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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 10 -- October 1993 Editor: Bruce Long bruce@asu.edu *
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* All reprinted material is in the public domain *
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CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE:
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25 Flashes of Mabel Normand
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"The Humor of a Hollywood Murder" Part 7:
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The Kidnaping of Henry Peavey; Odds & Ends;
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Tall Tales #3: The Atlantic City Confession
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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 film 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. Primary emphasis will be given toward
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reprinting, referencing and analyzing source material, and sifting it for
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accuracy.
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Mabel Normand was one of the central personalities in the Taylor case. She
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was involved in a romantic relationship with him and was the last person to
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see him alive (except for the killer) prior to his murder. The following
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press items provide some insight into her unique and colorful personality,
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from her childhood through her years as "Queen of Comedy", and the Taylor and
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Dines shootings.
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25 Flashes of Mabel Normand
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November 5, 1921
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Beverly Crane
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MOVIE WEEKLY
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...We steered the conversation a few years back to Mabel's tomboyhood
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and got her to reminiscing..."Another time I remember being in disgrace was
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when I accidentally dropped a quarter in a contribution box at church,
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instead of the nickel I had intended. You can imagine my consternation! I was
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in a very strict Catholic school, where it was hard to get money. When I
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perceived my mistake, I was frantic, but I didn't let it go by, oh no! I
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began rummaging wildly in the contribution box. The man who held the box was
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scandalized. Dollar bills flew, nickels and dimes spilled out while I rooted
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about like a little dog looking for the bone he had buried--
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"My eye!" giggled Mabel reminescently, "didn't I get it good for that!"
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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November 24, 1918
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Mabel Normand
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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...I went over to the Biograph studio [in 1910]. Griffith put me to work
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at once. They gave me a pair of tights and a page's costume which terrified
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me almost out of my wits. I had never worn tights before and it seemed to me
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that everybody around the place had nothing to do but stare at my legs. What
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was more, they kept me there until 12:30 and I didn't get home to Staten
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Island until nearly 2. So I did not go back the next day and they were
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furious. I met Mack Sennett on the street a few days later and he said; "That
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was a terrible thing you did to Griffith, not going back." I didn't
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understand that I was to be in another scene or what it meant.
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But eventually Griffith sent for me and I worked regularly for the
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Biograph.
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...When Mack Sennett first came to me [in 1912] and said: "How would you
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like to make $100 a week?" I said, "Stop making fun of me--don't be
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ridiculous." And when he took me to Kessell and Baumann and they said they
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liked my looks, I asked if they intended to pay me $100 a week and they said,
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"Well, call it $125."
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You may believe me or not, but when I got that contract in my hands I
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walked in a daze from Union Square to Times Square and back. Every five
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blocks I would read it again. I couldn't believe it. I took it to Alice Joyce
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in the Park Avenue Hotel and showed it to her. We both decided that it meant
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$25 a week and that the figure 1 was a joke.
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I worked at the Keystone with Mack Sennett for several years. Charlie
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Chaplin joined the company after a while. In fact, I was responsible for his
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coming into pictures. I saw him one night at Hammerstein's Victoria and went
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straight out and telegraphed Sennett to get him.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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November 19, 1921
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Maurice Costello
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MOVIE WEEKLY
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Mabel Normand came to play bits for Vitagraph from the old Biograph
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company, as did Lottie Pickford. Mabel, Lottie, and Lillian Walker were three
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tomboy pals who were always up to some sort of mischief. When you wanted them
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for a scene you would be sure to find them up a cherry tree in a nearby
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orchard throwing twigs at each other and cutting up for all their worth.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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May 14, 1921
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Flora Finch
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MOVIE WEEKLY
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Those early days at the Vitagraph were indeed happy ones. Mabel Normand
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came just about the time I did. She was a lovable youngster, always up to
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mischief, the perpetrator of more than one practical joke that sent everyone
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into paroxysms of laughter. Mabel and Lillian Walker were the Damon and
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Pythias of comedy. One a brunette; the other a blonde. They always considered
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that they scored an ace when one made the other laugh at an inauspicious
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moment.
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I remember that one day Lillian was playing in a serious scene. The
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director rehearsed it several times. Then, everything set, he ordered the
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camera to grind. For some unknown reason, Lillian turned her head. There was
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a squeak; she doubled up with mirth, and simply shrieked. The director raving
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furiously at having a perfectly good scene spoiled, turned around, but didn't
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see anything. Of course he didn't. The mischief maker had disappeared. It had
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been Mabel, dressed in a clown costume, face white-washed, nose black, lips
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reddened to extend from ear to ear, eyes penciled to slant upwards. There she
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had stood, grimacing and prancing about. Lillian turned around, saw this
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unexpected sight, and...pandemonium!
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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May 20, 1916
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MOTOGRAPHY
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Miss Normand couldn't tell which comedy she thought most humorous on the
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screen, but she was not for a moment in doubt about the "most fun she ever
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had in pictures."
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"Working with Raymond Hitchcock in 'My Valet' made up for all the
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hardships. I think I laughed straight through the 'water stuff.' Fred Mace
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was the villain. He took me out to a rock in the sea and tied me there. But
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he was so afraid of the water that he was in terror the whole time, I
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believe. And at last the current was so strong it swept him away, and we all
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had to turn in and rescue the frightened 'villyan.'"
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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April 1916
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Randolph Bartlett
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PHOTOPLAY
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"Why have you never been killed," I asked her, with the utmost of
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sincerity.
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"Why haven't I? Why--I have. I guess you don't read the Los Angeles
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newspapers."
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"But it wasn't permanent."
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"That didn't make it any better while it lasted," the fair Mabel
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insisted.
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"How did it happen?"
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"Roscoe [Fatty Arbuckle] sat on my head by mistake. I was unconscious
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for twelve days, and laid up for three months. Don't talk to me about being
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killed--I've been through it," and Mabel's eyes took upon themselves that
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dreamy, distant gaze you read about. I think she was offering up a little
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prayer of thanks for being alive, as I know I always should, if Roscoe
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Arbuckle sat on my head and I lived to talk about it.
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"But that was your only serious death in all your adventures, thus far?"
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"Yes, but I just live along from day to day. I never make any plans.
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Nobody in the world lives up to the literal instruction, 'Take no thought for
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the morrow,' like I do. What's the use of making plans to go places or marry
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people, when like as not you will have to write a note saying, 'Excuse me. I
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did want to become your blushing bride today, but it's no go. I was killed
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yesterday doing a high dive into a tank of brickbats.'"
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"Then you're always afraid you are going to be killed, when you have a
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rough stunt to handle?"
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"Afraid?" and Mabel was daintily angry. "Who said anything about being
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afraid? I'm usually in too big a hurry to be scared, but I just absolutely
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know I am going to be killed. When I come through alive I am so surprised
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that I feel quite sure it isn't myself at all, and want to be introduced to
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the woman that's hanging around in my clothes."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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August 1918
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Randolph Bartlett
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PHOTOPLAY
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When she was making farce comedies with Roscoe Arbuckle, Miss Normand
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became known among the players as the most fearless girl in pictures, when
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there were dangerous stunts to be performed. Nobody ever "doubled" for her.
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With all her slenderness and petit grace, she had the will power to go
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through with anything she attempted. She couldn't bear to be called a
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quitter. A typical incident occurred just when she recovered from a long
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illness that kept her away from work all summer, two years ago.
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Just before she was laid up, she had been working on the comedy "Fatty
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and Mabel Adrift," and it had to remain unfinished until her recovery. At
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last she felt able to go back to the studio, and started out in her car. As
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she neared Edendale her nerve began to ooze away.
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"I can't do it--I can't," she groaned, and ordered the chauffeur to turn
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back.
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Before she had driven back many blocks, she began to call herself a
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coward.
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"You've got to do it," she kept repeating to herself. "You've got to do
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it."
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So the chauffeur was ordered to turn again toward the studio. Three
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times she ordered him to drive back home, and as many times her Irish blood
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rose at the thought of submitting to her fear, until at last she fairly
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whipped herself to her dressing room--and finished the picture.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 13, 1916
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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The Morning Telegraph representative then asked Miss Normand if she
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thought it was hard for a pretty woman to be a success in film comedy.
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"Yes," she answered. "Most pretty girls who go into comedy work are
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content to be merely pretty. But the great difficulty is to put character
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into acting without either distorting your face or using comedy make up.
