1306 lines
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1306 lines
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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 11 -- November 1993 Editor: Bruce Long bruce@asu.edu *
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* All reprinted material is in the public domain *
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*****************************************************************************
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CONTENTS OF THIS 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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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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*****************************************************************************
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*****************************************************************************
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"Hollywood Mysteries"--Shredded
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As stated in TAYLOROLOGY 4, most published recaps of the Taylor murder
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case (in newspapers, magazines, books, and "crime encyclopedias") are filled
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with errors and inaccuracies. The following is a recent typical example.
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HOLLYWOOD MYSTERIES is a small book published by Globe Publishing in
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1989, containing a short 5-page recap of the Taylor case. Included in just
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those five pages are various unsubstantiated (and probably false) rumors:
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that Taylor was a "notorious womanizer," that Mary Miles Minter "and her
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mother had been taking turns in Taylor's bed," that "an autographed pair of
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Mary's panties was found by police in Taylor's closet," that Taylor "had
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opium and cocaine habits," that Taylor had "a closet full of bras and
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lingerie," that "police found pornographic photographs of Taylor posing with
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some of the biggest female stars in Hollywood," that Charlotte Shelby "was
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also known to spend a night or two over at Taylor's bungalow," etc. Rational
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arguments can be presented against all of those unverified rumors.
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But rumors aside, that recap in HOLLYWOOD MYSTERIES includes many
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"facts" which are certainly absolutely false:
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It is stated that Taylor was the president of the Screen Director's Guild.
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FACT: Taylor was president of the Los Angeles branch of the Motion Picture
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Director's Association (MPDA), an entirely different organization. The
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Screen Director's Guild would not be founded until the 1930s. The MPDA was
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not a union, unlike the Screen Director's Guild, and the MPDA had a separate
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New York branch, with separate officers. At the time of Taylor's death, J.
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Searle Dawley was president of the New York branch.
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It is stated that Taylor was shot twice through the heart.
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FACT: The coroner's report indicates that was shot just once, in the left
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side, the bullet puncturing his left lung, but not his heart.
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It is stated that Taylor's body was found with "a chair draped over his
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legs."
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FACT: A wooden chair was astride one leg, but it was not overturned.
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It is stated that Edna Purviance telephoned Charlotte Shelby and told her
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Taylor had been killed.
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FACT: Purviance did not telephone Shelby; Shelby learned of Taylor's death
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from Carl Stockdale. (Edna Purviance telephoned Mabel Normand; Normand
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telephoned her director Dick Jones on the Sennett lot; word spread throughout
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the Sennett lot and reached Stockdale who was acting in a picture there;
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Stockdale called Shelby.)
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It is stated that Charlotte Shelby called Charles Eyton and notified him that
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Taylor had been killed.
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FACT: Shelby did not notify Eyton. As Eyton testified at the inquest, he had
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been telephoned and notified by Harry Fellows, Taylor's assistant director.
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It is stated that Mabel Normand and Adolph Zukor were at Taylor's bungalow on
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the morning the body was found.
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FACT: Mabel Normand did not return to Taylor's bungalow until three days
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after the murder; Adolph Zukor was in New York at the time and did not come
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to Los Angeles until more than a week after the murder.
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It is stated that Charles Eyton arrived at the bungalow prior to the arrival
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of the police.
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FACT: As testimony at the inquest indicates, policemen Ziegler and Parsons
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were already on the scene before Eyton arrived there.
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It is stated that the police were not notified of Taylor's death until an
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hour or so after the body had been discovered.
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FACT: The police were notified a few minutes after the body was found; Peavey
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discovered Taylor's body at 7:30 and the police arrived before 8:00.
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It is stated that when the police arrived, Zukor and Eyton were burning
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Taylor's personal papers in his fireplace.
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FACT: Taylor's bungalow had no fireplace.
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It is stated that Mary Miles Minter was one of the chief suspects in Taylor's
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murder.
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FACT: The police never suspected Minter of having murdered Taylor.
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It is stated that Minter attended Taylor's funeral, approached the casket,
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and started screaming that the corpse had spoken to her.
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FACT: Minter did not attend Taylor's funeral; she went into seclusion a few
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days after the murder and did not emerge in public for over a month. At the
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same time the funeral was in progress, she was making an official statement
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to William Doran of the district attorney's office. The "talking corpse"
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episode took place several days prior to the funeral, and she did not start
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screaming (see below).
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It is stated that Mary Miles Minter spent several hours in Taylor's bungalow
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on the day of the murder, prior to Mabel Normand's visit.
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FACT: Minter certainly did not visit Taylor's bungalow that day prior to
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Mabel Normand. If Minter did visit Taylor's bungalow after Normand, it was
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only for a few minutes.
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It is stated that Mabel Normand visited Taylor for several hours on the day
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of the murder.
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FACT: Her visit only lasted about 45 minutes, from 7:00 to 7:45 p.m.
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It is stated that police wanted to investigate Shelby but that she "bolted to
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Europe."
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FACT: Shelby did not go to Europe until mid-1926, more than four years after
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the murder.
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It is stated that Zelda Crosby was "a Taylor lover who killed herself because
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of his infidelities."
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FACT: Zelda Crosby committed suicide in New York; Taylor worked in Los
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Angeles. It is very doubtful that Taylor and Crosby even knew each other.
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The Taylor case is one of the most fascinating murder cases in American
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history. It is regrettable that most of the material written about the case
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has focused on spreading silly rumors and misinformation, rather than delving
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into the real facts of the case.
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*****************************************************************************
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*****************************************************************************
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"The Humor of a Hollywood Murder", Part 8
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Confessions, Confessions
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February 16, 1922
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NEW YORK HERALD
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(Los Angeles)--No end of letters from cranks are pouring into the
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investigative offices. Police Captain Adams says it beats anything in his
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nineteen years' experience. He has time to read only a few of them. One
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writes from Oregon that he did it, and adds, "I am leaving Portland tonight,
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but whether north, south, east or west I don't say. Come and find me."
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All these letters are being studied on the chance that one of them might
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yield pay dirt, but thus far they have proved merely vexations and time
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wasting.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 27, 1922
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ST LOUIS STAR
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The district attorney of Los Angeles will have to have some rejection
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slips printed soon to use in returning confessions in the Taylor case.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 7, 1922
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TULSA TRIBUNE
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Why can't all those persons who have confessed to the Taylor murder get
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together and draw straws to determine who's going to be "it"?
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 7, 1922
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DES MOINES TRIBUNE
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Los Angeles sleuths report that they have had over a hundred letters
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"confessing" the murder of Movie Director Taylor. And no doubt most of the
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writers are peeved because their letters didn't even get into the newspapers.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 8, 1922
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SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
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Curdled Brains
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More than 300 different persons have written to the Los Angeles police
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"confessing" to the murder of William Taylor. This means that there are at
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least 300 weak-minded individuals in the country. One can hardly think of a
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feebler brain than the one that spends time and trouble to pretend the
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conception of a crime it knows nothing of except through the papers.
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But, after all, this is nothing to the exhibition of mental debility we
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would have if Taylor's murderer were behind the bars. The unsolved mystery of
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the crime has brought forward only one type of imbeciles. Another and far
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larger class would be produced by the capture of the criminal.
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Were his address known at some prominent jail thirty times 300
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addlepates would proclaim themselves by sending him flowers, writing him
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scented notes full of silly slush, and trying to call on him in order to
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bring their morbid sentimentality into contact with his aura of iniquity.
