The Battle for Beverly Hills

by Nancie Clare

  It was fortunate for the anti-annexation cause that Mary was even available. Beginning with their European honeymoon in the summer of 1920, Mary and Doug had taken long international trips throughout the decade that followed and were often gone for months at a time. In 1921 their travels took them to France, Switzerland, Italy, the Middle East, and Africa; in 1924 they did a three-month whirlwind tour of Europe that stretched from Madrid to Oslo with London, Paris, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, and cities in Switzerland and Germany in between. As it happened, in late 1922 and early 1923 Mary was home, but she and Doug were incredibly busy working, usually on adjoining sets, at their merged studios.1

  On the other hand, it’s entirely possible that Mary looked upon campaigning for the anti-annexationists as not just another chore, but more of a welcome distraction. It wasn’t just that Mary was consumed with work, she was consumed with determining the direction that she wanted her work to go. It was a precarious and nerve-racking process and one for which she got little support from her few confidants. To her adoring legions of fans, she was “Little Mary,” “America’s Sweetheart,” but she was also an artist who wanted to grow—as an actor and as a woman, for that matter. Her public had ascribed to her a state of perpetual youth and innocence. They wanted to see her continue to play the roles of children; they wanted Mary Pickford to remain pure in heart and body. Mary Pickford, though, was ready for something else. At the age of thirty, she felt more than a little uncomfortable taking parts that cast her as a preteen; she wanted her roles to grow up. Her mother, Charlotte, who acted as Mary’s business manager, might have understood her daughter’s desire to break out of the typecasting, but she also understood the bottom line. Mary playing roles such as Pollyanna and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm were guaranteed cash cows, and Charlotte would advise against making any changes. In other words, according to Mama Pickford, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Mary, though, was interested in exploring her options. Films were still silent, but the artistry that went into their making was light-years ahead of what it had been just ten years previously. Special effects, such as Mary appearing on-screen simultaneously as two characters—as she did in Little Lord Fauntleroy—were becoming more commonplace as the stories being told became more involved. Mary Pickford wanted to stretch creatively and she wanted a director who could help her do that. She wanted Ernst Lubitsch, the famed German director who had helmed Passion, a silent masterpiece about the French king Louis XV’s mistress set against the backdrop of palace intrigue that was released in the United States in 1920. Period pieces like the 1922 When Knighthood Was in Flower, which William Randolph Hearst had bankrolled for his mistress, Marion Davies, were becoming successful vehicles for actresses. Mary thought a sweeping historical drama wrapped in the splendor of royal trappings could be a way to both get what she wanted and still be able to give her audience what they wanted. With a period piece in mind, in late 1922 Mary brought Lubitsch to Hollywood to direct her in Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall, the story of a noblewoman who was a contemporary of Queen Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. (It was actually Lubitsch’s second foray to the United States. In 1921 Famous Players-Lasky had invited him with much fanfare to work for them. But in the wake of World War One, which had ended in late 1918, there was still enough anti-German sentiment in the air that people were hurling rocks at dachshunds. During his 1921 visit, Lubitsch was on the receiving end of some nasty phone calls and returned to Germany after only a few weeks. Lubitsch’s arrival in Hollywood in October 1922 to direct Pickford was decidedly more low key.)2 Once he was settled and work commenced, the meetings that took place with Mary, her mother, and Lubitsch were fraught. Lubitsch passed on Dorothy Vernon, in preparation for which Mary had already spent $250,000 (more than $3.6 million in 2017 dollars). To Lubitsch, Mary suggested Faust; she would play the role of Marguerite, the woman who strangles her illegitimate baby. Charlotte would have none of it. For the first time she absolutely forbid Mary from doing a part. Faust was shelved and Mary suggested Rosita, a story based on a play called Don Cesar de Bazan, about an impoverished street singer in Seville, Spain. Lubitsch balked; he didn’t think he could work with Mary Pickford. He complained that she wasn’t like European actresses. (By this, Lubitsch meant Mary wasn’t a steeped-in-drama artiste even when the cameras weren’t being cranked.) More wrangling took place and at one point Mary had a private meeting with Lubitsch to remind him that she wasn’t just the star of the yet-to-be-chosen movie, but its producer and financial backer as well. Lubitsch threw a tantrum. Mary prevailed.3 With that sort of drama taking place at work—drama that was not in front of the camera where it belonged—Mary just might have looked upon fighting against Beverly Hills annexation to Los Angeles as a palate-cleansing challenge. If she could stand up to just the latest in a long line of cinema auteurs who’d tried to impede her way since the beginning of her career, she couldn’t possibly have much to fear from the Rodeo Land and Water Company. (When Rosita came out, many of the reviews damned the effort with faint praise. For Mary it may have been a Pyrrhic victory. She proved she could carry a serious picture and appeal to a more sophisticated audience; the cost, though, was losing the audience she already had. Thirty or so years later Mary would write in her autobiography that Rosita was “the worst picture, bar none, that I ever made.”)4

