|Greystone, the Doheny mansion which sits on the hillside above Doheny Road on the eastern edge of Beverly Hills is now a park, so named officially in 1971.When it was built,in the late 1920s, it was the second largest house (56,000 square feet) in California after Hearst’s castle at San Simeon.
In the 1920s, all of that area, which includes what is now Trousdale Estates and the adjacent Doheny Drive properties, extending westward and upwards into the foothills of the range that is known as the Santa Monica Mountains; all of it belonged to the Dohenys, and most specifically Edward L. Doheny Jr., known as “Ned,” son of E.L. Sr., who first struck oil in the Los Angeles area in 1892. At the beginning of the 20th century, the elder Mr. Doheny was pumping enough oil to rival only one other oilman of consequence in America, John D. Rockefeller.
Sunset Boulevard around what is now Doheny Drive wasn’t much more than a bridlepath (and often used as one). What is West Hollywood now was then poinsettia fields in an area known as Sherman. The Dohenys used their land in the hills now know as Truesdale, as a ìranch -- a place to get away -- out of town, for horseback riding, hiking and other healthy outdoor activities.
By the early 1920s, young Ned, with his wife Lucy and their five children occupied a large and stylish house up in these hills, as did several of their relatives with young families like them.
By the early 1920s, E.L.Doheny Sr. was one of the richest men in the world with hugely productive oil fields in the southwest and Mexico. His wealth made him a very powerful man politically, and he used that power to ingratiate himself with, and even create, national political leaders, such as presidents. One president whose administration was profoundly affected by old man Doheny was Warren G. Harding.
President Harding had a Secretary of the Interior named Albert Fall who was a very close friend of the elder Mr. Doheny. In fact, Mr. Doheny once gave Mr. Fall $100,000 to help him along (that’s about $10 million in today’s dollars). In return -- out of gratitude of course, as it so often is with our politicians -- Secretary Fall made it possible for Mr. Doheny to secure oil drilling rights to a large deposit of oil on federally owned lands, particularly one rich one which was called the Teapot Dome because its vastness was shaped like ... a teapot.
The $100,000 cash bribe to the Secretary of Interior Fall had been hand delivered in a black valise, by Mr. Dohenyís son Ned, who was then in his late twenties, and a boyhood friend who was then employee of the family, Hugh Plunkett. That single act -- carrying that black bag and handing it over to Secretary Fall -- was to seal the fate of both young Doheny and his friend Plunkett in a most terrible way.
In the early 1920s while all of this political mischief was going on with men in high places in Washington, Ned Doheny, ab only childm decided to build his dream house on the ranch land in the hills. The original design by architect Wallace Neff, was inspired by the Petit Trianon at Versailles, and, like Rosecliff it became a massive project, dwarfed at the time only by the activities of William Randolph Hearst who at about the same time farther up the coast at San Simeon, was building his castle.
|The property of pines and barren hillside was transformed and planted and replanted to make way for a sprawling stone mansion with broad terraces overlooking the city (which at that time was mainly bungalows and clusters of stores amidst a lot of vacant land) as far south as the family oil wells on Signal Hills, just north of Long Beach. Hollywood was several miles down those almost remote roads to the east, and what is now Downtown L.A. was about forty-five minutes away.
As the house was abuilding, Ned Doheny and his wife Lucy (daughter of a local gas station owner), and their designers scoured Europe for artisans and craftsmen, and for antiques and interiors. After several years and an expenditure said to be about $5 million (or a hundred times that today), Greystone was finished. Huge, regal, a kind of neo-Tudor confection, solid and substantial, it was equipped with all the luxuries any young modern family could want or need, including stables, and athletic facilities, tennis courts, gyms, swimming pools, screening room, ballroom, bowling alleys. It even had its own switchboard and telephone system.
The house was completed to take occupany in the late summer of 1928. The family, Ned and Lucy Doheny, their five children and fifteen in staff, moved in in the autumn.
The son’s taking possession of Greystone was a milestone in the life of E.L.Doheny, a rough and tumble oil wildcatter who worked long and hard at his quest to finally hit one of the biggest oil strikes on the North American continent that would make him rich and powerful. And now, at the completion of the son’s palace, he, and because of him, the son, he was also in trouble with the Feds. Because of Teapot Dome.
A bribe is a bribe is a bribe. And a hundred grand to a White House Cabinet member? All this, not to mention Hugh Plunkett, the Dohenys’ retainer, the trusted confidant of young Ned -- so trusted that he signed many of the checks in the building of Greystone -- Hugh Plunkett was in trouble with the Feds too. The black bag with the hundred grand that the two pals delivered that day to Secretary Fall, was under investigation.
