Mickey Rooney: The Dark Price 8 Women Paid for His Fame. – HT

 

 

 

Mickey Roomie, the Dark Price. Eight women paid for his fame. 1944. The man in this photograph is 5’2 in tall, 110 lb, with a face that MGM publicity called boyishly charming. The girl standing beside him in this photograph is 4 years old. Her name is Elizabeth Taylor. She has just finished filming National Velvet, her first leading role.

 She’s wearing a white dress, smiling for the camera. She doesn’t know yet what’s about to happen to her. One year after this photograph was taken, this same man married Ava Gardner, the most beautiful woman in the world. That marriage lasted exactly 1 year. Then he married again and again and again. Eight times total. Eight women, eight divorces.

 When Mickey Rooney died in 2014 at the age of 93 after a career spanning 91 years and over 300 films, his estate was  worth $18,000. $18,000.  He had earned over $12 million during his peak years. In today’s money, that’s over $200 million. Where did it go? That’s not the question we’re asking today.

 The question we’re asking is this. Who paid the real price for Mickey Rooney’s fame? Behind every Hollywood legend is a bill nobody talks about. An invoice written in destroyed lives, shattered careers,  and silenced voices. This isn’t a love story. This is an accounting. And today, we’re examining the ledger that Hollywood buried 70 years ago.

 And this is the story they don’t want you to remember. Because if you remember this story, you might start asking questions about the stories happening right now. Let’s begin.  I don’t know what makes me keep playing back ON THAT. [laughter]  The Hollywood machine. Before we talk about Mickey Rooney, you need to understand the machine that created him.

Because Mickey wasn’t an aberration. He was a product.  A very intentional product. 1926 to 1960. Those 34 years are known as the studio system era. Five major studios controlled everything. MGM, Warner Brothers, Paramount, 20th Century Fox, RKO. They didn’t just produce films. They owned the entire supply chain.

 They owned the theaters. They owned the distribution networks. They owned the actors. Let me repeat that. They owned the actors. When you signed a contract with MGM, and Mickey signed his at age 6 in 1926, you weren’t an employee, you were property. The contract was for 7 years, sometimes longer.

 And in that contract were clauses that would be illegal today. morality clauses, appearance clauses, relationship clauses. The studio decided what you wore, where you lived, who you dated, who you married, and yes, who you divorced. If you got pregnant out of wedlock, the studio arranged the abortion or the quickie  marriage.

 If you were gay, the studio arranged the lavender marriage. If you were aging, the studio arranged the plastic surgery. And if you refused, if you complained, if you tried  to break your contract, the studio had an entire department dedicated to destroying you. Publicity departments that could plant stories in every newspaper in America within 24 hours.

Legal departments that  could tie you up in lawsuits for years. Security departments that could, and this is documented, arrange accidents. Francis Farmer, actress, tried to break her contract with Paramount in 1941. She was declared insane. Forcibly committed to a psychiatric institution, labbotomized.

She never acted again. Gene Harlo, MGM’s biggest female star in the 1930s,  wanted to leave her abusive husband. MGM said no. Why? because the husband was the studio head’s friend. Jean died at 26, kidney  failure. Some say the stress killed her. This wasn’t entertainment.

 This was industrial scale control. And in 1939, at the center of this machine, was Mickey  Rooney, the highest paid actor in the world, the number one box office draw, more popular than Clark Gable, more bankable than Humphrey Bogart. MGM made eight Andy Hardy films with Mickey. Each one cost less than $300,000 to produce.

 Each one made over $3 million in profit. Louis B. Mayor, the head of MGM, called Mickey my good luck charm. What he meant was my cash cow. So when Mickey wanted something, MGM gave it to him. Fancy [clears throat] cars, big  houses, beautiful women, anything. Because keeping Mickey happy was cheaper than losing him.

 But here’s what nobody calculated. What happens when you give unlimited power to a 20-year-old who never learned consequences? Let me tell you. You get a predator. Not a cartoonish villain. Not someone born cruel, just a man who learned that the word no doesn’t apply to him. And the first woman who learned that lesson was someone the world has forgotten.

