In Mickey’s life, this film might have been just another footnote, another line on the Internet Movie Database—but for a conversation between Mickey and the Yankee Clipper on the set as the film was wrapping. Imagine two icons of a bygone age, each of whom looked up to the other, sitting down together to talk about the one thing they both had in common: Marilyn Monroe.
Mickey had claimed that he gave Marilyn her name, telling talk show host Larry King that he took her last name from singer Vaughn Monroe, at whose house he first met Norma Jean Baker, and that he chose the name Marilyn. Mickey later claimed that he and Marilyn had a very brief romantic relationship, but remained friends. The socially awkward Joe DiMaggio, who had the reputation of being publicity shy, had married Marilyn and also stayed friends with her, even after they divorced and she married playwright Arthur Miller. They were still friends when she began her affair with President John Kennedy. Joe also knew that Marilyn was a patient of Max “Dr. Feelgood” Jacobson, who had been giving her methamphetamine injections since the 1950s. Later, from 1961 to 1962, she received the injections from Dr. Thomas Jacobson, Max’s son, who would get the drug from his father. Joe also knew that Marilyn had become pregnant and had an abortion. Tony Curtis once claimed that he got her pregnant when they had a romantic evening while shooting Some Like It Hot.
In a 2007 conversation with us, Mickey explained what it was like on the set of The First of May when the two heroes of their respective generations talked about the death of Marilyn Monroe. Mickey said he had written in a private diary—in reality, only random notes—as well as telling anyone who would listen, that he believed Marilyn had been murdered. He knew that she had complained about the way she was being treated by the Kennedy brothers, that she had called Attorney General Robert Kennedy to threaten him with public disclosure of her relationship with his brother and the secrets the president had shared with her about the CIA and Castro—dangerous pillow talk. Mickey knew about Marilyn’s addiction to Dr. Feelgood’s methamphetamine injections. He also knew that his old friend Peter Lawford was minding Marilyn for the Kennedy brothers. Mickey knew how dangerous Marilyn’s making threatening phone calls to Bobby Kennedy would have been. Joe also knew how dangerous it was for Marilyn to have carried on a very open and scandalous affair with the president. Joe knew it would come to no good.
In their conversation on the set of The First of May, Mickey and Joe shared their memories of Marilyn and swapped theories about her death. They both believed she had been deliberately overdosed, and Mickey revealed to Joe that he believed Marilyn was in too deep with the Kennedys and that she was talking too much. On the day before her death, Tommy Jacobson dropped off a set of needles and syringes and vials of methamphetamine-laced special elixir from his father for Marilyn to self-inject, as Peter Lawford was urging her to do. Mickey must have known that his old friend and tale teller Peter Lawford, member of the Kennedy clan, Ava Gardner’s modern-day Iago, was in attendance at her house on the day she died.
But these were just theories. The Los Angles County Coroner ruled Marilyn’s death a suicide, an overdose of barbiturates, and that was the end of that. But maybe, just maybe, for an aged Mickey looking at his past glory days, Joe had a tidbit about Marilyn that Mickey could hang on to, a piece of the puzzle that tantalized Mickey. But Joe had nothing, only nodded, and time was short, shorter for Joe than for Mickey. In three months Joltin’ Joe would be dead.
And the film The First of May would become a cult sweetheart.
Mickey continued to work in films wherever and whenever he could, even if a role was not high-paying. He needed to work. At the same time, he was still playing out his duet with his wife, Jan, seeking to get her into every film and television show offered to him, voice-overs, and even television commercials. (He even appeared with her in a commercial for Garden State Life Insurance.) But the film roles for both were small and very character based.
If we look at his body of work from his last decade, we see a hodgepodge of mostly small bit parts and cameos in mainly low-budget film projects, television programs, and even music videos, where the filmmaker wanted to have the experience of working with a film legend. (The complete list, including his final decade of work, is in the appendix.)
In addition to his acting and cabaret work, Mickey published a novel at Carroll Publishing in 1994 called The Search for Sonny Skies. The plot features a fictionalized Mickey Rooney, an MGM child star called Sonny Skies. (Remember that Mickey was called Sonny by his mother and father.) Sonny is used and abused by the studio system to the point where, despite his success, he loses himself and his childhood in the maelstrom of assembly-line performances and publicity. He claimed to the authors that writing this book was a type of catharsis, without making his life at MGM too “real.”
