A Good News Story of a Cigar, a War Won and Priceless Stolen Art Returned

In these difficult days, we all need a good news story and this one began eighty-four years ago when an Ottawa photographer, Yousuf Karsh, pulled a cigar out of Winston Churchill's mouth, rushed back to his camera and took a photo of the furious Churchill. 

The day was December 30, 1941 and Churchill had just given a speech to the Canadian House of Commons to rally support for the war against Hitler. Britain and Canada had been at war for two long years, endured the loss of many lives, and America had just entered the war on December 8, 1941. Churchill was desperate to steel the resolve of the allies and to rally more help from America; Churchill's annoyance at Karsh for taking his cigar would help with both of those, while also becoming the most reproduced portrait in the history of photography. 

Canada’s leading general interest magazine at the time, Saturday Night, published the scowling photo of Churchill, dubbed the Roaring Lion. When Life magazine put The Roaring Lion on their cover three weeks later, it focused the attention of the American public on the plight of Britain, and convinced them of Britain’s determination to win the war. The Roaring Lion photo is widely credited with helping Churchill rally the support he desperately needed to win the war. 

Maria Tippett, Karsh’s biographer, stated: 

“Just like the Old Masters who made kings and queens appear more beautiful or more powerful than they were, Karsh had used artful manipulation to transform an unpromising negative of a tired, overweight, sick, and slightly annoyed man into a photograph of a heroic figure.”

The Roaring Lion photo also catapulted Karsh's career and he soon became one of the most famous portrait photographers of all time. He went on to  photograph many famous political and military leaders, writers, actors, artists, musicians, scientists, and celebrities in the post-war period. Among his other famous portraits are the iconic photos of Ernest Hemingway, George Bernard Shaw, Dwight D. Eisenhower and Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev. 

Karsh gifted the Roaring Lion photo, along with with other portraits, to the Chateau Laurier, the Ottawa hotel that was his home for almost two decades. This was another part of the good news story - these photographs were placed in the Château’s reading lounge, where everyone could enjoy these priceless works of art in the same lounge that Karsh and his wife spent many hours. 

Unfortunately, making The Roaring Lion accessible to everyone who loves art also made it accessible to those who love to steal art and, sometime between December, 2021 and January, 2022, it was, indeed, stolen. However, because it was replaced with a forgery, it was eight months before the theft was discovered. 

Robert K. Wittman, a former Federal Bureau of Investigation special agent said, “The real trick in art crime...is not in the stealing; it’s in the selling.”

The time between the theft and the discovery of that theft gave the thief a window of opportunity to sell it when no one knew it was stolen property. When The Roaring Lion photograph was finally located in Italy, in the home of art lover, Nicola Cassinelli, the problem was that Italian law didn't oblige him to relinquish it. He had bought it in good faith and he could keep it. 

Here's where more good news comes in: Cassinelli waved his rights as a good-faith purchaser along with any financial compensation for the portrait, and he handed it over to Italian police. 

“It cannot belong to one person and cannot be confined to the private space of a living room,” Cassinelli said. “The Roaring Lion belongs to anyone who cherishes freedom… I did not hesitate to return it.” 

The other piece of rather charming good news is that Cassinelli still enjoys the photo, because he purchased a cheap replica from an online poster shop and hung it in place of the stolen original. 

The thief? He was arrested on April 25, 2024, and charged. 

When I first wrote about this art heist, it was not as a good news story but a story of a tragic loss for Canada. Now that the Roaring Lion was put back in it's original place in Chateau Laurier on November fifteenth, 2024, I'm able to see the thread of good news in this eighty-four-year-old story. 

I'm not a 'glass half full' person because, like with most sayings, I don't even understand what it means. If there's good news and bad news, putting it in a glass doesn't change that - it's just good and bad news in a glass - whatever putting it in a glass means in the first place. However, I am forever in love with stories because turning the page in time brings a new twist, another turn, and that can alter everything. 

Who knew that taking away Churchill's cigar could result in the good news stories of helping to win a war and also helping a Canadian photographer capture images of many iconic figures of world history? Many years later, the good news continues in the form two other utterly unique stories; priceless works of art that can be enjoyed by anyone who walks into the reading lounge of a downtown hotel and an Italian returning a priceless piece of art back to its home in Canada, just because it was the right thing to do.

