Tragic Hollywood, Beautiful, Glamorous And Dead

by Jackie Ganiy

Here come the Nelsons! That was the catch phrase for one of the most popular family shows on television, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. The show featured a real life family, Ozzie and Harriet Nelson, and their two sons, David and Ricky. The exterior shots were filmed at their real life residence in Beverly Hills, located at 1822 Camino Palmero Street, a home they purchased in 1948. Though the show ended in 1967, Ozzie and Harriet continued to live there until Ozzie’s death from cancer in 1975. Harriet then sold the residence, and subsequent owners have been reporting ghostly encounters with Ozzie Nelson ever since.

  Ozzie’s apparition is often seen in the bedroom of the home, or stalking the hallways. Witnesses report that he does not look happy either. He seems melancholy or restless. One female witness claimed to have been the victim of unwanted sexual attention in the middle of the night, but when she turned on the lights, no one was there. Hmm. Not nice Ozzie! What would Harriet say? Others have reported hearing footsteps, faucets turning on and off, and lights flickering for no reason. Poor Ozzie just doesn’t seem to want to leave his beloved home.

  * * *

  Lucille Ball and Roxbury Drive

  We all loved Lucy, especially the bus loads of tourists who drove by her home on Roxbury drive in the flats of Beverly Hills several times a day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Queen of Comedy puttering in her garden, or waving to her neighbor, Jimmy Stewart. Lucy lived at Roxbury Drive for more than two decades, and by all accounts, she loved it there. She died in 1989, but the current owners claim she still makes her presence known. The home has undergone extensive remodeling and barely resembles the house Lucy loved so much, which might explain the recurrent broken windows, loud voices coming from the attic, and poltergeist activity of moving furniture and misplaced objects. Seems Lucy doesn’t like the changes.

  * * *

  Errol Flynn Still Sailing

  If Lucille Ball was the Queen of Comedy, Errol Flynn was King of the Hellraisers. His shameless, hedonistic lifestyle has been thoroughly chronicled in several biographies, including his own, aptly-titled My Wicked, Wicked Ways. His notorious taste for extremely young women, some might say illegally young, got him into serious guano when two underaged girls accused him of snatching their virtue while they were onboard his infamous floating pleasure palace, The Zaca. Flynn managed escape that one, and enjoyed many “happy” times aboard, right up until his death in 1959. After that, the Zaca entered a period of decline, passing from owner to owner, finally ending up in a boat yard in Villefranche, France. Locals began passing stories that the ship was haunted. The sounds of gay parties, the tinkling of ice in tumblers, laughter, and the sound of champagne bottles popping were heard. Lights were seen burning brightly, and the silhouettes of party goers were seen moving past the portholes, even though the Zaca was empty and had not been hooked up to electricity in years. The ghost of Flynn himself was often seen pacing the deck, usually at dusk, smoking his pipe and gazing out at the horizon. This unnerved the Zaca’s owners to such a degree that they contacted the Catholic church, who recommended exorcism. Rather than mess up the yacht with such a ceremony, a replica of the ship was brought into a church and the exorcism took place there. Guess it worked, because shortly afterwards, the yacht was bought, restored, and now sails the seas off the Mediterranean coast of Monaco as a private yacht for hire. Somehow I think Errol is still at the helm.

  The Zaca living room as it appears today.

  Phantoms at the Phantom of the Opera Set

  Lon Chaney was known as the man of a thousand faces. He was one of the biggest stars ever to come out of Universal Studios, and his premature death at the young age of forty-seven, only heightened his fame and mystery. His greatest performance was as the hideously deformed recluse, living deep within the bowels of the Paris catacombs, in the film, The Phantom of the Opera. A specially constructed, elaborate set was built inside sound stage 28, on the Universal backlot, to replicate the baroque style of the Paris Opera House. The set took months to complete and was so expensive, the studio chose to keep it rather than break it up after the film was complete. Amazingly, in a town and industry known for brushing aside its heritage and embracing the fleeting allure of mediocrity, this beautiful set is still intact on the Universal lot.

