Valentino was born in Castellaneta, Italy in May 1895 as Rodolpho Alfonzo Rafaelo Pierre Filibert Guglielmi di Valentina d'Antonguolla. He was the bi-lingual and brilliant son of a military officer turned veterinarian and the daughter of a French surgeon. His life was middle-class and comfortable until the premature death of his father. After that, his childhood was marked by a few minor episodes of mischief but he still managed to graduate from a nearby agricultural college. In 1913, he set sail for America on board the S.S. Cleveland. He had little money but was sure that he could succeed in the United States. After a brief stint as a gardener’s assistant on Long Island, Valentino discovered the lure of show business. He first worked as a popular dancer at Maxim's in New York City, then later landed a job touring with "The Masked Model", a show that brought him to California. In the first of a string of bit parts, Valentino's first film appearance was as a dress extra in a ballroom scene in the film Alimony (1917). In just seven years before his untimely death at age 31, Valentino appeared in 14 major films and emerged as a star in every one of them, whether he had the lead role or not. Many of his early roles were minor parts, where he was mainly cast as the villain, thanks to the industry’s narrow opinion of Latin looks. Although he was win the lead role in the 1918 film "A Society Sensation", it would be his part as the "heavy" in 1919’s "Eyes of Youth" that would be a turning point in his career. It would be from this role that June Mathis, a popular screenwriter, would urge that he be cast as "Julio" in Rex Ingram’s epic "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" in 1921. First appearing in a barroom scene, Valentino hypnotized the audience and dance the tango to instant celebrity. As a professional dancer in New York, he had learned to move with grace and finesse in ways that were unknown to many silent films actors of the time. In those days, the actors were almost caricatures of themselves, moving and gesturing with great exaggeration. Valentino managed to make his movements more subtle and in so doing, won many admirers. One such admirer was Dorothy Gish, the popular screen star, who persuaded D.W. Grifffith to cast Valentino in the 1919 film, "Out of Luck". After the "Four Horsemen", Valentino was no longer a "heavy" or a gigolo but a new kind of leading man, one with an exotic appearance and unconventional mannerisms for the time. He brought a sex appeal and a sensitivity to the screen and one that attracted millions of women to theaters. Thanks to the new-found sexual freedoms of "flapperism" and the Roaring ‘20’s, women were coming to the movies like never before... and literally swooning over the new Latin heartthrob. It would be the 1921 film "The Sheik" that would firmly establish Valentino’s reputation as the "Great Lover" and his final film, "Son of the Sheik", that would insure that volumes of fan mail would pour in and continue to come even after his death. Despite the reputation that followed such romantic roles though, Valentino never thought of himself as a conqueror of women. In fact, he thought such films rather silly. Still, the publication of Valentino’s book of poetry "Day Dreams" in 1923 further-fueled the public’s imagination, and drove fans into bookstores with a vengeance. Despite his adoration by the female public, Valentino got more than his share of abuse by the newspapers and magazine columnists of the time. Many hinted that the “sensitive” actor was a homosexual and often questioned his virility. One article, penned by an editorial writer for the Chicago “Tribune” had Valentino so angry that he challenged the man to a fight. This was not the only attack that he suffered though and such writings found their origins with Valentino himself. His eccentric tastes and extravagances made him the target of many such writers, along with his famous “slave bracelet”, without which he was never seen in public, his gold jewelry, his preference for heavy perfumes, mink coats and other oddities. His virility was further questioned when it became known that both women he married were lesbians. When Natacha Rambova, Valentino’s second wife, divorced him in 1926, it was revealed that their marriage had never been consummated. A similar charge had been made in 1922 during the divorce proceedings from his first wife, Jean Acker. To make matters worse, Valentino had married his second wife before his divorce from Jean Acker has been finalized. This small oversight led to a charge of bigamy. Apparently, the “Great Lover” was not so adept at romance after all. Whatever his private accommodations with his wives may have been, the slurs against Valentino’s virility plagued him until his dying day. As he lay on his deathbed, stoically fighting against incredible pain, he was said to have asked one of his doctors, “And now, do I act like a pink powder puff?”, he questioned, in reference to the Chicago “Tribune” editorial. At the news of Valentino’s death, two women attempted suicide in front of the hospital. In London, a girl took poison before his inscribed photograph. An elevator boy at the Ritz in Paris was discovered dead on his bed, which was covered in photos of Valentino. While the actor was lying in state at Campbell’s Funeral Home in New York, the streets outside became the scene of a macabre carnival as a mob of over 100,000 women (and some men) fought for a last glimpse of Valentino. Among those who were permitted into the candle-lit viewing room of the funeral home were his ex-wife, Jean Acker, whose display of rabid grief beside her former husband’s casket may have been less extreme is she had known then that Valentino had only left her a solitary dollar in his will, and film star Pola Negri, who upstaged everyone with her designer mourning clothes. She sobbed and fainted before the coffin and, of course, before the photographers. Between her bursts of weeping, she claimed that she and Valentino had planned to be married. Another claim of eminent nuptials was produced in the newspapers a short time later by Ziegfeld girl Marion Kay Brenda, who stated that Valentino had proposed to her in Texas Guinan’s nightclub the evening before he was felled by his illness. To add to the carnival-like atmosphere, a commemorative song began to be played on radios across America at the same time that Valentino’s body was being shipped west to the Hollywood Memorial Park Cemetery. The song, crooned by Rudy Vallee, was called “There’s a New Star in Heaven Tonight - Rudy Valentino”. Another legend grew up around the crypt of Valentino in the Hollywood cemetery. It seems that since the demise of the star in 1926, a “Lady in Black” has put in an appearance at his tomb and each week, leaves a fresh bouquet of flowers. There is no way to know if this might be the same woman after all of these years, but regardless, the flowers have never stopped coming. I visited Hollywood Memorial Park a few years ago and visited the crypt. Not surprisingly, fresh flowers were still appearing each week.