The Hollywood Story that Shocked America

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I offered a prize package in an auction recently, and the winner lives in Alaska. I took this huge box to the post office, and the guy weighed it, and said: “That'll be eighty dollars to go first class.”

“EIGHTY DOLLARS!” I yelped. “How much to send it a cheaper way?”

He consulted his computer, and said: “Ground is twenty dollars.”

“Great,” I said. “How long will that take?"

He paused, calculating. And got a funny expression on his face. “A month? Mayyyybe?” he eventually said.

“A MONTH?” I yelped again.

He shrugged.”It’s Alaska.”

I said, “Well, yeah, but there are airplanes.”

And he said, “True. But this is ground shipping. You are thinking of sending something overland from Boston to Alaska. Good luck with that.”

We both paused, as I imagined that.

“How long for first class?" I finally asked.

“Three days.”

And so it went.

(And if you are curious, UPS was MUCH MORE.)
So, Alaska. Faraway, unless you are already there. And it’s where the intrepid James T. Bartlett found a riveting and compelling true crime story--which he developed into a fascinating book: The Alaskan Blonde: Sex, Secrets, and the Hollywood Story that Shocked America.

Oooh, right?

(And read on for the giveaway!)

Your Favorite Deadly Place

by

James T. Bartlett

 When you’re writing fiction, particularly a mystery or thriller, you can choose an obscure place for a corpse to be discovered. It can even be a selling point you can construct the story around.

 

It’s the opposite for true crime, where you have to deconstruct the story around where the victim was found. You could cherry pick one with an especially “cool” murder site, but often a real-life case grabs you by the throat and compels you to investigate, no matter where it took place.

 

Once you’re hooked, the fact that it happened in a town, state or country you have never heard of, or that it occurred in 1953, 1902 or 1817, makes it more interesting and challenging.

 

This happened for me in relation to Alaska.

 

I loved The Terror, and I devour books about the search for the Northwest Passage and the agony and ecstasy of expeditions led by Scott, Shackleton, and others. So, it was rather a disappointment to learn that Fairbanks, where my murder happened, was right in the center of interior Alaska.

 

It’s at least 500 miles from open ocean too, which meant that I was more likely to see a grizzly than a polar bear, let alone be savaged by one.

 

The closest I got were taxidermy examples at Fairbanks airport, where I soon learned that my idea of a research trip timed to the October anniversary of the murder was a misstep. Locals repeatedly told me “winter is coming” without irony, and I quickly had to adjust from 75 degree California to 25 degree Fairbanks.

 

I also began to wonder why Alaska didn’t feature more regularly in true crime books.

 

It’s often top of the charts in violent crime statistics, and arguably it’s a killer’s paradise, no matter how stunning the Aurora Borealis looks swirling in the night sky. Vast, gun-heavy, largely uninhabited, often inaccessible, and subject to strange and dangerous weather conditions that can twist the mind, it seems to have been made for malicious intentions.

 

My murder however was of the standard domestic variety: successful businessman Cecil Wells was shot in his bed at the fancy Northward Building in Fairbanks, and his glamorous, blonde wife Diane – some 20 years younger than he – was beaten unconscious.

 

Diane said that two masked men had broken in, but then police got a tip she’d been having an affair with Johnny Warren, a married, Black musician, and the story exploded out of what was then a largely-ignored US territory.   

 

It scandalized Jim Crow America with the film noir-stylings and illicit (for the time) sex talk, and made the pages of Life, Newsweek, Ebony and more. The pulp magazines thrilled over it too, and it hit the headlines as far away as England and Australia.

 

To add extra pressure, Alaska was trying hard to become a state, and such lawlessness was, to use a modern phrase, “not good optics.” I found territorial records were often shambolic, and that after attaining statehood, officialdom hadn’t been keen to look back into the past. No wonder the Wells family hired private eyes, and felt Cecil’s murder had been swept under the carpet, despite Diane and Johnny both being accused of first-degree murder.