 Her name was Norma Sheerer and in 1938 she was the most powerful actress in Hollywood. More powerful than Betty Davis, more respected than Katherine Heppern. Within 4 years she would be erased from Hollywood history and Mickey Rooney was the reason why the Norma Shearer affair 1938. Norma Shearer is 38 years old.

 She’s been acting since the silent film era. She’s won an Academy Award. She’s married to Irving Thalberg, the legendary producer who basically invented the modern Hollywood blockbuster. And then in 1936, Irving Thalberg dies of a heart attack. He’s 37 years old. Norma is devastated. She’s a widow at 36. She has two young children.

And she’s the highest paid actress at MGM. Louis B. Mayor sees an opportunity. Irving Thalberg had been his rival, the only man at MGM with more power than Mayor. Now he’s gone and his widow is  vulnerable. Mayor makes Norma an offer. Keep making films. We’ll take care of you. You’ll remain a star.

 Norma agrees.  What choice does she have? 1938. Norma is cast in a film with Mickey Rooney. He’s  18. She’s 38. On paper, it’s a small supporting role for Mickey. Norma is the star. But Mickey Rooney doesn’t do supporting roles well. He’s used to being the center of attention. After the first week of filming, Mickey starts showing up at Norma’s trailer, bringing her coffee, telling jokes.

 He’s charming, funny, talented. Norma thinks he’s sweet, like a little brother. And then one night after a late shoot, Mickey doesn’t leave. Now, I want to be clear about something. Norma Shearer was not a victim in the traditional sense. She was 38 years old, wealthy, powerful. She could have said no.

 But here’s what you need to understand. Mickey Rooney was MGM’s golden boy, the studio’s biggest money maker. And Norma’s late husband’s enemies, including Louis B. Mayor were now running the studio. If Norma rejected Mickey and Mickey complained to Mayor, what do you think would happen? Would Mayor side with the aging widow or with the cash machine? So Norma didn’t say no.

 They began an affair that lasted 2 years, 18 and 38, then 19 and 39, then 20 and 40. And it was torture for Norma. She couldn’t be seen with him in public. If photographers caught them together, her career would be destroyed. Not his, hers. The press would call her a cradle robber, a desperate older woman, a predator.

 Mickey would be called a stud, a ladies man. Lucky. So they met in secret. Hotel rooms under fake names. Her beach house at midnight.  His apartment when his mother was gone. Norma Shearer, one of the most celebrated actresses of her generation, sneaking around like a criminal for a teenager. But Mickey had a pattern, and Norma was about to learn it.

 When a studio executive’s wife saw them together at a restaurant in Santa Barbara, she reported it to Louis B. Mayor. Mayor called Norma into his office. According to Norma’s personal diary, which was published decades after her death, Mayor said this. Norma, you’re embarrassing the studio. Irving would be ashamed.

 You need to end this now. Norma asked, “What about Mickey? Are you going to talk to him?” Mayor laughed. Mickey’s 20 years old. Boys will be boys. But you, you’re supposed to be a lady. Act like one. That was the moment Norma understood. She wasn’t powerful. She was tolerated. And the moment she became inconvenient, she would be disposed  of.

 So Norma ended the affair. She didn’t tell Mickey why. She just stopped returning his calls. And Mickey, he moved on immediately. Within a month, he was pursuing a new starlet at MGM. 19 years old, fresh from North Carolina. Her name was Ava Gardner. 1942, Norma Shearer announces her retirement from acting.

 She’s 42 years old, still beautiful, still talented, at the height of her craft. Official statement, I want to spend more time with my family. The real reason? Louis B. Mayor told her, “Your time is up. We’re investing in younger talent now. younger talent like Mickey Rooney who was now 22 and married to Ava Gardner.

 Norma Sheerer made six films after Irving Thalberg died. Then nothing. She lived another 41 years in quiet obscurity. When she died in 1983, her obituary was four paragraphs long. Most of it talked about her dead husband. Nobody mentioned Mickey Rooney, but I’m mentioning him now because Norma Shearer was the first woman who learned what it  costs to be associated with Mickey Rooney.

 Your dignity, your career, your legacy. And she wasn’t the last. The pattern was set. Find a woman, use her, discard her when convenient, and let the studio clean up the  mess. Norma was the test case. Ava Gardner would be  the proof of concept. And Elizabeth Taylor would be the crime that nobody could ignore. Talent and the mother’s sacrifice.