  On top of the work and the almost constant entertaining that went on at Pickfair (it’s said that the table was set for sixteen every evening to accommodate the acquaintances old and new that Doug invited for dinner), Mary was serious in her charitable commitments. In that winter and spring of 1922 and 1923, she chaired the committee in charge of raising money for the Salvation Army in addition to six other fund-raising campaigns for institutions that cared for “little victims of adversity including two orphanages, one Catholic and one Protestant.”5

  As the saying attributed to Hollywood actress and producer Lucille Ball goes, “If you want something done, ask a busy person to do it. The more things you do, the more you can do.” Among the many silver screen stars who had moved to Beverly Hills in the early 1920s, Mary Pickford was the best “get” for the anti-annexationists to help their cause. Pickford and Fairbanks were both dedicated, active participants in the civic life of Beverly Hills after moving in together following their wedding in 1920. In the five years since Doug Fairbanks had treated the fire brigade to dinner after they doused a fire at Grayhall, where he was living, first Doug and then Mary had been generous with their time and money, helping the city procure fire engines and additional equipment, participating in promotions for the Chamber of Commerce, supporting horse shows and horticultural exhibitions, bringing entertainment to the city, and decorating the town every Christmas. It’s no secret that both Mary and Doug relished control, although each had her and his own approach. Judging by contemporaneous writings as well as biographies of both, it’s likely that the charming and gregarious Douglas Fairbanks would have fared well regardless of which city claimed dominion after the April 1923 election. That’s probably not so true for Mary Pickford: She enjoyed being the queen of the city, the boldest of the bold-face names. It was possible she might have had to share that crown, or lose it to someone with just as much money but greater social standing, if and when Los Angeles took over. More importantly, though, Mary saw through the pros and cons of annexation to Los Angeles and realized that because there was no indication of how much of its outstanding bond debt the larger city would saddle on its new addition in the wake of annexation, it had the potential to be a financial disaster for Beverly Hills residents.

  Although maintaining her privacy was important to her, Mary Pickford certainly had more reasons for wanting Beverly Hills to remain independent of Los Angeles than fear of intrusion by press and police. From all accounts, Beverly Hills police officer Charlie Blair never had to ask partiers at Pickfair to keep it down, as the goings-on were remarkably sedate. Doug and Mary didn’t host any drunken bacchanals. There was no fear of landing in the papers for violating the Volste
ad Act by getting busted for imbibing wine or spirits: Doug eschewed alcohol even without the incentive of Prohibition. And it was waltzes only, no “jazzes” at the occasional dances. As did most things for Mary, her feelings about annexation ultimately boiled down to money. It’s entirely possible that she would have been inclined to view the proposed joining of Beverly Hills to Los Angeles in a more favorable light if there was a financial gain to be had. But after practically inventing how top stars were compensated, and continuing to be one of the young industry’s highest-paid actors, who also owned her own production company and was a principal in United Artists, the film distribution company she cofounded, Pickford recognized a bad deal when she saw one. The uncertainty of the terms Beverly Hills would face if it voted to annex to Los Angeles would have struck Pickford as a contractual nonstarter. On hearing an explanation of the proposal, Pickford would have picked up that annexation between the two cities had the potential to be an expensive proposition for Beverly Hills and a windfall for Los Angeles, with the larger city calling the shots. That was not Mary Pickford’s idea of a smart way forward for her city.