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No, the Taylor mystery has by no means revealed all the whey wits in the
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country. The possibilities are not at all exhausted in the count of 300. And
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from that point of view we have really been lucky that the murderer has not
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been caught.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 7, 1922
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LOUISVILLE TIMES
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If there were a conspiracy to destroy public interest in the solution of
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the mystery surrounding the murder of William Desmond Taylor, it could not
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find more effective means than to present a confession a day from here, there
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and somewhere else. The public interest is certain to grow less as the
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numerous admissions of guilt prove to be false.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 8, 1922
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LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL
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Hang Them All
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Never a day passes that does not bring new confessions of the murder of
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Taylor, the Hollywood moving picture director.
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A Los Angeles dispatch says that more than 300 persons in the United
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States, with one in England and one in France, have now "confessed" they
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killed Taylor, though with one exception none of them has signed his name to
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the confession.
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Would it not be well to take these persons at their word? Would it not
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be more than worth while for the detectives to run down these 300 confessed
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murderers, round them up at some central spot and hang the whole bunch?
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They have confessed that they deserve hanging; their actions prove it;
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and they ought to get their deserts.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 12, 1922
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OAKLAND TRIBUNE
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In the frost-bitten states of the East more than three hundred persons
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have confessed that they murdered Taylor. There can be but one reason and it
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is strange Los Angeles has not realized the significance. What those three
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hundred persons wish is the chance to be warmed on the famous Los Angeles
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police grill.
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*****************************************************************************
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Poetry Potpourri
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February 5, 1922
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CHICAGO TRIBUNE
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Mabel sat in her gasoline hack,
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Eating peanuts by the sack;
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She heard a shot but would not go,
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Because she loved the peanuts so.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 6, 1922
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CHICAGO POST
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"Mother, mother, may I go in the movies?"
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"Oh, yes, my darling daughter;
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But remember you were just a friend of his,
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In each case of manslaughter."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 7, 1922
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ALBUQUERQUE HERALD
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Behind the Silver Screen
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In Movie-Land;
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There earnest workers glean
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With heart and hand
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The brave rewards that come to those who serve
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Art's stern demands; and will not swerve
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Their cold allegiance by a curl or curve.
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In Movie-Land
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Enamoured votaries of Art
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In Movie-Land
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They live aloof, apart:
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Ambition grand
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Bids them spurn dull conventions gray,
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And live those parts, both grave and gay,
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For which we mortals yearn and pay
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This Movie-Land.
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Nor can man's silly laws,
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In Movie-Land
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Cause eager Art to pause
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In its demand
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For that full freedom which permits
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Strong spirits to flow freely; nimble wits
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To play at will, while Cupid flits
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Through Movie-Land.
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What though these spirits free
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In Movie-Land
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Should seem to you and me,
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From where we stand
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To be a trifle more free than they should
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With Freud and cocktails, guns and blood?
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Why should that call the cops to Hollywood
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In Movie-Land?
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What know we of the Urge
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In Movie-Land
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That moves these souls to surge
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At Art's command
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Until in inspiration's noble rage
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They crowd all other news clear off the stage
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And grab each day the whole front page
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For Movie-Land!
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 11, 1922
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OKLAHOMA CITY TIMES
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Now Mary Miles Minter is striving to paint
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Her love as a beautiful flower,
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Though readers are certain enough that it ain't
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Though Mary insists by the hour.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 12, 1922
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CHICAGO TRIBUNE
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My mother was a lady, sire,
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Though she lived in Hollywood;
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But how she ever got that way,
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I've never understood.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 12, 1922
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OMAHA BEE
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Hollywood
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All Hollywood is but a stage,
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The movie actors are the players,
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Where comedy is all the rage
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And they of fun the wild purveyors--
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On with the dance, let joy prevail,
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Let no gloom-spreader in to dim it,
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Their wish is law, they have the kale, [1]
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They own the town and go the limit.
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Be careful if you can't be good,
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They say, as from the dance they're wending
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Yet comedy at Hollywood
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Oft' seems to have a tragic ending.
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And yet while Hollywood's a lot
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Where movie folk cut up their capers,
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The public doesn't get the plot
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Until they read it in the papers.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 12, 1922
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CHICAGO TRIBUNE
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Screen Land, Scream Land,
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I simply can't allude
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To what they did; 'twas everything
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But what they really should.
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Only were they decent
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On days when the weather was good;
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They'd do a nice, clean murder, out
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In dear old Hollywood.2
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 13, 1922
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CHICAGO POST
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Reflections
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Oh, Hollywood the Golden!
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With youth and beauty blest;
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Where every night holds revels,
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Where no one goes to rest.
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Where gents throw soup at waiters,
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Where baby vamps write slush,
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Where ladies by the dozen
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Pursue one lonely mush!
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A pleasant thought to harbor
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As we chronicle these ills,
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That for all this midnight splendor
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The dear public pays the bills.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 16, 1922
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PITTSBURGH POST
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Stern Resolve of a Moral Young Man
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I'll never be a movie star
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Though ten directors trail me;
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In Hollywood, the chances are,
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They'd either shoot or jail me.
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Those horrid habit-forming drugs!
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Those vamps, so blond and frisky!
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I'm safer here among the thugs,
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A-drinking moonshine whisky.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 20, 1922
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SEATTLE UNION-RECORD
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A cute little miss known as Minter
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At foxy old guys was a squinter.
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An ill-advised wink
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Brought her close to the brink--
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Now she's in for the rest of the winter.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 22, 1922
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LOUISVILLE TIMES
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There's something wrong at Hollywood,
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The cause, O let us seek!
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There's something wrong at Hollywood--
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No scandal yet this week.
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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March 6, 1922
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SEATTLE UNION-RECORD
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The Taylor Case
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I've followed up the Taylor case
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Till I am purple in the face,
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And still I'm all at sea;
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The sleuths ignores his bed and feed
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To find the crook who did the deed,
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But still it's mystery.
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Each day detectives scent a clue,
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That in a moment busts in two,
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Like toy balloons, egad;
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And all the science that they know
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So far has failed to snare the bo
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So crim-i-nally bad.
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I'm sure that Sherlock Holmes would solve
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The puzzle of the shot revolv,
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And ferret out the crook,
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If it were not the painful truth
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That all the logic of this sleuth
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Just came from out a book!
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 21, 1922
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Roy Moulton
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NEW YORK MAIL
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They have found a drug, forsooth,
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That will make you tell the truth.
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There's a chance to test it good
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Right now out in Hollywood.
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*****************************************************************************
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The Public Speaks
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February 10, 1922
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NEW YORK NEWS
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The Inquiring Photographer
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THE QUESTION.
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Do you think a man or a woman murdered Taylor?
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THE ANSWERS.
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C. A. Cruise, cotton broker: "I think a woman murdered him. My
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experience and observations have shown me that a woman will do anything for
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revenge when she thinks she has been jilted. Some woman probably was insanely
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jealous."
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Mrs. E. W. Cunningham, housewife: "A man shot him. I base my opinion on
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the manner in which Taylor was murdered. It was so cleverly concealed that it
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must be the work of some man. A woman isn't so clever in such affairs."
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Arthur Schwartz, college student: "I think a man did the shooting,
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because a woman would never shoot a man in the back. She is too eager to see
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the expression of pain. And she feels that a jury will exonerate her anyway."
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Mrs. Tessie Saeger, housewife: "My intuition tells me that a woman fired
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the fatal shot. He had so many affairs that one of the women was bound to
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'get him in the long run.' Once a woman gives her all, it isn't so easy to
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get rid of her.