At the same time the young Dohenys with the golden couple of Los Angeles society with their elevated Eastern social and political connections. When they finally moved into Greystone, with its real kind of palatial splendor, with the world at their feet, so to speak, the shadow of the Teapot Dome had begun to cast its shadow.
The world was about to find because a Senate investigation had been launched, and the guilty were going to be dealt with. Now a pillar of the community and an elder; one of the worldís richest men, Doheny couldn’t fathom the ramifications. Now a pious Roman Catholic as well, a great contributor to the community and most especially the Roman Catholic church in Los Angeles, guilt was, in his mind, outside his purview, yet now under his skin.
There was now speculation going on in the national press: what would happen to E. L. Doheny when he had to testify under oath before the committee? Would he fold? Would he incriminate himself? Was this the end of the line?
The world was about to see. It was going to start first with the two men who carried the black bag of bribery: Ned Doheny and his buddy Hugh Plunkett. The family was in turmoil. Neither father nor son had any plans on taking the rap. They intended to protect themselves. Hugh Plunkett, however, was a different story. He was involved also. And his relationship to the family was so close that there could be a case made for his taking matters into his own hands. And getting his own hands dirty.
This reality became apparent to Plunkett as the date of testifying in Washington drew nearer. His own behavior, as revealed in later testimony became unhinged to the point that his friend, young Doheny suggested he be institutionalized until he calmed down.
He did not calm down, however. And as young Doheny pulled away from his boyhood friend, the unhinging took a sharper turn for the worse,. Finally, on a Saturday night in early February 1929, only four months after the young family moved into the house, a very troubled Hugh Plunkett drove up to Greystone from his apartment in Hollywood. A familiar figure on the property, he was let through by the gatekeeper at the big gate (still standing) on Doheny Road.
Ned Doheny, a goodlooking man of thirty-five with dark hair, sharp dark eyes, a Black Irishman’s bearing and sometimes alcoholic demeanor, in his silk dressing robe, made his way across the long corridors of the house to meet with Hugh Plunkett.
What happened thereafter remains seventy-eight years later mere speculation. The newspaper accounts at the time generally went like this:
Lucy Doheny had been sitting by herself in the library reading magazines when about 11:30 she heard a gunshot. According to press accounts, she didn’t look for the source of the gunshots, nor did she call the police. Instaed called the family doctor who was with his wife at the movies in Beverly Hills. Paged at the theatre, the doctor immediately drove up to the house (about a ten minute drive from downtown Beverly Hills). There he was greeted at the imposing front door (see photos) by Lucy Doheny who led him immediately escorted him to the east wing where she claimed to have heard the gunshot.
At that point, as the doctor and Mrs. Doheny approached the room where Plunkett had called Ned from, Plunkett came out of the room in a state of anguish and with a gun in his hand.. On seeing the family doctor (whom he knew) and Lucy Doheny, he ran back into the room and slammed the door. Whereupon, the doctor and Lucy Doheny (later) claimed they heard another gunshot.
Mind you, this, according to the official story, occurred more than twenty minutes after Lucy Doheny had heard the first gunshot.
Then the doctor and Mrs. Doheny entered the room where they found Hugh Plunkett dead on the floor in a pool of blood, and Ned Doheny also dead on the floor in a pool of blood.
|This was the official story carried in the newspapers in Los Angeles the next day.
The gunshots occurred around eleven-thirty and midnigt that Saturday night. Whatever occurred afterward is obscured by time and testimony. The police were called almost three hours later at 2 a.m. In the meantime, many of Lucy Doheny’s relatives who lived nearby showed up at the house. Called, obviously by someone in the house. Later it was admitted that the bodies were also moved before the police could see and photograph them.
The Dohenys were the richest family in Los Angeles. Their oil wells were everywhere including in many neighborhoods. The sudden death by gunshot of the only son and heir was big news. Everyone wanted to know what happened?
Two days later the local DA’s office, however, closed an inquest on the deaths. Ite was officially concluded that Hugh Plunkett shot Ned Doheny, his boyhood friend, and then turned the gun on himself. About a half hour later, of course, if the official story is to be believed.
