The Persistence of Memory

In February 1972, when the California Supreme Court ruled that capital punishment violated the state constitution’s ban on “cruel or unusual punishments,” it gave the 102 men and 5 women on death row a reason to hope. And something else they never dreamed they would have. A future. Their sentences became life with the possibility of parole.

Paul S. Perveler was one of the lucky ones. Over the next several years, he was a model prisoner. In 1982, impressed with his institutional record, the Board of Prison Terms gave him a parole date of August 6, 1985. He’d spent a few years on death row, and over a decade in the general population. He longed to begin a life beyond the walls.

Outside the prison was someone who knew Paul’s history in a way the Board of Prison Terms never could. His former wife, Lela Halverson. Unlike the others whose lives Paul disrupted, Lela survived—and remembered.

Lela turned to Assemblyman Patrick Nolan for help. Nolan initiated a statewide petition drive to keep Paul incarcerated. He called Paul “a cold, calculating killer.”

Lela told reporters that after Paul’s conviction he told his minister that “someday, some way, he would get out of prison and kill me.” She believed him. Paul had remarried in prison, and his wife had made inquiries about Lela’s whereabouts—and that frightened her. But her fear wasn’t enough to silence her.

Public opinion is a powerful tool. Lela and Nolan announced the petition drive from the corner of McCarthy Drive and Caledonia Way in Glendale. Lela spoke about the significance of the location. She recalled that in June 1966, “I was coming home from a meeting and he got in front of my car. He started beating me inside the car, then he dragged me out and started pounding my head against the pavement.” Later that year, hit-and-run autos struck her twice. She didn’t believe in coincidence. She divorced Paul that same year.

In 1982, after news of Paul’s parole date broke, Lela spoke out, “I try not to dwell on it, but it’s always in the back of my mind. I have this great fear. It’s almost like going through that trial again, but this time it’s worse because I know of the brutality he is capable of. During the trial, I didn’t know everything.”

The reason for Lela’s fear lay in two murders Paul had committed years earlier.

In early December 1966, the Los Angeles County Fire Department responded to a routine call at a home on the 2700 block of Ballard Street in El Sereno.

After they extinguished the blaze, they discovered the charred body of Marlin Cromwell sprawled on the couch in the living room. At first, it appeared he had died in the fire. A closer look revealed multiple gunshot wounds inflicted by a small-caliber gun. Kristina, accompanied by the couple’s four-year-old son, was visiting with friends in Twenty-Nine Palms when the murder occurred.

About midnight on April 20, 1968, Cheryl Perveler pulled her convertible Jaguar into the carport of the Burbank apartment where she lived with Paul. A few minutes later, neighbors reported hearing three gunshots. Apartment manager John E. Miller went out to the carport and found Cheryl in the driver’s seat unconscious and bleeding. An ambulance was called and rushed her to Burbank Hospital. They later transferred her to County General where she died without regaining consciousness. She had been married to Paul for about six weeks.

The sixteen-month gap between the murders obscured the relationship between the two crimes. Had the deaths occurred close together, investigators would likely have examined Paul and Kristina’s affair much sooner.

Paul might never have been caught if he had not confided in a co-worker at the Auto Club details of Marlin’s murder. It was a serious miscalculation. The co-worker went to the police.

It took about two weeks for detectives to unravel the murder plot. On May 1, 1968, the police jailed Paul and Kristina. Detectives booked both Paul and Kristina on suspicion of murder in the deaths of their spouses.

At the time of Paul and Kristina’s arrest, detectives told reporters that Paul’s ex-wife, Lela, was deliberately run down by a car in 1965 and was the target of a car which jumped a curb in 1966. Paul would have received $32,000 in double indemnity insurance if she had died.

Juries prefer a case with an understandable motive. Sometimes they don’t get one. But here the D.A. offered them a common one, and one they could comprehend—greed. According to the prosecution, Paul committed the murders so he and Kristina could cash in on two hefty double-indemnity life insurance policies.

In fact, Marlin’s policy paid Kristinia $75,000. She and Paul used most of the money to purchase another Burbank cocktail bar—Paul already owned one.

