An MGM Extra Makes Rape a Federal Case
 |
| Patricia Douglas (photo source) |
I wasn't trying to get anything. I just wanted someone to believe me. - Patricia Douglas
Hollywood and MGM
Located at 8439 Sunset Boulevard, on the Sunset Strip in trendy West Hollywood, the Hacienda Park Apartments was home to many Hollywood notables of the late 1920s and early 1930s. Built in 1927 as luxury apartments, the 54,000 square foot space was relatively close to the studios, as well as next door to the famed nightclub Ciro's, making it a prime location for, at times, Marie Dressler, Loretta Young, Grant Withers, Jeanette MacDonald, and others. In 1935, dress designer Paul Ivar Wharton not only lived and worked at the Hacienda Park but was also murdered there.
During the 1930s, a woman by the name of Lee Francis also moved in.
 |
| April 22, 1927 rendering of The Hacienda Park Apartments (photo source) |
Francis had worked out of brothels in San Francisco and Reno before arriving in Los Angeles in 1920 at the age of 25. Soon after she arrived in town, she caught crime kingpin Charlie Crawford's eye. Crawford not only gifted her with a small house on Norton Avenue in West Hollywood but set her up to run the high-class brothels she became infamous for. By 1936, she was running brothels from a house on Bedford Drive in Beverly Hills, a location on Kings Road in West Hollywood, and an apartment building on the Westside. Her clientele included leaders in the downtown establishment, studio executives, and movie stars. Clark Gable, Errol Flynn, John Gilbert, and Spencer Tracy were reported to regulars, enjoying the swimming, billiards, drinks, fine food, and a variety of women at Francis' establishments. MGM was said to keep a standing business charge account with Francis, albeit under an assumed name.
Although flush with business, Francis did not -- could not -- own the properties she ran her businesses out of. Once neighbors realized that a brothel was operating out of their neighborhood and notified law enforcement, she would often have to move overnight.
That said, the LAPD were well aware of what went on and around town with Lee Francis and her businesses -- and who frequented them. She allegedly paid 40 percent of her profits to first, Charlie Crawford and his network of corrupt cops and politicians, who graciously looked the other way. After Crawford was murdered in 1931, the payouts would have continued - possibly to Bugsy Siegel, once he arrived from the east.
The "girls" who worked for Francis made around $1000 per week -- much more than the contract starlets of the studios, the goal of many Francis girls when they first arrived in Hollywood. Believing their beauty alone would score them film work and stardom, when it did not, they chose prostitution over accepting jobs as salesclerks, secretaries or waitresses -- or worse, returning home with their dreams of Hollywood defeated.
Some of Francis' girls came to her by way of the studios themselves, where they had managed to score short-term contracts (usually six months) that had not been picked up or optioned. If they had been "favorites" of studio executives, meaning they did not spark enough interest as an actress but were appropriate to entertain in other ways, working for Lee Francis was suggested.
In May of 1937, MGM had planned for its annual sales convention to be held for the first time in its history in Culver City. Although the studio had been in mourning since producer Irving Thalberg (considered MGM's "Boy Wonder") had died suddenly in September of 1936, it had also been a banner year for MGM financially. The coffers were full and shareholders and employees alike were flush -- this at a time when other studios were struggling to stay afloat (some of the less fortunate studios had gone into receivership and/or bankruptcy). A proper celebration had to be planned.
At the end of April, nearly 300 men from the Midwest and the East Coast boarded a private MGM railway car to spend three days aboard "pregaming" for the five-day conference in Culver City. Louis B. Mayer himself was at the station in Pasadena on Sunday, May 2 to greet them, a bevy of "starlets" in tow. By that point, the men were good and soused. Mayer, ever the accommodating host, promised them a good time, complete with anything they wanted.