 

Alaska is however a popular backdrop for fiction, and several US states have miles of dusty desert or endless acres of dense woods and forest. There are plenty of lakes, rivers and lagoons to choose from too. So, imagine for a moment you had some dark deeds in mind: which location would you choose, and why?

    

 

HANK: I’d still adore to go to Alaska–by air, not ground. And I cannot even imagine how big it is. And I loved The Terror, too.

 

SO, as James asks, where would you imagine a dark deed? And have you ever been to Alaska?

 

AND! He’ll sign and mail a copy of The Alaskan Blonde to two randomly-picked commenters. 

 

 

Journalist James T. Bartlett has written for over 130 publications including the Los Angeles Times, BBC, Westways, American Way, Hemispheres, Crime Reads, Real Crime, ALTA California, Atlas Obscura and others. His latest true crime book, The Alaskan Blonde: Sex, Secrets, and the Hollywood Story that Shocked America, is available now. Find out more at www.thealaskanblonde.com .

THE ALASKAN BLONDE

Nicknamed "the most beautiful woman in Alaska," 31-year-old Diane Wells was bruised and bloodied when she screamed for help in the early hours of October 17, 1953. Her husband Cecil, a wealthy Fairbanks businessman, had been shot dead, and she claimed they were the victims of a brutal home invasion.

 

Blonde, glamorous and 20 years younger than Cecil, police were immediately suspicious of Diane’s account, and after an anonymous tip the investigation turned toward her alleged lover, Black musician Johnny Warren, who had left town the night of the murder.

The scandalous mix of money and sex in Jim Crow America saw the story hit the pages of Newsweek, Life, Ebony, Jet and the pulp detective magazines, and nearly 70 years later, James T. Bartlett uncovers new evidence including an unpublished memoir as he re-examines the FBI files. He also tracks down and interviews the people close to Cecil, Diane, Johnny, and the mysterious “Third Suspect”, dance instructor William Colombany, to reveal the story of what was called “the most notorious and baffling murder in the history of Fairbanks.”

Can You Dig It? by Paige Shelton

Jenn McKinlay: I have been waiting for the latest release by the Mary Higgins Clark Award nominated author, Paige Shelton, since...well, since I devoured book two, Cold Wind, in her fabulous Alaska Wild suspense series. And now we are mere weeks from release day!!! The third in the series, Dark Night, drops on December 7th, so you have just enough time to read the previous two! Go get 'em! And now here's Paige to tell us about what inspired book three.

ORDER NOW!

Paige: I remember when I first read about Laura Ingalls Wilder’s dugout house on the banks of Plum Creek. I was a kid, so it sounded cozy and adorable. Back in the early 2000s, I took a Laura Ingalls Wilder road-trip and drove to the spot outside Walnut Grove, Minnesota, where the dugout had been . . . dug out. It was unexpected. You travel up a country road, wave at a smiling couple who sit in rocking chairs on their country home’s wide porch, and make your way to the creek and surrounding wide open prairie lands. 

I have to admit, the tiny home wasn’t exactly how I pictured it. What is though? The dugout has collapsed so there’s not much to see – no small beds or table and chairs, just collapsed earth, some interesting signs, and the creek. Still, I’m glad I took a look and would travel out of my way to see it again someday. I wouldn’t trade that trip for the world. 

When I started working on my latest Alaska book, I needed to come up with a hidden place, a home where no one could be found. Of course, living off the grid is a real thing in Alaska, and in my mind, I concluded that an underground home would REALLY be off the grid. However, though I did find some impressive underground homes in my research, they had been constructed using the finest materials, some with wonderful skylight windows over the top. These wouldn’t make good secret hideaways. The permafrost is pretty stubborn in our 49^thstate, so heavy duty excavating equipment is needed for anything fancy.  

Also, living off the grid can be more expensive than you might think, if you do it legally and want to spend some money to make a modern shelter, that is. 

But I wasn’t interested in modern. I wasn’t interested in following the rules (fictionally; of course in real life, I’m all about the rules), so I dug (pun intended) a little deeper. 

