Wedding Rings

Before the 1940s, most men did not wear wedding rings.  In the olden days, wedding vows bound the wife to "love, honor, and obey..." and the ring on her left hand sealed the deal.  American men started wearing rings in the 1920s. My money is on Rudolph Valentino starting the trend, as he started so many other fashion fads.

Here is dear ol' Rudy (left) posing with his brother Alberto in the mid-1920s.  Clearly a wedding band shows on Rudy's left hand. 

Dial the Way-Back machine a couple of years, and compare to the hand of our red-blooded, all-American male, ex-football captain and man about town, John de Saulles. A newspaper photographer in 1914 snapped a shot of him walking down the street, and it's so clear... almost a 100 years later, I can zoom in on Jack's left hand. Gasp! No wedding band. He has a pinky ring, which could be a fraternity or a class ring. 

Now, thanks again to the Library of Congress - I love you guys!!! - I have a clear shot of Blanca's left hand from a portrait photo of her and the baby. Little Jack Jr. is in a beautifully embroidered white gown, that I assume is his baptismal dress. Hey, she's Catholic. The gigantic square rock is so heavy that the band sagged sideways as she places her hand delicately against the child's front. 

Say what you will about Jack being too busy with his real estate deals and his baseball buddies, but he knew how to bling-bling his trophy wife. 

Book Review (Luz Larrain)

Blanca Elena, Memoria Indiscreta de la Quinta Vergara, by Luz Larrain 1994

This book is not available in English, so I have made an unofficial translation. The author’s prologue describes the narrative as a blend of fiction and reality, based on a little bit of research and personal interviews with anonymous collaborators. Her mission statement is to recreate the mood of characters and painful events that rattled her grandparents’ generation. In that, she accomplished her goal.

From what I can tell, even in translation, the poetic language is just lovely. She introduces Blanca as a young debutante enjoying the glamour of Paris with all its sensual delights, floral scents, brilliant colors, gourmet food, literature, fashion, etc. John de Saulles is a dazzling gentleman who sweeps her off her feet and awakens emotions she never knew she had. Their marriage quickly goes sour, with his drinking and carousing with other women. The murder itself is told delicately in sentence fragments that hint of his angry eyes, her shaking hands, a pistol… During the trial, Blanca stares sadly out the dirty window of her jail cell. The narrative jumps ahead to Blanca playing the piano and reflecting on her acquittal, then delves into her melancholy mind in the hours before she overdoses on barbiturates. Blanca’s last thoughts are of her ex-husband’s ghost and her estranged adult son. It ends with her housemaid discovering her body, the empty bottle, and the blank eyes staring off into nothingness as the church bells ring in the distance.

I enjoyed the book on an emotional level, that is, I found it entertaining. The plot moved along quickly and every character had a vivid presence. However, it is not a work of great literature by any means and shamelessly delves into the realm of melodrama. The author walked an easy road by taking the heroine’s point of view and making the victim of her violent act into a stereotypical villain. Not only did this John de Saulles deserve what he got, but Blanca is elevated to saintly status and absolved of all blame. There are no subtleties or ambiguities. Her lawyer Henry Uterhart and a fictional newspaper reporter named Nick are wholly on her side. Blanca is treated cruelly by her jailers, by the wicked prosecutor, and by John’s nasty selfish family. Even at the end, when her adult son argues with her and leaves home, it is portrayed as the act of a petulant youth. Blanca shouts back at him to be proud of his maternal ancestors, and later the house maid ponders her disapproval of the boy not standing loyal to his mother.

The errors distracted me a great deal. Numerous historical facts and dates are just plain wrong:  President Woodrow Wilson announcing his declaration of war on his radio talk show; titles of popular songs, silent films, and Broadway shows that had not appeared yet; John’s father researching how to make homemade beer because of Prohibition; and the famous Russian monk Rasputin’s is assassinated while she is still unhappily married to John. These are sloppy mistakes that could have been easily discovered in an encyclopedia.

Main characters are wrong, as well. She invents the names of John’s mother and a brother Bernie, portrays his sister Caroline as a spoiled single girl attending the opera and trawling for a fiancée. She wrongly pegs someone called J. Heckscher as John’s family attorney. The biggest blunder was to include Blanca’s father as the concerned parent disapproving of John and reluctantly walking her down the aisle at her wedding – Guillermo Errazuriz died when Blanca was a small child. In real life, part of her attraction to an older man was to fill the void of the father figure she never knew.

Mixed in with these errors are just enough true facts to confuse me about what is true and what the author simply dreamed up.  I cannot know what tidbits came from local knowledge and family folklore. She does a charming job of describing Dona Blanca bossing around the Italian architect who is rebuilding the Quinta Vergara palace after the 1906 earthquake. She dramatizes Hugo’s accidental death by falling off a horse. But when she has Manuela being sent to a convent to keep her from chasing boys, I am not sure if I should believe it. Frankly, I expected a little more accuracy from someone who is from Santiago.

