The Mammoth Book of Hollywood Scandals (28 page)

It would seem that the studio executives were adamant that they would make sure it was Douglas, not them, who had a ruined reputation, and as a result, questionnaires were handed out to other dancers to see what kind of girl Patricia was. This was not all, as private detectives were then assigned to spy on her, and even her doctor was reportedly paid to claim falsely that she was suffering from a sexually transmitted disease. Meanwhile, if Patricia believed she would at least find love and understanding with her family, she was very wrong as at her home at 1160 South Bronson Avenue, she received no compassion from her mother at all. “It was never mentioned; it never happened,” she told David Stenn years later.

It wasn’t long, of course, before the scandal hit the newspapers, with District Attorney Buron Fitts telling reporters that he intended to have a man with the same name as the attacker face Patricia Douglas to see if she could identify him. “I am taking no definite action until I am sure we have the right man,” he said. At no time was David Ross or MGM mentioned in the article, though Patricia Douglas was named in the very first sentence, with her full address published on numerous occasions over the coming days and weeks.

In a twist, it turned out that the man they presented to Douglas in the District Attorney’s office was not the right David Ross at all, but an innocent Hollywood theatre manager, whom Patricia had never seen in her life. Photographs were then sought to clarify exactly who the attacker could be and Patricia was once again called to the police station, where she looked through a file of “suspects” and eventually picked David Ross out of a group of twenty-four men. “This is the man,” Patricia declared, before turning over the photographs and declining to look any further.

The case was eventually brought before a grand jury, and David Ross was finally named in the newspapers, though never officially served. However, he did appear in court to defend himself, and was led into the room for official identification. That day newspapers described Douglas as accusing Ross of “beating and attacking her when she repulsed his advances” and the word rape was not mentioned at all. Then in the recess, Douglas had the unfortunate experience of seeing Ross in the corridor, a situation most likely set up by the media as a good photo opportunity. She broke down and ran towards an open window before being consoled by her mother in front of the press photographers. Given that Douglas’s mother had never shown any loving interest in the child before, one can be forgiven for thinking that her show of remorse was merely for the photographers.

Ross took to the stand to testify. He denied the attack except to say that he was introduced to Patricia Douglas with several other girls, danced and joined her for one round of drinks. He then claimed to have left with friends at midnight, while Douglas continued to party with another man at the event. It was all lies but that, coupled with the fact that a host of witnesses, including the car parking attendant, were apparently paid to change their stories and deny they had seen anything at all, resulted in the case being dropped.

This should have been the end of the matter, but actually it wasn’t as the extraordinarily brave Patricia Douglas was not prepared to give up without a fight and announced plans to sue MGM herself. This was a huge decision for a young woman to do and she deserves nothing but applause for the strength and bravery displayed at that time, but unfortunately it all came to nothing. Patricia’s plans to sue were buried without trace amid claims that both her lawyer and mother were paid off in order to let the matter drop quietly.

The outcome of the trial and her treatment at the hands of MGM, the media, her mother and the witnesses to her ordeal affected Patricia Douglas’s life forever. She married numerous times; shared no closeness with any of her husbands; had no friends; endured a tumultuous relationship with her daughter (who only lived with her briefly during her life); and admitted in 2003 that she had never been in love nor knew what it was like to be loved. The entire event of what happened that ghastly night in 1937 was then buried along with all the evidence against Ross, and if it were not for the discovery of the story by writer/producer David Stenn, it would have remained so.

Instead, shortly before her death in 2003, Patricia finally got the chance to tell her story in David’s article “It Happened One Night at MGM” (published in
Vanity Fair)
and his follow-up documentary,
Girl 27
. Her name was cleared, though her life had most certainly been ruined by the actions not only of David Ross, but the incredible forces who came together to help clear his name instead of hers. May she now rest in peace.