Let’s say you have someone who wants to hide in Alaska, wants to live off the grid but doesn’t want to file all the proper paperwork, could they, feasibly, find a remote place, and when the permafrost has melted some, dig out a home, or a shelter, without all the big equipment that would make it easier?

Well. I think the answer is maybe.

It seems that back around 800 BC the Norton or Dorset Paleo-Eskimo groups did build semi-subterranean houses that had been excavated partially or completely below the ground surface – and they did this to take advantage of underground geo-thermal protections during the harshest weather. 

In fact, there are many versions of this kind of house over time in all arctic regions. *The Alaskan homes were heavily insulated and had been constructed to allow some privacy and some social contact for large groups of people despite the harsh weather raging outside. And they were all built without a Home Depot in sight. They were made with cut sod, stone, and whalebone, insulated with sea mammal or reindeer skins and animal fats then covered with snow.

Their interiors possessed cold-traps and sometimes dual seasonal entrance tunnels, rear sleeping platforms, kitchen areas, and various areas for stowing food, tools and other household goods. They were large enough to include members of extended families and their sled dogs, and they were connected to their relatives and the rest of the community via passageways and tunnels. *

Another name for semi-subterranean dwellings is Pit House. Archeologists have found evidence of them having been used as winter homes throughout the world, but mostly above 32 degrees latitude (Dallas, Texas is at this latitude) – because of their thermal efficiency. Heat loss is 20% less in shelters built at least partially into the earth than those completely above ground.

I know 800 BC was a long time ago, but it’s impressive to see the ingenuity of the Alaskan natives and of many populations throughout the world who had to figure out how to live in a place that was always trying to kill them. It’s was about survival, not hiding, but I figured I could still use the idea. 

Before all the modern amenities, it was a smart way to live. 

So, could a single fictional character who is desperately in need of shelter, dig to get what they need, by themselves? We ll, I think that almost anything is possible in fiction.  

What about you, Red and Readers, could you live in a subterranean home? 

Thanks to Jenn and all the Jungle Reds for letting me stop by today! 

 

*-* I took the details from this article. The above picture is included, but I don’t think it’s actually part of a subterranean home. https://www.thoughtco.com/prehistoric-arctic-housing-169866

 

Paige Shelton has lived a whole bunch of different places, but in 2015 she and her family moved to Arizona. She loves the desert life and hopes to stay for a long time. For more information, check out her website, www.paigeshelton.com

Planes, Trains, and Snowmobiles by Paige Shelton

JENN McKINLAY: I have a high bar for friendship, which basically consists of do you have a sense of humor and do you like baked goods. My friend, Paige Shelton, made me laugh out loud  the first time we met and we share a deep and abiding love of cake. As you can see, she's my people and her latest book, Thin Ice, is coming out in just a few weeks! I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek and it's fantastic! Here's Paige to tell us more about her journey to Alaska, the setting of Thin Ice.

Available December 3rd!

PAIGE SHELTON: I was watching the news the other night, and it seems a few airports are going to allow non-travelers through security so they may greet their loved ones at the gates, just like in the old days. I guess that’s a step forward, except I can’t think of many people I’d walk through the security line for just to greet as they deplane. Still, I appreciate the idea. 

I love to travel – but probably only in theory. In truth, unless it’s a road trip with no strict rules attached, the travel part of any good trip has turned into the worst part of the adventure. 

I do love to be at my destination, my bag hoisted up onto one of those folding luggage racks, the idea of unpacking already forgotten for the chance to head out and explore. That’s the good part, the destination.  

Except when it comes to traveling in Alaska. Not only was my research trip for THIN ICE made up of wonderful and interesting destinations, much of the travel was fun, too. 

The Juneau airport was a joy. It’s small, but not too small, and very easy to get from plane to luggage to rental cars or cabs. They even have giant freezers inside the airport to hold tourists’ caught fish until it’s time to head home. Everyone was polite, helpful, and didn’t seem to be in a crazy rush. When we landed, I wondered if we’d have the same luck when we took off for home again; we did. 

