For an incredible sixty years, William Randolph Hearst had been the most powerful publisher in the world. He was also a real estate mogul, an art collector, and a movie producer. It would be difficult to overstate his influence on culture, let alone history. It was monumental. In November 1950, he was eighty-seven and in failing health. He feared that once he was gone, his wife Millicent would deprive his mistress, silent movie star Marion Davies, of her portion of his estate. He had produced films for Davies for twenty years, but she was fifty-three and retired. He asked her nephew Charles Lederer to find a lawyer who could help without alerting anyone in the Hearst empire, specifically his five sons.
Lederer was a Hollywood fixture, having collaborated with his close friend the eminent playwright Ben Hecht on the screenplays for His Girl Friday, Comrade X, and Kiss of Death.* Lederer regularly played tennis and cards with Bautzer and told Hearst he was the man for the job. By this time Hearst was too infirm to spend time at La Cuesta Encantada, his palatial headquarters in San Simeon, California, so Bautzer met him at the Beverly Drive home he shared with Davies.
Hearst instructed Bautzer to draw up a trust agreement granting Davies control of his publishing empire. Hearst and Davies both signed it on November 5. “I want you to take care of Marion when I die,” he told Bautzer. “I want her to feel that I’m still there looking after her. I think you’ll be able to do that for her.” Hearst then instructed his staff to deposit stock shares in Davies’s name as a guarantee. He was too ill to see if his orders were being carried out.
Marion Davies was a unique entity in the history of Hollywood. Born Marion Douras to a middle-class Brooklyn family in 1897, she was groomed to attract a rich man. By age nineteen, the Ziegfeld Follies showgirl was doing just that. Fortunately for her, the man she attracted was genuinely taken with her. “Willie” Hearst was fifty-three and married, and Millicent would not grant him a divorce. So for the next thirty-five years, Hearst and Davies were an unmarried couple, but married in spirit and deed. Though nothing could be said publicly, there was the occasional innuendo. In 1934, when Hearst was criticizing “immoral” films, the Los Angeles Times published a rather pointed letter in response to his attack. “Wouldn’t it absolutely clinch the cause of purity,” suggested a reader, “if we could get Mr. Hearst to produce a picture portraying the true story of his upright life? It would make a wonderful theme in which to star Marion Davies.” Davies tried to rationalize her status. “Love is not always created at the altar,” she told Hearst. “Love doesn’t need a wedding ring.”
Hearst could not give Davies marriage, so he gave her stardom. Beginning with Cecilia of the Pink Roses in 1918, he produced a series of showcases for her and a snowstorm of publicity. Hearst columnist Louella Parsons was entrusted with the care of Davies’s image and made sure that no morning paper was printed without a reminder that Davies was the country’s most eligible bachelor girl. Davies repaid Hearst’s devotion by being the perfect hostess of five mansions and by selling some of her jewelry in the late 1930s to get him through a fiscal crisis.
Hearst died on August 14, 1951. His will was filed for probate a few hours later and its contents made public. Upon reading the document, his empire was in an uproar. Millicent Hearst and her sons were incredulous that a voting trust agreement should make Marion Davies the sole voting trustee of the Hearst Corporation, the holding company of Hearst’s publishing empire. Davies owned 30,000 shares, just 15 percent of the stock, but would have voting rights to 100,000 common shares and 170,000 shares (85 percent) of the preferred stock. She, therefore, would have power to choose all the officers and directors of the corporations. This was the posthumous, public confirmation of her illicit relationship with Hearst.
News of Hearst’s bequest became a national sensation. Time magazine ran a feature story entitled “Hearst’s Bombshell.” On August 26, Hearst’s son, Randolph Apperson Hearst, acting as an administrator of the estate, challenged not only the validity of his father’s agreement but also its existence. “This so-called agreement,” said Randolph, “was never executed, and, for this and many other reasons, it has no more effect than if it never existed.” The stock shares that were supposed to have been deposited as a guarantee had not been; without them, the family was free to discount the agreement.
“The document will speak for itself when filed,” said Bautzer. The signed agreement was soon found and papers were filed, but the Hearst family continued to challenge it. A battle was shaping up, the grieving mistress against the aggrieved widow. Davies did not relish the prospect of a down-and-dirty fight with Hearst’s sons, most of whom had been cordial to her for many years. “I would do anything in the world to avoid hurting those boys,” she said. “After all, they’re half of W.R.”
