Young Bernice was smiling confidently, like a Cheshire cat. Mrs. Day almost fainted. “Come in,” she managed to squeak out, inviting the newlyweds to share all the details. Bernice confessed she had just recently been divorced, and that when she and Darby Day met at a social event, they fell so much in love they eloped. Oh, and one more thing, they had no place to live. Ever the doting mother, Mrs. Day quickly took charge. She arranged for “a real marriage” and then sent the newlyweds on a honeymoon. Three honeymoons, in fact, that took the couple all around the world, while Mrs. Day packed up the family’s Chicago home and moved everything to their new estate on Alpine Drive in Beverly Hills.
And so it was that just a few months into their marriage, the young Days moved in with the old Days—but there would be no living happily ever after. Bernice wanted a home of her own. Unfortunately her new husband couldn’t afford that yet since his daddy was bankrolling him. Bernice was not happy. Day told an acquaintance, “My wife has recently made unreasonable demands on me which I am not financially able to comply with.”
The honeymoon was over. The couple began quarrelling constantly. Bernice was like a wildcat, slapping and punching her husband—who stayed calm and carried on. That only infuriated Bernice more. She threatened to kill him, staged a fake suicide attempt, and when she still didn’t get her way, the tempestuous bride rushed out of the house to a nearby cliff and threatened to jump off. One of the family employees pulled her to safety and took her to his house for the night at Mrs. Day’s request. When Bernice returned the next day, expecting to move back in, Mrs. Day was cold and unforgiving, telling the girl to come back “when her nerves were quieter.”
This was the final straw for Bernice. She returned later that night with a bottle of acid hidden in her coat pocket. Mrs. Day opened the door and told her to leave, Bernice saw Day standing behind his mother. “Please Darby,” she cajoled, “I need you.”
Despite his mother’s warning, Day walked away with Bernice. Once they were alone, Bernice begged him, “Look at me, please!” The husband turned to face his bride just as she hurled a hot liquid at him. He was instantly blinded, flesh melting and dripping off his face. Bernice hopped into her car, leaving her husband stumbling in the dark to find his way home. She drove to a relative’s house, drank some poison and wrote a suicide note, “Mothers-in-law shouldn’t live with young married people. I guess it’s quits. I love you from the bottom of my heart. They say love will make you go to extremes. You will never find a love as true or pure as mine. Love, Bernie.”
The new bride recovered quickly from her alleged suicide attempt. Day underwent five grueling surgeries to regain his eyesight and repair skin damage. Meanwhile, Mrs. Day filed assault charges against Bernice. The press went into overdrive covering the case that pitted mother-in-law against daughter-in-law. Reporters were incredulous when the mild-mannered Day took the stand, saying he had no desire for revenge, despite the ugly scars the acid attack had left behind.
When it was Bernice’s turn to testify, she claimed she meant to throw the acid on herself. The jury didn’t buy it, they found her guilty, and Bernice was on her way to San Quentin State Prison. When asked what caused her marital problems in the first place, Bernice snapped at reporters, “Too much mother-in-law!”
Darby Day moved back to Chicago with his family, where he eventually filed for a divorce. But just when his family thought he’d finally stopped being a human doormat, he petitioned a judge to take it easy on Bernice and let her out early, contending, “Bernice has been punished sufficiently for her act; this is the time to forgive and forget.”
Bernice was released a few months early after spending one year in prison. When asked by reporters if there was any chance for a reconciliation, Bernice stomped her feet and retorted, “I’m glad he got a divorce, for I never want to see or hear of him again.” She also said she wanted to forget her life behind bars. “Association with approximately a hundred women, white, black, brown, yellow, some good, mostly bad, all milling about like animals in damp and stuffy quarters, daily bickering, real fist fights, and a good deal of hair pulling—such a life is enough to take the heart out of anyone.”
Darby never did get the chance to build a life of his own. He died suddenly at age twenty-four while undergoing an operation for a stomach ailment. He did make headlines one more time before he passed away. He’d been caught by the press bestowing a lingering kiss on a beautiful actress, Josephine Norman. A reporter asked him if he planned to marry the beauty, to which he replied, “Romance? Blah! I’m through with love and marriage.”
