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* T A Y L O R O L O G Y *
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* A Continuing Exploration of the Life and Death of William Desmond Taylor *
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* *
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* Issue 68 -- August 1998 Editor: Bruce Long bruce@asu.edu *
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* TAYLOROLOGY may be freely distributed *
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CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE:
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Six Interviews with Buster Keaton
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Reporting the Taylor Murder: Day Seven
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What is TAYLOROLOGY?
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TAYLOROLOGY is a newsletter focusing on the life and death of William Desmond
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Taylor, a top Paramount film director in early Hollywood who was shot to
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death on February 1, 1922. His unsolved murder was one of Hollywood's major
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scandals. This newsletter will deal with: (a) The facts of Taylor's life;
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(b) The facts and rumors of Taylor's murder; (c) The impact of the Taylor
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murder on Hollywood and the nation; (d) Taylor's associates and the Hollywood
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silent film industry in which Taylor worked. Primary emphasis will be given
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toward reprinting, referencing and analyzing source material, and sifting it
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for accuracy.
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*****************************************************************************
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In 1992 there was a movie titled "Forever" which dramatized (or should we say
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fantasized) the William Desmond Taylor murder case. We had not mentioned it
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before, because the film was so utterly wretched. But a detailed review is
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available at http://www.tvgen.com/movies/mopic/pictures/36/36109.htm
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*****************************************************************************
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The broadcast dates for the 1998 episode of "Mysteries & Scandals" dealing
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with the Taylor murder, on the E! cable channel: June 8, 9, 10, and 14.
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Six Interviews with Buster Keaton
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In past issues of TAYLOROLOGY, we have reprinted interviews with silent
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film comedians Charlie Chaplin (issues 36, 46, 51), Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle
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(28), and Harold Lloyd (53). Some fans of Buster Keaton have requested that
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we also reprint Keaton interviews, so here are six of them, conducted between
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1920 and 1923.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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May 16, 1920
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Grace Kingsley
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LOS ANGELES TIMES
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Buster Bursts Into Stardom
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"I gotta do some sad scenes. Why, I never tried to make anybody cry in
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my life! And I go 'round all the time dolled up in kippie clothes--wear
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everything but a corset! Can't stub my toe in this picture nor anything!
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Just imagine having to play-act all the time without ever getting hit with
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anything!"
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It was Buster Keaton, bleating out his sorrows about portraying Bertie,
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the Lamb at Metro. He is appearing in "The New Henrietta," ["The Saphead"]
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prior to starting work on his new starring contract in comedies.
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"Don't know why they chose me for the part, anyhow, only I've got a
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blank pan. Saw a nice fluffy pie on the set the other day that would've
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looked good on the hero's face, but he got away just in time. Winchell Smith
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watches me all the time. He's the author, and he's afraid I'll do something
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all wrong. I had to be shaved in a scene, the other day, and Mr. Smith was
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scared to death. He thought I might try to get funny and eat the soap!
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Mr. Smith certainly does worry about me."
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From which it will be seen that the role of Bertie the Lamb does cramp
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Buster's style something awful!
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From war and playing in slapstick comedy with Fatty Arbuckle, both extra
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hazardous professions, Buster'll tell the world, he went smack into the
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regular drammy in "The New Henrietta." When I saw him the other day, he was
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all dolled up in his moonlights, but he says that when playing the regular
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drama gets him to feeling kind of numb, he goes over and does funny falls on
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Nazimova's high-brow set. That relieves him.
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"Fatty won't speak to me in these clothes," went on Buster, mournfully,
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"and neither will Luke, Fatty's dog. I'm losing all my friends. And on top
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of all this, I gotta do some love scenes."
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But there's a bit of consolation. Keaton has his top sergeant working
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for him now. The top sergeant he had over in France is his property boy now!
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Buster was in the war nine months, you know. Says he went over for a little
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peace and quiet, away from Fatty Arbuckle's studio. Just that he volunteered
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for service, crossed and got a decoration or so is neither here nor there.
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What he wanted was more peace than he could ever get in Fatty's studio, and
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he declares he got it too!
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But he never knew that when he came back he'd be called on to play a
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denatured character like Bertie the Lamb!
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However, the agony won't last much longer, because Buster has his own
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comedy company now, you know. He even has his first comedy all planned out.
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He says he's following Fatty Arbuckle's method, gets a plot first, then
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builds the picture, leaving all the plot out. He says it works fine. The
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first story is to be about a portable house and a young married couple, which
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certainly does sound like a jazzy combination for comedy.
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Being a star now, of course, makes everything about Buster Keaton
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interesting. Mere trifles like the color of his ties and what breed of car
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he runs are now raised to the dignity of themes for reams of press-agent
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stuff. Even the paper shortage won't stop it. And so, delving down into
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Buster's past, we find him as a youth a member of the Three Keatons. Maybe
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you remember him in vaudeville; anyhow, you'll try to.
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"Father didn't know what a stage whisper was," explained Buster, "and he
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was an awful kidder. Speaking of Mme. Nazimova, we traveled on the bill with
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her when she was playing 'War Brides.' I remember one day the famous lady
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was standing in the wings watching us, father peeped over at her, then at the
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stage manager beside her. 'You'll have to get Mme. Nazimova out of the
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wings,' he admonished the stage manager. 'She annoys us!' Mme. Nazimova
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laughed right along with the audience, too!"
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When Keaton came to town on one of his vaudeville tours, about four
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years ago, he heard that Roscoe Arbuckle needed a comedian and he went out to
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see the rotund star. Next day he started to work. But each had much to
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learn about the other.
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"The first day I worked in the picture comedy we were discussing the
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action.
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"'Shall I fall?' I asked innocently.
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"'If it comes natural,' they answered.
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"They threw a safe or something at me and it came natural to fall all
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right! But they didn't know what a nice little playmate they'd acquired.
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When a fight was staged that afternoon I cleaned out the bunch. After that
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we all got on beautifully together.
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"Oh, yes, and I gotta do some love scenes, too! And I never did make
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love before in my life. What? Oh, yes, of course, I mean before the camera.
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But, anyhow," and Buster loosened the Arrow collar around his neck, "but
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anyhow, the camera can't catch my blushes!"
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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December 1920
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Malcolm H. Oettinger
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PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
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Tumbling to Fame
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If you're a "big-time" vaudeville devotee you'll remember "The Three
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Keatons." You may not remember the name, but, if you ever saw them, you
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couldn't forget the big comedy Irishman who used to pick up his five-year-old
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son by the back of the coat collar and hurl him across the stage into the
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middle of the back drop.
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The animated football, known as "Buster" Keaton, and now grown up, is
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being featured in a new set of comedies about to be released by Metro.
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It was an easy step from the rough-and-tumble work of the vaudeville
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stage to screen comedies, and Buster is quite satisfied with the career for
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which he began in his infancy, for his first public appearance as a member of
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"The Three Keatons" was when, at the age of six weeks, he was carried onto
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the stage on a tray by his father! And Pa Keaton didn't wait any longer than
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necessary to begin making more vigorous use of his young son and heir as
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comedy material.
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"I've simply been brought up being knocked down," said the scion of the
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Keaton family, when I recently met him at the studio. "Pop's idea of comedy
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was to throw me through every backdrop on the Keith circuit, and I'll bet
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I've taken more punishment in the way of being used as a human mop than Bat
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Nelson, Ad Wolgast, and Jim Jeffries combined. The funny part of it is that
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I like it. Las month I did my first--and only--straight part in 'The
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Henrietta'--the Bertie part--and between you and me, it was a bore. There
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weren't any falls, and for me a picture without falls is as bad as Niagara in
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the same fix."
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Keaton really prefers slapstick to straight comedy.
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"It's harder work than the 'dressed-up drama,' but I get a much bigger
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kick out of it. I don't act, anyway. The stuff is all injected as we go
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along. My pictures are made without script or written directions of any
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kind. We simply figure out enough story to build sets around, then we pull
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our gags and 'quick stuff' in the set as we happen on the ideas. After we
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feel that we've shot enough to make about six pictures, we assemble it, rip
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out whatever is left of the 'story'--and make one picture out of what's left.
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That means an enormous lot of work. This picture with the trick scaffold in
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it that I'm working on now is called, 'It's a Cinch!' But take it from me,
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the title-writer is a liar. It ISN'T!"
