From "Cincinnati Post", July 31, 1922
As a child, did you hop around on a pogo stick? Would you believe that Cincinnati was introduced to pogo sticks in 1922 by a New York showgirl? It’s true.
The showgirl in question was a Cincinnatian named Marjorie Whittington, who lived with her family at 942 Morris Street just off the northern edge of Eden Park. Marjorie’s father, John Whittington, was a carpenter and Marjorie worked downtown as a cashier. She traveled to New York City to compete in one of the “physical culture” contests popular at that time, with prizes awarded to the “perfect” man or woman. Marjorie earned first prize and the attentions of Broadway impresario Florenz “Flo” Ziegfeld Jr., who billed himself as the “glorifier of the American girl.” His Ziegfeld Follies, modeled on the Parisian Folies Bergère, offered risqué titillation slathered in extravagant costumes from 1907 to 1931.
From "Judge" Magazine, January 14, 1922
Ziegfeld not only cast Marjorie in the latest Follies production, but he scored a public relations coup by insuring her “perfect” legs for $250,000. The newspapers, reporting on the policy, printed lots of photos of Marjorie’s legs. Marjorie’s legs made their Broadway debut on a pogo stick. The New York Herald [November 19, 1921] took note of the gimmick:
“For an athletic number Mr. Ziegfeld had provided a ‘pogo’ offering, in which his exceptionally beautiful chorus jumped about on this new form of single, bouncing stilt and revealed that they had other talents than wearing clothes.”
In 1921, the pogo stick was indeed new, having been patented in Germany just a year earlier. (Inventors Max Pohlig and Ernst Gottschall named their “spring end hopping stilt” with the first two letters of their surnames.) And so, when Edmund M. Brendamour caught wind of a Cincinnati lass with $250,000 legs and pogo skills, he brought her to the Queen City to promote this novelty now on sale at his Brendamour Sporting Goods store on Sixth Street. In a demonstration staged on the Fountain Square esplanade, Marjorie regaled a crowd with professional hints:
“Hold the stick close to you. Rest the ball of the foot on the braces and hop on with both feet. Once you’ve learned, it is as exhilarating as flying. Central Park in New York is crowded every morning with pogoers of all ages.”
Mr. Brendamour gave the hopping stilt a whirl himself and proclaimed it was as rambunctious as “a jackrabbit full of moonshine.” Judge magazine, the premier humor periodical of the day, ran a leggy photo of Marjorie in the January 14, 1922 issue, noting, “If you don’t pogo to business these crisp mornings, you’re not only middle-class but decidedly middle-aged.”
Marjorie’s tenure as a pogoist lasted barely a year. She left the pogo stick behind and took on a more prominent role as a whistling act. By 1924, her career with Ziegfeld was over. She helped organize an association of Ziegfeld alumnae who entertained high-paying customers at a series of fashionable balls.
It’s not exactly clear how Marjorie supported herself after she left the Ziegfeld show. She appears throughout 1926 in advertisements for Corticelli Silk Hosiery and for a skin cream, cashing in on those expensively insured legs. The Whittington family left Cincinnati and moved to Queens, New York.
Marjorie made the scandal sheets for the first time in 1928 when Hendrick C. Nelson, a wealthy dealer in silverware, drowned on Long Island Sound. According to the Queens Daily Star [July 11, 1928]:
“Nelson wound up a joy ride in the company of Miss Marjorie Whittington, Follies girl who won renown as ‘the girl with the million dollar legs,’ and Miss Whittington’s brother, Larry Whittington, cartoonist and creator of ‘Mazie the Model.’ The party also included John Sparrell of Cedar lane, Douglaston, and John Wingate of Eighth avenue, Malba. It had been at Wingate’s home and had stopped at Villa Beau Rivage on Merritt road, Whitestone, when several of the group decided to take an early morning dip. They were in the water only a few minutes when Nelson was seen to double up with a cramp and sink.”
Questions were obviously raised about the nature of that “joy ride” when Nelson’s body was recovered wearing only underpants. Marjorie’s woes mounted, with every newspaper mention including a reminder of her perfect legs. There were traffic tickets, an auto accident, a car impounded for debts.
From "Physical Culture Magazine", September 1922
Marjorie and her brother Larry were again prominently connected to scandal in 1932, when Massachusetts state police responded to a disturbance at a vacation cottage near Wrentham. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [August 14,1932]:
“Marjorie Whittington, blonde Ziegfeld Follies alumna, and her brother, Larry, a cartoonist, were arrested early today when state police dropped in at the former beauty’s Lake Anchor cottage and discovered James Gillis lying under a table with stab wounds in his back.”
The arresting officers claimed a drinking party preceded the melee. Marjorie, allegedly inebriated and wearing pajamas and a bathrobe, insisted she was asleep upstairs and heard nothing until her brother and Gillis woke her as they fought. Gillis, reputedly affluent, owned an opulent cottage nearby. It is unclear whether the “stab wounds” came from broken glass or an ice pick. The Whittingtons were fined $25 each for disturbing the peace. Gillis was still in the hospital when his wife announced her intent to divorce him. According to the Washington, DC, Times-Herald [August 23, 1932], Mrs. Gillis announced:
“I can’t compete with the $250,000 legs of Marjorie Whittington. I’m going to file suit for separation and support, and end my hopeless marriage.”
Perhaps the strangest episode in Marjorie’s life developed when two 20-year-old fiancés, Frances Hajek and Lewis Weiss, were shot and stabbed to death on a secluded lover’s lane in Queens. Because the assailant scrawled a red circle on each of his victim’s foreheads, the still-unsolved crime became known as the Lipstick Murders.
Throughout the investigation, several individuals approached police or the newspapers with claims that they had witnessed the attack or knew someone who had. Many of these tips were fabrications or hallucinations. Others held some promise. One caller, insisting on anonymity, intrigued police so much that they traced her calls to a telephone booth in Bayside, where they apprehended none other than Marjorie Whittington. She claimed it was all a mistake, that she was trying to sell her life story and phoned police headquarters by mistake.
In November 1941, Marjorie married a much younger man, an auto mechanic named Stephen Tomilowitz. A few years later, she had him arrested when he broke into her apartment and beat her up while demanding she pay his tab at a local saloon. They were divorced soon after.
On October 23, 1957, Marjorie collapsed in Grand Central Station and died immediately. Her death notice in the New York Daily News reminded readers (mistakenly) that Flo Ziegfeld had insured her legs for $1 million. There was not a word about pogo sticks.
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