Mickey and Jan were on the go for much of his last decade, including their tour of Canadian dinner theaters in 1994 and 1995, playing in The Mind with the Naughty Man.
FOR TWO YEARS, ALONG with a month-long stand at Madison Square Garden in May 1998, and another turn in May 1999, Mickey headlined New Jersey’s Paper Mill Playhouse version of The Wizard of Oz, which toured nationwide. It was directed by Robert Johanson and starred Mickey as the Wizard and Eartha Kitt as the Wicked Witch, who was played later by Joanne Worley. The 1998 Oz tour began in March in Rosemont, Illinois, and returned to Madison Square Garden in May 1998. It was such a hit that it spawned a tie-in TV special when it touched down at the Pantages Theatre in Los Angeles. The special, Rainbows, Witches and Ruby Red Slippers, an hour-long promotional spot, featured Oz celebs and “Oz on Tour” cast members looking back on the 1939 film.
Mickey and Jan followed the tour, again with their own show, this one called The One Man, One Wife Show, which took them throughout the country. As in their later version of this cabaret act, Let’s Put on a Show! (so named by Jan’s friend Ellen Easton), Mickey told stories, sang songs, and then sang with Jan in the second half. Chris Aber was the roadie, Kevin Pawley was Mickey’s manager, and Robert Malcolm booked the venues. Mickey’s team had a coordinated plan of attack in which Mickey and Jan did local newspaper, radio, and television interviews prior to their appearances in venues similar to the dinner theaters of the 1970s. They even recorded a CD of their songs, which they sold and autographed for buyers at the end of the show.
“It was a fun show. Jan has a wonderful voice,” Ellen Easton recalled. Easton had remained a close friend of Jan’s over the years.
Jan and Mickey also attempted an extravaganza called Mickey Rooney’s Christmas Memories, at the Tropicana in Atlantic City, for nearly three weeks in December 2003. However, Mickey was eighty-three years old, and it was becoming apparent that his days as a song-and-dance man on the big stage were coming to an end, his acrobatic skills diminishing. The critic for the Press of Atlantic City was blunt: “Some will say I don’t understand how great Mickey Rooney is because I’m too young. Untrue. I admire Rooney and even own a few of his movies. But it is disheartening to see Rooney still at it on the Tropicana stage when he clearly doesn’t have the energy or the singing ability to anchor a Christmas show at 83 years old.” After this last, large production, Mickey and Jan stuck to their cabaret act.
Mickey would pick up needed cash in the strange ways that are offered to a celebrity of his stature. Recent notables such as Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton were asked merely to show up at clubs such as the Palms in Las Vegas, and received considerable fees just for doing so. Mickey, likewise, was offered money by wealthy film and culture aficionados just to visit their homes or attend their parties, where he would meet and reminisce with their friends, particularly if they were showing some of his older films.
Autograph czar Nelson Deedle told us, “Mickey had all kind of requests. In one visit, he was flown to the Chicago area when a wealthy old film buff decided to throw a ‘Mickey’ party. He would show a Mickey Rooney film in his screening room at his house and when the lights came up after the film, there was Mickey, who would answer questions
and sign autographs. He would be paid five thousand to ten thousand dollars just for appearing, and he would get the dinner of his choice, which was [from Chinese restaurant] P. F. Chang’s.”
Deedle also recalled that his client and friend Michael Jackson worshiped Mickey and would pay to meet him. Deedle recalled, “Michael was a huge fan of classic child stars, maybe because he was one. He sought out these stars, and Mickey was at the top of his list.”
Deedle also worked with Mickey and stepson Chris in selling his memorabilia, autographs, and other items at shows or on eBay. “Mickey did not trust his kids with his Oscars and other awards that he sought to sell. While he could sell his ‘Juvenile’ Oscar, the Academy prevented him, due to their rules, from selling his 1983 honorary Oscar. He would also get lots of cash when he would appear at autograph shows, where I would help him out,” said Deedle.
