Miss Marple's Lost Mystery

John Curran, longtime literary adviser to Agatha Christie's estate, has discovered a previously unseen story in Agatha Christie's notebooks. It is entitled "The Case of the Caretaker's Wife", and it has been published online. It seems that a version of this story appeared in the short story collection, "Miss Marple's Final Cases and Two Other Stories." The name of that story was simply "The Case of the Caretaker." But the plot of "The Case of the Caretaker's Wife" is also similar to the one in "Endless Night", a full length novel by Agatha Christie. The exciting thing for me is that this particular story has been lost for fifty years and is just now being seen for the first time.

Click here to read it at Daily Mail.

As a lifelong Agatha Christie fan, this is big news for me. I know some of my followers, Clarissa Draper in particular, are also fans of Christie.

The story is flawed in some ways. The POV is not well controlled. It was fairly obvious where the story was going, yet, when it got there, it felt contrived and far fetched. It was easy for me to overlook these issues. After all, it's Agatha Christie. And this is obviously something she wrote and then put aside -- most likely weaving it into two other stories that were more fully worked out. I doubt she ever intended for anyone to read this. It's as much of an inside look into her writing process as it is anything else. But with that said, I thoroughly enjoyed this lost story from the Queen of Cozy -- despite its flaws.

The story in the Daily Mail is extracted from John Curran's upcoming book: "Agatha Christie’s Murder In The Making" which will be published by HarperCollins on September 1, for £20. However, Amazon lists it as being available on November 22, 2011. It can be preordered.

What author would you like to discover an unseen manuscript for? By the way, I had planned to post this on Monday, but I'm so excited about the Agatha Christie news that I couldn't wait. So, technically, this is Monday's post. Barring any emergencies, my next post will be Wednesday the 31st. Thanks.

And now for something completely different. 

I know it's scary but try to watch the whole thing.
And is that Gene Hackman at the table?

Jane Error

First, I'm a die hard Jane Eyre fan. I feel the same way about Jane Eyre that hordes of teenagers (and adults) feel about Harry Potter. I own five movie versions of Jane Eyre, and I watch all of them. Often. I read the book every few years and have since I was eleven. It's pretty safe to say this is my favorite fiction book of all time. In my first published novel, I made my hero an actor just so he could play Edward Rochester and I could throw in the library scene from Jane Eyre -- which is rarely done in movies (to my great disappointment). I have Aidan, in that first published book, drive a Veyron because it sounds like Varens -- the little girls name in Jane Eyre. So, basically, I'm a Jane Eyre groupie. If Jane Eyre were a rock group, I'd  stalk them. They'd probably have a restraining order on me. (Just kidding, of course.)

I first heard there was going to be another Jane Eyre movie about two years ago. The director was Cary Fukunaga. I didn't recognize the name. However, in retrospect, I should have interpreted the first three letters of his last name as a bad omen. Fuk. I've waited for this since I heard that first bit of movie news. It did not play locally, so I had to wait for the DVD. I pre-ordered it, and it arrived today. I was so excited, I immediately brought out the popcorn and Milk Duds (another bad omen), and slipped this baby into the player. I pulled up an overstuffed chair and sat in breathless anticipation.

This retelling of Jane Eyre has dark, moody shots; beautiful cinematography; compelling, immensely-watchable actors, (Mia Wasikowska as Jane Eyre and Michael Fassbender as Edward Rochester) yet the word that comes to mind when I think of it is... stingy. If you've ever read a Reader's Digest condensed version of a classic, then you'll know what this was like. It's as if the director got to a scene, began it, then stopped in his haste to get to the next one. I envision an old sergeant of mine. "Okay people. Okay. Hurry up. You don't need to eat that. We ain't got all day. You can taste it later. We've got places to go, things to do."

The director repeatedly yanked me out of one scene and then dropped me into the next before finishing the previous one. Just. Splat. This went on from scene to scene. I felt utterly cheated. "Oh, Fuk, what are you doing?" I wanted to yell. (I think I actually did at one point, but I was in such shock, I'm not sure.) Fuk did this through almost the entire movie. Other scenes he just left out entirely. It was so chopped up, so lightning fast -- like a Ginsu Knife commercial -- that I wondered how these two fell in love. I've never wondered that about any previous version of Jane Eyre in my life! But this went so fast it left me wishing there were commercials -- so it would at least feel like the relationship was drawn out.

