by Mark Shaw
A POST HILL PRESS BOOK
Published at Smashwords
The Reporter Who Knew Too Much:
The Mysterious Death of What’s My Line TV Star
and Media Icon Dorothy Kilgallen
© 2016 by Mark Shaw
All Rights Reserved
Cataloging-in-Publication data applied for.
ISBN: 978-1-68261-097-8
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-098-5
Cover Design by Quincy Alivio
Cover Photograph courtesy of Corbis Images
Interior Design and Composition by Greg Johnson/Textbook Perfect
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Post Hill Press
posthillpress.com
Published in the United States of America
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“Wherever Dorothy Kilgallen goes fame precedes her, envy follows her and a crowd looks on. She is one of the communication marvels of the age.”
—New York Post Daily Magazine, 1960
“Justice is a big rug. When you pull it out from under one man,
a lot of others fall too.”
—Dorothy Kilgallen
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Photograph Sources
Reference Notes
About The Author
INTRODUCTION
On the blistering cold, windy day of November 11, 1965, nearly 3,000 mourners gathered inside the St. Vincent Ferrer Roman Catholic Church on New York City’s Upper East Side. Another 1,500 huddled outside to pay respects to the famous What’s My Line? television star, radio personality, celebrated journalist, revered investigative reporter and author Dorothy Kilgallen. Those present and millions across the country were still reeling from her death, an unexpected tragedy.
Honorary pallbearers included publisher William Randolph Hearst, Jr. and What’s My Line? moderator John Charles Daly. Among the celebrities attending were actress Joan Crawford, Ed Sullivan, jazz pianist Bobby Short, film producer Joseph E. Levine, and actress Betty White. Flower arrangements were present from Bob Hope, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and New York City Mayor John Lindsey whose sympathy card included the words, “Dorothy will be missed, not only by those who knew her, but also by the millions whose lives she reached daily.” The day before the funeral, United Press International reported, “10,000 people walked past Dorothy Kilgallen’s covered ‘African mahogany’ coffin for viewing at the Abbey Funeral Directors at 888 Lexington Avenue.”
On November 8, Kilgallen, called by Ernest Hemingway, “One of the greatest women writers in the world,” had been discovered dead in her lavish East 68th Street New York City townhouse. The NYC medical examiner issued a report stating Kilgallen, 52 years of age, died of “Acute Ethanol and Barbiturate Intoxication; Circumstances Undetermined.” Despite this depiction pointing to accidental death, some believed Kilgallen committed suicide. However, a third possibility remained, that she was murdered, that the woman called “the most powerful female voice in America” was silenced because she was the reporter who knew too much.
The likelihood Kilgallen, one of the most courageous journalists in history, the larger-than-life true Renaissance woman and first female media icon whose accomplishments rival modern day legends like Oprah Winfrey, Barbara Walters, and Diane Sawyer, was the victim of foul play, must be considered. During the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s, the college dropout-turned-feisty-journalist with the light-up smile, Irish wit, and high society manners who achieved phenomenal success in a man’s world, made enemies ranging from show business celebrities to government officials to those in the underworld. Years of Kilgallen’s scathing Journal-American ”Voice of Broadway” columns, ones that could further or inhibit a career, triggered hatred from television, film and Broadway personalities experiencing her wrath. These columns, focused on the rich and famous, were syndicated by the Hearst chain to more than 200 newspapers across America with Kilgallen’s loyal readers glued to every word.
Kilgallen also upset government officials through dogged investigative skills exposing secret documents before their official release. To those in the Mafia, she was a constant threat since Kilgallen wrote poison-pen Journal-American stories aimed at those who believed they were above the law including archenemy Frank Sinatra. These dangerous men knew CBS music producer Marlon Swing’s statement was true: “[Dorothy] was a very powerful woman—people don’t have any idea of the power and contacts she had.”
More than anything, it was Kilgallen’s strong belief in justice—her determined pursuit of the truth—that triggered condemnation, vows of revenge and death threats. Fellow What’s My Line? panelist and Random House co-founder Bennett Cerf said, “A lot of people knew Dorothy as a very tough game player; others knew her as a tough newspaper woman. When she went after a story, nothing could get in her way.”
By re-visiting the remarkable Kilgallen’s trailblazing thirty-five–year journalistic career, it is possible to provide a plausible scenario as to how, and why, she died. The primary questions concern whether the justice Kilgallen demanded for those she wrote about was, in fact, denied her by police, public officials, and journalistic colleagues. In addition, whether there was a diabolical plan conceived to cover up Kilgallen’s search for the truth about what arguably is the greatest murder mystery in history, the JFK assassination.
The answers lie in the numerous clues present at Kilgallen’s death scene. Such clues should have triggered a full-scale probe since it is apparent based on new evidence uncovered by this author that Dorothy was screaming from the hereafter, “Investigate! Investigate! Investigate!”
