The First Lady of Hollywood

by Samantha Barbas

  Hearst, on vacation at his California estate, San Simeon, mulled over Louella's proposition. Though he still considered her demand excessive, in the end, prodded by Davies, he finally gave in. On November i9, Joe Willi combe, Hearst's secretary, called Louella with the announcement that Hearst had agreed to sign the contract.

  On December 9, 192-3, the New York American carried the news:

  The motion picture world paid tribute to Louella O. Parsons, on the occasion of her becoming the motion picture editor of the New York American yesterday.... Representatives of film producing companies and exhibiting interests and newspapers congratulated her and commended the New York American for expanding its screen space in recognition of the increasing importance of motion pictures to the public. Sidney S. Cohen, president of the Motion Picture Theater Owners' Chamber of Commerce of America, sounded the keynote when he declared that Miss Parsons in her new office was virtually the ambassador of the public to the makers of motion pictures as well as the bearers of news from the stars of the screen to the American's readers. He predicted that Miss Parsons would establish a community of interest between the producers and artists and patrons of films which would vastly encourage the development of the finest pictures possible.31

  The group that assembled at the congratulatory luncheon at the Hotel Astor was a testament to Louella's "instinctive" ability, in the words of fan magazine writer Ruth Waterbury, to cultivate powerful political contacts. In speeches addressed to the more than 250 guests, Carl Laemmle, Jimmy Walker, and Nathan Burkan, who were appointed "associate chairmen" of the luncheon, praised Louella's hard work and dedication. Louella's assistant, Dorothy Day, announced that "Louella Parsons is a real person with ideals and ideas which are the outgrowth of a good mind and a good heart," and publicist John Flinn presented her with a "genuine gold mounted alligator skin traveling bag" on behalf of her "Persian Garden of Cats." Someone read a telegram from Will Hays "felicitating Miss Parsons on the extension of her field of endeavor," and Louella gave a brief speech. S. Jay Kaufman, a writer for the Evening Telegram, later claimed in his column that "the luncheon at the Astor proved ... that there isn't a better liked person hereabouts than Louella Parsons."32

  Outside, Hearst newspaper delivery trucks decorated with pictures of Louella roared down the streets, and half-page ads championing Louella appeared in Hearst's American and journal as well as several other New York newspapers. "Miss Parsons has been writing about the reel and the screen ever since motion pictures came into vogue," boasted one ad. "She is the personal friend of every film star, past and present, and has access to more important motion picture news than any other one writer." Other ads featured testimonials from actor Buster Keaton, Will Hays, and several studio executives that praised the columnist "who is conceded to be one of the best informed authorities on the affairs of the screen and [whose] advice has been sought and her criticism heeded by the stars, directors and producers of the screen."33 The Morning Telegraph presented her with a letter signed by each member of the staff. Louella had "added luster to our paper and won the admiration of every member of this organization," the Telegraph claimed.34

  The praise moved Louella more than she expected. "There was a blur over my eyes and a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow," she recalled. "For the first time in my life-I couldn't say a word."35

  In other corners of the film and publishing world, the response was less cheerful. For those directors and actors whom Louella favored, her new alliance meant positive publicity on an unparalleled scale. For those whose standing was less secure, the combination of Louella and Hearst was potentially dangerous. With the attention of a far greater audience than she had commanded at the Telegraph and access to Hearst's formidable newsgathering resources, Louella now had a powerful influence over the film industry.

  Speaking for many of his colleagues, a reporter for a Chicago film industry trade journal reported the news with trepidation. In a statement that needed little explanation, in January 1924 he warned his readers that, at last, as many of them had feared, "Louella Parsons has gone with Hearst."36

  In her autobiography, Louella told the story of her alliance with Hearst differently. In Louella's version it was not her praise but her criticism of Hearst that won his attention and her job on the American. Upset that Hearst had publicized the $1-5 million cost of When Knighthood Was in Flower more than Marion Davies's talent, Louella claimed that she wrote an editorial "blasting Mr. Hearst for bragging about spending so much money on the picture. Addressing my remarks personally to Mr. Hearst, I wrote: `Why don't you give Marion Davies a chance? She is a good actress, a beauty, and a comedy starring bet. Why talk about how much was spent on the lovely costumes and the production cost?"' Though Louella hoped that the comments would upset Hearst, she claimed that they pleased him. Impressed by her audacity, Hearst hired her.37

  And then there is a third version of the Hearst-Louella story. An old Hol lywood fable that has even been depicted in novels and films has Louella witnessing a murder that took place on a yacht off the Southern California coast. The victim was a producer named Thomas Ince, the murder weapon a pistol (in some versions, a hatpin), and the assailant Hearst, the yacht's owner.