A jury convicted Kristina Cromwell for her role in the murders, and she served 7 years of a life sentence before being released in 1976.

Paul received the death penalty for the murders and for the attempted murder of Lela.

Paul’s death sentence gave Lela breathing room. The change in his sentence shattered her peace. Once free, he could make good on his pledge to kill her. Would she have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life?

Lela continued to pressure the parole board. She requested a hearing, and in June 1983, she presented the board with 20,000 signatures from residents of Patrick Nolan’s district, where the murders occurred. As the only survivor of Paul’s murder for money plots, Lela revealed more about him than was in his prison file.

The parole board only saw his exemplary record, college education, self-awareness groups for prisoners, favorable psychiatric reports, praise from prison staffers, and a 1978 marriage that offered him new stability.

Paul opted out of the hearing, which gave Lela the perfect opportunity to speak. “I’m thrilled and delighted we’ve finally been heard and that we have a chance for justice.” She spoke of the severe beating at Paul’s hands. “He tried six times to kill me. I will never forget the feeling of the bones of my face crunching, the smashing of my head against the pavement and the taste of my own blood in my throat while he was choking me. I knew I was going to die.”

She said he had lain in wait for her before the attack and had doused himself with alcohol afterward so he could claim he attacked her in a drunken, jealous rage and that he wasn’t trying to kill her.

Kristina Cromwell confirmed Lela’s testimony and offered her own perspective into Paul’s plans. She described how he intended to commit the murders over a three-year period.

She said in 1965, Paul shot his father from a passing car on Baja Highway south of Tijuana. “We were going to overtake them on a road where there were cliffs, and he was going to shoot out of the back window.” A bullet struck Joseph Perveler on the right side of his nose. His father recovered and died later of other causes. The shooting was never reported to U.S. authorities.

Kristina told of Paul’s plot to murder Lela while on a Memorial Day outing in the San Gabriel Mountains and make it look like an accident.

She told the parole board that three other times Paul had struck Lela with his car.

Paul planned to kill Marlin while he and Kristina vacationed in Mexico in 1966, but she refused to cooperate and fled to Los Angeles. “He told me if he had caught me on the way back to the border, he would have killed me.” He said if she refused to cooperate in her husband’s murder again, he would kill her son.

Kristina revealed that she and Paul were going to kill Lela and described the plan. She was to wait in her car and honk the horn as Lela’s VW neared the house. Paul would emerge from his hiding place, attack Lela until she was unconscious, and stuff her body in the back seat. But after the attack, Paul ran to Kristinia in a panic. Kristina convinced him to pour alcohol on his clothes and tell police he’d been drinking.

Asked why she never reported Paul to the police. She said she loved him and did whatever he wanted.

The board was convinced by the women to rescind Paul’s parole. Lela said: “Our system worked as it should have worked. It’s just unfortunate that I had to go through all that I have.”

Paul showed little emotion as he heard the ruling. Asked how he felt, he said, “Tired, wiped out and gutted.”

At least for a time Lela could rest easy; but the fight would begin again in six months when his parole status would be reviewed.

Paul’s persistence in pursuit of a goal was evident from his continued attempts to kill anyone who stood between him and a large insurance payout.

Lela was persistent, too. But hers wasn’t destructive—it was restorative. She wanted the truth to become part of the permanent record.

Over the next decade, she had to summon her strength repeatedly to keep Paul behind bars.

Lela prevailed.

In 1992, in the landmark case Perveler v. Estelle (1992), the Ninth Circuit affirmed that California’s parole board acted within its legal rights when it rescinded Paul’s parole date based on newly uncovered evidence of his dangerous past. Paul would remain in prison.

For years, Paul Perveler tried to persuade parole authorities that they misunderstood him. In the end, it was Lela Halverson and Kristina Cromwell who persuaded them that indeed they had.



NOTE: My thanks to Blake Leung for introducing me to this case. He pointed me to an extraordinary story hidden in the archives.


