In November 1924, film producer Thomas H. Ince suddenly died after boarding William Randolph Hearst’s yacht. Was it ill health, bad luck or perhaps plain murder?
William Randolph Hearst, the legendary newspaper magnate, may have controlled much of the news media in 1920s America. But there was one story he didn’t want to hit the headlines in November 1924.
Hollywood film producer and “Father of the Western” Thomas H. Ince had climbed aboard the tycoon’s yacht, the Oneida, in a festive mood. Ince was on deck to celebrate his 44th birthday and salute a lucrative business deal in the works with Hearst. But after only a day aboard, he began complaining of stomach pains and soon started vomiting blood. The producer was hurriedly escorted off the boat as his health began deteriorating and taken to local doctors ashore.
After a few days back on land, Ince was dead. Heart troubles felled the man—or so the official story went.
In the immediate years after the moviemaker’s untimely demise a century ago, rumor and conjecture stalked this tragic incident. Did Ince really die from sudden heart problems? (“Angina pectoris” as per the official autopsy.) Did a combination of stomach ulcers, stress and even bootleg booze prove a lethal one? Or was there a sinister conspiracy afoot and Ince was simply collateral damage?
Owing to the players on board the yacht—a hot-shot Hollywood producer, a media mogul (plus his mistress), a big movie star (Charlie Chaplin no less), and an influential movie screenwriter—the event has become the fabled stuff of Hollywood legend.
Popular (but dubious) written histories, like Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon, have long doubted the official cause of death and speculated on all kinds of theories. One is that Hearst killed Ince by accident—and hushed up all parties after the fact. Another is that Hearst murdered the filmmaker on purpose for flirting with his lover, Marion Davies. So tantalizing is this tale in movie-making lore that even Hearst’s own granddaughter, Patricia “Patty” Hearst, got in on action and co-authored a fictionalized conspiracy novel on it called Murder at San Simeon.
How do we separate fact from fiction? While largely accurate accounts of the death were retold in major (non-Hearst) newspapers at the time, like the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times, conspiracy and scepticism about truthful reporting clouded many people’s judgment. Recent books have done important fact-finding and correction—like the fastidious Thomas Ince: Hollywood’s Independent Pioneer by writer Brian Taves—to thoroughly refute lingering claims made by the likes of Anger’s Hollywood Babylon and other suspect retellings.
So, how did this salacious scandal all start? It begins with Ince, who was a successful movie producer and director in the 1920s Silent Era, best known for popularizing Civil War pictures and formalizing production methods on early film sets. His enterprising spirit and trade acumen made him a formidable figure in the picture business, which translated to profitable ventures like his own production company and even an entire studio town, Inceville, where his westerns were made.
At the time Ince was making cowboy films at Inceville, aristocrat and media magnate Hearst started seeing cinema as an unconquered frontier for his media empire. Moving pictures would be an opportunity to turn the likes of newspaper cartoons into animations and translate more news into popular news reels. By 1919, Hearst was laying the groundwork for his own movie studio and became interested in seeing who the main players were in La La Land for possible partnerships. The paths of the two finally crossed—and Hearst had an offer too good to refuse.
Davies, an aspirational movie star and the mistress to Hearst, was pitched as a screen idol on the rise. The 27-year-old just needed a major movie to help her get there. Enter Ince. In 1924, Hearst proposed an arrangement whereby Ince would produce a film starring Davies. If all went well with the picture, a more formal arrangement would be brokered between the two men, namely for Hearst’s Cosmopolitan Productions to lease Ince’s sprawling movie lot.
The infamous November sojourn aboard Oneida was then to be a celebration of this new promising business venture and an added birthday treat for Ince (whose birthday was November 16). A veritable list of guests joined the festivities including Davies, Chaplin and movie screenwriter Elinor Glyn (who popularized the “it girl” in movie scripts). The luxurious, if ill-fated, yacht left San Pedro, California on November 15, 1924.
Aboard the vessel, indulgent food and heavy liquor was served, including copies amount of champagne (and likely some bootleg booze). Ince had reportedly been told to avoid such rich beverages and foodstuffs as the overworked producer was suffering from painful stomach ulcers. After the revelries, Ince complained of fatigue and became increasingly ill that night. Moans and groans were reportedly heard from his bedroom.
Whether it was the fine champagne or even the illicit moonshine, the combination proved totally enervating. Ince asked to be escorted from the boat the next day. After arriving on land and taking a train ride to Los Angeles (via Del Mar), Ince suddenly died—just days after boarding Hearst’s yacht. For Ince biographer Taves, the death is a tragic event and an unsuspicious end for the producer:
Digestive problems aggravated during the trip, combined with the ulcers, had proved too great a strain for his heart.