The scene of their first meeting fell as flat as Rochester's horse. (Especially when compared to the Masterpiece version.) The only thing scorching in the burning bed scene were the sheets. (Especially compared to the versions from A&E and Masterpiece.) Bringing two people so close together it looks like they're going to kiss does not equal heat. There was just one evening party scene with Jane present, and like every other scene up to that point, if fell short. Mason arrived on the first night of the party for crying out loud! I didn't even see a library. There was no real sense of mystery about what was going on in the house. Grace Poole was a non-entity and didn't show up until after the 'wedding'. Rochester's purpose for bringing Blanche Ingram to Thornfield was never developed, nor was Blanche Ingram for that matter. 

The director finally started getting the movie together toward the end. The one scene that captured the essence of Jane Eyre was the scene between Jane and Rochester after the truth came out. I wish that, and the scenes that followed, could have redeemed this movie. Unfortunately, they just didn't quite pull it off. There was too much lacking in the first half of the movie.

How disappointing. I'm going to dust off my Masterpiece, BBC, and A&E copies -- maybe even that mess with William Hurt (which no longer seems like such a mess after watching this) just so I don't feel quite so cheated. I wanted to watch a new Jane Eyre and fall in love with it! This could have been so great. It had wonderful actors. Beautiful scenery. Brilliant camera work. Marvelous costumes. Atmospheric lighting. Intelligent dialog. But the direction and editing were so bad that my mouth has been hanging open for two hours, and I can't get it to shut. How can someone so utterly screw up a masterpiece? Oh, Fuk.

I hope this will be like sushi, and I'll develop a taste for it after I've had it a few times.

The Writing on the Wall?

According to the New York Times, Amazon announced Tuesday that it has signed popular self-help author Timothy Ferriss. One more bit of news from Amazon to upset the publishing world. Amazon is rattling nerves in the offices of traditional publishers. Apparently, they are not convinced that Amazon's successes are going to help the rest of the industry as Amazon claims. According to the article in the Times, "Some independent bookstores have already said they do not intend to carry an(y) books from the retailer, not wanting to give a dollar to a company they feel is putting them out of business." I doubt Amazon is too worried about that threat.

Are those bookstores crazy? They're setting themselves up for the same fate that Borders just met. Why would they want to deliberately cost themselves sales just when they need them most? I understand principles, but this is self defeating. I think their attitude just hurries the process along. Rather than fighting the future, as Borders did, and aiding in their own demise, they need to get ready for it. It's going to arrive whether they like it or not. If they aren't adapting, they're going to be as extinct as --  well -- Borders. They could learn a thing or two from Barnes and Noble. They get it. Or maybe independents need to envision a different kind of bookshop in the future, perhaps small store fronts where customers browse on computer screens, place their orders, and then have the choice of receiving certain print books in the mail or picking them up at the stores when they arrive. 

I think booksellers and traditional publishers might need to adapt to the POD (print on demand) or PTO (print to order) model. Its economic feasibility alone should drive that. Why continue to solely do business as usual when it is losing money and there is a better economic model? Some publishers, such as Harlequin, already get that -- as attested by Carina Press. More of them need to model Amazon if they want to survive. And maybe they could take a page or two out of Ellora's playbook as well. They don't need to change completely. Just adapt more than they currently appear to be.

I don't like these trends, but that doesn't change them. I love print books and always want them to be available. I don't really like e-books or e-readers, but they're here, and they're not going away. Publishers and booksellers need to develop strategies to save print books while adapting to the changing industry.

Do you think publishers and bookstores are going to adapt in time to save their industries? As a writer and a reader, I sure hope so. What models do you think they should adopt to survive? Do you worry all major bookstores will eventually close? 

A sign of the economy or the digital age?

As most of you know, Borders Group filed for bankruptcy in February of this year in an attempt to reorganize its business. On July 18, Borders asked a bankruptcy judge for permission to sell off its remaining stores. Eight years ago, Borders was at its peak and operated 1,249 bookstores, under the Borders and Waldenbooks names, and employed 19,500 people. In July it was down to 399 stores and 10,700 employees.

I just drove by my local Borders. Even though I didn't particularly like Borders, it was sad to see the Going Out of Business banner draped over its doors, especially when considering the employees who are losing their jobs. But with the rise of digital publishing, several missteps by Borders, and the growing popularity of e-readers and online buying, its understandable. I've seen several bookstores close in my city over the years, but this particular one seems a bad sign for books. As a writer and reader, that troubles me. I still prefer print books to electronic, but they may not always be available.