I would put this book in the same category as the Daisy Waugh romance novel, as a work of total fiction sprinkled with a little bit of fact. It’s entertaining as an afternoon read but is not a reliable reference. When I must refer to it, I do so sparingly and cautiously, and out of desperation. It is absolutely the only Spanish language source that attempts to tell Blanca’s story.

Errazuriz Wine

I went to 4 different stores and finally got my hands on a bottle of Errazuriz red wine. Yes, Blanca's grandfather Don Maximiano Errazuriz founded a winery in the Napa Valley type hills north of Santiago, and it continued to be a family run business up to this day. Wow. Their wine is really, really good. Fragrant, smooth, light.

Valentino

Silent film star Rudolph Valentino died on this date, August 23, 1926, at the age of 31.  He was at the height of his career, visiting New York City to promote his latest blockbuster movie, "Son of the Sheik" - a sequel to the 1921 smash hit, "The Sheik."  He'd been feeling unwell for at least 6 months or more, suffering from a stomach ulcer, and while in New York in August he collapsed with an attack of appendicitis. The doctors did what they could but - face it - in 1926 the medical care was not all it should have been. Add to that his heavy, heavy chain smoking (up to 40 - 50 cigarettes a day!!) and that played havoc with his insides. Antibiotics kind of existed but they were experimental and not widely used, so when he developed an infection (fever) after they removed his appendix, and his stomach ulcer went to hell, the doctors basically stood by and watched him die. They pumped him full of morphine to keep him comfortable. Thousands of phone calls, telegrams, and flower bouquets overloaded the hospital. The newspaper headlines reported on his condition daily. When he passed away, his fans went totally nuts.  A riot of thousands of people clogged the streets of New York and smashed the windows of the funeral parlor trying to get a look at his body. It was Hollywood's first mega movie star funeral.

Rudy's body lay "in state" at Campbell's Funeral Parlor at 66th and Broadway - the exact same mortuary that handled the corpse of John L. de Saulles in 1917.  It's the last time their paths would cross.

Jack is buried in Brooklyn, in stylish accommodations at the Greenwood Cemetery, but they put Rudy on a train and carted him across the country to L.A. for final rest. His brother Alberto chose to bury him there, instead of Italy, because he knew Rudy considered himself an American in spirit, if not legally. (He started to apply for citizenship but never followed through.) His death was so unexpected that they didn't have a grave prepared - his friend screenwriter June Mathis let him borrow a slot in her family mausoleum, and she died of a heart attack 6 months later. They are side by side, to this day.

There's going to be the annual Valentino memorial tribute in front of his crypt at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, 6000 Santa Monica Blvd. Los Angeles. The "service" starts today at 12:10 pm which is the time Rudy died in New York - they don't adjust for Pacific Time.  If you're in the area, go bring a red rose.

And if you're ever in Brooklyn, go look up Jack at Lot 9460, Section 45 in historic Greenwood Cemetery. Put a lily on there for me.

Indictment

Say what you will about the U.S. Postal Service, but today they came through!  I received the ORIGINAL INDICTMENT of Blanca de Saulles from the Nassau County Court.  The court clerk just mailed it Friday. Wow.

I have in my hands a copy of the actual typewritten pages signed by the Nassau County District Attorney, charging Blanca de Saulles with murder in the first degree.  Awesome.

This is gonna be such a cool book. 

Trial Transcripts

I've been trying for months to find the original court transcripts of Blanca's murder trial.  I've written letters.  I've sent emails.  I've floundered about the various New York State archives and courts and law libraries.  Finally, picked up the phone and got transferred a few times, and landed in the helpful hands of Marilyn at the Nassau County Court.  She expressed interest in the project - most everyone does, when I give my 3 minute spiel - and she kindly did a little research into their records.

A fire at the courthouse in 1981 destroyed most of the records. The original trial transcripts are gone forever.

Marilyn did manage to find me a couple of tidbits, such as the original indictment.  She's going to mail copies to me, absolutely free.  Thanks, Marilyn!

Demolished

I have a nephew living in New York who offered to make a short documentary or book trailer. (Shout out to Casey of Lamp & Boat.) I replied, thanks, but there's a problem. Except for his grave at the Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn, most of Jack de Saulles's world has been demolished.

Bethlehem Steel works factory in Pennsylvania, where he grew up, is a quiet, rusty, abandoned blight on the landscape.. The local historical society gives tours.

I think the luxury Nassau Hotel on the Long Beach boardwalk is gone, too.

The (hyphenated) Waldorf-Astoria hotel where he and Blanca attended a spectacular charity ball in 1914 and danced the waltz under glittering chandeliers, was demolished in 1931 to make way for the Empire State Building.

The Union Club - that all-male sanctuary where John socialized and smoked cigars with the Blue Book gentlemen of New York's upper crust - moved to a new building in the 30s.

The Meadow Brook polo and fox hunt club, where John took little Jack to practice riding on a scaled down pony, also closed down in the 1930s or 1940s. A new country club opened in Long Island later, calling itself the Meadowbrook club in homage to the old one. But the grassy fields where Big Jack and Little Jack laughed, and played with dogs, and tossed a football back and forth, are paved under the expressway and flattened by the foundations of condos.