Sources

This story was researched using contemporary newspapers, court records, parole proceedings, archival collections, and other primary and secondary sources.


Research Note

The historical record is never complete. This narrative reflects the best available evidence at the time of publication. Any errors or omissions are my own.



Double Trouble: Conclusion

At 20-years-old, Robert Schoengarth could have kicked heroin and started over. But heroin is a hard habit to break. Heroin attaches to opioid receptors in the brain and nervous system, like natural endorphins, so the brain adapts with regular use. Getting clean isn’t a matter of willpower. You are fighting your altered chemistry. Withdrawal from heroin, while not often life-threatening, can be so painful you pray for death.

In September 1957, Robert married June Leach in Las Vegas. They had a daughter, but the marriage didn’t last. We can only speculate about what drove them apart.

From the time he was a teenager, Robert moved between California and Colorado. He had trouble with the law in both places.

In January 1963, an anonymous tip alerted the LAPD’s Hollywood division that Colorado wanted Robert for felony robbery and theft. They busted him near Klump Avenue and La Maida Street in North Hollywood. 6

Robert confessed to stealing from a Ventura Boulevard business after his arrest for suspected burglary. He had drugs on him—a vial with 45 pink pills in it. He told officers he came to North Hollywood to score dope.

Robert’s brother, William, had his own problems. In 1956, Burbank police arrested William and two other men for burglarizing an Apple Valley men’s clothing store on New Year’s Eve, 1955. Zeke Eblen, chief of detectives for the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Office, said the men stole expensive suits, sports jackets, and other clothing, which they took out a side door and loaded into a car.

Like Robert, William’s heroin addiction caused his troubles. In court on the burglary charges, he pleaded guilty and admitted to being an addict. Assistant County Probation Officer Merle Kay, said William was, “resigned to a life of institutional care without hope of rehabilitation or permanent treatment for his addiction.” All his previous attempts to get clean failed. He told Kay he would try to quit the habit if given probation, but confessed he had said the same thing a “thousand times” before.

In July 1967, police arrested William and his wife, Gloria, in Fort Worth, Texas, for forgery after a state computer detected a fake check they had tried to cash.

Working together, Robert, William, Robert’s wife Connie Sue, and an accomplice, George Pauldino, landed in U. S. District Court in Denver for passing stolen savings bonds in banks in Colorado Springs and Boulder.

According to U.S. Assistant Attorney Theodore Halaby, the group cashed some of the $200,000 worth of bonds they stole on December 12, 1971, from the safe of the Denver Public Administrator.

The brothers spent most of the 1970s either in court or prison.

The Schoengarth brothers paid a terrible price for making a dumb mistake as teenagers. Their addictions were a prison without walls. Reading between the lines, I realize they struggled to lead normal lives.

I’ve had many friends grapple with addiction. Several of them died of an O.D. Smart, funny, talented, each one had so much to give. I will never stop missing them.

Robert died in 1988, and William passed in 2005. The brothers may never have realized their potential, but I bet family and friends who saw the best in them mourn them still.

Happy Birthday Aggie Underwood & Deranged L.A. Crimes!

This month is an important one for the Deranged L.A. Crimes blog. It is the twelfth anniversary of the blog.

December 17, 2012 (the 110th anniversary of the birth of the woman whose career and life inspires me, Agness “Aggie” Underwood) I created the blog. I also authored her Wikipedia page, which was long overdue. I felt it was important to honor her on the anniversary of her birth. I’ve been trying to keep her legacy alive ever since.

Aggie hoists a brew. Perry Fowler photo.

By the time I began, Aggie had been gone for twenty-eight years. I regret not knowing about her in time to meet her in person. But, through her work, and speaking with her relatives over the years, I feel like I know her. I have enormous respect for Aggie. She had nothing handed to her, yet she established herself in a male-dominated profession where she earned the respect of her peers without compromising her values. She also earned the respect of law enforcement. Cops who worked with her trusted her judgement and sought her opinion. It isn’t surprising. She shared with them the same qualities that make a successful detective.