With the advent of film came the discovery of real-life movie stars, the first of whom was a young woman by the name of Florence Lawrence. She was loved by the public, respected by her peers, and had the unprecedented honour of being dubbed “The First Movie Star”. However, she was also the first example of how fickle fame can be, and how quickly stars can be forgotten, no matter how much they once shone.

Born in Canada on 2 January 1886, Florence Annie Brigwood as she was then known, did not have the happiest of childhoods. As seems to be the way with many film stars, she came from a broken home, her father leaving when she was just four years old and her mother – a vaudeville actress – struggling to raise her family of one daughter and two sons. Being raised by a woman who loved the stage had an obvious effect on the young child, and it was not long before she was often seen performing with her mother; billed as “Baby Florence, The Kid Wonder”.

The family moved to several locations before finally settling in New York where Florence continued her love affair with the theatre, and also developed a new interest in horse riding, athletics and film. She excelled at everything to which she put her mind, and in 1906 appeared in her first movie, Vitagraph’s
The Automobile Thieves
, which saw the young woman playing one half of a couple who conduct a series of robberies. Her costar, J. Stuart Blackton, was also the director, and together they shot a scene where they are both chased down and shot dead for their crimes.

At just eleven minutes long, it was not what one would call feature length, but it did give Florence a taste of movies that she was not in any hurry to forget, and when she was offered more roles by Vitagraph she wholeheartedly accepted. Her time at the studio led to great experience and though her real name did not appear on the credits, she was quickly nicknamed “The Vitagraph Girl” by both the studio and fans. Her onscreen anonymity did not stop Biograph Studios director D. W. Griffith from discovering Florence’s talents for himself, and he very quickly gave her a starring role in his movie,
The Girl and the Outlaw
(1907), which led to dozens of other movies and a new nickname of “The Biograph Girl”.

Florence’s career had really taken off but she still remained largely anonymous thanks to the fact that her name continued to be kept from the credits. Her personal life was also on the up when she met actor Harry Solter while making
Romeo and Juliet
for Vitagraph. The two fell madly in love and were married on 30 August 1908, which not only gave them personal satisfaction, but also enabled them to be more of a powerful force in the movie industry.

As a result, they began working in 1909 for Carl Laemmle’s film company, the Independent Moving Pictures Company of America (IMP), which renamed Florence “The Imp Girl” and set about making her into a huge star. Of course, the plans for this included a good amount of publicity and Laemmle came up with the unprecedented idea of spreading the “news” that poor Florence Lawrence had been killed in a dreadful streetcar accident.

Newspapers were full of this terrible scandal and fans were in uproar until Carl Laemmle himself stepped in and declared that the entire thing had been a dreadful mistake (aka a lie) and that his star was not only very much alive, but also about to star in a new movie,
The Broken Bath
. This got everyone talking about the woman who had seemed to rise from the dead, and moviegoers began bombarding the studio with sacks full of fan mail and greetings. Rumour has it that at one point the actress was so popular that her postman even injured his back in an attempt to deliver all of the mail to her house.

The much ballyhooed
The Broken Bath
was a big success and gave her a first taste at being hounded by fans in the flesh when she went on a publicity tour. The public surged forward and ripped buttons and whatever else they could from the star’s coats and garments, but still, the experience was chiefly a positive one. Florence not only had her name on the billboards at last, but was also given a brand new nickname, that of “The First Movie Star”.

In 1912 Florence had enough power to be able to form her own film company with her husband called “The Victor Studios”. The deal was made under the guidance of Carl Laemmle and gave her an unheard of $500 a week as an actress, while Solter gained a great deal of success as a director. The couple made so much money, in fact, that they were able to buy their dream house, and a year later sold the company to Universal. Florence continued to act, and in 1914 made the ill-fated
The Pawns of Destiny
, which was directed by husband Harry Solter.