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Dr. A. J. Lippman, dentist: "From the newspaper accounts it is
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impossible to form a definite opinion. Reporters now have a splendid
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opportunity to exercise their dramatic powers. But, of course, a woman was
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the cause."
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 11, 1922
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Ruth West
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NEW YORK WORLD
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(letter to the editor)
|
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Why can't some of the money spent for booze reform and foreign missions
|
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be used to clean up Hollywood? Why isn't something done to stop the
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scandalous doings in that place? Why are these people allowed to have their
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own code of morals and law?
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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February 13, 1922
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H. G. Meyer
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OMAHA BEE
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(letter to the editor)
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No one takes pleasure in accusing a dead man, who cannot defend himself
|
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before earthly accusers; nevertheless, lovers of decency fail to understand
|
|
why anyone should want to defend William D. Taylor, the latest murder victim,
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and describe him as an "hitherto highly respected citizen."
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Enough has come to light to prove that if he enjoyed the respect of
|
|
decent people, he was not worthy of it. Some may not be certain whether this
|
|
is a case of a good man gone bad or a bad man found out. Usually character
|
|
and habits are fully formed before middle age and it is not likely that this
|
|
man Taylor was an exception. If he had always lived a clean, respectable life
|
|
he would hardly have become the moral degenerate that his actions and mode of
|
|
life, as now revealed, indicate.
|
|
Since it has become known that in their social life many of the leading
|
|
stars are flagrant violators of the laws of God and man, living in vice and
|
|
debauchery, it is time that respectable people should turn their backs upon
|
|
them and protect themselves from pollution.
|
|
All citizens should obey the laws, including the 18th Amendment, and
|
|
when they refuse to do so, let them be punished.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 10, 1922
|
|
"Movie"
|
|
CLEVELAND PLAIN DEALER
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
Movie stars should be compelled to get certificates of ordinary good
|
|
character before being permitted to appear on the screen.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 20, 1922
|
|
L. L. Child
|
|
BALTIMORE AMERICAN
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
So much has been said of the Minter pictures being barred, that as one
|
|
of her many admirers and a firm believer in her character, I would like to
|
|
know the meaning of the words Christianity and Justice!
|
|
Mary Miles Minter is but a kid, despite her years before the public, and
|
|
because of the unkindness of fate in throwing her into the way of a man more
|
|
than twice her age and with much experience with women, because of a little
|
|
gush note she is to be deprived of her livelihood. Instead of helping her
|
|
regain her footing on the ladder of life, she is told to "Slide, Kelly,
|
|
slide" strait to the devil; and if she doesn't go fast enough, they'll give
|
|
her a boost down the chute. Then they'll go to church, singing "Hozanna," and
|
|
praise God they are not as other men are, and for once they'll be right, for
|
|
they are worse!
|
|
Personally, I believe she is as straight and clean as the majority that
|
|
walk the streets today.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 15, 1922
|
|
"Regular Reader"
|
|
NEW ORLEANS ITEM
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
Permit me to offer my humble protest against the uncalled for amount of
|
|
publicity given the notorious doings of the movie stars. As the father of two
|
|
daughters and a son, it causes me no little concern to know that my children
|
|
are made conversant with the affairs of the demi-monde3 through reading the
|
|
newspapers. It is all well and good to say that such things are part of life,
|
|
and that children should not be kept in ignorance, but the fact remains that
|
|
such recitals as frequently appear regarding the picture people work injury
|
|
upon the plastic mind of the young man or woman.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 22, 1922
|
|
R. D. Martin
|
|
LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
Hollywood, the moving picture center of California, ever present in the
|
|
news of late by reason of the shocking scandals of its dollar chasing, money-
|
|
grafting bunch, is enough to make a dog sick.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 19, 1922
|
|
C. B. Reed
|
|
BUFFALO EXPRESS
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
Hollywood, it is apparent, can be relied upon to furnish quite regularly
|
|
sufficient scandal to satisfy the most morbidly inclined of the readers of
|
|
the daily press. What is the reason that a profession possessing so many
|
|
possibilities for the betterment of mankind should degenerate to such a low
|
|
estate morally?
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 19, 1922
|
|
W. H. Brashear
|
|
LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
To what degree is the present abnormal prevalence of juvenile
|
|
delinquency, together with the unusual "crime wave" in general, attributable
|
|
directly and indirectly to the vicious scenario? There can be no reasonable
|
|
doubt but what the movie screen, through its various forms of heroized
|
|
criminality and its exhaltation of the salacious vampistic heroine is no
|
|
small factor as an influence for crime and immorality.
|
|
The revolting revelations of recent months of orgies indulged in by
|
|
movie actors and actresses "high up" in the screen world would seem to
|
|
indicate that these theatrical people are endeavoring to put in actual
|
|
practice the logical significance of what they have indirectly preached
|
|
through the screen. That they have descended personally to depravity is but a
|
|
natural and inevitable consequence. For the purveyors of degradation
|
|
naturally precede in infamy those whom they corrupt and are even the first to
|
|
reach the limit of moral perdition.
|
|
Theatrical screendom must be purged of the serpent's trail which, if not
|
|
over it all, is yet over much of it; it must be taken wholly out of the hands
|
|
of the sordid producer who would barter for gold the morals and decency of
|
|
the people; it must cease to order films made in Sodom, Gomorrah or
|
|
Hollywood.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
February 23, 1922
|
|
"Fair Play"
|
|
OMAHA NEWS
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
I have been amused reading the feeble defense of one of your
|
|
correspondents relative to the so-called movie stars and their morals. The
|
|
public is aware of the film folks' fun and are in need of no camouflaged
|
|
explanations. What I cannot understand is why they persecute the unfortunate
|
|
girl of the street and allow these legalized professionals to go scott free.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
January 27, 1923
|
|
George Sloan
|
|
MOVIE WEEKLY
|
|
(letter to the editor)
|
|
Cut out the sloppy balderdash handed out by the press boys. Most movie
|
|
fans are becoming very cynical concerning the powdered dimpled darlings who
|
|
now "star" in the movies. A few have brains, but the raft of spineless
|
|
sweeties whose press agents write their "Biorgraphies," and who drive up to a
|
|
"rendouvoo" eating peanuts and reading the Police Gazette, who hold forth as
|
|
the Queens of Hop at night and second-class "America's Sweethearts" in the
|
|
daytime--all of these and this the movie public is good and sick of.
|
|
|
|
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
Epilogue: August 1923
|
|
August 9, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXPRESS
|
|
Mother Calls Mary M. Minter
|
|
"If I should die before I wake, and it would mean your redemption, I
|
|
would gladly go." With this prayer thought for her estranged daughter, Mary
|
|
Miles Minter, famous motion picture actress, Mrs. Charlotte Shelby entered
|
|
that dream world of unconsciousness that is next thing to death.
|
|
Mrs. Shelby underwent a major operation at Good Samaritan Hospital
|
|
Tuesday morning of this week for abcesses of the liver and dangerous
|
|
intestinal trouble.
|
|
Mary Miles Minter has talked a lot about "liberty" since she left her
|
|
mother's home, and refused to return.
|
|
Death may help her attain that desired liberty, for Mrs. Shelby's
|
|
vitality is so low that it is a question whether she recovers.
|
|
Letter after letter Mrs. Shelby has written to her "baby girl" imploring
|
|
her to return.