CHAPTER 1
Any re-investigation of Dorothy Kilgallen’s death begins where a crack detective would start—with a background check of the deceased. Learning about Kilgallen’s roots and the part they played in her ascendance to celebrity status is essential to learning the truth about how she died.
Dorothy Mae Kilgallen was born during a violent rainstorm on July 13, 1913 while her family lived in a low-rent apartment at Garfield Boulevard and Morgan Street in Chicago. Her father Jim, a tadpole of a man also called “Jimmy” or “Kil,” worked as a Hearst newspaper chain reporter and met her mother Mae, a lovely redhead, when she aspired to become a singer in Denver. The couple chose the name Dorothy since it meant “Gift from He
aven.”
Kilgallen was sufficiently precocious that at age 15 months, she appeared in a local Elks Club production of One Thing After Another. Billed as “Tootsie,” Kilgallen impressed the audience.
Kilgallen’s interest in the creative world stirred when Jim and Mae took the youngster to a stage play. It starred an actor named Fred Stone, a circus and minstrel performer who became a vaudevillian and then appeared on Broadway. Kilgallen’s enthusiasm for the stage drove her to begin writing, producing and starring in plays with neighborhood friends.
Despite her early interest in the theater, by the time she turned eight, Kilgallen yearned to be a reporter like her father. She admired his growing reputation as a tenacious journalist. Jim’s editor said, “When he got hold of a story, Jim was just like a bulldog—he’d get his teeth in it and never let go.”
Al Capone and Thomas Edison were among the celebrities Jim interviewed. He also covered the Rosenberg spy case, the McCarthy Hearings, and, as a correspondent during World War II, exposed existence of the Dachau prison camp in Germany.
Kilgallen loved to hear her father talk about his adventures, but she and sister Eleanor, six years younger than Dorothy, were disappointed he traveled so much. However, when Jim returned from one lengthy trip, he put smiles on their faces by giving them shiny dimes millionaire financier John D. Rockefeller had gifted him. Her dad also won Dorothy’s heart by bringing a chunk of wood from actor Rudolph Valentino’s coffin. Jim had carved the letters, “D.M.K” on it.
When Kilgallen recalled what impressed her most about her father, she noted other fathers in her neighborhood may have had more money, but they worked in mundane jobs whereas her dad led an exciting life by tackling breaking stories of national prominence. No wonder Kilgallen argued with her mother when Dorothy insisted on becoming a reporter instead of obeying Mae’s wish that she pursue a career as an English teacher. Mae pushed that career because of the good hours and summer vacation time. Dorothy’s stubbornness led to several arguments.
The first significant defining moment in Kilgallen’s life happened when Jim moved the family to the Flatbush section of Brooklyn, New York. Kilgallen started school in a red brick building, P.S. 119, located one block from their home. She was an A’s and B’s student. Nearby St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church provided religious instruction and the family regularly attended St. Thomas Aquinas Church on Sunday mornings.
When instruction could be set aside, Kilgallen spent much of her free time reading. The Elsie Dinsmore series written by Martha Finley between 1867 and 1905 became a favorite. For reasons unclear, Kilgallen bonded with the main character, a young Victorian girl raised by relatives.
Like Elsie, popular in her neighborhood, Kilgallen enjoyed friendships with several schoolmates. However, some were harsh. When she learned one girl called her “stuck up” even though she was not “even good looking,” Kilgallen boasted, “I’ll show you. Someday I’ll be very famous and all of you will read about me.”
The “not even good looking” comment may have been true at the time. Those who knew Kilgallen said she was of medium height and skinny like her father. She parted dark hair in the middle. She did not have full, attractive lips. One friend called her a “sweet” girl but another said she was “mousy.” While Kilgallen was dealing with schoolmates, Jim continued reporting for the Hearst syndicated International News Service. Kilgallen trailed along, excited about living near New York City.
At her father’s urging, the twelve-year-old Kilgallen began writing letters to newspapers. One she wrote to the editor of the Brooklyn Eagle was so special it became her first published work. This happened after a reader criticized Ramon Novarro, a Mexican-born silent screen legend at the time. Defending her idol, Kilgallen fired off a letter. The writing was professional enough that an Eagle editor thought an adult sent it. Instead of using her own name, Kilgallen signed the letter, “Dorothy Laurington.”1
When the letter appeared in the newspaper, Kilgallen made copies and gave them to all her friends. Her father passed the newspaper around his office. The next day she visited him and received a round of applause. She liked the attention. She liked being special.
Kilgallen kept sending letters to the editor but despite her predictions of becoming famous, she gave no hint of stardom, at least through academic achievements. Her Erasmus Hall High School marks in English were dismal. She flunked French, Latin, and Physical Education.
