30/08/2026
The woman Hollywood introduced as a Mexican born actress was actually Eunice Westmoreland, a Black woman from Miami who became Dona Drake. Her story reveals how race shaped opportunity in entertainment long before many of these systems were openly discussed.
Hollywood remembered the name Dona Drake. Her family knew Eunice Westmoreland.
Born on November 15, 1914, in Miami, Florida, Eunice was the daughter of Joseph Westmoreland, whose family roots traced to Arkansas, and Novella Smith Westmoreland, whose family came from Alabama. Census records from her family history show the complicated racial classifications used for Black and mixed ancestry families in America during that era.
Before audiences saw Dona Drake on movie screens, Eunice Westmoreland was already building a life around performance. She became a singer, dancer, and musician, eventually performing under names including Una Villon and Rita Rio before Hollywood settled on the name that would follow her for decades.
As Rita Rio, she was more than an actress waiting for a chance. She led an all female orchestra, toured, sang, danced, and proved that her talent extended far beyond the narrow roles Hollywood would later give her.
Then came Hollywood’s version of her story.
Studio publicity promoted Dona Drake with a different background, presenting her as Rita Novella, a Mexican born performer from Mexico City. The industry created a public image that separated her from the Black family history she was born into.
That change was not just a new stage name. In an America shaped by segregation and racial barriers, identity could influence who received opportunities, what roles were offered, and how audiences were allowed to understand a performer.
Hollywood wanted her talent, but it also wanted to decide how that talent should be presented.
Because of her appearance, dark curly hair, and features that studios considered “exotic,” Drake was often placed into roles that Hollywood labeled as Latina, Middle Eastern, Native, or other ethnic identities. Her own ancestry was pushed aside while her image was used to represent identities created for the screen.
She appeared in films including Road to Morocco, Aloma of the South Seas, The Girl from Jones Beach, Beyond the Forest, and Kansas City Confidential. Millions saw her performances, but many never knew the full story of the woman behind the name.
That is the contradiction at the center of Dona Drake’s life.
She was visible, but parts of her history were hidden.
She was celebrated, but the truth of her ancestry was treated as something that could be adjusted for public comfort.
Her story is not simply about a woman changing her name to succeed in Hollywood. Many performers have used stage names. Her story is about what happens when an industry does not only create a character for the screen, but creates a different version of the person behind it.
Eunice Westmoreland did not disappear because she lacked talent. She disappeared because the entertainment world found it easier to market Dona Drake than to tell the complete truth about Eunice.
That choice reflected a larger American pattern where Black performers were often welcomed for their ability while being denied the full recognition of who they were.
For Black audiences especially, her story carries a familiar question: how many people were not absent from history, but hidden inside someone else’s version of events?
Dona Drake’s films remain part of Hollywood’s archive. Her songs, performances, and photographs remain evidence of her work. But behind the stage lights was Eunice Westmoreland, a Black woman whose story deserves to stand beside the image Hollywood created.
The name Dona Drake made her famous. The name Eunice Westmoreland helps us understand what was taken out of the story.