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Anyone who photographs well can walk on a scene and flirt with the comedian,
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which is all that most good looking girls are required to do in comedies. It
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takes very little ability on their part for all they have to do is follow
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direction. (And here Miss Normand gave an imitation of a comedy coquette
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flirting according to the commands of her director.) But to make a farce
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heroine more than a mere doll, you must think out the situation yourself and
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above all you must pay great attention to every little detail in a scene. The
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little bits of business that seem insignificant are what make good comedy."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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December 1922
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Norbert Lusk
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PICTURE-PLAY
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...Many persons know Mabel Normand. She welcomes acquaintances as easily
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as she curves her cupid's bow with a lipstick; but few can say they truly
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know her. This gives me a proper opening to say that I do. That is, my
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knowledge is enough to make me fond. It is no new happiness.
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Five years ago [in 1917], when she was made a Goldwyn star, the prospect
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of meeting mellifuous Mabel was quite enough to give me tremors of
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anticipation, even though I was no younger than I ought to have been. Not
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only was she on the crest of the glory that was Goldwyn, but her name
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sparkled with reminiscent associations. Years before, when she was a mere
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anonymity--her eloquent eyes and sure sense of fun had won my interest in
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Biograph and Vitagraph comedies, the latter with John Bunny. As a tantalizing
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typist in a one-reel comedy I remembered her sidelong glances and saucy
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scorn. I knew meeting Mabel Normand would not be dull routine. It wasn't by a
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long shot dull.
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"I haven't time. I'm too busy. Later, maybe." She flung out this hope
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when accosted, red-cloaked, in the studio corridor, where I had been sent to
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worm from her information to be used in advertising her pictures. Then she
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passed on, leaving me to make the best of her retreat, to exclaim at her
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diminuitiveness and startling big eyes. But the tide of defeat turned in the
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studio restaurant where, fortunately, I had sought reviving tea. She came in
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with Mae Marsh and danced toward me, an old friend.
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Then began an "interview" which she made absurdly comic when led on by
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my puerile queries.
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Q. "What do you like best to do?"
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A. "Pinch babies and twist their legs. (Don't dare publish this. People
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wouldn't understand.)"
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Q. "What do you most enjoy?"
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A. "Dark windy days when trees break and houses blow down."
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Q. "Favorite flower?"
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A. "Weeds--if I buy them myself. Orchids otherwise. (But I'll take
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anything.)"
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Q. "Ideal man?"
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A. "A brutal Irishman who chews tobacco and lets the world know it. (Say
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a Gibson man. It's more refined.)"
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Q. Favorite food?"
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A. "Chocolate cake, iced and inch high. (Fat or no fat, I love it)"
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This went on, broken by Mabel's effervescing giggles. On November tenth
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Mabel was given such a birthday cake as she hungered for and thanked me
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fervidly, rapturously, like a child. She said she'd rather have had it than a
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pint of pearls. Be that as it may, the chocolate cake made us friends, though
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when she reads this she'll call it slandering her finer feelings. She'll
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protest the cake had nothing to do with it. She's a great kidder.
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It is this habit that stands in the way of understanding her. She jests
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at all times. When she becomes serious she finds, to her discomfiture, that
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she is still laughed at. For her attempts at gravity are likely to be
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mirthful to others. I have never met any one more incorrigibly prankish, nor
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more high-spirited and volatile. Naturally the sympathies of such a person
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are easily roused and, when one is as generous as Mabel, lavishly expressed.
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She spends money with the superb gesture of a runaway youngster playing
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hookey from school...
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Experienced actress that she is, Mabel is more than all heart. Her grasp
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and understanding of her work are too strong and sure to be the promptings of
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anything but her brain. Left to herself her choice of a story would be
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reasonably certain to please her public equally as her bright imagination is
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in devising "business." She has virtually grown up with the movies and brings
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to her work the capability, deft, expert, of a veteran artist. After a single
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reading of an involved scenario I have seen her run over the entire story,
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embellishing here and there an incident that seemed to need more of the
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comic, or advising her laughing director how to strengthen the whole. Then
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whirling round to quip a passer-by or indulge in burlesque mimicry of a star
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whose back was turned.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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April 28, 1918
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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The appearances of screen stars in the interests of the Liberty Loan
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drive are becoming more frequent as the need for patriotic response grows
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greater, but rarely has an idol of the cinema faced an audience under more
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exciting circumstances than marked the visit of Mabel Normand to the Harlem
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Grand Theatre last Sunday night.
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The house was filled. Manager Arthur Hirsch estimated the attendance to
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be 4,000. John Case, representing the Forty-third District of the Liberty
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Loan Committee, announced that Mabel Normand, star in Goldwyn pictures, had
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consented to appear.
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Then Mr. Case delivered his appeal and Miss Normand was the first to
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answer, subscribing for a $5,000 bond. Her reward for this was cheers, after
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which a few subscriptions for smaller amounts came in. Eight-year-old Clarice
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Boehm sang a patriotic song and a few more hundred dollars came from the
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audience. But it was not until Miss Normand seized upon a better method of
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coaxing money from the audience that expectations were realized:
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"Ladies and gentlemen," she cried, "if it means anything at all to you,
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I will give any one who subscribes for a bond of any amount--a kiss!"
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Mr. Hirsch and his assistants found difficulty in averting a panic, the
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noise of these eager to see and those eager to be kissed adding to the
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pandemonium. Finally some semblance of order was restored and the resourceful
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Miss Normand was held to her bargain. Never mind how many osculations were
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the price she paid, nor how many cheers, cries and whistles punctuated each
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kiss. The result is more important. Twelve thousand five hundred dollars was
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the total, all the more notable when it is remembered that the amount, except
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for the star's initial $5,000, represented the savings of people of modest
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means.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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November 3, 1918
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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The principal attraction at the Victory Workers' rally at the Manhattan
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Opera House Saturday afternoon was Mabel Normand. Miss Normand's function at
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the rally was principally decorative and sympathetic. The speech she made was
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distinguished for its brevity. What she said was as follows:
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"There is nothing more out of my line than making a speech. I don't
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think I could ever have got up the courage to stand up here in this
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terrifying place and talk right out in meeting if this cause didn't mean so
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terribly much to me that I simply have to say what is next to my heart in
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this matter.
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"You see, it has been brought home to me in the most intimate and
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personal way. I have a brother 'over there.' A brother who is more to me than
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anybody else in the world. Strangely enough--for I am told it doesn't always
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happen in even the best regulated families--we are very fond of each other.
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He is the best brother I ever saw.
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"Now, every letter I get from him is full of stories of the wonderful
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work that is being done 'over there' by the Y.M.C.A., the Salvation Army and
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the allied organizations--I don't like to call them charities, because the
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service they are doing is so much higher than what we usually mean by
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charity. My brother tells me he doesn't know what on earth they would do if
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it weren't for all these organizations that are working heart and soul to
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bring a little comfort and happiness to the boys.
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"I am not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do myself. I am in this
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drive with everything I've got of energy and money. Every one of you here has
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a brother, a father, or a friend somewhere in France. It is for us he has
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gone to the front. It is for us that he is going through what can be
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described as nothing less than hell. And the least we can do is to go to the
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front for them in this drive. To work like beavers to get this $170,000,000
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not only subscribed but oversubscribed.
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"This is our chance, the chance for all of us to show how much we love
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and thank the lads who are over there for us, fighting for us, for your
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freedom and mine, to show how much we appreciate their love and sacrifices.
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"And remember, first, last and all the time, that every dollar we raise
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is going to make somebody near and dear to us happy, to cut a little off his
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loneliness, his discomforts and his hardships."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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November 3, 1918
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NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
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Mabel Normand delights in playing jokes on those who understand her. Her
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mother, who lives on Staten Island, was the victim of the frolicsome Goldwyn
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star's latest prank. Miss Normand's limousine drove up not far from the
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Normand home the other day and out stepped a little old woman. In an unsteady
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voice she asked to see the lady of the house, and on being received by Mabel
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Normand's mother, quavered a request for old pies "for the war sufferers,
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madam." A moment of embarrassed silence followed, whereupon Mabel dashed off
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her wig and goggles and leaped into her mother's arms.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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July 1922
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Herb Howe
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PHOTOPLAY
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The appointment for an interview was made for an afternoon. Mabel
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declared she would be delighted to have "a good talk." Now it is a well-known
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fact that Mabel Normand of all stars cares the least about publicity. She is
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renowned for her ability to elude personal appearances, photographers,
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interviewers and all that pertains to publicity. Yet such is the vanity of
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man that he always makes an exception of himself. Besides, Mabel had seemed
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so enthusiastically gracious. I arrived at Mabel's home at the hour
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designated. Mabel had gone to the studio. I went to the studio. Mabel had
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gone home. I went to her home. Mabel had not returned. I 'phoned the next
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day. I 'phoned regularly every day for a week.