Darby Day Jr., who was “bathed in a flood of liquid fire,” shocked observers when he requested leniency for his bride.
Wealthy banker Darby Day Sr., left, poses with his son and wife, who filed charges against her daughter-in-law.
Bernice Day’s younger sister, Carlyn (in the hat) was charged with conspiracy for driving the getaway car after the acid attack.
Prior to the attack, acid-thrower Bernice Day had threatened to kill her new husband; she arrives for court accompanied by a deputy sheriff.
1927
“America’s Sweetheart” Kidnap Plot • Pickford in Peril
Photographers’ flashes were booming as the crowd outside the courtroom clamored and shouted, “There she is! Our Mary!” Rabid fans crawled out of windows to get a better view: Mary Pickford had just arrived for the trial of the trio who tried to kidnap her. The men, two truck drivers and a car salesman, had hatched the kidnapping-for-ransom plot one night after they had a few drinks. The plan was to ambush the star at a stoplight on Sunset Boulevard while she was driving home in her Rolls-Royce from the studio. Luckily, a police informant foiled the kidnapping attempt.
During the trial, the courtroom was packed with onlookers. One reporter noted, “The proverbial flapper was not much in evidence in this crowd, most of the women were of middle-age or older, and a large number of men made up the audience.” Mary Pickford performed convincingly on the stand, helping bolster the case that she had been stalked. The jury began deliberations late in the afternoon (back in those days jurors were allowed to set their own hours). The verdict came in just four hours later, at 9:30: two were found guilty of conspiracy to kidnap the star, and one was acquitted.
Courtroom staff was on hand to control the overflow crowds, and one stern-faced bailiff broke into a smile as Mary’s husband, the equally famous actor Douglas Fairbanks, walked out of the courtroom and shook the bailiff’s hand; the “star” effect worked its magic once again to provide a Hollywood ending for this legal drama.
Other Stalker Targets
Clara Bow
When a big strange man rang “It Girl” silent-film star Clara Bow’s doorbell, Bow’s maid rang the cops. They arrived minutes later, but couldn’t handcuff the lug; his wrists were too big. After sweet-talking him into the squad car, he was sent back home, where he did time in a mental hospital.
Sylvia Sidney
When a plumber from Chicago flew in to “marry” Sylvia (she was a popular actress in gangster films), he left love letters at her doorstep. Sylvia ratted him out to the cops who put the screws on the goon and took him straight to the hoosegow (jail—or “Gray Bar Hotel” as some liked to call it).
Gloria Vanderbilt
This wealthy seventeen-year-old heiress (newsman Anderson Cooper’s mom) married self-described agent/bad boy Pat DiCicco in 1941. Police didn’t get an invitation, but they showed up anyway to quietly arrest suspects who were planning to kidnap the bride at the reception.
The kidnapping trio met Mary Pickford in person for the first time in court. The suspect on the left was acquitted, the others were found guilty.
Pickford and Fairbanks at the courthouse.
Jurors in a nearby courtroom crawl across a precipice eight stories high to catch a glimpse of Pickford and Fairbanks.
Clara Bow
Gloria Vanderbuilt
Sylvia Sidney
1929
“Feminine Air C
op” Crashes—Nude • Last-Minute Save
Look! Up in the air! No, not a bird, but some fancy flyers, and one female pilot wing-walking in the nude. Seriously? Seriously. And now that we have your attention, here’s the true story behind the attention-grabbing headlines.
Stunt flying was as big a craze in the 1920s as car racing. Out-of-work World War I pilots showed off their skills at air shows being held at the Beverly Hills Speedway. However, the aviators were also buzzing residential neighborhoods nearby, loop-de-looping and dipping perilously low to altitudes of about fifty feet. Residents were not amused. They also didn’t like the “flower bombs” that had recently fallen from a plane. An airplane crew hired to drop roses on the procession for screen actor Rudolph Valentino’s funeral had not quite understood their mission. Instead of dropping the buds one-at-a-time, they dropped entire bunches of flowers, startling drivers below who were forced to swerve to dodge the falling bouquets.
