Part 5: The Case of the Cursed Socialite
After attending a movie earlier in the night to escape the heat, the warm September evening still made sleep elusive. The usual cool breeze from the Atlantic Ocean was missing, leaving the air hot and sticky; the curtains over the open windows hung limply. The man sat apart from the woman and her two children, who were watching television when, around midnight, a loud pounding at the door jolted them to their feet. The kids, who had moments earlier been close to sleep, now clutched their mother, their eyes wide with fear. No one spoke; they all knew it was George Brennan, her insanely jealous ex-husband and the children’s father.
Enraged and towering at 6-foot-4, Brennan chased the fleeing Collabolletta, who had sought refuge in the kitchen at the back of the house. Brennan cornered the 110-pound man and then proceeded to relentlessly pummel him with his fists until he fell unconscious, ignoring the desperate pleas of Mrs. Brennan and their two children, ages 9 and 12, who tried to stop him. After the attack, Brennan fled the scene. Collabolletta, clutching his stomach and staggering, cried out, "I hurt terribly inside,” before collapsing. Dr. Lester Archer of Homestead was called, but Collabolletta died soon after the doctor's arrival. Attempts to revive him proved unsuccessful.
A memorial rosary service for Michael Joseph Collabolletta took place on September 28, 1956. On the same day, the official cause of death was revealed. Dr. Joseph H. Davis, assistant county medical examiner, determined the 43-year-old died from a heart attack brought about by "natural causes aggravated by violence." This finding by the pathologist significantly bolstered George Brennan's defense, casting doubt on what had previously seemed an indisputable outcome.
*********************************
Turning to her gardener, who had asked, "Miss Pat, do you need anything?" She simply shook her head and lit another cigarette, hoping it would calm her frayed nerves. On the lanai, her parakeet's loud song echoed from its large, ornate cage, much like the one that sat in the solarium of her childhood home. Four miniature Chihuahuas, each weighing no more than three pounds, dozed on the Italian terrazzo tiles surrounding the circular pool, basking in the afternoon sun. It amazed her how her life had changed. While she once preferred majestic Great Danes, she now favored Chihuahuas, two of whom were bona fide show dogs competing in shows across the country. Yet, those who knew her growing up might find it less surprising. Her friends used to say she was so lucky to have her very own petting zoo. A grey donkey named Dinah holds a special place in her childhood memories. She truly thought she was just one of the dogs.
She heard the bell and knew before they were announced that the members of the press she had invited were there. She had decided that, unlike previous times, she was going to get out in front of the story and take control of the narrative. The Wheeler incident continued to haunt her, particularly the press's portrayal. She seethed, remembering how newspapers, despite Wheeler's exposure as a serial rapist, never retracted their suggestion that her account was a fabricated cover story for her husband.
She understood she was taking a risk by bringing them to her home, a 2,800-square-foot custom-designed new build that reflected a life well-lived. The unique features and artifacts throughout were influenced by her travels in Europe, Asia, the West Indies, and the Hawaiian Islands. The art that adorned the walls was authentic, although anyone visiting would naturally assume it was well-crafted fakes. Her dress, although appearing simple, was created for her by one of South Florida’s up-and-coming fashion designers. Even without all that, news of her marriage and father's passing had already brought her secret to light. Any diligent reporter would know that Pat, the wife of builder Michael J. Collabolletta, was, in reality, Betsy Moore Lyon, the Washington, D.C. heiress.
As she entered the living room, her eyes fell on the wood-burning fireplace. Briefly, she thought of asking the housekeeper to light a fire, maybe that would stop the shivers that coursed through her body. In an instant, she was transported back to a sweltering July day in 1949 at Glenview Mansion. Her mother, confined to bed by strokes that had paralyzed her left side, had insisted that Harry Kelley, her then-husband who was the acting manager of the household, build a fire in her room. Despite his initial objections, he complied after her attorney advised him to follow her orders without question. He built the fire, only for her to demand he extinguish it immediately.