Aggie never intended to become a reporter. All she wanted was a pair of silk stockings. She’d been wearing her younger sister’s hand-me-downs, but she longed for a new pair of her own. When her husband, Harry, told her they couldn’t afford them, she threatened to get a job and buy them herself. It was an empty threat. She did not know how to find employment. She hadn’t worked outside her home for several years. A serendipitous call from her close friend Evelyn, the day after the stockings kerfuffle, changed the course of her life. Evelyn told her about a temporary opening for a switchboard operator where she worked, at the Los Angeles Record. Aggie accepted the temporary job, meant to last only through the 1926-27 holiday season.

Aggie & Harry [Photo courtesy CSUN Special Collections]

Aggie arrived at the Record unfamiliar with the newspaper business, but she swiftly adapted and everyone realized, even without training, she was sharp and eager to learn. The temporary switchboard job turned into a permanent position.

Marion Parker

In December 1927, the kidnapping and cruel mutilation murder of twelve-year-old schoolgirl Marion Parker horrified the city. Aggie was at the Record when they received word the perpetrator, William Edward Hickman, who had nicknamed himself “The Fox,” was in custody in Oregon. The breaking story created a firestorm of activity in the newsroom. Aggie had seen nothing like it. She knew then she didn’t want to be a bystander. She wanted to be a reporter.

When the Record was sold in January 1935, Aggie accepted an offer from William Randolph Hearst’s newspaper, the Evening Herald and Express, propelling her into the big leagues. Hearst expected his reporters to work at breakneck speed. After all, they had to live up to the paper’s motto, “The First with the latest.”

From January 1935, until January 1947, Aggie covered everything from fires and floods to murder and mayhem, frequently with photographer Perry Fowler by her side. She considered herself to be a general assignment reporter, but developed a reputation and a knack for covering crimes.

Sometimes she helped to solve them.

In December 1939, Aggie was called to the scene of what appeared to be a tragic accident on the Angeles Crest Highway. Laurel Crawford said he had taken his family on a scenic drive, but lost control of the family sedan on a sharp curve. The car plunged over 1000 feet down an embankment, killing his wife, three children, and a boarder in their home. He said he had survived by jumping from the car at the last moment.

When asked by Sheriff’s investigators for her opinion, Aggie said she had observed Laurel’s clothing and his demeanor, and neither lent credibility to his account. She concluded Laurel was “guilty as hell.” Her hunch was right. Upon investigation, police discovered Laurel had engineered the accident to collect over $30,000 in life insurance.

Hollywood was Aggie’s beat, too. When stars misbehaved or perished under mysterious or tragic circumstances, Aggie was there to record everything for Herald readers. On December 16, 1935, popular actress and café owner Thelma Todd died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage of her Pacific Palisades ho9me. Thelma’s autopsy was Aggie’s first, and her fellow reporters put her to the test. It backfired on them. Before the coroner could finish his grim work, her colleagues had turned green and fled the room. Aggie remained upright.

Though Aggie never considered herself a feminist, she paved the way for female journalists. In January 1947, they yanked her off the notorious Black Dahlia murder case and made her city editor—one of the first woman to hold the post for a major metropolitan newspaper. Known to keep a bat and starter pistol handy at her desk, she was beloved by her staff and served as city editor for the Herald (later Herald Examiner) until retiring in 1968.

Aggie at a crime scene (not the Dahlia) c. 1940s.

When she passed away in 1984, the Herald-Examiner eulogized her. “She was undeterred by the grisliest of crime scenes and had a knack for getting details that eluded other reporters. As editor, she knew the names and telephone numbers of numerous celebrities, in addition to all the bars her reporters frequented. She cultivated the day’s best sources, ranging from gangsters and prostitutes to movie stars and government officials.”

I have pondered how appalled Aggie would be at what passes for journalism today. During her lifetime, she disdained anyone unwilling to get out and scrap for a story. Today she would find herself surrounded by people who call their personal opinions news, and their writings (multiple misspellings and grammatical atrocities included), reporting.

In a world where oligarchs bend once respected publications to their perverted will, Aggie would be unwelcome.