Over the next few days, they were treated to dinner at the Ambassador Hotel and luncheons with stars like Jean Harlow, Clark Gable, Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, Charles Boyer, and Rosalind Russell. The big finale, planned for Wednesday, May 5, was a Wild West Party at producer Hal Roach's ranch which was touted to be "a stag affair out in the wild and wooly West where men are men."
 |
| David Ross (circled) at MGM's May 3, 1937 luncheon (photo source) |
Girls brought in from Lee Francis would have been very aware of what was up, and what would go down, at such a party. Girls like Patricia Douglas would not.
Patricia Douglas, a Missouri native, was a dancer and movie extra. Only 20 years old that spring of 1937, she had chestnut hair, beautiful porcelain skin, and movie-screen perfect teeth. She had migrated west with her mother, Mildred, who wanted to design gowns for motion picture stars. Instead, Mildred ended up designing wears for high-end call girls. Patricia dropped out of school at fourteen, but she didn't run wild. Unlike other teenagers in the Los Angeles area, she did not drink, smoke, or date. Despite her proximity to Hollywood, she was not impressed by fame, nor have any desire for it. Dancing was her main passion in life. She drifted into the movies, as she later recalled, "for something to do." She counted as friends George Raft, Jimmy Durante, Dick Powell, Bing Crosby, and Bill Frawley (before his I Love Lucy days), who treated her as kid sister and would buy her a Coke while they vented on their career issues and personal lives. By the time she was fifteen, she was dancing behind Ginger Rogers in Gold Diggers of 1933.
Patricia was told about the casting call on Sunday, May 2, 1937 -- the same day the drunken entourage was disembarking the train in Pasadena. Initially, she turned it down as she had no need for work. Later, she agreed to show up, believing she was being hired as an extra in a western film. Later, she said that had she known it was for a party, she never would have gone.
May 5, 1937
At 4 p.m. on Wednesday, May 5, Patricia, along with nearly 120 other young women, reported to the Hal Roach Studio on Washington Boulevard in Culver City, just blocks from MGM. The young women, most of whom were either dancers or considered themselves to be dancers, were outfitted in short suede skirts, bolero jackets, cowboy hats and boots. As payment, they were promised a hot meal and $7.50 ($150 in 2022 dollars) -- standard for extras.
After thick camera make-up was applied, the group of young women was bussed several miles away to "Rancho Roachero," where Hal Roach filmed his Our Gang comedy shorts. The changing of location would not have given off any red flags to Patricia or the other girls as many movies, particularly Westerns, were shot on location. What would, however -- at least for some of the girls -- were the 300 drunken men en route to the festivities.
Upon arrival, the girls were herded into a large banquet room and instructed to sit down and wait. Two hours passed, during which time an orchestra and bar were assembled, but not a single light, camera, or movie crew.
It was seven o'clock before the MGM businessman, along with Mayer, Roach, and studio "fixer" Eddie Mannix, showed up. The very intoxicated and revved up salesmen immediately took the real dancers of the group as nothing more than party favors and treated them as such. With no telephones or transportation at their disposal, the young women were literally trapped with the men, the majority of whom were not only inebriated but sexually aroused, and left to fend for themselves.
Although there was a proliferation of alcohol -- 500 cases of scotch and champagne -- there were other, more innocent diversions in connecting tents. Barbecue was served while Laurel and Hardy spoke about the upcoming Kentucky Derby. The Dandridge Sisters, including a 13-year-old pre-fame Dorothy, performed a live revue, while exhibition boxing matches took place in an arena set up for the event.
Patricia Douglas, tricked into the job as doubtless, others had, did her best to endure it by dancing with some of the attendees. It was while she was on the dance floor that David Ross spotted her. Ross was 36 years old, a somewhat dumpy bachelor from the Chicago sales office. He approached Patricia and demanded a dance lesson, to which she obliged. He attempted to cop a feel and, as soon as she could politely get away, she hightailed it to the ladies' room, where she told the attendant that the handsy Ross was all over her and "sticking" to her.
