Read Online Tinseltown: Murder, Morphine, and Madness at the Dawn of Hollywood by William J. Mann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William J. Mann
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after her stint in the city jail, newspaper sob sisters turned her death into a cause célèbre, claiming that unsanitary conditions in the lockup had killed her. What really did poor Betty in, according to her death certificate, was“acute yellow atrophy” of her liver—alcohol poisoning. Still, Betty’s grieving, two-timing “widower” suddenly became the guy everybody wanted to meet.
Despite a record stretching back a full decade, Joe boasted that“he would never be convicted of any charge because of his cleverness.” In all his dozens of arrests, he’d gone to jail only a couple of times, and then for very short stays. In most cases he’d weaseled out of the charges by paying off corrupt cops or by dazzling judges with his wit and his intense black eyes. Joe was an incredibly magnetic man, the son of Italian immigrants, strikingly handsome, with wavy black hair and a solid, stocky frame. When Gibby met him that night in the early spring of 1917, he was just twenty-four years old. She was twenty-two, and instantly enamored.
Joe drove a fancy car and wore expensive fur coats—things he didn’t buy with the money he made at his regular job as a driver for a wholesale liquor company. He told Gibby that she too could earn a little extra income to buy herself some pretty things. She may have been shocked at the idea he had in mind—at least at first. But she went along with the plan.
In Little Tokyo, Joe introduced Gibby to his friends Ralph and Lola Rodriguez. The couple advertised“furnished rooms” at 432½ Commercial Street.The neighborhood was rough. Robberies were frequent; drug deals flourished in back alleys; a man had just been killed at a dance hall run by Rodriguez’s brother. Such danger only electrified Joe Pepa. He and his brother-in-law, the shrewd defense attorney Sammy Hahn, were frequent visitors to the Rodriguezes’ house. They knew the police were keeping tabs on the place, but they didn’t care.Hahn told Lola Rodriguez he’d gladly defend her in court if she were ever accused of killing a cop.
Across the street, their elbows sticking to the greasy tabletops of a restaurant, Officers Lester E. Trebilcock and James C. Douglas watched the front door of the house. They’d been keeping their eyes on the place for days, taking note of those who came and went. On this day they counted no less than seventy-one men, all of them Japanese. And every day the same young woman with golden brown hair.
Inside Gibby slipped into a silk kimono, apron-style, with ties in the back.“The top was quite low,” an observer recalled, “and the bottom dropped scarcely below her knees.” Gibby kept her shoes and socks on, however, and took her seat with the other girls.“Japanese men entered the hall,” one of Gibby’s fellow geishas, Ruth Slauson, testified in court. “They would either tap us on the shoulder or motion to us, and we would accompany them to a room.”
All at once there was commotion at the front of the house. Two policemen were pushing their way inside, flashing badges, barking that they were all under arrest. Four johns were marched out to the paddy wagon, pulling up their pants. For the cops, the real treat was nabbing Joe Pepa: they charged him with lewdness, and the Rodriguezes with running a disorderly house.
Through it all,Gibby was cool as an April breeze. Sauntering up to one of the officers, she asked sweetly if she might put on her street clothes. He allowed her to do so. Once properly dressed, Gibby laughingly told another officer that she was an actress, visiting the house to soak up some “local color” for a vaudeville sketch, and she ought to be “turned loose.” She’d never been at the Rodriguezes’ before that day, she insisted. When that line didn’t work, she tried flirting with Officer Trebilcock, but that didn’t work, either. “Don’t try to love me up,” the cop snapped.
One of his colleagues wasn’t so righteous, however. As Gibby stood waiting
Despite a record stretching back a full decade, Joe boasted that“he would never be convicted of any charge because of his cleverness.” In all his dozens of arrests, he’d gone to jail only a couple of times, and then for very short stays. In most cases he’d weaseled out of the charges by paying off corrupt cops or by dazzling judges with his wit and his intense black eyes. Joe was an incredibly magnetic man, the son of Italian immigrants, strikingly handsome, with wavy black hair and a solid, stocky frame. When Gibby met him that night in the early spring of 1917, he was just twenty-four years old. She was twenty-two, and instantly enamored.
Joe drove a fancy car and wore expensive fur coats—things he didn’t buy with the money he made at his regular job as a driver for a wholesale liquor company. He told Gibby that she too could earn a little extra income to buy herself some pretty things. She may have been shocked at the idea he had in mind—at least at first. But she went along with the plan.
In Little Tokyo, Joe introduced Gibby to his friends Ralph and Lola Rodriguez. The couple advertised“furnished rooms” at 432½ Commercial Street.The neighborhood was rough. Robberies were frequent; drug deals flourished in back alleys; a man had just been killed at a dance hall run by Rodriguez’s brother. Such danger only electrified Joe Pepa. He and his brother-in-law, the shrewd defense attorney Sammy Hahn, were frequent visitors to the Rodriguezes’ house. They knew the police were keeping tabs on the place, but they didn’t care.Hahn told Lola Rodriguez he’d gladly defend her in court if she were ever accused of killing a cop.
Across the street, their elbows sticking to the greasy tabletops of a restaurant, Officers Lester E. Trebilcock and James C. Douglas watched the front door of the house. They’d been keeping their eyes on the place for days, taking note of those who came and went. On this day they counted no less than seventy-one men, all of them Japanese. And every day the same young woman with golden brown hair.
Inside Gibby slipped into a silk kimono, apron-style, with ties in the back.“The top was quite low,” an observer recalled, “and the bottom dropped scarcely below her knees.” Gibby kept her shoes and socks on, however, and took her seat with the other girls.“Japanese men entered the hall,” one of Gibby’s fellow geishas, Ruth Slauson, testified in court. “They would either tap us on the shoulder or motion to us, and we would accompany them to a room.”
All at once there was commotion at the front of the house. Two policemen were pushing their way inside, flashing badges, barking that they were all under arrest. Four johns were marched out to the paddy wagon, pulling up their pants. For the cops, the real treat was nabbing Joe Pepa: they charged him with lewdness, and the Rodriguezes with running a disorderly house.
Through it all,Gibby was cool as an April breeze. Sauntering up to one of the officers, she asked sweetly if she might put on her street clothes. He allowed her to do so. Once properly dressed, Gibby laughingly told another officer that she was an actress, visiting the house to soak up some “local color” for a vaudeville sketch, and she ought to be “turned loose.” She’d never been at the Rodriguezes’ before that day, she insisted. When that line didn’t work, she tried flirting with Officer Trebilcock, but that didn’t work, either. “Don’t try to love me up,” the cop snapped.
One of his colleagues wasn’t so righteous, however. As Gibby stood waiting
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