Tom Neal: Killer Actor

 

A publicity photo of Tom Neal early in his career (photo source)

"Fate or some mysterious force can put the finger on you or me for no reason at all." - Tom Neal as Al Roberts in Detour (1945).

From the moment of his birth in January of 1914, Tom Neal seemed destined for the fame he craved most of his life; his great uncle was the noted actor and theater manager John Drew.  Neal was brought up in a spacious Chicago home and eventually attended Northwestern University, where he majored in mathematics.  Blessed with an athletic physique and good looks, he traded on them to compete in amateur boxing matches and participate in the school's drama club.  He moved to New York City in 1933, following some summer stock performances and debuted on Broadway in 1935.  In 1938, he not only made his first film appearance (Out West With the Hardys, part of Mickey Rooney's successful Hardy Family film series) but earned a law degree at Harvard.  Over the next handful of years, he appeared in many B-movies, including Republic Pictures' serial Jungle Girl and the classic film noir Detour, with Ann Savage, with whom he would make six films in total.  

While Neal was clearly intelligent and talented, his downfall appeared to be his temperament, his ego, and women, none of which were helped by his friendships with notorious Hollywood hellraisers Errol Flynn and Mickey Rooney.  While he was in New York City, he took up with Inez Norton, an ex-Follies dancer twice his age and who had been the girlfriend of Arnold Rothstein, the mobster who rigged the 1919 World Series.  Following his murder in 1928, Inez was left $150,000 by Rothstein (over $2.6 million in 2023 dollars) and Tom Neal was more than happy to help her spend it.  Neal and Norton were briefly engaged before she was followed by relationships with such Hollywood notables as Lana Turner, Joan Crawford, Ava Gardner, and Lorraine Cugat, the wife of Spanish bandleader Xavier Cugat.  He married actress Vicky Lane in 1944 and the marriage lasted five years before Lane filed for divorce, citing mental and physical cruelty.  And then Neal met Barbara Payton.

Barbara Payton and Tom Neal (photo source)

Barbara

Unlike Tom Neal,  Barbara Payton was not born into a wealthy, connected family but to two alcoholics who had no issue with their daughter trading her good looks for male attention and leaving school at sixteen to marry.  Starting as a print and catalog model, Barbara transitioned into the acting business solely based on her reputation as a party girl in the Hollywood club scene.  She received  good notices in 1949's film noir Trapped and seemed firmly on her way with the noir thriller Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye (1950) alongside James Cagney.  Then along came Tom Neal.   

By the time she met Neal in 1950, Barbara had just divorced her second husband, who also took custody of their young son.  Like Neal, she was fiercely ambitious and in him, she saw the virility and good looks she craved.  She later claimed in an interview that within four minutes of meeting, she and Neal decided to marry.  Unfortunately, Tom Neal did not have the reputation and recognition Barbara also wanted.  But Franchot Tone did. 

Barbara Payton and Franchot Tone, 1951 (photo source)

 

In the 1930s and 1940s, Franchot Tone was suave and sophisticated, a debonair leading man of the screen and stage, twice nominated for an Academy Award.  His first wife had been Joan Crawford, married from 1935 until 1939, while both were under contract to MGM (although Crawford's star greatly eclipsed his).  Despite their divorce, the two remained friendly over the years.  

The connections Tone had, as well as his wealth, were attractive to Barbara when she met him in 1950.  Although reportedly engaged to Neal at the time, she neglected to inform Tone of this fact.  Nor did she tell Neal that she was simultaneously dating Tone, although Neal later claimed that she had told him she was engaged to Tone but stepping out on him because he was "boring" compared to the more exciting Neal. 

The triangle came to a head on the front lawn of Barbara's home on September 15, 1951, when the 45-year-old Tone ended up semi-conscious on the ground, courtesy of a beating by the 37-year-old Neal.  Neal claimed that Barbara had kissed Tone in front of him and "the sight of a girl I love kissing another man made me see red."  Perhaps notably, Neal and Payton were reportedly going to marry in San Francisco that same day.

The public's sympathy was with Tone, who had been taken to the hospital with a concussion, broken nose, and smashed cheekbone.  Wherever Barbara's sympathies may or may not have been, she married Tone on September 28.  The marriage lasted less than 60 days before Tone filed for divorce, claiming that Barbara was being unfaithful with none other than Tom Neal.  For her part, Barbara admitted that she had been living with Neal but only because she was afraid of Tone.