  Ince and Hearst had been negotiating a film-producing deal that, according to rumor, turned deadly. In the spring of 1924, Hearst made an agreement with the Hollywood-based Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio, arranging for Hearst's Cosmopolitan films to be distributed through MGM. Following the deal, Hearst moved his film production headquarters from New York to a facility in Hollywood owned by the independent director and producer Thomas Ince. In June 1924, after purchasing a home for Davies in Beverly Hills, Hearst, Davies, and director George Hill began work on Davies's first film under the new arrangement with MGM, a comedy called Zander the Great. Hearst had begun to split his time between Hollywood, San Simeon, and New York, often going for long periods without seeing Davies. During one of these absences, Davies began an affair with Charlie Chaplin, who was working at his nearby studio on his latest film, The Gold Rush.38

  News of the affair spread quickly not only in Hollywood but also across the nation. In November 1924 Grace Kingsley, a movie columnist for the New York Daily News, reported that Chaplin had been paying "ardent attention" to Davies, and other fan magazines and film publications also had the two romantically linked. Hearst had dispatched spies to follow Davies in Los Angeles and knew about the affair long before Grace Kingsley's readers, but he seemed unperturbed. Intent on his goal of stardom for Davies, in the fall of 1924 Hearst began discussing with Thomas Ince the possibility of a filmproducing partnership. A prolific and highly acclaimed director, Ince had earned a reputation, in the words of the New York Times, as a "maker of stars" and "doctor of sick films."39

  After several weeks of negotiation, the two were near a deal in which Ince would produce The Enchanted Isle, based on a story that had been printed in Hearst's Cosmopolitan magazine. If the film were successful, Ince would join Hearst in a permanent producing alliance. In his typical manner of concluding business deals, Hearst invited Ince for a weekend cruise to San Diego on his yacht. Ince, a boating enthusiast, would be turning forty-four that weekend, and Hearst had planned a birthday dinner for the first night on the ship. On November 15, 1924, Hearst, Davies, Hearst's secretary Joe Willicombe, novelist Elinor Glyn, actresses Seena Owen and Vera Burnett, Davies's sisters Ethel and Reine, Hearst's studio manager Dr. Daniel Goodman, and Thomas Ince boarded the Oneida, a z15-foot yacht with five guest staterooms, a facility for screening films, and an engine room that was two stories high.40

  The cruise started out festive but turned ominous. Several hours after the birthday dinner, guests heard moaning from Ince's cabin and alerted Goodman. Goodman diagnosed it as a severe heart attack and immediately put Ince on a motorboat and took him to San Diego, where he boarded a train back to Los Angeles. During the train ride, however, Ince's condition worsened and, when the train stopped at Del Mar, Ince was taken to a local hotel. Someone te
lephoned his wife, Nell Ince, who drove to Del Mar, picked up her husband, and brought him back to their home in Beverly Hills. The following morning, November r9, over two days after he had left the Oneida, Ince died.41

  The official cause of death was reported as "heart failure as the result of an attack of acute indigestion."42 But it was not long before rumors spread. Because the Hearst papers had not mentioned the yachting party in their reports of the death, and some editions even reported that Ince had died at San Simeon, many in Hollywood grew suspicious. Why the conflicting accounts? Why was Ince cremated, and why was Hearst absent from Ince's funeral on November zI? Why did the passengers who had been on board the Oneida refuse to speak to the press? The only reason, they concluded, was foul playHearst had killed Ince on the ship and had used his newspapers to cover up the crime.

  Hearst's motives were simple jealousy. In one version of the rumor that became popular, Hearst shot Ince in a jealous rage after finding him making love to Davies. In another version, Hearst walked in on Davies and Chaplin, attempted to shoot Chaplin, and accidentally shot Ince-an impossibility, since Chaplin was not on the ship that evening. In the most ridiculous version, Hearst discovered Ince playfully embracing Davies and, in jest, pulled a hatpin from Davies's hat and aimed at Ince's arm. When Ince turned to face Hearst, the hatpin entered his heart, causing a fatal heart attack.43 Panicked, Hearst went to the one guest on board the Oneida who could assist him with the cover-up: Louella.