  The set is creepy enough all by itself, without the added ghost stories to add to the atmosphere. The intricately carved walls are two stories high, and the stage is massive, stretching three hundred sixty feet long by one hundred forty-five feet wide. The huge chandelier, an exact replica of the one that hangs in the Paris Opera House, was removed in the ‘60s, as were all of the seats, but the skeleton remains, harboring dark nooks and shadowy corners.

  Movies are still made here, though infrequently. Those who have worked inside, and a few lucky enough to visit the sound stage, have spread the word about the strange goings-on inside. Unexplained noises are heard, as well as doors opening and closing of their own accord. Lights go on and off, and footsteps and voices are heard when the stage should be empty.

  For decades, people have reported seeing the disturbing specter of a man in a black cape. He is described as appearing in the shadows, silently observing before fading away. More significant, he has been spotted running along the catwalks above the stage, then vanishing. These descriptions read like a page from the 1925 Lon Chaney film, and there are those who claim the apparition is the spirit of the dead actor. Perhaps Chaney is still filming his greatest cinematic triumph, and is unaware that almost a hundred years have passed. There is a theory that sometimes energy from the past can be trapped and played over the present, when conditions are just right. This is called a “residual” or non-intelligent haunting. No one has come forward to claim they have chatted with this caped man to confirm his identity, so it is left to speculation and conjecture as to what is actually going on. It could be just the result of overactive imaginations, but isn’t it much more fun to believe that Lon Chaney, in his Phantom costume, is still wandering around the old sound stage, keeping an eye on things?

  * * *

  Jayne Mansfield and The Haunting of the Pink Palace

  Jayne Mansfield was larger than life in many ways, which might explain why she simply refused to move on from her beloved custom Beverly Hills mansion-on-steroids masterpiece, lovingly nicknamed The Pink Palace. This house had to be seen to be believed. Jayne purchased a traditional Spanish style home with money she inherited from her grandfather. She then proceeded to mutilate the interior in a kind of perverse tribute to her signature color: pink. Interior photos taken during the time she lived there reveal wall to wall pink carpet, a pink bathroom, a water fountain in the foyer that spurted pink champagne, pink wallpaper and well, just pink everything. There was even a pink, heart-shaped bathtub, nestled in the pink shag carpet walls and floor of the master bathroom. Lots of pink.

  After Jayne’s death, the property changed hands, and rumors of Jayne’s ghost appearing to subsequent owners began to trickle out. Engelbert Humperdinck, who purchased the home in 1976, claimed to have encountered Jayne’s ghost roaming the upstairs rooms, as if searching for something. He also claimed to have smelled her rose perfume many times.

  Ringo Starr, who owned the home prior to Humperdinck, tried to paint over all the pink but for some reason, the color would just keep seeping through! Layers and layers of white could not erase it.

  Jayne’s second husband, Mickey Hargitay, claimed that Jayne appeared to him in the mansion shortly after her death. He quickly moved out, declaring that the mansion died when Jayne died.

  In 2002, the home was sold again, and the new owners did what a lot of rich people do in Beverly Hills. They tore down a piece of history and built an ordinary piece of crap in its place. Welcome to Hollywood.

  * * *

  Peg Entwistle and the Haunting of the Hollywood Sign

  Poor Peg Entwistle. Coming to Hollywood with stars in her eyes, she left with the lights of that city reflected in them as she fell into oblivion, where she found what had eluded her in
life: lasting fame. The only person known to have used the iconic sign as a suicide prop, and people have talked about her ever since. September 16 was a Friday, and that afternoon, Peg hiked up rugged Mount Lee toward the sign—which at the time still read “Hollywoodland”—in heels and a skirt. By the time she reached it, night had fallen, and the lights must have been blinding. Climbing the “H” via a service ladder, she stood with the lights of Hollywood below her—chiding her—before leaping to a rocky death in the ravine below. Her broken body was found two days later.