Something had to be done about these aerial daredevils, so the Beverly Hills Police Department hired three pilots as part of a new “Sky Patrol.” The aerial officers’ duties were simple: intercept lawbreakers mid-air, escort them back to the ground, and write a three-hundred-dollar ticket. Elizabeth McQueen, deputized in 1929, became the world’s first female police aviator, an amazing accomplishment since women weren’t even considered fit to patrol the streets back then.
Bernardine King, an accomplished aviatrix who joined the force, held a number of records as a stunt flyer. She was flying from Bakersfield to her home in Beverly Hills when she made shocking headlines: “Nude as Plane Crashes.” Apparently King liked laying out, in the buff, on the wings of her plane, “I was taking a sunbath in the sky above Bakersfield,” she admitted. “The crankshaft broke and I was in no condition to bail out. By the time I had struggled back into my clothes, the ship was out of control, and I crashed.”
King’s plane plummeted into an alfalfa field, hit an irrigation ditch, and bounced 150 feet into the air, the craft landed upside down. “The plane caught fire and if a rancher hadn’t yanked me out of the wreckage, I’d have been a cooked goose,” said King, who spent the day in the hospital with serious injuries, bruises, and a broken finger. But she insisted on returning home the next day in a plane—with all her clothes on this time.
Aviatrix Bernadine King is headline news.
Officer Paul Whittier, member of the Beverly Hills Air Patrol
Officer Elizabeth McQueen, the first female police aviator in the world, was a member of the Beverly Hills Air Patrol.
1929
Murder at Greystone Mansion • Who Killed Whom?
A light rain was falling on Saturday night, February 16, 1929. Hugh Plunkett drove his car up the winding road to the gates of his boss Ned Doheny’s mansion. He had done this many times before. But this night would be different from all others at the recently completed Greystone Manor. This was the night employee and boss would die, their corpses lying in two bloody heaps just a few feet apart from each other.
“Something terrible has happened,” announced the night watchman to the rest of the staff. “Mr. Plunkett and Mr. Doheny are both dead.”
Rumors and whispers of what really happened that night have swirled ever since. Who shot whom? Was it a clandestine love affair gone bad or just an employee who suffered a spectacular crackup? Was a jealous wife to blame? Perhaps, as some have suggested, these deaths were related to a political scandal that involved the oil-rich Dohenys—maybe it was a professional hit to silence people who knew too much? The answers, like one of the bullets that pierced through a wall, then fell behind it, are just out of reach. But there are clues in the police file, a holy grail of Beverly Hills crime reporting.
First, some background: Greystone Mansion was built by one of the richest and most powerful oil barons in the nation, Edward Doheny Sr. The fifty-five-room mansion was a gift to his son Ned, his wife Lucy, and their five children. The forty-six thousand-square-foot estate, the largest in Southern California, featured a private bowling alley, a theater, a ten-car garage, exquisite landscaping with cascading waterfalls, a charming playhouse with child-sized appliances and furniture, and a live-in staff that included a riding master for the children. The deadly tragedy happened just five months after the Dohenys had moved in.
By all accounts, the relationship between Hugh and Ned, both in their mid-thirties, was more like a strong friendship than a business arrangement. Hugh Plunkett was a trusted and loyal employee who had worked for the family for fifteen years. He often traveled on business trips with Ned Doheny, like the time they personally delivered (at the request of the senior Doheny) a little black bag filled with a hundred thousand dollars to the U.S. Secretary of the Interior. Was this a gift or (as a Senate investigation implied) a bribe to lease oil-rich government-owned land in Teapot Dome, Wyoming?
Both Doheny and Plunkett were due to appear in court soon to testify about the scandal; Plunkett was upset that he’d been drawn into this drama, worried the family might make him the fall guy. It didn’t help that his wife had just divorced him, and that he was in constant physical pain—headaches, toothaches, infections. Plunkett confessed to the family physician, Dr. Fishbaugh, that he was having trouble sleeping and was taking up to ten times the normal doses of the prescription sedatives Dial and Veronal.