(photo source)

The resulting publicity from the attack, as well as Barbara's alleged infidelity, put the careers of both Barbara Payton and Ton Neal on the skids (although both of them would milk their notoriety as long as possible).  Unlike the Elizabeth Taylor-Eddie Fisher-Richard Burton scandal that would break a decade later, Hollywood was much more sensitive to the public's opinion and deferred to those who basically wanted the couple blacklisted.  Neal and Barbara became re-engaged and said they would marry in Paris but eventually broke up once again, this time for good.

Neal met a woman named Patricia Fenton and married her in 1956.  They had one child together before Fenton died of cancer in 1958.  With his Hollywood career effectively over (his last on-screen appearance was a part in the television series Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer), Neal sold everything he owned and left Los Angeles for Palm Springs, where he found work as a gardener.  He eventually built a solid and respectable business, saying that he had learned the trade from watching the Japanese gardeners who had tended to his two-acre Bel Air estate. 

In 1961, he married his third wife, a 25-year-old receptionist at the Palm Springs Tennis Club named Gail Kloke Bennett. 

Gail and Tom Neal (photo source)

 

April 1, 1965

Neal often frequented the Tyrol restaurant in Idyllwild, a mountain community about an hour from Palm Springs, so his appearance there on the evening of April 1, 1965 wasn't unusual.  What was, though, was the fact that he was alone and according to Robert Balzer, one of the owners and a friend of both Neal's and Gail's, that he seemed troubled.  Sitting down with Balzer and James Willet, the restaurant's other owner, Neal began talking about Gail, saying that she had become his entire life since his second wife had died, and that he couldn't live without her.  He then confessed that he had killed her.  Balzer and Willett thought Neal was kidding, as it was April Fool's Day, but Neal refuted that, saying he had shot Gail to death earlier that day while she was taking a nap.  

Following his confession at Tyrol, Neal contacted his Beverly Hills attorney, who called the Palm Springs police to inform them that Gail was at their home on Cardillo Road and had "expired or was seriously injured."  Upon finding that Gail was indeed "expired," her husband was arrested and booked into the Riverside County Jail.

The murder house in Palm Springs (photo source)

Gail had been found on the couch of the couple's living room, partially covered with a lightweight blanket.  She was wearing a green sweater and green capris.  The capris were ripped below the zipper, which was unzipped, and pulled low on her hips, along with her underpants.  She had a gaping wound roughly one inch above her right temple, where she had been struck by a .45 caliber bullet.  The bullet then exited through her neck and tore through three pillows underneath her head before coming to a rest in the couch's upholstery.  

An autopsy indicated that Gail had died somewhere between 2:30 p.m. on April 1 and 2:30 a.m. on April 2.  

The Lodi News Sentinel, April 2, 1965 (photo source)

On April 16, the Riverside County Grand Jury indicted Tom Neal for murder.  Public defender James Kellam was assigned to defend Neal.  He later said that he felt that Neal "needed a better defense than a public defender could provide" and so chose not to visit with his client at all from April through August, believing that his inaction would cause Neal's friends to rally around him financially and thus provide for a criminal practice attorney.  On August 20, Neal petitioned the court for a continuance on the basis of needing a change of counsel. 

Surprisingly, Kellam's action worked and Neal's friends rallied around him.  A Cathedral City auto dealer took out an ad in the local paper, requesting donations for Neal's defense.  Friends in Palm Springs sent in check, soon followed by friends in Hollywood that included Mickey Rooney, Dorothy Manners, Blake Edwards, Harrison Carroll and even Franchot Tone, the man he had beaten back in 1951.  The money allowed Neal to hire Palm Springs attorney Leon Rosenberg.  Neal thanked the Cathedral City auto dealer with a handwritten two-page note in which he claimed that "friends" were responsible for shooting Gail.  

The Trial

The trial began on October 19, 1965 with Deputy D.A. Roland Wilson asking for a first-degree murder conviction.  Local real estate broker Frank Seyferlich testified that he had been at the Neals' home the night before the murder.  Between 5:30 and 6:00 p.m. he had delivered letters of recommendation to Gail, who he said had been intending to divorce Neal and relocate to Los Angeles; she would have needed the letters as employment references.  According to Seyferlich, he was surprised to find Tom Neal at home as his understanding was the couple had been separated, with Neal living in Chicago since January of that year.  Gail had invited Seyferlich to stay for a drink but feeling uncomfortable, he left. 

