The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney

by Richard A. Lertzman

  We officially had two opening nights to accommodate the sold-out houses on September 19 and 20, 2010. And what a party it was! The program consisted of a four-course dinner, the show, the honor letters, and an after party to meet and greet Mickey. The room was literally filled to capacity, jam-packed to the walls, with everyone dressed in their finest evening clothes. There was an electric excitement in the air. It was a great big, fun party.

  The show opened with a montage of Mickey’s films, culminating with an old clip of Elizabeth Taylor presenting Mickey with the Hollywood Legend Award in 1996. By the time Mickey hit the stage with Jan for their entrance, the room was on its feet. The applause was long and thunderous. Mickey was truly amazing that night. The chronological years seem to have melted away as he came to life under the lights. He was in his prime, telling stories, singing songs, doing imitations of yesteryear stars Clark Gable, James Cagney, and the Barrymore brothers; bantering with his wife, Jan; and playing the piano. Jan, in her own right, sang a wonderful medley as Mickey looked on adoringly. After the performance, it was time to present the letters of honor.

  As the emcee, I was trying my best to keep up with Mickey as Nathan Lane, Donald Trump, and [writer-director] Richard LaGravenese hosted the reading of the honors letters. Michael Feinstein and [Italian singer] Cristina Fontanelli, respectively, bringing a beautiful birthday cake onstage, led the entire audience in singing “Happy Birthday” to Mickey. Again, the audience was on its feet. And again, the applause was long and thunderous. The après show celebration continued, with the entire audience invited into the anteroom for champagne and birthday cake. Mickey greeted his guests until the wee hours of midnight. No one wanted to go home. On those two extraordinary celebratory nights, Mickey Rooney’s star was the shiniest in the galaxy.

  29

  * * *

  * * *

  It’s a Wrap

  Mickey and young Timmy.

  PHOTO COURTESY OF THE DAN KESSEL ARCHIVE, © DAN KESSEL PRODUCTIONS, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All I want to do is live a peaceful life, to regain my life and be happy.

  MICKEY ROONEY, TO THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

  Mickey died on Sunday, April 6, 2014, while living with his stepson Mark Rooney and Mark’s wife, Charlene, in North Hollywood. He died of congestive heart failure during a midafternoon nap, after Mark and Charlene discovered him struggling for breath. Rooney was pronounced dead by responding EMTs at about 4:00 p.m. and taken to the mortuary at Forest Lawn Cemetery. Jan—who apparently found out about Mickey’s passing from a news story—and Chris Aber contacted Forest Lawn and tried to move Rooney’s body to a joint plot in a Thousand Oaks cemetery that Mick and Jan had originally purchased, against his express wishes, according to Augustine, who also alleged this in court papers he filed the following day.

  After Rooney’s death, Michael Augustine informed us, there remained only eighteen thousand dollars in his estate. Our look at public records and legal documents revealed that prior to his death hundreds of thousand of dollars in fees and expenses by Augustine and Holland and Knight had eaten up much of Mickey’s assets.

  In the first part of 2011, over $300,000 had gone to these fees and expenses. After his death, draining expenses continued. Most of the funds that the estate collects from royalties, sale of images and memorabilia, and the like goes primarily toward legal fees and back taxes. Essentially, the fighting over the estate, which is being conducted mostly by Chris and Mark, is a modern-day replay of the neverending case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce in Dickens’s Bleak House.

  Mickey’s last will, created approximately thirty days prior to his death, left the entire estate to Mark Aber (who uses the name Mark Rooney) and his wife, Charlene, who took care of Rooney in his last two and a half years. We asked Michael Augustine about Mickey’s competency to redraft his will and how this competency was established by the court. Augustine explained that the geriatric specialist who examined Mickey on behalf of the court judged him capable of making his own decisions with regard to his living and custodial arrangements—his conservatorship petition, his prior diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and his prescription for lithium notwithstanding. We also raised the question about omitted parties from his will, and Augustine said that it was Mickey himself who made the determination to exclude all family members and leave the remains of his estate to Mark and Charlene. According to the Associated Press on August 20, 2015, the Los Angeles Superior Court formally accepted Mickey’s redraft of his last will and testament after Mickey’s biological children dropped their objections to the will and Judge David Cowan appointed attorney Michael Augustine to oversee the Andy Hardy star’s estate.