The day of the deaths, Plunkett appeared to be particularly agitated and went to Greystone in the afternoon to talk with the doctor, Ned, and Lucy. They all urged Plunkett to take a vacation, or perhaps spend time at a sanatorium. “All these he refused to do, and, in the midst of our conversation, he got up and walked out of the room without saying goodbye,” said the doctor.
Plunkett returned for a surprise visit to the mansion later that night. Did he have murder on his mind? These are excerpts from witness interviews conducted the night of the murder:
Joe Maurice, the live-in riding instructor, whose apartment was above the garage:
Q. Did you know Mr. Plunkett was on the estate last night?
A. Well…at…9:30 I heard his car come into the garage court…it made quite a lot of noise…shortly after…I heard someone…come upstairs to the closet where Mr. Plunkett kept his fishing tackle and firearms and I heard a door open and someone walking very quietly.
The night watchman, Ed McCarthy, adds these details:
Q. Tell us in your own words what happened.
A. I was closing the back gate, I hear steps, look up, and it was Plunkett. He asked me if the folks had got in and I told him yes…Plunkett said I suppose they are asleep. I replied I don’t think so, he then turned and left toward the entrance and I followed…as I came through the archway…I saw Plunkett going down the hall towards the guest room.
Q. Does Mr. Plunkett have access to the house?
A. Yes, indeed, he carried master keys to the house and was practically one of the family. It was not unusual for him to come and go at any time.
Dr. Fishbaugh continues the story (Doheny had called and asked him to come over after Plunkett showed up—he was worried about Plunkett’s mental state):
Q. When you started to enter the hallway…met by Mr. Plunkett at the door, did you notice a gun in his hand?
A. I did not…Mr. Plunkett approached from the opposite direction and said, “Stay out of here!” (in very harsh words) and slammed the door. Almost immediately a shot was heard and a thud. I asked Mrs. Doheny to wait, and opened the door to find Plunkett sprawled out on the floor in the hallway, motionless. Blood was streaming from his head…When entering the guest room chamber, the body of Mr. Doheny Jr. was found lying sprawled out on the floor near the foot of the bed, still breathing, but blood flowing profusely from both sides of his head. Mr. Doheny’s pulse was still faintly perceptible, he was lying on his back and froth and blood were gurgling from his mouth. In order to relieve the breathing, he was turned over on his right side by me until the blood and froth cleared out of his mouth and throat after which he was turned back into his origin
al position where he remained. He stopped breathing in about 30 minutes. After coming out of the guest room, I met Mrs. Doheny, who had been waiting, and told her that both were shot, that Plunkett was dead and that Mr. Doheny was still breathing. She burst out in tears and said, “Oh, how horrible!” and rushed to the telephone to call…her sister…it was decided to call Mr. and Mrs. Doheny senior…they arrived in 20 to 30 minutes. Upon his arrival they notified the police.
The record shows police didn’t arrive until several hours later, well after midnight. There is no record of an official interview with Ned’s wife, Lucy. The police chief, in his notes, noted that Lucy told him she only heard what sounded like furniture toppling over, and then one gunshot.
So what really happened? Years after the deaths, an investigator who was on scene that night, Leslie White, wrote a book in which he questioned the police chief and district attorney’s findings of a murder/suicide. White had no hard evidence to prove otherwise, just a gnawing suspicion that the witness’s accounts sounded rehearsed to him, plus he wondered why there were no fingerprints found on the gun that was lodged underneath Plunkett. Also troubling him, powder burns usually indicative of suicide were found on Doheny’s face, not Plunkett’s.
As for the rumored love affair between the two men, few people in that era spoke of same-sex affairs, but Plunkett’s apartment manager may have inadvertently revealed an intriguing clue to a reporter, who wrote, “On a few occasions the younger Doheny was seen to come to the apartment with Plunkett, but when they did come they were always alone and did not stay very long.”
Beverly Hills Confidential : A Century of Stars, Scandals and Murders Page 3