  What Mary needed to do was make sure that message—that Los Angeles would be setting the terms for Beverly Hills to join it—was heard as loud and clear by her neighbors and fellow residents of Beverly Hills as the pro-annexationists’ message of “annexation or stagnation,” which was delivered courtesy of the signs on lawns, in store windows, and on banners placed across such major intersections as Santa Monica Boulevard and Crescent Drive. But these things needed to be done delicately: Her involvement in campaigning for Beverly Hills to remain independent could not look self-serving. When it came to the local Los Angeles papers, which would be sure to cover the campaign and election, any whiff of elitism could be detrimental. Campaigning for Beverly Hills to remain an independent city could not follow the same playbook as the battles involving her compensation from the studios. In those exchanges Mary had taken the skirmish to the press to curry support from her fans and bring pressure to bear on the studio chiefs. Taking the anti-annexation cause to the press wasn’t the right tactic at all. No, for this campaign it wasn’t the skills she had honed negotiating with the likes of Adolph Zukor, it was the experience she had gained representing the U.S. government in promoting the sales of Liberty Bonds that would be more in line with what she needed to accomplish. The approach could not look as if her wish that Beverly Hills not join Los Angeles was just a capricious whim, a “let them eat cake” moment of entitled pique. Mary had to deliver the message that she was just another citizen of Beverly Hills.

  Once Mary Pickford was on board and lending her considerable skills to the cause, the anti-annexationists had not only her organization abilities and charm, they also had her talent for making her audience believe. Mary needed to build common cause within the community between the celebs and non-celebs. Pro-annexationists were hammering home the message that the city’s growth was necessary for municipal prosperity and that property values would plummet unless they joined Los Angeles. Mary had to make the citizens of Beverly Hills look beyond the fear that voting against annexation was a vote against their own self-interest. Mary had to counter the fears of her neighbors that voting “no” for annexation would hit Beverly Hills residents in their pocketbooks. In fact it was voting “yes” that could end up costing residents. She made her neighbors aware that since no terms had been agreed to between the cities as to fees and taxes, voting to annex to Los Angeles could end up costing the residents of Beverly Hills plenty through higher taxes, fees, and assessments—and that no one knew how high the price could go. The anti-annexationists needed to make sure the message that there was obtainable water in Beverly Hills reached the city’s residents, and that the fear that one day soon they would turn on the tap only to find nothing coming out was groundless. Mary needed to reach out to her neighbors and let them know that, as citizens of Beverly Hills, they were all in this together and that remaining an independent city was the smarter course of action for everyone’s future.

  Both Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks were active in the civic life of Beverly Hills; as individuals, each was also at the heart of emerging movie industry organizations. Mary had founded the Motion Picture Relief Fund after World War One and Doug was one of the principal organizers of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. But it was Mary, not Doug, who spearheaded the celebrities’ campaign against annexation, according to the recollections of those who were there.

  It came down to temperament. Although Mary could be high-handed, she had much more of the common touch than Doug—not that the citizens of Beverly Hills, the majority of whom ranged from wealthy to extremely wealthy, fit into the category of hoi polloi. But Doug could be mercurial. He was happy to hobnob with cowboys and stable hands while filming on location, but when he was home he was an inveterate snob, renowned for his infatuation with titles; visiting European aristocracy were often invited to Pickfair. According to an anecdote, Charlie Chaplin called one morning and jokingly asked Doug, “How’s the duke?” “What duke?” asked Doug. “Oh, any duke,” replied Chaplin.6 And Mary was, after all, America’s Sweetheart. Who better to share news and views with her neighbors than the most famous Girl Next Door of all?