By 10 p.m., the party had lost any attempt it may have had at a decent presentation. Henry Schulte and Oscar Boudin, both waiters, later swore in affidavits that "there was filth in conversation," that men were "attempting to molest girls at the tables," "trying to force liquor on the girls," and "running their hands over the girls' bodies," and that "the party was the worst, the wildest, the rottenest I have ever seen."
One 18-year-old, a former Miss Wichita, begged actor Wallace Beery, in attendance, for help, stating she was tired of being mauled. Beery, gruff and one of MGM's biggest stars of the time, escorted the young lady from the premises but true to his reputation of being a brawler with a fiery temper, socked a few men on the way out.
Patricia was not so lucky. David Ross, having been spurned by "a nobody," decided to retaliate. He recruited another man to help him hold Patricia down and pinched her nose, forcing her to open her mouth to the scotch and champagne they plied her with. They laughed as she gagged on the liquor and rushed to the bathroom to vomit. Wanting, and needing, fresh air, she stepped outside the banquet hall and a hand clamped down over her mouth.
Ross told her that if she made a sound, she would never breathe again. He dragged her to one of the many sedans parked in the lot, shoved her inside, and boasted that he was going to "destroy" her. During the assault, when Patricia began to pass out, he smacked her in the face with an order to cooperate. "I want you awake!" she later recalled him saying.
It was 11:30 p.m. when parking attendant Clement Soth heard screams and then saw Patricia staggering toward him, both of her eyes swollen shut from the hits she'd taken. As Soth approached her to help, he saw David Ross running away.
The Cover Up Begins
Patricia, in a state of hysterics, was taken to Culver City Community Hospital, across the street from MGM, accompanied by a Culver City motorcycle cop. Upon admission to the facility, more like an urgent care center than a hospital, Patricia vomited once again. The shy, immensely private young woman was then given a cold-water douche, followed by a pelvic examination that she found embarrassing and shameful. The doctor who performed the examination, Edward Lindquist, could find no evidence of a sexual assault, not surprising given that a douche was administered prior to the exam. He also apparently had no concerns over any bruising Patricia had or the clear violence that had been done to her face. He said that while he could not prove it, he did not believe intercourse had occurred, consensual or otherwise.
Lindquist was co-owner of the hospital and very well aware the hospital depended on MGM's business.
Patricia was then driven home in a studio car, with no apologies or sympathy. Nor was she given empathy from Mildred, who had never spoken to her daughter about sex or given her any type of warning about what could, and did, happen in the industry. Mildred's preferred method of dealing with Patricia's rape was to pretend as though nothing had happened.
Despite being accompanied to the hospital by a police officer, as well as the presence of 11 officers from three different police precincts and MGM's own "police" department at the party, no criminal report was ever written or filed.
Patricia stayed home for two days, nursing her swollen face and body that was sore from David Ross' attack, before she picked herself up and returned to the Roach Studios. She told the studio cashier, "You ought to know what happened to me so it doesn't happen to anyone else." Instead of compassion, she was merely handed her $7.50 pay. MGM never contacted her and David Ross returned untethered to Chicago.
If all parties concerned had thought Patricia Douglas would merely go away, or accept a payout for her silence, they were soon to be sorely mistaken.
Taking Action
Accompanied by her mother, Patricia swore out a complaint against David Ross at the Los Angeles County District Attorney's office. Since she was still a minor (the age of majority being twenty-one), Mildred was forced to sign the complaint.
Patricia's actions were unique and groundbreaking for the day. Assaulted women were considered "damaged" and to blame for their assault and resulting injuries. Not only was Patricia standing up for herself, insisting that her rapist be held accountable, she was taking a stand against the studio system whose first rodeo this surely was not. She cared little about the stigma that would be attached to her or what the lawsuit might do to any future career she might have.