Rosenberg managed to score points during his cross-examination of lab technician H. Carmon Bishop, when he got Bishop to admit that a man's wallet was found in the top drawer of the bureau in the master bedroom and a man's suitcoat was found in the master bedroom closet.  Wilson objected on the grounds of relevance, but the insinuation was that neither belonged to Tom Neal and that perhaps Gail had been seeing someone else.

The prosecution called only eight witnesses before resting their case on October 28.  Rosenberg began the defense's case on October 29.  Chief of Detectives Richard Harries testified that the wallet and suitcoat belonged to Steve Peck, a Palm Springs insurance man.  Peck rented a spare bedroom from Tom and Gail.  He had an alibi and witnesses who placed him in Phoenix at the time of Gail's murder.

Harries also admitted under oath that the murder weapon had never been located but a live .45 caliber bullet was found in Tom Neal's jacket pocket at the time he was arrested and that a similar box of ammunition was found in the Neal home.

Steve Peck took the stand the following day and recalled a domestic dispute between Tom and Gail that had occurred in November of 1964, only months before her murder.  According to Peck, Gail had pulled a .45 automatic on Neal screaming that she would kill him.  During cross-examination, however, Peck admitted that in his original statement to the police, it was Tom Neal that brandished the gun after slapping Gail several times. 

Tom Neal's Story

If the jury and the public had found Steve Peck interesting, they were absolutely riveted when Tom Neal took the stand.  According to Neal, Gail was lying on the couch and he was on one knee, caressing her.  She had questioned whether they "should be doing this," and Neal had accused her of "fooling around with all these guys" since he had left.  After he had accused her of having sexual relations with his friends, she had said she would kill him and had the .45 automatic in her hand.  Neal said he had pushed the gun away with both hands and it went off, striking Gail in the head.  He then prayed and claimed to recite aloud a tenant of Chrisian Science: "There is no life, truth, intelligence or substance in mind, all in infinity and its manifestation, for God is all in all.  Spirit is immortal truth, matter is mortal error.  Spirit is the real and eternal, matter is the unreal and temporal."  

Under cross-examination, Neal admitted that he and Gail had been estranged for some time, and that he had returned home from Chicago to attempt a reconciliation.  He said he did speak to his restaurant friends and told them that he "felt responsible for her death," but insisted that he never at any time said that he had fired the shot.  His friends had been the prosecution's first witnesses and had testified that he did say he had shot Gail.  Neal's cross ended with Wilson producing a copy of Gail's petition for divorce, lodged just before her death, in which she accused her husband of threatening her with a .45 revolver the previous November. 

On November 9, under rebuttal, Wilson called Dr. Armand Dollinger, who had performed the autopsy on Gail.  According to Dollinger, Neal's recounting of events was "unlikely;" the direction of the wound did not correspond with Neal's assertion that he had pushed the gun away. 

Rosenberg did his best to discredit Dollinger, asking whether the doctor had measured Gail's arm or had any idea of her muscle structure, to which Dollinger replied in the negative. 

Wilson then called three of Gail's coworkers from the Palm Springs Tennis Club.  All three testified that Gail had planned to leave town when she heard that Neal was returning from Chicago because she was afraid he would kill her once he learned she had filed for divorce. 

The Verdict

The jury of ten women and two men was out for ten hours.  Although the prosecution was seeking the death penalty, to the utter amazement of all present, on November 18, 1965, the jury found Tom Neal guilty of involuntary manslaughter, believing his story of the firearm accidentally discharging.  Wilson was stunned and Rosenberg elated, telling the press that with time served, Neal could be out by Christmas.  

At the sentencing hearing on December 10, Judge Hilton McCabe listened to Rosenberg plead for probation for his client, citing Tom Neal's "clean record" and saying the shooting was an accident that culminated from a marital discord.  Wilson said the prosecution would not consider probation and that the jury's verdict was the only break Tom Neal deserved.  Judge McCabe agreed, sentencing Neal to up to 15 years in prison.

Neal showed no emotion during the sentencing other than biting his lip but told the press outside that his sentence was "a railroad job."  

