Read Online Tinseltown: Murder, Morphine, and Madness at the Dawn of Hollywood by William J. Mann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William J. Mann
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to be ushered out to the paddy wagon, another officer pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard. Looming over her, he said she was an “unusually pretty girl to be found in such a place.” Gibby was frightened. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
Her mother posted the $250 bail to save her from spending the night in jail. The other girls, not so fortunate, pleaded guilty and got ninety days. Gibby knew the only way to salvage her dreams was to fight the charges and demand a jury trial.
She’d need a lawyer, and a good one. Not Sammy Hahn; Gibby knew she couldn’t be linked to Joe anymore. So she turned, no doubt with tears and contrition, to the movie industry. Only someone with clout could have hooked up a two-reel comedy player like Gibby with Frank Dominguez,“one of the most entertaining political orators in the state,” whose law partner Earl Rogers had defended Clarence Darrow. It might have been Al Christie who made the connection, or possibly Rogers’s daughter, Los Angeles Herald reporter Adela Rogers St. Johns, who knew lots of movie people. Or maybe it was Gibby’s old pal Billy Taylor.
Whoever got him, Dominguez was the perfect choice to defend Gibby. He strode into the courtroom bellowing out his client’s innocence, his white hair and eyebrows in striking contrast with his olive skin. His adversary was deputy city prosecutor Margaret Gardner. With seven women on the jury, it was thought wise to have a woman prosecuting the case; female defendants were much more likely to be acquitted than their male counterparts. ButGardner came off like a starchy scold, frequently being told to sit down by police judge Ray L. Chesebro. Meanwhile Dominguez strutted around the courtroom, gesturing over at his client and calling her“this little girl.” When Ruth Slauson took the stand, giving her halting account of a kimono-clad Gibby escorting men to the back rooms, Dominguez“severely arraigned her in an effort to impeach her testimony.” By the time he was through, Slauson was weeping “so copiously that she was excused.”
Then it was Gibby’s turn to testify.
How small she seemed on the stand, how delicate. Reporters were surprised when Gibby gave her age; they thought she looked like a schoolgirl. The actress was dressed in a dark green suit, her golden-brown hair“forming a halo beneath a black hat.” Gibby repeated her claim that she’d been in Little Tokyo merely to gain atmosphere. “When she saw the character of the place,” one reporter wrote, “she declared it interested her, and she went three more times to study it, hoping it would help her in her film work.” With “flashing eyes,” Gibby denied that she had ever worn a kimono. Looking over at the women on the jury, she described how one lecherous cop had stolen a kiss from her. The ladies were horrified.
When Dominguez asked Gibby about her childhood, her eyes welled with tears. “Since I was twelve years old, I have been engaged in the show business,” she said. “My father left my mother at that time and I have been her only support ever since.” The jury saw her look over at her mother, seated in the courtroom, tears slipping down her cheeks.
The trial lasted four days. At five o’clock on September 19, the defense rested its case. The jury took only fifteen minutes to deliberate. The foreman read a verdict of not guilty.
Gibby had gambled. And she had won.
Joe Pepa wasn’t so lucky. At his trial, prosecutors brought up every blot on his record, enraging Joe so much that several times he“started to leave the witness stand as though he were going to whip the attorney.” Finally Joe was found guilty of “being a lewd and dissolute person and of resorting in a house of ill fame” and was sentenced to six months in city jail. They’d finally gotten him. The cops and the court took no small satisfaction in that.
Gibby had learned a valuable lesson. She couldn’t be waiting for Joe when he got out.“Underworld
Her mother posted the $250 bail to save her from spending the night in jail. The other girls, not so fortunate, pleaded guilty and got ninety days. Gibby knew the only way to salvage her dreams was to fight the charges and demand a jury trial.
She’d need a lawyer, and a good one. Not Sammy Hahn; Gibby knew she couldn’t be linked to Joe anymore. So she turned, no doubt with tears and contrition, to the movie industry. Only someone with clout could have hooked up a two-reel comedy player like Gibby with Frank Dominguez,“one of the most entertaining political orators in the state,” whose law partner Earl Rogers had defended Clarence Darrow. It might have been Al Christie who made the connection, or possibly Rogers’s daughter, Los Angeles Herald reporter Adela Rogers St. Johns, who knew lots of movie people. Or maybe it was Gibby’s old pal Billy Taylor.
Whoever got him, Dominguez was the perfect choice to defend Gibby. He strode into the courtroom bellowing out his client’s innocence, his white hair and eyebrows in striking contrast with his olive skin. His adversary was deputy city prosecutor Margaret Gardner. With seven women on the jury, it was thought wise to have a woman prosecuting the case; female defendants were much more likely to be acquitted than their male counterparts. ButGardner came off like a starchy scold, frequently being told to sit down by police judge Ray L. Chesebro. Meanwhile Dominguez strutted around the courtroom, gesturing over at his client and calling her“this little girl.” When Ruth Slauson took the stand, giving her halting account of a kimono-clad Gibby escorting men to the back rooms, Dominguez“severely arraigned her in an effort to impeach her testimony.” By the time he was through, Slauson was weeping “so copiously that she was excused.”
Then it was Gibby’s turn to testify.
How small she seemed on the stand, how delicate. Reporters were surprised when Gibby gave her age; they thought she looked like a schoolgirl. The actress was dressed in a dark green suit, her golden-brown hair“forming a halo beneath a black hat.” Gibby repeated her claim that she’d been in Little Tokyo merely to gain atmosphere. “When she saw the character of the place,” one reporter wrote, “she declared it interested her, and she went three more times to study it, hoping it would help her in her film work.” With “flashing eyes,” Gibby denied that she had ever worn a kimono. Looking over at the women on the jury, she described how one lecherous cop had stolen a kiss from her. The ladies were horrified.
When Dominguez asked Gibby about her childhood, her eyes welled with tears. “Since I was twelve years old, I have been engaged in the show business,” she said. “My father left my mother at that time and I have been her only support ever since.” The jury saw her look over at her mother, seated in the courtroom, tears slipping down her cheeks.
The trial lasted four days. At five o’clock on September 19, the defense rested its case. The jury took only fifteen minutes to deliberate. The foreman read a verdict of not guilty.
Gibby had gambled. And she had won.
Joe Pepa wasn’t so lucky. At his trial, prosecutors brought up every blot on his record, enraging Joe so much that several times he“started to leave the witness stand as though he were going to whip the attorney.” Finally Joe was found guilty of “being a lewd and dissolute person and of resorting in a house of ill fame” and was sentenced to six months in city jail. They’d finally gotten him. The cops and the court took no small satisfaction in that.
Gibby had learned a valuable lesson. She couldn’t be waiting for Joe when he got out.“Underworld
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