Unfortunately for Patricia, the D.A. was Buron Fitts, not the most upstanding of politicians. Fitts was reportedly on the take not only for businesses like Lee Francis' but was also rumored to be taking a payout to keep any action brought in the murder of director William Desmond Taylor, which had happened in February of 1922. He considered Louis B. Mayer a close personal friend and was completely in the pocket of the studios. MGM had been the major contributor of Fitts' most recent campaign six months earlier. In fact, Fitts himself had been indicted for perjury in a rape case involving a 16-year-old girl and had ultimately been acquitted, something that caused outrage in the Los Angeles community. Despite this, he had still been reelected as D.A.
 |
| (photo source) |
Fitts wasn't likely to take action against MGM or David Ross.
Patricia waited for several weeks and, with no response from Fitts, was put in touch with attorney William J.F. Brown. Brown was considered a "dandy" in his day, with his custom suits, splashy Packard automobiles, and love of courtroom theatrics. He saved his own ex-wife from the gallows with a passionate appeal after she shot her new husband four times. If any attorney was a perfect fit to take on the studio system and a D.A. like Fitts, it was Brown.
Brown represented Patricia pro bono -- the publicity would be worth it -- and immediately fired off correspondence to Fitts in which he threatened to have Patricia go public with her accusations if no thorough investigation was performed. True to his nature, Fitts considered that Brown was bluffing and did nothing.
The L.A. Examiner, owned and run by the fearless (and feared) William Randolph Hearst, broke the story on June 4, 1937, taking leads away from Jean Harlow's fatal illness (she would succumb three days later) and the Duke of Windsor's wedding to the American divorcee Wallis Simpson. The word "rape" was never mentioned, as it was considered too salacious, but the story referenced Patricia being "attacked" and "outraged." Readers knew what the euphemisms meant. MGM itself went unnamed in the story, called only a "local studio." Hearst had no desire to sink the industry in which his mistress, actress Marion Davies, made her living and into which he himself had invested (he formed Cosmopolitan Pictures after United Artists rebuffed him). Patricia was not only named but her photograph was featured and her home address was published as well.
The article did get Buron Fitts on the case, at least somewhat. He showed Patricia a photo lineup of two dozen men and without hesitation, she picked out David Ross.
 |
| (photo source) |
MGM, still publicly unidentified, released a statement as "the local film company" in which it said, among other things, it had read "with astonishment" the claims made by Patricia and that it was difficult for them to make a statement about a situation to which not only appeared "impossible" but about which they "know nothing."
Damage Control
Behind the scenes, MGM was in full-on damage control. Perhaps not since producer Paul Bern's death in 1932 had an event occurred that could so harm the studio, its shareholders, and its employees. Even if Patricia's allegations of a stag party costing $35,000 (nearly $700,000 in 2022 dollars) with a boatload of alcohol and teen girls could be refuted, it would leave a very, very bad taste in the mouth of MGM"s stockholders and worse, the moviegoing public who assumed that MGM did indeed have the squeaky-clean image Louis B. Mayer so desired. It was therefore decided the best course of action was to smear the victim.
 |
| MGM's "fixer," Eddie Mannix in 1935 (photo source) |
MGM put its fixer, Eddie Mannix (a thoroughly reprehensible human being who broke his wife's back during an argument and beat his mistress, actress Mary Nolan, so badly she required 15 surgeries) to work by hiring the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Pinkerton was instructed to track down every single girl that showed up for the "casting call" that night and persuade each one by whatever means necessary (i.e., financial incentives or coercion) that there had been no groping, molesting, or anything untoward going on at Rancho Roachero.
Sugar Geise, a 27-year-old chorus girl whose family was tight with Buron Fitts, suddenly recalled seeing Patricia passed out at the Knickerbocker Hotel bar. Two other party attendees remembered that on the night of May 5, Patricia was chugging liquor from a quart bottle all night; the alleged orgy, they said, was just a jolly old party, full of good, clean fun.
Patricia was indignant, claiming that anyone who knew her was well aware that she did not drink. She also wanted to know exactly when rape began being considered good, clean fun. She wasn't about to throw in the towel. Not yet.
