Don't Call Me a Crook!: A Scotsman's Tale of World Travel, Whisky and Crime

by Bob Moore, James Kelman (Afterword), Nicholas Towasser (Introduction)

It is a pity there are getting to be so many places that I can never go back to, but all the same, I do not think it is much fun a man being respectable all his life. Thus begins Don't Call Me a Crook!, a memoir of a 1920s youth thoroughly, noisily and lawlessly lived. Bob Moore, a Glaswegian, was a marine engine, occasional building superintendent and ramblin' man. "I have been round the world seven times, and I have been shipwrecked three times, and I have spent ?100,000" Moore boasts. In Don't Call Me he recounts pitched battles with Chinese bandits, life in gangster-infested Chicago, and decadent orgies aboard a millionaire's yacht.
Don't Call Me a Crook! A Scotsman's Tale of World Travel, Whisky and Crime is a hardboiled-noir memoir. It's picaresque, perverse, and darkly funny. A tribute to one man's triumph over the law, morals and sobriety, it's a lost confession that will be crowned a classic.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir

255 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2009

Reviews

[Greg · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don’t like boats.

As a child I didn’t like books that had boats in them. Adventure stories on boats bored me. Robert Louis Stevenson was a drag. In Boy Scouts I had three merit badges for supposedly being able to be nautical, but I retained nothing about learning how to use a canoe, a rowboat or a small sailboat. The only thing I liked about earning those was that for each badge at some point you had to capsize the boat. I rocked at that part.

In college I resented the ferry that needed to be taken to get from Plattsburgh to Burlington VT, not because I was scared of boats or anything, but because it stopped running so early that when you went to Burlington to see a show you either had to leave before the main band got halfway through their set, or else drive all the way up to Canada and back down again to get around the nocturnally boatless lake.

My dad owned a boat for a bit, and I disliked going out on that too. All you seemed to do was take forever to get the thing into the water and back out again so that you could race along a lake with your knees being bashed into things from the choppy water. Another Dad story, he once tried to rent a small sailboat, like the one I used to earn my merit badge with. I didn’t think this was a good idea, but being the child I had no say. We went out in it, and he flipped the fuck out because I was so totally ignorant about how to do anything that he eventually made me leave the boat. For the rest of the hour or two that we had rented the boat for he sat about twenty feet from shore trying to get the boat to move while throwing a temper tantrum. It was a little boat, and my dad’s not really a small guy. The memory is locked in my mind as being both another failure of father and son doing anything together that didn’t result in anger, and very very comical.

Why all of this about boats? Because I blame the boats in this book for my not fully enjoying this memoir. I can’t blame the book for that, since the guy is technically a boat engineer, so much of the story takes place on boats as he goes from place to place living his amoral life. But every time boats get too involved in the story I get all glassy eyed. I’m fairly certain that the boats are the reason I never got fully into this book.

But what about the parts that aren’t on boats, or where the boat just becomes something incidental to the story? Good rhetorical question, Greg. I have never read the Jack Black book You Can’t Win (or something like that), so I can’t compare it to that other memoir of a life in crime, but there is something very similar to Klaus Kinski’s memoir in here. Like Kinski, there is something sociopathic about Bob Moore. He has a general lack of empathy for others that is strikingly comical. He’s not a nice man. Unlike Kinski (or by Kinski’s words, I don’t know what to believe from his book, I’m pretty sure he’s lying most of the time, but I’m not sure if he knows he is lying) who hates things like racism and bigotry, Moore fully embraces every and all negative stereotype about all people, including his own Scottish background. This can cause some to think the book is offensive and dismiss it outright, but that’s a weak intellectual response. Of course it is offensive, if someone held these views today you’d think that they were either incredibly ignorant or hateful. Bob Moore might be a bit on the ignorant side when it comes to diversity in others, but he’s not a hateful person. He just doesn’t seem to see other people as much more than either a means or a hindrance to him having a good time. People who take away his enjoyment he avoids. People who can be used to get money out of, or some kind of advantage he exploits. It’s not that he’s even really trying to get ahead in the world, he’s just trying to enjoy himself, and like a child he doesn’t see the problem in taking someone’s money if he can get it so that he can go drink it all away and have a few weeks party at the other person’s expense. His regrets over doing these things aren’t really how the other person feels or what effect he has on them, but that those people will now try to cause him some kind of discomfort so he avoids them and usually the city that they are from. This is a very hedonistic way of living, and he takes little responsibility for his actions, but it’s also a big world and he can always find employment on a ship to take him to yet another port to continue his conning and drinking.

The book does get a little repetitive at times. The guy isn’t looking to do much more than enjoy himself, and his pleasures are pretty common ones. So the reader gets a lot of tales of drinking and sleeping around. And Bob Moore I don’t think would be ashamed of the repetitiveness, since the book itself is just another of his schemes to make a few bucks which will probably go to more drinking and sleeping around.

The book is fun although at times a little tedious. Bob Moore is definitely not the type of person I’d ever want to spend time with, but spending time with the story of his life was enlightening in someway or other.

[Matthew W · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not since James Shelby Downard's "The Carnivals of Life and Death: My Profane Youth: 1913-1935" have I read such a fantastic "real-life" story of a man from many decades past as that told in Bob Moore's autobiography "Don't Call me a Crook!." Mr. Moore was a suave Scottish criminal who was very good at charming individuals into allowing him to rob them (among other things). Bob traveled all around the world from Canada and China looking for naive individuals to take advantage of.