 Now, some of you are thinking, “Okay, so Mickey Rooney was a womanizer, a player. So what? Half of Hollywood was like that.” And you’re  right. Errol Flynn, Clark Gable, Frank Sinatra, they all had reputations. But here’s the difference. Those men were adults when they became famous. They had some semblance of a normal childhood.

 Mickey Rooney never had a childhood. And I think that matters. Let me tell you about the woman who destroyed her son’s childhood in pursuit of stardom because she thought she was helping him. And maybe she was. Or maybe she built a man who only knew how to take. Her name was Nell Carter. Born Nelly W. Carter in 1898 in Kansas City, Missouri.

 Nell was a vaudeville performer. She could sing, dance a little, do comedy sketches. She married Joe Ule, a vaudeville comedian. Together they performed across the Midwest. Small theaters, small towns, small money. 1920 Nell gives birth to a son, Joseph Ule Jr., Little Joe. Joe starts appearing in their act when he’s 17 months old.

 17 months, not even 2 years old. The audiences love him. A baby dancing, singing gibberish. By the time Joe is 3 years old, he’s the star of the act. People don’t come to see Nell and Joe Senior. They come to see little Joe. 1923 Nell and Joe Senior divorce. The reason Joe Senior was a drunk, violent, unreliable.

 Nell gets custody of little Joe who’s now 3 years old. And she makes a decision. We’re going to Hollywood. She packs two suitcases, takes the train from Kansas City to Los Angeles. She has $300 to her name. 1924. Nell knocks on doors. Every studio in Hollywood, MGM, Paramount, Universal. My son can perform. Give him a chance. She gets rejected. Over and over.

 The answer is always the same. He’s too young. Come back when he’s older. But Nell doesn’t give up. 1926. Nell hears about auditions for a series of short comedy films, the Mickey Maguire series, based on a comic strip. She brings little Joe, now 6 years old, to the audition. The director, Larry Dharmmer, watches Joe perform.

 The kid can sing, dance, do Pratt falls, cry on command. He’s a natural. Dharmmer hires him. Joe Ule Jr. will play Mickey Maguire. And for the next 7 years, from 1926 to 1933, Joe appears in 78 Mickey Maguire short films. 78 films in 7 years. He’s 6 years old when it starts. Let me describe what that looked  like. Wake up at 5:00 a.m. Nell drives him to the studio.

He’s in makeup by 6:00, on set by 7:00, films until 5:00 p.m. 10 hours. Then home. Nell drills him on the next day’s lines. Bed by 900 p.m. Repeat. No school, no friends, no playtime, just work. California had no child labor laws in the 1920s. Studios could work children as many hours as they wanted, and Nell let them because the money was good. $10 a day, that’s $70 a week.

 in 1926. That was a middle class salary. Nell saved every penny. She dreamed of the day Joe would become a real star, a feature film star. 1934, Joe, now 14, auditions for MGM. Louis B. Mayor sees him perform and says, “I want him.” MGM offers a 7-year contract. Starting salary $150 a week. Nell negotiates up to $300 a week.

 MGM agrees, but there’s a catch. They don’t like the name Joe Ule Jr. Too ethnic, too vaudeville. Mayor says, “From now on, you’re Mickey Rooney.” Joe Ule Jr. dies that day. Mickey  Rooney is born. And now she becomes Mickey’s manager, his handler, his keeper. She controls every dollar he makes, every decision  he makes.

Some people called her protective, others called her controlling. I call her terrified because Nell knew something that Mickey didn’t know. She knew how disposable child stars were, how quickly Hollywood could chew you up and spit you out. So, she made Mickey work all the time. No breaks, no vacations. And Mickey hated her for it.

In his memoir, Mickey wrote, “My mother loved me, but she loved my paycheck more.” That’s a cruel thing to say. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s  not. But here’s what I know. Nell sacrificed everything for Mickey’s career, her own acting career, her social life, any chance at remarage. And when Mickey became a superstar in 1939, when he was the highest paid actor in the world, he fired her as his manager.

