Lore - Episode 190: All That Glitters

Episode Date: January 17, 2022

It’s a place where dreams are born, and were stars take flight. But beneath that thin, beautiful surface is a darker past, and the stories it holds are far from happy. ———————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here.

Gifting the Glen Levitt says, I know I wasn't always the easiest child. It says after everything you've done for me, you deserve better than novelty socks. It says, the best parent in Canada deserves the best single malt scotch in Canada. Parents give their best. Why not return the favor

and give the gift of the Glen Levitt this Father's Day. Discover the single malt collection at the Glen Levitt dot com. Please enjoy responsibly. Music It's one of the distinct memories from my childhood. Sure, I remember things like summers at the city pool or the way my neighbor's buckeye tree dropped those spiky gems every year.

But on the less romantic end of the spectrum, I remember the first time I discovered what veneer was. It was an eye-opener for sure that the desk I believed to be solid mahogany turned out to be something else. Something cheaper. Sure, the surface looked luxurious, but inside it was common.

A lie. Veneer as a craft has been around for thousands of years. Some of the objects pulled from the tomb of King Tut were made with that technique. And right down through the ages, culture after culture has adopted and refined it. By the time of the Industrial Revolution, it was more engineering than art.

Which is why today we can order a bookcase from a big box store and put it together. And from a distance, get the feeling that it's a lovely thing crafted from walnut or some rare exotic wood. And if we're honest, there are a lot of things in life that share that concept, that approach.

In the end, veneer is all about appearances. It represents the unusual, the expensive, and often the unattainable without letting us see what's really beneath it all. And it's just as true for people as it is for bookshelves. Even places have a veneer. But few locations have such a dark past

hidden beneath its glittering surface than the place that pumps out visions of our wildest dreams. It might seem like everything there is picture perfect, but if you look close enough, the truth is more than a little frightening. So pack your bags, grab your coat,

and put on your walking shoes. Because I want to take you on a trip into the shadows behind the sunshine. We're going to Hollywood. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. Like a lot of things, it all began with Thomas Edison.

Not just because of his inventions, but because of his personality. You see, Edison loved to sue people. After, shall we say, borrowing the idea for motion pictures from the work of other people like Englishman Edward Mybridge and Frenchman Louis Le Prince,

he registered his own patents in America and then set about enforcing them. If anyone other than the Edison Company made a motion picture using technology that he felt had originated from his own, he sued them. What happened is sort of like what takes place when a neighborhood kid encounters a bully

on the way to the school bus stop each day. They did their best to avoid him. A number of filmmakers decided to pack up and move elsewhere, hoping different state laws and a bit of distance might protect them from Edison's greedy reach. Now, if you remember that cameras in the 1890s needed a ton of natural light,

which meant filming outdoors most of the time, then you can see why California held such an attraction, beautiful weather all year round, lots of sun, and of course, far, far away from Thomas Edison in New Jersey. So filmmakers headed west. What they found just north of Los Angeles was a valley full of large ranches,

lush gardens and fruit tree orchards. It had been given the name Hollywood just a decade earlier and the people who founded it had instilled it with some very Hollywood-ish characteristics. You know, the highly religious, anti-alcohol, and anti-gambling. The first movie to be made in its entirety in Hollywood was a silent film called,

perhaps appropriately, In Old California, released in 1910. And from there, everything took off. Studios were built, the town grew exponentially, and the world was changed. But not everything in early Hollywood had to do with movies. There's a story about a Spanish government official

named Jose Vicente Feliz, who lived there in the late 1790s. In 1795, the Spanish government gifted him with a massive 4,000-acre parcel of land that he quickly named Rancho Las Feliz. And for many years, the ranch was owned and run by him and his family. In 1863, though, the family line had run dry,

with no direct mail heirs to pass it on to. But there was a niece, a woman named Donna Petronella. So when the last male Feliz passed away and willed the land to a local politician instead of her, she was understandably furious. Legend has it that she cursed the new owner, a man named Don Antonio Coronel, and anyone else who might own it in the future.

The wrath of heaven, she cried out, and the vengeance of hell shall fall upon this place. And those words seemed to carry some power. He practically signed the land over to his attorney, but that man was killed in an accident a few months later. The next owner invested huge amounts of money into converting the land into a cattle ranch and lost everything.

There were fires and storms and even a flood, and all of it felt like a message straight from Donna Petronella. The final owner of the land, a guy named Griffith J. Griffith, who called himself a colonel but really wasn't, gifted huge portions of the property to the city of Los Angeles. Then in 1923, a local newspaper owner named Henry Chandler

invested a bunch of money into a real estate development that he called Hollywood Land and went looking for a place to advertise it. Glancing up from the valley at the tall hills that once had been Rancho Los Feliz, he knew he had found it, so he built his sign and illuminated it with over 4,000 light bulbs.

