The Virginian-Pilot
                            THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT  
              Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: Sunday, November 26, 1995              TAG: 9511250179
SECTION: COMMENTARY               PAGE: J3   EDITION: FINAL 
TYPE: Book Review
SOURCE: BILL RUEHLMANN
                                             LENGTH: Medium:   79 lines

``HERO'' DIDN'T ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH, BUT HE'S STILL INTERESTING

Swashbuckling Fritz Duquesne (1879-1956), Boer War vet, prison escapee, convicted Nazi secret agent, has been called by newspapers and biographers alike ``the world's greatest adventurer.''

He was, certifiably, a quintessential opportunist, soldier of fortune, prisoner of war, explorer, lecturer, animal conservationist, environmentalist, presidential adviser, inventor, journalist, novelist, movie publicist, WPA inspector and stockbroker.

He was also, certifiably, a pimp, saboteur, murderer, traitor and lunatic.

Add one thing more: the incomparable Fritz happened to be a pathological liar, which made his mad life magical.

If truth is stranger than fiction, it is also at times even more interesting. An amazing account that confirms this thesis is Counterfeit Hero: Fritz Duquesne, Adventurer and Spy (Naval Institute Press, 408 pp., $29.95) by Art Ronnie. The author, himself a former reporter, columnist and film publicist, has done monumental digging into a life heretofore unbelievable in legend and now even more unbelievable in fact.

Such was Duquesne's capacity as a pulp writer and raconteur that he became the titular subject of Clement Wood's 1932 epic, The Man Who Killed Kitchener. Field Marshall Lord Horatio Kitchener (``of Khartoum'') was behind the destruction of Fritz's South African estate and family, the story went, engendering our hero's animosity toward him in particular and things British in general. Kitchener went down aboard the mine-exploded HMS Hampshire off Orkney Island on June 5, 1916.

Or was the infernal device actually a torpedo, summoned by Fritz Duquesne?

According to him, it was. German superspy Fritz (Agent A100-1-20) sneaked aboard, fired a water-torch signal from a porthole, fingering the ship to a waiting U-boat. He then leapt to the quarterdeck, went over the side and swam through a raging sea to the surfaced sub, which spirited him away. Meanwhile, of a 665-man crew, only 12 survived.

``It was,'' concedes Ronnie, ``a wonderful story. And that's all it was - a wonderful, improbable story.''

Actually, Fritz was in New York at the time, committing arson in an insurance scam.

A man with an absolute genius for self-promotion, Duquesne was even able to dazzle seasoned editor Arthur Hoffman of Adventure magazine, a publication to which Fritz often contributed:

``You should have been in here one day last spring,'' Hoffman informed readers, ``and seen three of us standing (we forgot to sit down) for about two hours listening to Captain Fritz Duquesne's experiences in the Boer secret service and how he escaped from a British prison at eight in the morning when he was sentenced to be shot at nine. You see, his jailer came in with a basin of water and a towel - but there's no space for that now.''

There is space in Ronnie's less enraptured - but even more compelling - account for the truth of Duquesne's escapes from criminal incarceration in Lisbon, Bermuda and the Bellevue Hospital prison ward in New York City.

He did not escape an 18-year sentence to Leavenworth, imposed in 1942 for espionage in what J. Edgar Hoover called ``the greatest spy roundup in U.S. history.'' A movie was made of it: ``The House on 92nd Street.'' Leo G. Carroll played Fritz.

On the stand, Duquesne was brilliant.

As usual, he lied.

There were perhaps three constants in his life: charm; inexorable advancement in bogus military rank (Fritz began a ``captain,'' ended a ``colonel``); and an enduring - and sometimes incriminating - collection of press clippings about himself that Duquesne carried around like credentials.

Fritz's true story demonstrates again that, though they can be dangerous company in life, rotters are riveting to read about in death. MEMO: Bill Ruehlmann is a mass communication professor at Virginia Wesleyan

College. ILLUSTRATION: Photo

Fritz Duquesne as Claude Stoughton in 1917, from the jacket of

``Counterfeit Hero.''

by CNB