Tom Neal in a scene from his most famous film, Detour (1945) (photo source)

Afterwards

Tom Neal served six years of his one-to-15-year sentence.  He was paroled on December 6, 1971.  He returned to Hollywood, the scene of both success and downfall.  Instead of appearing on the big or small screen, however, he went back to his landscaping and gardening business.  His son found Neal dead in his bed on August 7, 1972, felled by heart failure.  He was 58 years old.   His body was cremated, with the eventual disposition of his cremains unknown.  

Barbara Payton at the beginning of her career (photo source)

Barbara Payton had no easier of a road than Tom Neal following their aborted engagement.  Suffering with alcoholism and drug addiction, between 1955 and 1963, she had multiple run-ins with the law, including arrests for passing bad checks and prostitution.  Offered the option of being admitted to rehab, Barbara said she would rather drink and die.  She ended up living with her parents in San Diego, where the trio spent their days binging on alcohol.  By the time she was 34 years old, the former slim and sexy blonde weighted 200 pounds, was unkempt, and suffering with broken blood vessels in her face from her constant drinking.

In 1963, she was paid $1,000 (just over $9,600 in 2023 dollars) for her autobiography, called I Am Not Ashamed, in which she recounted sleeping on bus benches and being regularly beaten while she was prostituting herself.  The book led to her last acting role, 4 for Texas, a Western comedy film. 

Her final marriage, her fifth, was in 1962, to a man named Jess Rawley.  She as still married to Rawley but living with her parents in San Diego when she died on May 8, 1967 of liver and heart failure.  She was 39 years old. 

During Tom Neal's trial in Indio, Barbara attended daily.  It was reportedly the last time the two saw each other.  

Franchot Tone in the 1930s (photo source)

Franchot Tone, who had been beaten at Neal's hands in 1951, married once more following his brief marriage to Barbara - to actress Dolores Dorn.  The marriage lasted only three years and the couple divorced in 1959. 

During the 1950s, Tone relocated from Hollywood to New York, where he appeared on stage and television.  His career continued into the 1960s, both on television and in film, until lung cancer, caused by his chain smoking, forced him to retire.  His first wife, Joan Crawford, who had also relocated to New York, cared for him until his death on September 18, 1968 at the age of 63.    

Sources:

Crockett, Art.  Celebrity Murders.  Pinnacle Books, 1990.

Historian Alan Royle (March 24, 2016).  Tom Neal - Getting Away With Murder.

Murderpedia (2022).  Thomas Neal.

Palm Springs Life (2022).  Killer Career - Actor Tom Neal.

Wikipedia (2022).  Tom Neal.

Wikipedia (2022).  Barbara Payton.

Wikipedia (2022).  Franchot Tone.

Gail's final resting place at Inglewood Park Cemetery (photo source)

 

  

Girl 27: The Brutal Assault of Patricia Douglas

 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.     

Remembering Jay Sebring

 

A smiling Jay (source: Tumblr)

Fifty-one years ago tonight, Jay Sebring became one of six people (if you include an unborn baby) who lost their lives in one of the most violent, gruesome, and senseless murders in U.S. history. But Jay was so much more than just a victim.

Born in Birmingham, Alabama as the fourth and final child of an accountant and housewife, he was raised in a very average middle-class existence in Southfield, Michigan. Following graduation from Detroit Catholic Central High School, he enlisted for what would turn out to be a four-year stint in the Navy. That enlistment changed the course of his life, as he found a passion for cutting hair — which he did for the enlisted men during the Korean War.

Finding his calling, he journeyed to Los Angeles, where he changed his name from Thomas John Kummer to the more stylish and sexy Jay Sebring. Following barber school, he spent three years in tutelage at women’s beauty parlors before striking out on his own. His Sebring salon, one of the first salons for men in the United States, became as trendy as its location — the corner of Fairfax and Melrose in West Hollywood. Sleek and modern, with masculine wood paneling in the main salon, Sebring catered to his celebrity clientele, which began flooding the salon, by having a private entrance for them, as well as a VIP room. At a time when barbers charged $1.50 for a haircut, he could command $25 and up, thanks to his revolutionary Sebring Method, which involved using scissors rather than clippers and cutting the hair to the style of the head and in the direction of the hair growth. Sebring also encouraged daily washing of the hair before styling and using hair spray rather than Brylcreem or pomade, which was the standard (along with infrequent washings.)