The plan had been to leave it up for just a year, probably long enough to sell all the homes of the development, but the locals fell in love with it and so it stayed. 26 years later, the local Chamber of Commerce stepped in to restore the aging sign and made some changes to it. The lights went away and so did a whole piece of it. You see, rather than standing as one massive billboard,

Chandler's old sign was just a series of letters, each one over 30 feet tall. When they were done, the sign had a new lease on life and has since become one of the most iconic shots in the state, and it's perfect, really. By dropping the last four letters, that old real estate advertisement has become a giant label hovering over the town itself.

Hollywood. Communities are often more than the sum of their parts, but in a place like Hollywood, those parts have a lot of stories to tell. A great example is the legendary Comedy Store, an institution in the world of stand-up comics located on Sunset Strip. But before the building was home to laughs,

it was home to vice. Way back in 1940, it was a nightclub called Siro's, and the owner took advantage of the sort of legal no-mans land that its location enjoyed. You see, back then, Sunset Strip was outside the jurisdiction of the Los Angeles authorities, making it easier to offer services that were, well, less acceptable.

Owner William Wilkerson offered a great show in the main room, of course. If you were to have swung through there in the 1940s and 50s, you'd have been able to watch legends like Lucille Ball, Dean Martin, May West, and others perform there. Later, even Richard Pryor would stand on that stage. I can imagine it was a busy place. But downstairs were all sorts of other forms of entertainment,

many of which weren't so legal, and it didn't help that Wilkerson was more than a club owner. He was also a mob boss. So there were countless stories of his enemies being killed in the basement, along with other murders in and around the building, and all that blood has left a mark. Even today, people continue to report unusual frightening experiences there.

One employee described entering a room to set up tables, turn on lights, and get it ready for business, only to return a few minutes later to find the room dark and locked. Upon returning with a key, they found the room exactly as they'd left it the first time. Open, and all lit up. Furniture has been seen to move on its own, and lights are known to turn on and off without anyone around to control them.

Once, a staff member walked across an empty stage to turn off a light, and when he turned around, he found the stage covered in chairs that hadn't been there moments before. And speaking of stages, there's another that's worth visiting. In 1942, a man named John Hampton opened the Silent Movie Theater as a way to preserve the older era of films that were being neglected or destroyed by the big studios. The world had moved on to films with actual dialogue,

talkies, as they were called, but those silent films needed saving. Hampton spent decades fulfilling his mission, but the journey most likely killed him. All those chemicals he used to preserve the old footage led to a cancer diagnosis, and he passed away in 1990. But darker shadows entered the theater when the new owners arrived. In 1997, James Van Sickle hired one of the theater's concession workers

to kill his business partner, Lawrence Austin. Both men went to prison for the murder, but if the stories are true, Austin's spirit still haunts the building. Employees and visitors have often reported seeing his ghostly figure in the lobby after the theater has closed up for the night, and upstairs in the lounge, a place that used to be the apartment where original owner John Hampton had lived, people have seen other spectral shapes as well.

It seems that some people just can't let go of their love for that place. One last stop that's a must-see is the Hollywood Knickerbocker Hotel. Built in 1929, it was once the stopping ground for some of the town's biggest names. The Hotel Bar was a favorite spot for Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio, and Elvis even stayed there while filming one of his movies. There are other stories that lean harder into legend territory, too. The biggest is probably the death of Irene Lentz, who took her own life there in November of 1962.

Rumors claim that she had been struggling with the death of Gary Cooper. A man she had claimed was her one true love, but there's not a lot of evidence to back that up. Still, there are those who think she's never really left the Knickerbocker. The building has since been converted into apartments, and a number of residents have reported seeing a ghostly woman in various parts of the building. Doors have been known to open and close on their own, and shadows have been seen walking through the halls.

Shadows without physical bodies. Oh, and the Hollywood Knickerbocker was also the site of a rather strange gathering about 85 years ago. You see, escape artist and illusionist Harry Houdini had promised his wife Bess that after he died, he would find a way to communicate with her. After he passed away on Halloween of 1926, she lit a candle and kept it burning as an eternal flame. After that, she hosted a seance each year on the anniversary of his death to allow him a chance to speak to her once more.