No, no fire was needed today. Since her move to Florida, she had carefully constructed a specific persona. She portrayed herself as a widow and former professional dancer with experience on both the East and West Coasts. And to her great relief, no one ever bothered to question her about it. She knew that if you presented a compelling story on a silver platter, people were quick to lap it up. Sitting by a fireplace in Florida during a September heatwave would make her seem completely out of touch. She couldn't risk that image. She had to be trusted and believed.
News reports later that evening proved her approach had worked. Instead of casting her as the unwitting wife of a man beaten to death by his lover’s husband, the press depicted her and her husband both as victims of a deranged killer.
"His wife, a helpless polio victim who is under constant care by a nurse, collapsed when she heard of her husband's death."
She heard the bell and knew before they were announced that the members of the press she had invited were there. She had decided that, unlike previous times, she was going to get out in front of the story and take control of the narrative. The Wheeler incident continued to haunt her, particularly the press's portrayal. She seethed, remembering how newspapers, despite Wheeler's exposure as a serial rapist, never retracted their suggestion that her account was a fabricated cover story for her husband.
As she entered the living room, her eyes fell on the wood-burning fireplace. Briefly, she thought of asking the housekeeper to light a fire, maybe that would stop the shivers that coursed through her body. In an instant, she was transported back to a sweltering July day in 1949 at Glenview Mansion. Her mother, confined to bed by strokes that had paralyzed her left side, had insisted that Harry Kelley, her then-husband who was the acting manager of the household, build a fire in her room. Despite his initial objections, he complied after her attorney advised him to follow her orders without question. He built the fire, only for her to demand he extinguish it immediately.
No, no fire was needed today. Since her move to Florida, she had carefully constructed a specific persona. She portrayed herself as a widow and former professional dancer with experience on both the East and West Coasts. And to her great relief, no one ever bothered to question her about it. She knew that if you presented a compelling story on a silver platter, people were quick to lap it up. Sitting by a fireplace in Florida during a September heatwave would make her seem completely out of touch. She couldn't risk that image. She had to be trusted and believed.
News reports later that evening proved her approach had worked. Instead of casting her as the unwitting wife of a man beaten to death by his lover’s husband, the press depicted her and her husband both as victims of a deranged killer.
"His wife, a helpless polio victim who is under constant care by a nurse, collapsed when she heard of her husband's death."
"Victim’s Wife Has Known Tragic Life."
"Mrs. Collaboletta and the child were so dazed and shocked by the murder that they were unable to talk coherently."
"Wife Rules Out Romance Angle"
"Slays Ex-Wife's Boss With His Bare Hands!"
*********************************
A seventh birthday celebration was held for Freddy Kelley, the son of former Fred Astaire dancing instructor Patti Kelley, on Saturday, May 7, 1953, at the Okomo Trailer Park picnic grounds. The highlight of the festivities was a large carousel where children pulled strings to win prizes. Mickey Collaboletta served as chef, preparing refreshments around the outdoor ovens.
Freddie’s birthday recap appeared in the local paper's society column, right alongside the debutante spring parties, all thanks to Betsy's careful relay of information. Perhaps she realized she was more like her mother than she cared to admit. However, when she left home in 1945, she had sworn she would never again be caught dead on a society page. Wasn’t she the one who told that reporter in 1947, after the death of Ted, that she never wanted anything to do with “high society” and that it was all her mother’s idea? An idea that drove a rift between them?
At that moment, a memory surfaced of her seventh birthday at the grand Glenview Mansion, a stark contrast to the Okomo Trailer Park, yet equally distinguished in its own way. When she moved to Florida the previous year, she felt fortunate to find her current home, so close to the beach and filled with modern details and features highly desired by others who shared her discerning tastes. The sense of community, with weekly potlucks and Clubhouse parties, greatly helped with Freddie's adjustment. It truly felt like they were on a year-round vacation.
*********************************
In June 1953, Michael J. Collabolletta, 37, and Elizabeth Moore Kelley, 26, residents of Hollywood, Florida, secured a marriage license in Dade County. The wedding took place in May at the University of Miami's Episcopal Chapel, where the bride was given away by her father. Notably, Elizabeth's previous husband, Harry Kelley, had filed for divorce the month prior, alleging desertion.