 He hired a professional management company. Cut Nell out. She lived on a small allowance that Mickey sent her. $500 a month. 1966. Nell Carter dies of a heart attack. She’s 68 years old. Mickey doesn’t attend the funeral.  He’s filming a TV movie in New York. He sends flowers. When reporters ask him about his mother’s death, he  says, “She was a strong woman.

 She lived a good life. That’s it. Four sentences. Nell was never invited to an Academy Awards ceremony where Mickey was nominated. She was never photographed on a red carpet with him. She was never thanked in an acceptance speech. Because Mickey Rooney spent his entire life trying to forget where  he came from.

 And Nell was the reminder. So here’s my question. If Mickey could erase his own mother, the woman who created him, what chance did Ava Gardner have, what chance did Elizabeth Taylor have? None. Because Mickey Rooney didn’t learn how to love people. He learned how to use them. And the pattern Norma Shearer experienced, it was about to repeat with a woman the world would never forget.

The Ava Gardner pattern. Before we talk about Elizabeth Taylor, I need to mention Ava Gardner. Not because her story with Mickey is unique, but because it proves the pattern. 1941, Ava Gardner, 19 years old, fresh from North Carolina, just signed to MGM. Mickey sees her at a studio party, and he decides he wants her.

 I’m not going to tell you the details of their courtship. That’s been covered elsewhere. What matters is this. They married in 1942, divorced  in 1943, one year. When asked decades later why the marriage failed, Ava said something that should have been a warning to every woman who came after. She said, “Mickey treated me like a trophy, not a wife.

 I was something he collected, something he could show off, and when I tried to be my own person, he resented it.” And then she said this. Mickey was my first lesson in Hollywood. Don’t trust  charm. Charm is a weapon. A weapon. That’s the word she used. And she was  right.

 Because Mickey’s charm wasn’t about making people feel good. It was about disarming them so they wouldn’t see what was coming. Ava Gardner went on to become a massive star, more famous than Mickey ever was. She married Frank Sinatra, became an icon, but she never forgot her first marriage. And years later, when asked if she had any advice for young actresses, she said, “If a powerful man tells you he’ll make you a star, run.

” Because what he really means is he’ll make you his. Ava Gardner was 19 when she married Mickey. Old enough to leave, strong enough to rebuild. But the next victim wouldn’t be 19. She would be 14. And unlike Ava, she wouldn’t have the power to walk away. The Elizabeth Taylor scandal, 1944. Elizabeth Taylor is filming National Velvet, her first starring role.

 She’s 12 years old. Mickey Rooney is filming on an adjacent sound stage.  He’s 24. still one of the biggest stars at MGM. Elizabeth idolizes him the way children idolize movie stars. Mickey sees her in the commissary one day, walks over, says, “You’re going to be a big star, kid. You have that quality.

” Elizabeth beams.  Mickey Rooney just complimented her. Over the next two years, Mickey makes a habit of talking to Elizabeth on  set, in the hallways, always friendly, always encouraging. Elizabeth thinks he’s her mentor, her big  brother figure. She’s 4 years old. She doesn’t know any better. Now, let me be very clear about what I’m about to describe  because I’m going to tell you this story from three perspectives.

 And I want you to understand all three. Not to sympathize with anyone, but to understand the machinery of abuse. Perspective one. Mickey Rooney. 24 years old. I’m on top of the world. I can have anything I want. My wife Betty is at home 8 months pregnant. I know. I care. But also, I don’t care enough to change. Elizabeth Taylor.

  She’s a kid, but she’s not really a kid. She looks older, acts older, and she looks at me like I’m a god. And you know what? I like being woripped. We’re rehearsing a scene. She asks me to help her with the lines. I invite her to my trailer just to rehearse.  That’s all. But once she’s in there, once the door is closed, I realize I have power here.

Total power.  She trusts me. And trust is the easiest thing to exploit. Perspective two. Elizabeth  Taylor, 4 years old. I’m in Mr. Rooney’s trailer. He said we’d rehearse. He’s helping me understand the character. He asks me to sit next to him on the couch. He puts his arm around me.

