January 10, 2023

The Shooting of Maria Marshall: Greed, Corruption and Murder in New Jersey

 

Maria Marshall (photo source)


The 1980s were a decade of wealth and excess and Toms River, New Jersey personified all of that in its forty or so miles of land.  The Ocean County Mall, opened in 1976, became Toms River's most popular recreational spot, where shopping was king.  Once considered a Memorial Day through Labor Day vacation spot for New Yorkers, Philadelphians, and those living in northern Jersey (greatly helped thanks to the Garden State Parkway), Toms River became somewhere the executives didn't just get away to but chose to live.  Appearance was everything, from your house and neighborhood to the car you drove and the designer clothing you wore.  Anyone who was anyone belonged to the country club with its golf course and made sure to be seen there.  The ultimate status symbol, however, was to be able to take frequent trips to Atlantic City, to enjoy the glitz and gambling, only forty miles down the Garden State Parkway.

Rob Marshall not only exemplified the acceptable status quo of affluence in Toms River, he reveled in it.  A successful, if cutthroat and pushy, insurance salesman, he and his wife Maria had moved to Toms River in the mid 1960s, quickly joining the country club and becoming the creme de la creme of Toms River society.  By 1984, an in-ground swimming pool had been added to their Crest Ridge Drive home, a timeshare in a Florida condo was purchased, as well as a boat, a Cadillac for Rob, and a pricey designer wardrobe for Maria.  The couple had three sons: Robert, Jr. - called Roby - Chris, and John.  The two eldest boys, Roby and Chris, also had their own cars; a yellow Mustang and a Jeep, respectively.  John, only thirteen in 1984, was too young to drive but Rob had already promised him a Porsche when he reached driving age.

Maria Marshall was a beautiful and elegant lady, envied by others not only for her looks and impressive wardrobe but for the relationship she had with her sons.  Although all were teenagers and typically of the age where spending time with friends far outweighed evenings at home with Mom and Dad, all three of Maria's sons were devoted to her.  And with good reason.  Maria was not only a loyal wife, she was also a fiercely devoted mother who rallied behind her children, encouraging them on, and delighted with the young men they were becoming.   

The only apparent blight on the surface of the Marshall family in the summer of 1984 was Roby being suspended from Villanova during his freshman year four months earlier thanks to an incident involving a group of fellow underclassmen, beer, and a resident assistant's door being kicked down.  He had been instructed that he would have to attend his sophomore year of school elsewhere and then await readmission in January.  Rob, a Villanova graduate himself, had been angry at Roby's behavior and how it would make not only Roby, but the Marshall family as a whole, look.  In addition to refusing to purchase him a promised new Mustang convertible at the completion of his freshman year, Rob had subjected Roby to cold silences and bursts of temper throughout the summer of 1984.  

Thursday, September 6, 1984 was a routine day for the Marshall household, at least for everyone except Chris, just beginning his freshman year at Lehigh University.  Rob worked, John went to school, and Roby, who didn't have classes or an early work schedule, slept in.  Maria, Rob, and Roby had lunch out before Rob returned to work.  He and Maria planned what had become a weekly ritual for them - dinner and blackjack at Harrah's Marina in Atlantic City.  Over the years Rob had become such a devout gambler at the casinos that he not only named his boat "Double Down"  but organized casino bus tours out of their home and cofounded The Winner's Circle, an instructional club.  While Maria may not have been quite so enamored with the casinos, she did enjoy dressing up, showing off her carefully selected wardrobe, and the attention that was lavished on her at the restaurants.  The couple left home around 6:15 p.m. for their 8:30 p.m. dinner reservations, after Roby complimented his mother on how she looked and gave her a kiss goodbye, as he often did.  The night was unseasonably chilly. 

The rest of that evening for Roby passed as any other would have.  He watched television, did some sit ups, called his girlfriend to talk, and then went to bed around midnight.  It was only hours later that his bedroom light was flicked on by his father, who was wearing a bloodstained shirt and crying.

Maria and Rob

Robert Marshall was born in December of 1939 in Queens, New York to a salesman and his wife, the first of five children.  Rob's father was an alcoholic, which prevented him from holding down a job for long, requiring the family to move regularly and live in rental properties and hotel rooms.  Rob's mother was a devout Catholic; her religion kept her not only from leaving her husband but preventing pregnancy.  By the time Rob was sixteen, he was living in Haverstown, Pennsylvania, the tenth of his homes.  He felt estranged from his family and superior to his parents.  Although he wanted more than his parents had, school became a problem for him.  He flunked eleventh grade, requiring him to go to summer school.  While there, he met a boy who was forming a dance band and as Rob liked the play the drums, he volunteered to be the new band's drummer.  One of the band's first gigs was playing at a going away party for the older brother of another member, who had enlisted in the Air Force.  At that party, Rob met a pretty fifteen-year-old named Maria Puszynski.    


As offput as Rob was by his own family, Maria was close to her parents, who cherished their only child, a beautiful blonde daughter who had been born in Philadelphia.  Maria attended a Polish Catholic school, where her sweet disposition and lovely singing voice made her a favorite of the nuns.  Maria's parents, especially her father, made it clear that the boys were not welcome in their home and so Maria began dating Rob secretly.  For Rob, the beautiful blonde doctor's daughter was his first status symbol.

Rob and Maria continued dating throughout the remainder of Maria's high school years.  She never discussed Rob with her parents until she was in college - at which point he too was in college.  Rob had joined the Naval Reserve when he tuned eighteen and had his eye on Annapolis.  Despite spending an entire year prepping for his SATs, he did poorly and was not accepted at Annapolis.  He barely made it into Villanova, at that time not one of the more rigorous academic schools.  He was, however, in college and the Navy ROTC program so he and Maria hoped it would be enough to put her father's mind at ease.  Dr. Vincent Puszynski did not like Rob or his family from the start.  He thought they put on airs to appear better than they were and were terrible spenders - hardly what he wanted for his only child.  Maria was in love and wanted to marry Rob. 

Despite his goals and ambitious nature, Rob barely graduated from Villanova; his 1.9 grade point average fell below the 2.0 requirement to graduate.  He was, though, gifted with a silver tongue and he managed to convince one of his teachers to change a "D" to a "C" and was allowed to graduate in June of 1963.  He went on to Pensacola for Navy flight training and completed the course in November of 1963 and was then accepted for helicopter training.  Just over a month later, on December 28, 1963, he and Maria were married. 