The first sentence in "Don't Call Me a Crook!" basically sums up Bob Moore's life view and philosophy: "It is a pity there are getting to be so many places that I can never go back to, but all the same, I do not think it is much fun a man being respectable all his life." After reading that introductory sentence, I realized that I was getting into the autobiography of an somewhat respectable "eccentric criminal character" of sorts. I certainly would not mind talking to Bob Moore instead of your typical American kiss ass politician. Mr. Moore is a man of many insights and self-taught student of human behavior. After all, were he not so good at reading individuals, he would have not have gotten away with so many romantic crimes.

Mr. Moore is the ultimate individual, someone that lives for his own kicks at the expense of others. But then again, Mr. Moore may end up screwing over everyone he meets, but at the same time those same individuals will probably remember Bob Moore better than most others that pass through their banal lives. Like the true showman and carny huckster, Bob Moore knows how to sweet talk both genders. Whether it be a homosexual "nancyboy" or rich older women with too much excess cash, Mr. Moore knows what to say to lure these "victims" into his world of somewhat worldly Scottish charm.

I also highly enjoyed how "Don't Call Me a Crook!" was what the contemporary American citizen might call "politically incorrect." Of course, Bob Moore makes sure to insult people of all backgrounds whether they be obese swarthy Jews or stupid (and rich) Dutchmen or downtrodden chinks. Bob Moore tells it like it is and makes no apologies about it.

The cover of "Don't Call Me a Crook!" is not an actual photograph of Bob Moore. Instead, it is a young man who somewhat resembles early silent screen star Rudolph Valentino, a man like Bob Moore, who had a natural ability of using charisma to further his "career."

"Don't Call Me a Crook!" features an informative introduction by Dissident Books owner Nicholas Towasser, a man that certainly values the books he publishes. Mr. Towasser has also included valuable footnotes to make "Don't Call me a Crook!" a smooth (various old slang is used throughout the book) and more pleasurable experience.

[Dissident Books · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is our second release and we're just as proud.

Insane. Drunk. Obnoxious. Yet oddly charming and loveable. Welcome to the life and times of Glaswegian not-so master thief and marine engineer, Bob Moore. While your great-grandmother was doing the Lindy, Moore was sailing across the world, stealing, cheating, lying, brawling, binge drinking, fornicating, and killing. But he did it all with a cheeky grin. James Kelman's afterword puts Moore's world in the context of Scottish life and working-class literature. The introduction and annotations by Dissident Books editor Nicholas Towasser (me) shed light on the fascinating case of Mr. Moore, and provide historical details and explanations. This is a must-read for Scots, sailors, drunks, crooks, vagabonds, and the people who love them!

[Heather · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bob Moore wants his readers to know that he is not a thief. He just takes the opportunities that have been presented to him, even if that means he has to do a little swindling and lying, but he most certainly is not a thief. This vivid memoir, written in 1935, displays Moore in all his unique glory. From his stint as Chief Engineer on a luxury yacht of the restlessly rich to his snatching of a sack full of diamonds, Moore relates his almost unbelievable tale in a theatrical and over-the-top style. As he winds his way from Glasgow to New York to China, Moore unfailingly finds himself in odd and lucrative situations. His boundless pluck in circumstances like his wildly unsuccessful job in elevator repair or his elaborate duping of a mysterious woman on a train remains a constant throughout his tale. With an attitude as abrasive as sandpaper and no morals of which to speak, his adventures not only astound in the fact that they happened, but in the fact that he got out of them alive. Moore never seems to lose his cool but rather seems to gain someone else's property, no matter what is happening to him. Some of the insights in his story are telling asides of the times in which they were written, giving an almost birds-eye view of the events unfolding during the 1930's and 40's. Whether or not you like this audacious man, it becomes evident that Bob Moore is not only a con man's con man, but a man who can spin a yarn with the best of them.

I was a little uncertain of what to expect with this book. Would it be uproariously funny or would his antics be too reckless to be enjoyable? What I found was a pleasant surprise. Though it's not very literary, Moore's book seems to capture his vitality and pluck in a way that immediately enmeshes his reader. Moore sidles his way around a story, and often the reader is left wondering about his actual complicity in the unlikely events that he seems to continuously find himself in. Yet at times this often funny tale veers into much darker territory, capturing a grit and intensity of a life lived without apologies.

I found that although I could never stomach a man like Moore in person, reading about him was a quite different matter and it was entertaining in a way that I found unexpected. I savored the intensity of the story but I didn't want to get too close. Moore always came across as disarmingly frank, yet he also has a secretive side and didn't always tell the whole story or let on all he knew about the events he was involved in. Often I was left wondering if Moore really was the lovable reprobate that he wanted his readers to believe he was or if the reality was much more ominous. I noticed that many who tangled with the man met with mysterious accidents or acts of sabotage and that those events were always related with a certain satisfaction, which left me wondering about Moore's capacity for vengeance.

Though he mostly came across as very charming and affable, there were moments when his attitude floated into the realm of racism and violence; I found those sections of his narrative were curiously left unexplored and unexamined. On the other hand, the sheer non-stop adventure of his tale left me at times incredulous. I found myself constantly asking if it was possible for this much mayhem to really have existed in Moore's life or if these were just a collection of exaggerated adventures meant to regale. After awhile though, I simply got too involved with his tales of adventure to speculate on these things and started wondering what his next move was going to be.