Mickey was also still highly regarded worldwide. For three years, between 2007 and 2009, Mickey took part in a panto, a British musical comedy based on classic fairy tales, in which he played Baron Hardup in Cinderella. Jan was invited in 2007 and 2008 to play the Fairy Godmother. She was not invited back in 2009. “The first two years, Mickey demanded that Jan get a part; the third year, they invited Mickey but did not want Jan,” Robert Malcolm recalled. According to the director, they wanted Mickey alone because the actor had appeared to be performing for Jan’s approval, and not for the audience.
Throughout these appearances onstage in these last years, it was becoming apparent that Mickey was struggling. He had become almost farcical, and it was no longer “charming” to see him try to recreate his past triumphs; it was becoming almost painful, even creepy, to watch.
Dominic Cavendish of the London Telegraph described this in his December 13, 2007, review:
There can be no stranger sight in panto this year than that of octogenarian Hollywood legend Mickey Rooney warbling “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off’ with his wife of more than 25 years, Jan, on stage at the Sunderland Empire.
He’s dressed as Baron Hardup, she as the Fairy Godmother. They’re in Cinderella but they’ve introduced a touch of Vegas to proceedings, taking the audience back to the era of Fred and Ginger when Rooney enjoyed his heyday.
Is this an apt in-joke? Should they have called it all off? The answer is: probably yes. Not because Rooney’s panto debut is a fiasco but because the little he achieves (which is still quite a lot for a man of 87) is bound to go under-appreciated by the audience—half of whom, let’s face it, are children.
Bald, diminutive and frail—looking not so much like the eternal kid as a very tired baby—Rooney makes his entrance with a buxom young maiden on either arm; a touch of Benny Hill that underlines the off-putting fact that he’s old enough to be Cinders’ great-grandfather.
Confronted with the inevitable allusion to his namesake Wayne Rooney, the former child prodigy jokes, “I have a history of scoring!” The quip lands with a thud because there’s a few seconds’ delay before every line he utters, as though his contribution is being telegraphed across the Atlantic.
Director Fenton Gray has seen to it that there’s some compensating comedy at the expense of his advanced years: “I’m at the age when I kind of forget things, and I’m at the age when I kind of forget things” being one of the better gags.
And Rooney wins some sympathy when he ambles through the classic Smile (though your heart is aching) and acts as if he’s having a ball.3
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His Revels Are Now Ended
Mickey Jr. and his dad.
PHOTO COURTESY OF PAM MCCLENATHAN.
Everyone has their younger side inside of them, but Mickey’s was more apparent and palpable than most people.
SHAWN LEVY, DIRECTOR OF NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM
As Mickey entered his final year, the fissures separating his family members finally erupted into cross accusations, allegations, and legal controversies. All this broke around him and, again, wound up in newspapers, gossip magazines, television news broadcasts, and on various Internet gossip sites. Mickey had lived to enter a new era no longer dominated by newspaper gossip columnists such as Hedda Hoppers and Louella Parsons, but by entertainment TV shows, ragtag bloggers, and anonymous commenters on social media. He became an international topic of conversation, a victim whose claims of abuse, and whose congressional testimony thereof, spawned a documentary. The face of a battered Mickey Rooney flashed across television and computer screens, making him the poster boy for elder abuse.
The warring parties squared off on all sides: Jan and her son Chris; versus Jan’s younger son, Mark; versus Mickey’s biological children. He was an icon who had earned millions but who had been reduced, according to reports, to near poverty. When he was invited to testify before the U.S. Senate Special Committee on Aging to discuss elder abuse, Mickey, the master thespian, inhabited his part perfectly, playing for the camera before senators who sympathized with his every word.
Meanwhile, he continued to work, appearing in two films, and hawked his photographs for fans who still remembered the old days. Also, in a documentary about financial fraud and elder abuse, Mickey described in his own words how he was bilked out of money by those he’d trusted, complaining that his managers, agents, and even his own family simply drained money he made and used it for their own purposes.1
THE CAST OF CHARACTERS surrounding Mickey in his final year included his living children and stepchildren, Jan, and his obligees, including the federal government and the lawyers, managers, and business associates. All became part of a soap opera as they jockeyed for position. Still lingering, however, was a single question: where’s the money?