The detectives at Pinkerton shadowed Patricia in an attempt to dig up dirt on her. An internal memo indicated they were instructed to find attempts where she had propositioned men, while taking personal digs at her by suggesting that "many men," who surely turned her down, would recall being solicited by her. Even Patricia's urologist, Dr. Wirt Dakin, had gotten a request from Hal Roach himself to state that treatment for a cyst on Patricia's bladder was actually a "genital urinary infection," a euphemism for gonorrhea. Dr. Dakin, one of the few decent characters involved in this tragedy, stood firm and refused.
The agency had the truth soon enough. Patricia Douglas had been a teetotaling virgin on the night of May 5. She had no dirt to dig up, nothing to use against her. The lack of any dirt was horrifying to MGM, whose own stars had plenty of skeletons in their closets.
 |
| Hal Roach's note on Dr. Dakin and the "G.U." (photo source) |
With the resulting scandal, Patricia was all but abandoned by her celebrity pals. Terrified that any association with her would result in career suicide, they turned their backs on her. She was going to stand alone.
The Legal Fight
Her identification of David Ross led to a grand jury hearing, with Ross being summoned from Chicago. He labeled such accusations "absurd" and "ridiculous" but upon his arrival in Los Angeles, he was taken immediately into a meeting with Louis B. Mayer's personal attorney.
The hearing, held on June 16, 1937, was nothing more than Patricia being traumatized all over again. Only two of the 120 girls in attendance at the party testified on her behalf, one of them being the 18-year-old who fled to Wallace Beery for help. Beery, in a studio-approved statement, denied the incident entirely. Parking attendant Clement Soth, who had responded to Patricia's screams and assisted her immediately following the attack, and who had said he saw David Ross fleeing, testified that the man he saw that night was much thinner than the plump Ross and denied that he had seen Ross running from the scene.
Patricia was forced to recount her rape and then watch as Ross' attorney, an associate of Louis B. Mayer's attorney, pointed at her and scathingly asked the grand jury, "Who would want her? Look at her!"
To add further insult to injury, when leaving the courtroom, Patricia encountered Ross, who calmly smoked, while photographers pushed her close to him in order to capture a shot for their evening editions.
 |
| Patricia forced to confront Ross, June 16, 1937 (photo source) |
The grand jury did not indict David Ross.
"I just wanted to be vindicated, to hear someone say, 'You can't do that to a woman.'" - Patricia Douglas
MGM, Eddie Mannix, and David Ross likely considered the case closed at that point. But Patricia was a scrapper. She was not going quietly.
A month later, in July, she filed a civil suit against Ross, Mannix, Hal Roach, casting assistant Vincent Conniff, and John Doe 1 to 50 for their "unlawful conspiracy to defile, debauch, and seduce" her and other dancers "for the immoral and sensual gratification of male guests." She sought $500,000 (nearly $10 million in 2022) in damages.
MGM's lawyers stalled the case until the new year of 1938, while the studio itself continued to bestow jobs, favors, and other rewards upon perjurers and those who were suffering from sudden memory problems.
On February 9, 1938, a superior court judge dismissed the case. David Ross, the principal defendant, was never even served.
Twenty-four hours after the dismissal, Patricia, again with her mother acting on her behalf, filed an identical suit in the U.S. District Court, the first of its kind. In a trailblazing move, Patricia became the first woman to make rape a federal case, based on a violation of her civil rights.
 |
| Patricia and her mother, Mildred (photo source) |
They had been lucky up to this point but Mayer and Mannix were terrified as to what this newest case might mean to MGM and by extension, themselves. Both were guaranteed a percentage of MGM's profits and both worried that bad publicity would affect the bottom line. Since defaming Patricia had not worked, they were ready to go after her attorney with enticements.
William J.F. Brown was not entertained by slander or outlandish accusations. He did, however, have political aspirations and Fitts' mishandling of Patricia's case incited him to challenge Fitts as D.A. in the next election. It was made clear to Brown that no one in opposition with MGM would ever win such an election and so Brown sacrificed his client. He neglected to appear in court on three consecutive occasions, forcing a federal judge to dismiss the case for "want of prosecution." The defense counsel also neglected to appear, which almost certainly guaranteed that MGM and Brown were in tandem over the non-appearances. Patricia's mother Mildred neglected or refused to expose Brown's blatant malpractice and misconduct, which would have gotten Patricia not only another attorney but another attempt at legal justice.
