What are friends for? Miss Rappe and Mrs. Whitehurst

August 19, 2026August 21, 2026 / The Authors / 1 Comment

Mrs. Helen Adeline Whitehurst, a witness for Arbuckle at his third trial, has been mentioned here and there in the Spite Work blog. This passage, from the work-in-progress, is a narrative of her testimony on April 3, 1922. She is a “set-up” witness for Arbuckle himself, who will testify two days later. She represents a sketchier witness “type” for the defendant, one of several, who saw Virginia Rappe behaving in ways that resembled her crisis in room 1219 of the St. Francis Hotel on September 5, 1921.

In regard to Rappe, Mrs. Whitehurst met her when Rappe was modeling in Atlanta and other points south in early September 1913. That said, there was a window of opportunity for Mrs. Whitehead and Rappe to meet in Chicago for about six weeks in the fall of 1913. But Rappe could not have visited Mrs. Whitehead in the hospital in November and December 1913. She and a girlfriend shared a Pullman compartment and traveled to New York City in mid-November and then sailed to England. They did not return until early January 1914.

Reporters and Arbuckle’s lawyers did not have Newspapers.com back then to know that Rappe was getting good press in the latter half of 1913 and early 1914. So, Arbuckle’s lawyers had Mrs. Whitehurst come from Chicago to take the stand and show the jury that Rappe had been suffering from abdominal pain, urine retention, and hysteria ever since adolscence, all triggered by drinking.

That Rappe indulged in “brown spirits” is unique to Mrs. Whitehurst. That Rappe worked for a Republican candidate in 1915 also stands out. She was in San Francisco for the July 1920 Democratic Convention. Her boyfriend, the comedy director Henry Lehrman later hosted the nominee, James Cox, when he visited Hollywood to meet with motion picture people and donors.

What follows is one of the microhistories of the book. Will a publisher let me keep it? I see a red pencil in my future despite such an instrument being an anachronism.

N.b. For those not famiiar with the cast of characters here, I will be brief. Gavin McNab, Nat Schmulowitz, and Alfred Sabath are lawyers for the defendant; Milton U’Ren and Leo Friedman are prosecutors; and Matthew Brady is the District Attorney of San Francisco. Mr. Christopher Teeters is another one of Virginia Rappe’s unlikely Chicago drinking companions. There should be enough context for other walk-ons and -offs in this sad tale that can only be told in its greatest detail to fully see the folly of previous Arbuckle narratives.

That Virginia Rappe of the film colony, the fashion model, the “best dressed girl in Hollywood,” once consorted with the likes of Helen Adeline Whitehurst was a daring proposition for Arbuckle’s lawyers. Yet for someone familiar with her early life, with the testimony of two trials and the legends from Chicago, and the psychology of being a virtual orphan, Mrs. Whitehurst fit a type known to Albert Sabath. She was older and childless like Aunt Kate and Mrs. Fox. And like those foster parents, Mrs. Whitehurst could serve as a mother and big sister in one, filling the void of Virginia’s dead, namely her grandmother and Mabel Rapp.

Dark-haired, thin-lipped, in her mid-thirties Mrs. Whitehurst spoke passable English, with an accent that could have been from anywhere in Europe than her native Strasbourg. (A 1923 passport application reveals that she had relatives and friends in Germany, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, and France.) She had immigrated to the United States in 1905 and two years later married her husband Charles, a lineman. She described herself as a housewife but had worked off and on as a saleslady and said she befriended Virginia in the women’s department of Siegel, Cooper, & Co., when the latter was shopping for a shirtwaist in the fall of 1913.[1]

Milton U’Ren undoubtedly heard this and, having a better idea of Miss Rappe’s chronology from this year, decided that needed to be reconciled—and so too her address in Chicago. It never moved back and forth between one foster mother and another. During 1913 and into 1914, Mrs. Whitehurst said Virginia lived at 4526 Indiana Avenue, which would have placed her just five blocks south of 40^th and Indiana, where she had lived with Aunt Kate in 1912, before both relocated to Stony Island Avenue. McNab—or rather Sabath—had smoothed away such minutiae for the jury, as if they should only consider a series of incidents in regard to her health that foreshadowed almost everything in room 1219. These began in the fall of 1914, after Mrs. Whitehurst started going out with Miss Rappe “to dinners and to cafés to dance.” She recalled a dinner party at the Arlington Café at 31^st and Indiana, which took place on October 29, which happened to be her birthday.

As a matter of propriety between two women going out together, to make it look less sapphic, McNab had to ask, “Who went with you?” The answer Mrs. Whitehurst gave, however, inserted a different dynamic. “Virginia and two gentlemen friends of mine,” she replied. As for the incident itself, Virginia was sitting across from Mrs. Whitehurst when she suddenly began to bite her lips, as her face looked “drawn.” Then Virginia grabbed her abdomen and began to scream. She threw head over as if to vomit. “I got up,” Mrs. Whitehurst continued,

and led her into the ladies’ waiting room; I put her on a chair and she screamed, she moaned, she doubled up, twisted her legs—her body and her legs was pretty near double [. . .] and then she started to vomit. While she vomit [sic], she fell off the chair, and I asked the assistance of the colored maid to help me put Virginia on a couch. They have little couches always in the ladies’ waiting room. While I did that, with one hand she hold [sic] her abdomen, and the other hand she tore her waisted and scream and holler, “Oh, Helen, I am hurt, oh, Helen it hurt me; I am going to die!”

After U’Ren had Miss Rappe’s statement struck, Mrs. Whitehurst described how her friend kept screaming and “twitching and biting her fingertips. They bled from it, and also her lips.” The episode lasted an hour.

Q. Did you have any liquor before these appearances?
A. Yes, she had three or four straight whiskies, and I had Martinis.

Virginia recovered (not unlike the drinking companion of Mr. Teeters testimony of the day before) and continued her drinking after Mrs. Whitehurst’s birthday party moved on to another South Side bar, Al Tierney’s, at 35^th and Calumet. There Miss Rappe fell ill again—and Mrs. Whitehurst took her back to her apartment building in a taxi.

Q. What was the name of the place?
A. 40^th and Indiana; I don’t know exact the two last numbers, but was close to the
elevated [. . .] I went in the vestibule, and rang the bell for her, and the colored
maid came and took her upstairs.

The third incident took place in February 1915 at Heinley’s Café at Monroe and Dearborn, where Miss Rappe vomited so much that the proprietor made her leave—and she continued to vomit in the cab that Mrs. Whitehurst hailed to take them back to her house, where she put her friend to bed and then called Dr. Graves—whose deposition would have corroborated the event and what Mrs. Whitehurst did. “I put her in a tub of hot water,” she told McNab and jury, “kept her there, took her out and put her to bed and applied hot turpentine applications, as per directions.” Then it came time to have his witness touch on a symptom intended to link up to the medical experts yet to testify.

Q. Directing your attention to her physical condition, did you ever observe her in
      relation to the passage of urine?
A. Yes, sir; this is the time that I did; she went in the bathroom, and phone [sic] was
      ringing, and I went to the phone; and I heard her scream, and I went back, and
      she said, “Oh, Helen, I can’t pass a drop.”

Two weeks later, Mrs. Whitehurst accompanied Miss Rappe to see a Dr. Miller, who treated her for abdominal pain twice, in late February and early March. And for both appointments, Miss Rappe used different aliases, “Miss Durant” and “Miss Stewart,” respectively.

The fourth incident occurred a year later in April 1915 at Lipman’s Café at North California and Division streets. Mrs. Whitehurst named the ten people who were present, all of whom had campaigned for William “Big Bill” Thompson, Chicago’s last Republican mayor. Once more Miss Rappe drank several whiskies and suffered all the same symptoms as before, falling at the corner of the stage “where the cabaret singers were performing” and Mrs. Whitehurst took her back to her building.

McNab, knowing that he had a very special witness on his way from Omaha, now asked a question in anticipation of one of his revelations to which Arbuckle’s lawyers were now privy.

Q. Did anybody call her up?
A. Yes, a woman called up—

Leo Friedman objected to any conversation getting into the record. The allusion to Mrs. Fox went no further. Mrs. Whitehurst asked for and received a glass of water—in anticipation of what would be a grueling cross-examination. And U’Ren’s first questions were to be sure he heard right, that Mrs. Whitehurst was a married woman. He even asked for her maiden name (“Bach”) and wanted the jury to know that she did not travel to San Francisco with her husband, but with a friend (“Dorothy Harmon”). Then U’Ren had Mrs. Whitehurst admit that she had not testified at any previous venue. Such an admission was necessary given that she was blatantly parroting witnesses, that her story was informed by reams of testimony at the disposal of Arbuckle’s lawyers. And one of them, Nat Schmulowitz saw these questions and answers stricken. U’Ren, nevertheless, persevered. He wanted to know more about how Mrs. Whitehurst had been deposed by Albert Sabath. He also wanted the jury to rightly guess for themselves that this woman was being paid for her story.

Although her husband told her to “keep quiet,” at the end of the second trial she sent Arbuckle a telegram “that, in case he needs me, he is welcome to call on me.” Then U’Ren asked if she had wired Arbuckle after the first trial—she had not—but that only confirmed what he suspected. Mrs. Whitehurst was another entrepreneurial witness, like Virginia Warren, and better positioned in the “market” for a third trial. Then U’Ren asked the question that he had, if effect, kept up his sleeve long enough and Mrs. Whitehurst pretended to have difficulty understanding him.

Q. At which one of these occurrences that you have testified was your
husband present?
A. All of them.

McNab and Schmulowitz objected to what was not in evidence and overruled. For his part, U’Ren wanted her to answer the same question. She still did not “get” it—and he reframed the question so there would be no more doubt.

Q. Now, at any of these times that you saw this girl suffer these strokes, as you
have testified, spells, whatever you want to call them, at the Arlington Café, or
any of the other cafés, was your husband present?
A. No, sir.
Q. At none of them?
A. No, sir.

U’Ren elicited other facts with less difficulty. Mrs. Whitehurst had worked in other department stores, including Mandel’s. She had never met Mrs. Hardebeck nor entered the “flat” Aunt Kate shared with Virginia. “I rang the bell for Virginia to come down and go out together,” Mrs. Whitehurst said, “but I never was inside.” She was also certain she had first met Virginia in September or October 1913. Hearing this, U’Ren was more certain than ever that this witness had simply picked up from where Dr. Rosenberg left off in 1913. But the jury would have to wait for the rebuttal witnesses to see that Virginia was likely still modeling clothes and not seeking out Mrs. Whitehurst for a second encounter, in the drapery department of Siegel, Cooper & Co.

For a juror with a good memory—such as Irene Wilde—where did that Mandel’s saleslady go, Frances Bates? That witness who assisted Miss Rappe when she fell ill twice at Mandel Brothers and tore apart two expensive gowns? U’Ren, of course, had such a memory and he knew either she was on the road or en route to Liverpool when the imaginary friendship formed during the weeks Mrs. Whitehurst recovered from surgery.

Q. Now, how often did you see her between September or October of 1913 and
the fall of 1914, when you went out with her?
A. Well, when I was taken to the hospital, I saw her pretty near every other day;
      she came to see me in the hospital; that was in November; later—the 23^rd day
      of November, 1913, I was operated on in the German American Hospital,
      and I [. . .] remained there for two weeks; and [. . .] she came pretty near every
      other day to see me, alone or with my husband.

Mrs. Whitehurst recalled that for four or five weeks she did not see Virginia. Then they began to go out for lunch in January 1914. Yet, while Mrs. Whitehurst did not mention that her new friend had been to London and Paris, she did know that Virginia was in Memphis. She was certain that Virginia had returned to Chicago in the spring and joined her and her husband for the Decoration Day parade downtown on May 30. They also went out once or twice a week to the movies. Eventually, Mrs. Whitehurst disclosed another incident that took place in February 1915 at her home, after Virginia got sick from the bottle of whiskey she brought with her. (That U’Ren, knowing her preference for gin and cordials, did not frame any question to question Virginia’s acquired taste for “brown” spirits only reveals what a pedant he was about the rules of evidence.)

Mrs. Whitehurst knew that Virginia had gone to California in May 1915. And in addition to having never met Mrs. Hardebeck, she never met others from this period, such as Harry Barker, Mrs. Rafferty Roth, and Mrs. Bates. (She had heard Virginia speak of a Mrs. Burkholder.) And all this time Mrs. Whitehurst insisted that Virginia lived at 40^th and Indiana, even though U’Ren gave her plenty of opportunities to correct herself. She seemed to have no idea that Virginia was often in New York City and, when in Chicago, either stayed at the La Salle Hotel or moved back and forth between Mrs. Hardebeck and Mrs. Fox.

The only help U’Ren gave her was to ask for the statement Mrs. Whitehurst had given and signed for Albert Sabath. He wanted to show her something and began perusing the pages while asking her one question after another, rehashing questions already posed by McNab. She knew the names of the two men at Virginia’s first “spell.” Mrs. Whitehurst, however, could not recall whose “colored maid” took Virginia upstairs on the night of her birthday party. Mrs. Whitehurst, however, did recall that a male friend of Virginia had introduced her to Dr. Miller as “Miss Stewart” and gave Mrs. Whitehurst $50 to pay his fee.

Meanwhile, U’Ren found something that in the signed affidavit that did not agree with Mrs. Whitehurst’s testimony. She had told McNab that Virginia had stayed overnight in her home on two occasions. When he asked her if there had been more than two, she did not remember. Then he had her look at a single sentence in her statement, where it read “At several other occasions during their acquaintance, Virginia was ill in affiant’s home three or four days a time with the same trouble.” Here Schmulowitz interrupted—but Mrs. Whitehurst explained away the sentence as a “mistake.”

Q. Didn’t you read this over before you signed it?
A. I did; I was very sick; I had temperature 103 when I was giving this statement in
Mr. Sabath’s office; I might have said it; but I think it is a mistake.

Mrs. Whitehurst was hardly terrified by perjuring herself. U’Ren saw something other than illness being the reason for Miss Rappe—or whoever this person was—to stay overnight for up to four days at a stretch.

Q. Now, give us the dates of these other times that she stayed at your house,
other than the times you were—
A. The nights my husband would work all night.

Mrs. Whitehurst could not give any dates, only that Virginia had stayed three or four nights in row, “that was the time I was ill myself.” Fortunately, the noon recess ended whatever may have distressed her. As for the rest of her cross-examination during the first hour of the afternoon session, she recalled her last contact with Virginia, a postcard from San Francisco sometime between July and August, 1915—one of several disclosures that stood out, that Mrs. Whitehurst was not only well-versed in how to present the “Miss Rappe” of this third trial, she could have known the real person. Like Harry Barker, however, one would need the patience of Job for a young woman whose intolerance of alcohol resulted in such predictable consequences, disturbing consequences, who spattered taxicabs and cafés with her vomit. Why would anyone ask her out for more of the same?

McNab used his recross-examination to insist that Mrs. Whitehurst’s affidavit be put in evidence as a stenographer’s “insert,” albeit without saying it was an egregious exaggeration on the part of Albert Sabath. Then McNab handed the document to the jury to see for themselves.

Mrs. Whitehurst’s reviews were hardly mixed. According to the San Francisco Call, she “gave the strongest testimony yet introduced regarding the alleged attacks suffered by Virginia Rappe after indulgence in alcoholic drinks.”[2] Marjorie Driscoll chimed in, that Mrs. Whitehurst “added materially to the case being built up by the defense.”[3] Oscar Fernbach agreed, that she “gave time, place and persons present with the minutest of detail, and with great positiveness.”[4] He described the day in court in terms of a military stalemate, a “fight being waged by the People of California against Roscoe Arbuckle” in which the scene of operations “bore all of the characteristics of stabilized warfare [. . .] that a large number of shells of varying caliber were landed in the sector for both the prosecution and defense, but that the front line remained unchanged.” Matthew Brady, however, was not so impressed and had decided to have Mrs. Whitehurst as well as Virginia Warren brought before the Grand Jury. Still, he and his fellow prosecutors were troubled by such press. [To be continued . . .]

Mrs. Whitehurst’s 1923 passport photograph (Ancestry.com)

[1] Ibid., “Mrs. Helen Adeline Whitehurst,” 2521–85.

[2] “Friend of Rappe Girl Tells of Illness,” San Francisco Call, April 3,1922.

[3] Marjorie C. Driscoll, “Virginia Rappe Often Ill, New Witness Says,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 4, 1922

[4] Oscar F. Fernbach, “Woman Aids Defense in Fatty’s Trial,” San Francisco Examiner, April 4, 1922.

Janitor Jesse Norgaard

June 26, 2026June 26, 2026 / The Authors / 6 Comments

The following extract from the work-in-progress is a narrative of the prosecution witness Jesse J. Norgaard third trial testimony. And for the third time, Norgaard told how Roscoe Arbuckle allegedly tried to bribe him for the keys to Virginia Rappe’s dressing room in August 1919. Norgaard was then the night janitor at Henry Lehrman’s studio in Culver City—and a resident of the Old Soldiers’ Home in nearby Sawtelle, between Los Angeles and Santa Monica.

Norgaard served an important purpose as a People’s witness. The prosecutors believed him and believed that Arbuckle’s desire for the keys—to play a joke on Rappe—was simply a ruse for his desire to get her alone. The bribe revealed that the comedian had been obsessed with her and that obsession led to the sexual assault in room 1219 of the St. Francis Hotel during the course of a Labor Day party.

At the first trial, Arbuckle’s lead counsel, Gavin McNab, elected not to cross-examine Norgaard. This imparted to the jury that Norgaard was not to be taken seriously—and also that not enough was known about him. He was taken half-seriously at the second trial, however. Arbuckle’s personal lawyer, Milton Cohen—who also represented Lehrman and Rappe prior to her death—enlisted Albert Barnes, Lehrman’s former secretary at Culver City, as a rebuttal witness.

Barnes testified that he was in charge of a studio’s key rack, which was in his office. Hence, Norgaard would not have possessed a key to Miss Rappe’s dressing room. From that, the jury could infer that Norgaard was simply a prosecution plant and his story invented to convict Arbuckle. But that jury had almost convicted the comedian 10–2.

Norgaard was taken very seriously for the third trial. Cohen had a good detective working for him, John A. Rose. He was likely responsible for the good “opposition research” to offset Norgaard with some adroit character assassination—not unlike employed on Virginia Rappe herself at the same trial.

I have done some research of my own on Norgaard, a ne’re-do-well Danish immigrant whose military career was spent as a laborer rather than a pony soldier or infantryman, whose military career began with the construction and expansion of Ft. Meade in South Dakota. He was always a soldier in good standing—and that was good enough for Arbuckle’s prosecutors. That said, we have to realize that Arbuckle was a studio prankster. Indeed, in Joan Myers interview with Frank Thompson of The Commentary Track, she speculates that what happened to Rappe in room 1219 was an Arbuckle prank gone wrong. I can see that. But there is a darker way to see a misadventure of another kind. Ms. Myers almost “goes there.”

Mess Hall employees at the Soldiers Home, 1920s.

For more about Norgaard, see this earlier post.

Pvt. Norgaard, ret.

On March 17, when the third trial jury had been sworn in, Gavin McNab told reporters how pleased he was. As an aside, he told them that a certain “Jesse Norgaard,” believed to be the same Jesse Norgaard who accused Arbuckle of trying to bribe him for the key to Virginia Rappe’s dressing room in August 1919, had just been taken into custody at the Old Soldiers Home at Sawtelle. According to McNab, a year earlier, Norgaard escaped from a chain gang in San Diego after being convicted of selling liquor to a soldier. Anyone paying attention to McNab’s line of questions to prospective jurors knew that the defense had something on the “war hero” of the second trial. Matthew Brady, however, seemed surprised by this development and, after wiring the Chief of Police of San Diego, Norgaard was “paroled.” That said, Milton U’Ren and Leo Friedman came prepared to meet this bald attempt to assassinate the character of their witness, a lowly janitor and war veteran. They intended to let him explain himself.

U’Ren’s direct examination was succinct. Once more he had Norgaard describe how he wandered into Arbuckle’s office on his side of Lehrman’s Culver City plant, ostensibly to fetch a hat he had left on the hatrack. Then Arbuckle proffered a roll of “20’s and a 10” at Norgaard and asked for the key to Miss Rappe’s dressing room to play a joke on her.

Meanwhile, McNab voiced the same objection to Norgaard’s story as in previous trials, that it was too “remote in time,” which would sound rather hollow given where he was ultimately going. And even though this objection had always been overruled—and it was now—it still influenced jurors who saw the comedian simply being “Fatty,” indulging some harmless fun with a fellow actor that had nothing to do with the Labor Day party.

For McNab’s part, he had no intention of playing with Norgaard. This would not be the same perfunctory cross-examination of previous trials. McNab intended to draw blood—not from just form Norgaard per se, but to further discredit the prosecution for having put a plant on the stand in a weak attempt to prove that Arbuckle had prior intent. And so McNab had Norgaard admit that Virginia Rappe’s dressing room adjoined others and that there were always actors and actresses present—and no one worked under the glass ceiling at night. This way, the jurors could infer that even if Arbuckle had really wanted that key, this so-called joke was hardly personal and hardly an attempt to “get” her alone.

McNab, however, did not score the desired point when he tried to revive the rebuttal testimony of Albert Barnes and the key rack he claimed to have in his office. Norgaard remained adamant that he possessed one key to Miss Rappe’s dressing room, she the other, and never saw such a key rack in Barnes’ office.

Suspecting that Norgaard had been too well coached, McNab probed for the name that he already knew was U’Ren. “When you came here to give your testimony,” he asked, “with which of the district attorneys did you discuss your testimony?” But Norgaard did not take the bait. “I didn’t have no conversations with nobody,” he answered. “He put me on the stand, just to tell what I know.”