A kind, deep-thinking and stylishly sophisticated man, Jay became the first male celebrity stylist to such stars as Warren Beatty, Marlon Brando, Henry Fonda, Paul Newman, and many others. He designed Jim Morrison’s famous shaggy ‘do and flew to Las Vegas every three weeks to tend to the locks of Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. Wealthy oilman Saul West paid him $500 (plus expenses) to fly to Dallas to cut his hair.

His success and popularity led him to going directly to the set of 1960’s Spartacus to personally tend to star Kirk Douglas’ hair and to be the lead hair stylist for The Thomas Crown Affair in 1968 and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in 1969.

Jay was instrumental in the film career of Bruce Lee, who he met in 1964 in Long Beach at the International Karate Championships. Jay introduced Lee to Bill Dozier, a television producer who cast Lee in The Green Hornet.

Although he had no acting aspirations himself, Jay appeared in a December 1966 episode of Batman (also produced by Dozier) playing a character called Mr. Oceanbring, a clever take on his own name. He also played a frontier barber in a 1967 episode of The Virginian.

In 1967, he founded Sebring International, as a means to franchise his salons internationally, teach his hair cutting method, and sell his haircare products. In addition to his flagship salon in Los Angeles, he opened salons in New York, London, and San Francisco. His San Francisco salon opened less than three months before his death; he was due to be in San Francisco the day after his death.

Although married in 1960 to a model, most of Jay’s acquaintances agreed that the love of his life was Sharon Tate, whom he met in 1964, after he and his wife separated and their divorce was pending. He and Sharon dated for three years, the relationship only floundering when she met director Roman Polanski on a film set and fell in love with him. Despite this, Jay and Sharon remained the best of friends. Sharon’s last home, the one on Cielo Drive that she shared with Roman, was only a mile from Jay’s Easton Drive residence.

That night of Friday, August 8, 1969, Jay drove his black Porsche up the hill to Cielo Drive where he, Sharon, and the Polanskis' two houseguests, Voytek Frykowski and Abigail Folger, went to dinner at El Coyote restaurant.  Returning home around 10:30, he and Sharon went to the master bedroom, where she could rest and he could sit and talk to her. Frykowski took a nap on the sofa in the living room and Folger changed into a nightgown and read “Madame Bovary” in her bedroom. They had less than two hours to live.

Jay, who had trained in karate with Bruce Lee, was no match against the knife and gun-wielding Tex Watson, who was high on speed and stood a good half-foot taller than the stylist. He was reportedly defending Sharon when he was shot, stabbed seven times, and kicked repeatedly in the face by the boot-wearing and blood lusting Watson. When he was found the next day, only feet away from the body of Sharon, Jay was still wearing her high school graduation ring, which she had given him during their courtship, on a chain around his neck.

In the half-century since his death, Jay has been remembered primarily as a murder victim; a famous one, thanks to the grisly nature of the crimes and the celebrity connection. But he was so much more than that. He was a revolutionary genius in his industry, a person that changed it so much his hair cutting method is still used today and is considered an industry standard. Sebring International survives today, although had Jay lived it’s hard to know how many salons and products he would have today.

Jay is remembered by those who knew him as a kind, thoughtful man who was unfailingly loyal. His last actions in life were those of being thoughtful and loyal to Sharon Tate, whom he defended until the very last.

Jay Sebring, October 10, 1933 — August 9, 1969 

(source: Hollywood Reporter)

Bobby Kent: Murder Between Friends

Bobby Kent in 1992 

". . . They should be ashamed of what they did."

On July 13, 1993, a group of six teen girls and boys from the pleasant community of Hollywood, Florida, a middle class suburb of Fort Lauderdale, gathered at a local Pizza Hut, as many do during the carefree days of summer.  This congregation, however, wasn't meeting up to nosh and socialize but to discuss how they were going to commit murder.

Their chosen victim was twenty year old Bobby Kent, the only son of Fred and Farah Kent, who had immigrated to the States from Iran, changing their surname in the process.  Fred was a successful stockbroker, allowing his family a privileged lifestyle.  Bobby -- popular, gregarious and handsome -- had graduated from high school and attended community college.  He was serious about bodybuilding and had entrepreneurial dreams -- although those dreams were of a questionable nature.
Bobby's best friend was Marty Puccio.  He and Marty had met in the third grade and developed a friendship that was dysfunctional at best.  Marty's parents would recall the young boy coming home, after spending time with Bobby, covered in bruises and, at time, bleeding.  The Puccios believed this was some form of roughhousing and encouraged their son to cut off contact with Bobby or at least limit it but apparently did not take any other kind of action.  Sadly.

