What he had neglected to say, however, was that part of the couple’s problem was that Marie loved alcohol more than she had ever loved her estranged husband. Years later, Sonny’s daughter Arden Keevers told author Michael G. Ankerich that her father said very little about the marriage to Marie. However, what he did reveal was that it was very tempestuous and that the actress definitely had a drinking problem during that time.
The divorce between Mrs and Mrs Gerke eventually became final and the scandal died down. Quite amusingly, however, Marie’s next film was entitled The Marriage Circle, which was to be directed by Ernst Lubitsch. She was very optimistic about the part and told reporters, “Mr Lubitsch’s way of directing is so different. All he wants me to do is to be natural, just like I would in real life.” Working with Lubitsch was a fantastic experience for the actress, and she gave him credit for giving her the chance to “get away from the usual, conventional way of doing things”. She was learning much about her abilities as an actress and felt sure that her career was moving in the direction she wanted it to go.
She was right, and from then on Marie’s career went from strength to strength, with starring roles in Kiss Me Again and Up in Mabel’s Room. Not wishing to attract any more attention in the marriage department, she quietly and without fuss wed her sweetheart, Kenneth Harlan, and looked forward to their future together.
Unfortunately, however, everything came crashing down in 1926 when Warner Brothers refused to renew the contracts of both Marie and her husband Harlan. Neither of them could believe it and the couple were left reeling at the unfairness of the decision. They wondered what they could possibly do to rectify the situation, but unfortunately, as it turned out, the renewing of contracts was just the tip of the iceberg; they were about to see just how cruel life could really be.
Just as Marie was getting her career back on track with several film roles, she was left inconsolable when news came through that her mother had been killed in a car accident while travelling from Los Angeles to Palm Beach. Apparently the wheel of the car came apart as she was in New Mexico, causing the vehicle to lose control and eventually overturn. The other passengers were not seriously injured but Hughlina was pronounced dead at the scene after suffering a broken spine and fractured skull.
Marie had been close to her mother and took the news of her death very badly. She began drinking more heavily than ever in an attempt to blank out her pain, but soon found that the alcohol did nothing for her emotions or her nerves. Then just before Christmas, a young girl stepped in front of the car Marie was driving, and although she was able to avert any real disaster, the incident caused the actress to stop driving for a year, taking streetcars to and from work for fear of anything happening while she was behind the wheel.
Marie’s nerves were on edge; thoughts of her mother’s death still played heavily on her mind, and the marriage between herself and Harlan started to crumble. The problems led to a much publicized separation in 1927, and Prevost decided to file for divorce. In court papers, the actress stated that Harlan refused to show any interest in the things she enjoyed; he was inconsiderate; he failed to provide her with reasonable recreation; he did not speak the way husbands should speak; and he became unreasonably jealous and told her that he would have been far happier if he had married somebody else. Newspapers were full of the stories of their divorce but, quite astonishingly, by July 1928 all seemed to have been forgiven and the couple announced that the divorce was off and they were back together again.
Confused reporters crowded into their Beverly Hills mansion to take photographs of the “happy” couple, but reported that while Prevost seemed giddy with excitement, the only word Harlan uttered was “Goof”, said quietly into his wife’s ear. Still, they were anxious to make the relationship work and, hoping to become closer, the two actors embarked on a second honeymoon to New York, but it was not successful; they argued most of the time and by January 1929 the marriage was over for good. Kenneth was polite when asked by reporters what his thoughts were, telling them that Marie was a “fine woman”, that they were still the best of friends, but “we simply could not get along together”.
Marie was more forthright. When asked when she would be getting married again she screwed up her nose. “Not very soon I assure you. Anyway, that is how I feel about it.”
By this time the talkies had come along and while Marie made the transition to sound fairly successfully, like many others she found the technique of acting in front of a microphone more complicated than straightforward silent movies. The pressure put on stars at that time to make the transition without trauma was excruciating for the already nervous actress and it was perhaps no coincidence that with the advent of sound, Marie Prevost was never again the star of a movie.