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Mabel was always out. I seriously considered sending her a phonograph
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record of "Home, Sweet Home." Finally I caught her on the wire. Before I had
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a chance to demand an explanation, she cried--
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"Why, where have you been? I've been trying and trying to get you--
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'phoning and 'phoning--when are you coming to see me?
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Quite overcome by this coup d'etat, I murmured weakly, "Any time."
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"Tomorrow morning--can you make it early?" she cried eagerly.
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I acquiesced with the feeling that Mabel would pace the floor,
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sleepless, until I had arrived.
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The next morning, after I had shaved with abnormal care, Mabel's
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secretary 'phoned to say that Mabel had been called away on urgent matters.
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Would I make the appointment for the studio the following day at eleven?
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I was at the studio at eleven. I waited--and waited. For two hours I
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waited. All the while I plotted what I would say as I stalked out, leaving
|
|
her an uninterviewed and stricken woman.
|
|
Finally I espied her through the window. She was humming to herself as
|
|
she leisurely strolled past the door of the publicity office in the direction
|
|
of her dressing room. The publicity man, in high confusion, rushed out to
|
|
tell her that I was waiting. She looked surprised, as though the visit were
|
|
totally unexpected. Then she turned and entered the room. At the threshold
|
|
she paused, regarding me silently with a wide-eyed innocence. Without taking
|
|
her eyes off my glowering countenance she moved solemnly toward me, then
|
|
stopped short--
|
|
"Kiss me!" she commanded.
|
|
As I showed signs of rallying, she swiftly changed the order to--
|
|
"Let's have some pie and coca-cola--I'm hungry, aren't you?"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
July 1919
|
|
MOTION PICTURE
|
|
Of all the nutty news of the month, the prize goes to the announcement
|
|
that Mabel Normand has installed a peanut-roaster in her dressing room.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
September 12, 1919
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Mabel Normand, the vivacious Goldwyn star, is so full of brightness,
|
|
music and joy that she demands something to go with her temperament. Monday
|
|
the Schertzinger company went on location to Victorville, but no sooner had
|
|
they traveled two hours than Miss Normand asked "Paw" Schertzinger, her
|
|
director, where the band was.
|
|
"Band?" queried he, "what band do you mean, Maw?"
|
|
"Why, our own company band--where is our music for this trip?"
|
|
"We did not order a band--there is no dancing to be done."
|
|
"But I want a band," Miss Normand pouted prettily, "and you know it will
|
|
be nice to have at the little hotel, too--besides, we can always work
|
|
better."
|
|
The finish showed Director Schertzinger sending a telegram back to the
|
|
studio, and, although he had rather a doubtful expression on his jovial face,
|
|
he remarked, "Guess they'll send it, for she has always had one with her--
|
|
and, goodness knows, she needs something to go with her joyful spirit."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
November 18, 1919
|
|
Ray Frohman
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
[from an interview with Mabel Normand]: "How old am I? Aw, I'm not a
|
|
hundred and five!"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 15, 1922
|
|
Marie Prevost
|
|
OAKLAND POST-ENQUIRER
|
|
Nobody ever hears of the wonderful things Mabel Normand does. It is only
|
|
when she innocently gets into difficulties that people hear of her life in
|
|
any way. Mabel is the most generous creature in the world and she is always
|
|
doing things for other people. Why, I remember one day I was driving with her
|
|
through the poorer districts of Los Angeles. We passed a house where a
|
|
landlord was putting a mother and her five little children out of their home
|
|
because the rent was not paid.
|
|
You should have heard the things that Mabel told that man. And what do
|
|
you suppose she did? Dumped all the money she had in her bag into that
|
|
mother's lap and gave the owner a check for three months' rent.
|
|
That's the sort of a girl Mabel is, and I just wish everybody knew it.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 1920
|
|
Delight Evans
|
|
PHOTOPLAY
|
|
"Happiness," said Mabel, "is simply a state of mind. I've never lost my
|
|
mind. When things go wrong with you--kid yourself."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 3, 1922
|
|
GARY POST-TRIBUNE
|
|
"Music," Mabel Normand says, "will do anything to me. If I come to the
|
|
studio feeling particularly upstage and patrician--I suppose there is such a
|
|
feeling as patrician?--the sound of a little tough music will set my heart to
|
|
jigging, my feel to wiggling and my pulses to jumping. In a trice, I am
|
|
lifted out of my ladylike languor into the person the music is talking about.
|
|
The minuet-ty type of melody has just the opposite effect. Right away it
|
|
slows me down, puts my best manners in place, and there I am--a perfect
|
|
lady."
|
|
Which is why, out of the album of what she calls her "mood music,"
|
|
pretty Mabel chose "When Francis Dances With Me" to be played while she made
|
|
"Molly-O," her new First National picture.
|
|
So they played "Francis" for three months while Mabel made "Molly." "I
|
|
never tired of it once," says Mabel. "It was the best director I ever had."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 25, 1922
|
|
MOVIE WEEKLY
|
|
I once asked a studio official if the company ever had trouble with
|
|
Mabel Normand. I had in mind her way of eluding engagements.
|
|
He was a hard-boiled individual, who bows to no star, and he looked me
|
|
straight in the eye.
|
|
"If anyone has trouble with Mabel Normand," said he, "he is to blame for
|
|
it. But I cannot imagine anyone finding fault with her."
|
|
While we were chatting, a gentleman called by appointment with the star.
|
|
He did certain work for her. She was unable to see him because she was having
|
|
her hair dressed. But she sent down a charming note of apology and enclosed a
|
|
signed check asking him to fill it out for whatever amount she owed him!
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 5, 1922
|
|
Edward Doherty
|
|
NEW YORK NEWS
|
|
Mabel Normand likes to go to parties with the fellows of the film, and
|
|
many a party she has enlivened by her wish for "horseback rides."
|
|
"Mabel wants horsebackie rides," she'll say and climb up on the back of
|
|
a willing friend, to be ridden around the cafe, shouting, singing, laughing,
|
|
waving her arms. Great times when Mabel's around.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
November 27, 1921
|
|
Edwin Schallert
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Mabel said, "You see, I don't like Ritzy people. You know what I mean.
|
|
And as for people in general I either like them or I don't. If I do, I can
|
|
act like I like them. And if I don't--well, I can't bother about them--"
|
|
Mabel Normand was, I felt, defining herself. I was conscious also that
|
|
it would be highly unsatisfactory to be classed among the Ritzy people. The
|
|
nearest equivalent is "full of airs."
|
|
"I don't believe in all this bally-hoo stuff about art," she remarked.
|
|
"You know what I mean. This saying that I am thus and so, and when I was in
|
|
London I met so and so, and oh-er-ah my art, my art, my art!
|
|
"If a person is a real artist he doesn't care to talk about it. He's too
|
|
sensitive about it to let it really be known. Art makes people sensitive, the
|
|
greatest thoughts you feel you can only express through your art, and you
|
|
have less to say outside of your art all the time about your art."
|
|
A rather keen defining of the artist that, for a girl who loves to fling
|
|
slang words at an astonished hearer, and who is the life of a party through
|
|
her capricious gayety.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 20, 1922
|
|
Adela Rogers St. Johns
|
|
BOSTON ADVERTISER
|
|
[Mabel Normand visited William Desmond Taylor shortly before he was
|
|
murdered on February 1, 1922.] I talked with Mabel Normand last night over
|
|
the long-distance telephone between here and Los Angeles.
|
|
Her voice haunted me all night. She was crying. Her nurses didn't want
|
|
her to talk, but she wanted to ask me if I believed she had anything to do
|
|
with the Taylor murder, if anybody back here believed it?
|
|
And I told her what I believed, that no one connected her with it, no
|
|
one believed she had done anything that had any connection with the shooting.
|
|
And I told her that I loved her and for her to take care of herself. Mabel's
|
|
health is not good. Doctor's verdicts last year were discouraging--and no one
|
|
can make Mabel take proper care of herself.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 14, 1923
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
|
|
(New York)--Feb. 13--"Ooh, but he's adorable. No. I won't tell who he
|
|
is, what or where he is. Ooh, but he's grand." and Mabel Normand, vivacious
|
|
screen comedienne hugged the two nearest reporters to whom she was announcing
|
|
that she was married. It happened when Miss Normand arrived today from
|
|
England on the White Star liner Baltic.
|
|
Mabel didn't intend to tell a soul about it. It was only when a
|
|
newspaperman noticed a diamond-studded, platinum wedding ring on her finger
|
|
that the secret was out.