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Buster tumbled into the movies by way of the Arbuckle chuckle foundry,
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where he fitted in harmoniously with Roscoe and jumping Al St. John. Then
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Fatty eased into what Pa Keaton's boy calls the "dressed-up" drama, and the
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young knockabout comic sought other fields. "Vaudeville has given you all of
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this acrobatic training," I said. "Tell me--what have the movies given you?"
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"A touring car and a cottage smothered in flowers!"
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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October 1921
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Wilis Goldbeck
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MOTION PICTURE
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Only Three Weeks
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"Silence is of the gods; only monkeys chatter."
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I sat once in a famous theater in the London Haymarket, and heard that
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proverb drip from the oily tongue of an aged Chinese philosopher. It
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glittered for the moment on the surface of my mind and then sank into the
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depths; depths termed by a recently famous philosopher and theorist, the
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Unconscious.
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I sat, not very long ago, in Wonderful Harry's restaurant, opposite the
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Metro Studio, in Hollywood, beside Buster Keaton, a recently famous comedian,
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and that proverb, lost for two years or more, rose again, uninvited, to the
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surface of my mind. If silence be of the gods, I thought, then Buster's
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middle name is Zeus.
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I had come to interview him upon his marriage with Natalie Talmadge, a
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marriage, then, of just three weeks' duration. My first conclusion was that
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whatever else Natalie might suffer from, it would never be from "gab," Buster
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simply hasn't the gift.
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But there are certain limits overstepping which virtues suddenly find
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themselves vices. I've an idea that the gold of Buster's silence would
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quickly turn to dross if, when he finally does open his lips, he didn't
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inevitably spill wisdom, or something sounding so deceptively like it that
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the uncritical ear can accept it without question, and find sustenance in it
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of sufficient substance to carry it over the next impelling gap of silence.
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I was introduced to Buster and he squeezed my hand, gentle enough.
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I was told to have a seat in Buster's dressing room, and I took one.
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Buster concentrated his attention upon removing his make-up, allowing himself
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a furtive stare in my direction now and then, but saying nothing.
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I continued to sit.
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Three or four jovial henchmen then burst in to help create the
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confidential atmosphere so necessary to revelation of marital secrets.
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Buster continued to maintain his enormous silence, but he paused in his
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business of cleaning up to join in a jig, started by one of his jovial
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henchmen. He shuffled and jumped there, silently, his face never altering a
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hair's breath from its habitual solemnity. It was grotesque. He might have
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been a marionette jerking on the end of his strings. But presently the three
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or four stout ones, hunger overcoming them, lumbered off in the direction of
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the restaurant. For the moment there was only Buster, his publicity man,
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and I.
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"It's too soon yet to say anything," Buster's voice coming so suddenly,
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seemed tremendous. "I've only been married three weeks."
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"Three weeks!" I murmured. "Where have I heard that before? It seems
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to recall tiger skins. And, yes, I believe that there was a lady, Elinor,
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who found that much could happen in three weeks." I only murmured it, and
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Buster was concerned with the birth of an epigram. He finally delivered it.
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"Marriage is fine as an institution, but bad as a habit."
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And later: "I shall never join the 'Why, dear' club. You know how it
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is. A man comes home late. Wife asks him where he was. He starts to
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stammer an explanation. 'Why, dear, you see I--' No, I shall never join the
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'Why dear' club."
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From all of which it may be gathered that Buster is an old-fashioned
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husband. He has issued the pronunciamento that Natalie shall not work again
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before the camera; and Natalie probably won't.
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Buster is an individual. His silence, his solemnness, set him
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distinctly apart. I had been told that off the screen he was quite
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different, animated, smiling, even laughing, most of the time. He who told
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me had met him in the hospital where he was recovering from a broken leg.
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Perhaps it takes hospitals, or something equally as lugubrious, to make him
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laugh. He didn't even grin that afternoon.
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His eyes have something of a basilisk quality about them, as much as
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brown eyes can. He keeps them half concealed under their lids, so that they
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seem expressionless.
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He is small but for all that an athlete. There seems to be no ill
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effect from his broken leg. He sustained it when a bit of revolving
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machinery on a complicated set went wrong.
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His romance with Natalie Talmadge started five years ago. Despite the
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hints and rumors of possible disaster that immediately preceded the marriage
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--it was said that a rival for Natalie's hand had appeared and threatened to
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oust Buster from her affection--there was never any question in Natalie's
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mind. The only hope for the rival, a wealthy merchant, lay in his own mind.
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Natalie, when she was secretary for the Fatty Arbuckle company, out here in
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California, had admitted her love for Buster. Then he was playing in support
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of Fatty. They decided to wait, before committing themselves to any vows,
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until Buster had himself achieved his own company, and made it an assured
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success. He had accomplished that when he sent his famous wire to Palm
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Beach, Fla., asking Natalie to marry him. Her monosyllabic acceptance, just
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a plain "Yes," was enough for Buster. As soon as his leg had mended so that
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he could hobble about with a stick, he took a train for the East.
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One of the most interesting and least mentioned features of the Keaton-
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Talmadge marriage is that it completes what is perhaps the most powerful
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oligarchy in pictures today. There are Norma, Constance and Natalie. Norma
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is the wife of Joseph Schenck. Schenck's influence is far more reaching than
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those unfamiliar with the film world ever dream. Norma is at the peak of her
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career now. Constance is still rising. Buster has just begun. They are all
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world-famous, all earners of fabulous salaries. It is quite certain that in
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aggregate wealth they outstrip even the famous Pickford-Fairbanks combine.
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It is doubtful whether they equal the former Pickford-Moore family, as it was
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before divorce and tragedy rent it asunder. That will probably stand for all
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time as the greatest combination in filmdom, both in aggregate earnings and
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world fame.
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Buster, who before his marriage was making comedies for the Metro
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Pictures Corporation, has now definitely aligned himself with his sisters-in-
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law, Norma and Constance, as a First National star. He has signed a contract
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which calls for eight pictures a year for a period of three years.
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So far, though, it is quite true that only three weeks have elapsed at
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the time of this writing, the Keaton barque has traveled through quiet,
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untroubled waters. For the nonce, Buster and Natalie have come to anchor in
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a beautiful residence in Beverly Hills, which Buster had provided for his
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bride before he went East to fetch her.
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It is not a venturesome prediction to say that Buster's phlegm will
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probably prove a worthy sea anchor through whatever storms the two may be
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destined to pass. Silence is like a rock. Rages break over it impotently.
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I'm not hinting, either, that Natalie's rages are frequent. But she will be
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an unusual wife if she doesn't have at least one.
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Between mouthfuls--we had long since followed the four jovial ones to
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the lunch table--Buster paused to remark solemnly: "The marriage bond is like
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an elastic. You can stretch it a lot, but the one who stretches it too far
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always gets the snap-back."
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And again: "Marriage--nothing can compare with it, not even the
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straight-jacket."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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October 8, 1922
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Gertrude Chase
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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Buster Keaton Can Smile and Yawn, Too, If He Wishes
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A small dark man stepped from the elevator at the Hotel Ambassador
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looking as solemn as an owl, which is the old-fashioned way of saying as
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solemn as Buster Keaton, for it was none other than the man without a smile.
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He followed us into the reception room and sat down with the
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deliberation of a patient setting himself in a dentist's chair.
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Then he surprised us with a smile that would rank highly with any we
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have ever seen.
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"You really can smile," we exclaimed, and realized at once that the
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remark was in the class with the one made upon meeting twins and saying, "How
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often you must be mistaken for each other."
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Buster did not reply, he suppressed a yawn and taking our cure, we asked
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him about New York night life.
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"Terrible," he answered. "I haven't missed a night at the theatre.
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Then there are the races and now the World Series, no wonder I'm under
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weight.
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"We are seeing as many plays as we can with a view toward getting a new
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picture for Constance. The one I would like to see her do is 'Kiki,' but it
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may be hard to get."
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Mrs. Buster, Natalie, the youngest of the three Talmadges, it seems has
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no desire to go back into pictures. She is busy taking care of her four-
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months old son. Expressing a wish to see the baby, we were told that he was
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airing on Park Avenue and that we could find him when we went out.
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"You can't miss him, he looks just like me," said the proud father. "He
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has a black buggy and a white nurse."
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The conversation turned to Buster Keaton's own childhood when, as the
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little boy of the vaudeville act known as the "Three Keatons," he kept the
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Gerry Society anxious because they couldn't find a bruise on him, although he
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was tossed expertly about the stage in a way that made the audience hurt.