I am still trying to pin down the location of his last home, "The Box" on Long Island where Blanca shot him. I don't know if it's still there, or if it's been remodeled beyond recognition, or demolished.

It's ironic that a man's whole life - everything he thought was solid and real - can be crushed by a wrecking ball and pushed away by shovels. The only thing left is a grave.

What You Can Learn from a Photograph

 

 This photo of Blanca de Saulles is on the Library of Congress online catalog of photographs.  The photo is poorly labeled by the original photographer and came from the Bain News Service.  It is not officially dated, but I looked at a few clues and I've given it a tentative date of early 1913. 

First, the fact that it belonged to a U.S. news service means the photo was taken here in the states, not Chile. So it could only be after their marriage (Dec. 1911) and after they came here as a couple.  

According to immigration records, John and Blanca arrived on 2 separate occasions in 1912.  One, in January 1912 for a short visit before they returned to Chile by March. Two, in August when John was invited to help with the campaign to elect President Woodrow Wilson, and they stayed in the U.S. after that. 

Second, she is wrapped up in fur and dark colors which says to me it is not summertime.  

Third, this setting is not a hotel or temporary accommodation. She is quite settled in here. The piano has a pile of sheet music, where Blanca has perhaps been practicing her Chopin and Debussey.  The mantle over the fireplace has a framed photograph of her mother.  Most interesting is the dark ceramic Kewpie doll - which is a novelty item that hit the marketplace in 1912, so the January 1912 date seems less likely. 

Fourth, behind the Kewpie doll is what appears to be a clock, and there is a paper note hanging over the clock face. I have downloaded the highest resolution .TIFF possible and zoomed in, but it is impossible to read.  So, from having been a mother myself, my intuition tells me that the note might say, "Please do not wind the clock because its chiming wakes up the baby."  The placement of the Kewpie doll in front of the clock also supports my assumption, as a clue to the non-English (or non-Spanish) speaking household servants. 

I'm just going on my gut here, but I think it's early January or February 1913, which means Blanca is staying with her in-laws in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania soon after giving birth to John de Saulles Jr. 

Mistakes

We all make mistakes. We're human. We turn at the wrong street in the dark. We forget to do something really important until it's too late. We make rash choices before thinking through the consequences.

If we're lucky, our mistakes aren't too serious and we can simply go along. Hopefully we learn something along the way, like how to carry a map and not trust the cheap GPS machine, or how to make reminders for things we need to do. For the important stuff – I mean the really, really important stuff – we need to stop and think it through.

Nurses working at a hospital need to check the medications they give out. Cops need to be careful approaching the window of a car they just pulled over for speeding. Firemen need to touch that door handle to see if it's hot before they open it.

As I'm researching the lives of John de Saulles and Blanca Errazuriz, I see the mistakes they made along the way. Their infatuation and impetuous marriage. Their failure to see each other for who they were instead of the illusion they hoped for. And of course, on that one fateful night... John made a mistake in not seeing the rage and frustration in her eyes when she came to his doorstep. Blanca made a mistake in carrying a loaded gun when she felt at the end of her rope.

A Moment of Silence

Jack de Saulles died today, exactly 94 years ago. Blanca pumped five bullets into him around 8:30 pm and it took him two hours to bleed to death. The doctors called it at 10:20 pm.

Why History

There are 2 kinds of people who research history and genealogy. One group is interested in credentials, the glorious achievements of our nation’s founders, the heroics of generals who triumphed in battle, the lords and ladies to whom they are distantly related. I belong to the second group, interested in the brick makers who paved the roads of our cities as much as the tycoons who paid for the paving. I think we can learn from the struggles of an ordinary guy a 100 years ago, or 500 years ago, because most of us have more in common with a man trying to put bread on the table than with Lord So-and-So. I first got into genealogy about 25 years ago, when my father made a few trips to the LDS archives and proudly declared that our family was descended from Sir de la Croix. He believed his aunt’s folklore that he was a cousin of President Woodrow Wilson and never tried to prove it with documentation. It was enough for him to link himself to famous and illustrious persons of the past. I think it gave him a sense of validation, that although he was a middle-class regular guy who worked a salary job all his life, he had a bloodline to be proud of. After my father passed away, I discovered that we really aren’t related to Sir de la Croix but our line comes down from the lord’s little brother (both named Pierre, and confused in the church records.) I cannot for the life of me make a connection to Woodrow Wilson, as our direct ancestor immigrated to the U.S. about 100 years later than Wilson’s forebears. But what I did find, in my research, was inspiration from French ancestors who survived the British assault on Montreal, or the Wilsons who worked to keep their family together by traveling from England to Canada to Ohio to Virginia. These simple people, with their struggles, their ironies, and their tragedies, are my payoff.

I’ve applied my genealogy skills to researching the family backgrounds of John de Saulles and Blanca Errazuriz. My goal is not to be the TMZ of dead celebrities, but to see them as real people with real lives.