Their first year of married life was spent overseas and in Florida before Rob was assigned to the Naval Air Station in Lakehurst, New Jersey.  It was the first time he saw Toms River and he liked the proximity to both the beach and the base and the cheap availability of homes.  For Rob, perhaps best was that Philadelphia was close enough that Maria could visit her parents, but it was not so close that they would be a continual presence.  He and Maria moved into their first home just before Roby was born.  A year later, Chris joined the family.  

Rob had the keen foresight to realize that Toms River was becoming a boom town with many families like this, just starting out and wanting to be responsible.   No longer in the Navy, he chose to become an insurance salesman.  A natural fit, he sold more than two million dollars' worth his first year, making him one of the company's top 50 salesmen in the country.  He repeated it the next year and so the family packed up and moved to a larger house three blocks away.  It was where they were living when their third son John was born in 1971.  The good times continued to roll on for them and in 1973, they moved into a brand-new house that Rob had hired an architect to design on Crest Ridge Drive.

The Marshalls had arrived, treated very nearly like royalty in Toms River.  Not only were they viewed with respect (and maybe jealousy) at the country club or on the tennis court but even at church on Sundays, where Rob drove the family in his red convertible Cadillac, with the boys in their suits and ties and Maria stylishly attired.  Rob seemed endlessly proud of his wife, whom he often called "the beautiful Maria."  

Maria (photo source)

The Investigation

Bob Gladstone, the lieutenant in charge of homicide in the Ocean County prosecutor's office, had been sleeping soundly in the early morning of Friday, September 7 when he was awakened by a call at 2:15 a.m. telling him that a woman had been shot to death at a picnic area off the Garden State Parkway.  Arriving in less than an hour to the crime scene, he found a white Cadillac with the lifeless body of 42-year-old Maria Marshall still face down across the front seats.  At first glance, she could have been mistaken for being asleep - were it not for the bullet wounds in her back.  Gladstone was told that Maria's husband Rob, bleeding from the head, had been taken to the hospital.  

The site of Maria's homicide was horribly, terribly dark.  Despite being just off the always busy Garden State Parkway, the picnic area, with its tables and trash cans, was not just extremely well shielded from the roadway but the myriad of evergreen trees surrounding the area muffled the noise of passing cars.  The Cadillac had apparently pulled in and stopped roughly a hundred feet from the end of the asphalt blacktop and from where an unlit cinderblock restroom structure stood.  The right rear tire of the vehicle was completely flat.

A state police officer filled Gladstone in on the information he had.  Rob said he and Maria had left Atlantic City around midnight, following their dinner and some gambling.  It was after passing a toll plaza that he felt a vibration in the car.  Suspecting it might be a tire, he had pulled into the picnic area to check it.   While looking at the back tire, he noted a dark sedan pull into the area and stop perpendicular to his car, about 30 feet away.  He said he ignored the vehicle and did not see nor hear anyone exit from it.  He went to Maria's door, which she opened, and he advised her to pop the trunk so that he could fix the tire.  It was then, according to Rob, that he was struck on the head and knocked out as he turned away from Maria.  He wasn't certain how long he was unconscious but when he came to, he saw that Maria had been shot.  He was unable to rouse her and ran out into the roadway to flag down help.  He added that he had over $2,000 in his pants pocket that was missing.  

Gladstone was immediately suspicious.  As dark as the site was, how on earth could Rob Marshall - or anyone, for that matter - change a tire?  Why did Rob continue on past the toll booths, always busy and always lit up, to choose a picnic area with a clear sign denoting it was closed after dark?  Why had he not continued three more miles to the Roy Rogers restaurant?   Why had the assailant or assailants clocked Rob in the head but shot Maria twice in the back?  Why did the tire have a clean cut in it with no signs of it having been driven on flat or low on air?  And while Maria's handbag was missing, if the motive was robbery, why was she still wearing a gold necklace, a gold bracelet, and three rings?  

At the hospital, Rob received five stitches before being discharged.  He was on his way out when Ocean County homicide sergeant Danny O'Brien, dispatched by Bob Gladstone, encountered him.  Since the murder happened on a state parkway, O'Brien could not take a statement from Rob without a state trooper present but told Marshall, who was headed home to "break the tragic news" to his sons, to sit tight and stay at home until authorities arrived.  In O'Brien's opinion, Rob Marshall, in his blue blazer and tan slacks, did not look seriously injured, nor like a man who had just lost his wife to violence.  Instead, he appeared to be on his way to the yacht club.   

Just after 5 a.m., after Rob had woken up Roby and John to tell them their mother was never coming home, O'Brien arrived at the Marshall residence with two state officers in tow.   Rob offered the gentlemen drinks (which they declined) and then was taken to a local precinct for a formal interview.  He reiterated what he had said several hours earlier, adding only that the car had not seemed right almost immediately after leaving Atlantic City and had only gotten worse the further north they traveled.  He answered standard questions - he and Maria had been married for almost 21 years and the problems they had - financial - were due to Maria's excessive spending and living beyond their means.  They had briefly tried marriage counseling as a result.  He also said, in an attempt "to be perfectly candid" that Maria had suspected him of cheating on her, which he flatly denied.  He also denied killing Maria, saying that he loved her.  O'Brien noted that both before the interview started, while in a squad room, and in a car on the way back home, Rob fell asleep.  

Maria and Rob shortly before her murder (photo source)

Shortly after 9 a.m. on that Friday morning of September 8, Bob Gladstone got a call from a former state policeman turned private detective by the name of Fred Grasso.  Grasso informed Gladstone that Maria Marshall, "the nicest lady anyone could hope to meet," had been a client of his.  He had first been contacted by her in December of 1983 following suspicions that Rob was having an affair.  Maria and Grasso had met in a grocery store parking lot, as she had been terrified she would be spotted going into his office.  Maria had given him a hundred-dollar bill, nothing that she needed to pay him in advance due to "the way our money's disappearing."  Grasso didn't think much of Rob Marshall, considering him a schmuck, and told Gladstone that the only enemy Maria Marshall would have in the world would be her husband.      

