For much of his early career, Thomas Noguchi spent his days as a civil servant toiling away in the basement of a building in downtown Los Angeles.
But even in a city filled with larger-than-life celebrities, Noguchi, a Japanese immigrant, managed to become a household name. Because over a span of 15 years as the chief medical examiner of Los Angeles County, he inspected the bodies of Marilyn Monroe, Robert F. Kennedy, Sharon Tate and many others to determine how they died. He was, as many around town called him, the “coroner to the stars.” And as such, he became something of a notorious star himself, delivering news that, he contends, people sometimes did not want to hear.
“The public might not be ready, but I felt I had the responsibility to inform the public,” Noguchi, now 98, said in an interview at his home this month. “They might not accept it. But they actually heard it from the right source.”
Now, more than four decades after he was demoted from his administrative post amid accusations of mismanagement, he is getting one last brush with fame. A fictionalized version of Noguchi pops up in several scenes in the Tony-nominated musical “Dead Outlaw,” and a new documentary about him, “Coroner to the Stars,” is making the rounds of the festival circuit. There’s even a new book.
“With what I would find out from death investigations, the public and news people would be very interested in knowing what I feel,” he said.
“Instead of saying ‘I have no comment,’ I just told what I think,” he continued. “And I got in trouble sometimes.”
The New York Times wrote articles in the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s that mentioned Noguchi more than 40 times, partly because he was privy to secrets of the famous dead, and partly because in delivering that information Noguchi drew sharp criticism. He was accused of mismanaging the department and speculating too freely on causes of death in an effort to brandish his own image. He was drawn into two separate civil-service hearings to assess his job performance during his tenure and was eventually dismissed from his post in 1982.
“His inappropriate statements have, in my opinion, cast unjustified aspersions on the memories of well-known individuals, violated privacy of aggrieved families and caused undue sensationalism, for no purpose other than to put himself in the public limelight,” Frank Sinatra wrote in a letter to a county supervisor, according to the documentary.
But even many of Noguchi’s critics would concede that he put forensic pathology on the map, elevating the autopsy to something of an art form and ushering in an era of intense public intrigue over the manner and cause of celebrity death. So pervasive was Noguchi and his work, he inspired Jack Klugman’s title character in the 1970s medical drama “Quincy, M.E.”
“Dr. Noguchi was really there fielding questions and doing a public service, trying to provide accurate information to the press,” said Ben Hethcoat, the documentary’s director and producer whose father was a medical examiner-coroner in the Atlanta area. “Did he navigate that perfectly? Probably not. But I maintain that he did so by always presenting the truth.”
The film casts a sympathetic light on Noguchi, assembling a cast of current and former coroners, a county supervisor — whose father, in that same post, voted against Noguchi’s dismissal — and Japanese Americans who rallied behind Noguchi as he was being investigated.
In the mid-1970s, Noguchi examined the body of Elmer McCurdy, a bandit who was killed in Oklahoma in 1911 and whose mummified remains were discovered inside of an amusement-park ride in California. “Dead Outlaw” tells the story of McCurdy’s life and how his well-preserved corpse had its own incredibly long and twisty afterlife.
As portrayed by Thom Sesma, Noguchi “is this dark comedy’s conscience,” the critic Laura Collins-Hughes wrote in The Times. Or as The Times’s chief theater critic, Jesse Green, put it: “Noguchi may be the first man to treat postmortem Elmer with dignity, or at least with clinical propriety.”
At the same, Green wrote, Noguchi is “amused at this chance encounter with a corpse from 1911,” like everyone else.
“Here in Los Angeles County we get more than our fair share of famous corpses,” Sesma’s Noguchi says in the show, before a microphone drops and he croons a memorable song about Monroe, Tate and other stars whose dead bodies the coroner had inspected.
“I thought it was absolutely inspiring and astounding that a Japanese American would be held in a position of such responsibility,” Sesma, who is Japanese American and grew up in San Diego, said he recalled thinking as a teenager. “He was someone to look up to. He was somebody to embody.”
Noguchi has been unable to fly to New York to see “Dead Outlaw.” But he spent several minutes reciting the details of the case — and of the corpse’s travels — from memory in a way that almost exactly matches the narrative of the musical.
He recalled that McCurdy had ties to Kansas and failed railroad heists; that his family had never claimed the body; and that it had arrived at his office painted bright red. “I had not heard of any cases like this,” Noguchi said.
Told that his character in the musical sings a song about the dead, Noguchi’s eyes widened and a grin emerged. A week later, when Noguchi was shown a video of Sesma performing, the former coroner nodded along intently as Sesma sang “Up to the Stars!”
“I think this is the first time there is a musical based on a forensic investigation,” he said, clasping his hands together with a satisfied smile. “A good thing!”
“I myself am not the dancing type,” he added, after inquiring as to whether the show was selling well. “But I have to say, the musical is nice.”
Noguchi has seen the documentary, however. He is a key participant in it, narrating his life, its highs and lows.
Two years shy of his centennial, his considered speech has somewhat slowed, but his recall remains quick and detailed.
Seated on a regal mustard sofa, dressed in a beige suit, Noguchi is much like Sesma said he imagined him: soft-spoken, sharp and articulate.
Noguchi still climbs 17 steps to his upstairs bedroom each evening. He plans to attend a conference of medical examiners later this year. And he is clear about one point that he repeated throughout the afternoon: He still has contributions to make.
“I have nothing to complain about,” he said. “I am happy to continue many more years.”
Matt Stevens writes about arts and culture news for The Times.
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