The actress’s weight started to fluctuate due to her battle with alcohol and her career suffered even more as a result. Gone were the heady days of bathing-beauty roles and dramatic parts, and instead she seemed destined to forever play “the friend” of actors such as Carole Lombard, who worked with her in Hands Across the Table. In that particular film, Marie brought in an amusing performance as Carole’s friend Nona, but it was a fairly small role, not particularly important and certainly not what she was used to playing when she had been a star.
In 1935 Marie hoped for a proper comeback when Warner Brothers agreed to call on her for future acting assignments. It was not the positive experience she hoped for, however, and while she was still only in her thirties, Marie found herself sitting on the “Old Timers’ Table” in the Warners’ Restaurant, chatting to former stars about the “good old days”.
It was at this point that Marie started to realize that her weight would always be an issue if she wanted to obtain good parts. However, instead of cutting back on alcohol, she astonishingly decided to stop eating and instead continued to drink more and more. The actress must surely have known the long-lasting damage that such a habit could bring not only to her career but to her body too, but by this time Marie was completely addicted; she was an alcoholic, but seemed destined never to admit it.
In late 1936 she moved into the Aftonian, at 6230 Afton Place, and in the comfort of her new home Marie spent her time thinking about the old days of Hollywood and playing with her dachshund, Maxie. A dog lover, she filled the apartment with ribbons and pictures of her prize-winning animals, and pinned a note to the door which read, “Please do not knock on this door more than once. It makes my dog bark. If I am in I will hear you as I am not deaf.” Unfortunately, some of the people knocking for attention were not friends but debt collectors, often seen by neighbours banging for attention and grumbling that the actress would not let them in.
Newspapers later reported that Marie Prevost owed money to everyone from dressmakers to tax collectors. In 1935 she had happily announced an inheritance of an estate in Scotland, but nothing came of it and her friend Joan Crawford had to lend her money to get by. She was far too proud to ask her family for help, however, and every time she wrote to her sister Peggy, Marie would always make sure she reported only the good things in her life: “She maintained a brave and cheerful outlook throughout,” her sister later said.
Unfortunately, Marie struggled with her finances for the rest of her life, and several days before her death she was spotted walking down Afton Place to a nearby delicatessen, where she was seen discussing the possibility of redeeming a returned cheque with the sales assistant, Bernard Weiss.
Finally, on 21 January 1937, Marie’s malnourished and alcohol-laden body was irreversibly breaking down. With empty whisky bottles in the sink and two gas heaters burning in the kitchen, Marie removed her shoes and stockings, and lay down on her bed for a nap. There she passed away in the presence of her beloved dog, Maxie; she was a victim of acute alcoholism according to the autopsy report.
Unfortunately, no one discovered that Marie was dead until two days after she had expired, when her dog was heard barking wildly inside the apartment. The building manager, Henrietta Jenks,
sent the cleaner, William Bogle, to check on their famous resident, and he let himself in with his pass key. What awaited him was extremely distressing.
Marie was face down on the bed, a robe pulled up over her, and there were significant bites on her arms and legs, where Maxie had desperately tried to awaken his mistress. It was later reported that the dog had actually eaten the legs of Marie Prevost, but photographs of the death scene prove this to be absolutely false. There were large bites, yes, but they look more like the kind of marks made by an animal desperate for his owner to wake up, rather than that of a human-eating canine.
Her sister, former actress Peggy Prevost, rushed to Los Angeles from her home in San Francisco and told reporters that “Marie was too proud to let anyone know of her circumstances. We were never advised.” She then added tearfully that all she knew was that she had lost a wonderful sister, and was deeply sorry that she had been unable to spend the last few hours of her life with her. “There was never anyone who was more devoted to her friends,” Peggy told reporters. “No one more kind and helpful.”