Not long after talking to Grasso, Gladstone heard from an attorney named Michael DeWitt.  DeWitt had gotten Maria as a client in December of 1983 from Tom Kenyon, an attorney who had also referred her to Fred Grasso.  Once Maria had told Kenyon her suspicions of Rob cheating on her and who with, Kenyon, knowing the alleged other woman, had decided it might pose a conflict of interest for him.  He helped her to find other legal counsel.  According to DeWitt, Maria's problems weren't just an unfaithful husband - Rob was indeed having an affair and with the local high school's vice principal - but in fact, they were in deep financial distress.  Rob had sent the family into financial despair and had attempted to fix or disguise the problem with a $100,000 home equity loan in which he had signed Maria's name on the loan application.  DeWitt had prepared a divorce filing for Maria, as well as a bankruptcy petition, but Maria had wanted to save her marriage, not end it.  At least until the summer of 1984, when she became seriously concerned that her husband was involved in criminal activities that included using, and even selling, cocaine and falling into the underworld of the Atlantic City casino scene.  DeWitt had once more prepared a divorce filing for her in July of 1984, including naming Sarann Kraushaar, Pinelands Regional High School's vice principal, as co-respondent.  DeWitt also prepared a notice of lis pendens, which would place a lien on the family home and keep Rob from using it as an asset in any way.  He had the papers ready to go on July 26, but Maria asked him to hold off as the Marshalls were leaving for vacation on July 27, and she really hoped to resolve the matters privately.  DeWitt had seen her one final time before her death; in mid-August, Maria had stopped by his office to pay her bill.     

While Gladstone was receiving information from Grasso and DeWitt, an autopsy was being conducted on Maria's body.  She had been shot twice in the back at very close range with a .45-caliber pistol.  The two entrance wounds were close enough that a fifty-cent piece could cover them both.  One bullet had exited through the front of her chest, one through her left breast.  The trajectory of the bullets, as well as a .45-caliber bullet found lodged in her left forearm, indicated that she had been lying down with her left arm under her when she was shot.  Her cause of death had been the massive hemorrhaging caused by her left lung and the main artery of her chest being lacerated.  Death would have been instantaneous.  Whoever had shot her had one intention in mind: murder.  To Gladstone's eye, Maria Marshall's homicide had all the earmarks of an execution. 

Following the end of the school day, around 3:30, Sarann Kraushaar was brought in, fingerprinted, and a mug shot was taken.  She demanded two lawyers before she would speak to detectives Al McGuire and Tony Mancuso.  Once she was advised of her rights and informed she was not under arrest and anything she said was voluntary, she admitted that she and Rob Marshall had begun an affair in the summer of 1983.  She said that Rob was unhappy in his marriage and told her that Maria was too possessive and spent too much money.  As she herself was not happy with her husband, she and Rob had decided they were going to leave their respective spouses. They had rented a beach house in Manahawkin, as well as a joint safety deposit box and had just signed papers for a joint checking account.  They also had a downtown post office box in which they exchanged letters and tapes declaring their love for each other.  In fact, the week following Maria's death had been the week they had chosen to announce to their families they were leaving their respective marriages.  

Sarann said she had seen Rob the day before around 4 p.m.  They had met in one of their favorite parking spots and had chatted for an hour to an hour and a half.  Rob had complained about having to go to Atlantic City because Maria "insisted" they go.  When they parted ways around 5:30, Sarann had gone to a Toms River gym, where she lead an exercise class, and then had gone to a birthday dinner for her father with a small group of friends in Bricktown.  Rob had called her at school that Friday morning to tell her that Maria was dead.  He had broken down crying, saying that he had not wanted it "to be like this."   He essentially told her the same story he had told the first officer on the scene before being taken to the hospital.  Sarann also remembered that Rob had been experiencing financial difficulties and had taken out a $100,000 second mortgage on his house.  Allowed to speak with her attorneys for a few moments when the detectives left the room, she added that before Christmas of 1983, Rob had told her that the insurance he had on Maria would take care of his debts.  According to Sarann, he wished Maria wasn't around and asked her if she knew anyone who could "take care of it."  Sarann told him she wanted nothing more to do with him if he were serious but did provide him with a name of someone she knew of who had had run-ins with the law and might be able to help him. 

On that same long day of Friday, September 7, Gladstone received a call from a Philip Girard.  Girard, an insurance agent, had felt unsettled and deeply concerned when he heard of Maria's murder.  According to him, on Monday, September 3, he had been contacted by Rob Marshall, who wanted an insurance policy taken out on his wife in the amount of $100,000.  Marshall was in a very big hurry to get the policy taken out and into effect, to the point of where he wanted the paperwork and medical examination done within 48 hours.  He said that he and his wife were leaving on a vacation at the end of the week, and it was imperative the policy be in force by then.   Girard had arrived at the Marshall home around noon on Thursday, September 6, roughly two hours after the medical examination was conducted.  Rob, Maria, and Roby were on their way out to lunch, but Rob took Girard into his home office to complete the paperwork before heading out to lunch with his wife and eldest son.  

Maria's parents, Vincent and Helen, hold a photo of their daughter (photo source)

Monday, September 10 was the day for Maria's memorial service, held at St. Joseph's Church.  Over the objections of Maria's parents, who were strict Catholics, Rob had had Maria's body cremated within hours of the completion of her autopsy.  While not much was said about the memorial itself, plenty was said about the reception held afterwards at the Marshall house.  Some 150 to 200 people had shown up and Rob had gone from guest to guest, offering to top off drinks, urging people to eat the food, and remarking on how much Maria would have loved it all.  For those who had not suspected Rob of involvement in his wife's murder before this, the grotesqueness of it all began to create doubt in his innocence.    

Two days before the service in which Roby, Chris, and John Marshall would say goodbye forever to their mother, and only a day after she had been killed, their father had sat them down to tell them that he had someone special in his life - Sarann Kraushaar.  Rob warned them that there could be talk of his involvement, and the police might even suspect him, but it was common for the husband to be considered a suspect in such cases.  