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"I got so used to it that I took my clothes off every time I saw an
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officer. We had the roughest act on the boards and used to play at old
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Hammerstein's so often that we kept a set of props there.
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"By the way, how is Sam McKee, of the Telegraph? He used to be a great
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friend of ours." We told him of the funny little picture of him given us by
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Mr. McKee, showing him in the make-up of an old Irishman, the duplicate of
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that worn by his dad, and he laughed at the memory of his own quaint little
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figure.
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It was while playing vaudeville alone that he got his first opportunity
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to go into pictures. That was only five years ago and in that time they have
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become so popular that the time has come for Buster to be seen in a feature
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comedy, which he intends to start work on when he returns to California.
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Speaking of the material for his two-reel pictures, Keaton said that his
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scenarios were usually on postal cards.
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"Ideas just come to us as we go along, for instance, in 'The Boat' I got
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the idea from an actual occurrence. The manager of a theatre on the old
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canal at Utica built himself a swell cruiser in the cellar of the theatre and
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had to knock out a side of the theatre to get it into the water.
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"In comedy, like any other kind of picture, you have to do stuff that
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will be appreciated outside of New York and Chicago. In big cities the
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people are sophisticated enough to understand travesty and the more subtle
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bits of humor, but they don't get over elsewhere. Comedy is best when it
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rouses the curiosity of the audience. As an example of the kind of thing I
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mean, take this situation. A man sees a pretty girl get into one of those
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'Old Mill' boats in Coney Island. He gets in the same boat and it passes out
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of the picture, the action progresses with no sign of the boat for many feet
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of film, when it reappears the man has a black eye and other damages. It is
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simple, but there is nothing that requires more knowledge and has a greater
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number of rules or technical stunts than comedy slapstick or the other kind."
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Born and reared in his work, Buster Keaton gives you the impression of
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knowing it thoroughly from the ground up. He is becoming more in demand as a
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comedian every year, and if there is one thing the screen needs it is this
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kind of entertainment well done by people who understand it.
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In parting, we asked him if he had any statement to make to the great
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American public. To our surprise, he rose and said: "I certainly have," with
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all the conviction in the world.
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This was more than we had expected.
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"Yes, yes, what is it?" we asked, all a-twitter.
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"I hope the Yanks win," said Buster.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 1923
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Malcolm H. Oettinger
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PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
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Low Comedy as a High Art
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For a long time it was considered a breach of critical etiquette, if
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there be such a thing, to write of any one engaged in such a lowly sphere as
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that of comedy. It was little short of lese majesty to strum one's lyre in
|
|
praise of such funny fellows as Fred Mace, John Bunny, Mack Swain, and the
|
|
then blooming Chaplin. Some few did it: venturesome souls, but as a general
|
|
thing it was discouraged.
|
|
Times, capriciously enough, have changed. Today Charlot is hymned by
|
|
the literati and the cognoscenti, the beautiful and the damning. The mere
|
|
mention of his name is sufficient to start a feverish discussion in the
|
|
highest circles, even including the well-known vicious one at the Algonquin.
|
|
The critics have decided that the abominable movies have produced something
|
|
worth while in this harlequin of the mustachios and baggy trousers.
|
|
Five years hence they will discover Buster Keaton.
|
|
In writing of the leading drolls of the flittering photos, it is
|
|
tempting to take a leaf from Eugene Field's "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," for
|
|
it is conceded, almost without question, that the preeminent names today are
|
|
Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. The methods of the three are utterly unlike.
|
|
Each leads an individual School of the Snicker.
|
|
The comedy of Chaplin is most often elusive, bordering on the serious if
|
|
not the tragic. Nothing more typical can be instanced than his moment of
|
|
contemplation beside the manhole, in "The Kid"--an amazing commingling of
|
|
pathos and humor. In an earlier two-reeler, "The Bank," the great comedian
|
|
also officiated at the wedding of smile and tear. It is characteristic of
|
|
Chaplin to appeal to philosophers as well as to flappers.
|
|
We laugh with Lloyd, but we laugh at Keaton. These two may better be
|
|
compared than Lloyd and Chaplin or Keaton and Chaplin, because Charlie is so
|
|
infinitely superior, amusing though the other pair are. Neither Keaton nor
|
|
Lloyd attempt to reach your funny bone through your heart: they openly tickle
|
|
you. For this reason, most of all, perhaps they are not in Chaplin's class.
|
|
For Chaplin has always stood alone.
|
|
Many of Harold Lloyd's pictures have whole slices played in straight
|
|
comedy vein. Keaton is rarely heroic; at such fleeting times he invariably
|
|
makes a swift and laughter-grafting turn to grotesquerie. Buster's stuff
|
|
borders on the realm of burlesque; Lloyd at times suggests a Willie Collier
|
|
of the shadow stage. His is the school sponsored by Sidney Drew, embellished
|
|
with quips and quirks and occasional stunts that are solely Lloyd's.
|
|
Originality marks the method of all leaders, and certainly this is true of
|
|
Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
|
|
"That's the one thing that I dread," Buster told me sadly. "I dread the
|
|
day when we won't find another new wheeze to wrap up, when all the gags will
|
|
have been sprung, when we're stumped for something new. That's what a
|
|
comedian has to guard against: running out. That is why Charlie Chaplin
|
|
makes his pictures so slowly. I know as a matter of fact that he takes
|
|
thousands of feet of film on every picture, only to destroy it when he sees
|
|
it in the projection room. And this carefulness is just what helps to make
|
|
him a great artist."
|
|
Keaton is master of snicker and guffaw technique. His art is to work up
|
|
a situation deliberately, to build it as logically and as systematically as a
|
|
carpenter builds a house. Gags, Buster told me, are natural or mechanical.
|
|
"Both get laughs," he explained, "but the natural gag is the one we lay awake
|
|
nights trying to dream of." And it is the mechanical gag that Keaton has
|
|
mastered.
|
|
Take the situation in "The Boat," where, after having built a boat, he
|
|
finds that he has not made the doorway large enough, and consequently, as the
|
|
boat slides to the water, it pulls the shed down with it. Take the situation
|
|
in "One Week." Buster has ordered a Sears-Roebuck bungalow for his bride-to-
|
|
be. The wicked rival mixes the numerals on the various parts, and the comedy
|
|
ensues when Buster attempts to assemble the jazzed sections.
|
|
This is mechanically perfect giggle material. But though one of the
|
|
most adroit technicians of comedy. Buster fails to reach the heart, his
|
|
pictures elude the sympathy.
|
|
It seems consistent to endow Chaplin with massive intellect, to read
|
|
sermons into his capering feet. It is fairly simple to sympathize with the
|
|
lovesick Harold Lloyd, upon occasion. But Keaton alone stands forth as the
|
|
Trouper--unabashed, unaffected, unassuming, and--very like Shaw's Undershaft
|
|
--unashamed!
|
|
"We just wrap up a little hokum," he will tell you. "We build up a
|
|
little story on some sure-fire idea, throw in a dozen gags, if we can think
|
|
of 'em, and let 'er ride. The scenario we use is written on the
|
|
correspondence end of a picture post card. If it's lost its no great
|
|
matter."
|
|
You cannot read hidden motifs into the Keaton spoolings. You cannot
|
|
persuade him that there was a hint of satire concealed in his last comedy, or
|
|
the one before that. You cannot coerce him into admitting that he planned an
|
|
unique characterization which he has steadfastly maintained. He will take
|
|
credit for nothing. Not even his make-up.
|
|
"The pancake hat and the oversized collar and the misfit suit and the
|
|
slapstick shoes are my old vaudeville stand-bys. My father rigged me out as
|
|
a third of The Three Keatons, when I was too young to 'originate' anything
|
|
but a yowl! I've kept the same make-up ever since--guess I always will."
|
|
Solemnity is more than a habit with Keaton; it's ingrown. Throughout
|
|
our conversation his face was stony. Nor was this an exception to his usual
|
|
attitude. I have seen him in the turmoil of a comic sequence, a business of
|
|
break-away ladders, swinging ropes, and trapdoor scaffoldings; I have seen
|
|
him eyeing the proceedings at one of Manhattan's most energizing nights
|
|
clubs; I have seen him purring at his baby in father-like fashion; I have
|
|
seen him casually viewing the day's rushes, and upon not one but all of these
|
|
occasions Buster wore an expression that was infinitely more sphinxlike than
|
|
the Sphinx ever thought of being. His is an entirely emotionless face,
|
|
suggesting most of all, a mask. It is the ideal phiz for a droll pantaloon.
