The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 83: How Soon They Forget

Episode Date: November 14, 2017

It was the trial of the century - that no one remembers.

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This is the way I heard it. Long before the colonel needed a lawyer, he needed a publicist. He was very rich, you see, and very famous, even by Hollywood standards. But for all his wealth, and in spite of his generosity, toward what he called the plain people of Los Angeles, the colonel was not well-liked. Indeed, he was not even liked, not even a little. The press called him an eagomaniacal midget, and that was a problem. problem for a man who treasured his reputation above all things. In court, sitting next to the finest

defense lawyer money could buy, the colonel regarded the faces in this so-called jury of his peers. Why did they despise him? The night before, over a bottle of expensive scotch, the colonel and his lawyer discussed his image problem. Why do they hate me, Earl? Why do the people hate me? Oh, I don't No, said Earl, throwing back another whiskey. Maybe they prefer not to be described as plain by someone who makes more in a day than they will in a lifetime. Or maybe they resent the fact that you call yourself a colonel, having never served in the military. Or maybe it's because you pretend to be a teetotaler, even though you pass out drunk every night. The colonel finished his third scotch and poured another. Jesus, Earl, tell me how you really feel. And that's before you shot your wife in the

face, said Earl. Trust me, there are a dozen good reasons to dislike a man like you. See what I mean? The colonel needed a publicist. The following morning, the Scotch was gone, and the jury was liking the colonel less and less. On the stand, his wife was recounting in vivid detail the events at the Arcadia Hotel. Mary Agnes wore a black veil to conceal the ugly whole in her once beautiful face and a sling on her arm. But she spoke in a clear and credible tone. He told me to get my prayer book, she said, and to kneel before him. And so I did. I thought we were going to pray together. But then my husband pulled a revolver from his pocket and said he was going to kill me. And why would he do that? asked the prosecutor. He said I was conspiring to poison him,

said Mary Agnes. Conspiring with whom, madam? With the Pope. Every eye in the courtroom turned slowly to regard the colonel, slumped in his chair, looking even smaller than his five foot two inches. I see, said the prosecutor, and what happened next? He shot me in the face, said Mary Agnes. The colonel's wife went on to describe how the bullet passed through her eye but failed to kill her. A fact she had demonstrated on the day in question by sprinting across the presidential suite and diving headfirst off the balcony. Not an ideal exit strategy, but one that ultimately spared her life thanks to the porch roof that broke her fall along with her arm and her shoulder. Thank you, madam, said the prosecutor. Your witness, sir. The tension in the court was palpable

as Earl Rogers began to cross-examine the colonel's wife. Her testimony was riveting, and she was an utterly credible witness, but Earl Rogers was masterful, and their exchange unfolded like a Hollywood screenplay. Later, the press declared it the trial of the century, even though the century was only three years old. But the title still holds up,

because 92 years before Johnny Cochran, was proclaiming, if it doesn't fit, you must acquit. Earl Rogers was telling another L.A. jury in another Santa Monica courtroom that another celebrity was not guilty for an equally bizarre reason. Alcoholic insanity. In 1903, no one had ever heard of such a thing, including the colonel, who objected to his own defense in a burst of righteous indignation. I'm not a drunk, he sputtered.

That's absurd. Why, I've given thousands of dollars to the temperance movement. But Earl Rogers knew a drunk when he saw one, because Earl Rogers was also an alcoholic. And though the Colonel denied his own addiction publicly, Earl Rogers had no problem coaxing the truth from the Colonel's wife. Under oath, Mary Agnes told the jury that her husband was indeed an inveterate lush, who took great pains to conceal his drunkenness from polite society.

Moreover, she described his many bouts of irrational behavior while under the influence, which is, of course, precisely what Earl Rogers wanted her to say. In the end, the Colonel was spared a 20-year sentence in San Quentin because Earl Rogers convinced the jury that Booze had made his client, temporarily crazy. For the first time in a court of law, alcoholism was presented as a disease, and consequently, the colonel was sentenced to just two years in jail. Extraordinary. Earl Rogers, incidentally, would go on to successfully defend 77 accused murderers and become one of the greatest defense attorneys to ever practice law. He only lost three cases and became,

the real-life inspiration for Perry Mason. The Colonel's wife, Mary Agnes Christina Mesmer, was granted a divorce less than five minutes after filing for one, a record that stands to this day in the annals of LA law. As for the Colonel's reputation, that would take a bit longer to resuscitate, and a good deal more than a qualified publicist. When the eagomania Michael Midget got out of jail. He was still short, still rich, and still despised by everyone. But he was also humbled, sober, and determined to salvage his good name. It took a while, but nearly a hundred years after his own trial was complete. When America watched in shock, as Johnny Cochran helped O.J. Simpson get away with murder. The first Hollywood celebrity,

who tried to kill his wife, was a little bit of his wife. long since forgiven. Thanks to his bottomless checkbook, the plain people of Los Angeles can venture into a 3,000-acre public park, take in a show at the Greek theater, and gaze through the lens of a mighty telescope at stars of a different kind, twinkling in the heavens high above the Hollywood sign, all while pondering the legacy of the magnanimous philanthropist whose generosity made it all possible. But of course, if you want the whole story, you'll need to read beyond the brass plaque that rests beneath the colonel's imposing statue, because that plaque makes no mention of treacherous popes, conspiring wives, attempted murders, or the alcoholic insanity that saved him from life in prison.

And that seems unjust, because the truth is, without booze, the disgraced socialite, who's, treasured his reputation above all things would have never had to buy his way back into our good graces. Without booze, we would not have at our collective disposal today that beautiful park or that wondrous public observatory that still bears his name. The name of a phony colonel who shot his wife in the face, now fondly remembered by millions as a great philanthropist. named Griffith, J. Griffith. Somewhere. A publicist is smiling. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.

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