Newspaper headlines about the tragedy virtually disappeared after just a few days; the coroner quickly closed the case: it was a murder-suicide, end of story.
Oddly, Ned was not buried at the family burial site in a Catholic cemetery. (If you committed suicide, you couldn’t be buried in a Catholic cemetery.) Rather, he was the lone Doheny family member buried at Forest Lawn in Glendale. That move fueled the theory that either the family knew of a clandestine love affair, and kept the two close by (Plunkett is buried just down the hill), or that Doheny was the one who shot first, killing Plunkett, then turning the gun on himself.
The widowed Lucy lived on in the mansion and married her second husband, financier Leigh Battson, a few years later. After raising her children, the couple built and moved into a home nearby. Lucy sold the bulk of the Greystone property in 1954 to Paul Trousdale who developed the area as Trousdale Estates. The mansion itself was sold in 1965 to a Chicago-based developer who never lived there. Instead, he rented it to movie studios. (Later the City of Beverly Hills purchased Greystone, leasing it for a time to the American Film Institute, then turning it into a city park. The mansion now plays host to private parties and weddings and is often featured in movies, including the critically acclaimed film about the early oil industry, There Will Be Blood [2007]).
In the years that followed the double deaths, several other tragedies occurred with Greystone as the backdrop. In February of 1992, the body of seventeen-year-old Justin Zeitsoff, the son of a former Malibu city councilwoman, was found in the trunk of his BMW car that was left at the mansion’s front gates. The young man had been killed by two gang members over a failed gun/drug deal. Then in the late 1990s, a local doctor, upset over his failing health, committed suicide in one of the gardens. Urban myths about a young child falling accidentally to her death from a balcony and a servant pushing another worker down the mansion stairs have never been substantiated.
Edward Doheny Sr. was seventy-nine when he died of natural causes, just a few years after Ned’s death. There would be no father-son dynasty. “In the evening of his life, Edward Doheny Sr., found himself but a plaything of destiny.” Lucy (Doheny) Battson died in 1993 at the age of one hundred. Neither she nor her children ever spoke publicly about what happened that deadly night in the mansion. As one newspaper article put it in 1929, instead of a monument to the Doheny name, Greystone had become a “Palace of Grief.”
Clark Fogg’s Analysis:
It’s quite possible Hugh Plunkett didn’t intend to kill his boss. The tragedy may have been an accidental murder/suicide. An examination of the crime scene images taken the night of the incident suggests that an emotionally charged conversation ensued between Plunkett and Doheny. A possible scenario: since the firearm was a Colt Bisley single-action revolver (single-action revolvers require less trigger-pull than double-action firearms), as Plunkett pointed the firearm at Doheny it could have accidentally discharged. With Doheny falling out of the chair and blood gushing from his head wound, Plunkett decided to end all outside pressures by ending his life as Mrs. Doheny and the doctor approached him in the hallway outside the guest bedroom.
Illustrated crime-scene photos, or “photo diagrams.” offered a possible scenario about the deadly drama at the huge estate.
A society newspaper features Ned Doheney and family.
A crystal tumbler and cigarette were found near Ned Doheney.
A gun was found by Hugh Plunkett’s body.
Doheny’s body was turned over by the family doctor, then placed back in its original position, thus the blood drip lines across the face.
Hugh Plunkett died from a bullet wound to the head.
A bullet to the temple killed Ned Doheney.
Photos of Lucy (Doheny) Battson occasionally appeared in local newspaper society pages.
Ned Doheny’s funeral was held at St. Vincent’s Cathedral in Los Angeles.
Doheny’s final resting spot was a marble monument at Forest Lawn in Glendale not far from Plunkett’s simple headstone.
The grand hall at Greystone.
High ceilings and exquisite furnishings defined Greystone’s main living room.