There was much to enjoy about this book, from the easy rapport that Moore establishes in his recollections to the insanity of some of the situations he places himself in. The only problem I had with the book was that it was not written in a very conversational or literary style. At times it reads almost like a detailed list of exploits, with a dearth of dialogue or description to smooth out the story. Although there was a sufficient amount of action and excitement to attract even the most finicky reader, the delivery was a bit rough.

This book was bold and exciting in a way that I wouldn't have expected by just glancing at the cover or reading a blurb. I came to enjoy the company of this sketchy little man, and I think that readers who are looking for a little variety and color in their memoirs would find a lot to love here. Is Moore just a teller of tall tales, or is there more to the life of this grifter then what's to be expected? Give this book a read, and then decide for yourself.

[David Milnes · Rating 4 out of 5]

Don’t Call Me a Crook! A Scotsman’s Tale of World Travel, Whisky, and Crime, by Bob Moore.

Dissident Books, New York.
www.dissidentbooks.com


The first two parts of this book span three continents and twenty years of Bob Moore’s life and they define for the rest of time a single word: ‘wastrel’. The third and final part, when Moore arrives in China, undoes that effort with the introduction of his limey friend Mitchell, who plumbs depths even Moore cannot reach. The earlier ‘reminiscences’ are always engaging and sometimes amusing, if marred by moments that are downright unbelievable. But the account of China is authentic, horrible, unforgettable – something you have to read.
Don’t Call Me a Crook! was first published in 1935. Moore died two years later of ‘acute alcohol gastritis’ aged 38; a literary death, perhaps, for a Glaswegian marine engineer. The book is entirely autobiographical and reading it, as the editor points out, is like listening to Moore himself. Or rather, it is like listening to Moore read aloud what he has written, because the transition to the page is marked by slight shifts towards formality. No contractions, no accent, no pause for breath. It takes about two pages to get used to this style, then Moore’s voice begins to live inside your head and you can’t get free. Seeing the world through his eyes is to see the underlying moral chaos all around, the havoc the male animal wreaks everywhere in pursuit of sex and money.
Though Moore would like to think he’s forever striking out on a new adventure and kicking over his traces, never letting responsibilities get the upper hand, never letting conformity best him, he is actually forever on the run, and is beaten by circumstance at every turn. Because he seldom sees things this way he seldom feels defeated, but at the same time he never learns. On the boat over to America he outwits a diamond dealer and collects fourteen gems worth enough capital to change his life. He swiftly offloads them in Al Capone’s Chicago without being double-crossed or chopped up by gangsters. Whether it’s wholly true or not the story’s wish-fulfilment is significant. After such a triumph, what does he do? He takes the sleeper to New York and gets pissed. He blows the roll. Within months he’s broke again, back on the street, hungry for another break.
There are readers who will see something heroic in this: here’s a working man who wants to seize what life has to offer with both hands, a chancer who won’t ‘let the buggers grind him down’ and so on. But the reality the book describes when Moore has the chance to live life to the full is just swank hotels, getting pissed, and wining and dining women who are either prostitutes or who trade in similar fashion. This is the tops: plenty of Scotch, a good fuck, and hangovers so bad you can’t even mention them. One of the most ironic episodes of the book comes in the second section where Moore has, by his own account, “the best job I ever had in my life”. He has fluked his way onto a millionaire’s yacht as chief engineer. (A millionaire, incidentally, who is so mean-spirited he steals his lobsters from fishermen’s lobster pots.) Moore is quite capable of doing the chief engineer’s job, in fact he’s the most capable seaman on the boat and he saves the day a couple of times. The irony of this episode is that the millionaire, his sons and their friends live life as Moore does when he’s in the money: they remain pissed all day and entertain parties of Ziegfeld Follies on and below deck. There are drug fuelled orgies. A girl dives overboard and drowns. The yacht rocks.
Moore holds these millionaire wastrels in contempt, and quite rightly so, but if he had their money, what else would he do?
China wasn’t roaring in quite the same way as America around this time.
Moore’s paraffin boat on the Yangtse has armour plating to stop the bandits, who can mass in armies thousands strong. When they finally strike, by night, the crew, including Moore, is ready for them with steam hoses fixed to the ship’s boilers. They scald the screaming bandits from the deck into the river, where the current drags them to their deaths. By day, gangs of coolies haul shipping through the Three Gorges when the current is too strong. Moore sees a man fall from the gang down the mountain and into the river. No one even turns round. In a village he visits he sees women shuffling with bound feet – this is just 80 years ago – and there’s a live pornography show: a young woman is mutilated at the stake for adultery. Part of the excitement is cutting off her breasts. (This is not described: to his credit Moore doesn’t dwell on such things.) In an idle moment on deck he watches the body of a young girl being dragged up the bank by a dog. This is unmistakably an eye-witness account. You feel the cold of the gorges, the force of the current that can hold a steamer at Dead Slow with its engines Full Ahead, and you sense the struggle on the banks for a scrap of food, a few cents, or some opium to take away the pain of living in such circumstances.
There’s worse to come for Moore on the Yangtse. Egged on by a panicky Mitchell he shoots a boy in self-defence. In an engine room brawl he fells a man with a shovel, cleaves his skull open and kills him. Afterwards he’s invited on deck for a talk with the opium-smoking Chinese captain. He has earned respect.
As the Yangtse voyage closes we arrive at the last pages of the book. There isn’t much dialogue in Moore’s writing, but a precious snippet occurs here. You will have loathed or enjoyed Mitchell, depending on your sense of humour, but here he says something important no matter how you take him. Moore, who has rescued and bailed out Mitchell so many times, comes to the house of a Polish woman in Shanghai to fetch his friend aboard for their return to Glasgow. Mitchell is lying down drunk, of course. One eye open.
He’s changed his mind. He’s deserting Moore again. He no longer wants to go back.
“I’ve only got me mother and she’s in Canada . . . Go ‘way and leave me . . . Get away . . . . . I’ve only got me mother in the world . . .”
Dear Old Mum. Neither man has ever formed a lasting relationship with anyone except his mum, which of course is a relationship he didn’t form at all. Moore has reached out to Mitchell again and again, and has been burned and betrayed without fail. Monstrously betrayed. In these last pages Moore searches for Mitchell one last time. His efforts produce the most unforgettable scene of the book, a scene that reverberates with so much that has gone before.
Mitchell’s ship was moored away from the dock and the tide was out. Some distance across the mud there’s a sampan. Moore summoned the owner across the flats by holding up a shiny coin. The owner struggled through the mud – a bad sign. They started out towards the sampan but the mud was too deep and treacherous and Moore decided to give up the idea. He turned back. But such was the Chinese man’s desperation to own that coin, he offered to carry Moore over the mud. They hadn’t got far when they started to sink. Moore held on tight to his mount. The man sank deeper under his weight. What happens next can only be described in the author’s own words.
It is something you have to read.