Writing was a different matter. She excelled enough to become associate editor of The Erasmian, her school’s literary magazine. What may be her first lengthy published work told the story of an English flier and his romance with an Italian peasant:
When he flies away without her she tortures her dog to appease her bitterness. The flier returns later, tarries a while, then tries to sneak off without her again. This time the plane crashes, the flier is killed, and the girl, an evil glint in her eyes, walks off stroking the file with which she had cut the wires in his plane.
When writing did not consume her time, Kilgallen took the job as associate editor seriously. Bernard Malamud,2 later to win both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, submitted a novella to Kilgallen. She rejected his story as being “too depressing.”
While dating fellow Erasmian editor, Princeton-bound John Woods, Kilgallen gained valuable training by observing her father’s reporting skills. She visited his office regularly and enjoyed the daily chatter of reporters sharing stories with her. When she asked Jim, later described by revered writer Damon Runyon as “an editor’s dream of a reporter,” what the most important characteristic of a journalist should be, he said, “nothing was more important than the truth.”
In July 1929, as temperatures sweltered in Brooklyn, Jim and the family weathered the stock market crash. Fortunately, Jim kept his job. His modest salary had not permitted investments. Regardless, Kilgallen witnessed sadness all around her. She commiserated with those families stung by the crash.
When Kilgallen celebrated her 16th birthday with a modest party, she invited friends whose families were suffering hard times. One girlfriend later said Kilgallen was “the best friend I ever had. She gave me a dollar her dad had given her for her birthday.”
Meanwhile, Jim’s dinner-table talk about his journalism adventures continued to fascinate Kilgallen. She was still an avid reader and peppered her father with questions about the headline stories of the day. In turn, he told Kilgallen and her younger sister Eleanor3 of his exploits. Two of the stories focused on millionaires J. P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller.
In 1930, despite an urge to join Jim’s world of journalism, Kilgallen entered the College of New Rochelle located 25 miles from Brooklyn. Ursuline nuns were the educators. Kilgallen lived on campus and visited her parents on weekends. George Kuittinen, whom she dated, later described her as having “fine and Irish skin—flawless porcelain; her eyes very large and blue. Though she was thin, her breasts were well-developed and her legs excellent.”
Although Kilgallen’s intentions toward a college education were sound, she became restless and wanted something more. In June 1931, Amater Spiro, the New York Evening Journal’s city editor, provided the temptation. He agreed, as a favor to Jim, to give his eighteen-year-old daughter a two-week trial as a reporter. “I was still at college [but when] it came time to send a check for the next semester,” Kilgallen said later, “I told my parents ‘I don’t want to go back. I want to be a reporter.’” Her mother objected, Kilgallen recalled, “because her idea of a female reporter was someone who drank whiskey straight, sat on desktops, swore, and had more mannish haircuts and clothes.”
That two-week trial run turned into decades at the newspaper. From day one, Kilgallen immersed herself in the world of journalism. When possible, she accompanied reporters covering social and political events. However, the world of law most fascinated her. On a daily basis, she roamed the criminal courts, captivated by the hu
man drama of trials where freedom and even life or death was on the line.
Kilgallen begged for assignments to important stories like her father covered. However, the newsroom was definitely a man’s world and women were supposed to stay in the background and let the men undertake the crucial stories. Besides, Kilgallen was still a teenager even though she was more mature than her age indicated.
Undaunted, and to prove her worth, Kilgallen re-wrote an article published by one of her male colleagues without divulging her name. When the editor praised the re-write at a meeting and asked who wrote it, Dorothy proudly raised her hand.
To her good fortune, the newspaper editors became obsessed with front-page murder case headlines. Kilgallen leaped with joy when assigned her first murder trial. It involved the beating death of a girl her own age. When she handed in the story, the editor rejected it. She re-wrote it and submitted it again. He rejected it again. Five re-writes later, the story was published.
Those who underestimated Kilgallen’s prowess as a competent reporter paid the price. She was tough-handed despite her young age. Building a reputation, she wrote sharp-edged stories including a headline-maker about a sensational Bronx case. It involved a woman charged with killing her philandering husband by lacing his chocolate pudding with arsenic. At the courtroom entrance, Kilgallen proudly displayed the New York Police Press Card she had earned.
Dorothy Kilgallen wearing her favorite wide-brimmed hat.
Proof that Kilgallen had arrived as a newspaperwoman of stature despite her young age was an Evening Journal three-quarter page promotion:
To read one of Dorothy Kilgallen’s brilliantly written stories—it might be an interview with a famous politician or a gangster, it might be the current day by day reporting of a famous murder trial—one would immediately infer: Here is the writing of a veteran newspaper woman with a lifetime of experience in reporting.