Marie Prevost’s funeral was a quiet affair. Her mother, who had been buried at Forest Lawn eleven years previously, was exhumed, and the two were cremated together in a private ceremony. Her last rites were as low-key as her last days; there were no flowers, no drama, no glitz or glamour. In fact, so quiet was the affair that there is still no proper evidence of where her ashes ended up, though Peggy later claimed that Joan Crawford paid for a plot of land at Hollywood Memorial Cemetery.
The actress had actually taken the news of her friend’s death very badly and was said to have been inconsolable, feeling she was somehow responsible and that she could have – should have – done something to save her. This, it seems, was an emotion felt by many of the people who attended the funeral, most of whom seemed inconsolable at the early passing of their much-loved friend.
Marie’s ex-husband, Kenneth Harlan, was saddened by her passing. “I was upset and shocked to learn of my former wife’s death,” he said, before remarking that he was particularly surprised to hear the circumstances of the way she had died. “We hadn’t been in touch with each other for some time,” he sadly told reporters.
Indeed, it would seem that while previously Harlan had said he hoped they would still be best friends after their divorce, the only real companion Marie Prevost had with her at the time of her death was her dachshund Maxie. It was a sad and tragic end to the life of the one-time bathing beauty, though unfortunately in Hollywood, not a wholly unusual one.
21
The Rape of Patricia Douglas
Patricia Douglas might not be a household name now, but in 1937 she was on the front pages of numerous newspapers, creating more headlines than even the death of film star and icon, Jean Harlow. Sadly her name and story were covered up in the years that followed, and you are about to find out why.
Douglas was born on 27 March 1917 in Kansas City, Missouri, before moving to Hollywood with her mother, Mildred Mitchell. Mitchell was a dressmaker determined to make glamorous gowns for movie stars, but during the course of pursuing her ambitions – and eight unsuccessful marriages – she was not an attentive mother and ended up neglecting her daughter.
As she was used to going to the cinema as a child, it was a natural progression for Patricia to make her way into the movies, which she did almost as soon as she left school aged fourteen. However, she had no dreams of becoming an actress; instead she performed in dance numbers where she was so good at learning the routines and teaching others that she made a good name for herself with dance directors and gained a lot of work in the process. However, after one particularly tragic night in 1937, Patricia’s interest in movies ended forever and she never danced again.
On 2 May 1937, MGM started hosting a much anticipated convention for 282 of their sales executives, who had all arrived as VIPs at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. They were wined, dined and had private transport to the events; you name it, they got it. In fact, MGM were so adamant that the executives would be satisfied that MGM boss Louis B. Mayer announced at the beginning of the convention that they could have “Anything you want!” and this was repeated time and time again during the course of the next few days.
On 5 May 1937, Patricia Douglas had a 4 p.m. movie call-time at a remote barn on producer Hal Roach’s ranch. Patricia was kitted out in a cowgirl outfit, consisting of brown felt hat, suede skirt and black side-seam boots, while 120 other girls were given a mixture of Western and Spanish costumes. They had no reason to believe that this call was for anything but a film, but they were very wrong. When they arrived at the barn there was no film crew, no lights, no cameras or sound equipment. Instead there were 500 cases of champagne, Scotch and lots of food; in short, it looked decidedly like a party was about to start, not a film shoot.
At 7 p.m., the girls were proved right in their suspicions when throngs of salesmen arrived at the barn, all of whom seemed happy to see that “party favours” had been left for them. But it wasn’t the food they were interested in; instead, it was the young women who had been tricked into thinking they would be making a movie, not taking part in a free-for-all at the hands of hundreds of hungry salesmen.
Patricia Douglas was allocated to the table of David Ross, a salesman from Chicago. In 2003, she was filmed for Girl 27 (2007), a documentary by respected author/producer David Stenn, and said on camera that Ross kept asking her to teach him how to “truck”, a new dance craze that Patricia was particularly good at. “It never entered my mind that anyone would do me any harm,” she told Stenn, adding that Ross was forever “copping a feel”, and was slimy with bulging eyes that dominated his entire face.