McNab moved on. Norgaard admitted that he was not always a resident of the Old Soldiers’ Home, he had “been out on a furlough a good deal.” Then came the question seemingly intended to expose the reason why Norgaard would be cooperating with the prosecution. “Were you on furlough on the 5^th day of December, 1918?” McNab inquired—and was met with objections from both U’Ren and Leo Friedman that such a question was improper for cross-examination.

“I have a right to test his memory under the law,” McNab protested—and reframed the question. “What was your occupation on the 5^th day of December, 1918?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Norgaard replied. But the court allowed for McNab to continue his test after he “fixed the town” for the witness: San Diego.

Norgaard would only say that he had been working at Camp Kearney in 1918. “I don’t know,” he replied to December 5. So McNab cut to the quick. “To refresh your memory,” he continued, “weren’t you on that day sentenced to six months in jail?”

The question triggered U’Ren, for McNab was obviously setting the stage for impeaching the witness well outside of what he had said about Arbuckle. “I never saw such a thing in all my experience down here,” U’Ren scoffed, meaning the Hall of Justice, “and if this thing had been pulled by a man who practiced before the police court, it would be termed ‘shyster tactics,’ for counsel to ask a question of a helpless witness like this.”

Judge Louderback winced at the word “shyster” and some jurors gave U’Ren looks of disapproval. But he did not let up. “Here is a man,” U’Ren continued, “who has fought for his country, who is an inmate of a Soldiers’ Home, and who has the right to be protected by this court, as well as by all the rules of evidence, and I again invoke the power of this court for the protection of this witness.” Then he responded. He did not see McNab’s questions involving an impeachable offense—only that he wanted to bring out “something regarding the witness’s past.

“I cannot quite see how that fact is not produceable,” Judge Louderback said, “any more than the fact as to whether a person had been confined in an insane asylum is not produceable.” He alluded, of course, Kate Brennan’s testimony at the second trial. But U’Ren had the authorities and now it was Friedman’s turn. He accused McNab of “gross misconduct,” for “showing the bad faith of the mental gymnastics supplied by these people for the purpose of getting this matter before the jury by indirection.” Then, he, too, alluded to the second trial, when the court ruled against for the defense, preventing him from reading “in the presence of the jury certain written statements that witness had made”—meaning Alice Blake’s signed statement of September 3. Then Friedman also accused McNab of “pure shyster.”

McNab dismissed Friedman’s request that he be censured and made a stipulation. “I want to say to this court,” he declared, “that if the defense produces any jail-bird testimony before this jury at any time, we will not object to any evidence being shown that he was because—”

“We will accept that stipulation,” U’Ren interrupted, half-serious, half-facetious. And then he realized that McNab very likely had a “friend in court.”

“I think there is no doubt,” said Judge Louderback, “you can go into the occupation of a person at any time in their prior life.” Then he requested the prosecution to produce their authorities but would not hold up the cross-examination. “There is this decided difference,” the judge continued, “it is always interesting for the juror, in weighting the witness’s evidence, to regard his past, but whether he is guilty of an actual felony [. . .] that is an actual impeaching question.” And so the question in question was repeated to the witness. “To refresh your memory,” the court reporter read aloud, “weren’t you on that day sentenced to six months in jail?” Norgaard said he was and was offered the chance to explain and managed to blurt out that “the Arbuckle side” had him arrested on March 16 and looked at McNab and accused him of sending “two men after me from Los Angeles, and threw me in jail in Los Angeles, and from there down to San Diego; and they had nothing against me down there.”

Norgaard had been turned “loose,” as he put it, after he telegraphed “the district attorney,” meaning Matthew Brady, who thereupon “telegraphed back to them to hold me.” McNab did not let up. Loud enough for the jury to hear, he reminded Norgaard of the “fact” that five days after being sent to jail “you broke jail, and had been an escapee ever since, until the authorities in San Diego heard of it two weeks ago?”

A. No, sir; they know where I was all the time.
Q. They did know where you were?
A. The papers wasn’t made out in San Diego at all; they was made out
in Los Angeles.

Norgaard was hardly being evasive. The authorities in San Diego had simply not charged him—or had never noticed—that the old soldier had walked away from what would now be called a “minimum security facility” on December 10, 1918.

Q. And you were paroled there, were you not, to come here and give
      your testimony?
A. I was turned loose; nothing against me.
Q. Don’t you know that you were paroled there at the request of
      the District Attorney of San Francisco so that you could come here
      and testify.
A. I don’t know anything about that.

And this is why U’Ren made the jailbird stipulation. He knew that Arbuckle’s lawyers, most of all, Milton Cohen, had Norgaard rearrested and incarcerated in San Diego. The gambit that worked both ways to their advantage. If some dated charge stuck to Norgaard, he would look bad to jurors. If Brady had any hand in his release, he, too, would look underhanded to the jury. And since McNab had accomplished his mission, he embarked on the next, dropping the proverbial “second shoe.”

Q. Did you ever live in Catalina Island?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. When?
A. Oh, I forget when that was; I worked over there
a couple of months.

Norgaard eventually mentioned “that big hotel there.” Then McNab continued to elicit what sounded like evasive answers. He just needed just one in regard to the one grade school on Catalina—and other flat denials.

Q. Well, was that all you did in Catalina Island? Nothing else?
You never acted as janitor of the Avalon School? You never
did—sure of that.
A. Yes.

U’Ren did his best to object to going so “far afield” into the Norgaard’s past. For his part, Norgaard continued to answer as if he did not know what McNab was talking about. He did not recognize the names or events that followed. Had he ever met Justice-of-the-Peace J. H. Stanford “the day you left the Island”?

A. Don’t know him.
Q. You didn’t, then, meet him in his office the day you left the Island?
A. Don’t know him.
Q. Did you ever know the daughter of John Edmundson, at Avalon,
the eight-year-old daughter?
A. I don’t know the man.
Q. Did you ever meet Mr. Burgess, the Chairman of the School
Board at Avalon?
A. Don’t know him.

Finally, McNab asked if Norgaard recalled the name of the policeman who escorted him to the boat on which he departed Catalina. Norgaard did not. Thus McNab could now call these men, perhaps even the little girl, to the stand as rebuttal witnesses for Arbuckle’s defense and handed U’Ren back the old soldier whom the jury now suspected was just a dirty old man.

During his redirect examination, Norgaard told a story that U’Ren hoped might exonerate him in the eyes of the jury and even garner sympathy. Norgaard told them he had been at Camp Kearny during the summer of 1918, “running a soft drink stand for the lady running the skating rink.” After the camp was closed for the Spanish flu epidemic in November, Norgaard worked as a hotel “vestibule man” in downtown San Diego. While there, he fell ill and bought a quart of whiskey “to break my cold up.”

One evening before supper, while in mixed company, he announced, “Well, I will go up to my room and have a drink first.” But he never got a chance to pull the cork from his medicinal whiskey.

I went into the room and got a corkscrew, and just then a soldier came in’ and I says, “you coming in kind of smooth, ain’t you? He never knocked or anything. So he said, “Any girls in this hotel?”

“Not that I know of,” Norgaard replied—and any juror save for the most prudish would know that the “soldier” saw Norgaard as the hotel pimp. Then, seeing the whiskey, the uninvited soldier complemented Norgaard on the label. What happened next to those worldly jurors, and what U’Ren counted on, should have sounded as if he had been set up. “It out to be,” Norgaard said,

“I paid $3 for it.” He took the bottle and put it in his coat; and just then somebody knocked from outdoor, and I opened the door, and here was a plain clothes man standing with badge in hand; he says, “What you doing here?” and I says, “This is my room, that’s a funny question.” He says [. . .] you got any whiskey?” I says, “No, sir.” He says, “Throw up your hands, I want to see.”

In the end, after the plainclothesman frisked Norgaard, he took his billfold, which had $182 that he never saw again. As for the soldier who followed him upstairs, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and claimed that Norgaard sold it to him for $3.00—that evidence being the money in the billfold. After being hit over the head with the bottle for asking if he could “fix the room up,” Norgaard was arrested and taken to the “M.P. station.” This, too, was a clue, for it was a common practice for the U.S. Army and Navy in San Diego to police the spread of venereal disease among the ranks as well as illicit sales of alcohol as well in dry cities and counties as Prohibition loomed. Even so, for U’Ren the strange story might not make Norgaard a hapless victim of two MPs in need of an arrest, especially the rest of it after he pleaded no contest before a San Diego Police Court judge. Well, this soldier got the whiskey,” Norgaard recalled, “and I says, ‘I suppose I’m guilty,’ so he sentenced me to six months on the City Farm [. . .] and I stayed there, I think it was five days, and walked off; that’s the last of it.” Subsequently, Norgaard wrote the Chief of Police of San Diego for his belongings, including a gold watch, a “Government bond,” his billfold, and money, only to learn by return mail that the evidence room had already given it back to someone named Norgaard and had a receipt.

McNab objected to this story as well as U’Ren trying to probe for the defense’s hand in having Norgaard arrested earlier in the month—and the court sustained those objections. The only thing left to do was have Norgaard finally tell a jury what he did while a private in the U.S. Army. “I was a soldier in 1882, in the Seventh Cavalry,” he said, “against the Indians in the Black Hills, and I was in the Philippines three years.”

After he left the stand, Judge Louderback admonished both U’Ren and Friedman “for certain things said that went into the record,” meaning “shyster” and “shystery,” which was often the only thing of note about Norgaard’s testimony reported in newspapers the next day. Nothing was printed of what Friedman said, surely in response to the obdurate judge’s show of bias. Rather than let the court adjourn, Friedman quoted from one case law after another, stressing that even if Norgaard had been a woman, a prostitute who had been raped in a hotel, he could not be asked the questions that McNab posed regarding his occupation. Such questions, even if for “enlightening the jury, constitute nothing else by an inquiry into the man’s past life or woman’s past life, for the purpose of impeaching that witness.”

Nevertheless, an eight-year-old girl, now ten, made a new problem for the prosecution’s “Indian fighter” pitted against the best lawyer money could buy. So Friedman convinced the court to hear his argument to have McNab’s artful cross-examination of Jesse Norgaard struck from the record.

The Talented Mr. Fishback

March 17, 2026 / The Authors / Leave a comment

The comedy director Fred Fishback and his extended second-trial testimony occupied most of last week. His role in Roscoe Arbuckle’s Labor Day party has been discussed here in an earlier blog entry, about his carrying the water for the comedian—or rather Virginia Rappe to bathtub filled with cold water to revive her after she went into shock after suffering a ruptured bladder.

What Arbuckle’s lawyers and prosecutors avoided was adding any unnecessary contest to Fishback’s presence in San Francisco. Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman cross-examined Fishback closely on how he could, between 1:45 and 2:00 p.m. on Monday, September 5, 1921, leave the twelfth floor of the St. Francis Hotel and

(a) borrow Arbuckle’s car and chauffeur;

(b) pick up three friends in front of the hotel;

(d) view a retinue of trained seals for possible use in Century Studios comedies featuring the child actress Baby Peggy;

(e) drive back to the St. Francis Hotel;

(f) meet his friend Mrs. Mae Taube in the hotel restaurant (most likely the one suitable for female clientele, the Fable Room);

(g) pay for her late lunch;

(h) stop off on the third floor and look in on the Far Western Travelers Club; and

(i) return to room 1220 and, presumably, inform Arbuckle that he now had his car and chauffeur back.

Just how he did all this in about an hour would suggest Patricia Highsmith’s resoureful Ripley. So, Friedman grilled Fishback about how much time he had spent driving back from the Beach to the hotel and get back upstairs to the twelfth floor within minutes of Arbuckle having opened the door to room 1219 on a fatally injured Miss Rappe—all this before the hotel assistant manager Harry Boyle entered the Arbuckle suite just before 3:30 p.m. For his part, and this is where he is talented too, Fishback alluded every question with a question, as well as everything from being obtuse to mendacious. Jurors would never know for sure when he entered 1219, performed his various ministrations on Rappe, and left to go back downstairs to play cards in the Far Western Club. He had surely been coached not to provide any timeframe that might jeopardize Arbuckle’s testimony, to wit, that he had entered room 1219 at 3:00 p.m. sharp to dress in his street clothes and take Mrs. Taube for a drive in his car, an appointment that had no fixed time.

Most of the “time blindness” in the Arbuckle case will remain as much a black hole as it was for the prosecution and anyone writing an honest book. But most assuredly, a lot of it was not one big coverup but several coverups in the service of self-preservation. And these add up to how long Virginia Rappe was allowed to suffer in room 1219.

That Fishback had known Rappe for as long as she had been in motion pictures and once worked for her putative boyfriend and his mentor, Henry Lehrman, and would seemingly care for her welfare, also became one of the fixed ideas for Leo Friedman. In an unsigned statement that Fishback made to the District Attorney’s office on September 21, 1921, during the preliminary investigation, he said that she was in “agony.” During his cross-examinations, however, and despite being read what he said, Fishback refused to use that word or admit that she was suffering visceral pain. He kept insisting that she was simply intoxicated. He also refused to say that Arbuckle shouted at her to be quiet.

* * *

Although Fred Fishback is not shown in this image of a lean “Fatty” Arbuckle following his courthouse marriage to the young actress Doris Deane on May 16, 1925. Fishback, according to Deane, saw her boarding the S.S. Harvard the day after the Labor Day party. He pointed her out to Arbuckle, who was smitten and invited her and her mother to his cabin and later his table in the ship’s dining room (which is discussed in another earlier blog entry). Was this what Fishback meant as being in San Francisco on “business” rather than pleasure? Did he really come along for the ride to do some seal watching, which proved to be a disappointment? He called all the girls who came to the party, including Virginia Rappe. In the case of Deane and Arbuckle, however, Fishback exercised his matchmaking talent, so it would seem. Unfortunately, he did not live to see the nuptials, having passed away in January 1925 from a form of throat cancer not unlike the kind that Michael Douglas survived.

*Roscoe Arbuckle, Doris Deane, and their attorney, May 16, 1925 (Private collection)*

“An entirely collateral and stupid matter”: Arbuckle’s pongee PJs.

February 12, 2026February 12, 2026 / The Authors / 1 Comment

In defending the indefensible, so to speak, a plausible explanation had to be invented for Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s wearing silk pajamas and a purple bathrobe as he greeted female guests in his suite at the St. Francis Hotel on Labor Day 1921. After all, two assistant district attorneys, in their closing arguments for convicting Arbuckle of manslaughter in the death of Virginia Rappe, had made a special point of making the comedian out to be so debauched, so louche, in still wearing his pajamas after emerging from room 1219 with the fatally injured actress lying on a bed saturated with his perspiration. And for those with less than a longer memory, the journalist Adela Rogers St. John in “Love Confession of a Fat Man,” a feature interview published in the September 1921 issue of Photoplay, devoted some ink to the same or similar pajamas that Arbuckle wore in her presence at the same time of day.

We were lunching together in his bedroom. I shall never be able to estimate just what percentage of effect they had on me—those pongee pajamas. Of course, I had seen men in pajamas before. If you read the ads in the magazines you can’t help but see men in and out of most anything. But I’d never interviewed in them before. And I love pongee pajamas. I suppose it is only fair to my husband to state that the bedroom was a set—on stage three, at the Lasky studio. That the pajamas and the dressing gown and even the bath slippers were only his costume for a scene and that we were almost aggressively chaperoned by seventeen stage carpenters, thirteen electricians, a few stray cameramen, and a troop of studio cats. And Oscar. The colored gentleman that “tends to” Mr. Arbuckle.

Nevertheless, those pongee pajamas were exceedingly—intrigante, if you understand French. That is to say, one really can’t talk to a man in his pajamas without feeling more or less—well, sympathetic and well-acquainted, so I may have taken too lenient a view of his view for a confessor.[1]

The interview is strange in that Arbuckle is not single but rather married. And the interview is conducted in a bedroom. That is even stranger, for it required that Mrs. St. John make up an excuse for the pajamas by saying that the comedian had just been working in front of the camera, which, of course, invites the question: Did Arbuckle’s contract provide for a bedroom rather than a dressing room attached to the set? In any event, he did wear such a costume in Leap Year, the last Arbuckle vehicle to be filmed in the late summer of 1921. He would not make another comedy until a decade later.

That said, the same excuse could not be made for the Labor Day debauch. It took another motion picture magazine piece to explain away the pajamas and bathrobe, this time attributed to the wife who goes unmentioned in the love confessions, Minta Durfee, assisted by Paramount’s publicity department and Arbuckle’s lawyers.

“Not long before the trip to San Francisco, Mr. Arbuckle was accidentally burned with muriatic acid,” Minta disclosed in Movie Weekly in late December 1921, three weeks after the end of the first trial and as many weeks before the start of the second.[2] The injury required that Arbuckle wear thick cotton dressing, which naturally, conflicted with his vanity.

He always had his clothing made rather tightly fitting in order to keep him from looking any fatter than he is, and tight clothing over the burn was anything but comfortable. Whenever he could, he wore loose clothing, and that was why he was dressed in pajamas on the day of the party.[3]

This excuse, or rather alibi, was then put to good use at the second trial. During the cross-examination of two prosecution witnesses, Zey Prevost and Alice Blake, Arbuckle’s chief counsel Gavin McNab made a special point of asking each one if Arbuckle had asked them if he did not request their pardon for being dressed the way he was during the early afternoon of September 5.

Q. Miss Blake, did Mr. Arbuckle make any explanation to you about his reason for receiving young ladies in his room in his dressing gown and pajamas? A. Why, I believe he did mention it, he said something about a burn or something.

Q. What? A. He said something about a burn.

Q. Did he apologize to all of you young ladies and say that the reason that he had to receive you in that way was that he had had a serious accident. A. Yes, sir.

Q. And that he could not be comfortable otherwise than this gown? A. Yes, sir.[4]

Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman objected on the ground that “this is a collateral matter” and hearsay—and he likely knew better. And there would be no doubt after the long and contentious testimony of Zey Prevost, whose memory failed to the point at which the prosecution wanted to the court to declare her a hostile witness. As Friedman’s colleague, Milton U’Ren pointed out, “She had been under other influences since the last trial.”[5]

When it was Zey’s turn to vouch for Arbuckle’s excuse, Friedman objected once more “on the right of counsel to broach brand new matters in a leading and suggestive manner.”[6] And argument took place over several pages before Zey could answer as desired that Arbuckle made apologies, “that he was sitting in some acid, or something, in a machine [i.e., an automobile], and burned himself, and that he was more comfortable in his pajamas and bathrobe, than he was in his clothes.”[7] What followed, however, was another line of questions that is why we want to close read what Friedman called “a hullaballoo over nothing.”

Q. Miss Prevost, you have had no conversations with counsel for the defense since the district attorney first saw you in the other case, or with any of the defense counsel up to this time, have you? A. No, sir.

[. . .]

Q. You are not under the influence or duress of anybody? A. No, sir.[8]

Of course, while the prosecution could no longer keep Misses Blake and Prevost incommunicado as they had done before the first trial—because they could not be trusted—they had surely been tailed by police detectives and that both women had made contact with Arbuckle’s lawyers and knew what to say so as not to perjure themselves and to no longer be effective witnesses for the prosecution of the comedian.

[1] Adela Rogers St. John, “Love Confessions of a Fat Man,” Photo Play, September 1921, 22.

[2] The excuse seemed to resonate with another—and quite plausible one—for the carbuncle he suffered for months in 1916–’17. Rather than having it treated, he let if fester and relied on morphine injections—and very likely heroin—to dull the pain. The comedian was negotiating and ultimately signing a contract with Paramount Pictures and he could ill afford to be hors de combat—out of action. By the time he arrived in New Yor City in March 1917 for a series of dinners marking his million-dollar deal with Paramount, Arbuckle was on crutches and could barely walk without assistance.

[3] Minta Durfee, “The True Story about My Husband,” Movie Weekly, December 24, 1921.

[4] People vs. Arbuckle, Second Trial, “Testimony of Alice Blake,” p. 882.

[5] Ibid., “Testimony of Zey Prevost, p. 1023.

[6] Ibid., p. 1032.

[7] Ibid., p. 1036.

[8] Ibid., pp. 1036, 1037.

*Roscoe Arbuckle in bathrobe flanked by Mary Thurman (l) and Harriet Hammond (r) in a publicity still for* Leap Year *(1921)*

A Projectile Revelation in Arbuckle’s First Trial Testimony

January 17, 2025January 17, 2025 / The Authors / Leave a comment

I shouldn’t be so glib with the double entendre, but that is often the best way to think about disturbing things. The critical difference between the transcript of Roscoe Arbuckle’s first trial testimony published in newspapers in late November 1921 and the real thing is vomit. According to Arbuckle, he found Virginia Rappe in bathroom of room 1219 lying on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. She had already vomited and had not missed the bowl. Then the comedian assisted her in another bout. So that she didn’t miss the bowl, he lifted her up by the waist. Then, from behind her, with one hand still around the waist and the other pulling back Rappe’s hair back and head to keep it centered over the toilet bowl, he let her finish.*

The defense’s contention, based on their medical experts, was that Rappe had suffered a spontaneous rupture of her bladder due to any number of causes separate from any sexual assault on the part of Arbuckle. Yet, in one of the penultimate moments in his first trial, they allowed him to posit himself in such a way that one could see that he had caused the fatal injury while being such a Good Samaritan. But the prosecutor didn’t go there. Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman took as much interest in Rappe’s copious vomit and its odor as I have in writing my book.

He questioned Arbuckle at length, who repeated what he said during his direct examination. Arbuckle had given Rappe two glasses of water and helped her to the smaller of two beds in the hotel room. Then he returned to the bathroom to do his business. He flushed his—and Rappe’s—away.

When he exited the bathroom, he found Rappe on the floor between the two beds in room 1219. He lifted her up and put her on the larger bed, whereupon she vomited again on the pillow and down the side of the mattress.

