Leo Gorcey comes to the mistaken conclusion that he has inherited an estate on Long Island's North Shore; actually, it is series semi-regular Paul Harvey, also named 'Terence Mahoney' who has done so. They all wind up at the house where diamond smuggler Martin Kosleck has set up shot. The usual low hijinx ensue.
The Bowery Boys movies are held in disesteem by serious cineastes, and there's no sensible way to elevate them to high art -- although the same thing can be said about the Lemmy Caution movies, which didn't stop the New Wave. Cheaply made, formulaically written and directed by William Beaudine at his trough, no one ever claimed these were made to do more than to give jobs to the men who had started out as the gang in DEAD END, entertain the kids at weekend matinees, and show a profit.
They did that, in the tradition of Samuel Johnson, who said "No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money." While people maunder on about the cinematic arts and who wins the Academy Awards, they seem to forget that the movies are business, and the businessmen are there to make money. Ignoble as that sounds, the great actors, directors, cameramen, writers and others who make movies also want to make some money too. The Bowery Boys offer no advancement in the arts, no examples of great moments, but they did what they were supposed to do.
