Amateur Sleuth Unravels a Depression-Era Mystery

Barry Olson often awakens in the middle of the night, trying to make sure he hasn’t forgotten a clue, trying to find connections he may have overlooked.

He’s not a detective; he’s an adman and retired at that. But 73 years ago, someone murdered his grandmother’s lover.

Olson, 72, lives in Cleveland now. But he has been obsessed with the “Bridge Party Murder,” which made headlines during two Los Angeles trials -- one that convicted his grandparents and another that absolved them.

Olson had remembered his grandmother as sweet and loving, and his grandfather as a coldhearted alcoholic. Anything more was a family secret until 1950, when he came across his mother’s diary. She had kept a daily record of her in-laws’ gripping trials, in 1932 and 1933, which revolved around a love triangle and murder.

His mother was so disturbed that he had discovered the secret that she burned the diary and warned him never to discuss the case with his father or grandfather.

Shocked to learn that his “prim and proper” grandmother had been caught up in an eight-year affair with his grandfather’s married boss, Olson began reconstructing family history.

“When I started out on my quest, I wanted to prove their innocence, which is probably what everyone does in a similar situation,” Olson said. “But then I changed my thinking.

“I wanted to prove their guilt!” After decades of digging through family archives, interviewing family members and shuttling from Cleveland to Los Angeles to pore through newspaper accounts, police records and his past, Olson believes he has at least some of the answers.

Many of these details come from Times stories of 1932-33.

He was in his mother’s womb at the time of the killing, a complicated crime involving murder, suicide, money, cheating hearts and noir L.A.

The trials mesmerized Depression-era reporters and their readers. The news was filled not only with those dramatic elements but a “dream team” of two high-priced defense lawyers. In the end, the public and jurors were confused on all counts, unsure of the truth and uneasy about the power of the press.

In 1924, Albert and Libbie Olson and their three children lived on a chicken ranch on South 6th Avenue in Arcadia. Albert started a new job as a photo engraver in Los Angeles.

The company owner, Charles Henry Scull, had hired Olson, and the two became best friends, often socializing with their wives. When the Olsons got into a financial bind, Scull gave them $5,000, which he apparently didn’t expect them to repay.

Scull had a reputation as a big spender and a womanizer. Libbie Olson apparently hungered for more attention than she was receiving from her husband, who even then drank to excess.

Soon, she and Scull became the object of each other’s obsession. For eight years, Scull assigned Albert Olson to two nights of overtime so he could make time with Olson’s wife at hotels and private clubs.

Then, in March 1932, Scull’s wife, Edna, committed suicide. Rumor was she had found out about her husband’s affair.

With unseemly speed, the new widower handed Libbie Olson two sets of keys: one to his wife’s car and the other to his house on Gramercy Place, near Jefferson Park. And he made her the main heir to his $125,000 estate; he had no children.

But within six months, the 57-year-old Scull’s ardor had cooled. He turned his attentions to a 27-year-old divorcee who was renting the house next door, which he also owned. In less than a month, he and Mildred Coons became engaged.

Libbie Olson, 47 and about to become a grandmother, was the woman scorned.

“Scull’s entire estate was at stake because he was dumping my grandmother and marrying a much younger woman,” Barry Olson said. “All of Scull’s money and property would go to the new wife on his wedding day.”

Oct. 8, 1932, was the eve of Scull’s wedding.

He spent it at his fiancee’s house, playing bridge with her and two friends. Desperate to stop the marriage, Libbie interrupted the game twice, calling and begging him to reconsider.

“Why don’t those people leave me alone?” Scull said as he returned to his cards.

At 11:40 p.m., he went home and, as he walked through the door, was shot in the belly with a .32-caliber gun.

He died on the kitchen floor, where his wife had shot herself six months earlier.

Coons and her friends heard the shot and came running in time to hear Scull’s dying words: “They just shot me without warning.” He did not say who “they” were.

The murder weapon was never found, and there were no eyewitnesses tying the Olsons to the crime. But prosecutors soon learned of the love affair and Scull’s will. They also found small shoeprints in the yard, the same size as Libbie’s.

“My grandmother had a key to the place, and there were no signs of breaking and entering,” Olson said. The Olsons were arrested and charged with murder. They hired separate attorneys who opted to argue their single case in front of a judge rather than a jury.

Hardened courtroom reporters called Libbie the “Icy Blonde” and “Woman of Stone.” The couple barely acknowledged each other as they sat at the same courtroom table.

When she was asked on the witness stand which man she would choose, her husband or Scull, she replied without hesitation: “Scull.”

“Of course I was jealous; why shouldn’t I be?” she testified. “I gave him [Scull] all my time, my love and my loyalty for years.... My husband did not know about it. It wasn’t a sordid romance. I did not give myself for his money. I loved Charlie Scull.”

Albert Olson was unable to hide his dejection.

“I always thought Charlie Scull was a perfect gentleman,” he testified. “I guess everything is gone. All my money is spent; I’m about to lose my home; my two boys have lost their [jobs] on account of this, and now my wife confesses something I couldn’t bring myself to believe. There isn’t much left to care about.”

A jailhouse informant, James Fudge, testified that Albert Olson had confessed.

The Olsons’ first trial lasted six days, ending with Judge Isaac Pacht finding them both guilty of first-degree murder. “I hope no other single judge has to sit in judgment of two people at the same time again,” he said.

The Olsons appealed, citing a lack of evidence, and were released on $20,000 bail each. Fudge recanted his testimony and they won a new trial.

At the second trial, before a jury, the Olsons behaved like lovebirds, holding hands in court and kissing in the halls. The verdict, in January 1933, was not guilty.

One man held out for conviction for 10 ballots. The juror, Newman H. Clark, said after the acquittal: “I still think they’re guilty, but I didn’t want to put the county to the expense of having a new trial.”

The Olsons remained married. But they received just one-third of Scull’s estate; Scull’s brother, Clarence William Scull, contested the will.

“My gut feeling is that my grandfather was a darn good actor. I don’t think it’s believable that he didn’t know,” Barry Olson said. “I have come to believe my grandfather knew about the affair and was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Olson’s grandmother died of cancer in 1943.

“My grandfather immediately burned all of her possessions in a deep backyard pit in Arcadia,” Olson said. He believes the murder weapon was somewhere in the backyard too.

Albert Olson died in 1957.

Now that he’s resolved the case to his satisfaction, Barry Olson acknowledges there will always be questions.

“Just like a murder ballad,” he said. “the magic is in the mystery, the parts left unsaid.”