How do you feel about this bankruptcy? Do you think it's the economy, the rise in electronic books, or a combination? And what about the trends in general? Are you excited by the growing popularity of e-books? And are you still excited by it if it means fewer and fewer print books in the future? 

I Know I'm Going to Miss Her. A Tomato Ate My Sister!

Alex J. Cavanaugh is running a "Worst Movies Ever" blogfest. When I think of a bad movie, "The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" immediately leaps to mind. Although, it's SUPPOSED to be bad. And it succeeded!! In fact, it's so bad it's good -- good enough to become a campy cult classic. It was filmed in 1978, and is a spoof of the much beloved B movie genre. If you've never seen it, check it out. It may be the funniest spoof ever made. It was directed by John De Bello and starred David Miller. Surprisingly, this wasn't the end of Mr. Miller's acting career. He went on to have bit parts in seven more bad movies; although none of them made as big a splat as "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" did.  

The story is about a bunch of rotten tomatoes who have issues with being eaten. (Selfish louts). If you don't want to watch the movie, at least take a peek at the opening and listen to the theme song. It's unforgettable. Really. It's unforgettable. Even if you want to forget it you won't be able to. I mean, who can forget lyrics like, "I know I'm going to miss her. A tomato ate my sister"?

Do you have any favorite 'bad' movies? How about favorite 'bad' theme songs? And can you think of any other movies that feature man-eating vegetables? (Oh, well, tomatoes are fruits, but you know what I mean). 

The Ethics of Autobiographies

Molly Ringle and I recently discussed the ethics of autobiographies, and I thought I'd blog about that. I think as people we want to "be known." I'm not sure anyone really wants to go through life and not be known intimately by at least one person. Some of us might guard our privacy as fiercely as a Doberman guarding a junkyard, but there are still people we open the locked gates for. We want to let people in. We want to be known. Even if we don't ever offer a complete tour.

There is a large market for biographies and autobiographies. Over the past year we've seen President George Bush's biography, and we've seen Snooki's. I don't think you can get any different as people or life stories. The only thing they had in common was a place on The New York Times Best Sellers list.

One issue with writing a biography or an autobiography is that we always drag other people into the mess. And I say mess because life is messy. If we're completely honest, we're going to hurt people. That's where the ethics come in. I wrote bits and pieces of my biography, but I have since destroyed it. It was impossible to write it without hurting other people -- people I love. Being known is less important to me than protecting them.

If you had publishers beating down your doors asking for your life story, would you give it to them? Would it be 100% honest, or would you withhold things that made you look bad or hurt others?

With that said, I admit that I still want to be known. I shared a story with Molly from my past. It will never make it into an autobiography, but it is going to make it into this blog. Just because, as I said, I want to be known. At least to a degree. And life is short.

A few months after I arrived in Europe, I was drawn into an incident that made international news. On March 23 of 1985, Major Arthur D. Nicholson became the last American casualty of the Cold War. He was shot by a Soviet soldier and was the only Military Liaison officer to die in the line of duty. This quickly escalated into an international incident, and Major Nicholson was promoted posthumously. The image at the top of this blog post is a photo of Major Nicholson's casket being placed on a U.S. aircraft at Rhein-Main Air Base in Germany. (A few years later, assassinated CIA Station Chief, William Buckley, who had been kidnapped by the Iranian backed Islamic Jihad, tortured and executed, came home through this same airport. He's known as the spy who never came out of the cold.)

As a result of the incident with Major Nicholson, I was assigned to a patrol at the Soviet Military Liaison Mission (SMLM). We had two cars. One was a stationary car and the other was a chase car. Our stationary car remained at the mission on a more-or-less permanent stake out, monitoring and logging all of the activity taking place at the mission. The comings and goings at the mission, and any observed activity, was documented. That was the job of our stationary car.

The chase car's job was to follow the Soviet officers whenever they left the mission and report on everything they did. It was pretty pointless really. They knew we followed them, and we were limited in what we could do. So whenever they didn't want us to follow, they would just "go beyond our boundaries" so to speak. The chase would break off at that point and we would return to SMLM.

So, back to my earlier question. If you had publishing houses knocking down your door begging for your autobiography, would you give it to them? And how important is it for you to be known? 