Don’t misunderstand me—even in Aggie’s day, newspapers were not owned by paupers, and they all had an editorial agenda. But when it came to reporting hard news, it was all about the facts. There was no such thing as fake news or “alternative” facts (what does that even mean?!)

Today we must look hard to find facts. Legacy media has failed us in all of its forms. Losing reliable media puts our country at significant risk.

I suppose my anger, disenchantment, and disgust with the current state of media is why I honor Aggie’s legacy. She represents the best of what reporters once were, and what they could be again if not constrained by fear. The newspaper & TV owners seem to be motivated by a mixture of fear and greed. It is not the way to maintain a free press. We can all do better.

Happy Birthday, Aggie, and Deranged L.A. Crimes!

Best,

Joan

The Human Fly–Conclusion

In 1943, the court sentenced Carl G. Hopper, the human fly, to fifteen years to life in prison. Of course, the human fly would not be content to sit in Folsom Prison while some of the best years of his life, um, flew by.

Hopper wangled an early parole so that he could join the Army—but if Folsom couldn’t hold him, how could the Army expect to? By late October 1944, he’d escaped from the guardhouse at Camp Roberts.

On October 27, 1944, at 7:50 p.m. someone observed Hopper in a car listed as stolen. A radio patrolman and a military policeman approached him at Third Street near Lucas Avenue. Exiting the vehicle, he approached the officers on foot. He drew a gun and made his escape when the M.P.’s gun jammed as he tried to fire at the fleeing man.

An hour later, Hopper held up John D. Bowman of Downey in front of 1212 Shatto Street. Bowman told cops that the bandit was “too drunk to know how to drive,” so he forced Bowman to start his (Bowman’s) car for him and then he sped away.

Next, he turned up in Beverly Hills, where he accosted Freddie Schwartz and Maude Beggs as they arrived at 514 N. Hillcrest Street for a party. Schwartz complied with Hopper’s demand for money, but he only had a $5 bill which Hopper hurled back at him in disgust, complaining that it was not enough.

At 10:35 pm. Hopper held-up Sherman Oaks residents Mr. and Mrs. Julian N. Cole and Mr. and Mrs. Walter Deutsch on Valley Vista Blvd. He took $25 from Cole and $2 from Deutsch.

Only minutes later, he held up Dorothy Snyder in the 600 block of S. June Street, but he refused to take her money when he discovered she had only $7 in her purse. The fly was a gentleman.

Hopper’s one-man crime wave continued.

A about half a block away from where he’d encountered Dorothy Snyder, he held up Dr. Rudolph Mueller, getting away with $65.

After robbing Dr. Mueller, police officers, S.W. Stevenson, and K.M. Aitken observed Hopper driving at a high rate of speed. They pursued him until he crashed into a palm tree on Second Avenue near Santa Barbara Street. The fly fled on foot between.

About ten minutes following the car crash, Hopper committed another hold-up. This time he robbed C.B. Kaufman of his sedan and $55 near 43rd Street and Western Avenue.

Then the fly disappeared.

At the Mexican border near Tijuana, Hopper got caught when his attempt to shoot a U.S. Customs Service inspector, who had stopped him for routine questioning, was thwarted. The inspector, Richard McCowan, wasn’t entirely satisfied with Hopper’s answers to his questions and ordered him to wait. Hopper responded by pulling out a .38 caliber revolver and jamming it into McCowan’s abdomen. Hopper may have seen too many western movies. He tried to discharge the weapon by fanning it, but failed to pull the hammer back far enough. Police took him into custody.

Hopper admitted his identity and boasted of how he led police in Los Angeles on a merry chase. He denied committing any of the crimes laid at his feet. He said, “they are just trying to pin something on me.”

The police did not have to pin anything on him. When they busted him, he had a gasoline ration book and a driver’s license made out to C.B. Kaufman, the man he had robbed of $55 and his sedan.

During the couple of days he conducted his one-man crime wave, Hopper committed six robberies, netting him $147. He stole three automobiles, one of which was a police car.