The vomit testimony wasn’t published in newspapers as a matter of taste. Indeed, not one reporter mentioned how “wet” the cross-examination was, not even euphemistically. No one knew that Friedman never let go of the subject.†

Nevertheless, dispensing with any squeamishness on the part of the jury, Friedman kept asking about whether the vomit had spattered the tile floors, had it gotten on Rappe’s clothes, Arbuckle’s, the odor, the stains, and so on. They had to have disappeared by the time the Labor Day party guests entered the comedian’s bedroom to help the fatally injured Rappe. And not one of them mentioned the presence of vomit or its distinctive smell, which can induce one to vomit sympathetically.

There was, in a manner of speaking, nothing for the school janitor to mop despite the puke buckets Arbuckle’s lawyers coached their client through.

Friedman, while diligent on the above, danced around the major theme of Arbuckle’s testimony to disassociate himself from Virginia Rappe: taking Mrs. Mae Taube for a drive. As you can see, my Juror Number 0, whose inquisitiveness informs some of my PDF notes, finally asks the really big question that was never asked at the Arbuckle trials.

Juror Number 0’s rather run-on question betrays some personal knowledge about this blog entry, “The woman in the window.”

*What Arbuckle says here fits the hypothesis that his testimony had a scaffold based in reality on which to project his testimony. This is discussed in the book. But for rarified minds, it’s not hard to imagine.

†Rappe also frothed at the mouth and Friedman made Arbuckle demonstrate for the jurors. He did.

Core samples of 10,000+ pages: Dr. Shiels

November 4, 2024 / The Authors / Leave a comment

In a few weeks, we plan to spend five days visit the San Francisco Public Library to conduct our first on-site inspection of the transcripts for the three Arbuckle trials as reported in our blog entry of September 17. Since that posting, we have made further “core samples” using the testimony of Dr. George Franklin Shiels. He was a lecturer in medical jurisprudence and advised physicians on how to conduct themselves as medical experts on the stand as well as expect a fee commensurate with what they charged their patients. Dr. Shiels also lectured on the surgery of combat wounds based on his experience in the Spanish–American and Philippine–American wars—and he was hardly limited by these specializations.

*Volume 2 of the second Arbuckle trial testimony* (San Francisco Public Library)

During the early 1900s, general surgeons like Shiels could call themselves gynecologists, as he did, without a specific degree. He also felt he could speak as a urologist and a pathologist. He was a consulting alienist (i.e., psychologist) at the 1907 trial of Harry K. Thaw for the murder of the famous New York City architect Stanford White (reenacted in the film Ragtime with Norman Mailer, in a cameo performance, taking the bullet atop Madison Square Gardens in 1906). As such, Shiels saved Thaw from the electric chair by overcoming Thaw family’s reluctance to go along with the insanity plea by calling White’s murder a case of dementia Americana.

Dr. Shiels’ testimony at the three Arbuckle trials for the defense was considered persuasive by the press if not the jurors. He came up with the “toy balloon” hypothesis to explain away the fragility of Virginia Rappe’s bladder, such that a cough, a sneeze, and the like might cause it to “pop”—as he put it—spontaneously.

What we wanted to see was the difference between the reportage in 1921 and ’22 and the testimony. The former suggested that Dr. Shiels cited medical journals and textbooks to validate this hypothesis. To our surprise, however, neither was he prepared to cite the literature, nor was he up to speed on relevant testimony. He relied on his eminence and was caught on his cursory knowledge of Rappe’s mild cystitis at the second trial. At the third, he described the symptoms that she suffered in room 1219 not unlike Bladder Pain Syndrome (PBS) today and so mischaracterized a woman going into shock from a dire internal injury.

The testimony also revealed something else that reporters didn’t report, given the sensibilities of their readers a century ago. Dr. Shiels made special mention of Rappe possibly bearing down to urinate. Under cross-examination, Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman took great interest in the “bearing down.” But Arbuckle’s lawyer, Nat Schmulowitz, managed to interrupt this line of testimony—perhaps because it strayed too close to what the comedian was doing outside of the bathroom door when he allegedly found Rappe on floor of room 1219’s bathroom. That is, to keep the jurors from asking themselves what happened before. Was he listening to Rappe? Asking her to hurry up? Making a joke of her predicament? (You have to realize that the defense lawyers took great pains to distance their client from the victim. It’s something we think about a great day. Previous Arbuckle narratives don’t really appreciate that Rappe and Arbuckle had paired off during the Labor Day party.)

Ultimately, what we saw in Dr. Shiels’ testimony supports our contention that the prosecutors and there performance in court took second place to Arbuckle’s lawyers. Oftentimes, the prosecution’s efforts weren’t even being reported or disparaged. Friedman, however, was quite careful and nuanced as we expected him in tress-testing the assertions made by Dr. Shiels. We were only disappointed in that Friedman didn’t go harder on Shiels. Perhaps he feared embarrassing a witness who was seen as pillar of the medical community.

In one case, Dr. Shiels claimed that he had contributed to the pioneering text, Urology, the Diseases of the Urinary Tract in Men and Women (1912) by Ramon Guiteras. Shiels not only wasn’t acknowledged by Guiteras, Shiels took the stand as if he hadn’t cracked the book. “I don’t remember just what Guiteras’ classification was, but I am pretty well certain that he did not believe very much in spontaneous rupture of the bladder,” he testified on the fly. “I have had conversations with him on the subject.” In reality, the late Dr. Guiteras would have made a better expert. In regard to spontaneous rupture, he wrote on p. 20 of Urology that a “rupture of this type depends primarily on a disease of the bladder wall [. . .] especially if in such cases a great effort is made by the bladder or abdominal wall to force out the contained urine.”

*George F. Shiels and his Congressional Medal of Honor* (Wikipedia)

The pending re-revision and the Arbuckle trial transcripts

September 10, 2024 / The Authors / 1 Comment

Joan Myers, as she prepared to embark on writing her own revisionist history of the Arbuckle trials, saw that the primary sources, as of 2013, would be newspaper accounts.* At the time, searchable databases provided by the Library of Congress, Newspapers.com, the California Digital Newspaper Collection, and so on were game-changers for researchers. Nevertheless, Ms. Myers warned against relying on the reportage of the early 1920s, meaning, of course, that such accounts as they related to such a controversial event as the death of the actress Virginia Rappe were often unreliable, impossible to corroborate, and biased.

Myers knew then that to write anything further, anything revisionary, required the Arbuckle trial transcripts. These were lost or destroyed by the San Francisco County. This is certain. But one author claimed to have used these documents and his claim is suspect.

In 1976, David Yallop’s The Day the Laughter Stopped: The True Story of Fatty Arbuckle was published. He insisted that he had access to the transcripts for all three trials through the official court reporter, William A. Foster, whose name appears in the acknowledgments. Yallop, however, writes as an apologist for Roscoe Arbuckle and sees the District Attorney of San Francisco and his assistants as bent on destroying one of the world‘s most beloved silent film comedian.

Based on our research, which until recently relied on voluminous newspaper accounts, Yallop undermined his agenda for the sake of being entertaining. A case in point is his recreation of the Labor Day party in the St. Francis Hotel and an imaginary conversation between Virginia Rappe and Arbuckle in which she begs him to pay for an abortion. This is really Kenneth Anger–Coke bottle stuff. And since Yallop doesn’t couch this in any trial testimony, one would have to suspect that he also imagined what little of the examinations he does quote at any length.

Yallop also claimed that Rappe had been diagnosed with gonorrhea before her death. That factoid is something that should be in the transcripts, in the medical expert testimony. Newspaper reporters and editors were writing for the delicate sensibilities of American readers in 1921. This passage from Yallop would never happen.

At 10:30 P.M. that Friday evening [i.e., September 9, 1921], Roscoe Arbuckle sat quietly studying the script for his next picture. The doorbell rang and his butler opened the door. Two dozen reporters charged past the butler, knocking him over. They poured all over the house, taking photographs, and looking for Roscoe. Surrounding him, they began to fire questions based on the statements that had already been made in San Francisco by Maude [Delmont] and Alice [Blake].

“Who else was at this orgy you gave?”

“Did you rape her or was she agreeable?”

“How much did you pay the San Francisco police to keep it hushed up.”

“Is it true that you screwed five women during the afternoon?” (132)

This is the bricolage of a “good read” for the late twentieth century. It’s filmic. It’s noir. But there was no mob of hardboiled newspapermen. There was only one reporter and he arrived in the late afternoon. Indeed, the transcripts from the second and third trials would prove that. For some time, we had to disregard Yallop and the long shelf of Arbuckle narratives that rely on him.

The irony, of course, is that this British author, the kind American readers tend trust, really did have access to the transcripts and could have provided a provenance for them decades ago. As it appears, he only used a little of the 10,000 pages bound in brown cloth, in several volumes neatly divided into all three trials, with volumes devoted to the examination of the potential jurors. This was and is a daunting largesse of proof, of authenticity. So, what we get in The Day the Laughter Stopped are a few dialogues quoted from the first trial transcripts. A side-by-side comparison bears this out. However, the better book Yallop could have written, even for a general audience meant asking his publisher for more time, for more length. And there was his agenda, which gave us a heavily curated defensio in extremis of poor “Fatty.”

We must delay submitting our work-in-progress and revise accordingly. We must pore over the records of all three trials in the San Francisco Public Library, which quietly—but not too quietly—acquired the transcripts a year ago as a donation. We will read them without a blind eye for Arbuckle, Rappe, and others. Lastly, we can now delete a nota bene, a head note at the beginning of our trial narrative. It cautioned the reader that we had to use reportage in place of the transcripts to recreate the life of the trials. That said, we shall retain some of the editorial color of the newspapermen and -women in this form, for they are still part of the real story, which started like so in a courtroom over a century ago:

“We expect to prove on the third day of Saturday, September of the present year,” Friedman began, facing the jury, a young lady named Virginia Rappe, in the prime of womanhood, of about 24 or 25 years, left the City of Los Angeles for the City of San Francisco.” He spoke matter-of-factly for the most part, which made for poor copy. Where he dryly named Rappe’s traveling companions, “one Al Semnacher and one Maude Bambina Delmont,” Oscar Fernbach inserted some drama, “a third invisible companion, the Angel of Death.” (msp. 481)

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Arbuckle’s testimony of November 28, 1921 – Revised and Expanded

November 19, 2023November 21, 2023 / The Authors / Leave a comment

No celluloid will ever show the like of it or scenario tell the equal of it. It is Fatty’s masterpiece.

—Freda Blum

On the morning Roscoe Arbuckle was to testify, November 28, 1921, it was rumored that an unidentified attorney threatened to quit the comedian’s “million-dollar defense” team. According to the Los Angeles Express, this was Milton Cohen, angered over the lead defense attorney, Gavin McNab, mulling the idea that it might be better not to have the defendant testify. Chandler Sprague in the San Francisco Examiner reported one possible reason for McNab’s hesitation: that “certain business interests were adverse” to the comedian testifying, a veiled reference to one man, surely, Adolph Zukor, who was hardly as sanguine about Arbuckle making a comeback as his manager and chief fund raiser for his defense, Joseph Schenck, and the man assigned to watch his clients in Hollywood, Lou Anger.

There was also dissension on the prosecution’s side. Milton U’Ren, a veteran assistant district attorney, had been passed over to lead the cross-examination of Arbuckle. He was angry enough to resign from the case as well, a case that he had largely developed with the approval of District Attorney Matthew Brady. During the noon recess, U’Ren could be heard arguing with Brady in the Hall of Justice because his fellow prosecutor, Leo Friedman, had hardly made a dent in Arbuckle.

Most reporters expected the comedian to do well and eclipse anything thus far said from the witness chair. Otis M. Wiles for the Los Angeles Times used a slapstick term for the comedian’s impending appearance as a “climax stunt.” Early into his cross-examination, Arbuckle impressed most of the reporters who saw and heard him. Who they were rooting for, too, was evident in their copy. According to Bart Haley of Philadelphia’s Evening Public Ledger, Arbuckle

revealed himself in his narrative as the most piteous of fat men, the most tragically used of all good Samaritans, an amiable individual whose rooms were invaded by uninvited guests, who ate his food and borrowed his motorcar, and ran up a big bill on him and got him into a pit of trouble with the hotel management before they finally started him on the way to jail under a charge of murder.[1]

Earl Ennis of the San Francisco Bulletin seemed to applaud Arbuckle as well. But he also touched on what the monitors of the Women’s Vigilant Committee—and Zukor as well—knew would be hard to square. “There was nothing nice about Arbuckle’s story—noting elevating,” Ennis wrote, “It was a ‘booze party,’ pure and simple with jumbled elements involved—salesmen, movie stars, women, all scrambled unconventionally into an afternoon’s entertainment.”[2]

What follows is a revised version of our “provisional” transcript of Arbuckle’s testimony, which is likely the most complete version available since no state transcript has been preserved or discovered. For the most part, it is based on four San Francisco dailies—the Bulletin, Call, Chronicle, and Examiner—which employed their own stenographers.

Most of the reporters covering the trial believed that Arbuckle had secured his acquittal. As it turned out, at least two jurors were unconvinced and saw Arbuckle as an actor playing a role. Indeed, the testimony reads as if it were tailored or, to use the language of the cinema, a recut of previous testimony by other witnesses to fit the image of a gentler Good Samaritan Arbuckle that would befit the public image of “Fatty.” This includes his original statement issued on the night of September 9, 1921, the day Virginia Rappe died, and published the next day in the morning Los Angeles Times. That statement, which was vetted by Arbuckle’s original lead attorney, Frank Dominguez, only states that “After Miss Rappe had a couple of drinks she became hysterical and I called the hotel physician and the manager.” In its place, however, Arbuckle posits a much expanded series of events.

Traces of the real Virginia Rappe emerge here and there in the testimony. There was even a moment of unintended silence just before the noon recess, when Deputy Coroner Jane Walsh entered the courtroom, carrying Rappe’s bladder, preserved in a glass jar and placed on the evidence table. But in Arbuckle’s account of September 5, 1921, Rappe remains a cipher, a poseable doll even before she is found on the bathroom floor. The comedian is very careful to avoid how well he knew Rappe. They had a certain rapport. But here the comedian quite literally turns his back on her the moment she made her way to his bedroom. This way, he can assert that he was unaware that she was there when he entered to get dressed in order to go “riding” with the other woman in his story, Mae Taube.

Though Arbuckle’s testimony is ductile, that fits and twists and conforms to what really happened in room 1219, it suggests to us that the injury that was inflicted on Rappe took place in the bathroom and even has the outlines of sexual imposition. Laws had been on the books for decades in regard to the temptations of hotel and furnished room accommodations as dens of lasciviousness, fornication, and adultery. But for casual sex during a party in a smallish three-room hotel suite, the privacy for such intimacies (and immediacies) could be found in the bathrooms. If there was a sexual encounter that preceded or led to the injury, the bathroom would have provided a space with greater privacy and sound dampening, not to mention conveniently located fixtures such as a sink, a toilet, and towel rods for grab irons, as well as the hard surfaces on which to brace oneself. The brass bedsteads in room 1219, shown in E. O. Heinrich’s photographs, could also serve this purpose. But Arbuckle, much as he was proud to cross his leg, likely could do it Venus observa.

What was termed an “official transcript” lacked much of Arbuckle’s real “voice” dismissing Friedman’s skepticism and often making him Fatty’s straight man. But the seeming frustration and incompetence seen in the youngest member of the prosecution is exaggerated. Friedman’s approach likely relied on the jury’s perception of subtleties in Arbuckle’s testimony that reveal it to be rehearsed, coached, and a piece of fiction. We also see places where Friedman should have probed more deeply, such as Arbuckle’s making his friend and roommate at the St. Francis Hotel, the comedy director Fred Fishback, a patsy for the liquor and inviting Rappe at the behest of his friend, Ira Fortlouis, a San Francisco gown salesman, the latter being mysteriously expelled from the party at the time of Rappe’s crisis.

It was Fortlouis’s sighting of—or rather attraction to—Rappe that resulted in her invitation to Arbuckle’s suite. Did Fortlouis pay so much attention to her that Arbuckle saw a rival to his own attentions to Rappe? And why did Friedman not ask about the vomit? It seems as though Rappe vomited copiously and it’s unlikely all of it would have gone down the toilet, yet that word is absent in all the other testimonies. In the testimony of party guests Zey Prevost and Alice Blake, the back of Arbuckle’s pajamas is visibly wet. The double bed in which Rappe was wet. But nothing was asked about the source of the wetness, as though it were a taboo subject. One must wonder if there was a code among newspaper editors that prevented them from reporting specific details. (Interestingly, the prosecution’s criminologist E. O. Heinrich reported on old semen stains he found on the mattress pads and bedclothes, but these had already gone through the laundry and could have come from other guests. For this reason, Milton U’Ren elected to pursue only the fingerprint evidence and the marks left by the French heels of Maude Delmont’s kicking the door—which Arbuckle said that he didn’t hear.)

The same might be asked about the defense attorneys who failed to subpoena May Taube. She was possibly Arbuckle’s only close friend at the hotel that day. She was seen by other party guests in the early afternoon, as Arbuckle’s testimony states. But in her one statement to the District Attorney, she left because she didn’t know anyone there, which refers to the women and with the implication that they were low by her standards. Friedman does establish that Arbuckle introduced Taube to one of these women, indeed, Virginia Rappe. But that is as far as he takes it, leaving it to the jury and us to see if there was a “woman scorned.”

Taube could have easily corroborated the story Arbuckle tells in the following transcript. She would also have been a perfect character witness. Although she didn’t go “riding” with Arbuckle on Labor Day afternoon, Mrs. Taube spent the night of September 5 dancing with him in the St. Francis ballroom according to her statement to the DA. But she is never called in any of the three Arbuckle trials. That she was that untouchable suggests she held a certain leverage. (See our Taube entry for more information about her.)

_{Satirical photograph published in the Modesto Evening News, November 28, 1921 (Newspapers.com)}

[1] Bart Haley, “Fatty, Cool on the Stand, Recites New Version of Miss Rappe’s Hurt,” Evening Public Ledger, 29 November 1921, 1.

[2] Earl Ennis, “Crowded Court Listens Tensely as Actor Tells Details of Tragic Party,” San Francisco Bulletin, 28 November 1921, FS1.