This love-hate relationship -- with Bobby both being playful and punishing toward Marty -- continued into adolescence.  The bullying became so bad at one point that Marty begged his parents to move away from Hollywood so that he might escape.  His parents refused, leading their son to live temporarily with relatives in New York.  Before long, though, Marty returned to Florida and back into his cruel relationship with Bobby.  He seemed unable to break away from the abusive connection.

It was during their adolescent years that both young men took up bodybuilding, spending a great deal of their time at the gym.  It was also said that they both began taking steroids, causing Bobby's already volatile and aggressive nature to worsen.

In the 11th grade, Marty dropped out of school.  This added to the list of grievances Fred and Farah Kent had against him as they ironically believed Marty was a bad influence on their son and wished to stifle the friendship.  

At some point after Bobby himself graduated from high school, he entered the business arena as a filmmaker.  As the gay subculture was at the height of its popularity in south Florida, he came up with the idea to film men masturbating and sell the tapes.  The pornographic venture did not go as planned, however, as the generally poor quality of the films made them difficult to sell.  It was also rumored, after the events of July 1993, that Bobby had pimped his taller, muscular friend out at gay clubs.

Marty had met Lisa Connelly, a shy, overweight 18 year old high school dropout and the two had fallen quickly in love, spending all their time together.  Lisa quickly noticed how Bobby treated his so-called friend and hoping to take his mind off abusing Marty, introduced him to her friend, Alice "Ali" Willis.  Ali, like Lisa, was also 18; she had already been married and given birth to a child that her parents cared for.

While friends dating friends would have made for a cozy quadrangle, Ali and Bobby only dated for a few weeks.  Bobby began abusing Ali, subjecting her to "bizarre" sexual behavior and, according to Marty later on, threatening both her and her child's lives.

Meanwhile, Lisa discovered she was pregnant with Marty's baby.  Feeling her boyfriend, and now the father of her child, would never escape Bobby Kent's torture, she began to plot how she could eradicate Bobby from both their lives.  Permanently.

She recruited her friend Ali -- Bobby's most recent girlfriend -- and Marty, of course.  She also added Ali's new boyfriend, Donnie Semenec, Lisa's cousins Heather Swallers and Derek Dzvirko and Derek Kaufman to their murderous band.   Kaufman was 22 years old and claimed to be a mafia hit man; Lisa felt his so-called contract killing knowledge would come in handy for their plans.

They chose July 14 as the day Bobby would meet his maker.  One day after their Pizza Hut meeting in which all the future killers had attended with the exception of Marty.

Ali, the former girlfriend who Bobby had allegedly raped, was used as the bait.  Marty called Bobby and invited him to a remote canal near Weston, stating they were going to race cars.  As an added incentive he assured Bobby that Ali would be there and was anxious to have sex with him.   Bobby agreed and was picked up from his home by the seven who would kill him around 11:30 p.m.

Upon arrival at the chosen site, Ali took Bobby off to a more secluded spot, on the pretext she wanted to talk with him.  Those remaining assembled their weapons -- a pipe, an aluminum baseball bat and two knives.    

While Ali, and Heather Swallers, who had caught up to them, distracted Bobby, the five co-conspirators snuck up on him.

The body of Bobby Kent

Donnie Semenec, Ali's boyfriend, plunged a knife into Bobby's neck.  Seeing Marty, Bobby pleaded with him for help, apologizing for anything and everything he had done and begging for mercy.  Marty responded by stabbing Bobby in the stomach.  Bobby attempted to run but was outnumbered.  Donnie, Marty and Derek Kaufman hit and stabbed his torso.  Marty slammed Bobby's head into the ground and cut his throat.  It was Derek, the self-professed hit man, who dealt the final blow - - beating Bobby's head in with the aluminum baseball bat and making sure Bobby Kent was removed from this earth.

The body was then rolled to the edge of the marsh.  They had chosen the location specifically on the belief that alligators would find the corpse and consume it, effectively destroying all evidence.  They tossed the baseball bat and knives into the ocean and decided they would all agree they had been together, hanging out, on the night of the murder while Bobby had been out on a date with an unidentified woman.

Bobby's family reported him missing when he didn't return home that evening.  Marty Puccio, as Bobby's best friend, was contacted by the police about Bobby's possible whereabouts.  Marty feigned ignorance about where Bobby might be and professed to be worried about his friend.  The cops may have had a gut feeling that something wasn't right but had nothing to go on.