|
|
"Oh, I should have kept my glove on," cried the blushing Mabel, "and
|
|
then I would not have let you fellows in on the secret."
|
|
When the reporters resumed their questioning she said:
|
|
"Ah, I was only kidding. Gosh, I'm so glad to be back home. I was only
|
|
fooling. I'm not married. Honest."
|
|
And then she chirruped: "Come on, cheer up, fellows. I'm so happy over
|
|
being married. I just hate to see you looking like funerals."
|
|
Then followed affirmations and denials, the last being a sweeping denial
|
|
that she was married.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 1924
|
|
Herb Howe
|
|
PHOTOPLAY
|
|
Mabel Normand is another charmer of child-naturalness who is instantly
|
|
ensnaring to men. She is an unbelievable combination of gamin and angel. And,
|
|
curiously, the demon never seems to affect the deity in the least. She is the
|
|
angel child of the song: When she is good she is very, very good, and when
|
|
she is bad she is very good company.
|
|
I attended a dinner party which Mabel graced. Among the guests was an
|
|
icy dowager who simply refused to melt. Suddenly Mabel looked across at her
|
|
and cried, "I'll bite you, baby!" The dowager collapsed.
|
|
I don't believe there ever was created a more sincere, unselfish mortal
|
|
than Mabel Normand. She is that exhalted type of feminine charmer who can
|
|
give a man friendship in lieu of love and still make him feel a triumphant
|
|
Lothario.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
January 3, 1924
|
|
Edward Doherty
|
|
CHICAGO TRIBUNE
|
|
(Los Angeles)--Jan. 2--Mabel Normand and Edna Purviance, movie stars,
|
|
who were present when Mabel's chauffeur shot Edna's sweetheart, Courtland S.
|
|
Dines, last night, will have to tell their stories to the police at least
|
|
once more.
|
|
...An unvoiced, passionate love for his "movie queen" employer and
|
|
jealousy of her host is believed by the police to have caused Horace A.
|
|
Greer, the driver, to shoot Dines.
|
|
But Mabel herself objects strenuously to this view;
|
|
"A chauffeur with a gun!" she said tonight. "Deliver me."
|
|
Mabel was more articulate today but not so full of pep. Her fingers
|
|
trembled a little as she lit a cigarette. She had just been reading the
|
|
newspapers and the police version of the affair seemed to anger her.
|
|
"Blah, blah," said Mabel. "Slush, the poor boob was nuts. He was only
|
|
one of the servants, and he was treated like one. Why, I didn't even treat
|
|
him like--well I've had a lot of good chauffeurs. And good gawd, I didn't
|
|
even hire this egg. My secretary did that."
|
|
Some one asked Mabel about the gat.
|
|
"Well my gawd," she said, "I didn't know how he had it. He says he got
|
|
it out of my room. What business had he in my room--my bedroom? Say, I hope I
|
|
drop dead if this ain't the truth--that man had been in my room only twice
|
|
that I know of--once to fix my curler and once to fix an electric plug.
|
|
Honest.
|
|
"Somebody gave me that gat to shoot bottles with. I broke a lot of nice
|
|
mountains shooting at bottles, but I had a lot of fun. And he says I was in
|
|
the room when he cut loose with the gat, and he wasn't shooting at bottles,
|
|
either. I wasn't in the room at all. I was in Edna's room. She was putting on
|
|
her evening gown and it wasn't hooked up and I didn't want this egg to see
|
|
her.
|
|
"Then all of a sudden, bang, bang, bang. I thought they were
|
|
firecrackers. The kind I used to throw at Ben Turpin. Poor old Ben, he'd look
|
|
at me so funny."
|
|
Mabel tried to give an imitation of Ben doing the east and west and
|
|
nearly strangled on cigarette smoke....
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
"The Humor of a Hollywood Murder", Part 7
|
|
|
|
The Kidnaping of Henry Peavey
|
|
|
|
February 22, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Astounding charges that Henry Peavey, negro servant of William D.
|
|
Taylor, murdered motion-picture director, was held prisoner for nearly twelve
|
|
hours in the office of the Los Angeles Examiner, and that Examiner reporters
|
|
late at night took Peavey to the tomb of Taylor, where they attempted to
|
|
bully and terrorize him by confronting him with a "ghost," were made last
|
|
night by Dist.-Atty. Woolwine, who characterized the Examiner's actions as
|
|
"presumptuous, dangerous and dastardly."
|
|
The energetic denunciation of Examiner tactics by Mr. Woolwine followed
|
|
a long conference between the District Attorney and William F. Eldridge,
|
|
managing editor of the Examiner, who went to Mr. Woolwine's office on the
|
|
eleventh floor of the Hall of Records.
|
|
Mr. Eldridge was preceded in the District Attorney's office by Peavey,
|
|
who related in detail the asserted offenses of the Examiner's
|
|
representatives. Twelve typewritten pages comprised Peavey's statement to the
|
|
District Attorney.
|
|
He said that two men came to his room before noon last Sunday and asked
|
|
him to come out.
|
|
"I am not doing any talking to newspaper reporters"--Peavey said he
|
|
informed the pair. One of the men, he said, replied: "Newspaper reporters? We
|
|
are not newspaper reporters; we are officers from New York and we have
|
|
authority to come down here and get you and have you go over your statements,
|
|
and we want you to go down to the Examiner office and answer one question."
|
|
Peavey said that he asked them to tell him what question he was to be
|
|
asked, but that they said they did not know, adding, he said, "there's $1000
|
|
in it for you."
|
|
Instead of taking him direct to the Examiner office, however, he said,
|
|
one of the men announced, "It is a beautiful day and we will drive around for
|
|
awhile."
|
|
He says he got into an automobile with the men and was driven through
|
|
Hollywood and through the cemetery where Mr. Taylor's body lies. Returning,
|
|
he says, the automobile picked up another man at the Alexandria and then
|
|
proceeded to the Examiner office.
|
|
Upon arriving there, according to Peavey, "we went in and a gentleman
|
|
asked me what movie man it was in Hollywood that was paying me to keep my
|
|
mouth shut, and I looked at him and said, 'Nobody has ever given me a penny
|
|
for anything excepting this gentleman here, who gave me $10.' " This money,
|
|
Peavey said, was handed to him during his automobile ride Sunday afternoon.
|
|
Peavey told the District Attorney that he was kept waiting for some time
|
|
in the Examiner office and that he asked to be permitted to get something to
|
|
eat, whereupon, he stated, one of the men said, "No, we will send out and buy
|
|
you some." He described the supper brought into the Examiner for him and said
|
|
that after further questioning he was taken to Hollywood by the three
|
|
Examiner reporters.
|
|
He said the Examiner men referred several times to a spiritualist who
|
|
would, according to his story of their assertions, cause him to talk with Mr.
|
|
Taylor's spirit.
|
|
His remarkable story of the appearance of the Examiner's "ghost" and the
|
|
fiasco that ensued is taken from the transcript of his testimony on file in
|
|
Mr. Woolwine's office.
|
|
"They drove into the cemetery and said, 'Gee; goodness! it makes me
|
|
nervous to drive into a cemetery at night. How do you feel, Henry?' I
|
|
replied, 'It doesn't bother me.' They drove up to the vault where Mr. Taylor
|
|
was lying. They said, 'Turn quick.' They turned the car and all the lights
|
|
went out to make it dark.
|
|
"I got out of the car and walked over to the vault and just as I got
|
|
there a man walked out from behind the vault with a white sheet over him and
|
|
they said, 'Look! look! look! there is Taylor!'[1]
|
|
"I stood and looked at him and he commenced to make some funny noises
|
|
and dropped down and got me around the feet and commenced groaning. They kept
|
|
trying to make me run, and I wouldn't run, and said:
|
|
" 'What in the hell are you guys trying to make out of me anyway, a
|
|
fool?' "
|
|
Peavey related that a further attempt to intimidate him was made by the
|
|
Examiner last night, but that he paid no attention to his asserted
|
|
tormentors.
|
|
Mr. Woolwine's statement denouncing the Examiner follows:
|
|
"Henry Peavey, the negro servant of William D. Taylor, deceased, who has
|
|
shown a very deep and genuine grief over the murder of Mr. Taylor, and who
|
|
has at all times given the authorities every assistance in his power in their
|
|
effort to unravel the mystery of the murder, and who has held himself ready
|
|
to respond to repeated calls by the officers for such information as he could
|
|
give, was taken from his room by a pair of conscienceless blackguards who
|
|
represented themselves to be officers of the law, and held a prisoner from
|
|
noon until about midnight on last Sunday. During this imprisonment, he was
|
|
subjected to the most outrageous treatment. He was held for hours in the
|
|
office of the Los Angeles Examiner, not even being permitted to leave the
|
|
premises to get necessary food when he became hungry.
