TWELVE

A GATHERING STORM

After Walter’s arrest in San Francisco and his admission that he needed to “come clean” about his past, it would have been understandable if Aloha had decided to quit. But after all they’d been through, and this close to Hollywood, it would take more than an arrest on “trumped up” allegations to send her scurrying back to mother. And when she heard how Walter had been harassed during his earlier travels through the US because of his “arrogant wanderlust” and his suspiciously sharp S’s, she felt only sympathy. “My heart ached to see my vulnerable hero attacked — rotten shame.”1

As promised, Walter hired lawyers to sue the newspapers for defamation and lost earnings — his reputation in San Francisco had been destroyed on the basis of unproven accusations. And, indeed, the San Francisco police soon admitted they had no evidence of any crime and were forced to release Aloha and Walter without charge.²

Incredibly, the bad publicity did not stop Walter from winning sponsorships — and some grand ones, too, including the Ruckstell Sales and Manufacturing Company who installed their new Model T gearshift free of charge, adding a fourth ratio and a promise of dramatic fuel savings. It was another technological leap for the Wanderwell cars, placing them at the forefront of automotive design.

*

In the early 1920s, Los Angeles was still a Wild West town. It had only just adopted its city charter and many were working to rid the town of pervasive corruption, especially at city hall and in the police force. The results were mixed at best. In one instance, Mayor George Cryer had Police Chief Louis D. Oaks “arrested in his official car while drunk and in the company of a half-clothed woman — with little effect.”3

And yet, Los Angeles was thriving with a growth rate unmatched anywhere else in the country. No longer in San Francisco’s shadow, Los Angeles had recently opened its own branch of the University of California, attracting students and academics and producing a more sophisticated business culture. Oil had been discovered in 1892, and by 1923 wells in the greater Los Angeles area were supplying one-quarter of the world’s petroleum.

It was here that Aloha and Walter intended to make their mark. They checked into the Ambassador Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard, paying for a room until they could arrange free accommodation. It was not their usual strategy, but Walter was content to stay out of the public eye for a few days. He visited the offices of the Agfa Film company, which promptly provided him with more film stock and facilities to make a print of the Wanderwell travels thus far. After the difficulties encountered in San Francisco, he was determined to make sure Los Angeles was a success — not by battling a hostile press but by winning the public over. To do that, they had to make sure their films were spectacular. It was arranged that Aloha would cut film at Consolidated Film Industries in Hollywood, the same facilities used by some of the major studios. Here Aloha could learn about film editing from some of the best in the world.

*

Now that Aloha was finally in the city she had dreamed of for so long, she rolled up her sleeves and worked hard, outlining their feature-length film, completing her secretarial duties, selling pamphlets, and lecturing at small theatres and social clubs across the city. On March 4, 1925, Walter appeared at the Carlton Theatre on South Western Avenue, while Aloha gave a separate lecture at a private club in Pasadena. While packing up after her lecture, Aloha was approached by a heavy-set man who flashed a badge and announced that she was, yet again, under arrest. Walter had been arrested an hour earlier. According to a brief note in the next day’s Los Angeles Times, the globetrotting captain Wanderwell and his “asserted sister” had added “another experience to their great adventure when United States Deputy Marshal Finn arrested them on a charge of wearing parts of a soldier’s uniform.”4

According to Aloha, they posted $400 to avoid spending the night in jail and returned for trial the next day. In fact, they spent several nights in prison, “having failed to keep out by providing $2500 bond each.”⁵ Walter and Aloha languished in their cells until March 8, when they were called to court by Judge Georgia Bullock — the state’s first female judge. Judge Bullock, a big-boned, no-nonsense woman who had formerly presided over a women’s only court, read out the charge against them: unauthorized use of an American Liberty Belt, regulation army issue.