Authorities returned Carl to the Los Angeles County Jail, where they booked him on suspicion of the various crimes committed during his escape from Camp Roberts. They set his bail at $10,000.

The court tried, convicted, and then sentenced Hopper to life in Folsom Prison.

On December 12, 1946, only three years after his escape from the Hall of Justice Jail in Los Angeles, Hopper attempted to break out of Folsom. He slugged a guard, ran to the top cell block, broke a skylight, and made his way to temporary freedom over the roof, and down the ladder of an unmanned guard tower. Then he took a 12-foot leap from a wall. Hopper got no further than the prison yard when he discovered the American River, swollen by recent rains, was far too dangerous to cross.

When guards found Hopper, he said that he was “cold, wet and hungry.” They returned him to his cell.

The ordinary housefly lives from 15 to 30 days. The human fly never reached old age. On June Jail in Los Angeles, twenty-nine-year-old Hopper hanged himself with a bed sheet tied to a piece of plumbing in his solitary cell in Folsom Prison.

Happy Birthday to Aggie Underwood, and Deranged L.A. Crimes!

This is a big month for the Deranged L.A. Crimes blog. On December 17, 2012, the 110th anniversary of the birth of the woman whose career and life inspires me, Agness “Aggie” Underwood, I started writing this blog. I also authored her Wikipedia page, which was long overdue.

Aggie Underwood. Photo by Perry Fowler

By the time I began, Aggie had been gone for twenty-eight years. I regret not knowing about her in time to meet her in person. But, through her work, and speaking with her relatives over the years, I feel like I know her. I have enormous respect for Aggie. She had nothing handed to her, yet she established herself in a male-dominated profession where she earned the respect of her peers without compromising her values. She also earned the respect of law enforcement. Cops who worked with her trusted her judgement and sought her opinion. It isn’t surprising. She shared with them the same qualities that make a successful detective.

This month, I will focus on Aggie. I want everyone to get to know and appreciate her. She was a remarkable woman.

Agness “Aggie” Underwood never intended to become a reporter. All she wanted was a pair of silk stockings. She’d been wearing her younger sister’s hand-me-downs, but she longed for a new pair of her own. When her husband, Harry, told her they couldn’t afford them, she threatened to get a job and buy them herself. It was an empty threat. She did not know how to find employment. She hadn’t worked outside her home for several years. A serendipitous call from her close friend Evelyn, the day after the stockings kerfuffle, changed the course of her life. Evelyn told her about a temporary opening for a switchboard operator where she worked, at the Los Angeles Record. The job was meant to last only through the 1926-27 holiday season, so Aggie jumped at the chance.

Aggie & Harry [Photo courtesy CSUN Special Collections]

Aggie arrived at the Record utterly unfamiliar with the newspaper business, but she swiftly adapted and it became clear to everyone that, even without training, she was sharp and eager to learn. The temporary switchboard job turned into a permanent position.

In December 1927, the kidnapping and cruel mutilation murder of twelve-year-old schoolgirl Marion Parker horrified the city. Aggie was at the Record when they received word the perpetrator, William Edward Hickman, who had nicknamed himself “The Fox,” was in custody in Oregon. The breaking story created a firestorm of activity in the newsroom. Aggie had seen nothing like it. She knew then she didn’t want to be a bystander. She wanted to be a reporter.

When the Record was sold in January 1935, Aggie accepted an offer from William Randolph Hearst’s newspaper, the Evening Herald and Express, propelling her into the big leagues. Working for Hearst differed entirely from working for the Record. Hearst expected his reporters to work at breakneck speed. After all, they had to live up to the paper’s motto, “The First with the latest.”

From January 1935, until January 1947, Aggie covered everything from fires and floods to murder and mayhem, frequently with photographer Perry Fowler by her side. She considered herself to be a general assignment reporter, but developed a reputation and a knack for covering crimes.

Sometimes she helped to solve them.

In December 1939, Aggie was called to the scene of what appeared to be a tragic accident on the Angeles Crest Highway. Laurel Crawford said he had taken his family on a scenic drive, but lost control of the family sedan on a sharp curve. The car plunged over 1000 feet down an embankment, killing his wife, three children, and a boarder in their home. He said he had survived by jumping from the car at the last moment.