|
|
"To add to the unspeakable injustice of this high-handed procedure, he
|
|
was conveyed to the cemetery by night by these two scoundrels, who first took
|
|
him from his room, and another rascal who joined them, was taken to the tomb
|
|
of his former employer and every effort made to bully and terrorize him.
|
|
"It should be remembered that this man, Peavey, had been subjected to
|
|
the most searching examination, not only by the District Attorney's office,
|
|
but by the skilled officers of the Los Angeles Police Department of many
|
|
years' experience in the detection of crime. He has at all times shown the
|
|
utmost anxiety and eagerness in his effort to render to the duly constituted
|
|
authorities every assistance possible. Is is regrettable that the District
|
|
Attorney has no jurisdiction over the offense committed by these miscreants
|
|
for the false imprisonment of this witness. I have not been able as yet to
|
|
ascertain their names, but if I knew them, and had such jurisdiction, they
|
|
would be in jail tonight.
|
|
"It seems that this witness's only offense is that he is a simple-minded
|
|
colored man, who has little knowledge of his real rights as an American
|
|
citizen and can neither read nor write. This presumptuous, dangerous and
|
|
dastardly interference by a newspaper with the orderly course of procedure by
|
|
the duly constituted authorities, is calculated to and does so terrorize good
|
|
and well-meaning people that they, for their own protection, keep secret
|
|
important facts that might lead to the discovery to the perpetrators of foul
|
|
crimes. Such acts are a positive menace to the people at large.
|
|
"I feel it my duty as District Attorney of Los Angeles County, to expose
|
|
such vile, cowardly and unlawful practices, for the perpetrators of which
|
|
every decent citizen should feel a most supreme and utter contempt."
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Odds & Ends
|
|
|
|
February 18, 1922
|
|
MIAMI HERALD
|
|
We have been feeling a little guilty recently ever since we said that
|
|
the movies were not true to life. We really didn't expect that our words
|
|
would have such an immediate effect on Hollywood, Cal., that they would feel
|
|
it necessary to make their lives true to movies.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 17, 1922
|
|
H. I. Phillips
|
|
PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
|
|
On the Hollywood Grill
|
|
Prosecutor: Now go on and tell us all about it.
|
|
Movie Actress: There really is nothing much to tell. I had simply
|
|
dropped in to borrow a copy of the Fireman's Weekly Herald. We were both very
|
|
literary. We talked a short time, and then I got into my sedan and went home.
|
|
Somehow I felt uneasy and I went back to the bungalow. As I entered it I saw
|
|
Bartholomew in a heap on the floor. An overturned piano rested on his chest
|
|
and there was a bookcase across his neck.
|
|
Prosecutor: Whadja do then?
|
|
Movie Actress: Nothing. It didn't strike me as suspicious at first.
|
|
Bartholomew was often that way when I called!
|
|
Prosecutor: Often that way?
|
|
Movie Actress: Well, I mean he was often in a heap on the floor,
|
|
although I don't recall that he ever had the furniture scattered over him
|
|
before. So, not thinking anything of it, I sat down on the floor and tried to
|
|
talk to him. He didn't answer. Then I shook him, and when he didn't respond I
|
|
began to think something was wrong.
|
|
Prosecutor: You finally became suspicious?
|
|
Movie Actress: Yeah. I think it was the way the furniture was arranged
|
|
over him. Suddenly the thought flashed over me that he had been a victim of
|
|
violence!
|
|
Prosecutor: Then whadja do?
|
|
Movie Actress: I rushed out on to the front porch and cried for help.
|
|
Prosecutor: Did anybody answer?
|
|
Movie Actress: Why, er, it was most peculiar; there were six other
|
|
bungalows in the block and there was a movie actress on the front porch of
|
|
each one yelling for help, too. I shouted, "Oh, girls, my director has been
|
|
murdered!"
|
|
Prosecutor: What'd they say?
|
|
Movie Actress: They all yelled back, "So has mine!"
|
|
Prosecutor: Then whadja do?
|
|
Movie Actress: We all got together, and I found all the girls had had
|
|
exactly the same experience I had.
|
|
Prosecutor: Didn't that strike you as unusual?
|
|
Movie Actress: Well, it was the first time we'd ever had six crimes in
|
|
the same block on the same night.
|
|
Prosecutor: Did you see anybody else in the neighborhood?
|
|
Movie Actress: I saw a stout man in a cap and muffler looking around the
|
|
lawn of a hotel across the street.
|
|
Prosecutor: What was he doing?
|
|
Movie Actress: At first I thought he might have been connected with the
|
|
slayings, but I later found he was a prominent screen comedian and knew
|
|
nothing about them.
|
|
Prosecutor: What was he looking around the lawn for?
|
|
Movie Actress: It seems he had been giving a little dinner party in the
|
|
hotel and had thrown a young lady guest out of the window in a playful mood.
|
|
He was trying to find her when I saw him.
|
|
Prosecutor: I have been told by my detectives that a large motor truck
|
|
was in the vicinity immediately after the shootings. Did you see it?
|
|
Movie Actress: Oh, yes, indeedy.
|
|
Prosecutor: What was it doing there?
|
|
Movie Actress: Must I tell?
|
|
Prosecutor: Yes, it may have an important bearing on the case.
|
|
Movie Actress: Well, we girls sent for it to come and cart our letters
|
|
away.
|
|
(Curtain as the prosecutor collapses.)
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 15, 1922
|
|
Mae Tinee
|
|
CHICAGO TRIBUNE
|
|
"Tillie?" Yes, we've seen "Tillie"--featuring Mary Miles Minter--and it
|
|
was sickening, entering the theater to see how many people were NOT there to
|
|
witness the photoplay but to gape at Mary with morbid eyes, eager to discover
|
|
in the lovely face that had charmed them so many times, signs of
|
|
dissoluteness.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 17, 1922
|
|
VARIETY
|
|
The Taylor murder is proving costly to practically all coast production
|
|
companies at this time. Star, director and cameraman have been busily engaged
|
|
in the discussion of the case each morning at a time they are scheduled to
|
|
"shoot." It is safe to say an hour or two were wasted daily last week on all
|
|
of the bigger lots as the result of the "post mortem" the Los Angeles dailies
|
|
were holding over the character of the slain man.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 12, 1922
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
(Chicago)--Solomon Fink read aloud to his family last night newspaper
|
|
dispatches describing diamonds and automobiles owned by the motion picture
|
|
folk of Hollywood. Two hours later a patrolman found Herman Fink, 5, and
|
|
Mollie Fischer, 4, a neighbor's child, wandering hand in hand through the
|
|
Northwestern Railway Station. The children told the patrolman, "We are going
|
|
to Hollywood, where all the rich people live."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 20, 1922
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
|
|
Blonde Killed Taylor, Says Psychoanalyst
|
|
(New York)--"If a woman murdered William Desmond Taylor, she was a
|
|
blonde," says Dr. Andre Tridon, eminent psychoanalyst.
|
|
Dr. Tridon, interviewed at his home today on aspects of the Taylor
|
|
slaying, explained:
|
|
"The adrenal gland, a small gland located above the kidneys, is the
|
|
physical center of the soul-differences between blondes and brunettes. In
|
|
blondes this gland has a large center and a thin covering or cortex. The
|
|
center of the gland makes excretions as a result of fear, and the covering
|
|
makes an excretion of anger. The blonde has more fear and less anger than the
|
|
brunette. It is a simple matter of physical fact.
|
|
"In the case of a man who is shot in the back, evidently from ambush or
|
|
by an unseen assailant, it is almost dead certain that the woman who did it,
|
|
if it was a woman, had blonde hair and a fair complexion. A brunette, being
|
|
more violent in temperament, would have faced the man she killed in order to
|
|
have the violent pleasure of letting him know she was doing it.
|
|
"This does not mean that blondes are less emotional than brunettes.
|
|
There is no law, physical or psychological, to regulate the emotions. I mean
|
|
only that blondes are less violent than brunettes.
|
|
"The dark peoples of the earth, moved by tremendous angers and passions,
|
|
are the people who use knives and like to get a close quarters with their
|
|
victims when they go out to kill.