  Though there is no other evidence to corroborate the claim, Vera Burnett insisted that both Louella and Chaplin were on board the Oneida that night, having picked up Davies from the Zander set earlier in the day. When Louella heard the gunshots she allegedly ran to the scene of the crime, saw Hearst, and immediately began plotting a cover-up that involved huge payoffs to Nell Ince and the coroners of both San Diego and Los Angeles Counties. To thank Louella, Hearst promised her a position on his papers-an explanation that does not hold, since by November 1924 Louella was already working for Hearst. Moreover, Louella did not leave New York that month and was never on the ship. In another version of the story that circulated in Hollywood, Hearst enlarged Louella's responsibilities on the American and increased her salary to ensure that she complied with the scheme .44

  A more plausible explanation for the Hearst papers' silence concerns the real cause of Ince's death-bootleg alcohol. At dinner that night, Davies recalled in her memoirs, the guests drank a toast to Ince "in water," since Hearst, who never touched liquor, forbade the consumption of alcohol in his presence. But others, including Ince, said that there had been a good deal of alcohol on board. As Nell Ince wrote in a letter to Hearst reporter Adela Rogers St. Johns in 1965, her husband had been under a doctor's care for angina pectoris and severe ulcers and had told her that on the Oneida he had "eaten quite a few salted almonds before dinner and had some champagne before dinner, both forbidden articles on his diet." Ince also told Dr. T. A. Parker, whom he saw in Del Mar, that he had consumed "considerable liquor" aboard the ship and suggested to a nurse, Jessie Howard, that it had possibly been tainted. The Hearst papers had an obvious reason for their understated coverage of Ince's death. Not only was alcohol illegal under Prohibition, but at the time the U.S. Department of justice was investigating allegations that Hearst was involved in a bootlegging operation in Southern California.45

  Though the story was immediately and widely circulated by Hollywood rumormongers-a testament to the anti-Louella animus that existed already by 1924-wiser heads realized that the story was false. Even the Los Angeles Times, Hearst's rival paper, could not find any evidence against Hearst. Times reporter A. M. Rochlen told Adela Rogers St. Johns that he had covered "every moment" from the time that Ince left the yacht through the examinations by "doctors, nurses, undertakers, police and coroners." He told Harry Chandler, owner of the Times, that there was "nothing to it."46

  Given Louella's loyalty to Hearst, it is conceivable that she might have complied with such a cover-up. But Hearst did not murder Thomas Ince, and there was nothing to hide. Louella did not use her knowledge of "where the skeletons were buried" to win her position with Hearst.47 Shrewdly, she had already gotten what she wanted from Hearst long before he boarded the ship.

  Actress Marion Davies in i9i9. Courtesy Photofest.

  Louella, Janet Gaynor, Marion Davies, and Dolores Del Rio at a Hollywood party in the 1930s. Courtesy Photofest.

  Louella and Mary Pickford doing a radio broadcast. Courtesy Photofest.

  William Randolph Hearst and Hedda Hopper at a San Simeon costume party. Courtesy Photofest.

  In 1935, Harriet Parsons and Louella celebrate the first anniversary of Harriet's job with Columbia Pictures. Courtesy Photofest.

  Harriet Parsons. Courtesy Photofest.

  Louella, playing herself, in the film Hollywood Hotel. Courtesy Photofest.

  Louella presides over the "Orchid Room" in the final scene of Hollywood Hotel. Courtesy Photofest.

  Orson Welles with Dorothy Comingore in Citizen Kane. Courtesy Photofest.

  Film mogul Louis B. Mayer and Louella. Courtesy Photofest.

  In mid-September 1941, Louella traveled to Dixon, Illinois, for "Louella Parsons Day." Courtesy Photofest.

  Ronald Reagan, Louella, and Ronald Cummings. Courtesy Photofest.