Though we rented a car, we used Uber a couple times in the city. One of our vehicles also contained a beautiful, friendly, and well-mannered Husky dog, so win-win-win there. I didn’t even know dogs weren’t supposed to be on board until recently, but I wouldn’t have protested anyway, and I will request a guest Husky every time I Uber now.

We took an Alaska Marine highway ferry over to Gustavus, which is where Glacier Bay National Park is located. The scenic route gave us four hours of good views, time to enjoy some snacks, and a moment or two for naps, though no whales were sighted. As we boarded the ferry, I noticed a job posting on the dock that said something like: “Tired of the same old, boring office job. Come work for us and you’ll never settle for ordinary again.” I thought briefly about taking the bait. 

We boarded a big tourist boat for the trip out to the glaciers. No napping on that one. Too much to see – birds, bears, sheep, tired kayakers who needed rescue (yes, really happened), although no whales there either. I was pretty sure they were watching us, though. I mean, it seems as if all the whales in the world travel near Alaska; I’ve seen the pictures. 

We finally found them! They were all around us as we roamed the ocean in a small fishing/whale-watching boat. Seeing the whales might have been the best part of the whole trip, even if the boat was small and the ocean was really, really big. We saw so many whales, I lost count. 

Photo of whales in Alaska from Pixabay

There were plenty of vehicles, like cars and vans, in the small town of Gustavus, but tucked inside barns and under tarps, snowmobiles and dog sleds awaited winter. I was told that the few paved roads are sometimes cleared, but other modes of transportation become necessary when the dark, snowy winters hit. I’ve ridden snowmobiles before, but never in Alaska. I’ve never ridden a dog sled. Maybe I’m going to have to go back in the winter. 

Just so we could experience it, we took a seaplane back to Juneau. I must admit, I was terrified, but the trip in the small plane, flying so low, was extraordinary. Like exercise though, I was glad I’d done it but don’t look forward to doing it again. Ever. 

I wish we’d had the time to hop on a train. I’ve heard that all the trips out of Anchorage are amazing.  Maybe I’ll have to go back in the winter and the summer. 

As expected, there were lots of cruise ships everywhere. We thought about taking a cruise, and it would have been wonderful, I’m sure, but I’m glad we saw some of Alaska the way we did. I loved the ferries and the other boats, and even the seaplane (kind of), but you can’t go wrong. No matter how you venture out to see this gigantic state, the transportation truly is as much fun as the destination.  

Safe travels!

So, how about you, Reds and Readers, what's the craziest travel transportation you've ever taken?

Paige Shelton is the New York Times Bestselling author of the Farmers' Market, Country Cooking School, Dangerous Type, and Scottish Bookshop mysteries. Her first suspense novel is Thin Ice, debuting in 2019. She's lived lots of places but currently resides in Arizona. Find out more at www.paigeshelton.com

Six Hundred Pounds of Butter, Please

INGRID THOFT

It's tourist season in Seattle, which means the boats are back.  An industry that was a trickle when it started in 1999, and is now a flood in 2018, the cruise industry employs 4,000 people in our area and brings in $500 million dollars of revenue each cruise season.  This year, fifteen boats will be in and out of the port, varying in size from approximately 200 passengers to 3,100 passengers and a crew of 1,100.

Regardless of how you feel about cruising, it's hard to deny the engineering and logistical feats that are these massive ships.  My husband and I live in walking distance of one of the cruise ships docks (there are three total) and we often venture down midday on Saturday, have some lunch, and watch them load the supplies required for a week-long cruise to Alaska.  What are some of those supplies?  Here's a list courtesy of Princess Cruise Lines for the Royal Princess, a boat that carries 500 more passengers than the largest boat that visits Seattle.  Still.  The amounts are staggering!