While Rob appeared anxious to let his sons know of his involvement with Sarann Kraushaar, Chris nursed a secret that was painful to him.  From the moment his father had entered his dorm room on Friday, September 7 and told him "something terrible has happened," and after the shock had passed, Chris had wondered.  He wondered if his mother had suffered, if she had been afraid, and if she had said anything.  His father's vague answers to his questions had frustrated and tormented him.  He wondered why his mother hadn't run the hundred or so yards to the parkway, to seek help from a passing motorist.  Chris knew that she could have been shot while running away but at least she could have had a chance versus lying in the car, waiting to die.  Most of all, he wondered if his father was somehow involved.  The question made him feel disloyal, irrational, and that his doubt was unforgivable.  Chris was a studious, serious-minded young man who, although he physically resembled his father, had inherited his mother's gentle and loving personality.  He felt as though he couldn't or shouldn't tell anyone about his doubts or suspicions.    

Rob's brother-in-law, Gene Leady, was an attorney who lived in Wilmington, Delaware.  Hearing of Maria's murder, he headed to Toms River at once and accompanied Roby and John to Philadelphia to inform Maria's parents of her death.  Like Chris, he too had doubts and suspicions.  He also had a secret and he was going to confront Rob with it.  On that same Saturday that Rob told his sons of his affair with Sarann Kraushaar, he also confessed to Gene, who had not been surprised.  He informed Rob that Maria had known all along; she had found a secret toiletry kit Rob kept for his assignations with Sarann, as well as tapes with various love songs on them, and had put together a file with American Express charges to various motels in the area.  Maria had called Gene on Tuesday, September 4.  She had been frantic, saying that everything was coming to a head, and she was finally ready to confront Rob.  She wanted Gene to be there when she did and he agreed to support her.  He and Maria had planned to sit down together with Rob on Monday morning, September 10. 

Gene had looked at the facts of Maria's death as calmly and logically as he could.  After being told by Rob that Maria had $1.5 million worth of life insurance, he bluntly replied that everything was pointing to Rob and he should probably get an attorney.  Rob said Gene's thoughts were impossible; he was far too prominent in Toms Rivers, too high up on the civic ladder to ever be accused of such a thing.  His reputation, at least as far as Rob himself was concerned, made him beyond reproach.  

Sal and Paula Coccaro had been friends of both Rob and Maria.  They had met at the country club and both Sal and Paula grew to love Maria dearly.  Her murder had left them both shocked and numb.  They had joined the Marshalls for dinner at Harrah's a week before Maria was killed and Sal remembered the dinner conversation he and Rob shared very well.  Rob had talked about how he kept at least a million in insurance on Maria as a good selling point and that he and Maria had both decided to be cremated when the time came, a point he mentioned several times.  The majority of their dinner, however, was spent with Rob talking about how he was taking every Friday off from work to devote to the family as a means of repayment to Maria for all she had done for him.  According to Rob, the practice had rekindled their relationship into a full-fledged romance.  He told Sal how to do the same, making sure that all his work was done by Thursday and that Sal owed it to Paula.  Sal had been somewhat irritated by the way Rob was practically lecturing and patronizing him that night at Harrah's but it would be nothing compared to the anger he felt on Saturday, September 8.  Following his discussion with Gene Leahy, Rob sat down with Sal to admit to the affair and the financial problems.  Sal felt that Rob was nothing but a hypocrite and worse, a hypocrite that blamed Maria for their financial problems.  Sal was very familiar with Sarann Kraushaar; he was friends with her husband.  He was aware of her reputation around town for not only being flirtatious with the husbands of other women but actually being called Toms River's very own Madame Bovary.  That Rob would throw away two decades of marriage to someone as wonderful as Maria made Sal feel sick, a point he mentioned to Rob.  He also brought up the fact that Rob seemed to have little to no concern for the grief his sons were suffering.  

On Tuesday afternoon, September 11, as he was leaving the house, Roby was confronted by several reporters who had been waiting outside.  They peppered him with questions - did he know about his father's affair?  Was his father in debt to the casinos? - before asking him if he had heard the rumor that Rob would shortly be arrested for his mother's murder.  Keeping his mother's gentle nature and proper manners in mind, he declined to comment on those subjects but stressed that if the reporters knew his father and had seen his parents together, they would know there was no way Rob was involved.

Later that night, Rob made a tape for Sarann which included some of their favorite love songs.  He cried about how much he loved and missed her but told her what he was currently undergoing was bringing him closer to God.   

The Louisiana Connection 

The same day that friends and family were honoring Maria in a memorial service three days after her murder, attorney Michael DeWitt brought his file on Maria Marshall to Bob Gladstone.  Of particular interest, DeWitt thought, was a note Maria had sent him on July 23.  Along with the words "Holding my own, pray for me," she had attached three telephone numbers with the area code 318 she had gleaned from their telephone bills.  DeWitt found out that area code 318 serviced western Louisiana.  Soon enough, Gladstone was able to get a printout of toll calls to and from the Marshalls' home and Rob's office for the six months prior to the murder and struck paydirt.

The first number on the list was for a hardware store in Shreveport.  That number appeared on the Marshall phone records a good twenty times starting in June of 1984.  The last call had been on Wednesday, September 5.  

The second number belonged to 47-year-old Robert Cumber, who lived in Bossier City, just outside of Shreveport.  Cumber's number appeared on the Marshall phone records at least ten to twelve times.  Not coincidentally, Cumber worked at the hardware store in Shreveport that had exchanged at least twenty calls with the Marshall residence.    

The third telephone number, appearing a few times on the phone records, was for a payphone located outside an Exxon gas station ten miles west of Shreveport.

The Marshall phone records provided Gladstone with more information.  On Thursday, September 6, Rob had called Sarann Kraushaar at work at 9:46 a.m.  At 9:48 a.m., she had called him back from a different line, something she had neglected to mention in her interview.  Their call had lasted ten minutes, until another call had come in for Rob at 9:59 a.m.  That incoming call had come from a payphone at the Airport Motor Inn in Atlantic City.  It would be two days later when Gladstone learned that eight minutes after that 9:59 a.m. call was received, someone had called the payphone at the Airport Motor Inn from a payphone outside a 7-Eleven store five minutes from Rob Marshall's office.