Mansions, Moguls, Movie Stars
The 1930s
As this decade begins, it’s clear Beverly Hills has that “It” factor. Not only are there “more stars than there are in heaven”—an old M-G-M studio line—but it’s also the fastest-growing city in the U.S., despite the Depression. Beverly Hills doesn’t totally escape the ravages of the Great Depression, however; at least one bank closes its doors and several mansions on the desirable north side are foreclosed upon, shuttered, and sold for much less than they cost to build.
A commercial building boom is underway as new merchants come to town; the city is shedding its rural image. Horses are banned from city streets in 1930. A brand new city hall is built, housing both the new jail and police headquarters. The police department is now fully staffed with thirty-six officers. And in early January of 1938, the bronze-and-gold Beverly Hills city signs, soon to be recognized around the world, are placed along the city’s six-mile perimeter.
The mass exodus of movie stars from Hollywood to Beverly Hills continues. Starline Tours launches the first sightseeing excursions of movie stars’ homes; so many to see—like the imposing mansion belonging to Charlie Chaplin and the equally grand home of the beautiful actress Gloria Swanson. The stunning estates are featured in a short promotional film, a narrator announcing, “Look, the homes of the stars are shiny and different. Here’s one right out of a fairytale book.”
Also pouring into town: wealthy industrialists and entrepreneurs. Publishing giant William Randolph Hearst builds a mini mansion at 1700 Lexington Drive. It’s smaller than his gargantuan castle at San Simeon in Central California, but still opulent. Neighbors gossip, but don’t really seem to care that he “lives in sin” with his longtime mistress, actress Marion Davies. After all, the couple throws the best parties, overflowing with tycoons and box-office idols.
With all this new money in town, luxury merchants start popping up. No Gucci or Tiffany stores yet, but Ruser jewelry store sells diamond baubles for a hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Rex offers mink hats for five hundred dollars. And the city’s most elegant dames frequent the exclusive Juel Park lingerie shop, perhaps picking up a custom-made, rose-point lace negligee for an astonishing fifteen hundred dollars.
Even the renowned Saks Fifth Avenue in New York can no longer ignore the enormous wealth and retail opportunity in this star-studded town. Saks opens its first West Coast store in 1938, firmly establishing Beverly Hills as an international shopping destination. Reporter and socialite Adela Rogers St. Johns writes in her book, My Hollywood Story, that there is simply no place like Beverly Hills, “Around us opulence rolled like lava from a volcano. Everywhere were foreign cars, gowns, and furs.”
This town has the highest concentration of rich-and-famous people of any city in the world. No wonder it’s also attracting the not so rich and famous. Crimes of attempted mayhem perpetrated by the devilment of wrongdoers start filling newspaper columns. Stories of criminals with real-life names like Frenchy Berry and Eddy LaRue enthrall the public, as do tales of the rich and famous getting robbed. “The servant problem is really something these days,” blares a headline.
In 1936, the Beverly Hills Police Department installs two-way radios on police motorcycles, a first for law enforcement in the United States. A year later, the new technology will go into the squad cars, but the system is buggy. Seems the hilly terrain north of Sunset, where the biggest mansions are located, makes for spotty communications. The shiny copper dome on the beautiful new city hall interferes with reception, too. More remote towers are built, and the problem is solved.
In 1937, Police Chief Blair buys the department’s first Thompson machine gun, Model 28, for three hundred dollars. Mobsters and gangsters are coming to town and the department has a sparkling reputation it intends to keep. The conviction record is remark
able, almost one hundred percent. The Beverly Hills Police Department is hailed as being without equal in the country.
Beverly Hills is also a city without equal when it comes to the scandals and dramas that could only happen there, like the time international movie-queen Marlene Dietrich received a spine-chilling letter in the mail at her house on Bedford Drive. The author had cut out words from newspapers and pasted them onto the page, threatening, “Your daughter will be kidnapped,” and demanding a one-hundred-thousand-dollar ransom. Officers set up surveillance outside the star’s home. Dietrich’s five-year-old girl never was abducted, and the author of the note was never heard from again. Dietrich announced she was thankful to Beverly Hills police, telling reporters in her distinctive German accent, “That message filled me with fear and horror.” Meanwhile, the scandal sheets are delighted—Beverly Hills is a fertile new hotbed for headlines.