Women in the Military: From History to Mystery

 Okay, this post isn't really by moi.  I'm merely fronting for my good friend here.

It is my pleasure to introduce Alison Bruce to all you SleuthSayers!  Alison is the Executive Director of Crime Writers of Canada (yes, she took over from me a few years ago, bless her!)  With a dad who was in the Canadian Navy, and a British mother who was in the Royal Observer Corp during WW-II, her take on using history to embrace story-telling is particularly inspiring, I think.  Take it away, Alison!

Women in the Military:  From History to Mystery

by Alison Bruce

My favourite teacher of my favourite subject knocked the academic wind out of my sales in grade thirteen.  He told me, "You'll never be an historian."

I was hurt, angry, and determined to prove him wrong.

It turned out he was correct.  After graduating with a double major in history and philosphy, I finally got it.  I write stories, not history.

I decided to do my undergraduate thesis on women in the military in World War 1 and 11.  The focus would be World War 11 because my aunt was in the British Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS).  I grew up listening to the war experiences of my aunt, mother (Observer Corps) and grandmother (first time in the workforce.)  Unlike Nana and Mum, however, my aunt kept in touch with the women she served with. With their help, the bulk of the paper was going to be based on the stories of women in the military.

They were able to reach out to friends of friends and post my call for volunteers locally, something I couldn't do in Canada.  (This was the 1980s.  No World Wide Web to access.)

If I'd had enough time to gather more stories,I might have written a good popular history book.  But, as my academic advisor pointed out, I didn't have enough primary research other than stories.

That was okay.  By this time I had added Philosophy as a second major, and had given up on the idea of teaching because of the horror stories I was hearing from friends.  (What do you mean I would be expected to wear  pantyhose and a skirt or dress?) I had also started my second novel.  (I lost the first one in the woman's washroom at college.)

Fast forward a quarter century.  I still love to research history, or almost anything else, but prefer to write stories.  I've used research to write a mystery set in the old west, a romance set in the American Civil War, three mysteries set in Canada, and one in the Arctic Ocean involving the US and Canadian Navies.  Now I'm going back to the stories that put me on the road to becoming a writer.

I don't know of any author who has written about being in the Royal Observer Corps.  If you do know of such a book, fiction or nonfiction, please let me know in the comments.  It was made up of volunteers except for a few naval officers who ran the outfit.  My mother's tales of her service were largely self-deprecating, but that just makes them tailor-made for storytelling.  And all those stories I listened to when I was writing my paper?  Grist for the mill.  I only wish my professor was still alive so I could send her a copy of the book...when I finally finish it.

Alison Bruce is the Executive Director of Crime Writers of Canada. She writes history, mystery, and suspense.  Her books combine clever mysteries, well-researched backgrounds, and a touch of romance. Four of her novels have been finalists for genre awards.

 GHOST WRITER 

In her role as ghostwriter, Jen Kirby joins a Canadian Arctic expedition to document and help solve a forty-year-old mystery involving an American submarine station lost during the Cold War. The trouble is, there are people—living and dead—who don't want the story told, and they’ll do anything to stop her.

https://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Writer-Alison-Bruce-ebook/dp/B07Q6SS1K3 

Finer than Fiction

How to Lose a Reader

Reading for pure pleasure seems to have slipped by the wayside in recent years, but a common cold– natures' way of telling me to slow the hell down– waylaid me. I relaxed with a friend. It's good when another's bookshelf looks at least as interesting as my own, so there I am facing Jeffrey Deaver, James North Patterson, and a host of others. Literary historicals like The Name of the Rose and The Rule of Four intrigue me, so I pluck up a book that compares itself to these along with Possession and A Case of Curiosities.

Sixty-some pages later, I toss the book aside. It isn't a bad book and if I find myself cast away on a desert island with a trunkful of National Enquirers, I'll certainly read it.

I don't name the title in question, partly because it isn't a bad book– it simply didn't engage me. Moreover, I didn't finish it– It might burst into excitement mere pages after I abandoned it. Besides, I don't like the idea of criticizing another writer, a practice that might come back to haunt one.

The problem is nothing happens. It's like Waiting for Godot set in New York and London. To illustrate chapter-by-chapter,

1. Edward, bored and boring options trader, is asked to uncrate ancient books.
2. He's invited to a party, but falls asleep.
3. He plays a video game, then falls asleep.
4. He returns to unpack books and the reader falls asleep.