  When the time came for Rooney’s burial, the attorneys intervened, saying that it was Mickey’s last wish not to be buried next to Jan. Jan and Mickey had lived together for forty years, far longer than his previous seven marriages. However, the attorneys and Mark Aber said that the ninety-three-year-old Rooney’s last wishes concerning his burial overrode the wishes of his wife.

  Augustine told the authors that the burial dispute arose because Jan and Chris believed that Mickey should be buried at a Westlake Village cemetery where he had purchased plots years earlier, next to a future plot for Jan. The conservator and estate attorneys said that, nevertheless, Rooney wanted a Hollywood burial or a military one. In the end, Jan’s attorney, Yevgeny Belous, said that while his client still wished to be buried next to Rooney, she decided that the Hollywood burial arrangement was appropriate. “After thinking about it and praying about it, she decided, for the sake of his fans and peers, that it was befitting of him as a Hollywood figure.” Attorneys Belous and Augustine agreed, telling us in separate conversations in 2014 that “Mickey had enough lawsuits in life for ten people. The last thing he needs is for one over where he’ll be buried.”1

  The settlement came just before a court hearing to resolve a claim, made by the conservator, alleging that Jan and Chris had attempted to move Rooney’s body. Rooney would be buried at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, laid to rest among other Hollywood figures, including Cecil B. DeMille, Jayne Mansfield, and Rudolph Valentino. The funeral was a small, private family affair attended by Jan Rooney, but not by Chris Aber or his wife, Christina.

  In Life Is Too Short, Mickey’s own comments about dying reveal his wry, almost fatalistic sense of humor: “I’ve been short all my life,” he wrote. “And if anyone wonders what my dying wish will be, they can stop wondering. That will be easy. I’ll just tell them, ‘I’ll have a short bier.’ ”2

  According to Jan and all the children, it was neither the family attorneys nor Augustine who ultimately arranged Mickey’s funeral and burial. In a story confirmed by Mickey’s biological children Kelly, Kerry, and Teddy, and by others, there were apparently no funds left for a proper burial. The entire estate went toward paying legal costs, and there were still taxes owed to the IRS and the State of California. When Kelly revealed this to noted publicist Roger Neal, he sprang into action, arranging (at his own cost) for a proper funeral service and burial in a beautiful crypt at Hollywood Forever, a fitting tribute to a Hollywood star who brought so much joy during the darkest days of the Great Depression.

  Mickey’s crypt is a beautiful marble memorial befitting Hollywood royalty. Topped by the U.S. Army insignia, with Mickey’s picture below, it reads:

  MICKEY ROONEY

  SEPTEMBER 23, 1920–APRIL 6, 2014

  ONE OF THE GREATEST ENTERTAINERS THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN

  HOLLYWOOD WILL ALWAYS BE HIS HOME

  According to various sources, there were two funeral services. The first was for Mark and Charlene, and was also attended by Mickey’s granddaughter Dominique, Teddy’s daughter. The visitation was on Saturday, April 19, 2014, from 9:30 to 11:30 a.m., with a service presided over by Rev. Gary Dickey at 12:30 p.m. at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery Chapel that same Saturday. The second service, held on Saturday, April 19, was attended by Jan and her sister Ronna; Mickey’s children Kelly, Kerry, Kimmy, Mic
hael, Jonelle, Mickey Jr., and Teddy; their kids and spouses; and some friends. Jimmy Rooney did not attend. Also in attendance were Pam McClenathan and her husband, publicist Roger Neal, and grandchildren, including Dominique Rooney. Both services were held at the same chapel, with the first group cleared out before the second arrived.

  EVEN WITH MICKEY GONE, his family remained in turmoil, awash in controversy, scandal, damaged lives, character assassinations, and accusations. Throughout our research for this book, we talked with much of the family and found each person to be charming and gracious. However, there was no final reconciliation of relationships on the various sides. The Rooney family members, extended as they have been across different marriages, wound up in factions looking at the detritus of Mickey’s financial legacy, a sad outcome after the death of their patriarch.