  IF LOUELLA WORKED IN A CAR BARN AT THE Telegraph, at the American she worked in hell. Housed in the former Rheinlander Sugar House, a gloomy building used by the British as a prison during the Revolutionary War, the offices of the American were, in the words of editor Gene Fowler, near-"purgatorial." In the composing room on the eighth floor, "molten lead from the linotype pots seeped through crevices in the floor, turned into pellets of hot hail ... then fell upon the desk [of the night city editor] below."' Editors and reporters rushed around the dim, smoky halls, racing to meet their deadlines, and in the newsroom, harried editors worked in odd, makeshift cubicles constructed from discarded pieces of plywood. Every time two editors got in a fight, they threw a piece of wood between them.

  The American, like the Telegraph, was staffed by prominent New York journalists-the novelist Nat Ferber, the celebrated sports writer Damon Runyon, and the society columnist Maury Paul, who wrote under the pseudonym Cholly Knickerbocker. One of the sharpest minds at the American was the paper's publisher, Hearst, who could often be seen lurking around the office checking up on employees, pasting up pages, and correcting copy. Standing six foot two and weighing zio pounds, Hearst was intense and capricious. When reviewing the morning papers, he spread them out on the floor and turned the pages with his toes. When something pleased him, he was known to spontaneously break out into a tap dance.2

  Some employees found him frightening. Others thought he was insane. But very few disliked him. As the longtime Hearst reporter Adela Rogers St. Johns put it, "the Chief" invoked in many of his employees a combination of reverence, affection, gratitude, and astonishment that St. Johns described as "AWE."3 Generous and polite, Hearst "was quick to give praise for a job well done, never got angry, never raised his voice, and always pref aced his requests with `please' and `if you don't mind,"' according to one biographer.4

  Hearst was particularly admired by his female staff for his support of women journalists. It was Hearst who launched the career of the first "sob sister," Winifred Black, and according to the 19zos reporter and journalism historian Ishbel Ross, Hearst "more than any other publisher ... helped put newspaper women on the map." Hearst employed dozens of women writers, who became "the most spectacular, most highly paid newspaper women in the country." Hearst's support of female journalists has been attributed by biographers and historians to his close relationship with his mother, Phoebe, who was a devoted feminist. Though many of his women writers never even met him, Hearst monitored their progress closely and encouraged male editors to give them important assignments. Unlike most publishers at the time, Ross claimed, Hearst believed that women reporters were "essential to every paper."5

  For her American c
olumn, "The Screen and Its Players," Louella cut down on the lengthy descriptions of production deals and contracts that had filled her "In and Out of Focus" column in the Telegraph and devoted more space to actors' offscreen lives. The American's largely working- and middle-class audience "would rather know how Gloria Swanson keeps her lovely complexion than the troubles Samuel Goldwyn has in buying a current stage success," Louella explained in 1926.6

  The new column, with its "personality" focus, reflected major changes in American culture and celebrity journalism. In the t89os the Hearst press, with its emphasis on entertainment value, had pioneered a new brand of "story journalism" that, by the i92os, appeared in virtually all American newspapers. These newspapers ranged from two urban tabloids that had begun publication in the early i92os-the New York Daily News and the New York Daily Mirror-to the New York Times.? Although this new story journalism sometimes chronicled the escapades of politicians and society figures, its subjects were most often stage and screen entertainers.

  Since the nineteenth century, theater stars' offstage lives had been publicized by the popular press. But the actors had not been the sole focus of this press attention: prominent businessmen, political leaders, and inventors"idols of production," to use sociologist Leo Lowenthal's term-were praised for their professional achievements. By the 1920s, however, these idols of production had been largely replaced by "idols of consumption": actors, singers, socialites, and other artistic and literary figures who became famous for their lifestyles.' The growth of a national consumer culture in the early twentieth century, the decline of traditional religious moralities among the urban middle class, and the proliferation of visual mass media such as illustrated magazines and the movies had created a new, modern, secular culture that placed high value on style and appearance. Personality and "salesmanship" became desirable personal qualities, and a well-groomed appearance was touted as the key, in a mass urban society, to standing out in the crowd. With their wealth and charisma, and their ability to command fame and fortune on the basis of their looks, actors-particularly movie stars-became icons and role models for the new era. The Edisons, Rockefellers, and Roosevelts no longer represented the pinnacle of status and achievement: the Chaplins and Swansons and Fairbanks surpassed them, if not in pedigree, then certainly in popularity.