When Patricia returned from the dance floor to the table, the teetotal dancer was asked by another salesman to try the Scotch and champagne. She refused, which prompted one of the men to mix both drinks together into a glass and proceed to hold her nose while another man poured the ghastly liquid down Douglas’s throat. The young dancer almost choked on the liquid and it ran all over her face and down her clothes.
Patricia Douglas was not only horrified by what had just happened, but extremely ill from the liquor, so she went outside to vomit. Unfortunately she was followed by David Ross, who grabbed the virginal Douglas and appallingly proceeded to rape her, slapping the young dancer’s face to keep her awake, after the alcohol threatened to make her pass out. One of the last things she remembered him saying to her was the ghastly remark, “I want to destroy you”, a comment that troubled and confused Patricia for the rest of her life.
Finally, the attack was over and her screams for help brought car parking attendant Clement Soth to her aid. She was then taken to the Community Hospital, where she was given a douche, effectively destroying all evidence of the attack. Getting rid of anything that could put Ross at the scene of the attack seems a bizarre thing to do, but when you consider that the studio executives were furious that Douglas had made a fuss and determined that they would not be dragged into any kind of scandal, it all makes perfect sense.
It would seem that the studio executives were adamant that they would make sure it was Douglas, not them, who had a ruined reputation, and as a result, questionnaires were handed out to other dancers to see what kind of girl Patricia was. This was not all, as private detectives were then assigned to spy on her, and even her doctor was reportedly paid to claim falsely that she was suffering from a sexually transmitted disease. Meanwhile, if Patricia believed she would at least find love and understanding with her family, she was very wrong as at her home at 1160 South Bronson Avenue, she received no compassion from her mother at all. “It was never mentioned; it never happened,” she told David Stenn years later.
It wasn’t long, of course, before the scandal hit the newspapers, with District Attorney Buron Fitts telling reporters that he intended to have a man with the same name as the attacker face Patricia Douglas to see if she could identify him. “I am taking no definite action until I am sure we have the right ma
n,” he said. At no time was David Ross or MGM mentioned in the article, though Patricia Douglas was named in the very first sentence, with her full address published on numerous occasions over the coming days and weeks.
In a twist, it turned out that the man they presented to Douglas in the District Attorney’s office was not the right David Ross at all, but an innocent Hollywood theatre manager, whom Patricia had never seen in her life. Photographs were then sought to clarify exactly who the attacker could be and Patricia was once again called to the police station, where she looked through a file of “suspects” and eventually picked David Ross out of a group of twenty-four men. “This is the man,” Patricia declared, before turning over the photographs and declining to look any further.
The case was eventually brought before a grand jury, and David Ross was finally named in the newspapers, though never officially served. However, he did appear in court to defend himself, and was led into the room for official identification. That day newspapers described Douglas as accusing Ross of “beating and attacking her when she repulsed his advances” and the word rape was not mentioned at all. Then in the recess, Douglas had the unfortunate experience of seeing Ross in the corridor, a situation most likely set up by the media as a good photo opportunity. She broke down and ran towards an open window before being consoled by her mother in front of the press photographers. Given that Douglas’s mother had never shown any loving interest in the child before, one can be forgiven for thinking that her show of remorse was merely for the photographers.
Ross took to the stand to testify. He denied the attack except to say that he was introduced to Patricia Douglas with several other girls, danced and joined her for one round of drinks. He then claimed to have left with friends at midnight, while Douglas continued to party with another man at the event. It was all lies but that, coupled with the fact that a host of witnesses, including the car parking attendant, were apparently paid to change their stories and deny they had seen anything at all, resulted in the case being dropped.
The Mammoth Book of Hollywood Scandals Page 21