Even so, she wanted to honor Hearst’s plans. “I’m not the fighting type,” said Davies, “but I don’t believe in disregarding W.R.’s wishes. He had a reason for having the agreement drawn up. He thought I was the one who understood best what his policies and principles were and that I could see to it that his ideas were carried out.” She asked Bautzer to help her find a solution to the conflict. “Gosh, I thought I’d have a peaceful time in my old age,” said Davies. “Now look at the spot I’m in!”
After a month of talks, Bautzer negotiated a revised agreement with the Hearst heirs. Davies relinquished her voting rights but retained thirty thousand shares of stock. She was also granted the right to use the Hearst press to publicize her charities.
In October, Davies shocked the country when she married a family friend, Horace G. Brown Jr., at the El Rancho Hotel in Las Vegas. Brown was a former film extra and a retired merchant marine captain, and he resembled the Hearst of thirty years earlier. The marriage was based on little more than Davies’s loneliness. In July 1952, she filed for divorce. Bernard Silbert represented her. Brown was aggravating, but he was also companionable, so Davies reconsidered and dropped her suit.
After Howard Hughes, Davies was Bautzer’s second wealthiest client. Bautzer was honored by Hearst’s request to serve as his surrogate and take care of Marion after his death. Bautzer intended to carry out Hearst’s orders to the letter. Since her nephew Charles Lederer was one of his closest friends, Marion was almost like an aunt. Bautzer immediately started to investigate her property holdings. Hearst had placed real estate in her name, and Bautzer wanted to make sure she realized its full value. “I think we have an obligation as far as Marion is concerned,” said Bautzer at a meeting with his law partners. “And I think that obligation is to increase the estate.”
In addition to real estate, Davies also held a financial participation in Cosmopolitan Productions, which had produced fifty-four pictures for distribution by MGM. The company was originally set up by Hearst in the silent era to make pictures based on stories from his publications. It was called Cosmopolitan after his magazine of the same name. In the silent era, Cosmopolitan produced Davies’s starring vehicles, but in the 1930s, it went on to produce such talking hits as Young Mr. Lincoln, starring Henry Fonda and directed by John Ford; Ceiling Zero, starring James Cagney and directed by Howard Hawks; and The Story of Alexander Graham Bell, starring Don Ameche and Henry Fonda. Now that television was paying substantial fees for movies, the library held considerable value. MGM controlled the distribution rights to the films but would not make a commitment to sell them to television. Bautzer put legal pressure on MGM to assure that the rights were licensed to television for appropriate fees and made certain Davies received her share of the profits.
Bautzer did more than simply manage Davies’s assets. He handled her affairs as though he were her guardian, taking care of her every need. Davies grew to depend on him, calling him daily with her personal problems, both large and small. In 1953, she asked him to help her prepare for the New York wedding of John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Bouvier. She knew that Millicent Hearst planned to attend. “Greg, I want to have a little black Rolls Royce,” said Davies. “I want to buy one.”
“Why, Marion?”
“Well, the widow is going to have a Rolls Royce and I want to have a Rolls Royce too.”
Bautzer suggested she rent a limousine. Davies declined because she knew that New York license plates would give away the car as a rental. “But buying a Rolls, Marion. That will cost a lot.”
“I don’t care,” said Davies.
“But for one day?”
“I’ll probably stay several days.”
“How about second hand?”
“OK,” she said. “But only if it’s in good shape.”
Bautzer went about finding a used Rolls that he could have waiting for Davies at Grand Central Station on her arrival, but this was short notice. The only Rolls he could find was a small older model, one of the last handmade ones. It had a chauffeur’s box in front, two seats in the back, and a hood that flipped up on either side to reveal the engine. In addition to being small and old, the car was dark green.
After traveling by train across the country, Davies and her entourage were greeted at Grand Central Station by Bautzer and an auto dealer. Then she saw the car. “Greg,” she stammered, “this is not a black Rolls Royce. It’s green.” Bautzer responded that this was the best he could do if she wanted to purchase one. She took a long look at him. “That’s the goddamnedest shade of black I’ve ever seen,” she said haltingly, “but I’ll take it.”