At 28 years old, in 1954, Betsy and her father finalized the sale of Glenview Mansion. The Montgomery County Historical Society purchased this historic estate for $100,000. H. Grandy Gore, the society's president, pointed out that constructing an equivalent estate with a stone mansion would have cost a minimum of $500,000.
In August 1955, 73-year-old Dr. James Alexander Lyon died in a Washington, D.C., hospital after a long illness. Betsy inherited his estate, boosting her net worth to over one million dollars. However, both events were overshadowed by the awful news that while there, she had contracted poliomyelitis.
Betsy was transferred to Variety Children's Hospital in Coral Gables after three months in Washington, D.C. hospitals, with the Broward Chapter of the March of Dimes covering all transfer expenses.
The Broward County chapter of the March of Dimes organized a Miami Herald tour of their clinic to raise funds for polio treatment the following winter. The tour aimed to highlight the financial burden of treatment, which was unaffordable for most patients, and to encourage donations. patient testimonials, including one from Betsy (identified as Mrs. Michael Collabelletta), were shared to connect with potential donors. Betsy was featured undergoing therapy to regain her ability to walk and told of relying on twice-weekly transportation to the clinic provided by the Broward County Red Cross station wagon.
*********************************
A petite woman with shiny copper hair, Mrs. Michael Collabolletta, addressed reporters from her wheelchair at her Hollywood, Florida home, “Please, just call me Pat,” she requested. Confined to a wheelchair by polio, she held her small Chihuahua, Puff, with hands as delicate as a hummingbird's wings. Three others ran around the room. She told reporters that before her illness, she favored large Great Danes, considering Chihuahuas too diminutive to be proper pets. Now, spending much of her time at home, she treasured the vibrant personalities and deep affection of the small dogs.
Shock still lingered in her vivid blue-grey eyes, prompting the typically pushy reporters to feign interest in the topic of show dogs, when one journalist, tiring of the small talk, cut to the chase and asked the question on everyone’s mind: "Was your husband involved in an affair with his secretary?"
Mrs. Collabolletta’s eyes no longer appeared shocked. In a composed voice, she straightened up and firmly declared, “Michael J. Collabolletta was not involved in any romantic relationships.” She described his assailant, the burly George Brennan, as "psycho," while commending Brennan's wife, Peggy, Michael's secretary, as "a wonderful girl."
"I was intimately acquainted with her and never had any inkling," she asserted. "And I knew my husband equally well. I was aware he was devoted, putting in extended hours and pushing himself excessively," Mrs. Collabolletta clarified, intending to correct any misapprehension.
Mrs. Collabolletta recounted receiving multiple calls from Brennan, where he expressed disapproval of her husband dining out and returning home late with Mrs. Brennan. She dismissed these conversations as gossip he was trying to spread. Mrs. Collabolletta emphasized her husband's demanding work building homes for the Air Force base in Homestead, stating his long hours were crucial for their success.
Describing her husband, who was twelve years her senior, she noted his slight frame: five feet five inches and 110 pounds. Yet, she asserted, his strength was remarkable. "He was as strong as a bull," she recalled, "often carrying me, and I weigh as much as he did." In contrast, the man who attacked him was significantly larger, towering a foot taller and weighing more than twice as much at 240 pounds.
Mrs. Collabolletta disputed the medical examiner's conclusion that her husband died from a heart attack, citing a full insurance physical exam he passed five months prior with no indication of a heart condition.
Pat Collabolletta, a professional dancer and instructor with experience in both New York and on the West Coast, was a widowed mother when she wed Michael Collabolletta in May of 1953. She expressed uncertainty about her future, saying, "I don't know what I'll do now. I don't drink. I guess I'll just suffer."
*********************************
The sudden death of Mickey Collabolletta, a well-liked developer known affectionately as "that little Mickey from Tem-Co," reverberated through Homestead, Florida. He was a familiar face, an active participant in local affairs, and was highly regarded in the community.
Homestead, sixty miles south of Hollywood, was booming. Tem-Co, Collabolletta's firm, had a contract to build housing for the Strategic Air Command Base. They were constructing homes across four Homestead locations. To avoid him driving between Hollywood and Homestead late at night, it had been his wife who had encouraged him to stay at his Homestead office during the week, which he did.