Marlene Dietrich (with husband Dr. Rudolph Sieber and daughter Maria) installed iron bars on all windows after the kidnap scare.
The new Italian Renaissance-style City Hall was under construction in 1932.
An aerial shot shows a growing city.
Newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst was often photographed with his mistress of thirty-five years, actress Marion Davies.
Gloria Swanson was one of only a few major movie stars who transitioned easily from silent films to “talkies”
Saks Fifth Avenue shortly after it opened for business.
The high-end Juel Park lingerie shop.
Gin Rummy Scandal Rocks Movie Colony • Jokers Not Welcome
A gin rummy craze took hold in Beverly Hills in the 1930s. It’s an easy card game to play and easy to win. But some newcomers were winning more than the locals: card sharks, swimming in big-money social circles and playing card tricks.
In fact, the police department switchboard was glutted with calls from irate residents who’d been fleeced. One, a humiliated movie producer, lost thirty thousand dollars in a single game. But there was really nothing the cops could do; it was not against the law to “play a friendly game of cards” with gullible guests.
So the community decided to take the law into its own hands and deal out some vigilante justice. The brain behind this perfectly legal plot: newspaper columnist and well-loved socialite Cobina Wright. She decided to bait the sharks with an irresistible lure. “We’re having a party,” Cobina announced to her famous friends, “a party like no other, with an unexpected twist. It will be the social event of the season!”
The night finally arrived and the evening was underway—it looked almost like a blockbuster premiere. There was heart-throb Clark Gable getting out of a Rolls-Royce and sexy sweater girl Lana Turner right behind him. Charlie Chaplin attended too. It was a glittering guest list of stars and studio executives. Two men walked in, looking just a tad bit out of place. They were undercover cops who were invited to watch what was about to happen. Also mingling with the overflow crowd were the incognito card sharks who wormed their way in.
The games were about to begin.
The conversation and liquor started to flow. Dinner was served; a Baked Alaska dessert was quickly polished off, just as the hostess clinked her crystal glass with a silver spoon and rose to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began with a sly smile, “I know you all came here to play cards, and we’ll get to that. But first, I have a surprise. Let me introduce you to our very, very special guests this evening.” And with that, a card trick magician named McDougall and an internationally famous private detective named Raymond Schindler were brought center stage. They proceeded to mesmerize the audience with a demonstration revealing how easy it is for experts to stack a gin rummy deck. “The naive player, the ‘pigeon,’ is you,” explained the detective. “You don’t stand a chance in a game with these con artists.”
The swindlers’ tricks were exposed, and the con-men were rendered powerless. And while no one was arrested that night, it’s clear the soiree was a huge success. No more calls came in to the police department about big money lost at friendly card games. Game over.
Cobine Wright, second from right was a newspaper columnist turned hostess.
Friends described Cobina Wright to be “of undetermined age and very determined character.”
1932
Screen Siren Jean Harlow’s New Husband Dead • Suicide or Murder?
Here’s a true story that sounds like it’s meant for the silver screen: A successful studio executive with undersized, ahem, private parts, marries the hottest, sexiest, blondest star in town. She’s twenty-one, madly in love, and grateful to this man who groomed her for stardom. He’s forty-two, an average-looking, lifelong bachelor, who’s thrilled he landed Hollywood’s reigning sex siren. But just two months into their marriage, on September 5, 1932, he is found dead—a cryptic note on his desk, a single bullet wound to the head. His new wife is devastated—from bride to widow in eight weeks. And there’s another twist: a mystery woman is pulled out of a river a few days later, a woman who claimed she was the executive’s real wife.