[Kaylia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Reading a memoir offers the unique experience of seeing someone’s life through their own eyes…. Which can be both a good and a bad thing. First off the conversational tone used in Don’t Call Me a Crook flows easily and keeps the reader engaged. On the other hand the story meanders along like a drunken fable, keeping in chronological order sure, but also recounting the matter of his life in what can only be described as a bragging tone of juvenile triumphs. With the same laid back air of one discussing the weather Bobby talks about violence, death, theft, and the engines of ships. He clearly isn’t looking for approval but an audience who would be shocked and held in awe for all his many adventures. What he doesn’t realize that while we might listen with our mouths slightly ajar, it is more with a dawning horror than a growing sense of admiration that we finish his tale.

As a reader of mostly fiction (and occasional writer of the same) I always find myself looking for the hidden meaning, the sense of symbolism and subtext that can turn the average story into something of fine literary merit. Considering the source material for this book I was surprised to find a current of human nature and human tragedy woven into Bobby’s recollections that I think totally escapes the author himself.

Bobby is a sociopath.

Of course, he doesn’t start off that way; he starts off as a frolicking fun loving chap who might lack for a clear focus or direction in life but who’s charm and is on par with an excitable puppy. His early adventures, or misadventures, involve a sort of mischief and whimsy. The things he swipes and the ways in which the swiping occur are entertaining and we neither fault Bobby nor really hold him accountable.

But something changes… Soon Bobby’s adventures take on a sinister edge, a violent streak and an acceptance of the darker parts of human nature. The scariest part is that Bobby himself is unaware of either the shift or that his current activities aren’t on the same forgivable level as his earlier mischief.

Watching the boy become the man and the man slowly turn into the monster while knowing that he is unaware of any change is a sobering experience. One reads the second half of the book wondering how far Bobby will go. The reader wonders if Bobby will see the error of his ways and if redemption lies in the epilogue.

The answer is no.

It is a big leap from petty thief to murderer but Bobby makes it without batting an eye. His lack of guilt and subsequent actions leave little room to doubt his severe disconnect from his fellow human beings.

By the end of the book I was mesmerized but not in the way I think Bobby intended. The story ends almost abruptly and one knows that Bobby went on to have more adventures. In a sick way I wanted to know what happened next while at the same time feeling relieved that I wasn’t going to be party, even by proxy, to Bobby’s crimes.

Honestly, I enjoyed reading the book even if it did wander on and on a bit toward the end where Bobby at last succumbs to the easy to fall into trap that threatens every memoir or biography; eventually the story turns into nothing but a long list of “And then I did this,” followed by “After that, I did this” with no overriding theme or sense of intended cohesion except of course that it is our narrator who is present in all the adventures.

This is a trap, as previously stated, that is not only common but easy to fall victim to and thus I am willing to make allowances for it. The book was published in 1935 by a small publisher and perhaps we might forgive Bobby for not being a literary marvel… it is enough that he is a good storyteller.

Even if the meaning of his story is beyond him.

[P. · Rating 3 out of 5]

My copy of Don't Call me a Crook was very kindly provided by the publisher.


Whether all the tales in this autobiography are strictly true doesn't really matter. It's worth reading just for the voice. I've never read a more complete, marvelous portrait of a narcissist.

From mayoclinic.com: "Narcissistic personality disorder is a mental disorder in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance and a deep need for admiration. They believe that they're superior to others and have little regard for other people's feelings. But behind this mask of ultra-confidence lies a fragile self-esteem, vulnerable to the slightest criticism. "

Bob rarely admits his motivations out loud, nor his mistakes. Even when he'd be justified in admitting that he was scared and in shock from being shot through the cheeks he just notes that: "When I felt the blood running down my face I seemed to lose interest in the fighting..." (p. 220). Yeah, it just kind of happened that he lost interest in the fighting. No personal responsibility for old Bob! Situations always seem to require a drink or two as well.

Although the better part of the book is devoted to Bob's deranged, alcoholic, narcissistic, racist adventures, he does manage to pull off some real emotion at least once or twice and he does have quite a dry sense of humor.