 I think it’s friendly, like a big brother. Then his hand moves. I freeze. I don’t understand what’s happening. He says, “This is normal. All the stars do this.  It’s how you learn.” I trust him because he’s Mickey Rooney. Because I’m 14. Because I don’t know better. And then the door opens. Perspective three.

 Betty Jane Baker, 26 years old, eight months pregnant. I visit my husband on set. I bring him lunch. his favorite sandwich from the deli on sunset. I walk to his trailer. I knock. No answer. I open the door. Elizabeth Taylor, 4 years old, in a white dress on knees  in front of my husband. I don’t scream. I don’t cry.

 I just stand there. Elizabeth looks at me. Her face is red. She’s shaking. Mickey looks at me and smiles. actually smiles and he says, “Betty, this isn’t what it looks like, but it is exactly what it looks like.” Elizabeth runs past me out of the trailer. I stand there looking at my husband, the father of my unborn child, and I say, “I’m done.

” One week later, MGM calls a meeting. Louis B. mayor, three lawyers, a studio publicist, Betty Jane. They sit her down. They hand her a document. It’s a divorce settlement, $50,000, a fortune, in 1944. But there’s a clause. Betty Jane cannot talk about what she saw ever to anyone. If she does, she forfeits the money and MGM will sue her for defamation.

Betty signs. What choice does she have? She’s  pregnant, alone, black balled from Hollywood. She takes the money. She raises two sons by herself. And she never speaks Mickey Rooney’s name again. And Elizabeth Taylor, does anyone ask if she’s okay? Does anyone call the police? No. An MGM executive takes Elizabeth aside, tells her, “What happened was inappropriate, but if you tell anyone, your career is over.

 Your family will be ruined. Do you understand?” Elizabeth nods. She’s 4  years old. She understands. She never tells. Not to her parents, not to friends, not to therapists. For 70 years, Elizabeth Taylor carries that secret. She dies in 2011. 79 years old. She’s been married  eight times, divorced seven times, addicted to painkillers for decades.

 She never publicly spoke about what happened in that trailer. But in a 1997 interview, a reporter asks her, “Do you regret anything from your childhood?” Elizabeth pauses, then says, “I regret that I learned too young that men could hurt you  and get away with it.” The reporter presses, “What do you mean?” Elizabeth shakes her head.

 “Next question.” And that’s as close as she ever got to telling. Meanwhile, Mickey Rooney, he faces zero consequences. He continues to be MGM’s biggest star for another 2 years. Then he gets drafted into World War II. When he returns, his career declines. But not because of Elizabeth Taylor, not because of what he did, simply because audiences moved on.

And that’s the truth nobody wants to hear. Mickey Rooney didn’t face justice. He faced  obsolescence. The downfall begins. 1945. Mickey returns from the war. He’s 25 years old, a decorated veteran. He expects to return to superstardom. Instead, he finds that Hollywood has moved on.

 The Andy Hardy films, which made him a star, are considered outdated. Audiences don’t want wholesome teenage comedies anymore. They want film noir, dark stories, adult themes, and Mickey  physically can’t transition. He’s 5’2, babyfaced. He looks like a teenager even though he’s 25. Casting directors don’t know what to do with him, so Mickey starts taking smaller roles, be movies, supporting parts, and as his career declines, his behavior spirals.

Wife number two, Betty Jane Baker, divorced 1949 while she’s pregnant with their second child. Wife number three, Martha Vickers, actress. They marry six months after his divorce from Betty. The marriage lasts 2 years. Martha files for divorce, citing  extreme cruelty. In the court documents, Martha describes Mickey’s drinking, his gambling,  his verbal abuse.

 She writes, “He would come home at 3:00 a.m. drunk, having lost thousands of dollars at poker, and he would blame me, say I was bad luck.” The divorce is granted. Martha gets custody of their son. Wife number four, Elaine Devry. They marry in 1952. This marriage lasts six years. Elaine later writes in her memoir, “Mickey was the most charming man I ever met for about 6 months.” Then the mask came off.

What was behind the mask? According to Elaine, a man consumed by insecurity. A man who couldn’t handle not being the center of attention. a man who gambled compulsively. She describes finding stacks of IO hidden in his office, debts to casinos, to bookies, to lone sharks. When she confronted him, Mickey said, “I’m Mickey Rooney. I’ll make it back.