|
|
"You originated the idea of never smiling," I supposed.
|
|
But Buster refused to take credit for it. In the days of The Three
|
|
Keatons, it seems, his father taught him never to crack a smile. The habit
|
|
grew on him. Now it is so deeply rooted that it is almost impossible for him
|
|
to grin.
|
|
It has long been one of the beliefs of the American Credo that all
|
|
comedians are, off stage, lugubrious fellows, and never was a truth more
|
|
apparent than in the appearance and behavior of Buster Keaton. His
|
|
countenance is little short of funereal, his speech laconic, his outlook none
|
|
too sanguine.
|
|
"Next I'm going back to the Coast to do a five-reel picture. No plots,
|
|
you know. Just gags. But we'll space our laughs. If we ran five reels of
|
|
the sort of stuff we cram into two, the audience would be tired before it was
|
|
half over. So we'll plant the characters more slowly, use introductory bits,
|
|
and all that.
|
|
"It'll be just as easy to make a five-reeler, because we always take
|
|
about fifteen reels, anyway. Now we'll cut to five instead of two."
|
|
Buster thinks "One Week" his best comedy, but he admits he had hoped to
|
|
make "The Playhouse" his best. In that clever picture, he essayed a dozen or
|
|
more roles. He had intended doing all of the parts, but his ego failed him
|
|
at the crucial moment.
|
|
Despite the fact that he is one of the big drawing cards, often featured
|
|
in the lights and billed above the longer picture of the program, Keaton has
|
|
assumed no airs, adopted no pose. He denied that he made a preparation for a
|
|
picture. He denied that he planned his plots. Try as you will, you cannot
|
|
convince him that he is anything more than a trouper who manages to give 'em
|
|
what they like. It is useless to talk to him of psychological effects.
|
|
"It's hokum," said Buster definitely and positively. "And by draping it
|
|
in different styles you disguise it and bring results each time."
|
|
According to his lights, it is simply a case of old gags in new
|
|
clothing. But if this were so, there would be more Keatons. Unfortunately
|
|
enough, there aren't.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
October 21, 1923
|
|
Dorothy Day
|
|
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
|
|
|
|
Buster Keaton Can Smile After Business Hours
|
|
|
|
I went to interview Buster Keaton with one ambition in mind--I would
|
|
make him smile just to see if he could. He can. He favored me with a broad
|
|
grin, upon our introduction. Maybe he thought I was funny, but that's
|
|
another story. The comedian makes a business of never smiling during his
|
|
films. When he was asked why he said that he didn't consider his work any
|
|
joke. He has acquired the habit of keeping his face immobile only through
|
|
years of study, and it is perhaps because of this very trait that the Keaton
|
|
face has become famous. At least that is one of the reasons.
|
|
It was difficult to make him say anything. I never saw anybody so
|
|
unwilling to talk. This is a characteristic which Buster must find very
|
|
helpful on lost of occasions. Anyway, being a star of the silent drama seems
|
|
to have its effect. Well, after we sat quite still for a few moments I
|
|
decided to ask him how he liked the baseball games. He came on for the
|
|
especial purpose of viewing the world series and so it was not amiss to
|
|
imagine that he would want to say something about it.
|
|
"Oh, the games," said Mr. Keaton, "they were fine."
|
|
"Were you satisfied with the outcome of them?" said I.
|
|
"Sure," replied Buster. "I bet on the Yanks."
|
|
"Did you win much?"
|
|
"Not much; a couple of dinners and the tickets."
|
|
That seemed to conclude the conversation so far as he was concerned.
|
|
"When are you going back to Los Angeles?" I ventured next.
|
|
I knew all the time that he was leaving in the afternoon of the same
|
|
day, but it made something to say.
|
|
"This afternoon," and Buster considered that settled.
|
|
"You will be glad to get back, I suppose."
|
|
"Yes." It seemed that he agreed with me on that subject too.
|
|
Buster fumbled for his watch, and I thought he was about to commit the
|
|
deadly sin of looking at it, but he had no such idea in mind. Attached to
|
|
the other end of the watch chain was a little platinum locket. Silently he
|
|
opened it and presented it to me.
|
|
A cherubic face smiled out at me. It was Buster Keaton, Jr. "Does he
|
|
look like you?" I ventured.
|
|
"Exactly," Buster assured me. It was the first display of enthusiasm.
|
|
"I thought so," said I as I handed him back the locket, assuring him it
|
|
was the loveliest picture of a child I had ever seen.
|
|
That must have made a hit with Buster, for right away he began to take
|
|
more of an interest in the interview.
|
|
The next time I interview anybody who seems to not care much about it I
|
|
am going to ask straight away if he happens to have a picture of his baby
|
|
with him. If he has I'll know what to do, and if he hasn't I'm going to
|
|
consider myself out of luck.
|
|
Mr. Keaton then proceeded to divulge some secret about the making of
|
|
comedy pictures. It seems they have no script at all. "You could write the
|
|
whole plot on a post card," said he, "we do the rest." So far as I could
|
|
understand the making of comedies is very much like the juvenile sport of
|
|
"playin' theatre." You don't know just what you'll do until you do it.
|
|
"The director, a couple of scenario writers and I sit around and discuss
|
|
a scene. That is how the gags are made," said Mr. Keaton. "Then we shoot
|
|
the scene. Lots of things develop during the actual taking of the picture
|
|
which we hadn't thought out at all."
|
|
Having learned all there seemed to be to learn about the simple process
|
|
of making comedies I asked him if he ever thought of confining his activities
|
|
to the more serious drama. Did he have any secret longing to play Hamlet or
|
|
Macbeth?
|
|
Buster hadn't. He looked disapprovingly at me for the mere suggestion
|
|
of such a thing. I don't believe he cares much about the two gentlemen in
|
|
question.
|
|
"I would like to play 'Merton of the Movies' thought," he said. Then
|
|
somebody said something which struck Buster as humorous and he smiled a
|
|
broader smile than I thought him capable of.
|
|
"How," said I, "do you keep from laughing during the filming of your
|
|
pictures, or don't you believe in laughing at your own jokes?"
|
|
"It is hard sometimes," he confided. "I particularly remember one time
|
|
in Philadelphia, where I went to attend the opening of one of the Loew
|
|
theatres. We paraded up and down the streets in automobiles and I had on my
|
|
serious expression. Lots of little kids yelled, 'Why don't yer give us a
|
|
smile. Somebody tickle him and make him laugh,' and so on, and it was hard
|
|
that time not to burst right out laughing."
|
|
Then we came back to the subject of Buster, Jr., again. He appeared in
|
|
Buster, Sr.'s last picture, "Hospitality." It was his debut as a screen
|
|
actor. Incidentally, father and mother Keaton appeared in the same picture
|
|
with son Buster, and Natalie was in it, too, making three generations of
|
|
Keatons in the one offering.
|
|
"He's a great kid," said Buster, Sr., proudly. "And there's a vacant
|
|
space in the other side of the locket, you may have noticed. I'm reserving
|
|
that."
|
|
"Well, he sure is a lovely kid," I reiterated, first because I really
|
|
meant it and secondly because the subject of the baby seemed to be a common
|
|
bond of interest.
|
|
"He sure is," Buster agreed, and it was plain to be seen there was no
|
|
argument there.
|
|
"Well," I chirped, "know any more jokes?"
|
|
It was inopportune and Buster noticed it. He actually laughed, but loud
|
|
this time. "What do you think of that; I show her the baby's picture and she
|
|
asks me do I know any more jokes."
|
|
Evidently I had made an unforeseen nifty, but we laughed that off and
|
|
everything was fine.
|
|
Keaton left for Los Angeles last week and expects to begin work on a new
|
|
picture soon. What it will be about he hasn't an idea, but between you and
|
|
me and the rest of the world I'll bet it will be funny.