|
|
"The vultures who have taken possession of your baser self will drag you
|
|
down to oblivion," wrote Mrs. Shelby to her little "Juliette." (Mary's name
|
|
is Juliette O'Reilly.)
|
|
This typecal mother lies today at death's door, and cares not whether
|
|
she recovers. Life is not worth living if Mary is lost to her.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 9, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
"Has she come?"
|
|
Many times today Mrs. Charlotte Shelby roused herself on her bed of pain
|
|
and asked the doctors and nurses that question, but each time they were
|
|
forced to shake their heads negatively in sorrow, for her daughter, Mary
|
|
Miles Minter, the film star, has not come to see her in the hospital. Miss
|
|
Minter is in the Pasadena.
|
|
Lying at the point of death, with a presentiment that she will not
|
|
recover, Mrs. Shelby has implored a reconciliation with her daughter, but her
|
|
pleas have continued to fall on deaf ears.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 10, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Mary to Sue Her Mother
|
|
Mary Miles Minter is Irish. She admits it and she looked it yesterday
|
|
afternoon. Her big blue eyes blazed with wrath, then filmed with tears as she
|
|
told her side of the story of the dissension in her household which brought
|
|
about the estrangement with her mother and sister to the breaking point.
|
|
"They never would let me be a girl, to have a girl's pleasures, to do
|
|
the things that other girls would do," she said. "I was never even allowed to
|
|
have for myself the little pleasures shown in roles I played in pictures. I
|
|
never had a doll, except that I held one in the pictures. I never had one all
|
|
of my own. I never had a chance to play tag, or hide-and-go-seek or have a
|
|
kiddiecar. I was always petted and pampered, tutored and touted, made to
|
|
believe I was something I was not, do things I did not want to do, say things
|
|
I did not mean. From morning till night I had money, money, money, talked and
|
|
preached to me. I have earned lots of it, fairly hate it and have none of it.
|
|
"Mother is sick, quite sick, but she is not critically ill and has never
|
|
asked for me," said Mary. "I talked with her just last Saturday. She and my
|
|
sister known just where I am, where I have been living, have my telephone
|
|
number and could get me on a minute's notice. I have not disappeared, never
|
|
ran away and never tried to. I just left to be alone, to get away from the
|
|
constant argument, from the posing, the nagging, the humiliation of being
|
|
told that I myself have never done anything, would not have anything, had it
|
|
not been for the watchful eye of mother and Margaret, my older sister, three
|
|
years older than I.
|
|
"When I was a baby, just 4 years old, they took me away from my home and
|
|
my daddy. We went to New York and mother accepted a theatrical engagement.
|
|
Soon afterward I was given a part and ever since that time mother's work has
|
|
consisted of drawing my salary.
|
|
"I was treated like a child always. Told when to go to bed, when to get
|
|
up, whom to meet and whom not to meet. The very people I was working with
|
|
every day were not good enough for me to associate with. I must be gracious
|
|
to this and to that person because they stood high socially and were wealthy.
|
|
"The power of money was drilled into me on every hand. Mother said, 'be
|
|
powerful even if you have to walk across the graves of others to get it.' She
|
|
has no sympathy for the misfortune of another. 'The survival of the fittest,'
|
|
was her watchword.
|
|
"She is her own best press agent. She knows what to say to create
|
|
sympathy for herself. My sister Margaret is a 'yes-girl.' It's 'yes mamma'
|
|
this and 'yes mamma' that."
|
|
All of which are but a few of the things which Miss Minter said as she
|
|
announced her intention to take legal steps to secure an accounting for more
|
|
than $1,000,000 which she asserts her mother has collected on motion picture
|
|
contracts of the daughter. Formal notice of intention to bring suit has
|
|
already been served, said both Miss Minter and her attorney.
|
|
The trouble in Mary's home is said to have started shortly after she
|
|
became of age a few months ago. At that time Mary is said to have decided to
|
|
assume control of her own money and live alone "if she felt so inclined."
|
|
Mrs. Shelby has always acted as the girl's guardian and objected to any
|
|
change in the arrangements.
|
|
Miss Minter declares that she is capable of taking care of herself and
|
|
of her own money.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 10, 1923
|
|
Los Angeles Express
|
|
Famed Film Star Called Tiny "Czar" in Money Squabble
|
|
Mary Miles Minter was pictured as a little "Czar" in the Shelby family
|
|
in a statement made by Miss Margaret Shelby, her sister.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 10, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
"Mother never has refused a settlement with Mary," said Margaret. "To
|
|
begin with, money was never discussed in our home. We had the happiest home
|
|
imaginable. My mother has done what she thought was best for Mary and myself.
|
|
It is bewildering to us why Mary has taken this stand.
|
|
"It is unfortunate that Mary should make these charges just now when
|
|
mother is so ill. We both love her dearly and no matter what Mary says, it
|
|
will not change our attitude towards her. She can come home at any time and
|
|
be received with open arms."
|
|
But Mary Miles Minter smiled knowingly when told of her mother's plea
|
|
for a reconciliation from her bed of pain.
|
|
"My mother is not in danger of death," was her simple declaration. "It
|
|
is only a ruse to get me to call off a lawsuit contemplated for the
|
|
accounting of the salary I have earned.
|
|
"Yes, I know, mother and Margaret say they love me better than anything
|
|
else in life, that I am the very life and breath of their existence.
|
|
"They should have said 'I have been' all of that. I was, for where would
|
|
either of them be without the money I have made?
|
|
"I do not have any affection for my mother. Let the world condemn, if it
|
|
will. Even a worm will turn in time--and I have turned. Not because she is my
|
|
mother. I want to love her, but she has driven me from her so far that there
|
|
is no turning back.
|
|
"How can my mother expect me to love and obey her when I have seen the
|
|
way she has treated her own mother for years--as a glorified servant girl at
|
|
my mother's beck and call.
|
|
"Oh, yes I know mother and Margaret swear undying devotion to me. They
|
|
should. I have been their meal ticket for years. If only they had made these
|
|
protestations of love years ago, how different our lives might have been.
|
|
"It isn't so very long ago since I tried to cuddle up to mother. To kiss
|
|
and fondle her. What did I get? Told to 'Don't be silly' or 'Don't make a
|
|
nuisance of yourself,' in private, but patted for the benefit of the world at
|
|
large in public. It made a good impression, you know.
|
|
"Perhaps love means more to me than it does to some young women my own
|
|
age. I am 21, you know."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 11, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES RECORD
|
|
Millionaire Mammy
|
|
Where's That Money o' Mine
|
|
The sensational New Mother Song,
|
|
as sung with great publicity by
|
|
(Mary Miles) MINTER & SHELBY (Charlotte)
|
|
MARY MILES MINTER:
|
|
"Mammy, where's the million that I gave you
|
|
When I was working on the Lasky lot?
|
|
You know that I have earned the family money
|
|
Ever since I was a tiny tot.
|
|
But now I'm past sixteen.
|
|
I'm going to use my bean,
|
|
So--unless I get the coin--I'll make it hot!
|
|
Oh, Mammy, right that wrong,
|
|
Please listen while I sing my song:
|
|
"Mammy! Mammy! You are worth a million to me!
|
|
Gimme! Gimme! Or I will sue--you will see!
|
|
When I had a job
|
|
With Mister Paramount
|
|
You took my paycheck
|
|
'Cause you thought I couldn't count:
|
|
NOW, MAMMY! GIMME!
|
|
You gotta give my million back to me!"
|
|
CHARLOTTE SHELBY:
|
|
"Mary, don't be cruel to your Mammy!
|
|
Mother's always loved her little gal.
|
|
Ever since your baby days at acting
|
|
Remember Mother's been a faithful pal!
|
|
No matter what you say,
|
|
Come, see your Ma today,
|
|
For she is helpless in the hospital!"
|
|
Laughing at this moan
|
|
Mary called her Mother on the Phone:
|
|
"Mammy! Mammy! You are worth a million to me!
|
|
Gimme! Gimme! Or I will sue--you will see!
|
|
You made me what I seem today,
|
|
Just beautiful and dumb!
|
|
I'm tired of all the shushing,
|
|
So I'm going to make things hum.
|
|
NOW, MAMMY! GIMME!
|
|
You gotta give my million back to me!"