Arbuckle: My name is Roscoe Arbuckle. I am a movie actor. [. . .]
McNab: Mr. Arbuckle, where were you on September 5 of this year?
A: At the St Francis Hotel.
Q: What rooms did you occupy at the St. Francis Hotel?
A. 1219, 1220 and 1221.
Q: Did you see Virginia Rappe on that day.
A: Yes, sir.
Q: At what time, and where?
A: She came into 1220 about 12 o’clock, I should judge.
Q: That is 1220, your room at the St, Francis Hotel?
A: Yes, sir.
Q. Who were there when she came?
A: Mr. Fortlouis, Mr. Sherman, Mr. Fischbach[1] and myself.
Q: Did Miss Rappe come to those rooms by your invitation?
A: No, sir.
Q: Who, if anybody, joined your party?[2]
A. A few minutes —
Q: Joined the company in your rooms?
A: A few minutes after Miss Rappe came in Mrs. Delmont came in.
Q: Dd you know Mrs. Delmont previous to that time?
A: No, sir.
Q: Was Mrs. Delmont there by your invitation?
A: No.
Q: Who else came in, if anybody?
A: Miss Blake came in.
Q: Did Miss Blake come there by your invitation?
A: No, sir.
Q: Anybody else come?
A: Yes, Miss Prevost came later.
Q: Did Miss Prevost come by your invitation?
A: No, sir.
Q: Anybody else come?
A: Mr. Semnacher came in.
Q: Did Mr. Semnacher come by your invitation?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did anybody else come?
A: Yes, sir, Mrs. Taube and another lady.[3]
Q: Did Mrs. Taube come by your invitation?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: How were you dressed on that occasion?
A: I was dressed in pajamas and bathrobe and slippers.
Q: I will ask you if this is the bathrobe that you wore on that occasion (showing bathrobe to witness).
A: Yes, sir, my robe, yes, sir.
Q: I will ask the ladies and gentlemen of the jury to look at this; this has been much commented on in evidence.
Q: Did you at any time during that day see Miss Virginia Rappe in room 1219?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: About what time.
A: Around 3 o’clock.
Q: How do you know it was about 3 o’clock?
A: I looked at the clock; I was going out.
Q: And what fixes—what caused you to look at the clock at that time?
A: I had an engagement with Mrs. Taube, and she came up about 1:30, but I had loaned Mr. Fischbach my car and she said she would wait downstairs until he came back; and he said he was going to the beach and he would come back just as soon as he could, so I figured it was about time for him to come back, so I looked—
Mr. Friedman: Just a moment. We ask that everything after the words “I figured” be stricken out as a conclusion of the witness.
The Court: It goes out.[4]
Mr. McNab: Where, if any place, previous to seeing Miss Rappe in 1219, where last before had you seen her?
Arbuckle: In 1220; I saw her go into 1221.
Q: And when you entered—at what time did you enter 1219?
A: Just about 3 o’clock.
Q: At the time you entered 1219 was or not the door between 1219 and 1220 opened?
A: Yes, sir, it was open.
Q: Did you know at the time you entered 1219 that Miss Rappe was there?
Mr. Friedman: Now, that is objected to as calling for the conclusion of the witness, and as leading and suggestive. And upon the ground that the question has already been asked and answered.
Mr. McNab: I have not asked that, and the question is not leading.
The Court: Objection sustained.
Mr. McNab: Did your honor sustain the objection?
The Court: Sustained the objection.
Mr. McNab: At the time you entered 1219, I understand the door between 1219 and 1220 you state was open?
Arbuckle: Yes, sir.
Q: And where in 1219 did you see Miss Rappe?
A: I did not see her in 1219.
Q: Where did you see her?
A: I found her in the bathroom.
Q: Of what room?
A: Of 1219.
Q: And under what circumstances did you find her in the bathroom?
A: When I walked into 1219, I closed and locked the door, and went straight to the bathroom and found Miss Rappe on the floor holding her stomach and moving around on the floor. She had been vomiting [ill].[5]
Q: What did you do? Explain to the jury all the circumstances which occurred in the bathroom of 1219.
A: When I opened the door the door struck her, and I had to slide in this way (illustrating) to get in, to get by her and get hold of her. Then I closed the door and picked her up. When I picked her up, [I held her, and she was ill again]; I held her under the waist, like that (indicating), and by the forehead, to keep her hair back off her face.
Q: Then what else occurred? Give the jury all the circumstances occurring in the bathroom of 1219.
A: I took a towel and wiped her face, she was still sitting there holding her stomach, evidently in pain, and she asked for a drink of water.
Mr. Friedman: We ask that the words “evidently in pain” be stricken out.
Mr. McNab: It may go out.
Q: She asked for a drink of water, and I gave it to her, and she drank a glass of water, and she asked for another glass, and I gave it to her, and she drank another half a glass of water.
Q: What else happened?
A: I asked her if I could do anything for her. She said no, she would just like to lie down; so I lifted her into 1219 and sat her down on the small bed and she sat on the bed with her head toward the foot of the bed.
Q: What else did you do, if anything?
A: She just expressed a wish that she wanted to lie down; that she had these spells; that she wanted to lie down a while. I lifted her feet off the floor and put them on the bed; she was lying this way, with her feet off the bed, and I went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Q: What else happened when you left, the bathroom and returned to 1219, if anything?
A: I came back into 1219 in about—well, I was in there about two or three minutes, and I found Miss Rappe between the beds, rolling about on the floor, holding her stomach and crying and moaning, and I tried to pick her up, and I couldn’t get hold of her; I couldn’t get alongside of her to pick her up, so I pulled her up into a sitting position, then lifted her on to the large bed and stretched her out on the bed. She turned over on her left side (Arbuckle said Miss Rappe was taken ill again) and started to groan and I immediately went out of 1219 to find Mrs. Delmont.
Q: Whom did you find in 1220 when you went there?
A: Miss Prevost.
Q: Did you advise Miss Prevost of the condition of Miss Rappe?
A: Yes, I just said “Miss Rappe is sick.”
Q: Did Miss Prevost go into 1219 at that time?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What else happened?
A: Just a few minutes after Mrs. Delmont came—not a few minutes, just may be a few seconds—Mrs. Delmont came out of 1221 and I told her and she went into 1219 and I followed behind her.
Q: What happened in 1219 then?
A: Miss Rappe was sitting up on the edge of the large bed, tearing her clothes in this fashion (illustrating), tearing and frothing at the mouth, like in a terrible temper, or something—
Mr. Friedman: We ask, of course, that the words “like in a terrible temper” be stricken out as a conclusion of the witness.
Mr. McNab: That may go out.
The Court: It goes out.
Mr. McNab: What else? Give the. jury a narrative of what occurred at that time in 1219.
Arbuckle: I say, she was sitting on the bed, tearing her clothes; she pulled her dress up, tore her stockings; she had a black lace garter, and she tore the lace off the garter. And Mr. Fischbach came in about that time and asked the girls to stop her tearing her clothes. And I went over to her, and she was tearing on the sleeve of her dress, and she one bad sleeve just hanging by a few shreds. I don’t know which one it was, and I says “All right, if you want that off I will take it off for you.” And I pulled it off for her; then I went out of the room.
Q: Did you return to the room later?
A: Yes, sir, some time later.
Q: What was occurring in the room at that time, when you returned?
A: Miss Rappe was then on the little bed nude.
Q: What occurred?
A: I went in there and Mrs. Delmont was rubbing her with some ice. She had a lot of ice in a towel or napkin, or something, and had it on the back of her neck, and she had another piece in her hand and was rubbing Miss Rappe with it. massaging her, and there was a piece of ice lying on Miss Rappe’s body. I picked it up and said, “What is this doing here?” She says, “Leave it here; I know how to take care of Virginia,” and I put it back on Miss Rappe when I picked it up and I started to cover Miss Rappe up, to pull the spread down from underneath her so I could cover her with it, and Mrs. Delmont told me to get out of the room and leave her alone, and I told Mrs. Delmont to shut up or I would throw her out of the window, and I went out of the room.
Q: What else occurred? Tell the jury what did you do? Anything further?
A: I went out of the room, and Mrs. Taube came in and I asked Mrs. Taube if she would phone Mr. Boyle, and we went into 1221, and Mrs. Taube picked up the phone and phoned Mr. Boyle and asked him to come up to the room and get a room for Miss Rappe.
Q: What occurred after that?
A. I went back into 1219 and told Mrs. Delmont to get dressed, that the manager was coming up, and she went out to get dressed, and she pulled the spread down underneath—from underneath Miss Rappe, down below, underneath her feet, and put it up over her, and went back into 1221.
Q: What further happened?
A: Mr. Boyle came in; he came to the door of 1221.
Q: What occurred thereafter?
A: I took him in to where Miss Rappe was lying in 1219.
Q: And what was done then?
A: Mrs. Delmont came in and we put a bathrobe on Miss Rappe, Mrs. Delmont and myself.[6]
Q: Where did you get the bathrobe?
A: Out of the closet; it was Mr. Fischbach’s robe.
Q: And what then was done?
A: We took her around through the hall into 1227.
Q: How did you get out of 1219?
A: Took her out of the door leading into the hall.
Q: Who opened the door?
A: Mr. Boyle.
Q: How did you get Miss Rappe around to 1227?
A: I carried her part of the way. She was limp and did not have any life in her body. She kept slipping, and I got about three-quarters of the way and I asked Mr. Boyle—I did not ask him to take her, I asked him to boost her up in the middle so I could get another hold of her, and he just took her right out of my arms and we went into 1227.
Q: Then what occurred in room 1227, if you know?
A: We put her to bed and covered her up, and I asked Mr. Boyle if he would get a doctor; and I walked back to the elevator with him and then I walked on into the room, into 1219.
Q: Was the door between 1219 and the hall unlocked throughout the day?
A: lt was, so far as I know. Mr. Fischbach went out that way.
Q: You saw him go out.
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And when you took Miss Rappe out, the door was open from the bedroom of 1219, was it?
Mr. Friedman: We object to the question as leading.
Mr. McNab: Well I withdraw it. How was the door open from 1219 into the hall?
Arbuckle: Mr. Boyle just walked over and opened it.
Q: Was or was not the window of room 1219 open that day?
A: lt was always open.
Friedman: Just a moment. We ask that the answer “always open” be stricken out.
Court: It goes out.
Arbuckle: lt was open.
McNab: How was the curtain of the window in room 1219?
Arbuckle: I raised the curtain myself in the morning when I arose.
Q: During the time that you were in room 1219, did you ever hear Miss Rappe say, “You hurt me” or “He hurt me”?
A: No, sir. I didn’t hear her say anything that could be understood.[7]
Q: Next day. September 6, or any other time, did you ever have any conversation at all with Mr. Semnacher about any incidents whatever regarding ice on Miss Rappe’s body?
A: Absolutely not.
Q: Did you ever—did you ever at any time, while in room 1219 of the St Francis Hotel, on September 5, 1921, have occasion to place the bottom of your hand over the hand of Miss Rappe, while her hand was resting against the door into the corridor, or did you do so?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you at any time, while you were in room 1219 of the St. Francis Hotel, on September 5, 1921, come into contact in any way with the door leading into the corridor?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you ever know a man by the name of Jesse Norgaard?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you, during the month of August 1919, or at any other time, in Culver City, or at any other place, have the following conversation with Jesse Norgaard: You are supposed to have said to Mr. Norgaard, “Have you the key for Miss Rappe’s room?” and he is supposed to say. “Yes,” and then you are supposed to have said, “Let me have it; I want to play a joke on her.” And then Mr. Norgaard is supposed to have said, “No, sir, you cannot have it.” Then you are supposed to have said, “I will trade you this for the key,” and then you had a bunch of bills in your hand, supposed to have had a bunch of bills in your hand, consisting of two 20s and one 10 and other bills, too. Now, I will ask you if such a conversation, or any conversation like it, happened at the time and place between yourself and Mr. Norgaard?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did any such conversation occur between Mr. Norgaard and yourself, regardless of time and place?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did such a conversation, or anything like it, occur between yours self and any other person at any other time?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did any other circumstance occur in room 1219, of any kind, that you can tell this jury?
A: No, sir.
Q: You have narrated all the circumstances that occurred?
A: Absolutely all of the them.
Mr. McNab: That is all. Cross-examine the witness.
(Twenty-minute recess)
CROSS-EXAMINATION
Mr. Friedman: Now, you stated that you were residing at the St. Francis Hotel on the fifth of September, is that correct?
Arbuckle: Yes, sir.
Q: How many rooms did you have there?
A: Three rooms.
Q: Three, rooms?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And which of those rooms did you occupy?
A: I slept in the small bed in room 1219.
Q: And did anyone else occupy the room
A: Mr. Fischbach—we were there three nights. He occupied the room with me the first two nights.
Q: And the third night he didn’t occupy the room with you, is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, you stated that you never saw Mr. Norgaard at Culver City during August of 1919, or at any other time, is that correct?
A: I stated that I never had any conversation with Mr. Norgaard.
Q: Well, did you see him during the year 1919?
A: I cannot remember him.
Q: Now, where were you employed during August of 1919?
A: I had my own company.
Q: You had your own company, yes, but where?
A: At Culver City.
Q: At Culver City?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you had a studio there?
A: No, sir.
Q: Were you using a studio?
A: I was renting a studio there.
Q: And from whom were yon renting the studio, if from anyone?
A: I had to work there, because I had to help finish paying for the studio, and that was the only way.
Q: You had to work where?
A: At Mr. Lehrman’s studio.
Q: Yes. then, during August of 1919, you did occupy the study in conjunction with Mr. Henry Lehrman?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you do not recall whether you saw Mr. Norgaard there or not?
A: I do not remember.
Q: Do you recall of ever seeing Miss Rappe there?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, what time did Miss Rappe enter your room on the 5th of September?
A: About 12 o’clock, as near as I could judge.
Q: Twelve noon?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And there was no other lady in the room when she entered?
A: No, sir.
Q: And how long was she there before anyone else arrive?
A: I couldn’t tell you; Mrs. Delmont came up a few minutes afterwards, I think.
Q: You knew Miss Rappe before the 5th of September, did you not?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: How long had you known her?
A: Um-huh, about five or six years.
Q: About five or six years?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And when you say that—withdraw that. Did you know, before Miss Rappe came to your rooms on the 5th of September, did you know that she was coming there?
A: No, sir.
Q: Nobody told you that she was coming there?
A: No, sir.
Q: Mr. Fischbach didn’t say anything to you about her coming there, did he?
A: He said that he was going to phone her.
Q: Do you know whether or not he did phone her?
A: I presume he did.
Q: Do you know whether or not he did phone her?
A: I didn’t hear him phone.
Q: Did he tell you that he had phoned?
A: He said. “I am going to phone her.” He didn’t really say that to me. He said it to Mr. Fortlouis.
Q: He said that to Mr. Fortlouis in your presence?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did he say in your presence whether she was coming up or not?
A: I don’t remember.
Q: Do you recall whether or not he received any phone calls from the time he phoned Miss Rappe until Miss Rappe came up into your room?
A: I do not recall that.
Q: Then I take it that the first you knew that Miss Rappe was coming up to rooms 1219, 1220 ,and 1221 was when she knocked on the door and came into the room?
A: I just heard Mr. Fischbach say that he was going to phone, and then a short time afterwards she came in.
Q: But from the time that Mr. Fischbach said that he was going to phone nobody had told you that she was coming up to the room and you did not know it until she came into your room?
A: No, sir.
Q: Where were you when she entered the room?
A: I was in 1219.
Q: You were not in room 1220 when she entered?
A: No, sir. but I saw her come in.
Q: How long afterwards did you enter room 1220?
A: Almost immediately.
Q: Almost immediately?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And how long did you remain in room after she arrived?
A: I remained there until I went into room 1219.
Q: And how long was that?
A: Well, from the time that she came in until around 3 o’clock.
Q: You remained there about three hours then?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you were donned how when Miss Rappe entered room 1220?
A: I was clothed in this bathrobe and pajamas and slippers.
Q: What kind of pajamas were they, silk?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And slippers?
A: Yes, sir, and I had my socks on.
Q: You had your socks on?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And room 1219 was your room, wasn’t it?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, how long after Miss Rappe had entered room 1219, how long after that was it that Mrs. Delmont appeared?
A: Mrs. Delmont came in just a few minutes after Miss Rappe came in.
Q: And did you know how Mrs. Delmont happened to come to room 1220?
A: No, I do not know.
Q: You do not know?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you know Mrs. Delmont before the 5th of September?
A: No, sir.
Q: And the first that you knew that Mrs. Delmont was coming to your rooms was when she knocked on the door and entered?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Nobody ever told you that Mrs. Delmont was corning up to your rooms?
A: No, sir.
Q: You didn’t hear anyone phone downstairs for her?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you see or hear any one use a telephone in either of these three rooms at the time that Miss Rappe entered room 1220 until Mrs. Delmont entered?
A: Yes, sir, I saw Miss Rappe use the phone.
Q: Which phone did she use?
A: She used the phone in room 1220.
Q: In the same room that you were in?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: You didn’t hear what she said?
A: No, I didn’t hear what she said; I knew to whom she was talking.
Q: In that conversation did she mention the name of Mrs. Delmont?
A: No, sir; not that I recall; she talked to a lady by the name of Mrs. Spreckels.[8]
Q: Did you hear Miss Rappe mention the name of Mrs. Delmont from the time that Miss Rappe entered your room until the time that Mrs. Delmont appeared?
A: No, sir, she. never mentioned the name. She said she had a friend downstairs.
Q: Did she say who that friend was that she had downstairs?
A: No, sir.
Q: She never said that Mrs. Delmont was coming up to the room; never said that Mrs. Delmont was waiting downstairs or never said anything about Mrs. Delmont until she arrived, actually arrived in room 1220?
A: She never mentioned the name.
Q: She didn’t say that she was coming?
A: Not by name.
Q: You don’t recall that?
A: No, sir.
Q: You were in room 1220 when Mrs. Delmont arrived?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What room did she enter?
A: She came into room 1220.
Q: Came into room 1220?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you were still clothed as you have testified to?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did you ever change those clothes from the time Miss Rappe arrived until Miss Rappe went into the bath of room 1219 as you have testified to?
A: No, sir.
Q: Now, who was present when Mrs. Delmont arrived in the room?
A: Miss Rappe, Mr. Sherman, Mr. Fortlouis and myself, and Mr. Fischbach, I think. He was in and out; I do not know whether he was there or not at that time.
Q: And how long after Mrs. Delmont arrived was it before someone else joined the party, if anyone, did join the party?
A: Well, I do not know; they kept coming in all the time.
Q: Well, who was the next person to enter your rooms after Mrs. Delmont arrived?
A: Miss Blake.
Q: Now, had you known Miss Blake prior to her coming to room 1220 on the day in question?
A: Never saw her in my life.
Q: Never saw her in your life before?
A: No, sir.
Q: And how long after Miss Rappe had entered that room was it that Miss Blake arrived?
A: I do not know; they all came in there, and they were all there by 2 o’clock, when Miss Blake left again to go to Tait’s. They all kept stringin’ in.
Q: Now, prior to the time that Miss Blake came into your room, did you know that she was coming?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you know that any other woman was coming to your room on that day?
A: No, sir.
Q: Then the first you knew that any other woman was going to join the party was when Miss Blake knocked on the door of room 1220 and entered the room?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Nobody informed you that Miss Blake was coming up to your room on that date?
A: No, sir; never heard about it.
Q: You never heard about it?
A: No, sir.
Q: And you were in room 1220 when Miss Blake entered, were you not?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, how long after Miss Blake entered these rooms was it before Miss Prevost entered?
A: I couldn’t tell you in minutes.
Q: Well, about how long, approximately?
A: I do not know; she came in after Miss Blake did. I will guess the time if you wish me to. Probably twenty or twenty-five minutes—I don’t know.
Q: You don’t know?
A: No, sir
Q: Had you known Miss Prevost before she entered your rooms on the 5th day of September?
A: No, sir; not that I can remember.
Q: Nobody, prior to the time that Miss Prevost entered your rooms on the 5th day of September, had told you that she was coming up to your rooms?
A: No, sir.
Q: Prior to the time that Miss Prevost did come up on the 5th day of September, you did not know whether or not she was coming up to your rooms?
A: No, sir.
Q: Nobody told you that Miss Prevost or any other lady was coming?
A: No, sir.
Q: And after the entry of Miss Blake and the time that Miss Prevost arrived in your rooms on September 5, you had no idea that anybody else, or any other woman was coming to your rooms on that day?
A: Absolutely not.
Q: Then, sir, I take it from your testimony that you didn’t know at any time until these various parties knocked upon the door of your rooms, whether Miss Rappe, Mrs. Delmont, Miss Blake, or Miss Prevost was coming to your room. Is that correct?
A: No, sir, I did not.
Q: And all this time, while each of the ladies was arriving, you were still clothed, as you have testified, in your bathrobe and pajamas and slippers. Is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, what were you doing when Miss Prevost entered room 1220?
A: I was sitting in a chair,
Q: Well, what were you doing?
A: Talking to Miss Rappe and the rest of the people.
Q: What else were you doing?
A: Having some breakfast. I think, or lunch.
Q: Well, was it breakfast or lunch?
A: Well, it was lunch for some and breakfast for the others.
Q: Well, so far as you personally were concerned, what was it?
A: Breakfast.
Q: It was your breakfast?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What time had you arisen that morning?
A: Between 10 and 11 o’clock, I guess.
Q: You had arisen between 10 and 11?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you were then having breakfast?
A: Yes, sir, I had a cup of coffee.
Q: What did you have to drink with your breakfast?
A: I had coffee.
Q: Was there anything else to drink there?
A: On another table, yes, sir.
Q: And what was there upon that other table?
A: Scotch whisky, gin and orange juice?
Q: What else?
A: White Rock.
Q: And what else?
A: That is all.
Q: And how much whisky was there?
A: A bottle or two.
Q: And how much gin?
A: A bottle.
Q: And how much orange juice?
A: Two quart bottles.
Q: And how long had that been there?
A: They had been brought up.
Q: Well, how long before?
A: Well, sometime between the time that Miss Rappe came in and the time that Miss Prevost came in.
Q: They were not in the room prior to that time?
A: The whisky and gin was in the closet in room 1221. The water and orange juice was brought up by a waiter.
Q: Oh, the whisky and gin was there in a closet?
A: Yes, sir. |
Q: And who brought the whisky and gin out of the closet into room 1220?
A: Mr. Fischbach; he had the key.
Q: Now, what was said at that time?
A: Nothing said; he just set it down
Q: Well, did anybody suggest that the drink be served?
A: They kind of helped themselves is all.
Q: Who said that?
A: He said probably “help yourselves.“
Q: Yes, who said that?
A: Mr. Fischbach, I suppose. He brought it in.
Q: Did you say anything else about a drink before this time when this whisky and gin was brought in?
A: Did I say anything about it?
Q: Yes.
A: I don’t remember.
Q: And who was the first person to mention a drink?
A: I do not know that anybody mentioned it; he just brought it in.
Q: And Mr. Fischbach brought it in?
A: Fischbach brought it in; I do not remember just what time be brought it in, but I know that he brought it in. I know it was there all morning.
Q: Was it there before Miss Rappe arrived?
A: No, sir. I do not think so. I think he brought it in about that time.
Q: All right: what I wanted to know is when he brought it in, was there anything said about a drink by anybody there, by Miss Rappe, Miss Pryvon [sic],[9] Miss Blake, Mr. Sherman or Mr. Fortlouis?
A: No, sir, he just brought it in, that is all.
Q: He brought it in without saying a word?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did you say, or what did he say?
A: He set it down—probably, “There it is; help yourselves.”
Q: Well, tell us the words?
A: His exact words I do not know.
Q: Did you hear him say anything?
A: I cannot recall.
Q: Did you hear anybody say anything?
A: About this liquor being brought in?
Q: Yes.
A: Not that I ran remember particularly.
Q: Now, when did Mr. Semnacher come up to your room?
A: He came up after Mrs. Delmont.
Q: Well, how long after Mrs. Delmont arrived?
A: I couldn’t say exactly.
Q: Had you known Mr. Semnacher before his coming up to your room on the 5th of September?
A: I had known Mr. Semnacher several years.[10]
Q: You had known Mr. Semnacher for several years?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did you know he was coming up to your rooms on this day?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you know at any time, even for a minute before he entered your rooms on that day, that, he was coming up to your rooms on that day.
A: No, sir.
Q: Nobody mentioned the fact that he was coming up?
A: Not that I remember of.
Q: Now, from the time that Miss Pryvon entered room 1220, and you saw Miss Rappe go into room 1221, as you have testified to, what was being done in these rooms?
A: Well, people were eating, drinking, the Victrola was brought up and that is about all; just a general conversation.
Q: Well, who suggested that the Victrola—who, if any one, suggested that the Victrola be brought up?
A: Miss Rappe.
Q: Miss Rappe suggested that?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And whom did she suggest that to?
A: To me.
Q: And what did you say?
A: She suggested that we get a piano and I said. “Who can play it?” Nobody. Then I said “Get a Victrola.”
A: And who, if anyone, sent for a Victrola?
A: I telephoned for it.
Q: You phoned for it?
A: Yes, sir.
A: And you say the parties had been drinking up to this time. Had you indulged in anything?
A: I was eating my breakfast.
Q: You didn’t drink anything?
A: Yes, sir; after breakfast.
Q: And what were you drinking, gin or whisky?
A: I was drinking highballs.
Q: And after the phonograph was brought into the room, or the Victrola, what was done then by the people in room 1220?
A: Well, they danced.
Q: Did you dance?
A: Um, um.
Q: And how long did this dancing and drinking keep up?
A: All afternoon until I left, and some after that, I guess.
Q: All afternoon long?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What time did you leave the room?
A: I went downstairs about 8 o’clock in the evening.
Q: Eight o’clock at night?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Where did you go to?
A: Down in the ballroom.
Q: Down in the ballroom of the hotel?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And were they still dancing when you came back to your room?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And what time did you return to your room?
A: Around 12 o’clock, I guess.
Q: And from the time you left your room until you came back you were down in the ballroom of the St. Francis; is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, you did know that one young lady was coming to your room that day, did you not?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that young lady was coming at your invitation?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And what time was she to be there?