|
|
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Reporting the Taylor Murder: Day Seven
|
|
|
|
Below are some highlights of the press reports published in the seventh day
|
|
after Taylor's body was discovered.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
Walter Anthony
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO BULLETIN
|
|
Los Angeles--There is genuine sympathy here for Mabel Normand, whose
|
|
connection with the William Desmond Taylor murder has brought her a deal of
|
|
irreparable damage through undesirable publicity. That the diminutive actress
|
|
heroine of "Mickey" and sole excuse for "Molly O," had anything to do directly
|
|
or indirectly with the death of Taylor is unthinkable; the police are not even
|
|
investigating that possibility, but that she visited Taylor just before his
|
|
death and was the last person, probably, to converse with him, is the sum of
|
|
her offense out of which millions of damaging words are spun.
|
|
The discovery of a pink nightgown in the apartments of Taylor is
|
|
announced. Its "identity" is stated in the papers to have been established,
|
|
and the excited reader is assured that the police know it to be the garment
|
|
and property of a "certain nationally-known film star." The public draws its
|
|
own conclusions, encouraged into error by the fact that the article is
|
|
published next to one in which Miss Normand is interviewed. The assumption
|
|
follows erroneously, that the "nightie" is Miss Normand's.
|
|
These veiled accounts, printed intimations and curiosity-begetting rumors
|
|
are vicious in their implications and, if they be not stopped, will possibly
|
|
damage Miss Normand's professional career to an extent that can hardly be
|
|
estimated.
|
|
That police have under rigid investigation a "certain nationally-known
|
|
film star" is certain, and I know the young lady's name; but nothing has been
|
|
definitely scored against her as yet. The newspaper writers in honestly
|
|
seeking to protect her against a cruelly false accusation have unwittingly
|
|
permitted the spirit and nature of their stories to cast a hideous aspersion
|
|
on an actress whose only offense was a deep friendliness for the director and
|
|
an inability, apparently, to come to a proper appraisal of the character of a
|
|
man who abandoned his wife and his baby many years ago.
|
|
The pitiful fact concerning Miss Normand's desperately unfortunate
|
|
position is that readers of the daily press, sure of their own genius for
|
|
solving mystery, place their damnable suspicions on her and will reluctantly
|
|
admit--that being the quality of all detective minds--they were wrong.
|
|
Meanwhile, at this writing, the detective force of Los Angeles is working
|
|
on the theory that the undue intimacy which they declare existed between
|
|
Taylor and "a certain nationally known film star" was the immediate cause of
|
|
the murder. That there was this intimacy has been positively asserted by men
|
|
engaged in the tragic task of finding the author of the tragedy.
|
|
Of course, the film-folk are busy trying to minimize the effect the story
|
|
may exert on the industry, and some are seeking, unwisely, I think, to persist
|
|
in assertions of the innocence and beauty of the character of the murdered
|
|
man, ignoring the very obvious fact that men of high probity do not run away
|
|
and abandon without a word a wife and daughter.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
CHICAGO JOURNAL
|
|
Los Angeles--...In Miss Minter's contract--already famed for its clause
|
|
that she must not marry--is another unusual clause which states that every
|
|
film must be passed upon by her mother. Wherein, say further those who here
|
|
claim to know, was the reason that in the latest Realart release in which Miss
|
|
Minter stars, an adaption of "Tillie, the Mennonite Maid," she is once more
|
|
dressed in the softer garb of girlhood.
|
|
"Mary Minter's mother always held she was 'too young for love'," one
|
|
actress commented here today. "She brought her up to be very exclusive. She
|
|
was reported once last year to be engaged to Tom Dixon of New York. She wore
|
|
his ring, but nothing ever came of it. Mary, to the rest of us, has always
|
|
been 'holier than thou.'"
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES RECORD
|
|
Mary Miles Minter is Near Break-Down
|
|
|
|
Mary Miles Minter today was closely guarded by private detectives whom
|
|
she had stationed at her beautiful Spanish casita, 2039 North Hobart
|
|
boulevard, to keep away reporters and the merely curious. Miss Minter,
|
|
according to reports from her house, is in a very nervous condition and has
|
|
not been able to sleep for two nights. She was in conference with her mother,
|
|
several friends and her attorney, John R. Mott. Expensive limousines lined
|
|
the street for half a block. All correspondents who attempted to gain
|
|
admission were turned back by the guards.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES RECORD
|
|
...A fight to save the professional reputation of Mary Miles Minter,
|
|
movie star, whose name has been dragged into the William D. Taylor murder
|
|
mystery, was started today by her friends here.
|
|
Hollywood's financiers, dealt a severe blow in the Arbuckle case, are
|
|
resolved that no more screen prestige in which thousands of dollars have been
|
|
invested shall be lost.
|
|
Magnates determined to preserve Miss Minter's screen popularity met with
|
|
attorneys at her home.
|
|
Behind drawn curtains while private detectives stood guard to keep
|
|
outsiders away the conference continued during the night and up until and
|
|
early hour this morning...
|
|
The son of a multi-millionaire eastern family may be arrested in
|
|
connection with the murder of Taylor within the next day or two.
|
|
His arrest will occur if county detectives can find a few necessary bits
|
|
of corroborative evidence to support the theory already partly borne out by
|
|
recent discoveries.
|
|
The man who is suspected of knowing something about the mysterious
|
|
assassination of the prominent picture director is now in Los Angeles under
|
|
close surveillance.
|
|
He came to this city, according to report, because of his admiration of a
|
|
certain prominent woman movie star, whose name is among those mentioned as
|
|
friends of the dead director.
|
|
He was accredited by mutual acquaintances with being insanely jealous of
|
|
the girl, although she, it appears, had never given him very much
|
|
encouragement. Matrimony was his object, it is believed.
|
|
Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz confirmed the supposition that the
|
|
sheriff's office is working on the theory that the murder was committed by
|
|
some admirer of an actress and not by Edward F. Sands, former secretary of
|
|
Taylor.
|
|
Captain David L. Adams, head of the police detective squad that is trying
|
|
to solve the murder, still hold firmly to the theory that with the capture of
|
|
Sands the murder will be explained. Police are concentrating on the task of
|
|
finding the secretary...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXPRESS
|
|
A conspiracy of silence intended to thwart police investigation; the
|
|
assurance of immunity for Edward F. Sands on a felony charge; the asserted
|
|
career of the alleged slayer; entry of the federal government into the probe;
|
|
the grilling of witnesses and the widespread probing of new and secret
|
|
evidence featured developments in the mystery surrounding the slaying of
|
|
William D. Taylor today...
|
|
Sands, the man whom Police Captain David L. Adams is confident is
|
|
responsible for the slaying of Taylor, today invited the fugitive to
|
|
communicate with police headquarters and eliminate himself from the case if he
|
|
is not guilty.
|
|
"Sands will not be prosecuted on the grand larceny charge now pending
|
|
against him," Captain Adams said. "He can't be. The complaining witness in
|
|
that case--Taylor--is dead. That case could never come to trial.
|
|
"If Sands is innocent, all he has to do is to notify me and prove his
|
|
whereabouts on the night of the murder. If he can explain his movements
|
|
successfully he will be released. We don't want him..."
|
|
That there is an apparent plot afoot to prevent the true facts in the
|
|
case from coming to light was corroborated today by Undersheriff Eugene
|
|
Biscailuz.
|
|
"To date practically every source of possible information has proved a
|
|
blank wall as far as the investigation is concerned," he said. "Plenty of red-
|
|
hot information has been obtained by this office, but it has been wormed and
|
|
ferreted out from various sources where it should have been forthcoming from
|
|
persons who know.
|
|
"There is to be no further patience shown these persons who have been
|
|
extended every courtesy and given every opportunity to tell what they know.
|
|
Those who have facts which should be known to this office must 'come clean.'
|
|
Sheriff Traeger will brook no more of these petty delays and unwillingness on
|
|
the part of those who apparently have reached a unanimous decision to thwart
|
|
the efforts of officers of the law interested in seeing that justice be
|
|
done."...
|
|
It seemed today that activities for the time being would center at county
|
|
headquarters where, under the personal direction of Sheriff William I.
|
|
Traeger, Deputies Al Manning and Harvey Bell are working night and day in
|
|
their efforts to bring the slayer to justice.
|
|
Three men have been under suspicion by these officers for the past two
|
|
days. One of them may be arrested today. It was definitely stated by the
|
|
sheriff's office that steps would be taken to charge one of them with
|
|
complicity, at least, in the crime.
|
|
This assertion dovetails with intimation that Taylor was the victim of a
|
|
sinister plot in which many persons well known to the public are more or less
|
|
involved. It is whispered that before the investigation is concluded a
|
|
startling list of names will be bandied about as co-conspirators in the
|
|
slaying of the noted director.