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 11, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
Asked concerning the refusal to occupy the apartment which her mother
|
|
set aside for her in their new apartment house which Miss Minter says is
|
|
rightfully hers, she said:
|
|
"No full grown girl of my age could possibly live there under the rules
|
|
and regulations laid down by my mother.
|
|
"I was given to understand that I could live there but could have no
|
|
motion picture people or writers call upon me. Also that I had to put my
|
|
lights out at 10 o'clock and could have no music in the evening.
|
|
"I protested and told mother I could not live under those conditions and
|
|
she said, 'Very well, then you won't live in my house until you do.'
|
|
"Now you know some of the things that have made me dislike my mother.
|
|
You can't go on sowing the wind without reaping the whirlwind. That's what
|
|
mother is getting from me. She taught me, bit by bit, to distrust her. I
|
|
can't help it. I just can't!"
|
|
"Would you go back if your mother settled everything amicably with you
|
|
in regard to freedom of conduct and money matters?" Miss Minter was asked.
|
|
"Go back?" The wide blue eyes flashed resentfully. "Not if I had to
|
|
scrub floors first. I'm through. I'm going to live my own life."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 12, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
Mrs. Charlotte Shelby, mother of Mary Miles Minter, the film star, broke
|
|
her silence yesterday and told her side of the controversy.
|
|
"Our home life lacks only Mary," Mrs. Shelby said. "Her apartment is out
|
|
there. And in the part of the home occupied by ourselves--it only lacks the
|
|
joy of Mary.
|
|
"In the patio are the things she loves--the birds in their swinging
|
|
cages, the gold fish in the fountain, flowers everywhere--her tiny 'poms'
|
|
waiting for her call. [4]
|
|
"Mary wants her freedom to do as she wills. I have lived to protect her
|
|
from that freedom until her mind is disciplined; until she is able to make
|
|
wise decisions in the important things of life. I have wanted to see her
|
|
philosophy of life based on fundamentals that make for happiness and content,
|
|
and when she has acquired these, then will she be entitled to the fortune she
|
|
has earned."
|
|
Mrs. Shelby so far had recovered last night that she was taken to her
|
|
home from the Good Samaritan Hospital.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 13, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
Miss Minter has frequently said that she believes she is under constant
|
|
surveillance and recently acquired an automatic pistol, which she keeps
|
|
beneath her pillow in her room.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 14, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
Minter-Taylor Betrothal Admitted
|
|
Admitting that she was engaged to William Desmond Taylor, noted film
|
|
director, at the time of his death, Mary Miles Minter yesterday for the first
|
|
time bared the details of her romance with the slain man.
|
|
"For more than a year and a half I have kept secret that which was the
|
|
sweetest and holiest thing in my life--my love for William Taylor," she said.
|
|
"I loved Mr. Taylor the first moment I saw him. And today, nearly two
|
|
years after his death, my love for him is stronger than ever.
|
|
"I knew but little of Mr. Taylor's past life, but I knew that he was an
|
|
honorable gentleman in all the word implies. He was a man's man, yet withal a
|
|
man of gentleness and kindliness. He was cultured, but yet not immune to the
|
|
human feelings of mankind.
|
|
"I cared not who or what he was, for when he put his arms around me and
|
|
said, 'Mary, I love you,' I knew that he was the one man in the whole world
|
|
for me. And when I think that if it had not been for the continual bitter
|
|
opposition to our engagement I would have been his wife it is almost more
|
|
than I can bear. No wonder I am bitter.
|
|
"My whole life was wrapped up in him. When I would come home from the
|
|
studio I would dream of the home in which William Taylor and I would spend
|
|
the balance of our lives.
|
|
"But, no, he was too old, I was told. He was not an old man. William--
|
|
possibly you think it strange that I called him William or Mr. Taylor, but I
|
|
so worshipped him that I could not think of calling him Bill--used to tell me
|
|
that he would not allow me to sacrifice myself on a man his age.
|
|
" 'I wonder if I am doing the right thing?' he would often ask me. 'You
|
|
have brought me the greatest happiness of my life, but you have come at the
|
|
time of the Setting Sun, while you are in the glory of youth.'
|
|
"But I would not have it so. I knew that the years I spent with him, no
|
|
matter how short, would be the happiest of my life, and we often discussed
|
|
the little home we were going to build up in the Hollywood Hills.
|
|
"Then came his death. It was like a bolt from a clear sky. I was simply
|
|
stunned. With my soul starved for love by the life I had led at home, his
|
|
tenderness and kindness seemed doubly sweet.
|
|
"It was at this time that all the pressure possible was brought to bear
|
|
by those under whose influence I was at the time to see that my engagement
|
|
with Mr. Taylor was kept secret.
|
|
"I mustn't talk; it would hurt my career; it was the same old story of
|
|
hushing and shushing. The public must never know that I was engaged. I must
|
|
be a little girl with golden curls. It would never do for the world to know
|
|
that I was a human being instead of a doll-faced automaton."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 14, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
Love Diary of Mary Minter is Bared
|
|
The silent leaves of Mary Miles Minter's love diary spoke today and told
|
|
for the first time their heart-throbbing story of a tragic romance which has
|
|
extended beyond the grave.
|
|
With the passion and pathos of a literary classic they voiced of the
|
|
thrill and thraldom of the deep and enduring affection of the beautiful young
|
|
motion picture star for a man more than twice her age.
|
|
The diary is bound in scarlet moire silk, as scarlet as the life-blood
|
|
of William Desmond Taylor that stained the floor of his home on that
|
|
memorable night he met death at the hands of an assassin, and in it Mary
|
|
Miles Minter has recorded the yearnings and longings for her lost love.
|
|
The first entry in the book was made two weeks after the death of
|
|
Taylor.
|
|
"Oh, my beloved, where are you?" the heartbroken girl wrote.
|
|
Then she described her longing for the man whose arms would no longer
|
|
embrace her.
|
|
"You were to have been mine. Had I known you were to have been taken
|
|
from me no power on earth could have kept us apart."
|
|
It was night. In the distance music was playing. She recorded memories
|
|
of happier times when music, which Taylor loved, had been a part of their
|
|
lives. She told of her hours of anguish and bitter weeping for the man who
|
|
was gone. "Where? I do not know, my beloved. But you are near, somewhere, of
|
|
that I am certain. You could not leave me so utterly hopeless, alone and
|
|
forlorn."
|
|
Nine days later she again makes an entry of her grief and loss in the
|
|
little book. This time "Chummy," the dog Taylor gave her, was stolen. "They
|
|
have even taken away what you have given me," she wrote. "How a dog can
|
|
understand! Better than most humans."
