stage name.” She said she was a modern American woman of the 1950s. Moire Harrigan was good enough for her home in the Gaeltacht of Ireland. But working for an American P.I., she insisted Diddy Malone was more appropriate. Diddy figured she had a part to play as a P.I.’s secretary. Who was I to judge?
She switched her legs, crossing the left over the right and then straightened her tight skirt. For the past hour, we had been sitting in the office of Red Ellis, the manager at the Euclid Beach Park. In the adjacent office sat several suspects that Ellis and Frank Jacobs, the head of Euclid Beach security, had rounded up. Diddy and I had been detained not because we were suspects, but because I had heard the clown’s last words. Magg from Cleveland Homicide wanted to talk to me about it. And, of course, he wanted to get a look at Diddy.
I looked down at my front and brushed the back of my hand across my shirt.
“Damn,” I said softly. The clown’s blood stained the bright white cotton. My tie was the only salvageable item from this morning. The knee of my trousers was shot – stained with blood and grass – and my suit coat. Jesus, that suit coat! I didn’t even ask for it back!
Magg suddenly burst in the office followed closely by Red Ellis and Frank Jacobs.
“Mick the Private Dick,” Magg grumbled, looking at me. “You’re the only guy I know who’d wear a suit to an amusement park.”
I looked up and grinned. “Good to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Magg,” I said. Lieutenant Algernon Maggadorn had the fine job of being in charge of Homicide at Cleveland P.D. Gruff only began to describe him. A big, beefy roast of a man, Al Magg did not like to be toyed with, which was probably why I liked doing it so much.
“How is it you always end up around murders, Fogerty?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Must be the Luck of the Irish.”
“You didn’t come to Euclid Beach to investigate a murder, did you?”
“It wasn’t on the agenda, no. But since I’m involved now, we could discuss my consultant fee.”
Magg snorted. “How’d you end up out here, anyway, Fogerty?”
I gestured towards Diddy and said, “I thought I’d show my secretary one of our great pastimes. She’s never been to an American amusement park.”
Magg looked over to Diddy, and I saw his face go from bull mastiff to cuddly teddy bear in a single moment.
“How are you today, Miss Malone?” he asked politely and tipped his Fedora.
“I’m fine, Al,” Diddy replied with a smile. “And you?”
Magg grinned like a schoolboy. I even thought I saw him blush.
“Are we going to get started, Magg?” I interrupted.
Magg turned back to me and was suddenly a mastiff again. He turned to Red and Frank, then grunted.
Red stepped forward. “The clown was pushed,” he said.
“Does this clown have a name?” Diddy asked.
Red nodded. “Yeah. Percy Cochran. Worked here for the past few years.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Playing a clown,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You know what I mean. Danced around. Juggled a bit. Made a few balloon animals. He hung around outside the Laff-in-the-Dark spook house quite a bit.”
“What was he doing up in the Thriller’s superstructure?” Magg asked.
Red shrugged. “He climbs up in there for a smoke break now and then – especially after lunch. I’ve asked him not to do it, for obvious reasons, but he never paid attention. We figured whoever pushed him knew he would be there.”
“Not necessarily,” Magg said. “He could have been followed.”
“Sure,” Diddy piped in. “Clowns don’t exactly blend into a crowd.”
Again, Red shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So who has motive?” Magg asked.
Red walked over to the window connecting the two offices. On the other side of the glass sat three men. “You want to field this question, Frank? You know these people better than I do.”
“Sure,” Frank said, stepping to the window. He pointed through the glass to a chubby, balding man sitting next to the window. “First, we have Lyle Tuchman. He’s one of the Racing Coaster attendants. Sometimes when Percy went up in the Thriller’s frame, he’d follow him for a quick chat.”
“Motive?” Magg persisted.
“Percy owed Lyle some money. Quite a lot of it, in fact. Lyle loaned it to Percy to cover a bet on the Indians, but they lost. Apparently Lyle and Percy got in a fight last night about the whole thing.”
“Where was Lyle when Percy was pushed?” I asked.