|
|
Shortly after 9 o'clock deputies were dispatched to look for the one of
|
|
the trio said to have full knowledge of the murder and to collect further
|
|
evidence relative to the asserted conspiracy...
|
|
Sand's connection with the case has proved the bone of contention between
|
|
various officials working on the mystery. The police department, practically
|
|
to a man, are inclined to believe him guilty of the murder.
|
|
Representatives of the sheriff's office take a diametrically opposite
|
|
view. There is nothing in the evidence thus far disclosed which would connect
|
|
the former secretary with the crime, they say.
|
|
But Chief Deputy District Attorney William C. Doran is of the opinion
|
|
Sands is the man and as a result a formal complaint charging him with the
|
|
crime may be issued today. The district attorney's office has Detective
|
|
Sergeants Contreras and King working on the case since it was first opened and
|
|
they are in possession of certain facts that warrant such procedure, they say.
|
|
All of the officers working on the case, however, are proceeding with
|
|
"open" minds and are accepting each clue at its face value. They were also
|
|
busy today searching for a new figure in the tangle--a man said to have been
|
|
deeply in love with a prominent motion picture actress mentioned in connection
|
|
with the case.
|
|
This man was seen in the vicinity of the Taylor home a few days prior to
|
|
the murder and is said to be similar in build and general appearance to the
|
|
man seen lurking about the Alvarado street residence on the night of the
|
|
slaying.
|
|
The "mystery woman" interjected into the case late yesterday at the
|
|
sheriff's office was also scheduled to make a second appearance today. Her
|
|
identity has been closely guarded and the nature of her testimony has been
|
|
withheld.
|
|
According to Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz, however, she is of the
|
|
"utmost importance' to the ultimate unraveling of the mystery...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
LONG BEACH PRESS
|
|
A new figure was drawn within the scope of investigation in the William
|
|
Desmond Taylor murder case today, when operatives of the district attorney's
|
|
office made efforts to question one of the biggest independent figures in the
|
|
motion picture business, it was learned by United Press.
|
|
This man, recently divorced, was said to have been madly in love with an
|
|
actress who apparently held Taylor in higher esteem than she did the man now
|
|
being questioned.
|
|
The man under surveillance was the only one of the half dozen biggest men
|
|
in the picture game in Hollywood who did not attend Mr. Taylor's funeral
|
|
yesterday, investigators said.
|
|
He is reported to have proposed marriage on numerous occasions to the
|
|
actress whose silken nightgown police detectives assert they found in Taylor's
|
|
home shortly after he was shot.
|
|
Still another investigation agency was interesting itself today in the
|
|
son of a multi-millionaire eastern family. This young man has also been known
|
|
in Hollywood for some time as an ardent admirer of the actress who is today
|
|
the nucleus of the Taylor murder investigation.
|
|
"We are looking today for a few necessary bits of corroborative evidence
|
|
to support the theory already partly borne out by recent discoveries," one
|
|
detective said.
|
|
"Someone is going to be arrested--and suddenly--for the Taylor murder,"
|
|
Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz said today. "And it will not be Edward F.
|
|
Sands, Taylor's missing valet.
|
|
"Mr. Taylor was killed through jealousy, and not revenge."
|
|
The police took a diametrically opposite view.
|
|
"Sands killed Taylor," said Captain D. L. Adams. "We want him."
|
|
The police hunt, Mr. Adams indicated, is being concentrated almost solely
|
|
on an effort to arrest the former secretary.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
LONG BEACH TELEGRAM
|
|
Police seeking the slayer of William Desmond Taylor, movie director, were
|
|
working on the theory today that his assassin was hired to kill him. It is
|
|
believed that Edward F. Sands, former valet of the director, may have been the
|
|
hired assassin. In pursuance of this theory, detectives were checking up on
|
|
members of the movie colony who were acquainted with Sands...
|
|
The new theory is that the person who desired to have Taylor slain
|
|
remembered the old enmity between the director and his former valet and used
|
|
this, as well as money, to secure his death.
|
|
Taylor is believed to have had enemies, as well as friends, in the motion
|
|
picture colony. These enemies were men as well as women, and some of the
|
|
enmities sprang from the numerous love affairs he is understood to have had.
|
|
One of these enemies employed Sands to do the killing, according to the
|
|
police theory...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
NEW YORK TIMES
|
|
Los Angeles--...A new theory of the murder was advanced today and
|
|
received some consideration at the Sheriff's office. It is that Taylor was
|
|
shot by a woman whom he was embracing and who had her arms around him. The
|
|
theory is based on the position of the bullet found in his back and the fact
|
|
that Taylor is thought to have had his arms raised when he was killed. Rage,
|
|
because she had been scorned by the director, is the motive imputed to the
|
|
woman...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
Lannie Haynes Martin
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
Taylor Home Ideal Scene for Tragedy
|
|
|
|
No more perfect stage setting for a dramatic tragedy could have been
|
|
wished for by the most exacting director or stage manager than the artistic
|
|
arrangement of the house in which William D. Taylor, director and art
|
|
connoisseur, met his death.
|
|
If the front wall of the house had been removed, a description of the
|
|
first floor might well be taken for the preface of a one-act play.
|
|
Imagining this front wall to be a drop curtain which has just been rolled
|
|
up there will appear in the extreme foreground, a little right of center, a
|
|
small mahogany writing desk, over which are scattered papers, checks and
|
|
letters. At the left of center stands a magnificent grand piano [sic] with an
|
|
oriental covering of soft mauves and mulberry shades. At right of center a
|
|
large tapestry divan of neutral tone, figured in dull mauve tints. Behind the
|
|
divan a large window curtained in deep cream filet lace with aide drapes of
|
|
figured chintz harmonizing in color with the mulberry velvet carpet on the
|
|
floor.
|
|
Immediately behind this large living room, separated from it merely by
|
|
simulated pillars, is a small dining room. The carpet is of the identical
|
|
color, fabric and pattern as that which covers the living room floor; a
|
|
William and Mary dining room table stands in the center and scattered through
|
|
both rooms are reed and mahogany chairs, upholstered in mulberry velvet. The
|
|
walls of these adjoining rooms are covered with dull gold and olive tapestry
|
|
over which are hung scores of photographs, pictures of beautiful moving
|
|
picture actresses and of men known internationally in the film world. Perhaps
|
|
no single wall in the world held so complete a collection of famous screen
|
|
beauties.
|
|
Behind the dining room is a small kitchen, complete in every detail from
|
|
its white enamel sink and drain boards to its spotless refrigerator and
|
|
polished range.
|
|
The front bedroom, furnished in old ivory, with a pale blue Axminster rug
|
|
and white muslin curtains, was the one formerly occupied by the man who met
|
|
his death at the hands of an assassin's bullet. Two large windows looked out
|
|
on the wide, green court and side windows, allowing floods of light and air,
|
|
gave the room an unusually well ventilated aspect. On the dresser lay
|
|
numerous toilet articles, all silver mounted and handsome, showing the
|
|
aesthetic taste of a fastidious man, but all plain and substantial without any
|
|
effeminate touches.
|
|
On the table lay a variety of books, fiction, history, technical volumes
|
|
connected with the work of the dead man.
|
|
A blue and white blanket and a white Marseilles spread covered the bed in
|
|
which the dead man was wont to sleep. This had been his home for the last
|
|
three years and standing there on the threshold of this room, the most private
|
|
sanctum and retreat a human being maintains for himself, one wondered what
|
|
dreams of romance, wealth or glory flitted through the brain of the man now
|
|
sleeping beneath six feet of earth [sic] and a blanket of roses, or what
|
|
haunting fears, arising from spectres of the past, tormented that crumpled
|
|
pillow? Of all the beautiful women that he knew, which face was it that
|
|
floated through his dreams, and was it to hope and anticipated pleasure or to
|
|
despair that he awoke in the morning?
|
|
In the bedroom at the rear stand twin beds, covered with plain white
|
|
spreads. Between the two bedrooms is a white tiled bath room with a huge tub
|
|
and shower and a large medicine cabinet filled with bottles of every
|
|
description, household remedies and simple drugs, but showing that the former
|
|
occupant suffered with a variety of ailments from eye trouble to falling hair.
|
|
In this cabinet were two varieties of talcum powder, two perfume bottles with
|
|
distinctly different odors, and other articles pertaining more to feminine
|
|
tastes than masculine.