|
|
Then in Honolulu, in June. Again the dancing throng of that playground
|
|
of the Pacific recalled happier days with the man she had loved and lost. But
|
|
she believed Taylor was not far away. She felt his presence and the little
|
|
diary carried a message not of a hopeless death, but to one who had "gone
|
|
away for a little time and would return again.
|
|
"It is night again, dearest, our time of peace and surcease from the
|
|
stress of life that grows so weary at times. Morning will come all too soon:
|
|
and with its coming will begin again the weary tasks of life. Life without
|
|
you, dearest, is weary. Our love was like a great white star that burns its
|
|
way across the heavens. They are dancing down below. I can see them from the
|
|
window. The lovely gowns look like bright colored balloons against the dark
|
|
background.
|
|
"Oh, Desmond, my love, where are you? Surely not so far away but that I
|
|
will find you somehow, somewhere?"
|
|
It was June again, in California. A year has rolled by since the last
|
|
entry in the little diary. But the heart-hungry girl is still seeking her
|
|
lost one. She is a woman now and realizes more fully her loss.
|
|
"How long, my love, how long until you clasp me again in your dear
|
|
arms?"
|
|
That is the love of Mary Miles Minter for William Desmond Taylor, who
|
|
rests under the golden sunshine in "God's Acre," where sleep the dead of this
|
|
and other generations.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 15, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
|
|
Mary Minter Story Stuns Mrs. Shelby
|
|
Prostrated by her daughter's revelation of her romance with William
|
|
Desmond Taylor, Mrs. Charlotte Shelby has suffered a relapse.
|
|
When shown the story of her daughter's engagement and the culmination of
|
|
her tragic romance, she read the article from beginning to end, only to
|
|
reply;
|
|
"I can't talk; it is all too terrible. Please leave me alone in my
|
|
sorrow and grief."
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 15, 1923
|
|
Mary Miles Minter
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
August 14, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
[The following is an edited combination of her own written account published
|
|
in the TIMES, and an interview published in the HERALD.]
|
|
Mary Minter Bares Taylor Love Affair
|
|
It has happened! For months and months I have been hoping and praying
|
|
that my differences with my mother might not bring up again the dreadful
|
|
incidents of the murder of William Desmond Taylor. I have tried and tried to
|
|
make no references to it in my statements concerning my effort to secure an
|
|
accounting from my mother, but newspaper reporter after newspaper reporter
|
|
has hounded me day and night always with questions, questions, questions
|
|
about Mr. Taylor. The Times is the only newspaper which has not done this and
|
|
because of this fact I am now giving the first statement that I have ever
|
|
given under my own name.
|
|
William Desmond Taylor came into my life when I was 17 years of age. He
|
|
was the first man ever to call me Miss Minter.
|
|
"How do you do, Miss Minter?" he said to me when first we were
|
|
introduced, and then he smiled.
|
|
Always before I had been called Mary and treated like a child by men and
|
|
women alike, but Mr. Taylor called me "Miss Minter," which at that age, heart
|
|
hungry as I was, made an instant impression. From that moment he fascinated
|
|
me. I loved him the first time I saw him. "This is God," my heart sang when I
|
|
looked into his face.
|
|
I know the world will think that a very immature age and a very foolish
|
|
conclusion for one so young. But you must remember that while for the last
|
|
three years of my life my mother has tried to keep me a "little girl" with
|
|
curls down my back, she earlier had made me appear and act older than I was.
|
|
When I was 8 years old I was passed off for 16, twice my age, and
|
|
dressed as a midget, with high heels and long skirts, so that I could play
|
|
the stellar role of "The Littlest Rebel" at the Chicago Opera House. That was
|
|
because the state law of Illinois prohibited children under 16 years of age
|
|
from appearing as professional performers.
|
|
These things have an effect upon a child that all the training and
|
|
coaching in the world cannot eliminate. When I went into the movies it was
|
|
different. Then mother wished to undue all the training of maturity she had
|
|
imposed upon me and have me appear unsophisticated and simple, childlike and
|
|
trustful. It was paradoxical. But I matured very quickly in this glorious
|
|
sunshine and gorgeous setting of California.
|
|
With the passing of the adolescent period, it became very evident to
|
|
mother that men were attracted to me. I liked the company of men. They were
|
|
jolly, good companions, splendid comrades and were not forever saying, "Don't
|
|
do this," or "Don't do that."
|
|
It worried mother because I was popular with them. The few with whom I
|
|
cam in contact were not attracted to Margaret. This was a bitter pill to both
|
|
her and mother. Margaret is older than I and mother thought she should be
|
|
given preference. But if a girl does not naturally attract men, all her
|
|
efforts will fail.
|
|
That was the status of things when I first met William Desmond Taylor. I
|
|
knew when I laid eyes on him that he was the one man in the world for me, and
|
|
that he reciprocated my love.
|
|
It was not long afterward that we were in New England making a picture.
|
|
My mother, my grandmother and sister were with the company.
|
|
I used to listen for his footsteps as he came into the door of the
|
|
little hotel where we stayed. I recognized them as they went up the stairway
|
|
and into his room, which was just over the little parlor where we all sat.
|
|
One time we all went into Boston for a dinner party for me. He rode in
|
|
the automobile between my grandmother and me. The road was rough and bumpy,
|
|
his arms were spread across the rear of the back seat in which we rode. One
|
|
bump threw grandmother against him and he said, "I guess I will have to hold
|
|
you." But his arm did not embrace me.
|
|
"Dare I? Dare I?" I said to myself. I dared and I reached up and tugged
|
|
at his coat sleeve and he dropped his arm about my waist. And coming home he
|
|
did the same thing again.
|
|
The thrill of that innocent act thrilled me for days and days. We spent
|
|
what little time we could together, which was not much because mother always
|
|
watched and every night after I had gone to bed she used to sit in the little
|
|
parlor with him just as much as he would let her while he was working on his
|
|
script.
|
|
One day it rained dreadfully. We were out somewhere and he wrapped his
|
|
coat about me and took me to the hotel. There stood mother, fairly raging.
|
|
She accused Mr. Taylor before the entire company of taking me out,
|
|
humiliating him most shamefully.
|
|
For two days I hardly spoke to him and then I apologized for mother's
|
|
action.
|
|
"Your mother is right, Mary," he said. "She is right and you must always
|
|
obey her."
|
|
That was the beginning of quarrels between mother and I. He soon left
|
|
and came to California. Grandmother and I came later, while mother and sister
|
|
remained in the East. Sister Margaret had a sort of beaked nose and she had
|
|
it operated on to straighten it out. That kept them in the East.
|
|
We had a glorious reunion when we came west. Grandmother and I went
|
|
riding with him, to dinner, to the theater. Then mother came.
|
|
He used to call at our house. But soon mother noticed his preference for
|
|
me. She put a stop to it. Until she knew of my love for Mr. Taylor, she had
|
|
only words of praise for him.
|
|
Then, suddenly, she turned against him.
|
|
I told Mr. Taylor of her attitude.
|
|
"Your mother knows best, Mary. I am an old man," he would say.
|
|
Then I would kiss the words away. I did not know Mr. Taylor's age, but
|
|
he was not old in spirit or understanding and that was all that mattered to
|
|
me. He was mine. I wanted him, to be his wife, to be able to do the thousand
|
|
and one little things for him that only a wife can do. I would have married
|
|
him then and there, but he said we must wait.
|
|
"Wait a while, Mary dear," he would caution. "Ah, do not think I don't
|
|
want you, child. It is not that. But because of my great love for you I would
|
|
shield you from the unkindness of the world. And the world would never
|
|
forgive me for blighting your career. We must wait."