  Mary also had great faith in her own abilities to sell an audience, and she understood the power that a great cast could bring to any project. It’s in the casting—who was and was not part of the anti-annexation troupe—that Mary’s strategic fingerprints can be seen the most. Had Doug Fairbanks been pulling together the players for the anti-annexation effort, Charlie Chaplin would have had, if not a starring role, at least a featured cameo. Rudolph Valentino would most certainly not have been included owing to Doug’s renowned jealousy. (By her own admission in her autobiographical writings, Mary Pickford had a fraught relationship with Chaplin, her husband’s best friend and the couple’s business partner in United Artists. And the feeling was mutual; Chaplin thought Mary was talented, but mercenary. As for Rudolph Valentino, Mary recalls in her autobiography that “I never saw Douglas act so fast, and with such painful rudeness, as he did in showing Valentino that he wasn’t welcome.”)7

  For this production, though, Pickford pulled out all the stops. Pickford would bring everyone and everything available to the anti-annexation cause: the magnetism of her husband Doug Fairbanks, the sex-appeal sizzle of Rudolph Valentino, the wit of Will Rogers, and the comic relief of Harold Lloyd. Prominent citizens of Beverly Hills who opposed annexation such as Anderson, Spalding, and Joyce had wealth, influence, and regard from those who knew them, Sufton and Denison, the public relations men who were running the more conventional aspects of the campaign, may have had marketing experience, but, collectively, none of them had the instant recognition that fame brought. In any other city that lack of fame might have been a simple fact of life, but in Beverly Hills, celebrity was currency waiting to be invested. Mary Pickford was savvy enough to understand that if it was just her and Doug campaigning to keep Beverly Hills independent it might very well be perceived as a completely selfish, self-serving pursuit. But if she and Doug were joined by a posse of fellow stars, then the optics would suggest that the sentiment against annexation was broader. So, while Mary may have been driving the all-star anti-annexation bus with Doug as her co-pilot, and they could for all intents and purposes have made the journey by themselves, they enlisted six marquee names who were capable, in modern-day parlance, of “opening a picture”—Will Rogers, Harold Lloyd, Conrad Nagel, Fred Niblo, Tom Mix, and Rudolph Valentino—to join up.

  * * *

  The personal styles of the six who joined Mary and Doug in their anti-annexation campaign ran the gamut from extroverted self-promotion and calculated self-interest to outwardly civic altruism to reclusiveness, but they also shared similarities. They had all come from somewhere else to seek fame and fortune in the moving picture business. Some of them were already working in movies when they came to Hollywood. All of them eventually found acting or,
it could be said, acting found them. Most became proficient at rearranging the less salubrious bits of their own personal biographies. Most of them had nothing material to lose when they started their careers. All of them became wealthy, although not all of them remained that way. Like Pickford and Fairbanks, Niblo had already shown his support for his town; all the rest of Team Anti-Annexation—except Rudolph Valentino, who would die in 1926—would continue to support Beverly Hills to small and great degrees in the upcoming years. Conrad Nagel and Fred Niblo would also join Fairbanks as founding members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in 1927.

  Harold Lloyd was born in Nebraska in 1893. He moved with his father to San Diego, California, in 1910 after his parents divorced. Within two years, he was acting in comedy one-reelers. In 1913, at the age of twenty, Lloyd moved to Los Angeles and appeared in several Keystone comedies. By 1918, along with his pal and future legendary producer and director Hal Roach, Lloyd began to cultivate his own character, “Glasses,” in much the same way Charlie Chaplin created “The Little Tramp.” With those round glasses, Lloyd would become one of the most successful, and richest, comedic actors of the silent film era, with earnings that would rival Pickford’s, Fairbank’s, and Chaplin’s.

  Interestingly, while Harold Lloyd had bought the land bordering Benedict Canyon and, according to his granddaughter, Sue Lloyd, installed his mother in a small dwelling on the property, as of 1923 Lloyd himself hadn’t taken up residence there. His magnificent home, Greenacres, complete with a waterfall and a meandering creek, was in the planning stages at the time of proposed annexation. But like Pickford and Fairbanks, he understood the value privacy and exclusivity would have in the future. He understood that in a city with such a small population, those with fame—and the wealth and notoriety that accompanied it—could expect their wishes to be given greater consideration. Beverly Hills would be amenable if they wanted to build a waterfall or keep horses on their property; Los Angeles had rules against keeping horses in the better neighborhoods. Not to mention the small police force that turned a blind eye to parties where liquor bottles, shoes, and undergarments were found on the lawn the morning after the festivities.