” He never  did. 1958, Elaine files for divorce. The reason Mickey lost $80,000 in one night at the track.    $80,000 in 1958. That’s nearly $1 million today. The money was supposed to pay for their house, their son’s education, gone in one night. And now we come to wife number five, the woman whose story is the darkest of them all.

 Her name was Carolyn Mitchell. And she didn’t just lose money to Mickey Rooney, she lost her life. Carolyn’s murder. 1958. Mickey Rooney, now 38 years old, marries Carolyn Mitchell. She’s a beauty queen. Miss Alabama, 1952. Carolyn is 24. Mickey is 38. They have four children together. Four daughters and sons in six years.

 Kelly, Kimmy, Tim, Carrie. Carolyn loved those children. By all accounts, she was a devoted mother. She made their Halloween costumes by hand. She attended every school play, every baseball game, and she loved Mickey. She believed in him, believed he would turn his life around. But Mickey’s gambling addiction gets worse.

 He’s losing money faster than he can make it. Caroline starts taking small acting jobs to pay the bills, commercials, bit parts on TV shows. Mickey resents this.  He says, “A wife’s place is at home, but they need the money because Mickey keeps losing it.” The children start to notice. Kelly, the oldest, later recalled in an interview, “Dad would promise to take us to Disneyland.

 Mom would pack lunches. We’d wait by the door. and dad wouldn’t show up because he was at the track. Mom would cry. Then she’d take us to the park instead and pretend everything was fine. 1965. Carolyn finds receipts, hotel receipts, for rooms Mickey booked but never told her about. She confronts him. Mickey denies it, but Carolyn hires a private investigator and the investigator confirms it.

 Mickey has been having an affair with Marge Lane, a dancer, also a friend of Carolyn’s. Carolyn files for divorce. January 1966. The children are devastated. Kelly is 12. Carrie is only four. Now, here’s where the story gets dark. Darker than anything we’ve talked about so far. Carolyn had a boyfriend before she met Mickey. His name was Milos Mallovvich.

He was a Hollywood stunt man. When Carolyn married Mickey, Milos was heartbroken, but he accepted it. But when the divorce is announced, Milos contacts Carolyn. Says he wants to talk to reconnect. Carolyn agrees to meet him for coffee, just to talk. They meet at a diner in Studio City. January 20th, 1966. According to witnesses, the conversation starts friendly.

 But then Milos asks, “But are you going back to him?” Carolyn says, “No, never. He’s a liar. He’s been cheating on me.” Milos  asks, “With who?” And Carolyn, not thinking it matters, says, “Marge Lane.” Milos goes pale. Because he knows something Carolyn doesn’t know. Marge Lane is Milos’s cousin.

 And Milos, for reasons we’ll never fully understand, becomes enraged. He believes Carolyn is lying, that she’s trying to destroy his family’s reputation. He pulls out a gun right there in the  diner, and he shoots Carolyn Mitchell three times in the chest. She is instantly. 29 years old, mother of four,  Kelly, Kimmy, Tim, and Carrie  become orphans that day.

because their father is Mickey Rooney and Mickey Rooney doesn’t raise children, he collects them. Milos is arrested, charged with firstderee. He pleads  guilty, sentenced to life in prison. At the trial, the prosecutor asks Milos, “Why did you do it?” Milo says, “She dishonored  my family.

” That’s his explanation, honor. But here’s what  the press didn’t report. What wasn’t allowed into evidence. According to sealed court documents, which were leaked decades later, Mickey and Marge had been seeing each other for months before Carolyn found out. They had stayed at the same hotel, the Chateau Marmal, multiple  times.

 And according to a witness, a hotel maid, Mickey and Marge were at the hotel the night before Carolyn met Milos. The same night Milosh decided to confront Carolyn. Now, I’m not saying Mickey pulled the trigger. Milos did that. But I am asking this question. If Mickey hadn’t been cheating, if Carolyn hadn’t told Milos about Marge, would Carolyn still be alive? Maybe, maybe not.