  The feud among family members prior to Mickey’s death has been chronicled in the media throughout the world and continues in the tabloids even after his death. But few of the commentators truly understand the forces that propelled Mickey Rooney through the last part of life. Perhaps Jan was the most instructive, explaining that Mickey, who never really grew up in the first place, seemed to devolve into a toddler during his last decade, with tantrums, impossible demands, and reckless spending on self-gratification.

  Jan revealed that she was shocked when Mickey petitioned the court for a conservatorship, leaving her squarely in the middle between her two sons and her husband. Jan’s choice, and the legal fallout from it, has fueled a great deal of controversy. Add to this mix a legacy of eight marriages with children, in the throes of their own difficulties, and lurid stories of Mickey’s many mistresses. Even today, there remains a morbid interest in Mickey’s affaires de cœur, his offspring, and his grieving spouse.

  Mickey has left wreckage in his family spread across eight marriages and three generations, children and grandchildren, who have pursued their own careers, some in the entertainment industry, and must deal with their father’s reputation and legacy, and one another, as they try to unravel the many mysteries of Mickey’s life.

  MICKEY’S CHILDREN

  • Mickey Jr., the oldest son (with Betty Jane Rase), lives a reclusive life—“a hermit in Hemet,” as child actor Paul Petersen has characterized him. According to his friend Pam McClenathan and his brother Teddy, he has found his own peace, but has suffered from years of addiction and alcohol abuse. He is a talented and respected musician. He recently suffered the passing of his spouse.

  • Timmy—Timothy Hayes Rooney—was a musician and actor. His mother was Betty Jane. He costarred with his father in films and on the Mickey television show in 1964. He suffered from polio when he was ten years old. He toured for many years both with his brothers, in the Rooney Brothers band, and on his own. Timmy passed away in 2006 after suffering from dermatomyositis, a disease of the connective tissue. This degenerative disease was totally disabling, and Tim was relegated to a wheelchair and was living with Pam McClenathan and her husband in Hemet, California. During Tim’s last days, in which he suffered greatly, his father was in rare contact with him. Tim passed away on his father’s birthday, on September 23, 2006. According to Teddy, and Ronna Riley, Jan’s sister, Mickey was angry that Timmy “wrecked up” his birthday by dying on that day. He did not attend Timmy’s funeral.

  • Teddy, whose mother was Martha Vickers, remained close to his half brothers. Teddy is married to Carol, but they have been separated for thirty years. They have two children, Dominique and Hunter, and grandchildren. Teddy, a great musician, played with talents such as Eric Clapton, but he suffered from heroin addiction and alcoholism. As of this writing, he lives in hospice care with Pam McClenathan and her husband in Hemet, suffering from cirrhosis of the liver. We have had several conversations with Teddy. He does not have many fond memories of his father, although he recalled enjoying working with him in films such as Andy Hardy Comes Home, where he had time alone with him.

  • Kelly, Mickey’s eldest daughter (with Barbara Ann Thomason), is now a cosmetologist and has made appearances as an actress. She has a daughter, Lucy.

  • Kerry Rooney Mack (with Barbara Ann) is married and lives in Arizona with her husband, Jeffrey, and two children, Tauney and Kyle. She has also worked as an actress. Kerry told us about her father: “He had a lot of things go wrong in his life. A lot of marriages. He loved love. He didn’t care what people had to say. He just lived his life the way he wanted to.” She recalled the last time she spoke to him: “He said, ‘I love you.’ And I got to tell him, ‘I love you.’ And that’s a blessing in itself.” She said that when she was growing up she had no idea her father was a star. “He would just be standing there being Dad, and as soon as he heard some music or a song he would just break out.”

  • Michael (Kyle) Rooney (with Barbara Ann) is a world-renowned choreographer who has won the MTV Video Music Award for Best Choreography five times. He is currently the choreographer for the television series Hit the Floor. Kelly remembers when Michael was choreographer on Dancing with the Stars: “We wanted Dad to watch his number. . . . He was reluctant to go. But when showtime came, there was Dad. It was a special moment for Dad and Michael. It was captured on-screen. My father was so proud of his son.”