However, like most teens, the seven killers could not stay quiet.

Lisa Connelly, who claimed that Bobby had raped her, confessed to her mother about the murder.  Her mother, in turn, contacted her own sister, who was Derek Dzvirko's mother.   The two sisters took their children to see their brother, who had friends in the police department.  They were then directed to Detective Frank Illaraza of the Broward County Sheriff's Office.  Dzvirko not only confessed everything to Illaraza, he led the detective to Bobby Kent's remains, still where his killers had left him.  The wallet in the pocket of the pants confirmed that it was indeed Bobby Kent.

Once Bobby had been found, the conspirators quickly cracked and began giving excuses as to why he had to die.  They claimed they were merely bystanders to what they had thought was going to be a simple beating.  Nope, they knew nothing about any murder.  The prosecutors dealt with it by trying each of the seven defendants separately.

Perhaps frighteningly, not one of the alleged killers displayed any remorse at trial.  Three of the defendants had not known or even met Bobby Kent prior to the evening of July 14, 1993, making their lack of remorse difficult to grasp.

The killers under arrest.  Top from left:  Puccio, Willis, Semenec, Swallers

Bottom from left:  Dzvirko, Kaufman, Connelly

Marty Puccio, the so-called best friend of the victim and who himself had been victimized by Bobby Kent for years, received the harshest sentence.  Charged with first degree murder, he was sentenced to death in the electric chair on August 3, 1995.  Bobby's mother, Farah Kent, believed justice had been served.  "Now he will fear for his life, as my son did for his," she remarked after sentencing.  In 1997, the Florida Supreme Court overturned his death sentence and commuted it to life with parole eligibility in 25 years.  He is serving his time at the Desoto Annex in Arcadia, where he has reportedly gone into the prison ministry.

Derek Kaufman, the 22 year old who had told the younger crowd he was in the Mafia in order to impress them, and who showed up for the murder party with a bat instead of the promised gun, was sentenced to life plus thirty years.  He is serving his time at the Gulf Correctional Institute in Wewahitchka, where he has incurred nearly twenty infractions, including drug use and disobeying orders.

As Donald Semenec's eighteenth birthday was on the day he helped to kill Bobby Kent, and having delivered the blow that started the frenzy, he was sentenced to life plus fifteen years.  He is serving his sentence, like Derek Kaufman, at the Gulf Correctional Institute in Wewahitchka.  Also like Kaufman, he has racked up an impressive count of infractions -- some twenty -- ranging from weapon possession to drug and alcohol use.

Derek Dzvirko was charged with second-degree murder and originally sentenced to seven years on May 12, 1995 but received an additional four years on his sentence for his attempt to lie on the witness stand after his initial sentencing, while testifying against the others.  He was paroled on October 1, 1999, after serving four years, and left Florida for Missouri, where he worked as a truck driver.

Lisa Connelly was sentenced to life plus five years.  Her sentence was reduced on appeal to nine years.  The alleged mastermind of the murder, she was paroled on February 3, 2004, after serving a total of nine years.  She gave birth to a daughter while incarcerated and is reported to live in Pennsylvania with her daughter and a younger son.  She has kept a low profile since her release, running a cleaning business and becoming a certified optician.

Alice "Ali" Willis was charged with second-degree murder and sentenced to forty years on May 31, 1995.  That sentence was reduced on appeal to seventeen years for the murder charge and fifteen years for the conspiracy charge.  She was paroled on September 16, 2001, after serving just over six years.  Despite being picked up in 2013 for retail theft, a parole violation, she did not end up back in prison.  She is said to live in Melbourne, Florida with her husband and children.  She will remain under community supervision until September 15, 2041.

Heather Swallers was charged with second-degree murder and sentenced to seven years.  When she took the stand on May 17, 1995, she did not follow Dzvirko's lead and lie and, in fact, turned in evidence.  She was paroled on February 14, 1998, after serving almost three years -- the first to be released from custody.  She reportedly resides in Georgia with her children.

In 1998, Jim Schutze wrote a book on the case called Bully:  A True Story of High School Revenge.  Three years later, the book was adapted into a film by Larry Clark, also called Bully, which starred Brad Renfro and Nick Stahl.  .

