"Take it and pinch-hit for God," she
said, pressing it into my hand. "Shoot me. It's the only way to get me out
of my misery."
"She's right," I said to myself. (11-20)
" . . . McCoy went to Hollywood. But the screen test failed and the
Great Depression hit. A tramp, a bum, McCoy slept in abandoned cars, picked
fruit and vegetables in the Imperial Valley, worked as a soda jerk, a bodyguard
and a picket – until he was hired as a bouncer at a marathon dance contest
in Santa Monica. Still focussed on Hollywood, he wrote up this experience
as a movie script called 'Marathon Dancers.' That did not sell, but he got
on as a contract writer with R.K.O. studios, beginning what he called "my
notable career as a studio hack." . . .. But McCoy managed to finish a novel
based on his movie script, which was titled They Shoot Horses, Don't
They? and published in 1935. Although later a favorite of French existentialists,
McCoy's book sold only 3,000 copies the first year.
It tells the story of failed actress Gloria, who in desperation enters
a marathon dance contest that becomes an endurance nightmare. Realizing
that this punishment is her life, Gloria convinces her partner to kill her
as a testament to the meaning/meaninglessness of life. By turns lyric and
grim, the novel combines irony and fear with a subtlety McCoy would never
again achieve.
. . . . French writers such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Andre Gide and Andre
Malraux discovered They Shoot Horses, Don''t They?, and Simon de
Beauvoir said that it "was the first existentialist novel to have appeared
in America." Europeans began to rank him beside Faulkner, Steinbeck and
Hemingway. McCoy, however, was broke, depressed and "fat from too much food
and booze." What raised him for the last time was a manuscript he had been
working on, Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye, which Random House liked and
published in 1948. His best work since They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
, the novel displayed a masterly alternation between action and reflection.
Eastern reviewers may not have liked it, but Warner Brothers bought the
story as a vehicle for James Cagney, who wanted another "really nasty role"
to cement his screen persona. On top of this, in early 1951, McCoy sold an
original script called "Scalpel" to Hall Wallis Productions for $100,000.
The novel and the movie were winners, and McCoy was working on a new book
called The Hard Rock Man when he was struck by a heart attack. At
fifty-eight, McCoy was broke when he died December 15, 1955, and his widow
had to sell his books and jazz collection to pay for his funeral.