Victoria Holt by Any Other Name

Victoria Holt, the pen name of Eleanor Hibbert, has been credited as the inventor (and Queen) of romantic suspense, but she wrote under at least eight other names as well -- and some sources say over fifteen. She dominated the historical romance genre as Philippa Carr. She wrote royal intrigue as Jean Plaidy. Hibbert was incredibly prolific; she wrote over 30 books under the pen name Victoria Holt alone and sold more than 100 million books during her lifetime. Most writers will never equal her success.  

I am most familiar with her work as Victoria Holt. Her books are considered to be somewhat mindless escapes, but that's nice once in a while. There is a certain sameness to her plots, yet they never fail to captivate me and keep me reading. Her heroines are often naive, intelligent young women left alone in the world and in desperate straits. Often, all they have are principles and good sense. The heroes are usually rich, powerful men who can have any woman they want, yet they want the sweet, innocent girl they can't have. Usually the thing that stands between them is class distinction.

One thing I don't like about Victoria Holt books is that they often start in early childhood and linger there for the first one hundred pages. She also spent too little time with the great male characters she created. There are things she did as a writer that would never be allowed today. In The Demon Lover, (spoiler alert), the "hero" actually kidnaps the heroine, drugs her, rapes her repeatedly, sets her free, and then horror of all horrors -- she marries him at the end of the book!! Can you imagine a publisher touching that today?

Have you ever read Victoria Holt? If so, what's your favorite book? If you're not a Victoria Holt fan, what is it you don't like about her books? And, if you've never read her, do you plan to?

Here is a snippet from one of my favorite reviews of a Victoria Holt story. This one is for The Legend of the Seventh Virgin and it is posted at All Readers. I think you'll be able to spot the items I find amusing. Naturally, a woman would want to be the one woman that man can't live without -- the woman he'd give up all others for.

Main Male Character
Profession/status: - Prince/Nobleman/King - wealthy
Age/status: - 20's-30's
Eccentric/mental: Yes
Eccentric: - deluded - wild
How sexual is this person? - over 1,000,000 served
How romantic is this person? - as romantic as a root canal
Sex makes him - more demanding
Sex has good effect on him Yes
Sex makes him - confident
Sex has bad effect on him Yes
How sensitive is this character? - mean, arrogant
Sense of humor - Cynical sense of humor
Intelligence - Average intelligence
Physique - average physique

http://www.allreaders.com/topics/info_5027.asp

The Writer and Their Informants

There is an old police saying: "Good informant, good case. Bad informant, bad case. No informant, no case."

In a criminal investigation, the police need to be resourceful when gathering information. Often police are faced with the fact that they don't have much to go on. They have no eyewitnesses and they don't have much in the way of evidence. One of the things they do in a case like this is rely on informants. If you have ever seen Starsky and Hutch, you know those fictional officers often turned to their informant, Huggy Bear. He consistently gave them some crucial piece of information that helped them solve the case. That's TV, but the principle is true in the real world. Informants are critical in law enforcement, but they're actually more of a last resort than a first one.

Now with the Internet, we see a new type of informant. And often, the person doing the 'informing' is the subject of the investigation. Many cases have been solved because the person who committed a crime actually posted a video of it on YouTube or bragged about it on his or her Facebook page. Virtual informants. This 'crowd sourcing' is being used more and more by police -- both state and federal -- and also by a wide variety of other agencies looking for information. You've used it yourself if you've ever 'googled' anyone on the Internet.

Do you use informants in your stories? If you're writing a crime story or even a romance, you probably have some kind of informant. Who is yours? If you don't have an informant in your story, do you think your story would benefit from adding one?

A Late Night Patrol. Writing Justice for the Dead - One Veteran's Story.

Why do we choose the subjects we do when we write? Some of us have political, social, or religious agendas. Some of us just want to educate, entertain, express ourselves, or cope. But I believe all writers have a reason for writing what they do.

When I first began putting stories on paper, I was a child, so I wrote children's stories. My subjects have changed over the years. I tend to write from experience, and my life usually shows up in my stories. I'm not writing my life, but my life definitely affects everything I write.

Over the last several years, I have written stories that primarily center around justice, and I tie that to incidents that I experienced in law enforcement. Justice is rarely served, and sometimes, the only way to achieve it is to write it into a story. It is so often lacking in real life. One of the times I encountered this was when I was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany with the Army's 284th Military Police Company.