When asked by Sheriff’s investigators for her opinion, Aggie said she had observed Laurel’s clothing and his demeanor, and neither lent credibility to his account. She concluded Laurel was “guilty as hell.” Her hunch was right. Upon investigation, police discovered Laurel had engineered the accident to collect over $30,000 in life insurance.

Hollywood was Aggie’s beat, too. When stars misbehaved or perished under mysterious or tragic circumstances, Aggie was there to record everything for Herald readers. On December 16, 1935, popular actress and café owner Thelma Todd died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage of her Pacific Palisades ho9me. Thelma’s autopsy was Aggie’s first, and her fellow reporters put her to the test. It backfired on them. Before the coroner could finish his grim work, her colleagues had turned green and fled the room. Aggie remained upright.

Though Aggie never considered herself a feminist, she paved the way for female journalists. In January 1947, they yanked her off the notorious Black Dahlia murder case and made her editor of the City Desk, making her one of the first woman to hold this post for a major metropolitan newspaper. Known to keep a bat and startup pistol handy at her desk, just in case, she was beloved by her staff and served as City Editor for the Herald (later Herald Examiner) until retiring in 1968.

Aggie at a crime scene c. 1946

When she passed away in 1984, the Herald-Examiner eulogized her. “She was undeterred by the grisliest of crime scenes and had a knack for getting details that eluded other reporters. As editor, she knew the names and telephone numbers of numerous celebrities, in addition to all the bars her reporters frequented. She cultivated the day’s best sources, ranging from gangsters and prostitutes to movie stars and government officials.”

They were right. Aggie dined with judges, cops, and even gangster Mickey Cohen. I hope you will enjoy reading about Aggie, as much as I will enjoy telling her stories.

Joan

Film Noir Friday: Shakedown [1950]

Welcome!  The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat.

Tonight’s feature is SHAKEDOWN (aka THE MAGNIFICENT HEEL) starring, Howard Duff, Brian Donlevy, Peggy Dow, Lawrence Tierney, and Bruce Bennett.

Enjoy the movie!

TCM says:

In a San Francisco train yard, photographer Jack Early hides a camera just before he is beaten by some men who are chasing him. Later, he retrieves the camera and takes the pictures to newspaper photo editor Ellen Bennett. She agrees to buy one, but Jack refuses to sell it unless they hire him for a week, at the end of which he vows to prove his worth. 

Film Noir Friday–Saturday Night: Lady of Burlesque (1943)

Welcome!  The lobby of the Deranged L.A. Crimes theater is open! Grab a bucket of popcorn, some Milk Duds and a Coke and find a seat. Tonight’s feature is the LADY OF BURLESQUE (aka THE G-STRING MURDERS) directed by William A. Wellman and starring Barbara Stanwyck and Michael O’Shea. While not a classic noir film, it is a murder mystery and, I think, it pairs nicely with the post on Betty Rowland.

Gypsy Rose Lee (Photo courtesy New York Public Library)

LADY OF BURLESQUE is based on the novel The G-String Murders written by strip tease queen Gypsy Rose Lee. There have been claims that Craig ghosted the book, but I believe Ms. Lee did it on her own.

If you’re not familiar with Craig Rice, she wrote mystery novels and short stories, and is sometimes described as “the Dorothy Parker of detective fiction.” She was the first mystery writer to appear on the cover of Time Magazine, on January 28, 1946.

Before we roll the feature, let’s enjoy one of Gypsy Rose Lee’s dance routines–followed by a clip from a Tex Avery cartoon starring the lecherous wolf character.

TCM says:

S. B. Foss, owner of the Old Opera House on Broadway in New York City, promotes his new recruit, burlesque dancer Dixie Daisy, hoping that she will draw a large audience. Dixie’s performance draws cheers from the crowds and from comedian Biff Brannigan, who ardently admires Dixie even though she hates comics because of past experiences with them. When someone cuts the wire to the light backstage that signals the presence of the police, the performers are surprised by a raid, and pandemonium ensues. As Dixie flees through a coal chute, someone grabs her from behind and tries to strangle her, but her assailant escapes when a stagehand comes along.

