Even though The Alaskan Blonde came out several years ago, every now and then readers get in touch. Sometimes it’s a kind person saying they enjoyed the book, but occasionally it has been friends or extended members of the families involved. Sometimes these missives even contain extra information about the murder case – something that wasn’t known to me at the time.
This week, I was naturally intrigued to hear from Charles Deyoe in Sacramento, California.
He mentioned how I wrote about the items that were found in room 601 of the Drake Hotel in Hollywood, the hotel where Diane stayed for several weeks before going to the Hollywood Plaza Hotel nearby. There she took an overdose of barbiturates on March 9, 1954, a month before the trail was due to begin in Fairbanks.
One of those items was a postcard dated January 22 – but perhaps never sent – to someone called “Sam”. It read:
“Arrived LA today — after an overnight and a big fat steam bath at Paso Robles. After the bath and 9 hours sleep, I began to see life moving around about me. Call me at my sis’ house, Sylvan 0-4664. D.”
I wrote that this phone number seemed to be for La Cañada Flintridge, California, but nothing further about it, as neither the LAPD or FBI followed up on it at the time. It was a mini-mystery though, until now, when Charles (known as Chuck) emailed to tell me that he had found out about SYlvan 0-4665.
He told me that at that time, it was assigned to Martin L. Fisher, who lived at 1125 Wiladonda Drive in La Cañada Flintridge. He added that Fisher lived there until the end of 1959, and that Wiladonda house, which was built in 1952, is still standing in this scenic and well-to-do area (and is worth over $2m today).
Chuck also found a 1950 record of Martin L. Fisher who listed his employment in “Production Control Aviation,” and was married to a woman named Barbara. He attached jpegs of the phone book and census records, so I could see.
The name “Barbara” rang a bell immediately: when Diane had checked into the Drake Hotel, she used the name “Barbara Walker of Seattle.” This tallied with the empty barbiturate prescription bottle later found in her room, which was also made out to Barbara Walker. Diane’s first married name was Walker, so that was a logical choice, but was there a chance she borrowed the name of Martin’s wife?
That was a stretch perhaps in relation to this great piece of historical research, but the more important question was: who exactly was Martin L. Fisher?
In the book, I explained that the FBI file contained a number of letters sent to Diane from what we might generously call “well-wishers.” They come in the guise of a concerned citizen, “old friend,” or simply someone who wanted a dash of drama in their lives.
Such letters are regularly sent to people under suspicion or jailed for scandalous crimes, and Diane had a number of them in her possession when she died.
One dated January 18, 1954 was from a man named Thomas B. Cooper in St. Louis, MO, who called himself “your loyal waiter.” He said he hadn’t heard of her in a long time, but that she should “smile, (as) there’s many things to say and must be said to my and your benefits.” He asked her to write back so he could pass on whatever wisdom he had to offer, and hoped they could “talk face-to-face.”
Frank Del La Reyes wrote from Anchorage, Alaska, on January 27 with “Confidentiality Please” underlined several times at the top. It was largely unreadable, but he was writing about something of “vital importance, and is of course something you should know before you return to Fairbanks. I will tell no one other than you,” he wrote. Under his name at the end of the letter, he wrote “Registered professional engineer.”
One was creepier, like the neatly-written missive dated January 20 from someone named John C. Ivory, who gave his address as the Veteran’s Hospital in Excelsior Springs, MO. Initially supportive and offering friendship, it slowly changes and he calls her darling, then says that he is “alone in this world,” but hopes they could become “acquainted.”
Why Diane kept these letters is hard to say, and we don’t know if she replied to any of them. Maybe in her unhappy state of mind, she grateful for any kind words, even if they were from strangers.
None of them however are from a Martin L. Fisher, so we can really only speculate who he was, and why Diane had written him a postcard; whoever they were, they seemed to have let Diane stay with them. Additionally, Diane was an only child, so the line “Call me at my sis’ house,” did not relate to Barbara Fisher – unless perhaps “sis” was a non-sibling term of affection.
There are many other possibilities too: perhaps the Fishers – or one of them – were friends of the Mansfields, the family Diane and her son Mark had been staying with in LA? Maybe they were a friend of William Columbany, who had followed Diane to LA and seemed to be her constant companion, or friends or acquaintances of her family? Or just a couple that Diane had met in the huge metropolis.
Then of course there’s the question of who “Sam” was – the person she addressed that postcard too. Was it a shortened version of Samantha? There was no one named Sam in my book, and I couldn’t remember coming across that name during my research, so it seems that this contact between Diane and the Fishers will remain a mystery – albeit it less of a one, thanks to Chuck.