|
|
But I did not want to wait. Perhaps many women would be ashamed to admit
|
|
what I have admitted. But I am not ashamed. Our love was a glorious thing.
|
|
"Why should we wait?" I would protest. As long as we had each other what else
|
|
counted? Then I wrote letters, passionate, impulsive letters. Some of them
|
|
were published. Many of those letters were written two years before he died.
|
|
And he kept them. That was my one thought at the time. He kept them.
|
|
Surely he must have loved me deeply, sincerely, to have kept them for so
|
|
long. I did everything I could to make him break his resolve and marry at
|
|
once. Not to wait until I was older.
|
|
I loved him, oh, so sincerely and he loved me. He told me so many, many
|
|
times.
|
|
We were never engaged in the sense that he had asked me to marry him and
|
|
I had promised. I had always hoped that sometime we would be married. But I
|
|
had planned in my own mind--never with Mr. Taylor--that as soon as I had made
|
|
enough money so that mother and sister could be assured of a comfortable
|
|
income for the rest of their lives--that perhaps we would be married. But not
|
|
engaged in the sense of wearing a ring, or of telling one's friends of an
|
|
intention to marry or of telling my mother. Marrying Mr. Taylor was just my
|
|
dream--a dream which, voiced to film, always met with the answer that it was
|
|
impossible.
|
|
Then mother took me to Europe. She told me of the lovely things we would
|
|
buy over there. Things that were to be for my home, she said. Where are they
|
|
today? Mother has them, if you please, and tells me they are not mine but
|
|
hers.
|
|
Mr. Taylor went to Europe, too. But I did not get to see him. Mother saw
|
|
to that. I pleaded with her to let me see him but she always insisted that
|
|
she would not permit me to throw myself at Mr. Taylor's head. So we tramped
|
|
all over Europe, always careful to keep a safe distance between me and the
|
|
man I loved.
|
|
Eventually we came home. Mother and Margaret stopped over in Chicago and
|
|
I came on west, home. I sent Mr. Taylor a message and he met me with flowers
|
|
and a lovelight in his eyes that told me his affection for me had not
|
|
diminished during my absence.
|
|
I had a few days of delightful comradeship with him before mother
|
|
returned, for my grandmother understood our great love and did not offer any
|
|
interference.
|
|
But when mother came home again Mr. Taylor was forbidden the house.
|
|
Whenever I could I would slip away with Mr. Taylor, but the times seemed
|
|
so far apart. All too seldom.
|
|
Finally he told me I must not write him any more and must not call him
|
|
up, that he would telephone to me. I waited a week, two weeks, three weeks
|
|
and he did not call. I swallowed my humiliation and called him. His butler
|
|
answered and told me he was ill. He was too ill to talk with me. I gave the
|
|
butler instructions of what to make him eat, to see that he was well covered
|
|
during the night. For five days he did not eat a thing and during it all I
|
|
suffered more than I can express.
|
|
Early in December before he was shot I had telephoned him and told him
|
|
that I must see him. We had not talked with each other for weeks. We would
|
|
pass on the lot and he would smile so sweetly, but in his eyes was the love-
|
|
light that none but I could see. He made an appointment for me to come to his
|
|
house in two weeks. Grandmother and I went. The house was dark. I was
|
|
heartbroken. In the keyhole I twisted one of the little golden hairpins that
|
|
I wear so that he would know I was there.
|
|
No word from him, no telephone call. On December 23 I was downtown
|
|
buying some Christmas presents--one for him that I never got to give him. I
|
|
have it still. There in the store opposite me in another aisle he stood. He
|
|
smiled so sweetly, bowed and was gone. The clerk came and brought some
|
|
samples of something and I told her to wrap it up. I don't even know what it
|
|
was, I was so dazed. My maid grasped me by the arm thinking I was going to
|
|
faint. He went away.
|
|
A few nights afterward I could not sleep. Everyone had gone to bed. I
|
|
tiptoed to my grandmother's room and told her I must go to him. She tried to
|
|
dissuade me, offered to go with me, but I told her no, that this was
|
|
something I must do alone.
|
|
I gathered up his pictures and a little golden mesh bag he had given me
|
|
and stopped to write him a note. It said:
|
|
"Dear William Desmond Taylor: This is good-by. I want you to know that I
|
|
will always love you. Mary."
|
|
I got out my car myself and went to his house. There was a light shining
|
|
behind the blind. I rang the bell. All was silence. My heart stopped. I was
|
|
afraid that perhaps he had gone out and that he had left the lights burning.
|
|
But then I heard the rattle of a newspaper, the door opened and there he
|
|
stood.
|
|
"Why, Mary," he said. "It's quite late, isn't it?"
|
|
"Yes, it is, nearly 12 o'clock," I answered. "But I must see you," and I
|
|
pushed past him into the room.
|
|
I noticed things were changed. That the furniture was moved, but on the
|
|
wall there still hung my pictures, two of them and one of Mabel Normand.
|
|
"Mary you should not have come here," he said. He was trembling, seemed
|
|
to grow old standing before me. Perspiration covered his brow.
|
|
"Here, read it. It's good-by," I said, handing him the note I had
|
|
written. He read it and without a word turned to his desk, fumbled about and
|
|
then handed me a note.
|
|
"I thought you had gotten this two weeks ago," he said. I started to
|
|
open it.
|
|
"No, no," he cried. "Not here."
|
|
"But I must," I said. "I must. Maybe there is something in it I must
|
|
answer."
|
|
"No, I beg of you, I entreat you. I cannot stand it if you do. Don't!"
|
|
"Then tell me that you love me," I said.
|
|
"I love you Mary, better than anything in this world, more than God," he
|
|
answered.
|
|
He led me to my car, helped me in. I reached out and squeezed his hand.
|
|
In the house he had clenched his teeth, his face was drawn; his fingernails
|
|
had been gripped so hard that he brought blood when the nails cut the skin.
|
|
He had used a silk handkerchief he had tucked in his upper coat pocket to
|
|
wipe away the blood. As we stood by the car door I pulled this handkerchief
|
|
from his pocket and took it, handing him mine. He kissed it and slowly walked
|
|
back into the house. I drove home.
|
|
That was the last time I ever saw him alone. After that a few times I
|
|
met him on the lot. Again he smiled and spoke, but that was all.
|
|
In February one morning I was dressing. It was about 11 o'clock. I was
|
|
standing in my undergarments before the mirror fixing my hair. I heard my
|
|
mother's footsteps coming, pat, pat, pat down the hall. I knew something was
|
|
wrong from the way she was walking.
|
|
She pounded on the door. "Let me in," she said.
|
|
"But I am not dressed," I protested. I had on nothing but a chemise, and
|
|
mother always scolded me if I appeared before her even in a negligee.
|
|
"Let me in," she fairly shouted. "Let me in or I shall break down the
|
|
door." All this time she was pounding.
|
|
I told her she must wait until I got into a dress and then I opened the
|
|
door.
|
|
"What do you think has happened?" she said.
|
|
I looked at her, for she seemed greatly excited. "William Desmond Taylor
|
|
has just been found murdered in his bed." She added some more words which
|
|
were not altogether complimentary to Mr. Taylor. "Where were you last night?"
|
|
"I was here, of course," I said, hardly realizing what she was saying.
|
|
I was dumbfounded. Mother talked on in a most excited manner. I can't
|
|
remember what she said--all of it--but it was something about this would
|
|
teach me a lesson and how to behave myself in the future.