It was foggy that night, impossible to see beyond the beams of our patrol car. I began the shift with a lie of omission -- and a new partner in a bad mood. Confessing to being the source of Beheng's anger wasn't an option at that moment, and I decided to save the necessary moment of truth for later, preferably as much later as possible.

The 284th was one of those assignments that everyone wanted, and we were the lucky ones to get it. We handled military-related law enforcement for Frankfurt and all of the surrounding cities. It was like being a cop in New York City -- only we covered more territory. I listened quietly as Beheng ranted about his pre-shift detail, which had been the laundry room of our barracks.

We all had pre-shift details. We worked twelve-hour shifts, but before and after each shift, we had Army-related duties. Our twelve-hour shifts usually worked out to be about eighteen. After that, we did our personal chores: laundry, ironing, cleaning, and whatever else we needed to do to get ready for our next shift. It left us with no time, and we were usually functioning on two to three hours of sleep a night. There were times when we worked up to three months without days off. We were all on the verge of snapping. That night, Beheng had snapped.

And it was my fault.

He just didn't know it yet.

I had been running late and needed to get the trash out of my room. I shared the room with Janelle Bebo. Janelle had just left, and I couldn't ask her for help. So I took our trash and put it into the trash can in the laundry room. I was too tired to think about the consequences for whoever was responsible for the laundry room. I was just thinking about getting the trash out of my room and still making it to guard mount on time.

As I settled into the patrol car with Beheng, he began his rant. Bebo had left her trash in the laundry room. There had been a pizza box with her name on it in the trash, and he was going to let her have it the next time he saw her. Literally. He had saved the trash and was going to bury her in it. Since I was her roommate, and as likely a suspect as Bebo, (more so since I was the one coming on shift), he was taking it out on me. I debated telling him the truth right then, but I decided to save the confession for later. After all, we were both armed, and I didn't want to get shot.

Like I said, Beheng had snapped.

It wasn't a very busy midnight shift, so we met up with other MPs throughout the course of the night. Each time we did, the 'trash' subject was brought up by Beheng. He would rage on about what he was going to do to Bebo next time he saw her, and I just stood by in guilty silence, waiting for the best time to tell him. I decided that would be at the end of the shift after we'd turned in our weapons to the arms' room. I'm sure he suspected me, but I didn't think a confession while armed was a good idea. 

Since we weren't busy, we were able to do all of our security checks. There had been several terrorist bombings on military bases in the area, so we did frequent checks of those compounds to watch for suspicious activity. We also patrolled civilian apartment complexes that housed large numbers of military personnel. We were patrolling a German apartment complex around two AM.  Beheng was driving and cautiously maneuvering the different streets in the complex while I watched our surroundings. My task was impossible. It was so foggy I couldn't even see the sidewalks or the grass, much less anything on them.

After we finished, I called in our check, and Beheng pulled out of the complex back onto the street.

I had no sooner called it in than dispatch called us back. A soldier, who was walking his dog, had discovered a dead body lying in the grass beside one of the buildings of the apartment complex. We had just driven by it, but I hadn't even seen it because of the fog. We turned around, drove a few hundred feet, and parked -- quickly finding the man, his dog, and the deceased.

At first, I thought I was looking at a dead child -- a boy of about twelve. Here was someone's baby. I walked as close as I could without disturbing anything and bent down, checking the child's neck for a pulse. There was no pulse, and the skin was still warm and supple. The death had recently occurred. The child's head was completely caved in on the right side. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. There was no blood on the scene, so it was obvious that the death had occurred someplace else, and this was a secondary crime scene. The boy had been laid flat, and his body was neatly arranged. His hands were in his pockets. He wore clean white socks. The ground was soaked from earlier rains, but those socks were pristine. They had not even touched a floor -- much less the wet grass.

I stood and moved back, hoping I hadn't contaminated the crime scene. We secured the area and started talking to apartment residents. We soon discovered that the 12-year-old boy was actually an adult woman. She was so small and boyish looking that her appearance had been deceptive. We also discovered that she was a German national, so we called in the German police.

