Waiting for George

He was born George Keefer Brewer on January 5, 1914, became George Bessolo when his mother remarried in 1927, became George Reeves in 1939 as a contract player for Warner Bros. Made his feature film debut that same year in GONE WITH THE WIND, became the idol of millions of little kids as the star of THE ADVENTURES OF SUPERMAN in the 1950s. And it all came to a tragic end in the wee hours of June 16, 1959.

So what exactly took place in George's house the night he died, anyway? The world may never know, but there are three prevailing theories as to what may have happened. George, under the influence of a copious amount of hard liquor and depressed over his slumping career (he had long ago been typecast as Superman), in a moment of despair and drunken impulse, put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. Or, George was the victim of a mob hit ordered by either Hollywood studio bigshot Eddie Mannix or his attractive wife, Toni. Mannix had the juice to do it, too: as a well-connected, executive "fixer" for MGM, he had access to that kind of muscle, and no misgivings about using it. Or, George was shot and killed by his new fiancee Leonore Lemmon, more than likely by accident, in the heat of a drunken argument that spiraled out of control and turned violent.

At first glance, the suicide theory looks persuasive. The only reason George's agent managed to talk him into accepting the Superman role in the first place is that George's acting career had pretty much tanked by 1950, and George needed the money. In fact, George didn't even know who the hell Superman was until his agent explained it to him. The rest was history, of course. The show became an instant hit after it premiered in 1951,  and George suddenly became a major television star, a relatively new phenomenon at that time. But the show's success all but sounded the death knell for George's career ambitions. He was hopelessly typecast as Superman, and comic-book adaptations in those days didn't carry the kind of gravitas (or salary) that they do today. For that matter, neither did television work in general. Streaking across TV screens in tights and a cape week in and week out was something a proud man like George would have to live down.

According to Leonore Lemmon, George was under a lot of pressure due to increasing financial problems. Little if any meaningful work outside the Superman milieu ever materialized. George talked about moving into directing feature films and developing and producing other TV series, but those things never came to fruition either. And he was being harassed by his ex girlfriend, Toni Mannix, in the aftermath of their breakup. After a ten-year affair, George dumped Toni to take up with Leonore.

And there are other salient points. George's blood-alcohol count on the night in question was 2.5 times the legal limit. If he was as depressed as some reports indicate, that level of alcohol consumption could be a dangerous combination, especially as George was taking prescription painkillers at the time. Furthermore,  reports that George's hands showed no traces of gun powder residue--which would determine whether or not he had discharged a firearm that night-- are false, as the LAPD in those days did not test for powder burns in cases of apparent suicide.

That George was the victim of a contract killing, by one or both Mannixes or others, is ludicrous on its face. Nobody out there would ever mistake me for Mariska Hagitay, but I do know the first rule of mob hits is to eliminate the witnesses. If a bunch of hired wiseguys busted into George's house in order to do him in, nobody else in that house at the time would have been left alive to tell that tale, or any tale, for that matter. Including George's femme fatale fiancee, arguably the key witness in the case.

My main problem with this case is that a significant amount of time had passed from the time George was shot until the police were finally called. What the hell was she doing in that house during that time? Years later, Leonore told an interviewer a completely different story from the one she told the cops that night in '59. I think what she was doing was staging what investigators would assume to be a suicide scene. First, it would be necessary to move George's body from wherever it lay to his bed. Then, firing a shot into the ceiling would leave the impression that George, sitting on the bed with gun in hand, but too inebriated to sit up straight, slumps over to his right, head meeting gun barrel. That would leave at least one bullet hole too many in that room, so to camouflage the fact , Leonore fires an extra shot or two into the floor. She can then tell the police she was "horsing around" with the pistol a few days earlier, which would presumably account for any additional bullet holes that looked suspicious. A spent shell casing is placed underneath George's body to complete the illusion that George shot himself while lying in bed.

Does my theory prove George did not kill himself? No, but it makes about as much sense based on the evidence as any of the other theories. Many of the people who knew and worked with George expressed strong doubts about the notion that George would take his own life. George's broken-hearted mother, Helen Bessolo, dismissed the idea out of hand, even going so far as to launch her own investigation into her son's mysterious death. Results of that investigation proved inconclusive.

And what about George's career and money problems? Yes, it's fair to say he was disappointed about a failed film career. By most accounts, he clearly hated playing Superman, the role that he is most closely identified with. It's also fair to say George liked to drink too much, and could have been a borderline alcoholic. But it's also clear that George was not some naive Hollywood hopeful wannabe. He was an experienced film and television actor who had been around the block a time or two, and understood how the business worked. Maybe Superman was not something he needed to live down so much as to find some other way to profit by it. That might explain why George enthusiastically agreed to return to the series one more season, under the condition that he receive a hefty salary increase and be given greater creative control, which would have included directing many more episodes. Many a B-list film and TV actor has made the transition to success on the opposite side of the camera. Furthermore, at the time of George's death the Superman series had already made it to reruns, which meant George had generous residual payments to look forward to for years to come.

As for Leonore Lemmon? It's fair to say that Ms. Lemmon made for an unreliable witness. She more than likely lied to the LAPD the night George died, and continued to contradict herself over the years whenever questioned about that night. Four other people were present in George's house the morning of  June 16, 1959: Leonore, writer Robert Condon, neighbor Carol Van Ronkel, and a casual acquaintance of George's by the name of William Bliss. While the official story given by Leonore to police places her in the living room with the other house guests at the time the fatal shot rang out, Bliss is said to have told his wife a different story afterwards. In that version, Leonore was upstairs, either inside or in close proximity to George's bedroom. While Bliss was having a drink, he and the other guests heard what sounded like a gunshot. Leonore then hurries downstairs and allegedly says, "Tell them I was down here, tell them I was down here!" If Bliss' story is true, then who the hell knows what took place in George's bedroom?

So who you gonna believe? For their part, the other witnesses essentially backed up Leonore's story to   detectives, thus confirming her alibi. That would make them accomplices after the fact in a murder case, so why would they jeopardize their own lives to help her? Who knows? Maybe to help keep their friend out of the death house should the cops suspect foul play. Friendship is funny like that. At any rate, if the four of them are downstairs at the time of the shooting, investigators have little choice but to conclude suicide.

Whatever secrets Leonore Lemmon may have kept surrounding the untimely death of TV's Superman, she took them with her to her grave. She died in 1989 at the age of 66.