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Swiss Ave. estate sale draws hundreds 
Event offers a peek into a tragic story08:53 AM CDT on Saturday, September 9, 2006
They lined up before dawn Friday at 4949 Swiss Avenue for Mary Ellen Bendtsen's last soiree.
By day's end, nearly 1,000 curiosity seekers had paid $8 apiece to wander through the sagging three-story mansion during an estate sale. They were searching for their own piece of a faded diva's larger-than-life existence and a glimpse into the home that was her passion.
"You wouldn't have any more people here if there'd been a murder in that house and the body had been dragged down the cellar stairs," said Jeff Martin, wide eyed behind Gucci sunglasses at what looked like a garden party somehow marooned in his old friend's driveway.
"This is just absolutely bizarre."
The once-grand mansion is at the center of a fight between Mrs. Bendtsen's family and two Deep Ellum antique dealers who befriended her. Just hours after a major stroke in February 2005, Mrs. Bendtsen signed a will leaving the house to the two men.
A court later threw out that will and declared Mrs. Bendtsen's only daughter, Frances Ann Giron, her rightful heir, but Mark McCay and Justin Burgess, the antique dealers, are fighting that decision.
Mr. McCay and Mr. Burgess were indicted in March on a state felony charge of attempted theft, along with a lawyer who did legal work for them and briefly represented Mrs. Bendtsen. All three have denied wrongdoing.
The baroque saga of Mrs. Bendtsen and her mansion, with its allegations of elder abuse, greed and deception, was the subject of a four-part series in The Dallas Morning News last month.
On Friday, the estate sale manager stood on a stool in the driveway just before 9 a.m. to announce rules for the sale.
"I think you're going to have fun," Art Rousseau told the crowd. "We spent at least 3 ½ weeks cleaning in there. ... You can do surgery in there compared to when we started."
A few minutes later, he opened a side door, and the first 50 buyers filed in – led by an excited professional estate buyer and three giggling women whom he jokingly dubbed "the celebrity stalkers." They emerged hours later, wielding treasures such as a faded blue, monogrammed powder box and a glass humidor filled with cotton balls, the kind of finds, they joked, that might come with a diva's DNA.
They chose their prizes from 3,525 pieces ranging from a $2 pair of flocked metallic brocade pumps to a $3,200 grand piano. Sale proceeds will go to Mrs. Bendtsen's sister, her daughter or a trust account until the legal fight is resolved.
Before lunchtime, 300 people had trouped through. Another 165 waited outside for their chance, staring through porch windows or hovering under the porte-cochere for a bit of shade.
All morning, speculation and rumor swept through the crowd in Mrs. Bendtsen's driveway: Would the two men actually attend the estate sale? At one point, someone ran inside the house and declared that Mr. McCay had just joined the line, but it turned out to be a short, stout, dark-haired woman.
In the end, the antique dealers did not show.
Every room held oddities hinting at Mrs. Bendtsen's penchant for Southern gothic – a violin case concealing a tiny, felt-lined bar. An album autographed with fond regards – but Mrs. Bendtsen's name misspelled – by famed saloon singer Bobby Short. A disintegrating, sepia artist's pad that once belonged to Mrs. Bendtsen's daughter, with one squiggly pencil drawing bearing a stern teacher's note and grade: F-plus.
One upstairs corner hosted a wheelchair covered with boxes of tiny plastic floral wreathes. Once used by Mrs. Bendtsen's quadriplegic nephew, the chair had a $60 price tag and the air of a prop from a film noir movie.
"It's like Baby Jane," whispered one woman, referring to the classic Bette Davis-Joan Crawford horror flick in which a deranged former child star torments her wheelchair-bound sister.
Beneath the grand staircase, a tiny utility closet held an array of handyman tools that Mrs. Bendtsen had spray-painted in her signature blue, a hue somewhere between a grimy Tiffany box and a dusty piece of Wedgwood china.
"She went through her blue period," Mr. Rousseau said, waving one of three blue pipe wrenches. "It's all part of the charm. Nobody else but Mary Ellen would have a blue sledgehammer."
She apparently had a gold phase as well. Sconces and candelabras, Catholic saints and crucifixes and even a beatific Buddha – all were spray-painted gold.
"To Mary Ellen, gold equaled elegance," said Mr. Rousseau, who lived across the street from Mrs. Bendtsen for years and knew her as a neighborhood character.
Some buyers moved methodically, wielding measuring tape and studying items with a calculating eye. Others wandered dreamily, intent on immersing themselves in Mrs. Bendtsen's bygone world.
One group of women who had taken the day off finally landed, exhausted, in the dining room after hours of hunting, comparing their finds as Cole Porter tunes warbled from a nearby CD player.
"I felt compelled to come," said Penny Booth of Van Alstyne, who was in line with two friends before 6 a.m. "I want a piece of something that reminds me of her. I wanted to go in and smell the house – that sounds crazy, but I wanted to go in and absorb it all."
Mrs. Bendtsen had a habit of clipping her name from calling cards and gluing it to the bottom of household items, so the women made a beeline for those.
Mrs. Booth beamed as she displayed her favorite, a china bulldog that bore not only Mrs. Bendtsen's stage name from her piano-playing days – Mary Ellen Logan – but also the distinctive tag: Neiman Marcus.
"This is worth $25!" she declared. "I'm beside myself!"
Park Cities real estate agent Cynthia Beaird bought nearly $6,000 in merchandise, including a grand piano, bookcases and a pencil drawing of Mrs. Bendtsen wearing a Mexican hat. She has a pending contract to purchase the house, and she said she was on a mission for items that were distinctly Mrs. Bendtsen's or historically important to the home.
The two antique dealers have tried to block the sale of the mansion. Lawyers for Mrs. Giron recently went to court to ask a judge to clear the way for the sale.
By day's end, Mr. Rousseau said nearly 975 people had come and gone, almost as many as he had expected during the three-day sale.
He and his sales staff planned to head to his house to recover with cocktails and central air conditioning. He had hauled in seven window air conditioners to cool the mansion, but it had still been a sweaty day's work.
Willetta Stellmacher, a longtime Lakewood resident, laughed about what her late friend might think. She bragged about her newly purchased Mary Ellen keepsakes – an alabaster clock and a book that included another friend who was once, like Mrs. Stellmacher, a professional dancer.
She paused in the foyer before leaving so a friend could take a snapshot of her.
"They were saying on TV this morning that Mary Ellen was once the toast of the town," Mrs. Stellmacher said. "That would make her so happy. She would be so thrilled that this is happening."
E-mail lhancock@dallasnews.com
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