In 2013, Bobby Kent's sister Laila spoke publicly on the decision to allow all three female defendants and one male defendant to be released from prison.  According to the Sun Sentinel she was quoted as saying, "It disgusts me that they have freedom after killing someone.  They're horrible people and they should be ashamed of what they did.  They don't even deserve to be alive."

Bobby Kent's family had his body cremated and his ashes were scattered.


Somewhat similar to the Kirsten Costas case I wrote about yesterday, the Bobby Kent case is about bullying, although the Kent case much more directly so.  Bobby Kent was and remains a much less sympathetic victim than Kirsten Costas as he not only verbally abused others (even those he claimed were his friends) but physically tormented them as well.  If two of the women who participated in his murder are to be believed, Kent sexually assaulted and raped them -- one of them being the girlfriend of his own friend, Marty Puccio.

Also in possible opposition to the Costas case, there was a clear conspiracy and plan to obliterate Bobby Kent.  His murder didn't happen during an episode of assault or immediately following but was a clear, thought out design.

While there is never any excuse for murder, in this case there does appear to be extenuating circumstances.  The abuse dealt to Marty Puccio is not under dispute.  It seems clear that he had a victim mentality and reacted much the way abused persons do.  That gives me a small amount of sympathy for him.

What I don't understand though is why no one thought to take Bobby Kent's abuse to the authorities before deciding to mete out their own version of justice.  Maybe Marty Puccio had been beaten down -- physically, emotionally and mentally -- over the years by his so-called friend but the others cannot attempt to utilize that excuse.  Of course I am seeing this from the viewpoint of a fully formed adult.  The girls in the case were eighteen; is it feasible that while they may not have wanted their friends and family to know that Bobby Kent raped them, they were okay with being part of his murder?  And Marty Puccio was twenty years old but do we know how old he was emotionally in 1993?  He had been abused by Bobby for more than half his life by that point.  Would he have had the wherewithal to approach authority figures, even his parents?

And what of everyone involved in this sordid mess but Marty Puccio, Lisa Connelly and Alice Willis?  They had no real connection or interaction with Kent and yet they decided to join in and participate, even tangentially, in the cold and brutal murder of another human being.

I find the sentencing and time served troubling as well.  Read anything about this case and you will see many accusations of the female defendants in this case getting much better treatment.  I believe they caught a break due to their gender.  One of them hatched the idea and put it in motion, recruiting everyone else.  The other used herself in order to lure the victim and kept him occupied so that her fellow conspirators could get into place, readying themselves to murder.  While none of the girls may have wielded a weapon, under the law they are just as guilty as if they did.  Heather Swallers' participation in the murder seems much less involved and given that she gave evidence truthfully, I don't have a real issue with her brief sentence.  Connelly and Willis may be a different story; although I would certainly have sympathy if they were indeed victims of Bobby Kent's abuse.

I am not pointing fingers at anyone because the parents of all these young people involved suffered but . . . it seems their attitudes towards their children's behavior were excessively and exceedingly casual.  Roughhousing during play, for boys, is one thing.  But bruising of the body and bleeding is quite another.  I can't help but wonder what might have happened if Marty Puccio's parents had taken this matter to Bobby Kent's parents when they were still young children.  Or, if necessary, to the authorities.  Would it have saved Bobby Kent's life and spared Marty Puccio from a life incarcerated?  And what of Bobby Kent's parents?  Did they know their son was exhibiting such violent behavior?  And while Bobby allegedly wanted to enter the business scene, he looked to be trying to do so in a scuzzy way.  Did his parents have any idea of his involvement with the pornographic movies?

This case is troubling for many reasons.  The fact that a cruel and sadistic predator was allowed to roam freely for so long is infuriating.  The extreme violence dealt to him, while partly understandable in the eyes of his victims, is horrifying.  As is the killers' utter lack of remorse.  Was it from a form of PTSD?  Or worse, was it because these privileged and indulged teens simply had no conscience?

Perhaps the biggest mystery of all to me is why Marty Puccio's defense team never claimed any type of mental defect as a result of years of abuse.  How he got sentenced to death while the other defendants avoided that punishment entirely.  Was Marty judged more culpable because he made the phone call?  Or because he was supposedly Bobby's best friend?  is Marty really that much different than a battered wife who, after years of abuse and threats, kills her spouse?  Or do we put a different light on things because Marty is a man?

Does the Bobby Kent case trouble you as much as it does me?  Please let me know what you think in the comments.