Happy New Year!

Welcome to Deranged L.A. Crimes. Ten years ago, I started this blog to cover historic Los Angeles crimes. I am not surprised that I haven’t even scratched the surface of murder and mayhem in the City of Angels.

I have been absent from the blog for a while, focusing on finishing my book on L.A. crimes during the Prohibition Era for University Press Kentucky. It’s not done yet, but I’m close. No matter, it is time to return to the blog. It is something I love to do.

Focusing my energy on the book, I failed to pay tribute to the inspiration for Deranged L.A. Crimes, Agness “Aggie” Underwood, on December 17, 2022, the 120th anniversary of her birth. If you aren’t familiar with Aggie, I’ve written about her many times in previous posts.

Aggie Underwood

In 2016, I curated a photo exhibit at the Los Angeles Central Library downtown. The exhibit, for the non-profit Photo Friends, featured pictures from cases and events Aggie wrote about over the course of her career. I wrote a companion book, The First with the Latest!: Aggie Underwood, the Los Angeles Herald, and the Sordid Crimes of a City.

Aggie is a dame worth learning about. She is a legendary crime reporter, who worked in the business from 1927 until her retirement from the Los Angeles Herald in 1968. A force to be reckoned with, Aggie worked as a reporter until her promotion to City Editor of the Herald in January 1947, while covering the Black Dahlia case. She was the only Los Angeles reporter, male or female, to get a by-line for her reporting on the ongoing investigation.  

On her retirement, she told a colleague that she feared being forgotten. That won’t happen on my watch. Thanks again, Aggie, for the inspiration. Deranged L.A. Crimes is dedicated to you.

Among the things I’ve learned over the years researching and writing about crime, is that people don’t change. The motives for crime are timeless: greed, lust, anger, betrayal, and jealousy are but a few.

What is different is crime detection. Science has come a long way. Detectives no longer use the Bertillon system to identify criminals—they use DNA. I think part of the reason I’m drawn to historic crime is the challenges overcome by former detectives and scientists. Despite the advancements in science, it is my belief that if it was possible to pluck the best detectives and scientists from the past and set them down in the present, they would still be great. I am amazed at the cases they solved.

Class on the Bertillon system c. 1911

I look forward to this new year, and to the challenges it will bring. I am so glad you are here, and I invite you to reach out if you have questions and/or suggestions.

Best to all of you in the New Year.

Joan

The First with the Latest! Aggie Underwood, Crime Reporter

Aggie interviews a tearful dame.

“There is no killer type.  Slayers range all ages, all sexes. . . Homicide is expected from the hoodlum, the gun moll, the gulled lover.  It isn’t from the teenager, the . . . sweet old lady, the fragile housewife, the respectable gent who is the proverbial pillar of society.

They kill with pistol, rifle, or shotgun; with the blade . . . with poison; with ax, hatchet or hammer; with cord or necktie; with fake accidents; with blunt instruments or with phony drownings.

Killers do not run true to form.  What they have in common is killing.”

The quote is from my favorite Los Angeles crime reporter Aggie Underwood, from her 1949 autobiography, NEWSPAPERWOMAN, and she knew what she was talking about.

During her career as a reporter, Aggie covered nearly every major crime story in the city. Law enforcement respected her and occasionally sought her opinion regarding a suspect. They even credited her with solving a few crimes.  

Cops and journalists have a lot in common. Both professions rely on intuition guided by experience and intelligence. They see the worst that humanity has to offer, but no matter what they witness, they strive to maintain their objectivity. 

Inspired by Aggie, I began this blog in 2012 and wrote her Wikipedia page. In 2016, I curated an exhibit at the Central Library on Aggie’s career and wrote the companion book.

Join me on November 17, 2020 at 7pm PST for the webinar and you will meet one of the most fascinating women in Los Angeles’ history.