|
|
An air of seclusion and security one might have felt in this house, which
|
|
is set well back in the court from the street and surrounded by sedate looking
|
|
dwellings that would seem to frown on and forbid the presence of crime.
|
|
But from the successful manner in which the murderer has broken all
|
|
threads of the clew which would implicate him in the deed, probably no more
|
|
cold-blooded crime was ever planned. There at the little mahogany desk, in
|
|
the immediate foreground, a trifle to the right of center, on Wednesday
|
|
evening, February 1, about eight o'clock, sat William D. Taylor, probably the
|
|
best known and best loved moving picture director in the West.
|
|
A bright light burned over his desk and a long evening's work lay ahead
|
|
of him. With the lights out in the kitchen and the dining room at the rear, a
|
|
murderer might well have hidden in the dusky, purple shadows, and over the
|
|
soft velvet carpet he could have glided in silence until he reached out and
|
|
touched his victim. Who knows but what he may have muffled his revolver and
|
|
shot at such close range that the speeding bullet made no perceptible report
|
|
or echo, except in the startled consciousness of the man whose soul and body
|
|
were rent apart in the twinkling of an eye.
|
|
And all night long, as the body of the murdered man lay on the floor, the
|
|
crimson life-blood silently oozing out drop by drop, dyeing the soft carpet a
|
|
deeper hue, all night long the lights burned on his desk, throwing weird
|
|
gleams and shadows on the pictures of the beautiful moving picture actresses
|
|
on the wall; what ghosts stalked through this silent sepulcher that night?
|
|
What echoes of the fleeing murderer resounded in the streets outside?
|
|
But now, as though no breath of crime had ever stifled out a human life,
|
|
the birds twitter in the eaves and over the doorway and the sun streams
|
|
through the windows and flickers in dancing circles over the carpets, which
|
|
show no visible reminders of the crime. Only a silence, a hush like that of
|
|
wonder, seems to hold the unspoken whisper. Why? Who? Where is he now?
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
|
|
Los Angeles--A conspiracy of silence calculated to defeat the efforts of
|
|
police detectives and deputy sheriffs in Los Angeles who are seeking to
|
|
unravel the mystery surrounding the slaying of William D. Taylor was charged
|
|
today by the Sheriff's office. A number of persons having definite knowledge
|
|
directly bearing upon the murder which they are withholding as part of the
|
|
suppression plot, it was inferred from statements by investigators.
|
|
One woman prominently identified with the investigation is said to be in
|
|
possession of information which she has thus far failed to turn in. She has
|
|
adopted an attitude of uncertainty in the whole matter, it is asserted.
|
|
Detectives from the central police station were assigned orders to visit the
|
|
woman and insist upon the facts in the case. Police informants declare she
|
|
has been instructed by her husband to "develop" a sudden loss of memory.
|
|
Henry Peavey, valet to the murdered director, and the first one to find
|
|
his body, was taken to the Hall of Justice for his first "real" grilling.
|
|
Peavey, it is generally stated by all officers connected with the case, is "in
|
|
on the know" as far as important angles previous to the death of Taylor are
|
|
concerned and they assert he has thus far given only a minimum of
|
|
information...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Mabel Normand Letters Found in Death House
|
|
|
|
Mabel Normand's missing letters to William Desmond Taylor, slain film
|
|
director, have been found. A dainty handkerchief with the initials "M.M.M."
|
|
in a corner--apparently a keepsake of Mr. Taylor--also has been recovered.
|
|
The letters, about which an investigation has been conducted for several
|
|
days, were written by the famous screen actress during her friendship with the
|
|
noted director, who had directed such stars as Mary Miles Minter, Mary
|
|
Pickford, Betty Compson and others.
|
|
Miss Normand has attempted to recover these letters, which she stated
|
|
were in the possession of Mr. Taylor before his murder a week ago Wednesday
|
|
night shortly after Miss Normand left his home. The officers have made every
|
|
effort to find them.
|
|
Yesterday the police search was rewarded when a packet of letters,
|
|
admittedly written by Miss Normand, was found in a boot in Mr. Taylor's
|
|
closet. The find was made during a search of the place by Captain of
|
|
Detectives Adams and his aides, Detective Sergeants Cahill, Herman Cline, Cato
|
|
and Murphy.
|
|
Charles Eyton, manager of the Famous Players-Lasky studio, to whom Mr.
|
|
Taylor was under a two-year contract, said last night that he was at the house
|
|
when the letters were found, but was not present in the upstairs room when the
|
|
actual discovery was made.
|
|
E. C. Jessurund [sic], proprietor of the apartment court in which Mr.
|
|
Taylor lived, was present, Mr. Eyton said. The letters comprised a large
|
|
packet and from statements made by Chief Dep. Dist. Atty. Doran yesterday it
|
|
was understood the District Attorney's office came into possession of them.
|
|
Miss Normand was an intimate friend of Mr. Taylor and during times when
|
|
she was in New York and he was here she wrote to him, she said, in explaining
|
|
her desire to get the letters. She stated she wished to have them because she
|
|
feared that some of the terms used in them might be misconstrued, although she
|
|
and Mr. Taylor understood there was no serious love affair.
|
|
The handkerchief, which was kept among other personal effects of Mr.
|
|
Taylor, was found by Henry Peavey, negro houseman, who found his employer's
|
|
body last Thursday morning.
|
|
"Here's the handkerchief all you boys have been bothering about," Peavey
|
|
says he announced.
|
|
It was taken from him by the detectives and placed with the other
|
|
personal effects that may have a bearing on the solution of the crime.
|
|
From statements Peavey had previously made about seeing the handkerchief
|
|
many weeks before the murder, however, it is believed, it has no direct
|
|
bearing on the problem of who killed Mr. Taylor.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
CHICAGO HERALD-EXAMINER
|
|
Los Angeles--...Members of the sheriff's office made an outright
|
|
declaration that they were being hindered in the Taylor investigation by an
|
|
"iron-clad conspiracy between police and members of the film colony," with
|
|
regard to giving information concerning Taylor...
|
|
...Another clew that has disappeared is a handkerchief initialed "S."
|
|
which the police did not believe was the property of Edward F. Sands, former
|
|
butler, now sought in connection with the case.
|
|
The police said they believed this handkerchief belonged to a motion
|
|
picture producer and they wanted it so they would have something tangible with
|
|
which to confront him as a basis for interrogation...
|
|
The police announced that they proposed to limit the news given out by
|
|
them in future.
|
|
"The newspapers have been publishing everything and anything and they
|
|
will get nothing further from me in this case until I get something worth
|
|
while," said Capt. David L. Adams, who is in charge of the investigation.
|
|
"I know nothing about any pink nightgown or any letters returned to actresses.
|
|
I have several letters, four or five, which the newspapers have not seen and
|
|
which they will not see. They are from Taylor's mother and daughter and
|
|
others and are not connected with the case."...
|
|
It was reported that more information had been given to the police to the
|
|
effect a man in love with a screen actress, who did not return his love but
|
|
who was believed to have affection for Mr. Taylor, had been seen near the
|
|
Taylor residence before the murder...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
...An asserted love cult, an organization of mysterious ways and
|
|
membership, yesterday was reported to attaches of the District Attorney's
|
|
office, and is under investigation now. Mr. Taylor is declared to have been
|
|
on intimate terms with the members, if, indeed, he was not one of the cult's
|
|
followers.
|
|
A touch of oriental mysticism was included in the report given to the
|
|
investigators...
|
|
...Mr. Manning turned over to the police the report from Arizona
|
|
concerning Sands. The message from Tucson, reads as follows:
|
|
"Walter Peterson, on way to Imperial, Cal., care of H. H. Peterson,
|
|
Imperial, feels certain he met Edward F. Sands at Lowell, Ariz., February 4
|
|
and 5. Description same as Los Angeles newspapers of February 7, also wore
|
|
dark suit with light pin stripe, plain yellow shirt; brown shoes; soft brown
|
|
hat. Sands told him he was a deserter from the British navy, and was machine-
|
|
gun man for Pancho Villa. Had been in New York, British Columbia, Alaska, Los
|
|
Angeles and Hollywood.
|
|
(Signed) "B. F. Daniels
|
|
"Sheriff"
|
|
...A final search of the Taylor home, conducted yesterday by Detectives
|
|
Cline, Cato and Cahill while Public Administrator Bryson was removing the
|
|
possessions from the apartment disclosed a bank-book belonging to Sands. This
|
|
book, showing he had made deposits in a Los Angeles bank, was found behind a
|
|
book case.
|
|
A business card, apparently dropped in the house, also was found. A
|
|
check on the person whose name appeared thereon is being made although it was
|
|
regarded as probable that the card had been there some time before Mr. Taylor
|
|
was shot to death.
|
|
Undersheriff Biscailuz late in the day admitted the Sheriff's office is
|
|
working hard on three "leads" tending to connect prominent film people with
|
|
the slaying. The Sheriff's office holds little credence in the theory that
|
|
Sands committed the crime.
|
|
Information in the hands of the police detectives, however, indicate that
|
|
Sands was near the scene of the crime about the time of the shooting, which is
|
|
officially believed to have been about 7:50 or 7:55 p.m. a week ago yesterday.
|
|
He also has been reported from reliable sources to have been in Los Angeles
|
|
both before and after that day.