  Ghost stories began to crop up almost immediately. The area around the sign is a popular for hiking, and many people claim to have seen the apparition of a young woman— dressed in white—walking effortlessly up the hill. When she is approached, she vanishes, leaving the scent of gardenias in air, a scent Peg was known to favor. Animals behave strangely on the trail, and sometimes refuse to go past a certain point. Motion detectors were placed on the sign years ago to prevent vandalism. Park rangers have claimed that often the motion detectors are set off, yet nothing is there when they check, but the scent of gardenias hovers.

  On a recent episode of the popular series, Paranormal Witness, four people told of a harrowing encounter they had with this apparition when they were teenagers in the late '80s. They climbed up the mountain and felt triumphant at reaching the sign, and they all celebrated with hoots of joy. On the way down, however, they encountered something that would haunt their nightmares for decades to come.

  They all saw her at once. She was slowly making her way up the path as they were coming down. She did not seem to be having any difficulty whatsoever, yet she was hardly wearing appropriate hiking clothes. She was dressed in a skirt and high heels! As they got closer, one of them called out to the woman, but she did not respond. Then, as she came within only a few feet of where they stood, they recoiled in horror. Her face was a hideous skeletal blob. They all went tearing down the mountain. One of them claims the apparition followed, and even pursued them to the fence.

  This is the only truly frightening encounter of the ghost of the Hollywood sign that I have come across. Most people who have seen the ghost say she is shy, not aggressive, and seems to be doomed to repeat her last desperate moments in life over and over again. The Hollywood sign is truly impressive, but if you are brave enough to hike up Mount Lee on a windless fall night, by yourself, you might encounter something even more daunting.

  * * *

  Haunted Hollywood Forever

  There once was a glamorous place where the rich and famous went to spend eternity. It was called simply Hollywood Memorial Park, and it had a very prominent neighbor. The cemetery backed right up to Paramount Studios, thus making the commute from work to death quite convenient for many of its notable occupants. The famous who are buried there are too numerous to list in this short chapter, but they include notorious Paramount studio boss Harry Cohn, Rudolph Valentino, Cecil B. DeMille, and the list goes on and on.

  When Forest Lawn Glendale reared its pretentious head in the 1930s, poor Hollywood Memorial Park fell out of favor, soon falling on hard times as well. Sprawling lawns and a serene pond became overgrown, neglected, and clogged with weeds. It took on the look of a rural cemetery, rather than the impressive final resting place of some of the most famous stars in entertainment history. The long, echoing columbarium, adorned with amazing stained glass roofs, became dirty and shabby. Glass panels were broken and never replaced. The marble floor became chipped and cracked.

  The cemetery continued to decline for the next seventy years, until it was sold in the late '90s to Tyler Cassity, who came from a prominent family of mortuary owners in St. Louis. Tyler was a lover of old Hollywood, as well as an experienced funeral industry insider. His passion for both saved Hollywood Memorial Park from a terrible fate of complete obscurity. He poured money into the park, and soon it was restored to its former glory. He renamed the newly restored cemetery Hollywood Forever, which has to be the coolest name for a cemetery ever.

  Hollywood Forever has earned a reputation for hosting some very famous ghosts throughout the years. It is said that Rudolph Valentino haunts his modest tomb, tucked away inside the beautiful Cathedral Mausoleum towards the back of the cemetery. For decades, a woman in black has appeared on the anniversary of Valentino’s death, bearing one red rose, which she lays next to the tomb. Over the years, many women have claimed to be the woman in black, but the original has no doubt been dead herself for many years. Many claims of seeing the specter of a woman in black, kneeling at Valentino’s tomb, have been recorded. People also claim to see red roses suddenly appear in the brass vase when there were none a second before. One woman claimed that she turned and walked away from the tomb, only to turn and see red roses in every vase in the hallway, where there were none before. I had my own ghostly experience at this tomb. I heard the distinct sound of 1920s music playing softly while I was there.