But others at the time were quick to doubt this official story—even the one given by the San Diego District Attorney (D.A.), Chester C. Kempley. The D.A. had reassured the public:
“I am satisfied that the death of Thomas H. Ince was caused by heart failure as the result of an attack of acute indigestion. There will be no investigation into the death of Ince, at least so far as San Diego County is concerned.”
But gossip and intrigue went into overdrive in late 1924 owing to Ince’s unexpected death at 44 and the likes of Hearst, his mistress, and Chaplin all orbiting Ince in the days before. A few key elements galvanized the public’s immediate unwillingness to believe the official spin of the story. This included Hearst’s notable absence from Ince’s funeral; the quick cremation of Ince’s body; and claims the death certificate was stitched up by the coroner. The fact that Hearst’s Los Angeles Herald Express carried few stories about Ince after the funeral was also questionable to some.
In place of news of Ince’s unfortunate death came claims that Chaplin was the true target of Hearst’s deadly wrath. After finding the movie star in a compromising position with Davies below deck, Hearst had apparently gone to shoot Chaplin with his gun and fatally killed Ince instead.
But Ince biographer Taves is quick to correct this and other dubious claims. Not only did Chaplin stand a foot shorter than Ince but Hearst was an “expert shot.” If he did indeed want Chaplin dead, he would have had a far more deadly aim. Moreover, given Ince had an open casket, it’s unlikely a bullet in Ince’s skull could have been concealed at such a public viewing. The Los Angeles Times report for the November 22 funeral confirmed attendees could “view for the last time the features of their chief.”
In fairness to the public, there was confusion across news stories during the frenzy to report on this salacious episode. The Hearst publication, Moving Picture, said that the tycoon was at San Simeon and not onboard the yacht; the New York Times, meanwhile, acknowledged Ince’s death from heart complications but said he was “stricken on [a] train” and noticeably didn’t mention Hearst at all.
What also added to the intrigue was the name of Louella Parsons, the famed gossip columnist who some claimed was aboard the Oneida. Rumor had it that Parsons had indeed seen Hearst slay Ince by mistake—whether by gun-shot or by poison, as others claim Hearst had done—but was keeping quiet on the crime because the tycoon had given her a lifetime contract and expanded her print syndication. But as truth would have it, Parsons wasn’t even on the yacht and had become motion picture editor of the New York American a year earlier, in December 1923.
Rival publications did their due diligence too and conducted independent investigations. Each ultimately reported nothing suspect. The Los Angeles Times interviewed medical personnel, coroners and even the water-taxi staff and discovered no new leads. Ince had fallen ill, been treated ashore by physicians and soon died of (natural and unfortunate) heart complications. The Boston Globe, on December 10, 1924, detailed these and the D.A.’s findings and concurred an absence of any foul play.
The intrigue of a murder still fascinated Hollywood in the years since, despite many reported facts and official announcements contradicting this narrative. Other minor aspects that suggested conspiracy—like Ince’s wife Elinor “quickly” departing for Europe or Hearst’s absence at the funeral—could also be easily fact-checked. Elinor didn’t flee for Europe early (as if hushed up by Hearst) but departed some eight months later in July 1925. As for funerals, Hearst had a famous fear of death and an aversion to these somber affairs, so would have never attended. Chaplin too remained friendly with the media magnate in later years, casting doubt on claims the movie star wronged Hearst by pursuing Davies on the yacht.
If anything played a key role in Ince’s death and went unreported, it was the presence of bootleg liquor. As America was deep in Prohibition in 1924, there was likely a bootlegging operation supplying the alcohol aboard Hearst’s vessel. Some rightly speculate that a bit of noxious liquid may have only compounded the stressed-out, heart-troubled movie-producer’s health troubles and exasperated his ticker.
“The occasion allowed his many enemies and rivals to exploit,” writes Taves on the entire episode, “a fissure in the armor of the warning Hearst empire.” It has long proven the fodder of scandal writers like Anger, who waxed lyrical on the conspiracy that surrounded the episode and refused to engage in basic fact-finding. Scandal, sex and murder always get more eyeballs. Others, like playwright Steven Peros, fictionalized the story for his play The Cat’s Meow, which was later adapted into a playful 2001 film by Peter Bogdanovich whereby Chaplin was caught in bed with Davies—and Ince proved collateral damage.
A century on, Ince may be best known in Hollywood’s history for the scandal surrounding his premature death. But the producer and director was a pioneering figure during the early days of movie-making, in particular in organizing productions methods into a methodical system and braving tough topics in movies he produced, like the dangers of drug addiction (Human Wreckage) and religious hypocrisy (Civilization). For 1920s America, that was no small feat.
Ince’s trailblazing work may not have made headlines then, but 100 years on, it’s a powerful story fit for print.
