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Ann

Female - 1975    Has no ancestors but 2 descendants in this family tree.

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  • Name Ann  
    Gender Female 
    Death 1975 
    Person ID I372568  Geneagraphie
    Last Modified 31 Mar 2002 

    Family 1 William Woodward, Jr.   d. 1955 
    Children 
     1. William Woodward, III
     2. James Woodward
    Family ID F147602  Group Sheet  |  Family Chart
    Last Modified 31 Mar 2002 

    Family 2 Prince Aly Salomone Shah,   b. 13 Jun 1911, Torino, Piemonte, Italia Find all individuals with events at this locationd. 12 May 1960, Paris, Île-de-France, France Find all individuals with events at this location (Age 48 years) 
    Family ID F147601  Group Sheet  |  Family Chart
    Last Modified 31 Mar 2002 

  • Photos Photos (Log in)Photos (Log in)

  • Notes 
    • "The Shooting Of The Century".
      The guests in question had all attended one of the most glittering affairs of the 1955 Long Island social season: Mrs. Edith Barker's party honoring Wallis Simpson, the Duchess Of Windsor. It would seem that one of the guests, Mrs. Ann Woodward, had killed her husband with a hunting rifle shortly after they had left the affair. The question burning in the minds of the police and the nation, was "why did she do it?" As it turned out, the question would never be answered to anybody's full satisfaction.
      The Official Version of events recounts a tragic accident that destroyed a happy family; rumor and gossip tell a very different story. But one fact is not in dispute: she did shoot her husband, standing only 5 feet from him, while he was naked and unarmed.
      Ann Woodward was not born to society and her origins are murky. Some sources report her as being from Kansas; others say her father was a Detroit streetcar conductor. In any event, her official life began when she moved to New York to pursue a career as a showgirl on Broadway. During the Second World War, she met the man who was to become her husband, William Woodward Junior.
      Older than William by 4 years, at age 39 Ann was still a very beautiful woman--though that beauty was marred by an ambition and hardness that she tried unsuccessfully to mask. It is said that she once destroyed a portrait that Salvador Dali had painted for her, so deeply had he penetrated her facade. Though William's family was unhappy at the alliance between the socialite and the showgirl, they did their best to accept it and Ann.
      In the beginning of the marriage, things seemed to be working out. Though Ann was never truly accepted by her husband's circle of friends and never fit in, they presented a handsome appearance. They went to all the right parties, and Ann dressed in the finest gowns by Balenciaga and Mainbocher. Her jewel collection was rivaled only by the Windsor's and members of royalty. However, the heady social climate that Ann found herself in eventually turned her head, and her marriage began to suffer.
      Though it is impossible to say how many lovers she had, it is beyond dispute that she had several. It was a joke in their social crowd that Ann would target any man with a title. One of her reputed lovers was the Aly Kahn. By this time, William was unhappy with the marriage and wanted out, but Ann asked too high a price. Perhaps with reason, perhaps out of her own insecurity, Ann began to suspect William was also being unfaithful, and hired a private detective to follow him. Things were tense by the time of Mrs. Barkin's party.
      In October of 1955, the North Shore of Long Island was experiencing a rash of burglaries that had alarmed the very wealthy residents. That was one of the main topics of conversation at the party. The other topic, though later denied by the guests, was an argument that William and Ann had had shortly before their departure. Everyone agreed, however, that they left at 1 am. Shortly after 3:00, the local operator was surprised by an emergency telephone call. Though the caller was too hysterical to be understood, the operator alerted the police, who sped to the Woodward's 43-acre estate in Oyster Bay. There they were greeted by Ann, dressed in a negligée, screaming that she had shot her husband after mistaking him for a prowler. Before the police had a chance to question her intently, Ann was sedated and driven to a hospital in Manhattan, out of the Long Island Police's jurisdiction. It was only days later that she could be questioned, and by then a coherent story emerged. Ann claimed that she had been awakened by a noise and picked up her shotgun, fearing a prowler. When she opened her door, she saw a strange man and fired. Almost immediately, she realized her mistake, but by then it was too late. Though the police didn't believe this, they found evidence that someone had broken a tree limb outside of a bedroom window, and later found a suspect who confessed with alacrity to having been there, though nothing at all had been stolen. A court took only 25 minutes to exonerate her, in large part due to the unwavering support of William's mother. She stood by Ann through the entire crisis, and told both the police and the national media that she believed her daughter-in-law's story. Though the police continued to suspect foul play, there was nothing they could do. Ann was a free woman, and now a very wealthy widow. Her portion of William's estate was estimated at 30 million dollars. If Ann thought that being cleared of all guilt in the eyes of the law was enough, she was mistaken. In the eyes of Society, she had been judged and found guilty of killing one of their own. Most people concluded that Elise Woodward, her mother-in-law, had conspired to cover up the actual circumstances of the crime in order to spare the children and the family name. Not one person bought her story; and besides, everyone loved William. His funeral--which Ann missed while in the hospital-- was one of the largest ever for a private citizen in New York. The flags at all of his social clubs flew at half mast, and all of the servants on the Upper East Side demanded time off from work to pay their respects.
      Ann quickly became a social outcast in New York, in spite of Elise's efforts to keep up appearances. Her mother-in-law was virtually the only one to be seen with her in public, for their weekly lunches. She eventually fled to Europe, where she hoped to be treated with somewhat more understanding. It was in the mountain resort of St. Moritz that she sowed the seeds of her eventual destruction.
      In the bar of the hotel where she was staying, she happened to see Truman Capote. They had known one another slightly, having attended many of the same parties over the years. Little is known of the provocation, but Ann is reported to have called him "that little fag, Capote". Mr. Capote looked directly at her, held out his arm and finger to mimic a rifle, and said loudly enough for the entire room to hear, "Bang! Bang! Bang!" Ann became known forever after that as "Bang Bang" Woodward.
      Not much is known of her activities after that. She eventually returned to New York, and lived a quiet, solitary life until 1975. At that time, Mr. Capote released the first installment of "Answered Prayers". Truman had never forgotten or forgiven Ann for the scene in the hotel bar, and this book was his opportunity to settle some longstanding scores. Someone anonymously sent her an advance copy, and Ann was able to read for herself just how he had painted the events of her life. More upsetting for her than the idea of the scandal being revived again, was Capote's accusation that she killed her husband because he discovered she was a bigamist, and their marriage was invalid. She also realized how much this would devastate Elise, who had worked tirelessly over the years to bury the past and restore the family name.
      Unable to face the consequences of her actions any more, Ann swallowed a bottle of barbiturates, and died before the magazine appeared on the newsstands. Her funeral was sparsely attended.
      Though Ann will always be remembered by some as a social climber who rose too far too fast above her station in life, and not as an authentic Social Diva, she remains a colorful, vibrant woman. Long after most other socialites have been forgotten, you will still hear people discussing her at parties, and exclaiming, "I think it was really murder!".



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