Sure, the writing is clever. I can see what looks like setups for future plot points. But worse than the lack of forward motion, I feel no bond with the main character. Burdened with a Kerouac-like lack of direction, the guy's not particularly likable. I'm well aware the book could suddenly take off but reading time is precious. Instead of plucking another book off the shelf, I seek a recommendation.

My hostess hands me two books, non-fiction. She tells me there's an unlikely link between them.

Literary Crossroad

The first is 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff. It's a series of actual letters between the author and a London bookshop between 1949 and 1969.

Wait, stay with me here. Within a handful of pages, this little book does what the novel above failed to do– it captures the intellect and the emotions.

The book isn't about the war, but it quickly capsulizes post-war America and Britain. Rationing in the US ended in 1946, but while North America poured millions into rebuilding Germany and Japan, British citizens were starving, subsisting on two ounces of meat a week and one egg a month. Stiff upper lip, they soldiered on with the importance of maintaining an ordinary life. That's only background… the real story is yet to come.

How does this relate to crime writing? In the early 1950s, Helene Hanff wrote for Ellery Queen. I don't mean the magazine, I mean E-l-l-e-r-y Q-u-e-e-n. More than once I thought of Dale Andrews. While he'll appreciate that special history, anyone can admire this fast read.

Marks of Excellence

The other book is Between Silk and Cyanide by Leo Marks. I don't like war novels; I don't like them at all. Lose a friend or two and war doesn't seem entertaining. But I appreciate tales of espionage from Erskine Childers' classic The Riddle of the Sands to Alistair MacLean's brilliant novels.

Between Silk and Cyanide is fact, not fiction, told wryly with a self-deprecating charisma. It's about code-breaking and as those with deep computer backgrounds know, the British led when it came to codes and cracking them.

See, after World War I, Secretary of State Henry Stimson shut down the military code-breaking department, MI-8, famously saying "Gentlemen don't read other gentlemen's mail." He took steps to punish cryptologist Herbert Yardley, who considered monitoring coded messages vital.

Franklin Roosevelt recognized the need for intelligence and worked with former classmate William 'Wild Bill' Donovan and famed Canadian spymaster William 'Little Bill' Stephenson, a man considered the inspiration for fictional spies such as James Bond. However, the OSS found itself lagging far behind its allies.

I Spy with my Little Eye

In the 1970s, whenever a television series ran thin on plots, the writers suddenly revealed their hero(ine) secretly worked for the CIA. Thus we found the likes of Jessica Fletcher conspiring with British Intelligence against the KGB, a ghastly plot device that burdens lackluster television today.

I promised to connect 84 Charing Cross Road with a book about spies. The London address happened to be that of Helene Hanff's bookshop, Marks & Co, and their son, 22-year-old Leo Marks, turned out to have a gift with cryptography and wrote the book Between Silk and Cyanide.

For young Marks' initial interview, his superiors devised a sort of test. They handed him a coded message and a key and left him to his devices. An hour later, they looked in on him and again an hour after that. With dismay, they said, "Our code girls decrypt these in twenty minutes."

Marks persisted and just before closing handed them the decoded message. His superiors sighed, obviously disappointed. As Marks turned to leave, they asked him to return the key.

"What key?" he asked.

"The cypher key. Surely we gave you the key for it?" they said.

Er, no, they hadn't. Marks hadn't decoded the message given the key, he'd actually cracked the code as if he'd been a foreign spy.

Marks asked, "You don't actually use this code, do you?"

"Not any more."

And thus Marks went on to rattle SOE, the Special Operations Executive, and battle its entrenched 'good enough for us' director who detested innovation, even when lives were lost.

Since Marks wasn't permitted to tell anyone where he worked, speculation spread among neighbors he was avoiding military service. His family endured white feathers in their mailbox– the insidious shaming device the British used to call others cowards.

I haven't reached the halfway point, but my hostess gave it the greatest compliment when she said she hadn't wanted it to end.

The Bottom Line

So, when nothing on the bestseller list appeals to you, consider a pair of books, Helene Hanff's 84 Charing Cross Road and Leo Marks' Between Silk and Cyanide.

They may be non-fiction, but they're damn fine storytelling.