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
|
|
Los Angeles--...Mrs. William McBurney, wife of a Los Angeles real estate
|
|
man, who resides at the Westbrook Apartments, 310 South Alvarado street, a few
|
|
doors from the Taylor home, declared that she and her husband saw the lurking
|
|
figure of this man hidden in the shadows of the heavy foliage that surrounds
|
|
the Alvarado Hotel, two blocks south of the scene of the murder.
|
|
According to Mrs. McBurney, he was still in that vicinity as late as 9:45
|
|
o'clock on the evening Taylor was shot.
|
|
"My husband and I were returning from the theater shortly before 10
|
|
o'clock," said Mrs. McBurney today. "On passing the place we noticed the man
|
|
standing under the trees at Alvarado near West Sixth, directly in front of the
|
|
car stop.
|
|
"I particularly noticed him on account of the fact that he wore no
|
|
overcoat, although the night was chilly. He wore a dark gray muffler and a
|
|
cap. He did not take the car, although one passed while we had him in view,
|
|
and we remarked at that time that his actions were suspicious."...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
|
|
Los Angeles--...The more the case is delved into the more it appears that
|
|
Taylor, the "man's man," was also a woman's man. At least four women figured
|
|
in his life, two of them on terms of romance as ardent as any ever conceived.
|
|
Two of the women figured in his life, but it seems they were passing
|
|
fancies, did not enter deeply into heart interest.
|
|
The case has practically resolved itself into this, according to some of
|
|
the investigators:
|
|
Which one of the women is bound in the scarlet skein of the mystery?
|
|
Now it is not assumed that either of these women was an accomplice in the
|
|
crime or knows who killed the film director whom they both loved passionately.
|
|
But it is felt that one of them, if she would, could sit down with an
|
|
intelligent investigator and give him facts which would lead him with
|
|
unmistakable accuracy to the assassin.
|
|
It is believed that both of them are revealing only half truths because
|
|
the complete disclosure might affect their professional interests...
|
|
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
|
|
February 9, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
...Mr. Doran is said to be interested in the report that Taylor's body
|
|
had been carefully laid out. This statement comes from F. Parsons, a member
|
|
of the police flying squadron, who, with Detective Zeigler, was the first to
|
|
reach the scene of the crime.
|
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The director, says Parsons, was not sprawled on the floor, as one would
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have expected, considering the apparent physical facts of the slaying, but was
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lying with feet together and hands at sides as though some person had very
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carefully arranged his body.
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Would a man like Sands have taken this trouble? Would a man whose
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jealousy had turned into hate and hate flared forth in an act of murder have
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been concerned how the victim appeared in death?
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Rather, ask the police, does not the patient care with which this
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funereal task was performed suggest the slayer to have been a woman who loved
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him?...
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Captain Adams and men working under him on the case attach great
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|
importance to the bullet removed from the body of Taylor and to its peculiar
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|
value as evidence should the murderer ever be caught and brought to trial.
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Firearms experts have determined that it is of a kind manufactured many
|
|
years ago and have found rifling marks and a nick on one of its edges. As a
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|
result of its classification the police now have a fairly accurate idea of the
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character of revolver used.
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It was learned yesterday that operatives of the United States Department
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|
of Justice have conducted an independent investigation and have developed
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|
certain angles not appearing in the evidence secured by the police or
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sheriff's officers. One of these, it is said, relates to a woman who has not
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been mentioned in any of the reports thus far published. Valuable
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information, it is said, was secured from this woman.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 9, 1922
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LOS ANGELES TIMES
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Ohioan Doubts That Sands is His Son
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Marion, O.--Disbelief that his son, Edward Fitzgerald Snyder, could be
|
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the man known as Edward Sands and sought in connection with the murder of
|
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William D. Taylor, motion-picture director at Los Angeles, Cal., was expressed
|
|
by Murray T. Snyder, manager of a local telegraph office tonight. While he
|
|
did not know his present location, Mr. Snyder said he presumed his son was
|
|
alive, since he had received a telegram from him in Cleveland about three
|
|
months ago. Mr. Snyder said he did not know whether the son had been in
|
|
California in several months...
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|
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 9, 1922
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Edward Doherty
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NEW YORK NEWS
|
|
ARKANSAS GAZETTE
|
|
Los Angeles--...Some of the detectives even advanced the theory that
|
|
Edward F. Sands, the ex-valet of the murdered man, might have been taken into
|
|
the custody of some of Taylor's friends; might very possibly be held now to
|
|
keep his tongue from spilling out the secrets of cinema land, from supplying
|
|
the police with information as to Taylor's life, Taylor's intimates, Taylor's
|
|
foes...
|
|
The theory was advanced, following the story told by Fellows, that a
|
|
woman may have murdered Taylor.
|
|
The theory is that she was enraged when she saw Miss Normand come out of
|
|
the house, waited nearby until the moment when the director took his fair
|
|
visitor to the automobile and then slipped into the house through the open
|
|
door.
|
|
They picture her running to Taylor as he entered.
|
|
They even see as though it were part of one of Taylor's photodramas, the
|
|
meeting of the two--hate and scorn on the face of the woman, bitterness and
|
|
malice and a deadly purpose, and on the face of the man a question, a look of
|
|
anxiety perhaps, perhaps fear.
|
|
There were few words, they believe, if any. Taylor, they say, may have
|
|
sat down at his desk to write her check--in the manner of the photoplay father
|
|
who wants to make it worth while for the vampire to give up his only son and
|
|
heir.
|
|
This woman, the police think, took it as deadly insult, and, overpowered
|
|
with anger, shot him through the body and made her escape.
|
|
Or it is possible--it is a very broad theory--that the woman nestled in
|
|
the arms that once had held her lovingly, pleaded for the love that had died,
|
|
and finding the bitterness of defeat put her arms around him, and fired...
|
|
...The "love cult" angle was introduced into the case late in the day
|
|
through the troubled conscience of a resident of Chinatown. This man through
|
|
an intermediary communicated with the District Attorney's office and asked
|
|
that he be given immunity in exchange for information in his possession.
|
|
He had supplied the opium for the members of this cult, all men, of
|
|
which, he says, Taylor was a member. He declares the men would lie in silk
|
|
kimonos, smoke the essence of the poppy flower and so commence their ritual,
|
|
old as Sodom.
|
|
The Chinese asserted that the members of the cult were held together by a
|
|
bond, unthinkable, unnamable, unbelievable, and that each had sworn an oath of
|
|
undying affection for the others.
|
|
He believes the jealousy of one of these degenerate cultists may have
|
|
caused him to slay the movie man.
|
|
The office of District Attorney Thomas Woolwine is said to have arranged
|
|
to interview the Chinaman tomorrow and to protect him so far as possible
|
|
against punishment for opium smuggling.
|
|
Investigators believe he can give them many important clews as to the
|
|
cult, the mysterious life Taylor led, and the operation of the drug ring that
|
|
has driven many a promising actor from the screen...
|
|
|
|
*****************************************************************************
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*****************************************************************************
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|
Back issues of Taylorology are available on the Web at any of the following:
|
|
http://www.angelfire.com/az/Taylorology/
|
|
http://www.etext.org/Zines/ASCII/Taylorology/
|
|
http://www.uno.edu/~drcom/Taylorology
|
|
Full text searches of back issues can be done at http://www.etext.org/Zines/
|
|
For more information about Taylor, see
|
|
WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR: A DOSSIER (Scarecrow Press, 1991)
|
|
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