Looking over her papers, the judge asked if they were guilty or not guilty. Walter responded that they were not guilty and that the belts were not US Army issue. “These are Chinese belts presented to us by Chang Tso-lin’s forces at Mukden. They’re modelled after the design by British Sir Samuel James Browne in 1901. The American Liberty Belt is different; it is worn over the right shoulder. Our belt is worn over the left and is for the purpose of supporting a pistol not a sword.” And there he was cut off by the judge who asked, “Are you or are you not wearing a leather strap over your shoulder?”6

Indeed they were, as Aloha later wrote, just like “practically every elevator operator, doorman and motorcycle policeman in the country. We were proud of our souvenirs of (the Chinese) War.”⁷ The judge’s gavel fell and they were each fined $200 or sixty days — an astronomical court fine in 1925. The Los Angeles Times reported that Judge Bullock warned them “not to wear Sam Browne belts or any other portion of the Army insignia in the future.”8

On the walk back to their hotel, Walter and Aloha stopped again at the post office where a letter from the legal office in San Francisco was waiting for them. The lawyers regretted to inform Walter that they would, after all, be unable to pursue his case as discussed. No reasons were given, but Aloha assumed that somewhere palms had been greased. Walter, as ever, refused to dwell on setbacks and encouraged Aloha to work that much harder on preparing the films. Those reels would pay their way across the country, clear to Detroit where, with luck, they could meet with Mr. Ford himself.

*

Aloha began her crash course in the highly complex art of film editing. She felt at home “working among numerous cutters — all women — the professionals who decided what to cut out, which scenes to patch together, what actions matched how the story evolves. ‘Does she kiss him before or after the party?’”9 Aloha worked with an assistant, surrounded by six cloth-lined bins, rolling film from left to right and back again, checking both scenes and splices. When six sequences were cut, they were retrieved from the bins and assembled by the assistant, according to Aloha’s instructions. She experimented with a number of techniques learned from her fellow cutters. If the footage for important scenes was too short she would print them twice, sometimes printing it backwards to create the illusion of new settings.

*

Throughout Aloha’s story, the details contained in the public record, whether through newspaper reports or legal documents, are often at odds with her own recounting of them. Sometimes, however, while the events themselves do coincide, their explanation is profoundly different. In Aloha’s version of events, Walter suddenly decided to buy a yacht that was kept on the east coast. It was a surprising development, but he would not be gone long and in the meantime she had plenty to keep herself busy: bookings at Loew’s West Coast Theatres, work at the film lab, and a scheduled installation of N^o III’s first self-starter.

Their last public presentation before Walter left was an engagement scheduled at the posh Huntington Hotel in Pasadena, renowned getaway for Hollywood stars.

 

From the rear platform, Cap saluted. Somehow I sensed he was mine; by right of qualification, perseverance, rightness . . . . That moment, standing below him, his good and bad points flashed like single frames: baffling, elusive, an opportunist as long as his conscience was clear with his Maker. He was often a very aggravating man but every single new thing to be seen or heard interested him. He was what he claimed to be, a traveller. Legally, he publicized his career: Wander well.10

 

Aloha kissed Walter as he boarded a train for Florida. Her notes state that, as she watched the train make it’s slowly chugging way east, she felt everything was finally going to be okay. The notes also mention, in passing, that Walter needed to visit the Dade County Circuit Court where his wife, Nell, was suing for divorce.

Before leaving, Walter had introduced Aloha to Hollywood’s most famous stunt flyer, Art Goebel, a tall charmer who “turned out to be as captivating in person as he had always been flirting down at me from the silent screen.”11 Like Wanderwell, Art was an incurable adventurer, though fonder of simple vices (drinking, smoking) and less prone to arrest. He introduced Aloha to some of Hollywood’s biggest stars, including the British actor turned stunt flyer Reginald Denny, his friend John Barrymore, the up-and-coming child star Douglas Fairbanks Jr., and actress Joan Crawford.12

It wasn’t long before Art and Aloha were spending their evenings together, attending movies (although Aloha would later claim there was “no necking”), drama classes, and numerous impromptu Hollywood parties where she met some of Hollywood’s biggest names. Towards the end of March, Aloha was scheduled to deliver her first black tie performance for the Wedgewood Club at the Huntington Hotel in Pasadena, where she would lecture to some of the most powerful and successful people in southern California. She was undaunted. She had edited a longer program specifically for the performance and was determined to wow them. “They saw me on Europe’s ravaged battlefields, in India, Siberia; greeted by Emperor Hirohito; locally by Jack Warner;13 the acclaimed [director] Ernst Lubitsch, popular [actor] Monty Blue. Warmly applauded, I then answered questions until almost midnight.”14

Following the show, the chairman of the Wedgewood Club told Aloha that some men wanted to see her. She was escorted to the lounge where two men in trench coats and felt hats were waiting. “What ho! The dicks! They were subdued apparently after being admonished by the Huntington hosts.”15 The officers questioned Aloha and told her that officers of the juvenile court would be in contact with her shortly.