There are two versions of what really happened the night Jean Harlow’s new husband died:
1. He committed suicide because he was embarrassed that he couldn’t sexually satisfy his bride.
2. That woman in the river, Dorothy Millette, killed him in a jealous rage. She was his common-law wife, one he’d hidden away in mental institutions.
The first version was the one M-G-M studio executives wanted the public to believe. They knew they had a scandal on their hands, and they wanted to minimize the bad publicity sure to follow. After all, Harlow was the studio’s brightest star and biggest moneymaker. Far better to elicit sympathy for Harlow and cast her as a wronged wife than to reveal her new husband was a bigamist with sordid secrets.
The undisputed facts in either scenario are these: studio executives, alerted by the staff, arrived at the scene of the crime hours before police were called. M-G-M chief Louis B. Mayer, production chief Irving Thalberg, and chief of security Whitey Hendry left their family Labor Day celebrations and raced over to Bern’s house where they found the small, nude body of their colleague lying upstairs near the master bedroom.
The execs found a cryptic note tucked in a green Moroccan leather address book on Bern’s desk. It read:
Dearest Dear,
Unfortunately this is the only way to make good the frightful wrong I have done you and to wipe out my abject humiliation.
I love you, Paul
You understand that last night was only a comedy.
Was it a suicide note? It wasn’t found near the body, but its contents reinforced the studio version of events: that Bern committed suicide because he was sexually inadequate. Adding more weight to that theory was the coroner’s report. It stated that Paul Bern’s genitals were “underdeveloped.” Rumors were rampant that Bern’s humiliation was the result of using a sexual device to please Harlow in ways he couldn’t.
As for version number two—that Bern was killed by his crazed, common-law wife—there is evidence to support that theory as well. Apparently, the existence of Dorothy Millette was a secret Bern had been keeping quiet for years. He’d loved the beautiful redhead once upon a time; they lived together for several years and he often introduced Dorothy as Mrs. Paul Bern. But Dorothy had severe mental problems, most likely acute schizophrenia, and Bern was forced to institutionalize her. Their romance was over, but Bern still sent monthly checks to the Algonquin Hotel in New York where Dorothy lived after she was released from the sanatorium. She was an enigmatic figure, wandering halls and New York City streets as a well-dressed recluse.
According to Paul Bern’s biographer E.J. Fleming, Dorothy had dreams of coming to Hollywood and becoming a star with Bern’s help. But her obsession soon shifted from acting to the Bern-and-Harlow relationship. A hotel maid reported that Dorothy was constantly reading movie magazines, one in particular that she propped open to a feature article entitled “The Life of Beautiful Jean
Harlow.”
Fleming’s research reveals that Dorothy Millette was indeed at Bern’s house the night he died. She had arrived via limousine. Harlow was spending the night at her own Beverly Hills home. Fleming believes she knew Millette was arriving and wanted to give the two some time alone.
No one knows exactly what happened between Dorothy and Paul that night, but the staff reported hearing loud voices around midnight and someone screaming what sounded like “get out of my life.” No gunshot was heard by the staff, but the housekeeper did see a strange woman in a pink dress and white hat run from the home and jump into the waiting limousine. She was in such a rush that one of her low-heeled, white shoes fell off.
Dorothy’s limo driver reported that the only thing she said on the long ride back to the Plaza Hotel in San Francisco, where she’d been staying, was “Faster, faster!” She got up the next day, bought all the newspapers with articles about Bern’s death, and boarded the Delta King ferry bound for Sacramento where some of her family lived. She never arrived. A few days later, two Japanese fishermen found her badly decomposed body floating in marshy waters near the shore. Witnesses who saw Dorothy on the boat said she had been nervously pacing the ship’s deck before she simply disappeared. The coroner ruled the death suicide by drowning.
Beverly Hills Confidential : A Century of Stars, Scandals and Murders Page 4