|
|
"If a brunette had committed the Taylor murder she might have used a
|
|
stiletto, or knife of some kind. At any rate, she would have faced him and
|
|
shot while he realized what she was doing. The brunette demands actual
|
|
contact with the object of her love or hate."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 26, 1922
|
|
Louella Parsons
|
|
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
|
|
Social Requirements
|
|
If one is invited to dine or to luncheon, or to tea outside the industry
|
|
one is expected to have at least one original idea on who murdered Taylor. At
|
|
first it was rather a shock to have someone say:
|
|
"Oh come, you know all the inside dope, tell me."
|
|
Not having had any previous experience with unraveling murder mysteries
|
|
and not being a graduate of a Sherlock Holmes school it was something of a
|
|
blow to be prepared to given an explanation of who killed the most talked of
|
|
man in the country.
|
|
To our earnest, "Really I did not know Mr. Taylor. I have no idea who
|
|
could have killed him," we have been met with suspicious looks and a manner
|
|
as if we were concealing some of the inside facts.
|
|
But every one else in the motion picture industry has had the same
|
|
experience. To be connected with motion pictures in any way is enough to make
|
|
the layman believe one should know more than State's Attorney Woolwine and
|
|
the men who are unraveling this murder mystery.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 28, 1922
|
|
CHICAGO POST
|
|
Now that the road of financial success starts with pre-eminence in
|
|
federal politics, and the movie magnates select their sergeants-major from
|
|
the available supply of national postmasters-general, we may expect the
|
|
converse of the rule to take effect and the people's rulers to be taken from
|
|
the amusement field:
|
|
PILLAR NOMINATION
|
|
For Postmaster-General, to succeed Will Hays, we nominate:
|
|
MISS MARY MILES MINTER
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 10, 1922
|
|
WICHITA EAGLE
|
|
"Mary Miles Minter is as clean and lovable a girl as is on earth,"
|
|
declared L. D. Balsly, publicity manager for the Wichita Theater. "The only
|
|
successful films she was in were directed by Taylor, so why should she not
|
|
have admired him?"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
June 10, 1922
|
|
Karl Kitchen
|
|
LITERARY DIGEST
|
|
(reprinted from NEW YORK WORLD)
|
|
Just as an oil-well may be described as a hole in the ground owned by a
|
|
liar, Hollywood may be described as a collection of bungalows and motion-
|
|
picture studios written about by liars.
|
|
It is an actual fact that more lies have been written about this dreary,
|
|
desolate suburb of Los Angeles than any other part of California.
|
|
Hollywood is in no sense a city. It has no local government, no art
|
|
galleries, no museums, no institutions of learning aside from primary schools
|
|
and kindergartens--nothing that makes the slightest pretense to culture--
|
|
civic or otherwise.
|
|
Its only restaurants are cafeterias--self-serve tooth and jaw gymnasiums
|
|
where it is as fashionable to use a toothpick in public as it is to leave the
|
|
spoon in one's cup. It doesn't boast of a single theater except the cheapest
|
|
movie playhouses.
|
|
There are no evidences of any life--wicked or of the night variety--
|
|
anywhere within its precincts. If in the daytime more than two people walk
|
|
abreast on Hollywood or Sunset Boulevards--broad avenues that lead nowhere--
|
|
the inhabitants mistake them for a parade. In fact, no inmate of this quiet
|
|
suburb leaves his home after sundown except, perhaps, to buy an evening
|
|
paper.
|
|
My own theory is that William Desmond Taylor committed suicide rather
|
|
than remain in Hollywood another fortnight.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 15, 1922
|
|
Neal O'Hara
|
|
NEW YORK EVENING WORLD
|
|
Hollywood Notes
|
|
A consignment of seventy-two deaf and dumb men arrived in Hollywood
|
|
yesterday to serve as chauffeurs.
|
|
* *
|
|
A delightful informal party of the upper screen set was enjoyed at the
|
|
Mussey bungalow last evening. Games were played and frolicking indulged in
|
|
till an early morning hour, when a ride in the patrol wagon was enjoyed by
|
|
all.
|
|
* *
|
|
Eustace Gwick has been signed to play the role of Morphine in the new
|
|
super-hypo-photoplay, "Ten Nights in a Drug Store." Genevieve Sickle will
|
|
play the part of the Heroin.
|
|
* *
|
|
Police report a new clue in the Hollywood murder mystery. Can of
|
|
alphabet soup has been found in mystery bungalow, containing initials from A
|
|
to Z, inclusive. Every film staress in the colony denies the can of soup is
|
|
hers.
|
|
* *
|
|
Members of the Hollywood set are enjoying sleigh riding this winter.
|
|
* *
|
|
Markdown sale of pink nighties, initialed handkerchiefs and other
|
|
incriminating lingerie at Blitz Brothers' Dept. Store, Hollywood. Closing out
|
|
a fine line of goods owing to unexpected lack of demand.
|
|
* *
|
|
Mudington Frizz, the well known hop lover, is having his arm
|
|
revulcanized.
|
|
* *
|
|
Reformers at Venice, Cal, urge that film bathing girls be kept out of
|
|
the water. Claim gals are giving the Pacific Ocean a bad name.
|
|
* *
|
|
POSITION WANTED--Butler with wide experience and closed mouth wants
|
|
position in reliable bungalow. Best of references, tongue-tied and eyesight
|
|
poor. Also skilled as buyer of ladies' wear.
|
|
* *
|
|
Winnie Whoozis, petit favorite of the screen, admits making X's on mash
|
|
note, but claims she thought it was Australian ballot. Election officials
|
|
have been called in.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 24, 1922
|
|
William Parker
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO BULLETIN
|
|
My friend said to me, "Look here now, you can't tell me--to be specific-
|
|
-that little Miss ------ ------ is the sort of a girl she should be."
|
|
"No," I replied frankly, "she is not. Were Miss ------ ------ an
|
|
ordinary girl a good sound spanking would be of vast benefit to her and to
|
|
the motion picture industry as a whole."
|
|
"It is so easy--" there was a sneer in his tone. "--then why isn't it
|
|
done?"
|
|
"I will tell you why. In the days before motion pictures came into
|
|
vogue, Mama ------ ------ , a blue-nosed Yankee [sic] woman, was a stock
|
|
actress of mediocre ability and with a sniveling brat on her hands. She never
|
|
knew whether her next week's booking would be in vaudeville or the poorhouse.
|
|
Can you imagine Mama ------ ------'s feelings when this same brat jumped into
|
|
public popularity and a large salary because of a winsomeness which appealed
|
|
to motion picture audiences! Mama ------ ------ now has diamonds, limousines,
|
|
a mansion and an English accent. And you would ask her to spank the source of
|
|
this luxury!"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 21, 1922
|
|
H. I. Phillips
|
|
NEW YORK GLOBE
|
|
Analyzing a Hollywood Clue
|
|
A new mystery woman has been brought into the investigation of William
|
|
Desmond Taylor's murder. A garage man has told how a young woman, bareheaded
|
|
and in evening gown, appeared to be fleeing from Los Angeles the night of the
|
|
murder.
|
|
"She stopped at a garage in Ventura, Cal., at 3 A.M. and ordered all the
|
|
gasoline and oil her car would hold," says the dispatch. "She had driven up
|
|
at a terrific speed, her hair was blown awry, her face was pale and drawn,
|
|
and she bit nervously at her gloves. She gave a bill in payment, and did not
|
|
wait for change."
|
|
Maybe she shot Taylor, but her actions, according to the above account,
|
|
were only those of a woman whose husband had become too helpless to drive,
|
|
and who was doing her best to get him and the car home before sunrise.
|
|
Probably, had the garage man looked, he would have seen him asleep on the
|
|
floor of the car muttering: "Who shays I'm too drunk t' drive ish car? All
|
|
right, then, you drive ish!"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
March 12, 1922
|
|
BOSTON GLOBE
|
|
George Ade, who recently spent several weeks in Hollywood, tells an
|
|
amusing story about the scramble of some of the film stars to appear
|
|
"respectable" following the sensational stories recently coming out of
|
|
Hollywood. According to Ade it got to be quite the fashion for youthful film
|
|
stars to be photographed with their mothers in order to show how well they
|
|
were protected.
|
|
"And do you know," says Ade, "some of the gelatine stars spent two or
|
|
three weeks finding where their mothers lived so that they could wire them to
|
|
come to Hollywood to have their pictures taken."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 13, 1922
|
|
Walter Anthony
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO BULLETIN
|
|
We wondered why a guard was placed around the home of Mary Miles Minter,
|
|
following the publication of her passionate "I love you, I love you" letter
|
|
to Taylor.