Those paying him, including Sugar Babies producer Terry Allen Kramer, have no idea, insisting only that Mickey had absolutely no ability to control his spending. Attorney Michel Augustine blamed Jan and Chris for draining Mickey’s fortune, while Jan claims that she is the victim of false accusations. Left out in the cold are Mickey’s biological children, whom attorney and court-appointed estate conservator Michael Augustine says were deliberately excluded from Mickey’s last will and testament, whose legitimacy was upheld by the court. Augustine, who represents the designated heirs to Rooney’s estate, Mark Aber “Rooney” and his wife, Charlene, told us that at the time Mickey’s will was drawn and filed, he (Augustine) had Mickey examined by a mental health professional, who declared him competent to devise the will—this despite Chris Aber’s assertion that Mickey was bipolar, on prescription medications such as Valium and lithium, and had suffered at least one nervous breakdown. According to forensic neuropsychiatrist and author John Liebert, MD, who has conducted examinations for mental competency with respect to last wills and testaments, the mere fact that a subject was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, was prescribed lithium as a mood stabilizer by a doctor, and had drawn up a new will within months of his death, would be enough to constitute a competency challenge.2
In looking for answers, we reviewed material from Bruce Ross of the law firm Holland and Knight, who represents Mickey’s estate; spoke with Mickey’s daughters with Barbara Ann Thomason, Kelly and Kerry; with son Teddy Rooney, with Martha Vickers; with publicist Roger Neal; manager Robert Malcolm; Jan’s sister Ronna Riley; Mickey’s daughter-in-law Carol Rooney; Mrs. Smith; and several others, to flesh out the mystery of Mickey’s final days and his disappearing estate.
Michael Augustine told us that Mickey was fleeced, pure and simple, and that he, Augustine, was a witness to it. “I’ve been involved with Mickey for years,” he said. “People will tell you that Mickey was abused. We have photos. Mickey was far from a perfect human, he had tons of faults, which is what you could expect when he had parents who sucked. Mickey was [Nell’s] meal ticket, and she rode him like a pack mule.” Augustine’s objective, he said, was to get Mickey away from Chris Aber, whom he believed, he told us, was not working toward Mickey’s best interests, “and get him working and safe.”3
Augustine
also said that he worked for Mickey as a representative:
I used Robert Malcolm in New York to get parts, but I got some stuff directly for Mickey. I did some merchandising with CMG Worldwide, [a company that licenses images of dead stars]. Night of the Museum was great for Mickey, and he did so well and everyone was thrilled that Jan and [Chris] Aber weren’t there with him. My job was to keep Mickey safe. We got a judgment of $2.8 [million] against Aber, which we know we will never collect. We now have this will contest, which is ludicrous. We have $15,000 left from Mickey. What is to contest? There is no money. He gets very little residuals. He had tax liens. Poor management and stealing over the years. I’ve got tax returns to support this . . . [from] ’04, ’05, ’06, ’07, ’08. Mickey had earned $804,000 in 2004, $690,000 in 2005, and $500,000 or more in the other years.
But, Augustine maintained, that money was simply pilfered away while Mickey lived in a rat-infested house with an air conditioner that didn’t work—this for an elderly person who still had to go to work to make a living. As for the money, Augustine said that in addition to the salary from performing, Mickey had pensions. His union pension was set up as a joint and survivor pension that lasted for the life of Mickey and Jan, and Jan now receives their Social Security. But Mickey’s other pensions were his sole annuity, which meant that when he died, the pension payments ended. Augustine told us:
The reason I was appointed was because they knew that everybody was tainted. Mickey became my main concern. Mickey had no dementia. His conservatorship was self-appointed. Mickey requested the help. Prior to the conservatorship, Mickey went to the leading gerontologist in Los Angeles, Dr. David Spaar, who did a thorough evaluation that said he was perfectly fine. Prior to Museum Three, he had to be insured for the film, and he had no problem. He was the Energizer Bunny. After he finishes the film in March, he signed his new will in March. He was not demented. Not even close. His kids filed a contest to the will and said he was demented. He was not at all demented. He was very lucid. He had no relationship with his kids. He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t know them. Mickey’s last will leaves everything to Mark and Charlene. His kids are contesting that.4
The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney Page 49