A: No special time; she just said that she would come there.
Q: No special time?
A: No, we were just going riding.
Q: Yes.
A: You had made this appointment the preceding day?
A: The preceding evening.
Q: The preceding evening, that would be the night of the 4th?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And no particular time was set, she was just coming over, and you were going riding?
A: Yes, sir, she said that she would call up or come over.
Q: What time did Mr. Fischbach, leave your rooms, do you know?
A: He left sometime between 1:30 and a quarter to 2?
Q: He left between 1:30 and a quarter to 2?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And had you had any conversation with him prior to his leaving?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: You knew he was leaving, did you not?
A: Yes, sir, he borrowed my car.
Q: Oh, he borrowed your car?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And did he tell you where he was going in your car?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And what did you say?
A: I said, “All right, go ahead.”
Q: Yes. When did you next see Mr. Fischbach?
A: When he came into room 1219.
Q: Well, how long after he had left your room was that?
A: Probably an hour and a half, and maybe a little less, or maybe a little more, I couldn’t say.
Q: What time did ho leave your room, did you say?
A: Between half past one and a quarter to two.
Q: Did Mr. Fischbach tell you where he was going when he left your rooms and you loaned him your car?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And did he tell you who he was going with?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did he tell you he was going to call on anyone?
A: No; he just told me he was going out to the beach with some friend of his; was going to take him out there to look at some seals; he thought—this fellow thought maybe he could use them in a picture.
Q: Now, after this Victrola was brought up, did Miss Rappe dance?
A: No, sir; I didn’t see her dance.
Q: You didn’t see her dance. And what did she say when she suggested that a piano be brought up? Just give the conversation at that time?
A: She says, “Can’t we get music or a piano, or something?’” I says, “Who can play it?”
Q: Did she say what she wanted the piano for?
A: Just said she wanted some music.
Q: When it was decided nobody could play it, who suggested the Victrola?
A: I did.
Q: And what did you say? Just give the conversation about the Victrola.
A: The conversation?
Q: Yes, the conversation.
A: I don’t know the conversation. I says, “I will get a Victrola—I will see if I can get a Victrola.”
Q: Did you say what you were going to get a Victrola for?
A: What I was going to get a Victrola for? We wanted music—she wanted music.
Q: Up to the time that the Victrola was brought into the room was anything said about dancing?
A: No, sir.
Q: Miss Rappe never mentioned dancing?
A: No, sir; not to me.
Q: Miss Rappe did not say to you, “Let us have some music so we can dance”?
A: Not to me.
Q: Did you hear her say it to anyone else?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you hear anyone say it?
A: No, sir.
Q: You say that you danced after the music was brought?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did you dance with Miss Rappe?
A: No, sir.
Q: Who did you dance with?
A: Miss Blake.
Q: Did Mr. Sherman dance?
A: I can’t recall whether he did or not.
Q: Did Mr. Fischbach dance?
A: Mr. Fischbach was not there at that time.
Q: Who else was there? What other men were there?
A: Mr. Sherman, Mr. Fortlouis, and Mr. Semnacher—I can’t keep track of him, he was in and out, all day.
Q: Did Mr. Semnacher dance at any time?
A: No.[11]
Q: Did you see Mr. Fortlouis dance?
A: No, I didn’t see Mr. Fortlouis.
Q: Did Mr. Sherman dance?
A: Yes, he danced once in a while.
Q: Whom did he dance with?
A: I suppose with Miss Pryvon or Miss Blake.
Q: Do you know—did you see him dancing with anybody?
A: At that time I don’t recollect whether he did or not; I know later on he did.
Q: Whom did he dance with later on?
A: There was a couple of girls came up later on, about 4 o’clock.
Q: That was about 4. Then you never saw Miss Rappe dance at any time in your room?
A: Not that I can remember. I did not dance with her.
Q: You did not dance with her?
A: No, sir.
Q: And yet she was the one that asked for the music?
A: She asked for the music, yes, sir.
Q: You have seen Miss Rappe on other occasions, have you not, when there has been music?
A: I have never been with her only once.
Q: You have seen her on other occasions?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Where there has been music?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Have you ever seen her dance?
A: Certainly I have seen her dance.
Q: Now, did you, at any time up to 3 o’clock in the afternoon of the 5th of September, tell anyone in your rooms that they would have to leave your rooms?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Yes. Whom did you tell they would have to leave?
A: I did not tell that party they would have to leave; I asked Mr. Sherman to ask them.
Q: You asked Mr. Sherman to ask whom?
A: Mr. Fortlouis.
Q: Is that the only person you asked to leave your rooms?
A: Yes, sir, in the afternoon.
Q: Well, at any time, I am speaking now of any time from 12 to 3 o’clock, did you tell anybody in your rooms outside of this Mr. Fortlouis that you have mentioned, that they would have to leave your rooms in the St. Francis Hotel?
A: I did not say they would have to leave; I was stalling to get him out. I said there was some press—some newspaper people coming up, to get him out.
Q: I am saying, with the exception of Mr. Fortlouis, did you suggest to any one that they would have to leave your rooms?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you ask anyone to leave your rooms?
A: No, sir.
Q: What time did Mrs. Taube—is that the name, Mrs. Taube?
A: Mrs. Taube.
Q: Yes, what time did she enter your rooms?
A: The first time?
Q: On the 5th of September?
A: The first time she entered the room was, I guess, between, somewhere around 1:30. I guess, probably a little before.
Q: And she entered your rooms ai 1:30. How long did she remain there?
A: Five or ten minutes.
Q: Five or ten minutes. And she left?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Was there any conversation between you and Mrs. Taube as to her returning?
A: She said she would call later. I told her that we would go riding I says, “I loaned Mr. Fischbach my car for a few moments; he is going to use my car and when he returns with it we will go out.”
Q: And what time did you tell her to return?
A: I didn’t tell her to return. She said she would call back.
Q: She said she would call back?
A: Later on in the afternoon.
Q: Was there anything else said about what you were going to do, between you and Mrs. Taube?
A: She asked me who all these people were, and I told her. “You can search me. I don’t know.” I tried to introduce her; I couldn’t remember their names. I introduced her to Miss Rappe, I think.
Q: She stayed there for how long?
A: Just a few moments.
Q: And then she left?
A: Yes.
Q: Do you know why?
A: Yes, I think I do.
Q: Why?
A: Well, she had another girl with her.
Q: Yes.
A: And she didn’t want to stay there.
Q: Did she say why she did not want to stay there?
McNab: I object to that as not proper cross-examination. It has nothing to do with the issues of this case.
Court: Objection overruled.
Arbuckle: This girl? Mrs. Taube says why—she didn’t say at that time. She said she was going down, that she would come back.
Friedman: What time did she return? Did she return?
A: Yes, she returned later on after this trouble in 1219; came up about ten minutes after Mr. Fischbach, somewhere along there.
Q: And how long did she remain at that time?
A: She remained in the rooms until after Miss Rappe had been taken to 1227 and I came back.
Q: Yes. And then she went out?
A: Then she went out again, yes, sir.
Q: You did not go with her?
A: No; she did not go riding.
Q: You did not go riding?
A: No.
Q: And you saw her again that day?
A: Yes, sir; she called back about 6 o’clock in the evening, I think.
Q: Now, do you know why Mrs. Taube went away after you had moved Miss Rappe to room 1227?
A: I don’t know; she just seemed to me like she was a little peeved or something.
Q: Isn’t it a fact that she said something to you that indicated that she was a little peeved at the time?
A: Yes, she did.
Q: What was it she said?
A: She asked me who those people were, and what they were doing; I told her I didn’t know who they were.
Q: And she asked you on the first occasion, didn’t she?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is why she left, wasn’t it, because these people were in your rooms?
A: I probably think so.
Q: And you did not go with her on either of the occasions in the afternoon?
A: No.
Q: Now, upon Mrs. Taube’s first visit to your room on the 5th of September, about half past one, as you have testified to, what was Miss Rappe doing at that time?
A: She was sitting on a settee in the corner, I think.
Q: Did she remain there all the time that Mrs. Taube was in the room on the first visit?
A: I can’t remember whether she did or not: I talked to Mrs. Taube.
Q: You can’t remember whether she did or not. Did you notice where Miss Rappe was after Mrs. Taube left on her first visit? I was talking to Mrs. Taube. I don’t know.
Q: You saw Miss Rappe go into room 1221. did you?
A: Yes, sir, later on.
Q: You introduced Mrs. Taube to Miss Rappe I believe you said?
A: I think I did; I don’t know; maybe somebody else; I just can’t recall whether I introduced her.
Q: Well, now, did you or didn’t you?
A: I don’t know whether I did or not.
Q: Did anyone else in that room know Mrs. Taube that you know of?
A: Yes, Mr. Fischbach knew her, but he was not there.
Q: He was not there, so you don’t know whether you introduced her to Miss Rappe, or not?
A: No, I don’t know.
Q: Do you know whether or not she was introduced to Miss Rappe?
A: Yes, sir, I think she was. I suppose so.
Q: Well, were you present when she was introduced to Miss Rappe?
A: Well. I don’t know; I have a habit of introducing people. I don’t always do it.
Q: We are not talking about your habits; we are talking about what happened in this room at this time, about 1:30 on September 5.
A: Yes, I think she was introduced, as near as I can remember.
Q: All right; now where was Miss Rappe when you were introduced to Mrs. Taube? What was she doing? Was she standing up or sitting down?
A: I think she was sitting on the settee, as near as I can remember.
Q: All right; how was she dressed?
A: Miss Rappe or Mrs. Taube?
Q: Miss Rappe?
A: She had on a green dress, a green skirt and a green jacket.
Q: Did she have a hat on?
A: I can’t remember whether she had a hat on at that time or not.
Q: Well, you don’t know whether she had a hat on or not; is that the answer?
A: Yes.
Q: Was her hair up or down?
A: I can’t remember that, either.
Q: You can’t remember that. You don’t recall seeing her hair down at that time, do you?
A: No, I do not.
Q: Now, when Miss Rappe went into room 1221, as you have testified to, was she still dressed as she was introduced to Mrs. Taube?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did she have a hat on at that time, or not?
A: I don’t—no, she did not have a hat on then.
Q: Was her hair up or down at that time?
A: I can’t remember exactly.
Q: You can’t remember; you don’t remember of seeing her hair down at that time, do you?
A: No, sir.
Q: How long did she remain in 1221?
A: I don’t know.[12]
Q: You don’t know? You saw her go in?
A: I saw her go in, yes, sir.
Q: You saw her go in room 1219?
A: I did not.
Q: You did not—did not see her go into room 1219?
A: No, sir.
Q: How long a time elapsed from the time you saw Miss Rappe go into room 1221 until you went into room 1219?
A: I couldn’t tell you.
Q: Well, what were you doing when she went into room 1221?
A: I was sitting there talking to her when she went into 1221.
Q: You were sitting there talking to her?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And she got up and went into room 1221?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did you do when she got up and went into room 1221?
A: I got up; I don’t know what I did; went to the Victrola or something, or danced; I don’t know; I don’t remember at that time.
Q: Well, how long a time would you say elapsed from the time you saw Miss Rappe go into room 1221 until you went into room 1219?
A: I couldn’t tell you.
Q: Well, was it a half hour?
A: No, I don’t think it was that long.
Q: Well, fifteen minutes?
A: I wouldn’t say what time it was. It was—
[Order inferred[13]]
Q: Now, you can’t fix the time—I withdraw that. What time did Miss Rappe to into room 1221?
A: I couldn’t tell you just what time.
Q: Well, you say that you had been sitting in 1220 talking to her when she went in there?
A: Yes.
Q: Where were you sitting?
A: She was sitting here, and I was sitting on this chair here (indicating on diagram).
Q: What time did Fischbach leave your room?
A: Between 1:30 and a quarter to 2, I guess.
Q: Between 1:30 and a quarter to 2. Did Miss Rappe go into room 1219 before or after Fischbach left your room?
A: It was after Miss Blake had come back from Tait’s, sometime between 2:30 and 3 o’clock.
Q: Sometime between 2:30 and 3 o’clock. And what time was it—withdraw that. You say that you told somebody to tell Mr. Fortlouis that the reporters were coming up to your room?
A: Uh huh (affirmative).
Q: Who did you tell?
A: I told Mr. Sherman, I believe.
Q: And when did you tell him that?
A: Oh, I can’t just remember when.
Q: You can’t remember when it was. Did Mr. Fortlouis leave your room?
A: Yes, but I don’t know when he left.
Q: You don’t know when he left. Well, how long after you told Mr. Sherman to tell him that the reporters were coming upstairs did he leave? Did he leave alone?
A: I can’t remember; I don’t know when he left.
Q: You don’t know when he left. Did he leave before or after Miss Rappe went into room 1221?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Did you see Mr. Semnacher again after he went out with Miss Blake?
A: He was in and out all afternoon. I can’t—I couldn’t tell you anything about him at all.
Q: Now you say that Miss Blake came in in about a half an hour or so; is that what you said?
A: Yes.
Q: How do you fix that?
A: That is just a judge of time; I don’t know; I couldn’t tell you; it seemed to me.
Q: When did you next see her after she went to rehearsal?
A: When she came back to the room.
Q: What was she doing? What was the occasion? What attracted your attention to her? Did you see her come in?
A: Not that I remember; she just appeared in the room.
Q: All of a sudden you discovered she was there?
A: She was back.
Q: Right in the middle of the crowd again?
A: Yes, she was there.
Q: Now, after you had discovered that Miss Blake had returned and Miss Rappe was in the room, what did you do? Play some more music?
A: Yes; the music was going.
Q: Did you dance after that?
A: I think I danced with Miss Blake, yes; I am not sure.
Q: Do you remember if, after you discovered Miss Blake had returned to this room, of changing any of the phonograph records yourself?
A: Yes, I think I did; I changed—
Q: How many?
A: Whoever was closest to it; I don’t know.
Q: You don’t remember what you did. As a matter of fact, you don’t remember how long it was after Miss Rappe went into room 1221 that you went into 1219?
A: Well, I couldn’t tell you exactly; no.
Q: But your recollection is it was five or ten minutes?
A: I believe, I don’t know; it might have been more or less.
Q: It might have been less?
A: I don’t know.
Q: It might have been as little as two or three minutes, isn’t that a fact?
A: No.
Q: Well, it might have been that short a period of time?
A: I couldn’t tell you, because that is the last time I saw her, when she went into 1221.
[Order inferred]
Q: As a matter of fact, was it only a minute or two?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Do you recall doing anything from the time that Miss Rappe went into room 1221 until you went into room 1219?
A: Yes, certainly.
Q: What did you do?
A: I put—changed a record on the phonograph; I think I danced with Miss Blake; I am not sure what I did.
Q: Then you don’t recall what you did; you don’t recall doing anything?
A: I was around the room; I don’t just exactly know what I was doing.
[Order inferred]
Q: You don’t know what you were doing or how long a time elapsed—is that it?
A: I couldn’t tell you.
Q: And what time was it that you entered the room 1219?
A: About 3 o’clock.
Q: About 3 o’clock? And how was it that knew it was 3 o’clock?
A: I looked at the clock.
Q: You looked at what clock?
A: On the mantel.
[Order inferred]
Q: Isn’t it a fact that the clock was not running when you looked at it?
A: (laughs) No, sir; that is not so.
Q: Are you certain the clock was correct?
A: Well, everything else in the hotel is pretty good, so I supposed the clock was all right.
[Order inferred]
Q: What time was Mrs. Taube coming back?
A: She said she would call back; she didn’t say any particular time.
Q: Then you didn’t know whether she was coming back about 3 o’clock or not, did you?
A: She said she was.
Q: Oh, what time did she say she was coming back?
A: I told her when she came up. I says, “Mr. Fischbach has got my car; is going to use my car; when he comes back we will go riding.” And she says, “Where is he going?” I says, “He is going to the beach and back.” She says, “I will come back after a while.”
[Order inferred]
Q: And, as a matter of fact, when you arose on the 5th of September and went into the bathroom to clean up, it was your intention then to get ready and go out riding with Mrs. Taube?
A: When she came in.
Q: When she came in?
A: There was no particular time set; it was just for the afternoon.
Q: But you did not get dressed at that time?
A: No, these people kept coming in, and I was trying to be sociable.
Q: With whom?
A: With them.
Q: They were not your guests?
A: No, I didn’t want to insult them.
Q: You didn’t invite them there, did you?
A: No, sir.
Q: With the exception of Miss Rappe, you didn’t know anybody that was coming there at that time, any of these young ladies?
A: No.
Q: You did not invite them?
A: No.
Q: And you didn’t tell anyone else to invite them?
A: No.
Q: And they were not your guests?
A: No.
Q: And you had an appointment to take Mrs. Taube out riding?
A: Yes.
Q: And still you figured you couldn’t go away without insulting those people, is that right?
A: No, I figured I couldn’t go away until Mr. Fischbach came back with my car.
[Order inferred]
Q: And you don’t know what you did after that; and you don’t know how long a time elapsed after that before you went into room 1219?
A: No, I suppose I did what I had been doing; there was music and dancing and kidding around the room.
Q: You’ve heard the other witnesses testify on the stand to that time, haven’t you?
A: I’m not telling their testimony.
Q: Well, refresh your memory and don’t argue about it. You say it was 3 o’clock when you went into room 1219 and that this was a little after you noticed Miss Rappe go into room 1221—when did you see Miss Rappe come out of room 1221 and go into 1219?
A: I didn’t see her leave room 1221.
Q: How long after you saw Miss Rappe go into 1221 did you go into 1219?
A: I don’t remember; it may have been five or ten minutes. I’ll guess for you if you wish, but I couldn’t say exactly.
[Order inferred]
Q: And you had an appointment to take Mrs. Taube out riding?
A: Yes.
Q: And still you figured you couldn’t go away without insulting those people, is that right?
A: No, I figured I couldn’t go away until Mr. Fischbach came back with my car.
Q: Now, isn’t it a fact, Mr. Arbuckle, that Mrs. Taube came into room 1220 in the St. Francis Hotel on the 5th day of September, between the hours of 1 and 2 o’clock in the afternoon thereof, before Mr. Fischbach had left your rooms and used your car?
A: No, sir, I don’t think so.
Q: You are positive of that, are you?
A: No, I would not be positive.
Q: You wouldn’t be positive. Then are you positive that you told Mrs. Taube that Mr. Fischbach was out using your care when she arrived at your rooms?
A: I don’t know whether I told her he was, or he was going to use it. I know I gave him my word he could have my car. I told her words to that effect.
Q: You don’t know whether you told her that he did have or he was going to have your car?
A: I gave her to understand that he was going to use the car for a while.
Q: Had you and Mrs. Taube decided on any particular place to go driving on this 5th of September?
A: No particular place.
Q: No particular place at all?
A: No.
Q: And all that Mr. Fischbach wanted your car for was to go out and look at seal rocks?
A: Not seal rocks; he was going out to look at some seals that he was going to use in a picture.
Q: Some seals. Those seals were where, did he tell you?
A: By the beach.
Q: And you don’t know how long a time elapsed from the time that Miss Rappe went into room 1221 until you went into 1219?
McNab: If the court please, we are supposed to end this trial sometime. I object to the same questions being asked more than ten times.
Court: Proceed with the examination.
Friedman: Very well, answer the question.
Arbuckle: What was it? (Question read by the reporter.)
Schmulowitz: I object to the question on the ground it has been asked and answered several times, if the court please.
Court: Objection overruled.
Arbuckle: No, I couldn’t tell you.
Friedman: Can you recall of speaking to anyone at all from the time that Miss Rappe went into room 1221 until you went into room 1219?
A: Me speaking to anyone? Can I recall me speaking? If there was people in there, I suppose I spoke to them.
Q: Can you recall of speaking to anyone, not what you suppose you did? Have you any recollection, any memory upon it all?
A: If there were people in the room, I would speak to them.
Friedman [to Louderback]: We ask that the answer be stricken out as not responsive, and ask that the witness be directed to answer the question.
Court: It goes out.
Arbuckle: I spoke to people.
Friedman: Who did you speak to?
A: Miss Blake.
Q: You spoke to Miss Blake?
A: Yes.
Q: Who else, if anyone?
A: I don’t know. I suppose Miss Pyvvon [sic], or whoever was in there at the time; I don’t know.
Q: Who do you remember speaking to, not what you suppose?
A: Well, I spoke to whoever was in the room.
Q: Whoever was in the room; and if there were five people in the room, you spoke to the whole five of them?
A: I don’t think there were five people.
Q: If there were three people in the room, you spoke to the three of them; is that correct?
A: I might have spoken to them, yes.
Q: Who was in the room when Miss Rappe went into room 1221?
A: Miss Blake, I think Miss Pyvvon was, possibly Mr. Sherman. I don’t recollect.
Q: And you recall speaking to Miss Blake during that period of time?
A: Yes.[14]
[Order inferred]
Q: Do you recall speaking to Mr. Sherman during that period of time?[15]
A: I say I don’t recollect whether he was there; possible he was there; possibly he was not.
Q: Then you have no recollection of whether you spoke to him?
A: No.
Q: Do you recall what you said to Miss Rappe at that time?
A: No.
Q: Now, prior to your going into room 1219 and locking the door, as you have testified to—
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did you tell anyone who was in either one of these three rooms what you were going into room 1219 for?
A: No.
Q: You didn’t tell anyone you were going to get dressed?
A: No.
Q: Just walked in and locked the door?
A: Walked in.
Q: And locked the door?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: When you spoke to Miss Blake just before going into room 1219, you didn’t tell her what you were going into 1219 for?
A: No, sir.
Q: Never said a word to her about it?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you tell anyone that you were going to leave?
A: No, sir.
Q: And at 3 o’clock you decided, just without speaking to anyone about it, that you would go in and get dressed so that would be ready to go riding; is that it?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did you do after you entered room 1219? What was the first thing you did?
A: Locked the door.
Q: You locked the door; and which door?
A: The door leading into 1219.
Q: There are two doors; was it the door from 1219 into 1220?
A: The door opening into 1219. As near as I can recollect, it had a mirror in it.
Q: You don’t recall closing more than one door do you?
A: No, I just closed the door and locked it.
[Before the noon recess, Jane Walsh briefly took the stand to officially identify the preserved bladder of Virginia Rappe as evidence.]
Friedman: Now, after Miss Rappe had gone into room 1221, did you remain in room 1220?[16]
Arbuckle: Yes, I was in 1220.
Q: And you remained in there until you went into room 1219 as you have testified to; is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did you at any time see Miss Rappe come out of room 1221?
A: No, I didn’t see her after she went into room 1221.
Q: You are positive you didn’t see her come out of room 1221?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, from the time that Miss Rappe went into room 1221, until you went into room 1219, will you just show on this diagram which portion of room 1220 you remained in?
A: I do now know what part of the room I remained in; I was in the room.
Q: And you do not know what portion of the room you remained in?
A: No.
Q: And you are positive you didn’t see Miss Rappe come out of room 1221?
A: Absolutely.
Q: And you remained in room 1220 all that time?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you remained in room 1220 all that time?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you can’t recall what you did while you were in there?
A: I did the same thing as I had been doing all the afternoon.
Q: But more specifically than that you cannot say?
A: No.
Q: And what was the first thing that you did after you went into room 1219?
A: I closed the door and locked it.
Q: And that was the door that opened in as far as room 1219 was concerned?
A: I think so; I am not positive.
Q: And why did you lock the door?
A: I was going to get dressed.
Q: Is that why you locked the door?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Is it your habit to lock that door when you to in to get dressed?
A: Yes, if there is anybody in the room—the ladies were there.
Q: Are you positive that is the only reason you had in locking the door?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: From 1219 to 1220?
A: Yes, sir, to change my clothes and get dressed.
Q: Did you bathe that morning?
A: Yes.
Q: Did you see Josephine Keza, the chambermaid, while you were bathing?
A: I did.
Q: Where were you at the time?
A: I was in the bathroom, shaving. She opened the door, and then excused herself and went out.
Q: Did you have your bathrobe on?
A: No.
Q: What did you have on?
A: Nothing.
Q: Nothing?
A: Nothing.
Q: And you locked the door so you would not be disturbed while you were dressing?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: So you did not lock the door at all from room 1219 into the corridor?
A: No, I did not; I never gave it a thought.
Q: Why didn’t you lock the door from room 1219 out into the corridor?
A: I told you I never gave it a thought.
Q: All you did think about was the door between 1219 and 1220 being open, being unlocked?
A: What do you mean? I locked it because there were so many coming back and forth through the rooms.
Q: Well, had anybody gone out into the hall?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Do you remember Miss Rappe going in there at any time?
A: No, sir, but the doors were open.
Q: Now, after you had locked the door to keep those ladies out of room 1219, while you were dressing, what did you do?
A: I went straight to the bathroom.
Q: You went straight to the bathroom?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did you do then?
A: Opened the door.
Q: You opened the door?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And did the door open readily?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And then what occurred?
A: The door struck Miss Rappe where she was lying on the floor.
Q: You say the door struck Miss Rappe where she was lying on the floor?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And what was she doing at that time?
A: Just holding her stomach with her hands and moaning.
Q: Had she been ill up to that time?
A: No, sir.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: Then I asked her if there was anything I could do for her
Q: She wanted to lie down?
A: Yes.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: I helped her into the bedroom.
Q: From the time that you picked her up off the floor—I withdraw that. From the time that you [. . .] until you helped her into 1219 [. . .]
A: No.
Q: She held the water that you gave her on her stomach until you got her into room 1219?
A: I suppose so.
Q: How did you assist her from the bathroom to the bed?
A: She walked
Q: She walked. Did you help her in any manner?
A: I put my arm around her.
Q: You put your arm around her and assisted her, and you walked off to which bed?
A: To the little bed.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: She sat down on the edge of the bed.
Q: She sat down on the edge of the bed?
A: Yes; then laid over on it.
Q: Then laid over on the bed. Which way was she facing?
A: She was facing (going to diagram)—facing this way (indicating). She sat down here and just laid over on the bed with head toward the foot.
Q: With her head toward the foot?
A: Yes, sir. I picked her feet up and put them up on the bed.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: I went back into the bathroom.
Q: You went back into the bathroom. What did you do in the bathroom?