The book would have been a straight jaunt were it not for the footnotes, which were distracting because I was consistently baffled as to why most of them were needed--context clues were evidently not trusted to do their job. Instead of concentrating on Bob's story I found myself wondering about the editorial process. Again with page 220. Here we have this sentence: "I crept along the passage to the companionway and climbed up on deck." Passage is footnoted to provide the definition. Really? That's only one of many examples. There were also footnotes that openly doubted what Bob meant, which was an interesting choice, seeing as it's not like they could ask the man about his intentions, and then the historical ones which were actually informative but could have just been endnotes.

[Stewart Home · Rating 5 out of 5]

Don’t Call Me A Crook! A Scotsman’s Tale of World Travel, Whisky and Crime by Bob Moore (Dissident Books, New York 2009) is apparently a reprint of a tome first published in 1935 by Hurst & Blackkett of London without the exclamation mark; and the variant subtitle My True Autobiography. When I first read the introduction to this ‘reprint’, I suspected Dissident Books CEO Nicholas Towasser was pulling my leg over the provenance of the text when he wrote: “There mustn’t have been many copies printed (of the original edition), because despite many Web searches, I’ve found no used book dealers selling it. In fact, I’ve located only five owners of the original Hurst & Blackett edition: the New York Public Library; the National Library of Scotland; Cambridge University; Random House (years ago Random House acquired a publisher named Hutchinson, who had earlier merged with Hurst & Blackett); and a woman in Essex, England.”

Towasser’s claims immediately sound suspicious to anyone familiar with the legal deposit system for books in the UK. British publishers are required by law to send free copies of their books to the five legal deposit libraries in the UK (supplying the national library in Dublin is currently optional but many publishers still send them complimentary tomes). Towasser mentions only two of the legal deposit libraries (Edinburgh and Cambridge), and it struck me as unlikely that more than half the legal deposit copies of a book like Moore’s would have disappeared from these orderly and well maintained institutions. My gut feeling was that if the book couldn’t be found in at least the majority of the legal deposit libraries, then the provenance Towasser provided for it in his introduction was at best dubious. I checked at the British Library and found they did in fact have a catalogue entry for the Hurst & Blackkett edition of Don’t Call Me A Crook...

Read the full review here: http://stewarthomesociety.org/blog/ar...

[Sara · Rating 4 out of 5]

In this memoir’s foreword the editor mentions he stumbled upon DON’T CALL ME A CROOK by Robert Moore (this edition is a re-issue) by searching for the term “Tramp” at the New York Public library’s database. Tramp is a particularly apt descriptive for Moore, who usually has a roof over his head, but never the same roof for any given period of time. He argues that he isn’t a crook, but upon reading his “reminisces”; one finds he’s as opportunistic a criminal as they come. Moore (probably a pseudonym), an affable Scotsman, launches an international campaign to find a good time while working the least amount as possible. He lives from one adventure to another escapade all the while taking everything he can get and issuing no apologies.

This book is an effective cocktail of social commentary, travel memoir and holy confession. This edition is annotated to easily acclimate the reader to Moore-speak, though many misspellings and word misuses are left in for colloquial charm. It’s also been editorially sequenced into its natural story arc. Though book didn’t make much of a debut in its day, and one can only speculate as to why that was, as it certainly is not for lack of appeal. Moore’s stories range from absolutely ridiculous to deliciously over the top. His style is conversational and his antidotes and the recounts of his capers are always entertaining. Despite his sins, Moore manages to retain his bad boy charisma. His story more above all things--is undeniably cool.

[Lawrence · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's Time the tale was told...

The book attributed to Bob Moore was written by an Australian woman Leonora Gregory. There are a number of articles and interviews with her making statements about the book such as this published by the Horsham times on the 15 May 1936,

"...Her book don't call me a crook is the outcome of a series of interviews with a man whose unique personality and amazing adventures could not be contained in one article."

Leonora was a bit of a celebrity in Australia as she had taken a shine to the outback, moved to Croydon Queensland (a shithole in the Gulf of Carpenteria) and produced a newspaper singlehandedly for two years at the age of 21.

Other interviews state plainly that Pat Spry was one of Leonora's Pseudonyms' and it is occasionally credited as an editor of the original. Leonora was involved in leftest politics, and later worked for TASS (the Soviet News Organ). She travelled widely including the middle east and the Soviet Union.

Given the type of book, and her origins from a "good family" I can understand her need to distance herself from this sordid tale of crime, bawdiness and alcoholism.

I hope that any future editions (and I do hope that there are future editions) give mention to the fact that she was the author, and that she discovered or possibly invented many of Bob Moores tales.

[Vickie · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is a pity there are getting to be so many places that I can never go back to, but all the same, I do not think it is much fun a man being respectable all his life."
So begins the tale of Bob Moore, a man from Glasgow, Scotland in the 1920's. Bob was a marine engineer by trade and a thief, womaniser, diamond smuggler, gunrunner, liar, drunk ne'er do well by choice. He seized opportunities as they came and generally came up smelling semi-rose like from almost all altercations. He traveled the world and never seemed able to go back where he'd been due to misunderstandings or broken hearted women or mugs who would like to see him dead.
I'd like to think I'd hate to be around this guy, but I have a weakness for Scottish accents and charm, so I would likely have been suckered into something by Bob. He was able to 'justify' all of his actions as they happened, never being feeling at fault for the most part, even when murder occurred. It was always justifiable in his mind and seemingly casually mentioned to the reader.
I wish I knew what caused Bob to write his 'true autobiography' as he calls it. Was it suggested or did he feel the need to expound and boast of his adventures and reminiscences.

Four 'blameless' scoundrel beans.....