She'd bring the candle and a number of guests, and they would listen for messages from Houdini. And each year, there was nothing but silence. The 10th and last Houdini seance was held in 1936 on the roof of the Knickerbocker, and after that final failure to communicate, it said that Bess leaned over and blew out the candle. Ten years, she later said, is long enough to wait for any man. For one of the most frightening local legends,

we need to step outside of Hollywood and into downtown Los Angeles. But don't worry, there are still plenty of connections to Tinseltown. When the Los Angeles Biltmore opened in 1923, it was the largest hotel in the western United States, and it was undeniably the most luxurious as well. On the outside, it was a little bit Spanish-Italian Renaissance with a dash of Mediterranean, but inside was where the real beauty waited.

The biggest example I can give you is that the mural ceilings in the main gallery and the crystal ballroom were both painted by the same artist who had painted works for the Vatican and the White House. There were marble fountains, crystal chandeliers, imported tapestries, and so much more. I've even stayed there, and let me tell you folks, this place is gorgeous.

And naturally, this opulent, palatial, hotel acted like a massive flame to the moths of Hollywood. Between 1935 and 1942, the Academy Awards ceremony was held there in the Biltmore. Legends like Clark Gable, Betty Davis, Jimmy Stewart, and Ginger Rogers all walked across the stage to accept their Oscars. Honestly, it's a landmark for that reason alone.

But guests there have reported more unusual sightings over the years. One of the most common is the figure of a little boy, seen running through the hallway on the 10th floor. Other ghostly children have been spotted elsewhere in the hotel, as have the figures of a woman that some believe to be a nurse. But one of the most memorable sightings

is rumored to be the ghost of a local murder victim. Her name was Elizabeth, and she had moved to California from Boston back in 1942. She was young, pretty, and part of that constant inflow of men and women, who typically came looking to strike it big in Hollywood. So most people assume that was her goal as well. By 1946, she was living and working in LA.

But on the night of January 9th, 1947, a friend dropped her off at the Biltmore, where she said she was planning to meet her sister, who was in town visiting from Boston. Hotel staff claimed to see her use a phone inside, although she later left to visit the nearby Crown Grill. And after that, she vanished. It would be a week later, on the morning of January 15th,

that her body was found in a vacant lot in the neighborhood of Lemire Park. It was clear that she had been murdered because the evidence was utterly barbaric. Her mouth had been slashed wide all the way to her ears, and her body had been drained of blood and cut in half at the waist. I won't go into any more detail,

but the local Herald Express newspaper captured the brutality of her death best by calling it the werewolf murder. And because of her loose connection to the Biltmore, the hotel has been the location of countless sightings over the years by people who are convinced they've seen her ghost. Most commonly, she's been spotted on the 10th and 11th floors.

Visitors have reported a woman with black hair dressed in 1940s clothing, walking through the hallways, and even the lobby itself. Some have even claimed to see her enter the elevator and ride it down, only to disappear near the 6th floor. Others have watched her walk straight through walls

as if they weren't even real, or perhaps she wasn't. Oh, and by the way, that name, the werewolf murder, apparently didn't stick. It seems that reporters from the same newspaper learned of a nickname that some of Elizabeth's acquaintances had used for her.

And while it's disputed whether she herself went by it, it's a name that has taken on a life of its own in the aftermath of her death. They called her the Black Dahlia. The Black Dahlia The Black Dahlia The Black Dahlia

The Black Dahlia The Black Dahlia The Black Dahlia The Black Dahlia I think it's fair to say that our fascination with Hollywood is a mixed bag. Yes, there have been more than enough success stories. Tales of people who gave up everything

to move there and try their luck, only to break through and become superstars. And those stories keep the process in motion, attracting newcomers each and every day. But those cases are far outweighed by the ones that took their shot and failed. And loss, whether rooted in career aspirations, love, or even death,

is a bigger legacy of that storied location. From murders of people like Elizabeth Short, the Black Dahlia, to curses and seances, it seems like so many people there have had to struggle through disappointment and pain. Even the iconic Hollywood sign hasn't escaped the darkness of the area.

It's said that back in 1932, a beautiful blonde actress named Peg Entwistle was struggling to build a career in show business. She had landed a few small roles, but in September of that year, the studio she worked for dropped her contract. Heartbroken over what felt like failure, she hiked up to the Hollywood sign,

scaled the letter H, and threw herself off to her death. Her body was found two days later by a local hiker, along with her suicide note. And with her death, the gilded entertainment machine had claimed another poor soul. Certainly not the first,

and tragically, not the last. Hollywood, after all, is a veneer. There's a lot of beauty to be seen from a distance, but the closer you get, the darker the shadows become. There's something hopeful in the attraction it has for people, but there's also something sinister.

