Well, if she was, when we shoot the picture we’ll make her an American.
One of the many, many things that annoys the poo out of me is the rumor that Marie Prevost’s dog “ate” her when she died, due to the nip-marks on her body. Anyone with a cat or dog knows the poor animal was just trying to wake her up, to be fed or walked.
Well, she never slept with me, so I’ll go with “no, she couldn’t possibly have been.”
Hope you like the Anna Held book! Judging by my royalty checks, you and I are indeed the only people who remember her . . .
And well it should. I’m pretty sure retailing Kenneth Angerisms violates some bylaw or other of this board.
Y’know, I’m usually not caught off-guard by the advanced vocabulary (aka “$20 words”) that people on the SDMB sometimes use, but this one got me, so I wanted to thank you, Slithy Tove, for giving me the opportunity to learn another word. (Especially since I, msyelf, am usually in search of a catamite* or two. Or twenty.) 
*Of **legal ** age, of course!
raises a shy, girlish hand
Glad to enlighten. May all your catamites be callipygous; or better yet, super-callipygous. And, as this quality relates to the OP, you’d think your pets would start eating your corpse’s buttocks, but I’ve read they prefer to start at the nose & cheeks. One sure way to tell the difference between dogs & cats and Uruguayan rugby players.
Which reminds me of the stranded Acrtic explorers who resorted to cannibalism before they where rescued by the Soviets, who in turn put jars of their stools on display as an indictment of decadent capitalism. Saul Bellow worked it into a book once. Saul Bellow could work just about anything into a book, including impresario Billy Rose’s micropenis. I’d better go to bed now.
How could Bob Crane die alone when he was murdered. Unless he died after the attack by some time.
So if your beautifully-behindered catamite is emotionally brittle but very outgoing and passionate about his causes, is he a super-fragile callipygous extrovert, ferocious?
Fish, I apologize for getting your thread off its track. It was unintentional - I meant my post about Anna Held to be a one-off, quick aside and instead it resulted in a hijack. Mea culpa.
Well, after you read the book, if you have any Anna Held, or old-musical theater questions, please do start a thread!
Back on topic . . . Ummm, oh, yeah! One of the saddest: poor Edith Carper, an 18-year-old Ziegfeld Girl, died of accidental gas poisoning in her Atlantic City hotel room in 1918, on the eve of her debut in that year’s Follies. Variety obits from c1900-1940 have a lot of accidental “illuminating gas” deaths, many in old, badly maintained hotels.
Fish, the list doesn’t include Oscar Wilde. The hotel he died in still operates and does a nice business renting out the Wilde death chamber to fans. The notorious wallpaper, made famous in Wilde’s deathbed quip, has been changed, however.
You bet I will, Eve. Now, Fish, don’t kill me for doing this (please see my on-topic Oscar Wilde post above which I offer as mitigation) but I simply have to ask: Eve, how about writing a book on Marilyn Miller?
Hijack! Hijack! (P.S. There’s already been a book on her.)
Note that the category is not for people who died alone in hotel rooms. Those who died in hotel rooms surrounded by friends, well-wishers or murderers would still fit the category.
Speaking!
Hijack? Hijack?
All I really had was that observation that it seemed like a lot of obits featured “died alone in a hotel room.” I really hadn’t any clue where this thread would go in the first place. For all I know, we’re still on track. 
And he was killed in an apartment, not a hotel room.
Fish, you are gracious and gentlemanly.
Your pic gets mine! 
In the interest of full disclosure, though, I can’t accustom you to any lifestyle other than abject poverty. Okay, then…abject (and soon to be downwardly mobile) middle class.
Is your hand still up?