 But what I know for certain is this. 3 months after Carolyn’s funeral, Mickey Rooney married Marge Lane. 3 months. the woman he was cheating with while married to the woman who was then murdered. Mickey attended Carolyn’s funeral. He held Kelly. He held Kimmy. He held Tim and Carrie. The photographers captured it all. The grieving father, the devastated husband, and then 3 months later, he married Marge.

 Kelly Rooney, now an adult, was asked about this in a 2008 interview. She said, “My father didn’t love my mother. He didn’t love Marge. He didn’t love any of us. He loved himself and that was it. The marriage to Marge lasted 100 days. 100 days. Then Marge filed for divorce. The reason incompatibility translation, she realized who Mickey really was.

 Carolyn Mitchell’s four children were raised by her parents. Mickey sent child support checks sometimes. Kelly, Kimmy, Tim, and Carrie grew up without their mother because their father chose an affair over their family. And that affair led to their mother’s death. When asked about Carolyn’s death in a 1987 interview, Mickey said, “It was a tragedy.

 I think about her often.” That’s it. One sentence. Four children lost their mother and Mickey moved on because that’s what Mickey always did. He moved on. Wife number seven, Caroline Hockett, 1969. Divorced, 1975. Wife number eight, Jan Chamberlain, 1978. Still married when Mickey died. 60 years of marriage,  eight women.

 None of them lasted because Mickey Rooney could never love anyone more than he loved himself. Elder abuse and the final testimony. 2011. Mickey Rooney is 91 years old. He’s living with his stepson Christopher Aber and Christopher’s wife. They’ve taken over his finances. They say it’s to help him, but what they’re actually doing is stealing.

 According to court documents filed later, Christopher and his wife withdrew over $200,000 from Mickey’s accounts. They forged his signature on checks.  They sold his memorabilia without his permission. And when Mickey tried to complain,  they threatened him. If you tell anyone, we’ll put you in a home. Mickey is 91 years old, frail, scared.

 He doesn’t know what to do. But then a social worker visits. Part of a routine check. She notices bruises on Mickey’s arms. She asks how he got them. Mickey, for the first time in his life, tells the truth. My stepson did it. He pushed me. When I asked for my money, the social worker files a report.  The case goes to court.

 And then something unprecedented happens. The United States Senate invites Mickey Rooney to testify about elder abuse. March 2nd, 2011. Mickey Rooney, 91 years old, walks into the Senate hearing room. He’s trembling. He needs help sitting down. Senator Herb Cole asks him, “Mr. Rooney, can you describe what happened to you?” Mickey takes a deep breath and speaks.

 I worked my whole life. I made millions of dollars and I trusted my family to take care of me. But they stole from me. They abused me. They made me feel like I was nothing. He pauses, wipes his  eyes. I’m not the only one. There are millions of elderly people in this country being abused by the people they trust, and we need laws to protect them.

The Senate chamber is silent. Several senators are crying. It’s a powerful moment, a genuine moment. And I’ll admit, when I first watched that testimony, I felt sympathy for Mickey Rooney, a 91-year-old man stolen  from, abused. But then I thought about Elizabeth Taylor, 4 years old. I thought about Carolyn Mitchell, 29 years old, shot dead, leaving four children behind.

I thought about Nell Carter who gave everything and received nothing. And I asked myself, is this justice? Is this karma? Mickey Rooney, the man who wielded power ruthlessly for 70 years, is now powerless, controlled by his stepchildren. Mickey Rooney, who took financial advantage of his wives, is now being financially exploited.

 Mickey Rooney, who abandoned his children, is now abandoned by family. Is that poetic justice, or is it  just sad? I don’t know. What I do know is this.  The Senate passed the Elder Abuse Prevention Act in 2011 because of Mickey’s  testimony. That law has helped protect over 500,000 elderly Americans from financial exploitation.

That’s good. That law has saved lives, saved life savings, saved dignity. Mickey Rooney’s testimony created real change, real protection for vulnerable people. But here’s what he never did. He never testified for Elizabeth.  He never advocated for Carolyn’s children. He never apologized to any of his ex-wives.

 He never used his platform to warn young actresses about predators in Hollywood, even though he knew exactly how that system worked because he was part of it. Redemption without restitution is just publicity. And Mickey Rooney was always good at publicity. Patterns, parallels, and power. Before I finish this story, I want you to do something.