"My husband worked long and hard hours in Homestead, building homes for the Air Force base there. He was just beginning to get started. He had to stay there. It was either sink or swim now," Mrs. Collabolletta told reporters.
*********************************
Brennan drove to his home in Miami after the beating and told his present wife, Miriam, "I'm in trouble," and then left on foot. The present Mrs. Brennan, who was expecting their first child in a few days, said he didn't explain the "trouble."
On learning George Brennan was a fugitive, radio DJ Bill Wells of WCKR used his on-air platform to assist law enforcement in apprehending him. Wells stated, "Our news director, Harry Munyan, informed me about the homicide, and I promptly made a radio appeal for George to contact me." Wells, a two-year acquaintance of Brennan, received a call within minutes. Brennan confessed, "Bill, I'm in a bit of a jam," to which Wells replied, "George, you're in serious trouble—the man you fought with has died." Brennan reportedly reacted with shock, exclaiming, "Oh God, I didn't realize I killed him." Although Wells urged Brennan to meet him and surrender, Brennan demurred, simply saying before ending the call, "I'll catch you later, Bill."
Wells left work and set out to find Brennon, finding him at the courthouse where Brennon had surrounded. Wells described Brennan as a gentle and unassuming individual, stating, "He's the best fellow you'd ever hope to know."
Wells recounted Brennan's story: Brennan claimed that while attempting to give one of his children a birthday present, Collabolletta assaulted him with a mallet. Brennan stated he dodged the mallet and punched Collabolletta once before leaving. He maintained his ex-wife saw the event and would corroborate his self-defense claim if she told the truth.
Justice of the Peace Sylvester Adair painted a very different picture of the incident. He likened the attack to "beating a baby to death with your bare fist." Adair stated that Brennan, a large man, overpowered Collabolletta with repeated blows until he collapsed.
Furthermore, Adair revealed Brennan had a history of harassing his ex-wife, including appearing in court multiple times. He would threaten anyone, regardless of gender, who spoke to her and surveilled her home. Adair believed there was no romantic relationship between Mrs. Brennan and Collabolletta, portraying Mrs. Brennan as a woman living in fear of her former husband. "She had divorced her abusive husband five years earlier, yet he continued to harass her. Despite his promises in court to leave her alone, he consistently broke them."
At the time of Collaboletta's death, Brennan was under a peace bond, issued by Adair, on the complaint of Mrs. Brennan. A peace bond, meant to avert potential disruptions, was a legal mandate from the court. It demanded that someone suspected of future misconduct vow to maintain peace and behave properly.
*********************************
During George Brennan's January 1957 first-degree murder trial, Dr. Joseph H. Davis stated that the demise of Michael J. Collabolletta was due to "natural causes aggravated by violence."
On cross-examination by defense attorney Henry Carr, Dr. Davis clarified that a healthy person would not have died from the assault. The pathologist explained that Collabolletta suffered a heart attack due to a combination of natural causes, emotional stress, and traumatic shock.
Michael Brennan's ex-wife, Peggy Brennan, testified that he had a history of threatening men seen with her. In particular, she recalled an incident in August 1956 when Brennan threatened physical harm to Mickey Collabolletta and vowed to destroy his business.
During cross-examination, Mrs. Brennan admitted that Collabolletta had stayed overnight at her home. She specified that her mother was also present during these stays, save for one occurrence when he was too sick to go to Hollywood. Mrs. Brennan confirmed that Pat Collabolletta knew about each overnight stay, during which Collabolletta slept on the porch with her son.
Henry Carr, in his closing statement to the jury, said the accused worried his ex-wife entertained "drunks and married men" around their two children. He then theorized that the heart attack was triggered by the shock of being discovered in a compromising late-night situation with a woman who was not his wife.
George Brennan was acquitted of first-degree murder in January 1957 in the death of Collabolletta. The court determined Collabolletta succumbed to a heart attack following an altercation with Brennan.
The jury's verdict drew absolute silence from Mrs. Collabolletta; she made no public comment whatsoever. Perhaps her focus lay elsewhere, a month following George Brennan's acquittal, Elizabeth Lyon Collballetta and U.S. Marine William C. Weir obtained a marriage license in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
*********************************
Epilogue.
