How many Degrees of Separation?

It’s Sunday and I’m not thinking much, having enjoyed a beautiful day relaxing; raking the backyard clean of leaves and avacados, and aimless walks, first in Elysian Park and then Griffith Park. In staying with that relaxed Sunday frame of mind, this entry is useless, but hopefully entertaining. Some of you will already know this story as it is one I enjoy telling. It intertwines several parts of my life in a strange way.

Flashback to November 15, 1924 -- A collection of movie stars, producer, gossip journalist and assorted servants go yachting for the weekend. The luxury yacht, named the Oneida (clever, eh?) belongs to a party host extraordinaire and newspaper magnate. (ah – some of you know this story) Anyway, names of some of these yachting guests, (for those who don’t know the story) are William Randolph Hearst, Charlie Chaplin, Marion Davies, Thomas Ince, Louella Parsons, Margaret Livingston, Dr. Daniel Carson Goodman, Elinor Glyn… friend, servants, etc.

Thomas Ince, one of the most powerful movie producers at the time (and for whose birthday, the weekend celebration was), is taken off the boat by a private doctor a day later, and whisked away to his home, where he dies 48 hours later. So ends an amazingly important person in Hollywood who is just forty two years old. The official cause of death is heart failure due to acute indigestion. (wow!)

And then he is immediately cremated.

Quickly, another story starts to circulate, which gathers so much steam that an official inquiry is opened. Evidently, Hearst got jealous with Charlie Chaplin, who was putting the moves on Marion Davies (Hearst’s mistress). He pulled a gun and tried to kill Charlie Chaplin. However, he mistakenly shot Thomas Ince in the head instead.

There’s a brief inquiry, but suddenly everyone on the boat gets amnesia (and other things). Contradicting stories, newspaper articles that vanish from one edition to the next, lack of people to question are such, that the D.A. kind of loses interest. Popular belief has it that with the money and power that Hearst wielded, he was able to cover the murder up and hush everyone on the boat. For instance, Hearst gave gossip columnist, Louella Parsons a lifetime contract – making her one of the most important entertainment reporters ever – then or since. The various ‘amnesias’ of everyone involved, the non-corroborative stories - are well established fact, making this one of the most enduring legends of Hollywood. Even now, if you go to the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, and ask about Thomas Ince, there is still an official party line that the guides take very seriously. I know – I asked.

Flash forward seventy seven years to 2001 – a good little movie directed by Peter Bogdanavich, called The Cat’s Meow is made about the whole thing. Great cast including Kirsten Dunst, Edward Hermann, Eddie Izzard, Jennifer Tilly…

Flash forward two years to 2003 – Having finished The Ghosts of Edendale (a ghost story involving the silent movie era), I am finally willing to see Cat’s Meow. I watch the movie intrigued by seeing the story I know so well, brought to the screen. The end credits roll and go on to explain what happened to everyone on the boat in subsequent years. I see something.

Flash back twenty five years to 1979 - My brother and I are two young boys, playing the Violin and Piano at various places around the Philadelphia area. At a nursing home in Bucks County, we are introduced to a frail whisper of a woman. She is introduced to us as “The wife of Big-Band Leader, Paul Whiteman”. This is special because Paul Whiteman was responsible for introducing a lot of great music to the public, perhaps most importantly, George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. I am impressed enough to remember this meeting forever.

Flash forward twenty five years and ten seconds to 2003 – where I am reading the end credits of the movie, explaining what happened to everyone on Hearst’s boat: Silent movie actress, Margaret Livingston who was THE ALLEGED MISTRESS of THOMAS INCE – later went on to marry famed big band leader, Paul Whiteman.

I say “Holy Crap” and quickly check to make sure that it is one and the same. It is.

I actually met the mistress of the guy who died on that yacht all those years ago -- a person who knew the truth. And I met her not here in Hollywood, but rather a small nursing home in Warrington, Pa.

How I wish I had known… I could have asked her, “Margaret, between you, me and the wall – what really happened?”

Anyway, like I prefaced, it makes for nothing more than a hopefully entertaining story.
For me though, having that connection, momentary as it was, to Hearst, Chaplin, Ince, to the whole roaring twenties silent movie era – that really is the 'absolute Cat’s Meow'.