“Lyle had stepped away for a moment, according to the other attendant,” Red offered. “He’d been working the coaster all morning. Said he hadn’t even been to lunch yet. It’s been pretty busy here today. Maybe he saw Percy start climbing into the Thriller’s structure and followed him.”
“When was he next seen?”
“He’s the one who cut the power on the Racing Coaster. The other attendants found him by the control booth when the accident happened.”
I nodded, and Frank waited for a second. Then, satisfied that I got my question answered, he continued, pointing to a younger gentleman standing near the corner. The guy looked scared – almost worried – like he was being punished by the nuns in Catholic school.
“Next,” Frank said, “we have Gary Anderson. College student here on vacation. Apparently, his buddies paid Percy to do his Harpo Marx Shtick on him earlier today.”
“Excuse me,” Diddy interrupted. “Harpo Marx Shtick?”
Frank grinned and shook his head. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you guys don’t work here. People would pay Percy a buck to spray someone they knew with a seltzer bottle. You know, like Harpo Marx. Apparently, Gary reacted a little adversely and almost punched Percy out.”
“He even registered a complaint with my office,” Red added.
“Alibi?” I asked.
Red took this question: “Georgia Cousins at Custard’s Last Stand claims Gary and his buddies were snacking on a frozen custard at the time.”
Frank turned back to the window and pointed to the last guy in the room who was standing with his back to us, examining a huge map of Euclid Beach Park on the office wall.
“That’s Ace Simpson, a local guy. He likes to hang out down by the beach with his buddies. They usually cause some trouble when they’re here. Earlier in the day, Percy threw a cream pie in his face. Ace got pretty steamed and attacked him. It happened right in front of Ace’s girlfriend, and he was pretty humiliated. Took four of us to hold Ace back.”
“Was this another Groucho Marx thing?” Magg asked.
Frank shook his head. But before he could say anything, I took a guess, “The Three Stooges.”
“Yes,” Frank said, staring at me with slight surprise. “It’s the same cost to get it done, but Percy just called it different for a pie in the face. How’d you know?”
This time it was my turn to shrug. “It’s a Three Stooges staple. Cream pie fights and guys in gorilla suits.”
“Does Ace have an alibi?” Magg asked.
Frank shook his head again. “Not at all. In fact, several people have reported seeing a man fitting Ace’s description running from the Thriller shortly after Percy fell.”
“You say you’ve had problems with this guy before?”
“All the time. He’s a real hothead with an incredibly short fuse. In fact, I just broke up a fight he was in on the beach last weekend. I swear, that guy would shoot his own grandmother if she peeved him.”
“Is that it?” I asked. “These are our only suspects?”
“Almost,” Red said. “We’ve got one more.”
As if in response to Red, the door to the other office opened, and a Euclid Beach security officer escorted a cute young woman into the room. The security officer looked through the glass sheepishly to Frank, then left.
Frank turned to Red. “Doris?” He asked. “She’s a suspect?”
“We asked around,” Red said, “and her name came up quite a bit.”
Magg jumped in. “Who’s Doris?”
Red turned and started to explain: “Doris and Percy used to be steadies. They split up several months ago. However, Percy’d been harassing her quite a bit lately. Some of it wasn’t too nice – like sugar in her gas tank and late-night phone calls. He’s also been seen lurking around when she left the park at night. Never tried anything, but a lot of people here thought it would be just a matter of time before he did.”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “Everyone on staff knew about it. Percy really gave Doris a hard time. If I had a nickel for each time she’s have to ask me for an escort to her car...”
“So she had motive,” Magg said.
“Yeah, but I don’t think Doris is capable of murder. She was the victim when it came to Percy.”
“Well, she’s a suspect,” Red said.
“Wait a minute...” Frank said. “Doris and I have lunch every day at the Eating House. That’s when Percy fell. She couldn’t have done it. Ask Gus at the hot dog stand. He’ll vouch for her.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Frank,” Magg said, holding up a hand. “I know who did this.”
I shot up out of my chair. “Really, Magg? You sure about that?”…
…