The next day, March 28, Aloha sat on the steps of the Los Angeles central post office, reading a stack of mail, including her first note from Walter in Florida. He wrote that the divorce hearing had been scheduled for the twenty-fourth and that, although saddened by Nell’s attitude, he was confident her request would be granted. He and Nell had tried to divorce some years earlier but had been rejected when they told the court that following their divorce they intended to go into business together. The judge had roared that his courtroom was not a farce and dismissed the case. This latest attempt arose from stories that had appeared in the Honolulu Star describing Aloha as Walter’s wife. A friend had mailed copies to Nell, thus providing preliminary legal grounds for divorce.

Aloha had hardly finished the letter when she was approached by a woman “wearing a shoulder strap bag.” The woman asked if she was Miss Wanderwell, and how old she was. Aloha answered that she was, as they say in France, in her seventeenth year. Nodding, the woman informed Aloha that she was, once again, under arrest.

Aloha was placed in a cell and refused bond “on grounds that I was a minor. On my previous nab my age had not affected bail or fine!”16 The next day she was transferred to a juvenile detention facility and interrogated by officials who asked her age (she now claimed to be eighteen), her educational background, how she came to the United States, and what she was doing in Los Angeles.

 

The baiter (I felt sure she was determined to feed her curiosity) looked me straight in the eye (and asked), “Are you a virgin?”’

Ha! This time I had the right answer, “Certainly!”

I was turned over to a nurse, my clothes taken away, handed a grey prison frock. In dazed amazement I submitted to an impudent interrogation about my health habits; head to toe examination.17

 

Following her physical, Aloha was sent back to pen number sixteen where she was occasionally joined by other girls. Their stories of prostitution, child abandonment, and even rape by their fathers shocked Aloha into silence. She was relieved when she was alone and could let her mind wander.

 

I noticed several important things. (I was) lucky to have a cell with sun shining through the window. A gently waving branch outside that cast shadows on the wall — very Japanese. With sunlight and movement I could live a while.

 

“A while” turned out to be six days, during which time she learned to hate the phrase “juvenile correction,” describing it as a “sanctified mythology” that could only further warp those needing help the most. On the morning of her hearing, she was brought before the judge who gave her an academic quiz to assess her educational level. The judge looked at Aloha over her glasses and asked if she had anything to tell the court. Aloha stiffened her back and declared that she had nothing to confess. With a sigh, the judge nodded to the bailiff.

 

The door opened admitting a dozen people . . . and Cap! Cap in his uniform, his great big smile! My prayers were answered — everything would be alright.

The judge: “We are interested in your welfare in the United States. We consider you are without a guardian and you must have one.”

I protested, Cap was my guardian, appointed by my mother.

“What kind of mother would allow you to go off with that globe-trotting man?”18

 

It was a fair question. Aloha, however, did not take kindly to the slight on Walter’s character. Her temper began to flare, which seemed to amuse the court. Drawling, the judge said she doubted her mother was fully aware of Walter Wanderwell’s character. “You know, she seems more concerned with the move from Nice and sending Miki to an Italian art school than with your safety.” Aloha’s mouth fell open. The judge had been reading her mail. “Bitingly, I said, ‘If you read my mother carefully, you would learn she’s a gentlewoman and that she has perfect confidence in the Captain to take care of me!’”19

The judge pursed her lips. She asked Aloha if she was in love with the captain and whether she intended to marry him. Aloha was shocked. What kind of court was this? She and Walter were business partners, she hissed, that’s it. She had no plans to marry anyone. But whatever defiant self-composure Aloha might have affected was wiped out by the judge’s curt response. “You are pregnant.”