On Tuesday, September 11, the same day Roby Marshall would tell reporters there was no way his father was involved in his mother's death, Detective Danny O'Brien, who had first laid eyes on Rob Marshall in the hospital within hours of Maria's death, traveled to Atlantic City and the Airport Motor Inn.  Looking at the motel's register, he discovered that a James Davis of Shreveport, Louisiana checked in shortly after seven in the morning on Thursday, September 6 and checked out the next day.  Davis had paid the rate for a double occupancy. 

Insurance information began coming in on Tuesday as well.  In addition to two separate $100,000 policies that Rob had taken out on Maria years earlier through his own company, he had taken out a $500,000 policy with the Banner Life Insurance Company in September of 1983; a $500,000 policy with the Manhattan Life Insurance Company in February of 1984; a $100,000 policy with the Firemen's Fund Company in February of 1984; a $100,000 policy with the Minnesota Mutual Life Insurance Company in April of 1984; and then the $100,000 policy that Rob had rushed into effect the week Maria died.  $1.2 million of the insurance policies had been obtained after the affair with Sarann Kraushaar had begun.  

On Thursday, September 14, Gladstone studied records he'd obtained from both a credit check and Harrah's Marina.  The Harrah's report showed that Rob had made 25 visits to the casino between January of 1984 and September 6.  He had played blackjack for roughly ninety-three hours and seven minutes over the course of those visits and his average bet was $131.  He had a credit limit of $10,000 and at the time of Maria's murder he owed the casino $3000.

The $100,000 home equity loan that Rob had forged Maria's signature on had been raised to its $130,000 limit in the spring of 1984.  In April, Rob had taken out a $20,000 loan from the First National Bank of Toms River and another $15,000 in May.  He followed those up with a $30,000 loan from Navy Federal Credit Union and a $12,000 loan from Citibank.  Over the summer he had applied to raise the credit limits on his Visa and MasterCard accounts; both were denied.  

On Friday, September 15, Gladstone discovered that James Davis's trip to Atlantic City the last day of Maria Marshall's life was not his first.  He had traveled to Atlantic City on June 18 but had stayed at the far more luxurious Harrah's Marina.  June 18, perhaps not coincidentally, was the same day that Rob had attempted to acquire a $20,000 term life policy for Maria from Bankers Life in Chicago.

The New Jersey detectives had asked Shreveport detectives to pay a visit to Robert Cumber and see what he had to say, if anything, about Rob and Maria Marshall.  Cumber said that he had met the Marshalls in May in New Jersey at a party for a family friend.  The friend he mentioned, detectives learned, allegedly had ties to organized crime and was also connected to the person Sarann Kraushaar brought up to Rob when he mentioned "taking care of" Maria.  According to Cumber, he had spoken to Rob about IRAs and only IRAs.     

Oyster Creek picnic area, the site of Maria's murder (photo source)

On Tuesday, September 18, Gladstone, Mancusso, and O'Brien flew to Shreveport.  Robert Cumber repeated the same story to them about speaking to Rob Marshall about IRAs.  They had no luck speaking with 49-year-old James Davis, who flatly denied knowing Rob or Maria Marshall or ever setting foot in New Jersey or the Airport Motor Inn, despite what the records said.  

On September 20, detectives were able to get a search warrant for Davis's home, where they found a receipt for a Western Union money order sent to Davis from Toms River on June 25, as well as a piece of paper with a notation that Davis would be receiving a $3,000 money order.  The paper came from a memo pad belonging to the Shreveport hardware store that Robert Cumber worked at.  Davis refused to comment, other than to say it was not in his handwriting, but his wife told detectives to check out a friend of Davis's named Billy Wayne McKinnon.  Forty-one-year-old McKinnon, she said, was a former policeman and the kind of person who would commit murder.   

On September 21, Gladstone found that Davis had received two money orders via Western Union from Toms River in June.  The receipt they had found a day earlier had been the second money order.  The first one, sent on June 13, had been for $2,500 and the sender was Robert O. Marshall.  Although the second money order was sent from a James McAlister, the handwriting on both was identical. 

When Robert Cumber, at the request of detectives, came down to the station around 5 p.m., they read him his rights.  He admitted that James McAlister was a name that Rob Marshall used and that Rob had asked him if he knew of an investigator he could hire as he didn't want to use one locally.  Cumber had suggested Billy Wayne McKinnon.  The multitude of phone calls between the Shreveport hardware store and the Marshall residence were mostly between Rob Marshall and McKinnon; Cumber was merely the go-between.   

At 1:30 a.m. on Saturday, September 22, Robert Cumber became the first person arrested in connection with Maria's murder when he was charged with conspiracy to commit murder.  

Four days later, on September 26, Cumber was indicted by an Ocean County, New Jersey grand jury on the charge of conspiracy to commit murder.  Rob denied knowing Cumber, Davis, or McKinnon although Roby would later admit to having taken a message for his father from a James Davis in the days prior to September 26.  Sarann Kraushaar, on the advice of counsel, ended her 14-month long relationship with Rob after news of Cumber's indictment broke.

On September 27, Rob checked in to the Best Western in Lakewood.  In room 16, the room in which he and Sarann had often conducted their extramarital affair, he recorded messages for each of his sons and one for his brother-in-law, Gene Leahy.  He put the four tapes in an envelope addressed to Leahy with specific instructions on the outside that it was to be opened in the event of his death.  The hotel clerk, familiar with Marshall, had called the Ocean County prosecutor to let the office know where Marshall was.  Detectives were dispatched to the Best Western and took room 17, next door to Marshall.   They observed him buying a can of soda at 10:30 p.m. and dropping an envelope into the outgoing mail at the front desk at 11:30 p.m.  Seeing the notation on the envelope and fearing he might take his own life, they called EMS and then entered his room.  He was asleep on the bed, a photo of Maria with Roby, Chris, and John on the floor beside him.  He said he had mixed 50 Restoril sleeping pills in a can of Coke and intended to kill himself at the same moment that Maria had died on the parkway.  He had stirred the mixture with his finger, which he had licked, but had fallen asleep before actually drinking it.  Nevertheless, he was taken to a hospital and then, at the advice of his attorney, was transferred to a psychiatric facility close to Philadelphia.   

