It was a chilly winter morning in Los Angeles on Thursday, December 15, 1927. But despite the cold winds, both Marion and Marjorie Parker were in a cheerful mood as they walked to the streetcar that took them to school. The twelve-year-old twin girls were excited about an all-school Christmas party that was to take place in the various classrooms that day. There is something about the Christmas season that delights youngsters, and the Parker girls were no exception. The school party, the coming holidays, the time off from school, and the days they would spend enjoying their Christmas presents together swirled about their minds.
The Parker twins were almost always together. They had a brother who was much older and whom both adored, but the special bond that is said to exist between all sets of twins was certainly evident despite having so few similarities outside of their appearance. Marjorie was very much a girl who liked girlie things. But Marion had a slightly rougher edge. Not afraid to get dirty or to get hurt, Marion was what would be considered a tomboy.
Marion had many friends who were girls, especially at school. But on weekends, she only occasionally played with the other girls in the neighborhood. While the girls, including Marjorie, would play with dolls and tea sets, Marion would be enjoying toy trains or sometimes even football with the boys. Yet, despite her tomboyish nature and athletic bravado, Marion was, in other ways, an emotionally delicate child.
Marion didn’t like to be away from home for long, especially at night. She would play outside all day and enjoy birthday parties and other daytime activities at the homes of her school friends, but as the evening got dark, she preferred to be at home with her parents. Marion was a popular, friendly girl, but she rarely accepted one of the many invitations she would regularly receive from classmates to attend sleepovers.
Marion could also be a bit apprehensive around adults, unless they were neighbors or friends of her parents. It wasn’t fear, as she could be quite gregarious once comfortable, but a certain level of shyness that was alleviated only with better acquaintance. When around those with whom she was comfortable, Marion appeared confident and engaging. She would strike amusing poses when being photographed, while Marjorie offered little more than a pleasant smile. Marion would tell jokes, dance to music coming from the radio or phonograph, and carry on in a silly, childlike manner with far greater abandon than her more sedate twin sister. Marion would merrily laugh aloud at favorite movie comedians like Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton or amusing radio programs, while Marjorie would enjoy the antics quietly. As Lloyd would perform one of his daredevil stunts, Marion would delightedly fidget in her seat, while Marjorie sat still, smiling, having just as much fun, but far more sedately than her more demonstrative sister.
Marjorie was her mother’s girl. When not in school, she was content to help out around the house, learning cooking and sewing. But Marion spent a lot of time at the First National Trust and Savings Bank, where her father worked as an assistant cashier, curiously looking into the various offices and visiting the various officials or standing out front and watching the tellers work. She was not the type of child who faded into the background. She was easily noticed. There was one worker at the bank who certainly noticed Marion Parker. He noticed her well enough to remember her several months later.
Mrs. Mary Holt was the teacher in charge of registration and attendance at Mount Vernon Junior High School, where the Parker girls attended. When the principal, Cora Freeman, was away, Mrs. Holt took charge as administrator. It was she who made the decisions. Mrs. Holt, from all printed accounts, was notable for following the schoolmarm stereotype quite carefully. She was persnickety about the rule book and refrained from any deviation. She was neat and structured and paid attention to detail. Mrs. Holt was quite strict about student deportment and even more careful about strangers visiting the building and inquiring about the children of whom she was in charge in the principal’s absence.
Ms. Freeman was absent on December 15 when a nice-looking young man calmly entered the office around noon as the children in the various classrooms were enjoying their Christmas parties. In 1927, there were no cameras and no locked doors where visitors had to be allowed in by authorized school personnel. Anyone could simply walk in from the street and approach the main office to speak to the principal. It was up to the person in charge to meet each visitor, inquire as to their business, double-check their status, and give or withhold permission.
Based on court transcripts and newspaper accounts, the stranger entered the office and approached Mrs. Holt.[1] The dialogue went something like this: “Excuse me, I need to see the Parker girl.” Mrs. Holt did not recognize the man. He was small, slender, and had a friendly face and a relaxed demeanor. A faint smile came across his lips as he continued. Rather than interrogate the gentleman immediately, she listened to what he had to say. “My name is Mr. Cooper,” he said. “I work with Mr. Perry Parker at the bank. Mr. Parker has been in an accident and is calling for his daughter.” Mrs. Holt was confused. “We have two Parker girls at our school,” she said. “He wants the younger one,” the man continued. Of course, there really was no younger Parker girl. Mrs. Holt knew that, but the stranger did not. Marion was slightly smaller than Marjorie, however, and was born a few minutes later. The girls would often joke that Marion was the “younger sister.”
“Do you mean Marion?”
“Yes, yes ma’am, that is her name.”