A: Well, I went back into the bathroom.
Q: All right. How long were you in the bathroom?
A: Three or four minutes, or a couple of minutes, I guess. I don’t know.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: I came out again.
Q: You came out again [. . .] I take it?
A: Naturally. [. . .]
Q: How, after you had—after Miss Rappe had been seated on this small bed, as you have testified to, and after she lay over with her head toward the foot, and you raised her feet up upon the bed, in which portion of the bed was she lying? Was she lying in the center of the bed, on one side or the other?
A: She just laid over in the bed; I didn’t notice whether she was to one side or the other.
Q: But it was on the side nearest to the window of the room that she sat down; is that correct?
A: Yes, sir?
Q: Now, then, what did you do after you came out of the bathroom?
A: I found her in between the beds.
Q: You found her in between the beds after you came out of the bathroom?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you were only in the bathroom how long?
A: Three or four minutes, I guess.
Q: Three or four minutes; and you found her in between the beds. Which way was her head when you found her?
A: Facing out toward the foot of the beds
Q: Just show upon the diagram?
A: She was lying right in here (indicating on diagram).
Q: Right in there?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Which way was she facing?
A: Her head was this way.
Q: Her head was that way; which way was her face? Toward the window or toward the door, or was it facing toward the ceiling?
A: She was lying on her back.
Q: While you were in the bathroom, did you hear any noise in 1219?
A: No, I did not.
Q: You did not hear her fall out of the bed?
A: No, sir, I did not; I did not see her.
Q: Did she holler or was there any sound?
A: No, she was just moaning, holding her stomach and thrashing around on the floor.
Q: On the floor?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What condition was she in when you went into the bathroom? You say you helped her up on the bed. Was she moaning then?
A: No, she just appeared to be sick and laid over on the bed.
Q: All right. After you went into the bathroom, and after you placed her on the bed, when was the first time you heard her moaning?
A: I heard her moaning when I came into the room, and she was lying between the beds.
Q: What did you do?
A: I put her on the big bed.
Q: Which way did you put her upon the big bed?
A: I picked her up and just put her on the big bed like this (illustrating), pulled up to a sitting position, and took hold of her, and put her on the bed, turned her around and laid her down on the bed.
Q: Did you turn around with her?
A: No, I just picked her up to a sitting posture. I couldn’t get to the side of her; there isn’t enough space, I just reached over like that, and picked her up and sat her over on the bed, and turned her around, and put her head upon the pillow.
Q: Then what did you do?
A: [. . .]
Q: Did you put her feet on the bed?
A: I put her whole body on the bed.
Q: [. . .]
A: I didn’t notice it particularly. I went right out of the room then to get Mrs. Delmont.
Q: Now, when you picked her up, when you started to lay her out upon the small bed, did she say anything at that time.
A: She might have said something.
Q: Now, did she—not what she might have said—did she say anything that you remember?
A: I can’t remember what she said exactly, or—
Q: Then she did say something to you, but you can’t remember it. Is that true?
A: She might have said something. I don’t know.
Q: Not what she might have said. Did she—do you remember her saying anything?
A: I can’t remember whether she did or not.
Q: You don’t know whether she did or at that time?
A: No.
Q: Did she, when you picked up, picked her feet up to straighten them out upon the bed, did she cry or moan at that time?
A: Not at that time, no.
Q: Never said a word. Did you place a pillow under her head?
A: No, I did not.
Q: You did not place a pillow under her head. There was a pillow on the bed, was there not?
A: Yes.
Q: And you did not place it under her head; you just laid her out and walked into the bathroom?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: When you came back, she was upon the floor between the beds?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: When you picked her up in this sitting position, what did she say then?
A: She didn’t say anything; she was just groaning and holding her stomach.
Q: She was just groaning and holding her stomach?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Was she groaning very loud?
A: Not particularly.
Q: Not particularly loud?
A: No, she just seemed to be in pain, short pains, or something.
Q: Was she groaning as loud as you are talking now?
A: I couldn’t tell you just how loud she was groaning; she just seemed to be—
Q: You couldn’t hear her groan when you were in the bathroom, could you?
A: No.
Q: Did she say anything when you raised her to this sitting position?
A: No.
Q: And did you say anything when you picked her up in this position that you have described to the jury?
A: No.
Q: Did she say anything when you seated her upon the bed and helped her down upon the bed?
A: No, she did not.
Q: Did she say anything when you straightened her out upon the bed?
A: No; I just turned her around to straighten her out but she kind of rolled over.
Q: She never said anything from the time you came out of the bathroom until you put her one the bed, so far as you know?
A: Not that I can remember.
Q: Now, did she wrench [retch?[17]] [. . .] while you were picking her up off the floor just before you placed her upon the bed?
A: She was just holding her stomach and groaning. [. . .]
Q: After you laid her upon the bed [. . .] as you have testified; what did you do then?
A: Went out of the room.
Q: You went out of the room?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Where did you go?
A: To 1220.
Q: To 1220. Did you unlock the door?
A: Yes.
Q: From the time you came into room 1219, from the time that you locked the door between room 1219 and room 1220, until you unlocked the door, as you have testified to, did you hear any sounds in room 1220?
A: No, I did not.
Q: Did you hear anybody at any time knock upon that door?
A: I did not hear them, no.
Q: Did you hear anybody at any time holler to you through the door?
A: No.
Q: Now, when you opened the door from room 1219 to 1220, who was the first person you saw?
A: Miss Prevost.
Q: Where was Miss Prevost standing?
A: She was standing in the room.
Q: Well, where?
A: I couldn’t just say where. She was in the center of the room. She was walking across the room.
Q: She was walking across the room?
A: Yes.
Q: Did you see Mrs. Delmont?
A: Not at that time, no; I saw her just a minute so afterwards.
Q: Where was she when you saw her just a minute or so afterwards?
A: She came out of 1221.
Q: And she was not in 1220 when you opened the door from room 1219, is that correct?
A: No, sir.
Q: Where was Miss Blake?
A: I don’t know.
Q: Did you see her in room 1220?
A: Not at the time.
Q: But you saw her in room 1220?
A: Not at the time.
Q: But you saw Miss Prevost in the middle of the floor?
A: Yes.
Q: Was anyone else in room 1220 after you opened the door?
A: I came out and I made some remark about Virginia being sick.
Q: What did you say?
A: I said, “Virginia is sick,” or words to that effect.
Q: Now, isn’t it a fact, Mr. Arbuckle, that when you came out of room 1219, when you unlocked the door and opened the door and stepped from room 1219 into 1220, Mrs. Delmont and Miss Prevost were right there at the door of 1220?
A: Miss Prevost was.
Q: Mrs. Delmont was not?
A: Not that I can remember.
Q: Did Miss Prevost say anything to you when you opened the door?
A: No, she just went in.
Q: What did you come out of room 1219 for?
A: To get Mrs. Delmont.
Q: To get Mrs. Delmont?
A: No; she came in right afterwards, and she went into 1219.
Q: So, you came out of room 1219 to get Mrs. Delmont, but you told Miss Prevost?
A: I just made a general remark as I came out, that is all.
Q: How long after you came out of room 1219 was it that Mrs. Delmont went into room 1219.
A: It could not have been very long, possibly a minute or two minutes she came in.
Q: From the time that you went into room 1219 until you came out of room 1219, how long a time elapsed?[18]
[. . .]
Q: You were dressing for the purpose of going out with Mrs. Taube when she arrived, were you not? That is what you went into 1219 for?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And it didn’t concern you at all how long a time you had spent in attending to Miss Rappe while you were in there?
A: I had forgotten about my ride. When a person is sick, naturally you are thinking about it. You are not thinking about something else.
Q: Well, then, you were concerned about Miss Rappe’s condition?
A: Well, she appeared to be sick and I went out to get Mrs. Delmont.
Q: You went out to get Mrs. Delmont, but first you went into the bathroom?
A: Yes, because she wasn’t doing anything; she was just lying down on the little bed.
Q: Now, just state to the jury what you said when you opened the door from 1219 into 1220?
A: I couldn’t state the exact words; I made a remark that she was sick or something.
Q: All right. What did you say as near as you can remember?
A: I made some remark about Miss Rappe was sick, that is all.
Q: Miss Rappe was sick. Who did you say it to?
A: I suppose to Miss Prevost.
Q: Do you know who you said that to?
A: I just made that remark.
Q: You just made that remark?
A: Yes.
Q: For the benefit of anybody that wanted to listen to it?
A: Yes.
Q: To nobody in particular?
A: Yes, I just made the remark.
Q: How long did you remain in room 1220?
A: Just a minute or so. Mrs. Delmont came in and I went back with her.
Q: You went back to 1219; then what did you do?
A: Miss Rappe was sitting up on the bed; she sat up on the bed and started tearing at her clothes.
Q: She started tearing at her clothes?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did she start to tear first?
A: I don’t know; she was just tearing like this (illustrating [“jerking his hands apart and gritting his teeth”]).
Q: Just tell the jury how she tore the upper part of her dress?
A: She just tore her clothing; caught hold of them and tore them like that (showing).
Q: Did you help her take off any portion of them?
A: No, sir; I went over to see and tried to stop her, and kept on; she had one sleeve just hanging by a thread, or two, and I pulled that off.
Q: You pulled that off?
A: Yes.
Q: Then what did she say, if anything?
A: She kept tearing; she caught hold of the green jacket, but she could not tear that.
Q: Then what did she do?
A: I went out of the room there. Mr. Fischbach came back in and I went out of the room.
Q: Mr. Fischbach came in how soon after you took off the balance of this waist?
A: Well, I will tell you, I didn’t see him come in; he was in there when I turned around.
Q: He was in there when you turned around?
A: Yes, he was.
Q: When you turned around and discovered Mr. Fischbach what was Miss Rappe doing?
A: Tearing her clothes.
Q: Isn’t it a fact that Mr. Fischbach did not come in there while Miss Rappe had any clothes on at all?
A: Yes, he was in there while she was tearing her clothes.
Q: He was in there, while she was tearing her clothing?
A: I think he was.
Q: Now, after you turned around and saw Mr. Fischbach, what did you do?
A: I went back into 1220.
Q: You went back into 1220; how long did you remain there?
A: I was out sometime?
Q: You were out sometime?
A: Yes.
Q: And who was in 1220 while you were in there?
A: I don’t remember just who was in there; Mrs. Taube came up in a few minutes.
Q: Mrs. Taube came up in a few minutes? Did you see Mr. Boyle?
A: Not at that time; no.
Q: When did you see him?
A: He came up after I had phoned for him.
Q: After you phoned for him?
A: After Mrs. Taube phoned.
Q: After Mrs. Taube phoned. I believe you said, from room 1221?
A: Yes.
Q: Now, where were you when Boyle came into the room?
A: I was in room 1221 talking to Mrs. Taube.
Q: And what room did Mr. Boyle come in?
A: He came to the door of room 1221. He came to the door; he might have come in a little ways.
Q: What did you say?
A: I said, “She is in there,” and took him through room 1220 and into room 1219.
Q: What else did you say to Mr. Boyle?
A: I cannot remember what I said, I may have explained to him what happened, or something.
Q: What do you remember of saying anything?
A: I spoke about the situation, the exact words I cannot tell you.
Q: Well, in substance—at the time, in substance? Didn’t you say anything?
A: Yes, that the girl was sick and to get her another room.
Q: Did you tell Mr. Boyle what caused her sickness?
A: No, how would I know what caused her sickness?
Q: Now, when you came out of room 1219 to room 1220 and said that Miss Rappe was sick, did you tell Miss Prevost or Mrs. Delmont what was the matter with her?
A: No, I just said she was sick.
Q: You just said she was sick?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: You didn’t say anything else?
A: Not that I remember.
Q: Now, did anybody ask you what was the matter with Miss Rappe?
A: I cannot remember whether they did, or not.
Q: You cannot remember?
A: No, sir.
Q: And you cannot remember of telling anybody about her illness except that she was ill?
A: No, sir.
Q: You didn’t tell anybody that you found her in the bathroom?
A: No, sir, nobody asked me.
Q: Did you see anybody give Miss Rappe anything to drink after you had gone into room 1220 from room 1219?
A: No, I did not.
Q: Do you know whether or not anybody gave her some bicarbonate of soda?
A: I do not know.
Q: You didn’t tell anybody that you had found Miss Rappe upon the floor between the two beds, did you?
A: No, sir.
Q: You didn’t tell anybody that you had placed her on a bed, and that she had fallen off while holding her abdomen and moaning with pain, did you?
A: No, sir.
Q: Now, did you hear Miss Rappe make any statement of any kind, of any kind at all from the time that you found her upon the floor in the bathroom in room 1219 until you assisted in carrying her to room 1227?
A: No, sir, just heard her moan and groan.
Q: You just heard her moan and groan?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: She asked you for some water, didn’t she?
A: Yes, that was in the bathroom
Q: You understand that?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Did she say anything else to you?
A: No, sir, excepting that she wanted to lie down for a little while.
Q: You had changed your clothes you say?
A: Yes, sir, after Miss Rappe was taken to room 1227, I changed my clothes.[19]
Q: You dressed?
A: No sir, I had on a pair of golf trousers, and a soft shirt.
Q: You dressed in a pair of golf trousers and soft shirt?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And around 8:30 or 9 o’clock you changed again?
A: Yes, sir, and put on a dinner suit.
Q: And that is the way you went down to the ballroom and stayed there until after 12 that night, is it?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What was Miss Rappe doing when you entered room 1219?
A: Which time?
Q: After you had been talking to Mrs. Taube in room 1220.
A: She was lying on the little bed.
Q: She was lying on the little bed?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And was that before or after Mr. Boyle came—
A: (interrupting) That was before.
Q: Before Mr. Boyle arrived?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, how long after Mrs. Taube had phoned for Mr. Boyle was it before Mr. Boyle appeared in your room?
A: Just a few minutes, I guess.
Q: And how long after you came out of room 1219 was it that you had Mrs. Taube phone for Mr. Boyle?
A: I came out of room 1219 and talked with Mrs. Taube; then went back into room 1219, and then went back and asked Mrs. Taube to telephone.
Q: All right. After you came out of room 1219 the first time, you saw Mrs. Taube then?
A: No, the second time.
Q: Then you went back into room 1219 after you came out the first time. Is that correct?
A: Yes, with Mrs. Delmont.
Q: All right. What did you do after you went back?
A: I came out the first time and saw Mrs. Prevost with Mrs. Delmont.
Q: And then you went back again?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is where you saw her tearing her clothes?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is when you saw Mr. Fischbach there?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And then what did you do?
A: I went out.
Q: And that is when you saw Mrs. Taube?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Now, how long after you came out was it that you had Mrs. Taube phone for Mr. Boyle?
A: I do not know. Probably ten or fifteen minutes. I do not know.
Q: Well, you talked with Mrs. Taube there for ten or fifteen minutes?
A: No, I had left Mrs. Taube once and went back to room 1219.
Q: And then you came out of room 1219 again. Is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And then after you came out of room 1219 the last time, when you saw Mrs. Taube, how long a time elapsed before you had Mrs. Taube phone for Mr. Boyle?
A: I came right out and asked her to phone Mr. Boyle.
Q: You came right out and immediately asked her to phone for Mr. Boyle?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is the first time that you saw Mrs. Taube?
A: I saw her before and talked to her before.
Q: How long before did you talk to her?
A: Well, probably ten or fifteen minutes.
Q: You didn’t ask Mrs. Taube to phone the first time?
A: Not until I went back in again.
Q: Now, what did you say to Mrs. Taube?
A: I said, “That girl is sick and we ought to get her a room,” and I said, “You know the management here, and phone down and get a room.”
Q: So you were concerned with getting her out of your room?
A: Well, I thought she was sick and needed another room.
Q: What is your answer; is your answer “yes”?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: You didn’t tell Mrs. Taube to phone for a doctor at that time, did you?
A: No, sir; I didn’t tell her at that time.
Q: Did you think she needed one at that time?
A: Well, I got her one later on.
Q: I am talking about the time that you told Mrs. Taube to phone for Mr. Boyle; you didn’t tell her to get a doctor at that time, and you didn’t think she needed one at that time?
A: No.
Q: Well, you say you got a doctor later?
A: After we took her into room 1227, I asked Mr. Boyle to get a doctor.
Q: And up to that time you never suggested getting a doctor?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you ever tell anyone else, or did anyone else in your presence tell anyone that Miss Rappe was sick and needed a doctor, and to send for a doctor prior to that time that you sent for the doctor when she was in room 1227?
A: No, sir.
Q: Nobody suggested that at any time?
A: No, sir; not that I heard.
Q: I mean that you heard, of course.
A: No, sir. [. . .]
Q: Now, after you had seen Mr. Fischbach in room 1219, and after you had gone out into room 1220, you said you went back into room 1219 again.
A: Yes.
Q: All right. What was Miss Rappe doing when you came back on that occasion?
A: She was on the little bed.
Q: Well, she was not frothing at the mouth then?
A: She might have been.
Q: When you testified this morning that she was frothing at the mouth, did you mean that?
A: She might have been.
Q: Well, was she?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: When you first saw Miss Rappe tearing her clothes upon the bed, and she was frothing at the mouth, as you have testified to, did she say anything, did she make any sound?
A: Not outside of grunting and breathing (imitating slight grunt), just that.
Q: Just grunting and doing like that?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: She wasn’t hollering with any pain that you know of?
A: I couldn’t tell why she was acting like that.
Q: Well, did you hear her holler at any time?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you hear her scream at any time?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you at any time hear Miss Rappe say, “You hurt me”?
A: No.
Q: What was the condition of her hair?
A: Her hair was down.
Q: Her hair was down at this time?
A: Yes, sir, it was down when I went into the bathroom.
Q: Her hair was down when you went into the bathroom?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: On which occasion?
A: When I found her there.
Q: Then her hair was down when you found her there in the bathroom?
A: Yes, sir, I had to hold it back away from her when she was vomiting. [. . .]
Q: Now, when she was tearing her clothes off, [. . .]
A: She was just sitting on the bed there, tearing her clothes.
Q: Well, did she move the lower portion of her body at all?
A: I didn’t pay any particular attention to that.
Q: Just saw her tear her waist?
A: Yes, sir, and [. . .]
Q: When was it that you told Mrs. Delmont that she had better dress, or change her dress?
A: After I had Mrs. Taube phone Mr. Boyle.
Q: After you had Mrs. Taube phone Mr. Boyle.
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And where did you find Mrs. Delmont to tell her this?
A: She was in room 1219.
Q: She was in room 1219?
A: Yes.
Q: You are positive that you told that to Mrs. Delmont?
A: Yes.
Q: Now, when you moved Miss Rappe from room 1219 to room 1227, did anyone tell you to carry her?
A: No, I picked her up and carried her.
Q: Nobody told you to do that?
A: Not that I can remember of.
Q: How did you know that there had been another room procured for her?
A: Why, I asked Mrs. Taube to phone to Mr. Boyle to get another room.
Q: Yes, and Mr. Boyle came up?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is when you made the statement to him that you testified to, that she was in the other room, or words to that effect?
A: Yes, “She is in here,” and took him in.
Q: And what occurred in there?
A: I went into the closet and got a bathrobe.
Q: Didn’t Mr. Boyle say something when he entered room 1219?
A: Not that I can remember.
Q: Did Miss Rappe speak to him, or to anyone else?
A: No, sir, she didn’t speak at all.
Q: Nobody spoke to Miss Rappe in your presence, while Mr. Boyle was in the room?
A: No, not that I can remember of.
Q: Do you recall if at any time from the time you found Miss Rappe in the bathroom until you helped to carry her into room 1227 if anybody asked her in your presence what was the matter with her?
A: No, sir, I do not.
Q: Well, can you tell from the various times that you saw Miss Rappe, from the time that you found her in the bathroom of room 1219 until you carried her into room 1227, whether or not Miss Rappe became unconscious at any time?
A: Yes, sir, she was unconscious when I asked Mrs. Taube to phone.
Q: She was unconscious at that time, when you asked Mrs. Taube to phone?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And when did you first discover that fact?
A: When I went back into the room, when Mrs. Delmont had the ice on her.
Q: Then Miss Rappe was unconscious at the time you found the ice on her body?
A: Apparently, as near as I could tell, she was unconscious.
Q: And making no sound?
A: No, sir.
Q: What did you say then, when you discovered that she was apparently unconscious?
A: That is when I picked up the ice. I didn’t say anything to her.
Q: Did you say anything to anybody about her condition at that time?
A: No.
Q: You never say anything to anybody except that Miss Rappe was sick?
A: Nope.
Q: Not even to the doctor?
A: Nope.
Q: After Mrs. Delmont entered the room and you went back to 1219, how did you find Miss Rappe?
A: Nude. Mrs. Delmont had some ice in a towel. There was ice on the bed and piece of ice on Miss Rappe’s body. I picked the ice up from her body. I asked Mrs. Delmont what the big idea was. She told me to put it back, that she knew how to care for Virginia, and ordered me out of the room. I told her to shut up or I would throw her out of the window.
Q: And then, after you told Mrs. Delmont to shut up or you would throw her out of the window, then you left the room?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And what is the time you went and told Mrs. Taube to phone for Mr. Boyle; is that correct?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And that is when you told Mrs. Taube to get Mr. Boyle so he could get another room for Miss Rappe, is it not?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you believed that she was unconscious at that time?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you didn’t suggest that a doctor be called in at that time?
A: Not at that time, no.
Q: Now, did you see Mr. Fortlouis come back into the rooms at any time after you had opened the door from room 1219 to room 1220?
A: I cannot remember.
Q: You cannot remember whether you saw him again or not?
A: No. [. . .]
Q: And then, when they were placing this ice pack on her head, and you found this ice on her body, that was after clothes had been removed and she was on the smaller of the two beds?
A: I think so.
Q: Well, is it correct? You can answer that yes or no.
A: Yes, that is where I found her.
Q: Well, did anyone named Minnie Edwards come into your rooms on the day in question, the 5th of September?[20]
A: Not that I can remember of.
Q: Do you know anyone named Minnie Edwards?
A: No.
Q: Now, after Mr. Boyle had come in and you had gone to the closet in room 1219, and after you had got this bathrobe or cover, what did you do then?
A: Mrs. Delmont and I put it around Miss Rappe.
Q: Mrs. Delmont and you put this bathrobe around Miss Rappe?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And then what occurred?
A: I picked her up in my arms.
Q: And then what happened?
A: Mr. Boyle opened the door and we went out into the hall.
Q: And did you notice how Mr. Boyle opened the door?
A: No, sir.
Q: Did you pay any particular attention to his opening of the door?
A: No, sir.
Q: Do you know whether or not the door was open?
A: I know it was open in the morning—when Mr. Fischbach went out.
Q: You never looked at the door any time after Mr. Fischbach left in the morning to see whether or not it had been locked?
A: No, sir.
Q: And after you opened the door from room 1219 to room 1220, you didn’t go over to the door to the corridor to see whether it was unlocked or locked, did you?
A: No, sir, I never paid any attention to it; never gave it a thought.
Q: Now, from the time that you found Miss Rappe in the bathroom of room 1219, until she was removed into 1227, you never told anyone in those rooms on that day that you had found her in the bathroom upon the floor, did you?
A: No.
Q: Did you tell anyone on the 5th day of September in these rooms at the St. Francis hotel, anyone at all, that you had found Miss Rappe lying between the large bed and the small bed in room 1219, apparently writhing in pain?
A: No.
Q: You never told that to anyone?
A: No, sir, I just said she was sick.
Q: Did you tell anyone that on the 5th day of September you had picked Miss Rappe up off the floor and placed her upon the large bed, and that [. . .] ?
A: No.
Q: When was the first time you told anybody that you had found Miss Rappe in the bathroom of room 1219?
A: I told Mr. Dominguez.
Q: You told who?
A: Mr. Dominguez.
Q: Mr. Dominguez?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And who is Mr. Dominguez?
A: He is an attorney.
Q: And when did you tell him that?
A: I told him when I came up here.
Q: And when was that?
A: After we came up here.
Q: Well, when, what part of the month, what day of the month?
A: What day of the month?
Q: Yes.
A: I couldn’t tell you what day of the month it was; it was after I came up here.
Q: Well, how long after the 5th of September?
A: I told it to him when I was put in jail; I told him the whole story.
Q: You told him in jail?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And from the time that you found Miss Rappe in the bathroom in room 1219, until you told your story to Mr. Dominguez in jail in this city and county, had you ever told anybody that you had found Miss Rappe in the bathroom of 1219, upon the floor, and that she had been vomiting.
A: No, sir.
Q: And from the time that you told it to Mr. Dominguez in the jail here, when was the next time that you ever told that to anyone?
A: I told it to Mr. McNab.
Q: And with the exception—Mr. McNab is your counsel, is he not?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And with the exception of your counsel, have you ever told that to anyone?
A: No, sir.
Friedman: That is all.
McNab: That is all.
(Recess of twenty minutes)
Arbuckle is recalled and cross-examination resumed.
Friedman: Mr. Arbuckle, you have stated that you returned to San Francisco after the affair of September 5.
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Who did you come to San Francisco with?
A: Mr. Dominguez, myself and my chauffeur, and Mr. Anger.
Q: And that was before you were first placed in the city prison, as you have testified to?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And you arrived in San Francisco what hour of the night?
A: I couldn’t say; I guess around 9 o’clock—between 8 and 9 o’clock.
Q: Between 8 and 9 o’clock that night. Now, isn’t it a fact, Mr. Arbuckle, that on the night you arrived in San Francisco, as you have been testifying to, about 10 o’clock that night, in the office of Captain Matheson, captain of detectives of this city and county, that you were asked what had occurred in room 1219 on the 5th day of September of the present year, and you replied that you refused to answer upon the advice of counsel?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: And had you told your counsel what had occurred in room 1219 prior to that time?
McNab: If the court please, that is invading the province of counsel, and it is a privileged communication, and has no right to go into the invasion of the confidence between attorney and client.
The Court: I think that had been answered heretofore, anyway. The objection will be sustained.
Friedman: That is all.
McNab: That is all.