The Tapes

The tapes that Rob made were confiscated by police and listened to on October 2.  In the tapes he had made for his sons he explained that he was taking a "shortcut" out and would hopefully join their mother.  For Roby, he explained that he had instructed Gene Leahy to purchase him a Mustang.  For Chris, it was that Leahy had been instructed to purchase the lease on his Jeep.  For John, it was that Leahy would buy him a Porsche when he turned seventeen.  On the tape addressed to Chris, Marshall ended it with "Please love me."  

If Rob had hoped that the tape addressed to Gene Leahy would document a series of events in which Rob himself had been preyed upon and was a victim of the events leading up to Maria's murder, he failed spectacularly.  He claimed that he and Maria had been working on their financial problems together and that although he was going to leave her for Sarann Kraushaar, they were spending less and he was going to put Maria on an allowance.  Then he bemoaned how he didn't realize how amazing and incredible Maria was and how stupid he had been to walk away from her and how much he missed her every day.  In the next breath, he asked Leahy to tell Sarann how much he loved her, that she needed to quit smoking, and that he was currently in "their" room, room 16, at the Best Western where "I was at my happiest."  Leahy was also instructed to call Sal and Paul Coccaro on Rob's behalf to express his gratitude and love for them, as well as a reminder that Paula's insurance premium was overdue.

The bulk of the recording, and what detectives were waiting to hear, was about Rob's recounting of his involvement.  Rob stressed that in spite of his innocence, he worried that he would be convicted on circumstantial evidence that pointed in his direction.  He said that casino money had been missing and Robert Cumber had recommended an investigator named Billy Wayne McKinnon to look into it.  Rob said he had wired McKinnon $2,500 in June, after which McKinnon came north to New Jersey, and then wired him a second installment of $3,000.  The second time Rob said he said McKinnon was at Harrah's the night Maria was killed, when he gave McKinnon $800.  

Detectives now had a basis to arrest Billy Wayne McKinnon.   

It would take until December 3, after losing a fight for extradition to New Jersey, before McKinnon and James Davis, both under arrest, were delivered to Toms River.  The prosecutor's office, believing the big fish they were after was Rob Marshall, was ready to deal with McKinnon and/or Davis for the right information.  McKinnon, having once been a cop, knew the odds were not in his favor and that he was looking at potentially taking the rap for first-degree murder.  He was ready to talk but only after he heard the tape that Marshall made.  He convinced the authorities that he was not the shooter, had never intended to kill Maria, or anyone else, and that Marshall was only going to be an easy mark to collect thousands of dollars while McKinnon strung him along.  Satisfied that McKinnon was indeed not the triggerman, the tape was played for him.  At the conclusion of the tape, McKinnon commented that Marshall was supposed to say that he and Maria had patched up their marriage and were enjoying a second honeymoon and that before her death, he had no longer needed McKinnon's services as a private investigator.  McKinnon added that Rob Marshall was so stupid that he should be put to death for his stupidity alone.  

McKinnon signed a plea bargain, in which he would admit his part in Maria's murder, give up the name of the shooter, and testify in court, on December 15, 1984.  

On December 19, 1984, in Stanton, Louisiana, a 42-year-old man named Larry Thompson was arrested outside of a hotdog stand and charged with killing Maria.  

That same day, at 2:30 p.m., after being out Christmas shopping, Robert Marshall was arrested.  Bob Gladstone had been told that Rob was pricing tickets from Miami to Costa Rica, where extradition might have proven difficult.     

Rob Marshall under arrest (photo source)


The Trial

The trial of Robert Marshall and Larry Thompson began in the small city of Mays Landing, in Atlantic County, on January 28, 1986.  As both were charged with first-degree murder with special circumstances, the death penalty was on the table and the prosecution announced they were seeking it.  Judge Manuel H. Greenberg presided, Assistant Ocean County Prosecutor Kevin Kelly represented the state, attorney Glenn Zeitz represented Marshall, and attorney Francis Hartman represented Thompson.  In a bizarre turn of events, Thompson's wife Wanda and their teenaged son stayed in the Marshall home during the trial.  

Kevin Kelly outlined the state's case.  They believed that Rob Marshall, drowning in debt and wanting to continue his relationship with his married mistress, had solicited and paid for the murder of his wife in exchange for the $1.5 million (just over $4.3 million in 2023 dollars) in insurance money.  That money, made off of Maria's blood, would allow him to start a new life, unencumbered by both debt and a wife.  

All of the life insurance policies that Marshall had taken out on Maria were introduced into evidence, including the $130,000 policy taken out just hours before she was murdered.  Eight insurance companies testified to Marshall taking out policies in the years before Maria's murder.  

James Davis testified that he had picked up the $5,500 wired by Marshall to Billy Wayne McKinnon that was sent in his name.     

Sarann Kraushaar took the stand to talk about her 14-month long affair with Rob Marshall that ended 18 days after Maria's murder.  According to her, Marshall told her in December of 1983 that he was $300,000 in debt due to Maria's spending and if he could "just get rid of her," the insurance he had on Maria would take care of his debts.  

Billy Wayne McKinnon testifies (photo source)


The state's star witness was Billy Wayne McKinnon.  He testified that he had used James Davis's name during his travels to New Jersey and that he had first met Rob Marshall in June of 1984, at which time he was promised $65,000 (over $186,000 in 2023 dollars) for killing Maria, $22,000 or so of which he eventually received.  He said that Marshall had wanted him to kill Maria on that first meeting in June and again in July.  McKinnon testified that he had planned on stringing Marshall along as far as he could and to continue collecting money, at least until he heard from Larry Thompson that a contract may have been put out on McKinnon for not holding up his end of the bargain.  McKinnon swore that he never intended to shoot Maria but he knew Thompson would have no qualms about doing so.  In September of 1984, he brought Thompson along to New Jersey and it was Thompson who had shot and killed Maria.  According to McKinnon, Marshall had told him that in killing Maria, he did not want anything that would mar or destroy her beauty - no bludgeoning, stabbing, or any kind of sexual assault.  Marshall also refused to allow himself to be shot as part of the cover story and it was only with reluctance that he agreed to let Thompson strike him in the head to bolster the robbery motive.  He did make sure to tell McKinnon to instruct Thompson not to hit him too hard.  He didn't want to any kind of permanent damage or impairment. 