|
|
When Miss Minter broke into print in an interview the reason was clear.
|
|
She, or some one wiser than she, surrounded her with guards to prevent her
|
|
from talking for publication. Of the man who deserted his wife and baby and
|
|
whose whole career is a mystery and a camouflage, Mary said:
|
|
"I don't believe he ever had a wife. He never told me he had, and our
|
|
acquaintance was such that I'm sure he wouldn't deceive me. He could only be
|
|
compared with God, he was so good."
|
|
Mary doesn't need a guard, she needs a gag.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 8, 1922
|
|
Roy Moulton
|
|
NEW YORK MAIL
|
|
Twinkle, Little Movie Star, How I Wonder Where You Are!
|
|
The motto of the fillum colony seems to be "Fillum up again." But that
|
|
doesn't lead us any closer to the solution of the crime. We are now getting
|
|
our own news from Hollywood and in the rush of getting out an afternoon paper
|
|
we are obliged to present it in a sort of disjointed way, mingling the
|
|
strictly editorial utterances with the news items. That such a thing could
|
|
happen in the motion picture colony is shocking and unexpected. To begin
|
|
with, according to my reports from the scene, everybody is agreed that the
|
|
victim was not fond of any woman, didn't associate with them and was
|
|
practically a hermit. Never a breath, you understand--
|
|
FLASH: Quantities of silk lingerie and negligee found in bureau drawers
|
|
of bungalow. Silk nighties neatly folded, some with hairpins in them.
|
|
TO EDITORS--ADD FLASH--Taylor did not wear silk nighties or hairpins.
|
|
The plot thickens.
|
|
Miss Mazie Tabasco, prominent and beautiful screen star, told the police
|
|
today that she never knew Taylor, never saw him and that he did not tell her
|
|
he was going to beat up his valet. Miss Tabasco last appeared in 1909 in "The
|
|
Tribulations of Tillie." She maintained under close questioning that she
|
|
never heard of Taylor. Nobody in the film colony ever heard of her. So it
|
|
looks like a draw.
|
|
Bill Taylor was a man's man. Everybody in the movie colony knew that. He
|
|
associated with men who did embroidery and knitting and point lace. All the
|
|
love letters in the bungalow were tied with blue baby ribbon.
|
|
ADD MAZIE TABASCO: Miss Tabasco wore a charming mink coat and rolled
|
|
stockings when questioned by the police. She was almost overcome by emotion
|
|
but was not too weak to be photographed.
|
|
Miss Juniper Berry, a beautiful screen star, was bewitchingly dressed as
|
|
she alighted from her motor in front of police headquarters this morning,
|
|
where she went to volunteer what information she didn't have concerning the
|
|
crime. She wore a saucy turban with red cherries, a mauve sport coat. She
|
|
didn't know a thing about the crime, but the photographers got some excellent
|
|
pictures. Miss Berry is one of the most prominent unknown screen actresses in
|
|
the country. She is looking for a job.
|
|
FLASH: The gun was a .38-caliber. Important.
|
|
ADD FLASH: Jealousy was the cause. A well-known actor was in love with a
|
|
beautiful actress who had an ice cream soda with Taylor three years ago, and
|
|
he swore vengeance. He will be arrested before night, but we don't know what
|
|
night.
|
|
FLASH: It has been definitely proven that jealousy was not the cause.
|
|
The actress mentioned is Miss Hyacinth De Vere. She never met Taylor, and she
|
|
says it was not an ice cream soda she had with him that day anyhow, but a nut
|
|
sundae.
|
|
IMPORTANT: Miss June Bugg, the beautiful film favorite, has hastened
|
|
here to deny a statement that has never been made to the effect that she was
|
|
in the bungalow at the time of the murder. She was in Kansas City that night.
|
|
She indignantly denies that she was engaged to Taylor. Nobody ever said she
|
|
was, and the incident has been dropped.
|
|
"I loved him with all my heart and soul," sobbed Miss Lutie Bibbins, the
|
|
beautiful film star, after she had fought her way into police headquarters to
|
|
give her version of the affair. "I loved him, but there was nothing
|
|
sentimental about it. We were just good pals." Miss Bibbins wore attractive
|
|
furs and a Paris suit, also galoshes with buttons not buttoned. She carried a
|
|
walking stick with gold head incrusted with diamonds.
|
|
FLASH: Miss Ida Frothingham, the well-known and beautiful screen star,
|
|
informed the police today that Miss Bibbins had never seen Taylor in her
|
|
life. "I am the one who gave him the $1,800 ebony cigarette holder," said
|
|
Miss Frothingham. "He was my best friend and I am all busted up. If you have
|
|
got to get my picture don't get a profile. I am simply overwhelmed."
|
|
Others who denied to the police today that they were engaged to Taylor
|
|
were Misses Ivy Stump, Hazel Wood, Rose Bush, Celludid St. Claire, Amethyst
|
|
Binks, Geraldine Gimme, Minnie Maggie Mudge, Tapioca Todd and Lucille
|
|
Luscious.
|
|
One hundred and thirty-seven beautiful film stars denied themselves to
|
|
callers today. The plot thickens.
|
|
Miss Anastasia Hash, prominent and beautiful film star, volunteered some
|
|
important evidence to the police today. Miss Hash's story was as follows,
|
|
taken from stenographic notes:
|
|
"I passed right by the bungalow three evenings before the crime and I
|
|
didn't see a thing. I got this sable coat in Paris. I never met Mr. Taylor.
|
|
My next picture will be produced by the Punkart people. I have never been in
|
|
love."
|
|
Miss Oleomargarine Pipp, the beautiful film star, told the police today:
|
|
"I had lunch with Mr. Taylor in 1919 in Los Angeles. I didn't notice anything
|
|
wrong with him then. I have not seen him since."
|
|
FLASH--IMPORTANT: The bungalow was built of wood.
|
|
FLASH: New and important witness sought. He is a man high up in the
|
|
screen profession--very high indeed. He does airplane stunts. Evidence is
|
|
very strong against him as the possible murderer, as he was in New York at
|
|
the time of the shooting.
|
|
Miss Gardenia Geranium Julap, the well-known and beautiful screen star,
|
|
is hastening to Hollywood from Alaska to be interviewed. She was there on
|
|
location at the time of the crime and never heard of Taylor before. She is on
|
|
the verge of a nervous breakdown.
|
|
The police believe they have rounded up nearly everybody who doesn't
|
|
know anything about the crime and who never knew Taylor.
|
|
Was it jealousy? Was it business rivalry? Did some woman hire an
|
|
assassin to fire the bullet? Was it a holdup?
|
|
One feature of the thing has baffled the police from the start. There
|
|
doesn't seem to be any woman mixed up in it.
|
|
And then again, it has come to a pretty pass when the movie colony
|
|
cannot pull off a murder or two without the police getting all steamed up
|
|
over it.
|
|
Please pass the smelling salts.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 13, 1922
|
|
Herb Westen
|
|
SAN FRANCISCO CALL-POST
|
|
(Los Angeles)--Out of a population of 567,000 today in this city there
|
|
are 575,996 amateur and professional detectives seeking the murderer of
|
|
Taylor.
|
|
Out of the remaining four two are deaf, dumb and blind and do not read
|
|
the newspapers; one left town this morning and the fourth is--the slayer
|
|
himself.
|
|
The sleuthing fever is at a high heat and book stores report a
|
|
phenomenal run on Sherlock Holmes, Craig Kennedy and the lurid Nick Carter.
|
|
With the incentive of two $1000 rewards, one offered by a local
|
|
newspaper and the other by the Screen Writers' Guild, everyone is suspicious
|
|
of everyone else and the chief of police is considering ordering everyone but
|
|
the slayer to wear a badge.
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Tall Tales #3: The Atlantic City Confession
|
|
|
|
March 5, 1922
|
|
Edward Doherty
|
|
SYRACUSE POST-STANDARD
|
|
Police Say Educated Man Sent Letter of Confession
|
|
Out of the hundreds of letters touching on the William Desmond Taylor
|
|
murder mystery that have come to the Los Angeles authorities, one was
|
|
selected today for investigation.
|
|
It was written by a man who says he committed the murder out of revenge.
|
|
The letter was sent special delivery.
|
|
Captain David L. Adams of the detective bureau, while keeping secret the
|
|
name of the writer, declares the man is evidently a scholar. "I am confident
|
|
the writer will be under arrest in 24 hours," Captain Adams said. "I am
|
|
convinced that the writer is not a fanatic."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 12, 1922
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LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
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Taylor Death Note Revealed
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The startling letter of "confession" received by Captain of Detectives
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David L. Adams last Saturday is the only letter out of many hundreds received
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at police headquarters that is receiving the serious attention of Captain
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Adams.