Out of legal options and drained, both emotionally and physically, Patricia finally gave up the fight. For its part, MGM whitewashed most of its records to avoid any mention of Patricia Douglas or the Wild West Party in May of 1937.
The newspapers and general public quickly forgot about Patricia and her story. There was other news to be had.
Afterward
Following his grand jury testimony, parking attendant Clement Soth was bestowed with a promised lifetime job as a driver for MGM. He held the position until his death. His daughters later publicly admitted that Soth had committed perjury in exchange for the cushy position during those Depression-era years.
In the 1940 primary election, William J.F. Brown was thoroughly trounced by Buron Fitts (who would lose in the general election).
Patricia's mother Mildred purchased a liquor store and some horses after the case dismissals, most probably thanks to hush money she received in exchange for her willingness to look the other way at Brown's malpractice. She married an alcoholic gambler who went through all of her money before leaving her. Mildred lived into her nineties, residing with her daughter in both a hostile and caregiver-type environment. Only during the last ten years of her mother's life was Patricia able to say she felt any love at all for Mildred.
Eddie Mannix told people years after the rape that "we had her [Patricia] killed," but they did not. They may have damaged her spirit and buried her name and story, leaving it to languish for decades, but Patricia Douglas survived.
 |
| A young Patricia before May of 1937 (photo source) |
Mannix died in 1963, six years after Louis B. Mayer, and still on the studio payroll.
Around the same time, David Ross died of rectal cancer. He never married nor had children. He left no family to remember him, much less mourn his passing.
In March of 1937, two months before Patricia was raped, Buron Fitts was wounded after shots were fired through his windshield by an unknown person or persons. Three years later, he was defeated in his attempt at a fourth term as D.A. A veteran of World War I, he joined the Army Air Corps at the rank of major in 1942. He dropped out of public sight for the next 30 years until he put a bullet in his head in 1973, a week after his 78th birthday.
Lee Francis, the madam at the Hacienda, attempted to go legit in 1937/1938 by opening a nightclub at 8588 Sunset, a block or so west of the Hacienda. After spending the equivalent of $800,000 in 2022 dollars, she encountered difficulties when a "crimp was put in the deal" by "an owner of a nearby night rendezvous with powerful newspaper and political affiliations," as Francis recounted later. This was almost certainly Billy Wilkerson, owner of the nearby Cafe Trocadero and publisher of The Hollywood Reporter. Ultimately, Francis was bought out by a "well-known personality from the East" (thought by many to be Bugsy Siegel) who reneged on the deal to pay her.
Having lost her legitimate business, Francis returned to her tried and true business and was pinched in January of 1940 after a raid. Francis was arrested for suspicion of moral offenses, along with two other women in her employ. In March, she was found guilty, sentenced to 30 days in jail, and fined $250 (nearly $5,100 in 2022). As an interesting sidenote, one of the women arrested with her, Simone King, would marry mobster Mickey Cohen ten months later, becoming the prim and proper LaVonne Cohen.)
 |
| Lee Francis and Judge Cecil Holland, 1940 (photo source) |
Following her jail stint, Francis returned to business, keeping a very low profile, but not at the Hacienda. In 1959, she attended the closing night party for the Garden of Allah hotel accompanied by an entourage of her call girls. Six years later, she published an account of her life as a madam before disappearing from public view.
The former Hacienda Park Apartments went through several name changes through the years, including Hacienda Arms and Coronet. It is currently known as the Piazza del Sol, where the Italian Renaissance architecture is host to a variety of business offices, including small production companies, and a Japanese restaurant.