[Kate · Rating 3 out of 5]

There isn't much in the way of dramatic tension in this book, but I enjoyed reading it anyway. This is a Scotsman's 1920s-ish memoir of various misdeeds, including murdering Chinese men, bilking women out of money and goods, and drinking a lot. But he's not a crook. It's like when you're listening to some guy talk about how he got really high on whippets, stole a car, and wrapped it around a telephone pole. Really funny, but you begin to think, "Where do we go from here?"

It comes down to how amusing you think these anecdotes are and how much you enjoy reading between the lines. Recommended, though, are the sections about the author's time on a luxury yacht (think Gatsby but from the point of view of a hard drinking, latter-day-ADHD-suffering Glaswegian). I also enjoyed reading about Bob's time in China, although you might be troubled by his pervasive, although perhaps era-appropriate racism.

And, as mentioned, the footnotes are very distracting and would be better suited as endnotes, but once you get used to skipping them altogether, they're not so much of a problem.

[Jennifer C · Rating 4 out of 5]

I LOVED this book!


The first page of the foreword grabs you and your attention is held all the
way to the end. It may be an autobiography but it reads like a novel. I
loved reading the parts that take place in Chicago as it really seems to
capture what it was like to live here in the 20's. Throughout the whole
book the publisher also adds footnotes to help explain the slang the author
uses and some of the historical events he references. The author, Bob
Moore, lived quite the life and yet he doesn't bore you with mundane facts.
I remember as a kid I read the choose your own adventure books, Bob Moore
basically is writing his choose your own adventure book with his choices
filled in for you. He shows you how quick wit and thinking on your feet,
and sometimes bending the rules to suit your needs, can take you where ever
you want to go.


If you like stories of gangsters, pirates and high adventure, then you have
to read this book.

[Dawn · Rating 4 out of 5]

Of the three sections of this autobiography, the first two were entertaining in a weird way, and the last was sad. As an example of the first sections, Bob takes a diamond ring from a lady on a train, tells her he's going to go pawn it and bring the money back in half an hour, but doesn't go back for a week. Of course she's not there anymore, and his take on it is this: "I suppose there are people that would say I should have got back quicker to meet her, but I really think she has learnt a valuable lesson, because now if she ever has a daughter that she has to warn about how dangerous it is to get talking to a strange man in a train she will be able to speak from personal experience." (pg. 49) I wouldn't have liked knowing Bob myself, but he was an interesting autobiographical author.

[Michelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is awesome. I think I have a new favorite genre. It was so good and so easy to read I never wanted to put it down.

This is the story of a drunken man. It takes you on journey around the world. He experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of low. His life was an adventure through many countries, cities and across just about every sea. I couldn't even imagine what it would be to live this man's life.

Read it! Trust me, you'll enjoy it!

[Mechele McDaniel Rose · Rating 3 out of 5]

Moore's life was certainly adventurous. Basically, he makes money, loses money, steals more money. Then the cycle starts all over again. He is not a person I would like. He likes to brag. This is a book I won from Goodreads giveaway.

[Mick · Rating 4 out of 5]

If this man's not a thief, I'm a professional book reviewer. He may not be a man you would befriend but he certainly had one hell of a life. This is a good read, written in the language of the era and once you get used to this you will enjoy.

[Armando · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a great book, of a man who is a crook. it is a very funny and entertaining memoir. his life was full of events in which his telling wraps you and take you back to that time.

[Stuart Douglas · Rating 4 out of 5]

The most obvious comparison for this rogue's autobiography is Charles Bukowski round about the time of 'Post Office', but the one that occurs to me is Dugmore Boetie's brilliantly funny Apartheid era memoir 'Familiarity is the Kingdom of the Lost'. Like that book, this is the true story of a petty criminal, told in his own words, and seemingly as lacking in self-awareness.

Bob Moore is what tends to be called a loveable rogue (though only by those who've never been ripped off by him) and certainly he views himself in that sort of light - and definitely not, as the title suggests, as a crook. And yet he's basically a disgusting human being, even for a working class Glasgow engineer kicking about the sharp end of the world in the late 1920s and early 1930s. He steals from woman who love him and people who trust him, kills at least two, and possibly as many as four, people on his travels, deserts friends and lovers at the drop of a hat, embezzles, thieves and - in his own words - swipes anything he desires and does so with barely a regard for anyone else. He's the sort of sentimental drunk who leans on your shoulder at the end of New Year dances and tells you how he's 'always had a lot of time for you, you prick', the sort who'll give a drinking buddy his wife's last tenner, the sort that goes out to buy a packet of cigarettes and doesn't reappear for ten years.

He's obviously bright and knows his trade, and people like him, even when they know the sort of person he appears to be. In his sparse, almost Hemingway style, he sketches in a picture of himself while telling nothing beyond his name and place of birth, and in doing so paints an equally real portrait of the worlds he moves around in, whether in Scotland or in America or up-river in China.

And yet he doesn't seem entirely real.

Perhaps it's the style, so spare yet so effective, or the fact that he seems to have the knack of turning up in just the sorts of scrapes and situations into which an adventure writer would drop his fictional hero. Maybe it's the way I was constantly reminded of George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman series, or even that Dugmore Boetie's autobiography is generally considered to be mainly fiction, but something in this book rings false. Nobody else seems to mention this in reviews (and the publisher the editor claims printed the original version of the book back in 1935 certainly did exist, even if there seems to be no mention of the book itself prior to this (re)print).