When Bautzer and Wynter were married, Davies sent them the green Rolls with a big red bow tied to its hood and the pink slip in Wynter’s name. The Bautzers used the Rolls for premieres and special events.
Davies was deeply fond of Bautzer. She would often say, “Greg has made me a rich woman.” She wanted to reward him with a gift of land in her will. “No, thank you, Marion,” said Bautzer. “That’s very kind of you, but that is not correct and it can’t be done.” He explained that rules of professional responsibility bar a lawyer from being named as a beneficiary in a will he drafts. Davies was impressed by Bautzer’s honesty and tried to get around the rule by giving him other gifts, but he would not accept them.
Bautzer also knew that if Davies left her money in the bank it would quickly disappear. She confessed her plight in a meeting with Bautzer. “Money lying in the bank is a terrible temptation to me and if I get touched for some I can’t do anything about it,” said Marion. “When I have it, my relatives can smell it.” So he regularly presented Davies with investment ideas.
In July 1955, Bautzer negotiated Davies’s purchase of the thirty-three-acre Palm Springs Desert Inn for $1.75 million. The property included frontage of 599 feet on Palm Canyon Drive, the main thoroughfare of the resort town. The Desert Inn was founded in 1909 by Mrs. Nellie Coffman. When Mrs. Coffman came to Palm Springs with her husband, Dr. Harry Clee Coffman, it had a total of fourteen residents. Guests were accommodated in a stable and tents. By the time of her death at age eighty-two in 1950, Mrs. Coffman had turned her property into a nationally known resort. Davies planned to continue in the grand tradition, keeping the hotel “open to all,” a controversial stand against racism and anti-Semitism.
Davies also owned a row of brownstone apartments on Fifty-Seventh Street in New York City. On Bautzer’s advice, she razed them and built an aluminum-sheathed high-rise. She named it the Douras Building in honor of her father, Barney Douras, who had once been a Manhattan judge. The property’s monthly revenue shot from $20,000 to $120,000. Among her other properties were the Squibb Building on Fifth Avenue, acreage on the Miracle Mile in Los Angeles, and homes in Bel Air, Beverly Hills, and Santa Monica. All told, she was realizing half a million dollars yearly from her income property.
In 1955, Time magazine took note of Davies’s growing real estate empire in an article titled “Tycoon Davies.” The aging silent screen queen admitted that her increasing fortune was all due to her lawyers. “I do what they tell me. Greg has a great mind for real estate. He’s smarter than I am,” she told the reporter. Bautzer humbly deflected the compliment, saying, “She has a good sense of smell about a piece of land.” Bautzer knew that it was always better to give the client credit regardless of the real story. He was paid for his services, and the client was entitled to the benefit.
Davies was known for her charities. In 1932, she had created the Marion Davies Foundation to provide care for children. In 1957, Bautzer helped her liquidate the foundation’s assets. She had something special in mind. In January of 1958, two hundred dignitaries attended a ceremony at the Sheraton Town House in which Davies presented Edwin Pauley, chairman of the University of California Board of Regents, with a check for $1.5 million, at the time the largest individual monetary gift ever made to the University of California at Los Angeles. Her gift was earmarked for the construction of a new wing at the UCLA Medical Center. In it would be a children’s clinic. President Eisenhower, Vice President Nixon, and California governor Edwin Knight sent telegrams extolling Davies. “Marion accompanies her check with her heart,” said Bautzer when he presented it.
Davies died of cancer on September 22, 1961, at the age of sixty-four. Her funeral Mass was celebrated at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Church in Hollywood. Bautzer was an honorary pallbearer. He was fifty years old, but he could not fail to observe the irony that many of the mourners, though only in their sixties, were cut off from the Hollywood he knew because they were silent film “has-beens.” The story of Marion Davies comprised a fortunate alliance, a giving nature, and a sunny sense of humor. She was universally loved and admired by the Hollywood community. In the sometimes-cynical film industry, Bautzer was lucky to have had such a friend and client.
*Lederer would go on to write such other classics as Gentleman Prefer Blondes, The Thing, and the original Ocean’s 11, among many others.