"A" William C. Weir, a retired career Marine who resided in Florida, died in 2005, and his obituary notes that he was preceded in death by his first wife, Pat. This may or may not be the man Betsy married in 1957. The documentation for the two of them residing together ends in 1958. Later directory entries are currently not available online.
 |
Ancestry.com. U.S., City Directories, 1822-1995 [database on-line]. Lehi, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2011. |
Following her 1957 marriage, Betsy stayed out of the papers. An exception was a 1963 robbery at her Hollywood, Florida, residence. Mrs. Elizabeth Weir, wheelchair-bound and requiring round-the-clock nursing care, was sleeping when guests left with electronics and a typewriter. They were quickly apprehended, the items returned, and no charges were filed.
In 1964, at only 38, Elizabeth died and was buried next to her second husband, Harry Homer Kelley, in Rockville, Maryland. Harry had passed away three months prior at the age of 44. No mention of her death in the press has been located.
Despite her efforts to escape her past through new locations and changed identities, Elizabeth, like nearly everyone she met, found herself ensnared in a relentless cycle of tragic occurrences. Her ill-fated marriage to Theodore Duestch was a pivotal moment that marked the beginning of her decline and led to the collapse of her once affluent and esteemed family. Their narrative ended not with a dramatic finale or grand celebration, but with a haunting silence that conveyed profound meaning. It was not a story of victory or achievement, but rather a soft, almost whispered warning regarding choices made and opportunities lost.
*********************************
 |
| View of Hollywood Beach Trailer Park - Hollywood, Florida. |
 |
| View of Hollywood Beach Trailer Park - Hollywood, Florida. |
.jpg)
.jpg)
 |
| Michael Joseph Collabolletta |
.jpg)
.jpg)
 |
| Mrs. Brennan #2 |
.jpg)
Primary sources:
Evening Star, Sat, Apr 11, 1953 · Page 24
Fort Lauderdale News, Sat, Apr 25, 1953 · Page 13
Sun-Tattler, Thu, May 7, 1953 · Page 18
Sun-Tattler, Thu, Jun 4, 1953 · Page 30
Fort Lauderdale News, Fri, Jun 12, 1953 · Page 8
Times Herald, Wed, Mar 17, 1954 · Page 4
The Baltimore Sun, Fri, Aug 5, 1955 · Page 13
Evening Star, Fri, Aug 5, 1955 · Page 16
The Morning Herald, Sat, Aug 6, 1955 · Page 3
Fort Lauderdale News, Thu, Sep 8, 1955 · Page 15
The Miami Herald, Sun, Jan 15, 1956 · Page 22
Fort Lauderdale News, Sun, Jan 15, 1956 · Page 48
The Miami News, Thu, Sep 27, 1956 · Page 1
The Miami News, Thu, Sep 27, 1956 · Page 10
The Miami News, Thu, Sep 27, 1956 · Page 25
The Miami News, Thu, Sep 27, 1956 · Page 26
The Miami Herald, Fri, Sep 28, 1956 · Page 29
Fort Lauderdale News, Fri, Sep 28, 1956 · Page 3
The Miami Herald, Fri, Sep 28, 1956 · Page 1
The Dothan Eagle, Sun, Sep 30, 1956 · Page 8
The Miami Herald, Sun, Sep 30, 1956 · Page 41
The Miami News, Tue, Jan 22, 1957 · Page 7
Sun-Tattler, Thu, Jan 24, 1957 · Page 5
The Miami News, Thu, Jan 24, 1957 · Page 15
Fort Lauderdale News, Mon, Feb 18, 1957 · Page 5
The Miami Herald, Tue, Apr 23, 1957 · Page 11
Sun-Tattler, Wed, Oct 29, 1958 · Page 50
Fort Lauderdale News, Mon, Aug 12, 1963 · Page 5
The Miami Herald, Mon, Aug 12, 1963 · Page 35
Pensacola News Journal, Wed, Jan 12, 2005 · Page 20
https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/56793
https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/56794
Comments
Post a Comment