  • Kimmy Sue (with Barbara Ann) has twin sons, Cameron and Conner.

  • Jimmy is Carolyn Hockett’s son from her first marriage, whom Mickey adopted.

  • Jonelle, by Carolyn, is successful and lives in North Carolina.

  JUST ABOUT EVERYONE WHO worked with Mickey said the same thing. Yes, he was always after his next female conquest. Yes, he worked like a dog in any medium in which he could find someone to hire him. Yes, he gambled and drank. But the good news was that Mickey was an earning machine, constantly generating revenue. And the better news was that he was an earning machine for those who hired him, those who produced him, those who managed and represented him, those who married him, and those with whom he gambled. The bad news was that Mickey got to keep none of it. He earned hundreds of millions of dollars over his lifetime, but died almost penniless.

  He supported his parents from the moment he could walk onstage, even as his parents split in different directions as soon as he was born, like billiard balls on a break. He supported Larry Darmour, making him rich; and Joseph P. Kennedy, making him even richer. He sustained Louis B. Mayer and MGM during the Great Depression, keeping Mayer protected from Nick Schenck, and kept the studio alive and profitable. He brought Sam Stiefel and Maurice Duke into the motion picture business, floating their enterprises on his back; earned for Red Doff and Robert Malcolm; earned for all of them while he was alive. And when he died, he generated so many billable hours for his lawyers that whatever was left in his estate simply evaporated in a puff of smoke. And he will continue to earn revenues for the attorneys who handled his conservatorship and who will license his image and likeness for years to come. But throughout his ninety-three years, through his trail of broken marriages and the children he left behind whose lives were touched by the genetic tragedy he spawned, this walking ATM for all who knew him could not hold on to a single penny.

  His profligate ways were the target of countless attempts to reform him. He abandoned a lucrative pension from MGM for the promise of establishing his own production company with Sam Stiefel. But he ran up such a tab through loans and advances to pay off wives, taxes, gambling debts, and parents that even Stiefel had to return to Philadelphia shaking his head at his inability to manage Mickey. Maurice Duke, perhaps one of his closest friends, had to dissociate himself professionally from Mickey because the actor put everyone around him in jeopardy from the mob. His wife Barbara Ann met a violent death at the hands of a suicidal killer whom Mickey had brought into their home and marriage, thus traumatizing his children.

  Mickey’s stepfather, Fred Pankey, tried to control him, rein in his spending, get him to sock money away for his old age. But Mickey never listened. A perpetual youth, he never dreamed of old age, until he was too old and weak
to stand and had to be wheeled on and off the set. Investment banker Charles Allen set up a stock portfolio for Mickey, to provide him with interest and profits from capital growth of stock—until Mickey raided that portfolio, sucked money away to spend, and Allen threw up his hands and said no one could help the guy. Even his friend Donald Trump tried to give Mickey investment advice, or at least advice against bad real estate investments.

  But, boy, could Mickey light up a stage, get an audience behind him, get folks leaving a theater humming the songs he’d performed. And dance—even at sixty—as if he were floating on air. He could do that. He could do that better than anyone in his generation. And at the end, his generation spanned over ninety years.

  He knew every song, every gag, every pause before delivering the next line, every stutter step before the next pratfall the audience knew was coming.

  Put him at a piano, and he played it with a ragtime honky-tonk beat as if he’d written the song himself.

  He improvised, ad-libbed, cracked a joke out of nowhere, and when the time came for a dramatic performance, he could deliver a character that was as believable as if he were real.

  While he was acting, he was also directing, because he knew the camera as if he were the camera.

  He gave and gave and gave until, even as he staggered into his nineties, there was precious little to give. But he kept on giving because giving, entertaining, performing, was all that he knew, all that he would ever know.

  He was born in a trunk, and breathed his last breath only weeks after his final performance.

  Some may pity a guy who never really lived outside his own performance because he was always on, but they would be wrong to do so. In a world where people strive to understand themselves and the meaning of their lives, this guy, sometimes acting like the poor fool strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage, knew better than any of us the meaning of his life.