McKinnon added that he had often wondered what Marshall had said to his wife on the way home on that night in July of 1984, that night he had hoped to have Maria executed while he pulled over on the way back to Toms River from Atlantic City with the excuse of using the restroom.  What do you say to your wife, McKinnon mused on the stand, when she's supposed to be dead?  Roby, Chris, and John, all in attendance, cried as they listened to McKinnon's testimony.  

Thompson's attorney told the jury the only reason his client had been charged was because McKinnon needed a fall guy.  All the evidence, he said, pointed to McKinnon, and only McKinnon, as the shooter.  

Rob Marshall (left) and Larry Thompson during their murder trial (photo source)

Thompson, who sat quietly and unemotionally throughout the prosecution's case (and would continue to do the same during much of the defense's case) took the witness stand and said that he had not known of any plot to kill Maria Marshall, nor had he killed her.  Six witnesses, including his brother, his teenaged son, and his wife, followed him to testify that Thompson had been in Louisiana during the time of the murder.  Thompson's defense took roughly two hours of trial time.   

Rob Marshall on the stand (photo source)

Not so with Rob Marshall, who took the stand in his own defense.  He testified that he hired McKinnon not to kill his wife but to investigate what Maria knew or didn't know about his affair with Sarann Kraushaar and what she did with the casino winnings he had given her.  When Kevin Kelly asked him to produce a contract from McKinnon for those investigator services, Marshall had to admit he could not.  The $5,500 that was wired to Louisiana that James Davis had picked up had an innocent explanation according to Marshall.  They were simply payments for bets he'd made on sports games.    

When recounting the murder, he now said that he heard Maria cry out "oh my God!" when he was checking the tire and just before he was struck in the head.  This was news not only to the prosecutor but also to Roby, Chris, and John, who had held on to the hope that their mother had been asleep when she was shot and never knew what was happening.

Kevin Kelly had noticed that Marshall had faithfully worn his wedding ring during the trial and it made him unnaturally angry, feeling that Rob was playing at being the grief-stricken husband.  Using Marshall's prior testimony of "undying love" for Maria, Kelly asked him why Maria's ashes were still in a cardboard box at the funeral home if he loved his wife so much.  Marshall, who had had time to vacation in Florida and begin two affairs following the end of his relationship with Sarann Kraushaar (including one with Karen Odell, a married Toms River woman who had been friends with Maria and Rob) in the three months between Maria's funeral and his arrest, had no answer.  

Closing arguments were delivered on Monday, March 3, 1986.  Kevin Kelly ended his with a pronouncement that there was a special place in hell for the cowardly, greedy, and self-centered Marshall, who had put his own sons on the stand in an attempt to save his own skin.  Marshall shook his head while his sons sobbed and cried audibly before turning around in his seat to smile at them.  Whereas before they had always offered their father support (at least publicly) and acknowledged the "I love you" signs Rob had penned on the backs of manilla folders he held up so his sons (and the assorted media) could see, by this last day of trial Roby, Chris, and John kept their heads down, none of them meeting their father's eyes.  

The Verdicts

On Wednesday, March 5, 1986 at 11:15 a.m., the jury reached their verdicts.  For the charge against Larry Thompson, they found him not guilty.  Thompson smiled, shook his attorney's hand, and once he was told by Judge Greenberg he was free to leave, crossed the courtroom to shake the hand of prosecutor Kevin Kelly before departing with his wife.  
  
The verdict for Thompson gave Rob Marshall's supporters hope that he too would be found not guilty, but their hope died quickly.  The jury found him guilty of first-degree murder.   Marshall collapsed and was taken by ambulance to a local hospital.  With nothing found to be wrong, he was returned to the Mays Landing courthouse where, at 1:30 p.m., the sentencing phase commenced with the same jury.  Only two outcomes were possible for him:  a life sentence with eligiblity for parole after 30 years or death by lethal injection.  

Following a half-hour presentation by Kevin Kelly and Glenn Zeitz in which neither side called any witnesses, the jury took 90 minutes to decide on punishment - death.  Chris, the only one of Rob's sons to remain in the courtroom, heard the pronouncement without tears.    

(Photo source)


The End of the Case . . . Eventually


Robert Cumber was tried for his part in Maria's murder in June of 1986.  Offered a deal in which he would go free after pleading guilty to conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, he turned it down, believing he would not be convicted.  He also thought after being acquitted he could file a lawsuit against Ocean County for false arrest. 

Instead, he was found guilty of conspiracy to commit murder and on September 11, 1986 sentence (some thought excessively harshly) to life imprisonment.  On January 19, 2006, he received clemency from Governor Richard Codey after serving almost 20 years of his sentence.  He returned to Louisiana, now 68 years old, minus the vision in one eye, and with no one but his wife and daughter still talking to him.   

Robert Cumber (photo source)

Following the Marshall trial, Billy Wayne McKinnon testified in Robert Cumber's trial.  He was then sentenced by Judge Greenberg to five years in prison but served only months in accordance with his plea agreement.  He entered the Federal Witness Protection Program but stayed in a matter of weeks, finding it overly constrictive and not conducive to his style.  He returned to Louisiana and his various business ventures.   

Sarann Kraushaar resigned from her job at the high school shortly after news of her affair with Rob Marshall broke.  She and her husband reconciled, opened a chain of Blockbuster Video stores, and eventually left New Jersey to move to Florida. 

Maria's father, Dr. Vincent Puszynski, suffered a heart attack during his former son-in-law's trial.  He recovered and planned to look after his grandsons and protect them from their "snake" of a father but in February of 1987, suffered a second and fatal heart attack.  Maria's mother Helen lived until 1995, after some years of suffering with senility.  

Writer Joe McGinniss, who attended the trial, published a book about the case in 1989, called Blind Faith (which became a bestseller and was eventually adapted into an Emmy-nominated 1990 miniseries of the same name). 

Not to be outdone, and while going through the appeals process, Rob Marshall wrote a book called Tunnel Vision: Trial & Error in 2002.  The book was little more than his attempt to show that he was framed and not guilty of the crime he was convicted of.  As the Son of Sam law prevented him from profiting from his crime, it was his son John that published and marketed the book.    