 I want you to imagine that everything I just told you  is exactly the same except one thing. Mickey Rooney is a woman, a female actress, 5’2, ate marriages, serial divorces, abandoned her children, gambled away millions, had affairs with younger actors, including a 14-year-old boy. Now, ask yourself, would Hollywood have protected her? Would she have testified before the Senate? Would she be called a legend or would she be destroyed and forgotten? She would have been destroyed, blacklisted,  erased from history. But Mickey Rooney

got to be a legend because he was a man. And that double standard isn’t ancient history. It’s happening right now. 2017, Harvey Weinstein is exposed. He’s been sexually actresses for decades, using his power,  using NDAs, using fear. The exact same pattern as Mickey Rooney, just on a larger scale.

 The difference? In 2017, women had social media. They had hashtags. They had me  too. In 1944, Elizabeth Taylor had nothing, just silence. But the pattern is identical. Powerful man, young victim, Hollywood protection. Decades of silence. Bill Cosby, same pattern. Kevin Spacy, same pattern.

 Roman Palansky, same pattern. And he’s still celebrated in Hollywood. The system didn’t break with Mickey Rooney. It perfected itself. And if you’re watching this and you’re a man, especially if you’re a man in a position of power, I want you to ask yourself something. Have you ever used your power, however small, to get something from someone who couldn’t say no? Maybe not sexually.

  Maybe it was pressuring an employee to work off the clock. Maybe it was asking a favor from someone who owed you. Maybe it was staying silent when you saw someone else being abused. Mickey Rooney is an extreme case, but the mechanism is the same. Power plus opportunity minus accountability equals victims. The only difference between you and Mickey is the amount of power you have.

 So, what are you going to do with it? That’s the question we all have to answer. Because here’s the truth. Laws didn’t stop Harvey Weinstein. The culture  did. When enough people said this is unacceptable, the system had to change. But that only happens when we refuse to forget. When we refuse to let legends bury their crimes.

 Mickey Rooney died in 2014. He was 93 years old. He died peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by family. But Carolyn Mitchell didn’t get to die peacefully. She was her children, Kelly, Kimmy, Tim, and Carrie, watched their childhood end in a single gunshot. Elizabeth Taylor didn’t get peace.  She spent 70 years carrying trauma.

 Ava Gardner learned young that charm is a weapon, and  she never fully trusted anyone again. Nell Carter gave everything for her son’s success and died without a single thank you. Betty Jane Baker raised two sons alone and history doesn’t even record her last name in most accounts of Mickey’s life. So when someone asks me  what’s Mickey Rooney’s legacy, I say this.

 It’s not the 300 films. It’s not the Oscars. It’s the women. The ones who  paid the price. The ones history forgot. And if we don’t remember them, we’re complicit. 91 years, 300 films, eight marriages, $12 million earned, $18,000 left. That’s the math of Mickey Rooney’s life. But behind every number is a person.

 Behind every marriage is a woman who believed him when he said, “I love you.” Behind every divorce is a woman who learned he was lying. And behind every scandal is a system that protected him. Because that’s the real story. It’s not just about Mickey Rooney. It’s about the machine that enabled him. MGM, the press, the courts, the culture.

 All of them said, “Boys will be boys. Stars will be stars. Get over it.” And the women did get over it because they had no choice. But we have a choice now. We can choose to remember or we can choose to forget. If you watch this video and felt angry, good. You should be angry. If you felt conflicted about the elder abuse, good.

You should be conflicted because morality isn’t black and white. But if you felt nothing, if you’re about to click away and forget, then I failed. Because the point of this video isn’t to cancel a dead man. Mickey Rooney is beyond cancellation. The point is to ask, who are we protecting right now? What patterns are we ignoring? Share this video.

 Not because I want views, but because these stories matter. Elizabeth Taylor’s story matters. Carolyn Mitchell’s story matters. Kelly, Kimmy, Tim, and Car’s  story matters. Nell Carter’s story matters. Betty Jane Baker’s story  matters. They don’t have voices anymore. So, we have to speak for them. And I don’t tell fairy tales.

 I tell the truths Hollywood wants buried. The women were the survivors, not Mickey. Remember that.