While we waited for them, we spoke with her neighbors. She was a lesbian and a prostitute. She worked in the red-light district in Frankfurt. She and her girlfriend shared the apartment, and apparently they were involved in a lovers' triangle. There had been a loud argument in the apartment shortly before she was found murdered. We had a general idea of what had happened, and when the polizei arrived, Beheng attempted to tell them what he had discovered. They brushed all that off and said it was obviously a suicide.

The woman, according to them, had jumped.

I'd been with the 284th for over a year, and I had worked with many German police officers during that time. These were the first German police officers who had not impressed me.

The woman's body was removed without any investigation, and after it was all over, Beheng and I were left with our mouths hanging open. We could barely believe what had just taken place. Apparently, the murder of a lesbian prostitute was not high on the priority list of these particular police officers.

Beheng had forgotten about the trash.

We were both devastated by what had just happened. The story soon spread like the flu. Everyone on duty with the 284th that night was sickened by the lack of justice for this murdered woman. Though Beheng and I had primarily just been acquaintances when our shift began, we knew each other better now and had shared a traumatic experience. We ended up our shift completely somber but more comfortable with each other.

After we returned to the police station, I told Beheng the truth about the trash. He barely commented on it. A few minutes later, he asked if I could do him a favor. Would I go out to the patrol car and get his briefcase? He needed some paperwork in it. I went out, but when I came back in, he told me he didn't have the right paperwork after all and asked if I'd check my briefcase. Perhaps I had the right paperwork. At this point, all of the MPs who had been on duty that night had returned, and many of the MPs who were coming on duty were present.

I went to my briefcase, opened it

... and it was filled with trash.

I almost fell down laughing. Dozens of people were there when I opened that briefcase -- the MPs coming on duty, and the MPs going off, the desk sergeants, and the patrol supervisors -- and every one of them was laughing.

And I think we really needed that laugh.

I dreamed about her several times after that -- the woman discarded like trash. In my dreams she always had my sister's face. It haunted me for months. Very few people cared. Those who should have sought justice, didn't. Killers walked free.

My writing changed because of things I witnessed in the military.

I always make sure justice is served in my stories.

It's so often lacking in reality.
Doralynn Kennedy


The photo I use in this post was taken in Rome in early 1986, about one year after the event I relate in this post. I was working with PSD at the time this photo was taken.

Today is Veteran's Day, November 11, 2009. So thank you to all vets and all active duty military personnel and their families.

Spycraft and Strange Spy Gadgets, The Elderly Man Next Door

The old man who lives next door keeps strange hours and does not welcome visitors. The neighbor's boy was allowed in one time, but only because it was storming outside and the child was locked out of his house. No one else was at home to help the boy that day.

But other than one small child, no one else has ever set foot inside the old man's home.

Rumors swirl around him like falling leaves in the autumn. One tale bearer claims the hermit is all alone in the world. His family was killed in some tragic accident. Other gossipers weave gruesome tales of a serial killer who escaped from prison or was never brought to justice in the first place. Wild tales are concocted at dinner parties and spread around the table like jams and jellies.

Just the month before, the elderly gentleman bought a poodle at the mall and brought it home with him. Now he spends more time outside, walking his dog into the woods that border one side of his property.

Shortly after the dog moved in, and the old man began taking frequent walks, a strange car began prowling the streets at night.

The boy who spent an afternoon at the old man's house watches from his third-floor bedroom with fascination. The car comes late at night, headlights off, and parks in the dark. A bulky shape emerges, enters the woods and disappears from sight. Eventually, the mysterious visitor reemerges -- carrying a small package -- settles back into his car and slowly drives away into the night.

The boy keeps his observations to himself. He likes the old man with the houseful of computers, TV screens, and radio equipment. And he can keep a secret.

You have probably guessed by now that the old man is a spy, and the boy has witnessed something he was never meant to see.

Around 1970, as the conflict in Vietnam escalated, United States military intelligence (and no, that is not an oxymoron) developed a homing device camouflaged as dog or monkey droppings. It was actually a homing device officially known as a T-1151 radio transmitter, and unofficially it was known as a Doo radio transmitter.

This inconspicuous little spy gadget could send or receive radio messages, usually by Morse code. It was positioned throughout the jungles of Vietnam, relentlessly transmitting a radio signal that led aircraft to enemy ground sites for strikes or reconnaissance missions.

Because the device looked like -- well -- poop, it was usually left undisturbed. Therefore it could be planted well in advance of any mission.

It is still in use today, as our elderly neighbor could verify. If he were talking.

Thanks!