The stranger didn’t know her name. He didn’t know she had a sister, much less a twin. He knew only that Perry Parker had a daughter. He knew what she looked like. The stranger’s relaxed confidence was so imposing that even the wary Mrs. Holt was relaxed enough to be so off her guard as to foolishly feed him the snippets of information he did not have. Mrs. Holt continued to look at the man carefully. She had been known to question parents as to the identity of people who came to pick up their children, often phoning the parents for verification. But Mrs. Holt felt differently about this attractive, confident, well-mannered young man. His demeanor was so calm; it made even the persnickety Mrs. Holt feel uncharacteristically trusting.
Even during the 1920s when this took place, the idea of a stranger picking a child up from school or offering a child a ride was considered a danger of which all youngsters should be aware. But Mrs. Holt didn’t stop to think about that. The basic questions that seemed so natural somehow eluded her. This man was friendly, confident, and poised. He didn’t take his eyes off her or appear the least bit nervous. And he did say he worked at the bank with Mr. Parker. She knew where Perry Parker was employed. He even stated that Mrs. Holt could call the bank and check, the faint smile remaining on his lips.
Mrs. Holt didn’t think it was necessary to call the bank. She didn’t even ask such basic questions as “What kind of an accident?,” “How serious is it?,” or “Why do you want to alert only one of his daughters?” For some reason, the persnickety schoolmarm was too comfortable to inquire any further. This early event, the catalyst of everything that would eventually happen, balanced completely on the culprit’s uncanny ability to keep even the otherwise careful Mrs. Holt relaxed enough to fully trust this complete stranger who entered her office. She instructed her assistant, Miss Britton, to summon Marion from her classroom.
After a short wait, Marion arrived at the office, and the stranger approached her with the same calm, confident demeanor he had displayed thus far. He lightly touched the girl’s arm as he spoke to her. He identified himself as someone who worked with her father at the bank. He indicated that Perry Parker had been in an accident and was calling for Marion and that the bank sent him to bring her to him. The child left with the stranger, showing no hesitation. She had been at the bank so often that perhaps she felt a hint of recognition when looking at the man’s face. Perhaps, as with Mrs. Holt, she felt the same comfort and safety while looking into his eyes.
This was the 1920s, a time when children trusted adults and authority figures with a certain blind faith. Marion trusted Mrs. Holt’s authority just as she had trusted the man who patiently escorted her from the school building and into his waiting car. Mrs. Holt did not ask Marion if she knew or recognized the man. When the stranger left with Marion, Mrs. Holt assumed that all was well. Even when principal Cora Freeman returned to the school and Mrs. Holt informed her about Perry Parker’s accident and that Marion had been picked up by a family friend, all was assumed well. Trusting Mrs. Holt’s authority and professionalism and being fully aware of her careful nature, Mrs. Freeman refrained from asking any of the standard questions as to the severity of the accident or why Marjorie was not alerted as well. No more was thought about it. And, perhaps even more curiously, nobody thought it necessary to tell Marjorie anything.
Marjorie Parker waited for her sister outside of the building after school. They always met up after classes ended and went to the streetcar together. She waited a long time and could not get back into the building to find Marion, who she concluded was likely helping out in one of the classrooms. She had done that before and came out late enough where both girls had to run to catch the streetcar home. This time, Marion never came out, and Marjorie did not want to miss the streetcar, so she ventured on alone.
When Marjorie arrived home without her sister and told her parents that Marion did not meet her after school, the Parkers were not initially alarmed. It was likely that there was a simple reason. They also reasoned, as Marjorie had concluded, that Marion stayed a bit too long in the classroom helping the teacher clean up after the Christmas party and lost track of time. She could be arriving on a later streetcar. Children often don’t think to watch the time and don’t think to phone home. The Parkers felt they had no reason to worry, so their minds did not even venture toward the possibility of anything having gone wrong. Still, Perry Parker called the school’s office. It was getting late and would be dark soon. Perry Parker knew that Marion didn’t like being away from home as it got dark and probably didn’t realize how late it was getting. So he felt it would be a good idea to simply drive over to the school and pick her up himself. He phoned the number that would connect him to the main office. Mrs. Holt answered the phone. Perry Parker greeted her and identified himself.
According to court transcripts and newspaper accounts, Mrs. Holt was shocked to hear from Perry Parker and asked how he was feeling.[2] “I feel fine, Mrs. Holt,” he said. “Thank you for asking.” Of course, Mr. Parker was responding as if Mrs. Holt was exhibiting a generally kind greeting, and he responded the same way. He continued his inquiry. “Is Marion still at school? She didn’t arrive home with her sister, and I was preparing to drive over and pick her up.”
Mrs. Holt asked if she had come home with “the man you sent to pick her up.” Mr. Parker was confused. Mrs. Holt explained the situation. A cold feeling went through Perry Parker as he was told of the family friend, the accident, and Marion’s departure from school hours before. Parker’s friendly demeanor turned to anger mixed with concern.
“I was not in any accident and did not send anyone to pick Marion up from school!”
Perry Parker had been home the entire day. He took the day off to spend with his wife. It was his fortieth birthday.