Robert Marshall, convicted killer (photo source

 
After sitting on New Jersey's death row for 18 years, Rob Marshall was granted a new sentencing due to a federal court decision regarding ineffective counsel in his original 1986 trial.  The current prosecutor elected not to retry the death penalty phase of the Marshall case and on August 18, 2006.  Marshall was resentenced to 30 years with the possibility of parole in 2014.

In January of 2015, he was approved for a parole board hearing set for March 18, 2015.  Both Roby and Chris Marshall vowed to speak in front of the board and against their father's release.  It turned out to be a moot point, as Robert Marshall died in prison on February 21, 2015 following a stroke and poor health.  He was 75 years old.   

Larry Thompson, convicted killer (photo source)


After being acquitted, Larry Thompson had driven to the Marshall home in Toms River to collect his wife's belongings.  While there, he had spoken to the press assembled outside wearing a red Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap he found inside the residence that had belonged to Maria.  After  returning to Louisiana, he and his wife filed a $50 million lawsuit against the prosecutors and the investigators for the violation of Thompson's civil rights by malicious prosecution and wrongful arrest and for Wanda Thompson's loss of her husband's company.  Following a two-week trial in May of 1988, a Louisiana jury rejected the claims.  Thompson wrote a letter to John Marshall, Maria and Rob's youngest son, telling him that he was welcome to come visit the Thompson family, or even live with them, at any time (something John Marshall did not take the Thompsons up on). 

After returning to Louisiana, Thompson returned to his life of crime.  Luck finally ran out for him in 2003, when he was convicted for his part in an armored car robbery and the attempted murder of a Shreveport police officer.  In 2014, at the age of 71 and after serving 12 years of his 50-year sentence, Thompson finally admitted that he had indeed been the triggerman that put two slugs in Maria Marshall's back.  He recounted this to James Churchill, a retired chief from the Ocean County, New Jersey prosecutor's office with the same lack of emotion he had displayed during the 1986 trial.  He admitted his witnesses, including his wife, son, and brother, who claimed he had been in Louisiana at the time of the Marshall murder, had lied on the stand in order to give him an alibi.  Due to double jeopardy, Thompson could never be retried or prosecuted for Maria's murder.  With New Jersey's statute of limitations for perjury being five years, charges could not be brought against the people who had lied to provide him a false alibi.  

Thompson also admitted to a bank robbery, 33 night depository box robberies and three armored car robberies throughout the U.S., as well as burning down two businesses, a former meat market, and a residence in Louisiana.  

He offered up the solution to a 1979 cold case for which he had long been the prime suspect.  On January 1, 1979, 32-year-old Deanna Elliot Montgomery had been sitting in the passenger seat of a car driven by her husband, James Haywood Montgomery, when she was killed by a shotgun blast to the back of her head.  Like Maria, Deanna was a pretty blonde whose husband had taken out life insurance on her shortly before her murder and also like Maria, she was a loving mother, leaving behind a 12-year-old daughter.   

Deanna Montgomery (photo source)


Investigators at the time believed that Thompson was involved, as he and James Montgomery were friends, but they couldn't prove it.  The case went cold until Thompson confessed that he had killed Deanna after being promised $15,000 by her husband to do so.  

Thompson confessed to two further murders; Larry Wayne Lester, who he shot to death on June 15, 1988 in Dolet Hills, Louisiana and Chester Underwood, also shot to death, on June 25, 1979 in Harrison County, Texas.  

By his own admission, although he provided no details, he had killed even more.  

Per his plea deal, Thompson was sentenced to 21 years in 2016.  

John, Roby, and Chris circa 1986 (photo source


Within days of their father's conviction, Roby, Chris, and John Marshall went to the funeral home in Toms River where their mother's ashes, in a cardboard box, had sat in a desk drawer since September of 1984.  After claiming her ashes, they had them buried in a plot at St. Joseph's Cemetery.  For her headstone, they chose words she herself had written for Roby: "Our greatest glory consists not in never falling but in rising every time we fall."    

Roby Marshall moved west and served as a consultant for the 1990 miniseries Blind Faith.  He became close with actress Joanna Kerns, who portrayed Maria.  She introduced him to actress Tracey Gold, who portrayed her daughter on the television show Growing Pains.  Roby and Tracey married in 1994 and are parents to four sons.  They live in California, where Roby works as a teacher.  

Chris Marshall graduated from Lehigh University and served as their varsity swim coach for a time before becoming Cornell University's Senior Vice President of Alumni Affairs.  He eventually opened his own consulting firm.

John Marshall, only 13 years old when his mother was murdered, remained convinced that his father was innocent and the only one of the three boys to remain steadfast in support of Rob Marshall.  He married at 17 and became a father shortly thereafter to a daughter that was given the middle name of Maria.  Divorced and the father of two, he continued to support his father throughout the appeals process and up until Rob's death.  

Following the airing of the miniseries about their mother's murder and their father's involvement, Roby and Chris told the media they were done discussing the case - a promise they kept until their father was granted a parole hearing in early 2015.  Then, 49-year-old Roby and 48-year-old Chris, who had cut their father completely from their lives, fought against his release.  Advocating for their mother, they described her as having been their closest friend, strongest supporter, and biggest fan.   

Maria's final resting place (photo source)



Sources

Asbury Park Press (January 29, 2015).  Chris Marshall Exclusive Interview: Defend Our Mom. 

Asbury Park Press (February 5, 2015).   Marshall Sons: Leave that Selfish Monster Where He Is.

Bonnie's Blog of Crime (January 26, 2006).  Maria Marshall Murder.  

Criminal Discourse Podcast (April 27, 2020).  Robert O. Marshall: Murder For Hire.  

Daily Journal (June 29, 2014).  Blind Faith Killer Up For Parole.  

Daily Mail (May 16, 2014).  Man Confesses to Being Hitman . . . 

McGinniss, Joe.  Blind Faith, GP Putnam, 1989.  



Seattle Times (October 3, 1999).  A Hard Lesson: Justice Doesn't Always Triumph. 

Shreveport Times (October 18, 2014).  Confessed Serial Hit Man Has More To Tell.  



U.S. Department of Justice (September 24, 1991).  State v. Robert Marshall:  Death Penalty Proportionality Review Project.  

April 2, 2022

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 herLook 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.