This film would see the beginning of Florence’s health problems and the end of her marriage, when she fell and badly hurt herself in an accident on the set, and then suffered unbelievable trauma when a staged fire got out of control. Acting with Matt Moore, the two became trapped in a burning house and Moore was quickly overcome by smoke. Showing no concern for herself, and knowing that no help was forthcoming, Florence instinctively knew she had to rescue her co-star and managed to somehow carry the actor out of the building. This extreme bravery had dire consequences, however, as by the time they both got out, the actress was suffering from burns all around her face and neck, which required plastic surgery and a great deal of respite care.

Rightly or wrongly, Florence blamed Solter for the accident and they separated for good shortly afterwards. Meanwhile, she tried desperately to overcome the trauma she had suffered, but found it impossible. Reliving the nightmare she had endured in her mind, and being in a great deal of physical pain, she was never able to recover completely and instead fell into a deep depression.

Florence’s personality began to change and she started to act in a brittle, short-tempered way. Co-stars started calling her difficult and hard to work with, but in reality she was suffering immense amounts of depression and anxiety brought on by the accident, and actually collapsed after the making of her film
Elusive Isabel
as a result of her depression.

The actress rested for a time before going back to work in a movie called
The Slave
. However, her big comeback was only mildly successful and it was clear for everyone to see that her days as a huge star were very definitely over. For the rest of her life Florence was forced to take small parts in low-budget movies, and the newspapers revelled in telling their readers that “ex-favourites” such as Lawrence were now working for just $10 a day in order to keep the wolf from the door. The articles were insulting and downright patronizing, and while Florence was still eager to remain in the public eye, sadly the fans who had once flocked to her premieres and flooded her mailbox were long gone. So too were the many friends she had met along the way, all moving on with their film careers while her own had begun to crumble.

In 1927 Lawrence was interviewed for the
Appleton Post-Crescent
, during which time she sat strumming a ukulele and singing a song she had written herself entitled “Fairweather Friends”. The song could have been an ode to those who had quickly departed after her career had fallen by the wayside. Telling the interviewer that most producers did not recall her name any more, she poignantly stated, “I don’t hope for stardom again. I know that went glimmering in the years when illness kept me from the screen. But I do want to stay on the screen . . . The movies I helped to build into an industry are my life.”

Sadly she was never to achieve the kind of roles she had once been able to win, and even her personal life was unsuccessful. On 12 May 1921 she had married salesman Charles B. Woodring and together they had set up a company, Florence Lawrence Cosmetics. Running the business from 821 North Fairfax, the couple tried to cement a decent income through Florence’s former pull as a great movie star. They were somewhat successful in business, though as a personal partnership they were less so. Woodring disliked Florence looking anything but her best and insulted her, telling the actress that he had grown tired of her and, as she recalled, saying “that I did not keep myself as pretty as I used to”.

Finally, the insults were explained with the revelation that he had actually met somebody else and, after admitting his new love to his wife, the couple separated on 12 December 1929. However, it was not until 11 February 1931 that the two actually divorced, and the cosmetics business was divided up between the pair. Woodring then continued to operate the business, while paying $100 a month to his former wife from the profits.

A third marriage followed, though not much is known about it, except that the gentleman was named Henry Bolton and rumour has it that he was a raging alcoholic who enjoyed beating up his wife on a regular basis. The disastrous marriage apparently lasted just five months before Florence had finally had enough and they separated in 1933.

Despite appearing in several tiny movie roles, and still being interviewed by newspapers and writing the odd article, by 1938 Florence was alone, unhappy and suffering from a rare and incurable bone disease. The Christmas period was depressing as she spent it by herself with only her thoughts for company. Finally, on 27 December, she took the decision to end her life and consequently the suffering she had endured for many years. In her small apartment at 532 Westbourne Drive, Florence sat down to write a note to her friend Robert Brindlow which read: “Dear Bob, Call Dr Wilson. I am tired. Hope this works. Good-bye my darling. They can’t cure me, so let it go at that. Lovingly, Florence.” She then added a P.S. which told her friends they had all been “swell” and declaring that she was leaving all her belongings to them.