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by John Connolly

  Finally, though, there is Randy Skretvedt, to whom I came quite late in the process, once I had settled on a form for he, and commenced work. Skretvedt’s researches are frequently referenced by any writer serious about Laurel & Hardy, and I first came across him in Louvish’s book, but I think I shied away from his monumental Laurel & Hardy: The Magic Behind the Movies for fear of finding that everything I wanted to say might already have been said by him. It was only once he was in draft form that I felt comfortable about turning to Skretvedt, who published the third edition of his book in 2016 through Bonaventure Press, a copy of which I now possess. Laurel & Hardy: The Magic Behind the Movies is an extraordinary work of film scholarship, and I might possibly have saved myself a great deal of time and effort had I read it first rather than last, but my own researches made me appreciate Skretvedt’s efforts all the more, and he would be a poorer book without the availability of the wealth of detail recorded by him.

  Also hugely helpful were: A History of the Hal Roach Studios by Richard Lewis Ward (Southern Illinois University Press/ Carbondale, 2005); The Big Screen by David Thomson (Allen Lane, 2012); The Comedians: Drunks, Thieves, Scoundrels and the History of American Comedy by Kliph Nesteroff (Grove Press, 2015); Larry Semon, Daredevil Comedian of the Silent Screen by Claudia Sassen (McFarland, 2015); Charlie Chaplin by Peter Ackroyd (Chatto & Windus, 2014); Chaplin: The Tramp’s Odyssey by Simon Louvish (Thomas Dunne Books, 2009); and My Autobiography by Charlie Chaplin (Simon & Schuster, 1964). I also drew upon Dick Cavett’s memories of meeting Stan Laurel (The New York Times, September 7th, 1992), while Oliver Hardy’s encounter with Aggie Underwood and Perry Fowler was detailed in Derangedlacrimes.com as part of its efforts to renew interest in Underwood’s life and work. By now, though, I think I’ve lost track of some of the many books and articles that influenced he in ways both large and small. All errors, though, are mine, despite the sterling efforts of Jennie Ridyard and Ellen Clair Lamb to spare my blushes.

  But he is, in the end, a work of fiction. The version of Stan Laurel depicted in its pages is a construct, and one that I accept may not meet with unanimous approval. (The same may be true of the representation of Chaplin, about whom Stan Laurel resolutely declined to say a bad word, although what one says is not necessarily the same as what one may feel.) All I can say is this: by the end of the writing of this book, I loved Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy more than ever, with all their flaws, in all their humanity, and my admiration for their artistry had only increased.

  I am very grateful to Jason Bartholomew, Nathaniel Marunas, Elyse Gregov, Amelia Ayrelan Iuvino, and Amanda Harkness at my American publishers, Quercus, for giving he a home, and for their kindness, company, and enthusiasm. My thanks to Sue Fletcher, my editor at Hodder & Stoughton in the UK, and Jamie-Hodder Williams, Swati Gamble, Kerry Hood, Lucy Hale, Alice Morley, Susan Spratt, Alistair Oliver, Jim Binchy, Breda Purdue, Ruth Shern and Siobhan Tierney, all of whom offered support and encouragement for this book, as well as the company reps who had to listen to me attempt to explain it so they could find a way to convince booksellers to stock it in turn. Kate O’Hearn, my fellow author, kindly agreed to help with clearance, while Mark Greenhow, the owner and curator of Ulverston’s Laurel and Hardy Museum (www.laurel-and-hardy.co.uk), graciously offered assistance with documents, as did my son, Cameron. Nadine Konzack and Elisabeth Enz facilitated the screening of Laurel & Hardy shorts at events, as did Alan Block at Sonar Entertainment, for which I’m most thankful.

  Finally, to Jennie, Cameron and Alistair: my love and gratitude.