Maybe in fact it's the footnotes that ring alarm bells in my ears. Because while the book itself is a wonderful read (true or not) and the publisher's have done a great job in presenting it, with an interesting foreword and am afterword from James Kelman, the footnotes which the editor has liberally scattered throughout are intrusive and often surely needless. Can any reader really not know what a mast is, or need to have the editor conjecture as to exactly what kind of cocktail Moore is describing when he lists a couple of fruits he likes in drinks? All it does is drop the reader out of the narrative (this reader, anyway) as their eyes flick down to the bottom of the page to discover that 'pace' is another word for speed or that a steward is a person who works on a ship. Sometimes the footnote is even incorrect (when Moore says he 'wrote [a letter] to his mother' it surely means exactly what it says not that 'wrote' means 'addressed').

To me, the footnotes feel a touch too much, but perhaps its just that they appear clumsy when arrayed beside Moore's stripped down prose.

And of course whether it's all true or not makes little difference really - except if the author did not die in 1937 of acute alcoholic gastritis then he would he please do a second book of Bob Moore's memoirs, because this one - footnotes aside - was pretty bloody splendid.

[Christopher Nosnibor · Rating 5 out of 5]

Much has already been made of this book’s background and how it came to be rediscovered, a languishing lost gem ripe for republication, both in the Introduction by the publishers, Nicholas Towasser, and in other press and reviews, notably Stewart Home’s blogged review. This would suggest that there’s little more to be said on the matter, but the text’s history – it was originally published in 1935, but essentially sunk without a trace – is integral to our reading of it. Or is it?

The narrative tone of Bob Moore, a Scot who, as a qualified engineer spent years travelling aboard ships of all sizes and under an array of (often incompetent) captaincies, and finding himself in strange places and tight situations, is amiable and accessible. More saliently, the vocabulary seems, on the surface, to be of its time. There’s no swearing and nothing is described in particularly graphic detail, for example, and the text is littered with the names of places and currencies that have long since changed.

Yet there is something strange about the book. Some of the Scots dialect seems a little incongruous. Similarly, while the voluminous footnotes that provide explanations of both place names (many of which Moore confuses or uses alternative spellings for) and technical notes on engineering are often useful, others, which provide lexical definitions, are rather superfluous. Moreover, their presence locates the book within the realms of annotated academic versions of historical texts, in which the meanings and etymologies of antiquated words, no longer in use, are explained for the benefit of a contemporary audience. I should perhaps point out that I’m by no means complaining, for many of the editorial interjections are highly informative, while many others are most amusing.

But irrespective of the questions regarding narrator’s ‘authenticity,’ there’s no question that Don’t Call Me a Crook! is a highly entertaining read. Moore isn’t a crook, although he is unquestionably a rogue, as much by accident or through naivete as by design. The events are presented sequentially, and as such Moore seems to drift and stumble from one place and one situation to the next, trusting all of the wrong people as he does so. However, the chapters and subchapters are short and serve to render the narrative as much a succession of largely unrelated episodes, and Moore certainly doesn’t learn from his mistakes. This episodic structure makes for a book that’s easy to leave and return to without too much fear of having lost the continuity of the plot: however, the accessible style and pace of action makes it a book that’s easy to read fairly swiftly. Moreover, despite his shortcomings, Moore makes for a personable travel companion, and his (mis)adventures are recounted in a style that’s straightforward, direct and unpretentious, and there are plenty of humourous scenes and colourful characters along the way.

It isn’t a million miles away from Jack Black’s You Can’t Win (a favourite of mine and also cited as a significant influence on William Burroughs’ early works), which is to say that I thoroughly enjoyed it, and applaud Dissident Books and Nicholas Towasser for putting it out. Don’t Call Me a Crook! is a gem, and it deserves to not be a lost one.

[Simon · Rating 5 out of 5]

Don't Call Me A Crook by Bob Moore

Don't Call Me A Crook by Bob Moore (dissident
Books)
A scotsman's tale of world travel, whiskey, and
crime.

This is a repressing of a long lost
autobiography by the much forgotten Bob Moore
who was the man the subtitle describes and he
tells his tales of what he got up to as a young
scots Ships Engineer in the 19teens through to
the 1930's it was published in 1935 a couple of
years before Bob died of alcoholism aged 37!
He basically lived to drink and get into scrapes
while ducking and diving his way across the
world spending time in the speakeasies of
prohibition america and working on wet party
boats he lived the life.
He speaks as you'd expect him to with plenty of
crude racism and predjudice that would have been
totally normal back then. I really liked the
stuff about being in China however frightening
he makes it sound at times. He was also not
afraid to con people or to pimp himself out to
get looked after but as he says he was never a
crook! No he just took the opportunites as they
presented themselves and mostly got away with it.
Where this book fell down for me was in James
Kelmans notes and introduction as he treats his
readers like they are total idiots! I doubt many
readers are so thick to not know what a Mast is
or that Porto Rico is another way to spell
Puerto Rico let alone that a life belt is a life
preserver or what a winch is. Please there was
some need for notes on things like Flivvers or
Barcarole but is there anyone who doesn't know
what a store is?
So read the book and try to ignore the notes!

[Leigha · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book has neither a beginning, middle, nor end. It has no storyline, moreover it is no more than a bunch of stories you might hear told if you had a man over for cards… a man who happened to be well oiled while telling them. I don’t think you could even call it a book of short stories, because it isn’t really that either. Written in the vernacular of the time, Bob Moore’s tale of world travel, whiskey, and crime does not disappoint. By the end I tend to agree with Bob when he says he is anything but a crook… crook implies an active and rather sinister mind, whereas Bob is generally so drunk he can do no more than passively take the opportunities life presents to him. It isn’t what Bob has that makes him a thief, it is what he lacks… a spine and some honour. Overall a very entertaining read.