  Along the side of the cemetery is the impressive columbarium known as The Abbey of the Psalms. This is where famous director, Victor Fleming, is said to make his otherworldly appearance known. Many have reported hearing the sound of hard-soled shoes echoing behind them, as they stroll the endless corridors lined with human remains from floor to ceiling. I had this experience, when I first visited this cemetery, when it was still in desperate need of saving. The columbarium was quite spooky back then—so neglected and deserted— free of the throngs of tourists that visit it today. As I wandered the corridors, I heard the distinct sound of someone with hard-soled shoes following me, though I was the only one in the building.

  Towards the center of the park lies the grave of Virginia Rappe, another actress who achieved her cherished desire for fame only after her gruesome death. Rappe was little more than a bit player back in the ‘20s, but she developed quite the reputation as a woman of loose morals. She was known as the ultimate party girl, and frequented the same wild social events the stars did. It was during one of these gin-soaked, cocaine-dusted shindigs at San Francisco’s St. Francis Hotel—hosted by Keystone Cops golden boy, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle—that she found herself suddenly dying from a mysterious ailment. Within days she was dead, and soon rumors began to fly about why. Many of those rumors centered on Arbuckle, a champagne bottle, and an unnatural sexual act.

  Arbuckle found himself smack dab in the center of a good old-fashioned Hollywood scandal. Witnesses claimed that he and Virginia left the common area of the hotel suite, and retired to the private bedchamber, where Virginia would be found barely coherent and moaning in pain, hours later. Arbuckle claimed she got sick immediately after they entered the room, and that he had put her to bed and rejoined the party. The truth likely lies somewhere in-between. Arbuckle was put on trial for murder THREE TIMES! Two trials ended in hung juries, but the third time was truly a charm for the comedian, as he was acquitted. His career was over by then, and he himself died alone and forgotten, at the young age of forty-six.

  From such epic tragedy are born the ghost stories. Many have reported hearing the sound of a woman weeping softly at Virginia’s grave. Some have even seen an apparition of a woman in white, quietly sitting at the grave and sobbing.

  Hollywood Forever is welcoming and friendly to celebrity grave seekers. This is a rare thing in Los Angeles, where being caught holding the wrong book (i.e. a guide to where the famous rest in sweet repose) is grounds for expulsion from many of the city’s memorial parks. I find it ironic that a town so dependent on celebrities and their fans for its culture and economy would suddenly turn off the charm to those same fans who wish to remain loyal to the very bitter end, and pay their final respects. After all, as one macabre Hollywood death tour states, it’s the closest they are likely to get to their favorite stars, or any stars, for that matter.

  A view of the Hollywood sign from inside the Hollywood Forever cemetery.

  The Tate Murder House and the Haunting of a Neighborhood

  There have been no murders more gruesome or terrifying than those that o
ccurred nearly forty-five years ago at 10050 Cielo Drive in Beverly Hills. The Tate murders, as they have came to be known, still haunt our collective consciousness and stalk our nightmares. Is it any wonder that, despite the original house being razed, and the passage of four decades, Sharon Tate’s horrific end is not forgotten and tales of the restless dead still linger here?

  Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecuting attorney in the murder trial, and author of the bestselling book on the subject, Helter Skelter, wrote about an incident that happened a few weeks before the murders, when Tate was still in London. Homicide detectives found a videotape of casual dinner party at the house, including Abigail Folger, Wojciech Frykowski and two of their friends. The couple were housesitting for Sharon and Roman. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the tape, except for the astonishing incident Abigail described having happened to Frykowski one night while they sat gazing into the living room fireplace, stoned out of their minds. She said he suddenly jumped up and grabbed a camera, looking really freaked out, and said he saw a flaming pig’s head in the fire.

  10050 Cielo Drive had many subsequent residents after that terrible day, yet none reported anything paranormal. Until recently, when a man who bought land and built a home just down the road from the infamous address came forward with spine-chilling tales of unexplained events in his home. His name was David Oman, and he has been telling his story all over the media. He even made a movie about it called House at the End of the Drive(2014).