*

Stripping away Aloha’s justifications, there remains the practical reason that Walter had to return to Florida to appear before a judge to secure his divorce from Nell Wanderwell. After so many arrests, he needed to legitimize his relationship with Aloha. He understood that if he left California with her he would be arrested and charged under the Mann Act. In a series of letters to Bureau of Investigation Director J. Edgar Hoover, Special Agent Ralph Colvin had explained that there could be no prosecution of Wanderwell relating to his travel to California with Aloha since he had not technically crossed state lines. As he put it “Hawaii isn’t a state, so the law doesn’t count.”20

Walter was not about to let himself be arrested again and risk destroying the expedition. So, over the course of three weeks he travelled to Florida, secured his divorce, paid the taxes owing on his property in Miami’s Spring Garden district, bought some acreage along the Tamiami Trail together with four lots on the Key West Highway near Coral Gables, returned to Los Angeles, commissioned the construction of another car (to be called, stirringly, Unit N^o IV), and attended Aloha’s hearing in juvenile court.

*

In all probability, Aloha knew she was pregnant. The court announcement would have been no surprise. Considering that Walter had been arrested or detained under the Mann Act a few times already, and news reports of his appetite for young girls followed him wherever the expedition went, it was essential that Walter and Aloha be free to marry. A child out of wedlock, in any Western society in the 1920s, would have meant, at the very least, ostracism — anathema to the cause of a very public, money-making enterprise. Nothing short of the end of the Wanderwell Expedition — Walter’s entire career and Aloha’s dreams of success — was on the line.

*

Aloha was released from juvenile correction and placed into the care of Natalie Ringstrom — Mrs. R, as she was less formally known — the landlady from whom she’d been renting an apartment prior to her arrest. According to the judge, Aloha was barred from leaving Hollywood for six months, presumably until after her birthday in October when she would be, as far as the court could determine, eighteen years of age.

Despite their increasingly serious troubles, Walter worked with maniacal intensity. Within a week of Aloha’s release from jail, he had booked the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the city’s largest playhouse. “Each side put up $2000 cash for advertising to plaster the city with twenty-four sheet billboards — a marvellous gamble. They furnished the house and orchestra — we, the show. Profits split equally. A thirty-piece orchestra for mood music and sound effects. We would open in two weeks.”21

The prospect of her big chance coming now, so soon, erased any chance of sleep. Aloha remembered lying awake for hours every night, thrilled to be playing the largest venue in Los Angeles, but also despairing that six months of house arrest would prevent her from capitalizing on her success. No late-night parties, no overnight trips to more distant venues, no ability to be the grown-up she really was. Six months would be the longest she’d stayed in any one place since 1922.

Walter saw that Aloha’s enthusiasm was waning. He took her to a late lunch at the Musso and Frank Grill on Hollywood Boulevard, “an unheard of cash extravagance — staggering from Cap.” While she enjoyed filet mignon a la Frank with candied potatoes and a cup of Ridgways black tea, he spoke animatedly about his plans for the future, his words a torrent: how the new Unit N^o IV car was to be hers, how they’d cross the country together with a stupendous victory celebration in Detroit. And after their arrival they’d continue their travels, making films and promoting the idea of travel as education.

 

A line of Wanderwell vehicles attracting crowds in New York City, 1926. The “Tank” at the front of the line bears the “international police” marking and radio mast (shown in a dropped position).

 

Walter’s logo design for his International Police scheme. The Latin phrase means “God and country.” 1920s.

 

In India, only a few months earlier, Aloha and Walter had received a letter from Nell when she was still wandering through North America. She had voiced concern about the many copycat Wanderwell Expeditions she had encountered in her travels. Walter didn’t share Nell’s concern then, but now that he and Aloha were back in America and could see cheap competition attempting to cash in, he knew something would have to be done. Aloha wrote at the time:

 

Last mail before departure brought word from Unit N^o I re: its “North American” competitors. There was a growing number of round the world imitators selling souvenirs on the strength of our overseas publicity. Some cars were almost replicas. Formats suggested various wagers: handicapped veterans, college boys working their way, Europeans seeing America First.

Cap chuckled, “There’ll be so many we’ll have to organize a club.”22

 

His solution, like so much else of Walter’s promotional savvy, was simple, yet brilliant. The WAWEC logo, which until now had stood for “Wanderwell Around the World Endurance Contest,” would be repurposed to mean “Work Around the World Educational Club.” People would join the club and, for a fee, be trained on how to create a self-sustaining life on the road. He was safeguarding the future of the expedition, while offering Aloha the chance to continue travelling indefinitely.

And, finally, he proposed marriage.