Redux
Following her failed legal attempts, Patricia and her mother left Los Angeles. They stayed in Bakersfield, north of L.A., for a while before heading to Las Vegas. Patricia married three times in five years, with two of her husbands exposed as bigamists. At 37, she decided she was done with men and sex, declaring that she had never been in love with anyone. Other than her mother, no one else in her family knew of her brutal rape in 1937 -- not her husbands or her children. Thanks to a decision to keep herself from getting close to anyone, including her children or grandchildren, she had no friends to talk to or lean on. Her story remained lost and forgotten for six decades.
David Stenn had started his writing career on television, with Hill Street Blues, 21 Jump Street, and Beverly Hills, 90210. He wrote a well-received biography of 1920s actress Clara Bow in 1988 and chose to follow it up by focusing on another Hollywood icon, Jean Harlow. It was while he was on deadline for the Harlow book in 1993 that he stumbled across a relatively obscure notation on Patricia and the infamous stag party. Initially skeptical about Patricia's allegations, he was nonetheless intrigued that such a scandalous story had not been reported by any Hollywood historians and eventually spent the better part of a decade tirelessly digging into the story. Five or six years after he began, he was astounded to discover that Patricia was still alive and living in Las Vegas. She eventually agreed to meet with him and look through photographs of Hollywood and MGM. When shown a photograph of David Ross, her reaction at seeing an image of him after 60 years was an immediate physical and visceral one; she shook and cried. She confessed to Stenn that the very smell of scotch made her nauseous, taking her back to May of 1937, and that she still lived in fear.
Stenn gave an interview to Vanity Fair in 2003 about Patricia's rape and the massive attempt at cover up done by MGM, taking her story public for the first time since 1937. That led to a documentary in 2007, called Girl 27. Revealed too was the tale of Eloise Spann, a contact singer and actress during the same years that Patricia was dancing and working as an extra. Eloise too was assaulted and raped as Patricia was, in a house in L.A. by a person or persons connected to the studio system. Eloise, only 19 years old, at the time, was, like Patricia, a virgin. Her rape resulted in a pregnancy that was terminated. She too lodged a suit against her attacker(s) and, much like Patricia, her suit was dismissed without any kind of justice. Her account received even less attention than Patricia's did.
Stenn tracked down Eloise Spann's son, who knew nothing of his mother's tragic history and what she had endured, until Stenn informed him. He recalled that his mother was "unwell" for most of his childhood and upbringing.
Eloise Spann was never able to move past her assault, rape, resulting abortion and cover-up by the studio, despite marrying and having a family. She hanged herself.
While Patricia was denied justice in 1937, receiving $7.50 in payment for her pain and suffering, and David Ross was free to continue his life without recourse, and MGM, as well as other studios, were welcome to carry on fostering environments in which women (and girls) were exploited and abused, she did lay the groundwork for future changes. Her assault, with the resulting scandal, was the first time MGM could not pay off everybody and bury the incident entirely. They did manage to hush it up for decades following the indictments and cases but could not keep Patricia and her account quiet forever. While she was betrayed by MGM, its employees who were bought off and/or threatened into silence, Buron Fitts, William J.F. Brown, her entertainment friends who valued their careers more than doing right by Patricia, and even, if all likelihood, her own mother, Patricia did succeed in one aspect. Never again would MGM throw a party under the guise of a casting call, which is what she wanted to put an end to all along.
Patricia died in Las Vegas on November 11, 2003, suffering from emphysema and glaucoma and still fearful. She didn't live to see the documentary featuring her or her story.
 |
| Patricia, toward the end of her life (photo source) |
Sources:
Dawson, Nick. "David Stenn, Girl 27." Filmmaker, July 27, 2007.Ponder, Jon. "Hacienda Park and the Origins of the Sunset Strip." WeHoVille, April 8, 2019.
Stenn, David. "It Happened One Night . . . at MGM." Vanity Fair, April 2003.
Stenn, David. "The Systematic Crushing of a #MeToo Pioneer." The New York Times, January 5, 2018.
Girl 27. Dir. David Stenn. Perf. Patricia Douglas. TLR Productions, 2007. Documentary.