[1] The original transcript uses the German spelling Fischbach—probably due to Arbuckle’s pronunciation—even though the name had been anglicized to Fishback as early as 1918 in reaction to the anti-German sentiments of the First World War.

[2] McNab misspeaks here, since he wanted Arbuckle to deny that he had organized the party, invited guests, supplied the liquor, and so on.

[3] The reference to “another lady” may refer to a “a wealthy and socially prominent Eastern woman” who, according to McNab, fled San Francisco as soon as the Arbuckle case made headlines.

[4] The “Court” is Judge Harold Louderback of the Superior Court of San Francisco County.

[5] The San Francisco Bulletin has “She had been ill.” That the prosecution didn’t have Arbuckle’s assertion—that Rappe had vomited—stricken from the record. Rappe’s vomitus makes for a serious oversight here and elsewhere in the Arbuckle case because no other witness besides Arbuckle suggests such copious amounts were disgorged that left no smell or trace in room 1219. (Nor does it help research that newspaper editors considered the v-word in bad taste, as if it might induce nausea on the part of readers.)

[6] Note that the previous animus between Delmont and Arbuckle doesn’t impede their cooperation here.

[7] But he had. When he found her in 1219’s bathroom, Rappe asked for water, to lie down, and said she had these “spells.” Friedman’s cross-examination didn’t question this inconsistency.

[8] Sidi Wirt Spreckels, the widow of John Spreckels Jr., a San Francisco socialite and Rappe’s friend.

[9] Friedman curiously falls back to using Zey Prevost’s professional name in early September.

[10] This is an instance where Arbuckle intentionally doesn’t answer the question.

[11] The San Francisco Bulletin transcript ends here.

[12] The San Francisco Call transcript ends here.

[13] Where indicated, the cross-examination’s questions and answers are inferred due to differences in newspaper transcripts.

[14] The San Francisco Examiner transcript ends here.

[15] The remainder of the composite transcript is largely based on the Chronicle version. The newspaper used two bold dots for ellipses or omissions, whether intended or unintended. In their place are conventional bracketed ellipses.

[16] This is approximately where the cross-examination resumed after the noon recess.

[17] Likely a transcription error here—recall that Arbuckle said she was “ill” while lying on the small bed, Friedman actually pinpoints an inconsistency but doesn’t give it anymore emphasis.

[18] The transcript is “silent” in regard to Arbuckle’s response. Given the context of where the transcript picks up below, a brief passage of the cross-examination seems to be missing.

[19] According to Betty Campbell, a party guest who arrived after 4:00 p.m. and after Rappe had been taken to room 1227, Arbuckle was still dressed in pajamas and bath robe.

[20] This name is introduced for the first time in the Arbuckle case—possibly a red herring to test the witness.

Sources: The transcript is a composite based on the following newspaper transcripts and reportage. The San Francisco newspapers relied on their own stenographers and the variation is minimal—but only the Chronicle transcript covers the entire examination and cross-examination with some editorial omissions.

San Francisco Bulletin, 28 November 1921, https://www.newspapers.com/image/996142220/

San Francisco Call, 28 November 1921, https://cdnc.ucr.edu/?a=d&d=SFC19211128&e

San Francisco Chronicle, 29 November 1921, https://www.newspapers.com/image/27535908

San Francisco Examiner, 29 November 1921, https://www.newspapers.com/image/458170526/

Los Angeles Evening Herald, 28 November 1921, https://cdnc.ucr.edu/?a=d&d=LAH19211128&e

Los Angeles Times, 29 November 1921, Otis M. Wiles quotes and paraphrases from Arbuckle’s testimony with an ear to his more casual speaking voice (e.g., “Nope” instead of “No”), https://www.newspapers.com/image/156456353/

Chicago Tribune, 29 November 1921, Edward Doherty reports much like Wiles, https://www.newspapers.com/image/354998408/

New York Daily News, 29 November 1921, https://www.newspapers.com/image/410387681/

The San Francisco Call goes all-in for Roscoe Arbuckle, January 20, 1922

August 21, 2022September 14, 2022 / The Authors / Leave a comment

The day before the second Arbuckle trial began with jury selection, two young women waited outside the offices of San Francisco District Attorney Matthew Brady. Alice Blake and Zey Prevost, two unemployed “showgirls”—a term that doesn’t do them justice—wanted to be paid “witness fees” for their testimony at the first Arbuckle trial. A trial that ended in a hung jury in early December 1921. Rather than meet with these women, who were expected to testify again at the second trial, Brady and his chief assistant on the Arbuckle case, Milton U’Ren, avoided them. The matter went unresolved.[1]

A week later, Blake and Prevost took the stand and both seemed to have forgotten much of their previous testimony, forcing Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman to read portions. In their cross-examinations, Arbuckle’s lead counsel Gavin McNab questioned them in such a way that ensured the jury understood that their initial statements and testimony, following Virginia Rappe’s death on September 9, 1921, had been coerced by overzealous prosecutors and that both women had been sequestered by the District Attorney against their will.

In an editorial that followed the testimony of Blake and Prevost at the second trial, written by Edgar T. Gleeson, who covered the Arbuckle trials for the San Francisco Call, the reporter took the side of the defense and condemned Matthew Brady. Our commentary appears at the end. Brady’s response will appear in our next posting.

SHOW GIRLS EXPOSE ARBUCKLE EVIDENCE AS A FABRICATION[2]

The sensational developments in the Arbuckle case—the changed testimony of Zey Prevost—the girl’s insinuations that the district attorney’s office had dictated her testimony in the first trial of the film comedian, and District Attorney Brady’s last vainly despairing attempt to have her, one of his two principal witnesses, declared a hostile witness and subjected to cross examination—all these developments have thrown a new and astounding light on a trial that has held the public attention for more than three months. They indicated to The Call yesterday that the trial of Roscoe Arbuckle was merely another miscarriage of justice.

Today The Call is able to give to its readers detailed and convincing testimony on how the district attorney of San Francisco worked up his case against Roscoe Arbuckle. Edgar T. Gleeson has secured the facts from Miss Zey Prevost of how she and Miss Alice Blake were persuaded, threatened and almost compelled to take the stand and give perjured testimony against Roscoe Arbuckle.

FACTS ARE BARED

Here are the facts: It is in some respects another Mooney case—and the only reason Roscoe Arbuckle is not over in San Quentin at this moment, convicted of the death of Miss Rappe. is that another Oxman[3] did not happen to stroll on the scene at the proper moment. That, and that alone, saved Arbuckle.

The Call has no purpose in this exposure than to show how easy it is for men to make grave mistakes in the judgment of other men and how difficult it is for them to stand firm in the face of an inflamed and belligerent public opinion. It is not The Call’s intention to convince its readers that District Attorney Brady and his associates were prejudiced beforehand against Roscoe Arbuckle or that they are exceptionally weak or ruthless. It is the intention, however, to show that men who are very kindly and tolerant in their private lives can and do become both brutal and merciless under the pressure of public office.

BRADY SINCERE

Remember that Matthew Brady opened the case of Roscoe Arbuckle with a firmly sincere declaration that he would do his duty. The Howard street gangster cases were still in the public mind, and men remembered how punctual the district attorney had been in the prosecution of those men of little wealth and little influence.[4]

Matthew Brady announced that the power, the wealth and the popularity of Roscoe Arbuckle would not keep him from receiving as stern a trial as a “Spud” Murphy had received.[5]

So far, so good. But the district attorney did not stop there. Having pledged himself to try Arbuckle he came to believe that he had pledged himself to secure a conviction. Hence the invention of false testimony, the seclusion of witnesses and the stimulation of perjury on the part of a public official who is sworn to enforce and to protect the dignity of the law.

It is an astounding story and at the same time a very natural story—the story of how sincere and kindly men, living under pressure, can become involved in a situation that forces them to accomplish great injustices.

By EDGAR T. GLEESON

The story of how the prosecution in the Arbuckle case, driven to desperate lengths by the threatened collapse of Mrs. Bambina Maude Delmont, its capital witness, deliberately set about the business of manufacturing evidence to the end that the moving picture actor might be convicted on a charge of murder, has now been bared for the first time. Miss Zey Prevost. former moving picture girl and a guest at the Arbuckle party, finally admitted, although reluctantly, that the part of her testimony in which Miss Virginia Rappe was represented as having accused Arbuckle of hurting her, was fabricated.

Miss Prevost is one of the two witnesses whom the district attorney seized upon when his case began to teeter and after investigation had failed to yield any corroboration of Mrs. Delmont’s story.

CREATES SENSATION

The facts as revealed on the stand yesterday (January 19, 1922), and as hinted at on the preceding day by Miss Alice Blake, show that the two girls consented to testify that Miss Rappe had said “I’m dying. I’m dying; he hurt me,” only after efforts had been made by the district attorney to force them into testifying that the girl had accused Arbuckle in the stronger words, “I’m dying, I’m dying; he KILLED me.”

The extraordinary declaration of Zey Prevost that she had testified falsely in the first Arbuckle trial under fear of the district attorney’s office has, of course, created a sensation. Everywhere men ask, how can such things be? Surely a district attorney does not deliberately set out to violate justice!

A review of the immediate events following the death of Miss Rappe will help one to understand something of how such an amazing situation can come about. And this review will show the district attorney’s office, first misled by the now thoroughly discredited story of Mrs. Delmont, and then persisting in a theory of the case built up on the exploded story of Mrs. Delmont who, herself, was so impossible that she was never called as a witness in the case.[6]

When the authorities first learned of the circumstances surrounding the death of Miss Rappe on September 9, of last year, four days after the party in Arbuckle’s rooms at the Hotel St. Francis, an effort was made to secure statements from all of the participants.

One of the first persons visited was Mrs. Delmont, who was then in a state bordering on collapse at the Hotel St. Francis. The Rappe girl, her friend of a week, and companion on the trip from Los Angeles, had died suddenly and under conditions that were as terrifying as they were mysterious. Mrs. Delmont had come to one conclusion about the whole affair. She was not in Miss Rappe’s company when the girl left room 1219, nor did she see Arbuckle accompany her into that ill-fated chamber.

IN OTHER ROOM

The facts are that Mrs. Delmont had partaken of some of the liquor and was in room 1221 with another member of the party.[7] The door was locked between 1221 and 1220. Mrs. Delmont couldn’t possibly nave seen what transpired in or near the door of 1219.

Yet, in her grief and hysteria, following the tragedy she insisted on describing a struggle at the entrance to room 1219. She told of Arbuckle clutching Virginia Rappe by the arm and saying “I’ve waited five years to get you.”

Thereupon, she said, Arbuckle pulled the girl back into 1219 and locked the door behind them. Mrs. Delmont depicted a struggle between the girl and the actor. She said that in this struggle Miss Rappe cried out, again and again for help, and that she, Mrs. Delmont, rushed to the locked door, to beat upon it and cry out that Arbuckle open the door and release Virginia.

When the door, after remaining locked an hour, was finally opened, Arbuckle was alleged to have rushed out, a terrified object. He was said to be perspiring as though from a long struggle while Miss Rappe lay dying upon the bed, naked and in a state of unconsciousness. Mrs. Delmont said that Miss Rappe had fought off Arbuckle’s advances as long as her strength and senses remained and that then she was criminally assaulted.

TOLD OF SCREAMS

She said further that Arbuckle had stripped the clothes from Miss Rappe during the fight and that they were scattered about the floor in ribbons; that when she and other members of the party came upon the girl, Miss Rappe was crying out. “I’m dying, I’m dying, Roscoe killed me.”

Mrs. Delmont took charge of Miss Rappe when the girl was removed to another room that afternoon. She was lying alongside the bed, intoxicated, when Dr. Olaf Kaarboe called to attend Miss Rappe.[8] The doctor detected the odor of liquor upon Miss Rappe’s breath and concluded that there was nothing serious the matter with her.[9]

When Dr. Arthur Beardslee, house physician of the St. Francis, visited Miss Rappe later in the evening, he found her conscious and complaining of a pain in her abdomen. He made an examination and endeavored to get at a history of the case.

DENIED STATEMENT

Mrs. Delmont started to tell the doctor of the Arbuckle party and mentioned that Arbuckle hurt her. Miss Rappe, who overheard the statement, denied this to Dr. Beardslee. This evidence is known to the prosecution, but it will not be admitted as part of the present case because it comes under the heading of hearsay.[10]

To Detective George Glennon, the St. Francis Hotel detective, Miss Rappe likewise denied the accusation against Arbuckle. She said she did not know what happened to her.[11]

Both District Attorney Matthew Brady and his assistant, I. M. Golden, were in Mendocino County investigating some features of the Woodcock case when Arbuckle drove up from Los Angeles to give his story of what happened at the party.[12] Arbuckle was accompanied by his attorney, Frank Dominguez, and some of the other men who were present in his rooms on Labor Day. He went to the office of Captain of Detectives Duncan Matheson, where Milton U’Ren, representing the district attorney, joined the actor and the detective chief.