Typing errors are as follows
Pg.98 at the bottom
-He could never he sacked because he would not show a new engineer the workings, (First "he" should be "be")

Pg.109 mid bottom
-But then he started talking of them, and I swear I never did such a thing in all my life, so I dropped the bottle of brandy and up on deck and went for him. (This sentence does not make sense. Seems like a word is missing)

p.169 Top
I did not see how he had an ulterior motive.
And we would not be arrested because they did not know that we were deserters yet. (This should be all one sentence or at least in the same paragraph. Can't start a new paragraph mid-thought)

[MJ · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Though, really, I am not a crook at all, because a crook is a man who steals things from people, but I have only swiped things when I needed them or when it would be wasteful to let slip an opportunity." With this sentence on page 2 of Don't Call Me a Crook!: A Scotsman's Tale of World Travel, Whisky and Crime I was officially hooked. Any man who could so finely and humorously justify swiping things was worth reading about. Bob Moore was a man that lived according to his own rules without apology or remorse. Except that there are so many places he can no longer return. With one adventure after another he tells us his live story so matter of fact that you hold no ill will towards him for the choices he makes. You just follow along amazed that he hasn’t died and wondering what could possibly happen next.

After reading the memoir of vagabond Jack Black, Nicholas Towasser went looking for more memoirs about others like Jack Black. He stumbled across Don't Call Me a Crook!: A Scotsman's Tale of World Travel, Whisky and Crime and was instantly captivated. Towasser worked to get the book reissued for a new generation of readers and for one am glad he did. For anyone that enjoys reading memoirs, biographies or autobiographies I highly recommend this book.

[treva · Rating 2 out of 5]

The introduction amounts to over-hype; I really didn't think this was a as fantastic and hilarious as the publisher thinks it is. Really, the same things happen over and over. Work on ship; get a bit of cash; abandon ship; spend cash in three-day bender; look for new ship. Repeat for 250 pages. It's actually kind of boring. Mildly amusing in some places, but hard to overlook that Moore is basically an irresponsible jerkoff and totally, unapologetically racist. The footnotes will insult your intelligence; thank you, I know what a "rise" and a "spanner" are. The afterword offers zero insight and is only a recap of the book's plot. For an early 20th c. adventure in male filth, I suggest you read Henry Miller instead. There's a jerk who can write.

[Ann · Rating 1 out of 5]

He led an interesting enough life to warrant a biography, and since it is an autobiography, it can be overlooked that he didn't tell his story with a particularly critical pen. But he writes with the cadence of a ten year old, so that the sentences are short and choppy ("And then I did this. And then I did that.") until he gets excited about something, and then the sentences just become run ons that don't pause for breath. And he seems to view the world with the outlook of a ten year old also, not really understanding why the world works as it does, even in fairly everyday situations.

Also the editors overly footnoted, usually just to define individual words in the text.

[Jessie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Easily one of the most hilarious books I have ever read. Don't Call Me a Crook! is the memoir of Bob Moore, who traveled the world and finding trouble wherever he went. Throughout the book Moore tells stories about himself, the people he meets, the numerous jobs he had, all the alcohol he drank and again all the trouble he found himself in, yet always finding a way to get out of. The book has a very conversational tone, it feels as if your with Moore as he's telling you these stories, and I think that's a lovely aspect of this memoir. I highly recomend this book, but keep in mind though it is by no means a book about morals.

[Opera · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bob Moore's "Don't Call Me a Crook!" was totally delightful to read. The manner of writing is "simple and to the point." We learn first-hand of how life was like in some ways for those alive in the Twenties. Moore could justify all of his wrongdoings so that they didn't seem all that bad after all. His tales of his trips into inner-China are almost not to be believed. I can't imagine it being told better. No one could help but enjoy the republication of this book found by Dissident Books. The footnotes make it even more enjoyable by adding to the reader's knowledge.

Priscilla Gordon de Figols (Internationally acclaimed opera singer)

[Robin · Rating 4 out of 5]

You have to love a narrator who is so unapologetic (and usually quite defensive) about his chronic bad behavior. Although the low level writing style can be frustrating at first, it becomes a part of the straight-forward attitude Moore has about his deeds. Frankly it is amazing he survived to tell his story, considering how many times he got himself into a near death situation (such as going into a tunnel that takes 36 hrs to walk through one way and taking only flashlights and liquor). Definitely entertaining.

Disclaimer: I won this book in a giveaway.

[Megan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hmmm. A strangely fascinating book. It's not what I would call well-written, but it is an inside look at 1) the mind of a thoroughly unscrupulous individual, and 2) the roaring '20s. I was especially interested in his descriptions of Chicago - having lived there, it's like peeling away the layer I know to look underneath.

The greatest compliment I can pay any book is that I will always remember it - and that is certainly true here.

Won from First Reads 7/6/09; received 7/20/09.

[Carol Evans · Rating 3 out of 5]

Bob is not a person I would have liked. That being said, his adventures, whether they be true or exaggerated, are funny and engrossing. This is a different type of memoir and he’s unapologetic about his life. But he is a crook and a killer. His is one of those unbelievable lives, lives that couldn’t be made up. He makes money, loses money, steals money. He’s a womanizing jerk who still loves his mom. He’ll make you mad and make you laugh.