Ned Doheny was buried with pomp and circumstance a few days later. His stepmother (his mother, a half-Cherokee, had died many years before), Estelle Doheny, was one of the biggest contributors to the Roman Catholic church in Los Angeles (she owned the Gutenberg Bible, acquired many decades later by Bill Gates). Curiously, Ned was not buried in a Catholic cemetery but instead at Forest Lawn in Glendale. The reason for this has never been explained, although it could be deduced that his death was not necessarily by murder but perhaps by his own hand -- a mortal sin in the eyes of the Church.
|After a much simpler ceremony, without pomp or public clamoring, Hugh Plunkett was buried in the same cemetery just a few yards from his friend Ned. From all this arose the story that the two men had been lovers, and that the quarrel which had ensued that night in the big house had to do with their relationship. The implication that both men were at some time engaged in a homosexual relationship became the note of interest in the case, and remains so to this day. Nothing was ever written in the newspapers at the time about the fact that Hugh Plunkett was, with Ned Doheny, a participant in the bribery of Albert Fall, and was scheduled to testify before the Senate investigating committee, and that the elder Doheny would be next..
However, none of that came to the surface. The two men were buried days later, and everyone’s life went on. The sympathy for the father of the dead man, Ned Doheny, was so great that the Congressional investigation was called off and he never had to testify.
Lucy Doheny, a little more than a year later, almost to the day, married a man named Leigh Batson, a stockbroker whom she and her late husband had known for some time. Six years later E.L. Doheny Sr. died – “of a broken heart” it was written in the papers.
The Batsons lived at Greystone for the next twenty-six years, raising her children, until 1955 when Mrs. Doheny Batson decided the big house was too big. She gave the property to the city of Beverly Hills and built a new “smaller” house for herself on the adjoining property that ran along Schuyler Road.
|Equipped with 22 bathrooms, the newer house, called “The Knoll” was later sold to film producer Dino di Laurentiis, who sold it to singer Kenny Rogers, who in turn sold it to Barbara and Marvin Davis. With the occupation by the Davises, “The Knoll” has been the scene of some of the greatest parties in America in the 1980s and 1990s.
Lucy Smith Doheny Batson lived to a very great age, over a hundred. At the end of her life, she moved to a large (5000 square feet) and luxurious condominium on the Wilshire Corridor. A very formidable character, at the very end of her life, she would arise each morning, get herself dressed up for a luncheon engagement, place herself in a wingback chair in her livingroom, her handbag on the floor at her side, and sit. And wait.
Her grandchildren would visit the intimidating dowager. It was said that even her grandchildren, ever curious, were afraid to ask her “what happened” in the big house on that fateful night in February 1929. One of them told me once that they wondered why she went to the trouble to dress and sit there, handbag ready, and wait. Was she, the very devout Roman Catholic lady, waiting for her Maker to come a-calling. Was she worried about the Judgment Day, the believer that she was? Did she have reason to suffer guilt? Was it because of what really happened to Neddie and Hughie on that fateful February night almost seventy years before?
|These are their ghosts of Greystone. JH, with his Digital taking in the architectural details one afternoon, and on hearing the story, he thinks so. His comments reminded me of the house that sat on the top of the hill behind Greystone, visible through the giant pine trees still standing. That house, built in 1927, belonged to Gypsy Rose Lee in the 1960s. She died there in 1970. Later owners of the house claimed that Gypsy’s ghost was active in the house, so much so that they sold it to another party. That buyer became so exasperated by her ghost that they too sold it. The third new buyer, aware of the ghostliness of the property, tore the place down and built a new house in its stead.
A tour of Greystone produces a curiosity that has no direction and no conclusion. There is a vibe about the place. Most visitors have no idea of the house’s story or the economic importance of the Dohenys in Los Angeles, or the scourge of the political scandal that destroyed at least two young lives. The house however, 78 years after its building, still stands stolid, solid and substantial. It has been used many many times for television and film shoots.
|For many years it was occupied by the American Film Institute. It remains, however, lifeless, a hapless reminder of great wealth, without a hint of spent lives.
The story of Ned Doheny ended up in rumor to be linked with Hugh Plunkett, his boyhood friend. The idea that the two men died because of a lover’s quarrel is a compelling but deeply misleading testament to the corruption of the patriarch.
When E. L. Doheny died in 1935, his widow Estelle buried all of his personal papers. She later gave tens of millions more to the Church. They also built a library at USC in memory of Ned. But they also buried him outside the church.
Ned, it was said, was a spoiled son, Over indulged and reckless, he drank too much, as was the fashion during his time (Prohibition). It might have been a relief, it has been suggested more than once, that Ned was gone. That way Lucy could have a decent life, good life, with a man who respected her. Which is what, apparently, she did. At least until the very end when she was old and frail, and dressed and waiting, for the Judgment Day.