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The letter in question is as follows:
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"Hotel Traymore, Atlantic City, N. J.
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"As I am of the opinion that the JUST murder of ONE W. D. Taylor has
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just a bit too much limelight and that he is being defended by too many duped
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friends, I take it upon myself to write these few lines to you, for I have
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accomplished my purpose by killing the DIRTY CUR, and even this is a mild
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description of the man who had hidden behind a clean, polite and polished
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personality.
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"This much, my dear friend, I will inform you, not one of the women
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whose names have been brought into this affair had anything to do with his
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death, nor his secretary and valet, Peavey could, in my own personal opinion,
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say much if he would of W. D.'s relations with several women callers,
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although W. D. never had him remain all night at his home.
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"Just nine years ago Taylor entered into my wife's life and always a
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lover of everything that was good and an admirer of a real gentleman, she was
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very soon under my friend's GOOD INFLUENCE, and here, Captain, I might add
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that Taylor was my friend.
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"He always at first made it his business to gain the complete confidence
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of all his women. As to my wife she fairly worshiped him, and while I was a
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good husband and tidy I had not the personality that W. D. had. My wife soon
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fell to contrasting the two of us and would tell me I should do so and so and
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be like so and so, and so on until I began to spend my evenings at the club
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because it became too irksome at home, and because I was too much of a
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gentleman to ask W. D. to leave until his visit, which in truth was a
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vacation, had expired, for he was my guest by invitation.
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"But, oh H--, Captain, why should I bother you with so much detail;
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suffice it to say (here follows story of alleged relations between Taylor and
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the writer's wife).
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"He had wanted my wife as he had wanted other women that took his fancy.
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He was a gentleman always to all persons outwardly. And he went about it by
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acts of kindness and charity to such a degree that he convinced even the most
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skeptical, and now, Captain, in the midst of my condemnation of the man, I
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ask you not to lose sight of the fact that W. D. played four women and a girl
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at one time and had the complete confidence of each and had each visit him
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separately, and yet played each so skillfully that they each of them were
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absolutely convinced that he had only their future welfare in mind at all
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times, and so gained their complete confidence and later their affection
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though his by-play of friendship and paternal interest.
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"Until he became involved with (mentioning the name of a film actress) I
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was inclined to let him go because in time I think (another luminary of the
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film world) would have gotten him in revenge, for she was the only woman who
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saw at least partly through W. D., and I think a little later intended to
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compel W. D. to do her bidding, for he meant much to her both in financial
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and other ways, for ----, like Taylor, enjoys both freedom and a good name,
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and she could go a long ways toward making a bargain with a man like Taylor.
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"The three women connected with Taylor (here follows a bitter
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denunciation of both Taylor and the women named). But the other actress was a
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good girl, and as I and my wife knew Taylor well enough to know that he would
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get her and my wife swore to me that if he did she would kill him, I thought
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it about time to take a hand myself, for I had sworn to get Taylor some day,
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but in a way that I would never hang for it, and so I set about planning how,
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and here, Captain, I might add that in spite of all any one tells you to the
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contrary (that W. D. feared no one) he lived constantly in fear that I would
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some day get him, for he knew me well and he feared more than ever when he
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learned that my wife's love had turned to hate, for he knew her, too.
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"South American women, you know, can hate as deeply and intensely as
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they can love, and with all his smooth personality he was not diplomatic
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enough to carry her along with others as he did his American women. There are
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two facts that have been overlooked to date, Captain. They are these:
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"We had been living in the central section of the financial district at
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a hotel on Spring Street and were out in the colony daily and only on one
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occasion did we let Taylor see us, and that only after we had made a careful
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study of his everyday habits and life as he lived.
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"I even came East on two occasions on the same train. Well, Captain,
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what is the use of detail? I return again to the two facts. On the afternoon
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of the night of the killing we borrowed a friend's car and drove to the home
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of another acquaintance near Venice. We returned to L.A. and changed clothes
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and dined.
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"We then drove out to Hollywood to within two squares of W. D.'s home
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and left the car and proceeded on foot up Alvarado. Being familiar with the
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time Peavey left, we intended to go in on Taylor after he was alone. I had
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pass keys to both the front and back doors. Seeing a woman coming down the
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street we separated, my wife turned away from Alvarado and circled and I
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struck off up the street and behind shrubbery and foliage.
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"The woman, I believe, was a nurse and I believe saw me, but owing to
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the distance and the way I had my muffler and cap she could never recognize
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me anyhow. A car was at the curb and I joined my wife at the back of the
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house.
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"I let my wife in the back door. My wife went to the living room, where
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she listened unobserved, and then I slipped the front door, and any one at
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all could have seen me do it. Taylor returned and went to the drawer of the
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table and put a letter there from his pocket and turned and sat down in the
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chair, where he remarked to himself:
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" 'I wish I were away from there. This ---- place is getting on my
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nerves, and most of all, these ---- women.' (Follows an alleged opinion upon
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the part of Taylor concerning some of his friends.)
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"Then my wife stepped into the room and I with her and she spoke to him
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and she said:
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" 'Well, well, William dear, I see you still have a little influence
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over women.'
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"He said, 'God, I knew it.' and turned and I fired. As he fell forward
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he called my wife by name and said he knew she would do it but he would
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rather have her do it, for it was her that he had hurt more than any one he
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ever knew and deserved it. He did not die for fully fifteen minutes, and what
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few things he said concerned only us.
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"For a few minutes my wife's old infatuation came back to her and she
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knelt beside him and cried, and then laid him out tenderly. God, man, but
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women are mysterious creatures.
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"I woke her up by telling her we were guilty of murder and so far were a
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long way from safe as we had planned. She cursed the fool and put her cloak
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around her and I went out back to see if everything was clear. Oh, by the
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way, I forgot to mention that we were both inside when the chauffeur for W.
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D. came up and we watched him go away. I sent the wife out the back way and
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she went around the block and I walked out the front door and down Alvarado
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Street.
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"The wife was sitting in the car and I got in and drove to L.A. We did
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not go right back to the hotel, but took in a moving picture because the girl
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was nervous. Then back to the hotel.
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"Wife continued nervous and I realized that she had best get away. Sent
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her in car to friends at Santa ----. She did not change clothes still having
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on evening gown. Bell-boy took a grip down to car for us and I bid her good-
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bye. Checked out next day and joined her. We then came back and took train
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for Chicago. From Chi to Buffalo. Left her in Toronto and I came to New York,
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from there to here.
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"Have settled business interests here and in N.Y. and now on way to ----
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. Could do a lot towards clearing up things but there is no such thing as
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immunity for a self confessed murderer and I believe I did a just thing and
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if not God in his good time will punish me.
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"When you receive this I shall be on the high seas and I have very
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powerful influence where my wife and I are going, and what is the use of
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California spending so much money goose chasing? I would like to see you get
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the reward Capt. but under circumstances must disappoint you. Am writing to
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you because you are the only one out of all connected that will stick to your
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own deductions and convictions. There were only two people who knew who
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killed W. D. and when you receive this there will be three. The more you
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investigate along wrong paths the more you hurt the M.P. Industry.
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"Adieu captain."
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The name of the man signed to the alleged confession is that of a person
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well known in picture circles.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 8, 1922
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MEMPHIS COMMERCIAL APPEAL
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(Los Angeles)--Police detectives assigned to the William Desmond Taylor
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murder mystery announced they had discarded the "confession" recently mailed
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here from Atlantic City, N.J., as the work of an unsound mind.
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They declared that the handwriting of the man whose name was signed to
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the "confession" said to be a prominent figure in the motion picture
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industry, in no way corresponds to that in which the correspondence was
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written.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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(to be continued)
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*****************************************************************************
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NEXT ISSUE:
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"Hollywood Mysteries"--Shredded
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"The Humor of a Hollywood Murder" Part 8:
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Confessions, Confessions, Poetry Potpourri, The Public Speaks;
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Epilogue: August 1923
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*****************************************************************************
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NOTES:
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[1] According to Florabel Muir in Headline Happy, this episode was
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masterminded by Frank Carson, and the "ghost" was Al Weinshank, who would
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later become one of the victims of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
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*****************************************************************************
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For more information about Taylor, see
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WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR: A DOSSIER (Scarecrow Press, 1991)
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Back issues of Taylorology are available via Gopher or FTP at
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etext.archive.umich.edu
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in the directory pub/Zines/Non_Fiction/Taylorology
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