For so many people, beneath all that golden promise, lies pain and loss. One last story. In 1990, a young couple were hiking in Griffith Park, part of the land donated to Los Angeles by Griffith J. Griffith,

that had once belonged to the Felice family. And as they were approaching the gigantic famous Hollywood sign, those enormous white letters looming ahead of them, they saw a woman a few paces away who looked like she was lost or disoriented. The couple stopped for a moment and watched her,

and then gasped as the figure disappeared right before their eyes. And while that's shocking enough, even more frightening is the description they gave of her. She was blonde and dressed in 1930s clothing. Hollywood is where legends are born,

and I hope today's tour through Tinseltown has shown you that not all of those stories have happy endings. And worse, there are others I didn't have time to tell. But don't worry, I've saved another of my favorites for after this short ad break. Stick around, and I'll tell you all about it.

He was a bit of a problem child. In fact, he was such a handful that his family was happy to see him leave the country. And it's honestly hard to blame him for acting out. The man had eight names, after all. I'm going to do my best here to say it all correctly.

So here goes. It might not be perfect, but it's pretty close, and I think it clearly illustrates my point. Cursing a child with that sort of baggage will only come back to bite you. Rodolfo, however, agreed with his family

and left Italy at the age of 18 in search of new opportunities. He arrived in New York City in 1913 and settled into that age-old hustle of trying to find work that paid well, but also satisfied him. He waited ten years and also satisfied him.

He waited tables, washed cars, and even tried his hands at gardening. But within a couple of years, he was working under the name Rodolfo Ghulemi at a weird job called Taxi Dancing. Basically, he was employed by a dance hall, a place where hundreds of people would show up

each night to hear music and dance, and patrons could rent him as a dance partner. And because they paid a fee based on how much time they danced with him, it was sort of like paying a taxi fare. So, Taxi Dancing. But that all came to an end in 1917 when his love interest

dragged him into the drama of her failing marriage, a conflict that ended in the husband's murder. Rodolfo didn't pull the trigger, but he didn't like the heat either, so he got far, far away from the kitchen. And that's how he ended up on the west coast in Hollywood.

For the next couple of years, he took on bit parts in a variety of films, but under a different name, he was connected to a New York City murder. Thankfully, he had a few family names to pick from, and he settled on one that would become a Hollywood legend. Rudolph Valentino.

The next few years would be a roller coaster of huge successes, multiple girlfriends, marriages, failed business dealings, and studio contracts. Along the way, he starred in the 1921 breakout hit, The Sheik, which turned him into the hottest star in Hollywood for a while.

But the tragedy, both personal and professional, would always be a wait that slowed him down. In August of 1926, after finishing a new film called The Son of The Sheik, he collapsed before undergoing surgery for a number of infections in his internal organs.

Rudolph Valentino would pass away on August 23rd, and that last film would be released two weeks later to much success. But his story wasn't over, because his death shocked the nation, and his funeral in New York City was swarmed by over

50,000 mourners. At least 100 of them were injured in the chaos, and the funeral home had to set up a makeshift emergency room to care for them all. A number of women even fainted as they passed by his coffin. And one last thing, Valentino was said to have purchased a ring

a few months before his death during a visit to San Francisco. He had been warned about it by the seller that all who had owned it before him had suffered tragedy and death, but Rudolph didn't care, and it seems that he was wearing that ring the day he died. After that, his girlfriend

took it for herself, and less than a year later she married another man. Soon the couple felt like tragedy was following them, and their fortune vanished. But when she gave the ring to a friend, oddly enough a Rudolph Valentino lookalike, that man died in a shooting accident.

The dead man's best friend, a guy with the memorable name of Joe Casino, took the ring and died a few months later when he was run over by a truck. Joe's brother decided to take the ring after that, but a burglar stole it, before getting shot to death by the police.

Finally, after it ended up on the finger of another young actor, that man died of a mysterious illness just two weeks later. After that, someone had the bright idea to lock the ring up in a bank vault, where it could no longer harm anyone. But somehow, the ring disappeared. After the bank,

burned down. And in the end, I can't think of a better object to represent the Hollywood experience that so many people have had. It's shiny and attractive, and oh so tempting to try and get your hands on it. But there's a darkness

there as well. Because as the old cliché so eloquently puts it, all that glitters is not gold. This episode of Lore was written and produced by

me, Aaron Mankey, with research by Megan DeRosh and music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast. There's a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video.

Check them both out if you want more Lore in your life. I also make and executive produce a whole bunch of other podcasts, all of which I think you'd enjoy. My production company Grim and Mild specializes in shows that sit at the intersection of the dark and the historical.

You can learn more about all of these shows and everything else going on over in one central place Grimandmild.com And you can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that

follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.