• 600 pounds of butter used each day
• 1,500 pounds of flour is used each day to create the ship’s fresh-baked bread, homemade pasta and pastry shop treats
• 18,000 bottles of wine and champagne in the wine cellars
• 54,600 napkins washed per week
• 4,000 pieces of art on board

• 21,200 bath towels washed per week
• 250,000 eggs used per week
• 3 tons of ice -- used to carve 20 sculptures per cruise
• 170,000 pounds of fresh fruits and vegetables consumed per cruise
• 900,000 pounds (about 20 truckloads) of supplies loaded every 10 days

A ship that recently made its Seattle debut was the Norwegian Bliss.  We were able to get some photos of this behemoth, which includes a go-kart track on the top deck and a water slide that ventures off the side of the boat over the open ocean.

The Norwegian Bliss as seen from 39 stories up.

See the go-kart track right behind the stack?  The water slide hangs off the boat on the right.

So Reds and readers, are you ready to come aboard?  How about that water slide?

A Modest Proposal

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING

We live in dark times. No, I'm not talking about politics, or North Korean nuclear missiles, or the fact that every single man in a position of power seems to be a lecherous creep. I'm talking about the return of my nemesis, Standard Time. It's been a week since we "fell back"- how are you feeling about it? Me, I hate it.

In southern Maine, where I reside, the sun sets today at 4:22 p.m. Of course, when you live in a land completely covered by a) trees and b) hills, sunset is a pretty fluid concept. The last I usually see of the Helios' chariot (Look, Mom, my liberal arts degree at work!) is four-ish, with blinkered darkness swallowing up everything about ten minutes after the listed sunset. Yes, I know that "Civil Twilight" doesn't end for another hour. I'm pretty sure whoever comes up with those civil twilight designations is taking measurements at the flattest part of the Great Plains, where the tallest thing obscuring the setting sun is a gopher. Or ground hog. Whatever they are out in the golden west.

One of the worst aspects of Standard Time is knowing that the days are getting squeezed from both ends, like a dish towel being wrung dry. Right now we're down to nine hours fifty-one minutes of daylight (keeping in mind those trees and hills blocking the view) and it's all downhill from there. We won't be back to this length of day until February 1st, and at that point, we in New England will likely be entombed with snow and ice. It's difficult to kick back with a cocktail and celebrate the lengthening days when you're trying to make sure the pipes don't freeze in the walls. 

Yes, our friends and neighbors have it worse in Alaska. They count down to five and half hours of daylight at the winter solstice, and I'm pretty sure the giant mountains all over the place means they're actually seeing half of that, in a way not dissimilar to the sun creeping into the cell of the Man in the Iron Mask for a brief interlude. However, Alaskans do have the benefit of a) crazy long days in summer b) the sweet, sweet checks from the Permanent Fund and c) Dana Stabenow.

I have a proposed solution of this unfortunate state of affairs; one now within reach due to the March of Progress. I move we set the official time of sunset at 6pm every evening from October through March. It's true that in the past, our reliance on analog clocks meant that everyone in every time zone had to have their watches set in lockstep, so that, for instance, Lucy and I can look out our windows at five o'clock exactly, but I will see grim leafless darkness and she will see palm trees and sunshine (because her sunset today isn't until 5:42.) But let's be real. How many of us use clocks with hands to tell time anymore? We're all on our phones/tablets/computers, digital devices hooked up to the internet. Correcting two or three or four minutes a day in order to keep sunset always at six is child's play for our tech overlords.

Speaking of children, I can hear your objections. "But Julia," you say. "Think of the kids waiting for the school bus in morning! In the darkness!" In the first place, kids love the dark. You practically have to get them into bed by gunpoint every evening. Think how much they'll enjoy the thrill of being outside beneath the stars during morning recess! Secondly, I'm pretty sure the number of kids who get knocked over by cars while waiting for the school bus is greatly exaggerated. The sun doesn't rise until 10 a.m. in Anchorage in December, and the papers aren't full of stories of Alaskan students getting run over all winter long. To assuage parental fears, I will gladly donate to a fund to equip all students K through 12 with appropriate safety gear. After all, as the proverb says, it's better to light a single LL Bean head lamp than to curse the darkness.

Let us rise up, peoples of the north, and take back our evenings! We have nothing to lose but our seasonally adjusted depression!