QUIZZED BY MATHESON

After some brief discussion Captain Matheson began to interrogate Arbuckle along the lines of Mrs. Delmont’s statement. Arbuckle denied some of the accusations. Third degree methods were then attempted, according to Dominguez, and he gave Arbuckle instructions not to answer some of the interrogations unless by the consent of his counsel.

This, according to both Dominguez and Arbuckle, angered the captain of detectives and Milton U’Ren. The attorney said afterward that the threat was then made to lock Arbuckle up on a charge of murder unless he gave kind of a statement the officials wanted. Dominguez told Arbuckle not to answer, and that Matheson and U’Ren carried out the threat.

CHARGED WITH MURDER

The charge on which Arbuckle was booked was murder, sworn to by the police. Later a formal charge was placed against him in Police Judge Daniel O’Brien’s court, when Mrs. Delmont appeared as the complaining witness.

Although discrepancies were found in Mrs. Delmont’s story, the district attorney’s office set about trying to verify her statements through others who were present at the party.

Brady and Golden returned to San Francisco to find the prosecution of Arbuckle for murder well under way. When Golden saw and talked with Mrs. Delmont and had a chance to study her testimony, he began to have misgivings. The same with Al Semnacher’s testimony.

PRESSURE USED

The feeling began to grow that if the prosecution was to uphold its charge it had better go about getting other props for the structure. That is when the pressure began to be exerted upon Miss Alice Blake, former entertainer at Tait’s, and Miss Prevost.

At the time the coroner’s inquest was held, an effort was made to subpoena Miss Blake and Miss Prevost, but the district attorney’s office refused to surrender the witnesses. It didn’t know at that time just how it was going to have them testify, and for that reason wasn’t prepared to have them give contradictory testimony.

Alice Blake was seen at Tait’s immediately after the death of Miss Rappe. She told what she knew of the facts to Detective Griffith Kennedy and in the presence of George Hyde and Les Gillen, two reporters on a morning newspaper.[13] Miss Blake knew nothing of a struggle or criminal assault in Arbuckle’s room. She said she thought Miss Rappe was intoxicated at the time and that there was nothing of a fatal nature in her illness. She said she didn’t hear Miss Rappe say Arbuckle killed or hurt her. She said all the girl cried was, “I’m dying. I’m dying; I know I’m going to die.”

Mrs. Delmont said Arbuckle and Miss Rappe were in room 1219 an hour. Alice Blake said, and has since been supported by other testimony, that she went from the Arbuckle rooms to Tait’s for a rehearsal at 2 o’clock on the day of the party; that she returned at 2:30 or 2:45, and that the party was still in progress, with all persons present.

IN ROOM TEN MINUTES

It was about 3 o’clock, ten or fifteen minutes later, that the Rappe girl was stricken. She did not leave room 1220 until after Miss Blake’s return. The best recollection of Fred Fishback who helped Miss Blake carry Miss Rappe to the cold bath, is that he returned to the hotel at 3 o’clock. The testimony of the prosecution’s witnesses allows Arbuckle only ten minutes alone in the room with the girl.

When the grand jury investigation was launched the district attorney sought to get new statements from Miss Blake and Miss Prevost. The latter had been dragged down to police headquarters by George Duffy of the district attorney’s office and an attempt was made to get a statement supporting Mrs. Delmont from her. It failed and the next day Miss Prevost was asked by Milton U’Ren to sign a new statement, prepared by U’Ren, in which Miss Rappe was alleged to have cried out In Miss Prevost’s hearing, “I’m dying; I’m dying; he killed me.”

Although Miss Rappe was conscious for three days of her illness she made no accusation, no dying statement against Arbuckle.

Having first charged Arbuckle with murder, without determining whether it had a case, the district attorney’s office now sought to make a dying statement out of what Mrs. Delmont reported, namely that Miss Rappe had charged Arbuckle with killing her. The rules of evidence demand that this statement must be made in the hearing of the defendant; so Mrs. Delmont conveniently placed Arbuckle in the room when Miss Rappe was alleged to have made the accusation and had him reply: “You’re crazy; shut up, or I’ll throw you out the window.”[14]

GIRL REFUSES

Miss Prevost was asked to swear to the same set of circumstances.

“I will not,” she replied to U’Ren. “I never heard Miss Rappe say that anybody hurt her.”

When the district attorney’s office failed to get the information it sought to elicit from Miss Prevost, it had her hauled before the grand jury. It was thought that she could be broken under the continuous fire of suggestion and cross-examination. But she would not swear to the statement that Virginia Rappe had said Arbuckle killed her.

When the girl was brought back, as she now relates to the district attorney’s office, she was ready to collapse. The prosecution had harried her by asking over and over again the same question as to the Rappe girl’s accusations.

“Did you tell me, downstairs in the district attorney’s office,” U’Ren had asked “that Miss Rappe had said Arbuckle killed her? “No, I did not,“ said Miss Prevost. “I never said that Miss Rappe had made any such statement.”

Source: *San Francisco Call*, January 20, p. 13 (*California Digital Newspaper Collection*)

MOTHER THREATENED

Outside Brady’s office at 4 o’clock in the morning Miss Prevost found her mother and brother waiting for her. They had been threatened with prosecution for subornation of perjury because they warned Miss Prevost against signing any statements that she did not agree with.

“Wait until they subpoena you into court, if you don’t want to swear to those things,” the brother had advised.

Brady’s patience was exhausted by the efforts to secure the testimony of Miss Prevost and he ordered Detective Leo Bunner to take her upstairs and lock her in the city prison. Later he relented and said that if she would be at his office at 10 o’clock the next morning he would let her go home with her mother and brother.

That night Miss Prevost’s home was watched.[15] In the morning a representative of Brady’s office called and brought her to the Hall of Justice. Then ensued another long third degree with U’Ren doing the questioning. He was determined to wring from her a statement that Miss Rappe had charged Arbuckle with killing her. He had a new one prepared.

While reporters cooled their heels in the hall outside U’Ren quizzed Miss Prevost for hours without result. She would go no further than the statement that Miss Rappe had said she was dying, a fact that she, Miss Prevost, qualified with the remark, “We attached no importance to it, because we thought she was suffering from gas pains. That is why Alice Blake gave the bicarbonate of soda.”

U’REN EXASPERATED

U’Ren after a morning’s work, in an attempt to support the murder charge placed against Arbuckle, at his insistence. came out of the room exasperated. He said that he would give Miss Prevost one more chance and that if she didn’t testify to what the people wanted he would have her placed in custody.

Then Alice Blake was brought from Oakland, to which city she had fled after the first days of the tragedy She was taken to Brady’s office and the same means were employed to get the dying statement into her testimony. Miss Blake would not stand for it.

The district attorney played one girl against the other. Word was carried to Miss Prevost that Miss Blake had testified that Miss Rappe had said Arbuckle killed her. “I never heard her say it,” said Miss Prevost. “If Alice says that, then her ears hear differently than mine.”

The district attorney’s office threatened Miss Blake, it told her that it had an abundance of proof, that it knew positively that Arbuckle was guilty. Finally, Golden appealed to the heart of the woman in Miss Blake. The show girl had a tragic face and a deep emotion.

Golden pictured to her that girls like Miss Rappe were nothing but dirt under the feet of men like Arbuckle. He asked if she could question the sincerity of the district attorney’s office.

GIRL BREAKS DOWN

“Don’t you know,’’ pleaded Golden, “that we would be down here making this same kind of a fight if you were the victim?’’

Nervous and distracted, Alice Blake easily crumbled. She broke into tears. The strong appeal of Golden persuaded her. She agreed to stand for the statement that Miss Rappe had said. “I’m dying; I’m dying (she couldn’t go the full route, but she compromised); he hurt me.”

The fact was carried to Miss Prevost that Alice had “come through’’ to that extent. “I never heard Miss Rappe say it.” said Miss Provost, frightened and overcome with weariness after the third degree ordeal, “but if you want me to say it I will.”

The statement was handed her. the words “he killed me” crossed out. and Miss Prevost wrote in the words “he hurt me.”

That night the grand jury indicted Arbuckle for manslaughter. Later the police court held Arbuckle for manslaughter.

Mrs. Delmont was not called because, as Judge Brady and Isadore Golden both told me, “we cannot believe a word she says.”

The prosecution dropped Mrs. Delmont. but it saved her story for the purpose of convicting Arbuckle. Miss Prevost and Miss Blake were to take up the evidence where Mrs. Delmont left off. The two girls were then placed in Mrs. Duffy’s custody. Mrs. Duffy is the mother of George Duffy, an attaché of the district attorney s office.

Miss Blake escaped from the district attorney’s care when her mother visited Calistoga and took her away from her jailer. Miss Prevost was not delivered up until the last trial. Yesterday afternoon Miss Prevost said she would tell the whole story when she returned to the stand. And she did.

The Call was a newspaper in the Hearst chain. We have mentioned in earlier blog entries that William Randolph Hearst’s animus for Arbuckle is a myth. As a publisher, he tended not to interfere with his editors and reporters or issue memoranda on how they should cover a story. This is true of the Arbuckle case and one needs only look at the reportage in September 1921. The sensational aspect of the case—which sold Hearst newspapers—quickly evaporated. The Arbuckle case became more of a sporting event, in which the prosecution was one team and defense the other. The press sided with the perceived winner.

Gleeson, representing his newspaper, bought into the story that Blake and Prevost had been coerced due to the failure of Maude Delmont to perform as a reliable prosecution witness. This, however, was an oversimplification of what happened. All three women were being groomed as state witnesses at the same time with differing results. All three, too, had exhibited trepidation at having to relive what happened on September 5. They would bear the responsibility of violating a kind of show business omertà that extended from movie stars paid millions (Arbuckle) to a Sennett Bathing Beauty (Prevost) or a San Francisco nightclub dancer (Blake) to a film colony society girl (Rappe) to a former extra practically living in the streets of Los Angeles (Delmont). They risked losing access to the club so to speak, the demimonde-democracy in which they had status. They also risked losing access to the employment and benefits that membership entailed, even if that meant being little more than being an escort and dance partner at a Hollywood party held in San Francisco for one day without pay. They took a great risk, perhaps even to their persons, if they were complicit in sending Arbuckle, a fellow entertainer, to the gallows or a ten-year prison sentence in San Quentin. Regarding his work with the Labor Day party guests, Assistant District Attorney Isadore M. Golden said it best when he was faced with their reluctance and reservations about talking to him. “We have made out a case [. . .] through witnesses who had to have the truth dynamited out of them, witnesses who would give anything to say, ‘I was not there.’”[16] This certainly applied to Alice Blake and Zey Prevost—and Maude Delmont as well.

In the case of Prevost, she might have been too outspoken about the party, at least in the first days after Rappe’s death. She likely learned this when she was approached by one of Arbuckle’s lawyers before any charges were filed. From that point on, she began to resist the District Attorney and his assistants. But they likely did doctor her statement. District attorneys have been and still are often more tactical than criminal defense lawyers, especially when the ends justified the means. One method used by Brady’s assistants was to exploit the power of sisterhood by shaming the female witnesses into believing they would be protecting Rappe’s honor.

Blake, the rebellious daughter of a wealthy Oakland family, returned home and was likely coached in some way not to be so voluble for the DA. A former boyfriend, who played a part in keeping her on the other side of the Bay, employed Prevost’s brother—who aspired to be a motion picture cameraman and director—as an electrician in Oakland. Ultimately, it was Brady’s fear of witness tampering and the flight risk that forced him to isolate Blake and Prevost for as long as he could. But they were both free by the time of the first trial in November 1921 and their tilt toward favoring Arbuckle’s defense can be seen in their testimony given then.

Nothing they said on the stand explains their own presence at Arbuckle’s Labor Day party. They certainly weren’t total strangers. The news that “Fatty was in town” seemed to be a familiar call to action, in keeping with previous visits by Arbuckle and/or his traveling companions, director Fred Fishback and actor Lowell Sherman. They were likely of a sort in keeping with escorts, groupies, or “girls in port.” Whether they were compensated for their attentions and attendance at the Labor Day party of 1921 is unknown. But whatever they did at the party before Rappe’s crisis in room 1219 went unreported. If it came up in trial testimony, that was censored and entirely kept out of the newspapers. Reporters do mention that aspects of their testimony couldn’t be repeated. This was certainly true of Maude Delmont’s story of Arbuckle wearing Rappe’s Panama hat like a trophy, his wanting to “get” Rappe in bed for five years, and so on.

No other guest would corroborate Delmont’s story—but no one corroborated Arbuckle’s either. It was simply seen as the most probable by jurors in the first and third trials. But two words stand out as it concerns Delmont. She stated the Labor Day party was “rough” and the word “censored” was used early on in describing her initial statements. For that reason, we believe that she wasn’t allowed to testify. For one, there was probably a concern she wouldn’t self-censor herself about any sexual activities at the party, an aspect the prosecution would have been eager to suppress. Also, we think she was reluctant to testify.

Maude Delmont may not have been the one who gave a statement first. Alice Blake’s initial statement is the that got the attention of Arbuckle and his lawyers while still in Los Angeles on the night after Rappe’s death. Allegedly, Zey Prevost made her statement next followed by Delmont. This still seems counterintuitive to us. But it is possible that someone else tipped them off about the possible criminal nature of Rappe’s death. An anonymous telephone call was how the Coroner’s office learned of the first and unsanctioned autopsy performed on her body. In any event, Delmont surely stirred up things for Arbuckle.

That said, Delmont nevertheless exhibited a palpable fear of having to sign a murder complaint or face Arbuckle and his lawyers in court. In our work-in-progress we ask if this was her defense mechanism against having to testify any further? Where Blake, Prevost, and other party guests couldn’t remember or didn’t see what happened to Virginia Rappe vis-à-vis Roscoe Arbuckle, Delmont didn’t have that option. She had blurted out a story that detectives and an overworked assistant district attorney wanted to believe and she had been convinced or forced to sign the murder complaint, which Blake and Prevost would have refused to do.

Delmont, too, said things out of resentment. She said things that might also be correct but perhaps only enough to lend credence to other statements. But we must not lose sight of the fact that Delmont, despite her humble status, was chummy enough with Arbuckle to call him “Roscoe,” just like most of the women who attended the Labor Day party. If there was a kind of freemasonry to the gathering of entertainers ranging from two movie stars, a director, an actress, as well as local showgirls, Delmont belonged at the end of the line.

Before Arbuckle lawyers demonized her, Delmont felt she was doing the comedian’s bidding by taking care of the fatally injured Rappe and interacting with hotel physicians. Delmont was the intermediary between Arbuckle and the party’s inner circle until he left San Francisco. Then she, like Rappe, was cast aside. Such rejection and the consequent resentment, penury, and that Rappe was such a “good fellow” was likely used to extract her version of events—at the other end of the spectrum from Arbuckle’s (see Arbuckle’s Testimony of November 28, 1921). We think the truth lies in between.

We think—at this writing anyway—that Delmont’s loyalty to the “party” ended with Rappe’s life. Whether consciously or unconsciously, however, she became impossible to work with as a credible witness. Thus, Matthew Brady and his assistants could go with Alice Blake and Zey Prevost who, over the weekend of September 10 and 11, no longer wanted to stick to their original stories of what happened to Virginia Rappe.

[1] “Witnesses in Arbuckle Case Denied Fees,” San Francisco Chronicle, 11 September 1922, 9.

[2] San Francisco Call, 20 January 1921, 1, 12.

[3] Frank C. Oxman, the state’s star witness at the 1917 Preparedness Day Bombing trial who said he saw labor activist Tom Mooney and an accomplice near the site where the bomb was placed on July 22, 1916.

[4] The Howard Street Gang trial took place in early 1921.

[5] Edmund “Spud” Murphy, leader of the Howard Street Gang.

[6] Maude Delmont did, indeed, testify at the Coroner’s Court in September 1921, which was an early venue in the Arbuckle case.

[7] Gleeson fails to tell his readers that this was undoubtedly Ira Fortlouis and that both were likely in the bathroom of 1221.

[8] An internist and surgeon covering for St. Francis Hotel’s regular physician, Dr. Arthur Beardslee, during the afternoon of September 5, 1921.

[9] In Arbuckle’s testimony, she had been vomiting profusely and was given water by him. Alice Blake also tried to get Rappe to drink a glass or warm water and bicarbonate of soda. That she had no more than three gin and orange juice cocktails (“Brooklyns”) if at all suggests Dr. Kaarboe either had the olfactory senses of a canine or made his testimony up.

[10] Technically it is, hearsay, but Dr. Beardslee wasn’t allowed to discuss it at the preliminary hearing because Arbuckle’s lead counsel, Frank Dominguez, objected.

[11] Glennon’s testimony was deemed hearsay as well.

[12] In September 1921, Alice Woodcock, a school teacher, was on trial for perjury relating to the 1919 murder trial of her husband Edward Woodock.

[13] San Francisco Chronicle.

[14] This wasn’t in any statement made by Delmont; but it was made by Prevost.

[15] Gleeson fails to tell his readers that Arbuckle’s lawyer, Charles Brennan, had approached Zey Prevost on Market Street and asked her if she needed an attorney. Was that all the said? The district attorneys were utterly paranoid about witness tampering.

[16] Edward J. Doherty, “State Springs Coup on Fatty; Defense Wild,” Chicago Tribune, 28 September 1921, 3.

Arbuckle’s lawyers as witnesses . . . for the prosecution?

April 10, 2022April 16, 2022 / The Authors / Leave a comment

On Saturday, April 8, which was a short session for the third and final Arbuckle trial now entering its third week, Assistant District Attorney Leo Friedman called Gavin McNab, Arbuckle’s lead attorney, to take the stand. According to the Associated Press reporter, McNab “absentmindedly” did so without being sworn in.[1] More accustomed to examining witnesses rather than being questioned as one himself, McNab was asked how he obtained the deposition of Mrs. Helen Madeline Whitehurst taken by Albert Sabath, the Chicago attorney.

Earlier in the week, she had taken the stand and claimed to have seen Virginia Rappe drinking in her Chicago cafés and her own home in 1914 and 1915, becoming ill and tearing off her clothes—the behaviors that she exhibited in Arbuckle’s hotel bedroom on Labor Day 1921.

During her examination, McNab confronted her about a discrepancy found in her deposition regarding how many times she saw Rappe fall ill in her home: a “number” of times versus only two.

Whitehurst claimed her deposition had been altered and McNab then offered the deposition as an altered document. This seemingly minor detail, however, prompted the prosecution to expose the true nature of Sabath’s relationship to the defense—as a purveyor of tainted evidence and witnesses all designed to damage the reputation of Virginia Rappe.

McNab said that Sabath wasn’t a defense attorney and that his office didn’t correspond with him. If Sabath had acted as a defense attorney, McNab said, those arrangements had been made “in the east,” adding that he didn’t know who sent him the deposition, stating that it merely came to him “from the east.”

The prosecution’s strategy here was simple: to reveal that Sabath had really been in the employ of the defense during the time that he had been commissioned by the court to take depositions in Chicago. In that capacity, Sabath should have been answerable to the court and expected to be impartial. Logically, such a strategy put jury members in the strange position that if any of them voted to acquit Arbuckle, it would be with the knowledge that there might have been false testimony presented. By placing the burden of guilt on the jury, Brady and his assistants hoped to bolster their case against Arbuckle made entirely on circumstantial evidence and also parry the defense’s attacks on Rappe’s character—to restore the victim to her victim status.

McNab expressed a certain plausible deniability by stating that his colleague on Arbuckle’s so-called “million dollar” defense team, Charles H. Brennan handled the “eastern agents” of the defense. But that was as far as Friedman got before McNab’s chief assistant, Nat Schmulowitz objected—and Judge Louderback sustained. McNab left the chair and Friedman called Brennan to the stand. He testified—this time under oath—that he knew Sabath, having met him in October 1921. He also admitted that Sabath handed him the deposition in Chicago in late February but denied that Sabath worked for the defense. In contrast to the AP Night Wire, Oscar Fernbach of the San Francisco Examiner reported that Brennan said that Sabath, “in the time of procuring a statement for the defense from Mrs. Helen M. Whitehurst, was not a commissioner of the court.”[2]

A cursory look at the reportage from October 1921 and February 1922 reveals that Sabath, indeed, had been working closely with the defense. This, of course, put Judge Louderback in a more uncomfortable position than the jury. The judge could now be seen as having favored the defense. He had commissioned a lawyer who obviously worked for Arbuckle’s defense since October if not earlier—and Sabath himself wasn’t the least bit covert about it. He had offered to defend Arbuckle at the third trial in the wake of the second trial. He had personally dispatched one of his Chicago witnesses for the defense, Nurse Virginia Warren, to San Francisco so that she was well prepared to take the stand and say that Rappe gave birth to a premature infant in 1908.

This small but bold move by the prosecution ended the rebuttal phase of the third Arbuckle trial. It was followed by a brief surrebuttal, in which Harry Barker, although sick from a cold or flu, repeated his testimony from November 1921, in which he, as Rappe’s former Chicago sweetheart, suffered her hysterics vis-à-vis a drink or two. Ironically, Brady and his associates were aware that Sabath was Barker’s friend, business partner, and fellow litigant in a long-standing lawsuit that already made its way to the California Supreme Court. But they had thus far made nothing of this curious connection. Time was running out. The public was impatient. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, if one adjusts for inflation, had been spent by the state to prosecute Arbuckle.

Gavin McNab (l to r) making a point at the defense counsel table to Milton Cohen, Roscoe Arbuckle, Charles Brennan, and Joseph McInerney (*Newspapers.com*)

[1] Associated Press Night Wire, in various newspapers, 9 April 1922.

[2] Oscar H. Fernbach, “M’Nab Poor Witness for Prosecution,” San Francisco Examiner, 9 April 1922, 2.

Spite Work: The Trials of Virginia Rappe and Fatty Arbuckle

A reconsideration of the Fatty Arbuckle case of 1921-22 and the life and death of the victim, Virginia Rappe

Leo Friedman