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

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

Aggie and the Oliver Hardy Incident

Oliver Hardy and Stan Laurel.

Oliver Hardy and Stan Laurel.

L.A.’s first official racetrack was opened in 1904 by gold prospector, Elias Jackson “Lucky” Baldwin. Baldwin owned an enormous tract of land, the Rancho Santa Anita, and he was a regular at racetracks across the U.S., both as a gambler and as a horse breeder. No one was surprised when Baldwin founded a racetrack on his property in the early 1900s.

00081954_baldwin_bride

Lucky Baldwin and a woman (likely his fourth wife, sixteen year old Lillie Bennett). Photo courtesy of Los Angeles Public Library.

From newspaper accounts of the time it appears that Baldwin’s death in 1909 ended the racetrack venture – in large part due to squabbles over his estate. Baldwin had left behind a widow, three ex-wives, and several daughters (at least one of whom appeared out of the blue to lay claim to a portion of his multi-million dollar estate). There wouldn’t be another Santa Anita Racetrack until the 1930s.

California legalized pari-mutuel wagering in 1933, and several groups of investors sought to open racetracks.  In the San Francisco area a group, headed by Dr. Charles H. “Doc” Strub, was having a difficult time locating a suitable site for a track. In Los Angeles a group of investors, led by movie producer Hal Roach, was in need of additional funds so the two groups combined and formed the Los Angeles Turf Club.

Photo from the Herman J. Schultheis Collection at the Los Angeles Public Library.

Photo from the Herman J. Schultheis Collection at the Los Angeles Public Library.

Santa Anita racetrack was designed in the Art Deco style by architect Gordon B. Kaufman. Kaufman had also designed the Los Angeles Times Building, and Greystone mansion (for the Doheny family).  The track opened on December 25, 1934 and quickly became a destination for Hollywood’s biggest stars, some of whom, such as Bing Crosby, Joe E. Brown, Al Jolson, and Harry Warner, were stockholders.

On January 4, 1936 Aggie Underwood and photographer Perry Fowler were assigned to the Turf Club at Santa Anita.  Across the room they spotted Oliver Hardy, the portly half of the popular comedy team Laurel & Hardy, and they decided to ask him if he’d consent to being photographed.

Perry reached Hardy before Aggie did and said: “Well, Mr. Hardy in person.  Will you let us have your picture, Mr. Hardy?”  Hardy glanced up from his racing form and answered no; he said he was busy. When Aggie asked him, “Why, Mr. Hardy, won’t you let the Herald-Express have your picture today?” He looked at her and this time answered yes.

Perry reached for his camera, and as he prepared to get the shot he asked Hardy if he was accompanied by his wife or daughter – if so, maybe they’d like to have their photos taken too. Hardy became belligerent and said: “Don’t ask so goddam many questions”.  In fairness to Hardy, it’s entirely possible that he was touchy on the subject of marriage because he and his wife Myrtle would divorce that same year.  Perry wasn’t sure what to make of Hardy’s comment, and at first he thought that the comedian was kidding. He quickly changed his mind when he saw Hardy’s thunder cloud expression. According to Aggie, Perry told Hardy not to get “so goddam tough”; at which point the situation quickly deteriorated, with the two men about to exchange blows.

Oliver & Myrtle Hardy w/ Stan & Ruth Laurel

Oliver & Myrtle Hardy w/ Stan & Ruth Laurel

Hardy made several pointedly unkind remarks about news photographers and ended by hitting Perry on the shoulder and saying: “Put down that camera and I’ll throw you over that rail and break your goddam neck.” Aggie stepped between the two men before they could start swinging, and suggested to Perry that they leave.  They didn’t want Hardy’s picture anyway.

As Aggie and Perry headed for the exit, Hardy took the opportunity to get in the last word.  He called out, “PUNK!” Aggie glared at Hardy and said: “I wouldn’t make the situation any worse, if I were you, by calling people names.”  Hardy again had to get the last word and said: “I didn’t call any names.  I said PUNK and that still goes.”

Back in the newsroom, Aggie figured that it would be a good idea to get the incident on record, just in case there was a phone call from Hardy’s publicist or studio.  She and Perry submitted a memo to city editor, Cappy Marek, describing the incident in detail.

Cappy read the memo and became furious – he was an editor who always backed his reporters and photogs. In a huff, Marek got Hardy’s publicist on the phone and in no uncertain terms let him know about the behavior of his client.

Good relations with the press counted for a lot in those days, as Hardy’s publicist must have explained to the cranky comedian. Within a day or two of the Santa Anita incident Cappy Marek received a letter from Oliver Hardy.

oliver hardy tieHardy gave his side of the story which put him in the right, of course. He said that he’d never called Perry names – which got Aggie’s ire up. She repeated to Cappy that she had been present when Hardy had called Perry a punk. She’d heard him loud and clear. Hardy’s explanation didn’t reconcile with Aggie’s version, but she let it go.

In her 1949 autobiography, Newspaperwoman, Aggie said that she had observed that “…some folks are handy at offering insults in public and later trying to present apologies in private”.  It was her opinion that: “Beyond that no comment is necessary.”