|
|
Then mother said, "Well, why don't you say something?"
|
|
I couldn't. I was too hurt.
|
|
I grabbed a hat, a wrap and then began to look through my pocket book,
|
|
through the drawers of the dresser. I was hunting for the keys to my car. I
|
|
thought I would go frantic in the few moments that it took.
|
|
"Where are you going?" mother asked.
|
|
"To him, of course," I replied.
|
|
"You cannot, you cannot. I shall not let you," she said and stood before
|
|
the door to stop me. "You'll not leave this room. I'm going to lock you in
|
|
and here you'll stay until I say you can come out."
|
|
I pleaded with her.
|
|
"You've kept me from the man I love in life and you can't keep me from
|
|
him in death. I'll scream and raise the neighborhood. I am going to him if I
|
|
have to throttle you to get past," I cried. And she stepped aside.
|
|
I drove to his home in a daze. Newspaper reporters, officers and other
|
|
people were before the house. They were carrying out books and papers.
|
|
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" they asked me.
|
|
"I am Mary Miles Minter and I have come to see Mr. Taylor," I answered.
|
|
"But he is not here. They have taken him to the undertakers," they said.
|
|
I got in my car and drove downtown to the undertakers. I drove and
|
|
drove, round and round that block until finally I found the place. I went in.
|
|
I asked to see him and they told me I could not, that they were trying to
|
|
find the bullet.
|
|
"I must see him. I must see him," I told the man.
|
|
"You cannot see him until after the inquest," I was told. "It is against
|
|
the law for me to let you see him before."
|
|
Finally he promised me that I could see him the next day at noon and I
|
|
went away.
|
|
Then I drove to Mabel Normand's home. I was frantic. Without ringing the
|
|
bell I went in. There were reporters in the parlor waiting for her. I rushed
|
|
upstairs. She was dressing.
|
|
I grasped her by the shoulders, shook her and looked straight into her
|
|
eyes.
|
|
"What do you know about it?" I asked.
|
|
"Nothing," she answered simply.
|
|
"Not a thing but what they have told me."
|
|
And I believed her and still believe her.
|
|
The next day I went to the undertakers and they let me in all alone with
|
|
him. I pulled back the sheet and looked at him. But he was not the same. His
|
|
skin was waxen. I leaned down and put my arms about him, my cheek next to
|
|
his.
|
|
His face was cold, so cold, but not a cold like ice.
|
|
"Do you love me, Desmond?" I said.
|
|
He answered me. I could hear his voice.
|
|
"I love you, Mary; I shall love you always," he whispered. I kissed him
|
|
and put a red rose in his hand from some I had brought with me.
|
|
The door opened. The undertaker was there. I went away.
|
|
Mother and the attorney did the talking for me. They told of my
|
|
childlike affection for an old man. How I trusted and loved him as a father.
|
|
But I tell you here and now it was no childlike affection. It was a full
|
|
grown woman's love for her mate. For William Desmond Taylor is the one great
|
|
love of my life and always will be.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 15, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
How old is Mary Miles Minter?
|
|
Is she 30 years of age, as her father says she is?
|
|
Is she 21 years of age, as her mother says she is?
|
|
Or is the age of the beautiful motion picture star as much of a mystery
|
|
to others as it is to herself and as she recorded in her diary, along with
|
|
her heart secrets of her great passion for William Desmond Taylor when she
|
|
wrote, "Nobody knows my real age."
|
|
The little book, whose mute revelations of the great love Mary Miles
|
|
Minter bore her ill-fated fiance, has spoke again.
|
|
"Nobody knows my real age," Miss Minter wrote. "Even Jeanie McPherson,
|
|
my closest friend, does not know that. They tell me I am a child. Perhaps I
|
|
am. Yet I feel tonight, since you went away,"--referring to Taylor's death--
|
|
that I am 50."
|
|
In news dispatches from Dallas, Tex., where he is employed on a
|
|
newspaper as a proof reader, Homer Riley, who declares he is the father of
|
|
Mary Miles Minter, emphatically states that Mary Miles Minter is 30 years of
|
|
age.
|
|
The mystery of Miss Minter's age also may throw some light upon the
|
|
recent avowal of the girl that Mrs. Shelby was not acting in purely a
|
|
motherly role in attempting to disrupt the romance between Miss Minter and
|
|
William Desmond Taylor, slain film director.
|
|
At the time of Taylor's murder Mrs. Shelby declared against the protest
|
|
of Miss Minter that her daughter loved Taylor in a fatherly fashion.
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|
"She knows better than that," Miss Minter vehemently declared.
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|
"Mother knew just how I loved Mr. Taylor. There was no fatherly love in
|
|
our relationship."
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Miss Minter then declared that her mother had endeavored to play the
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|
role of rival for the love of Taylor.
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|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 15, 1923
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LOS ANGELES HERALD
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Mother Loved Taylor, Says Mary Minter
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|
"Mother liked William Desmond Taylor very much. In fact she tried to
|
|
interest him in herself. She sought to put me in the background and her
|
|
interference in my romance was not because she wished to protect me but
|
|
because she considered me a rival."
|
|
This new revelation of Mary Miles Minter, casts a different reflection
|
|
of the movie star's relations with her mother, Mrs. Charlotte Shelby and
|
|
leads friends of the girl to believe that perhaps love and rivalry and not
|
|
finances after all is behind the quarrel between them.
|
|
"Mother thought that he was more her age than mine and she sought in
|
|
every way to win his favor. It was not until she discovered that he cared
|
|
more for me did she cease extending him the warmth of her friendship.
|
|
"When Mr. Taylor realized my mother's attitude--that she tried to keep
|
|
me from him through jealousy--he, in his kind, considerate way, told me I was
|
|
a little girl and that I should consider my mother. 'You know I love you more
|
|
than anything in life but you must do nothing to displease her,' he told me."
|
|
A report from the Shelby home today indicated that Mrs. Shelby is
|
|
willing to make any settlement with Mary providing the girl gives no more
|
|
interviews regarding the Taylor affair.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 16, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Mary Miles Minter is Gone
|
|
Mary Miles Minter may perhaps not be missing, but she certainly is
|
|
absent--A.W.O.L. may be the better way of putting it. Mary's friends searched
|
|
for her in vain yesterday. At her Pasadena bungalow it was reported that she
|
|
did not come home Tuesday night and had not been there during yesterday.
|
|
At the home of Mary's mother, the home on South New Hampshire Street
|
|
which Mary says is really hers, and not Mrs. Charlotte Shelby's, a maid
|
|
volunteered the information that Mrs. Shelby was very weak and could not be
|
|
seen. Her daughter, Margaret, is the constant companion of her mother.
|
|
Miss Margaret is declared to have laughed outright when she read an
|
|
evening newspaper stating that in reality Mary is more than 30 years of age.
|
|
Margaret, who has always admittedly been an older sister, said it was really
|
|
a good joke--i.e., the item of Mary's age.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 16, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES EXPRESS
|
|
Everybody appeared to be sick of the whole thing. No one was to be seen.
|
|
Sister Margaret was out--for the day.
|
|
Mrs. Shelby too ill to be seen.
|
|
Mary Miles Minter has disappeared, seemingly into thin air.
|
|
Evidently the generals in both camps needed a breathing spell, or did it
|
|
mean retreat?
|
|
The Shelby-Minter duet was evidently to be given the soft pedal.
|
|
In one short week, they had run the gamut, with Mary's high angry
|
|
trills, and mother's low dignified alto.
|
|
With Mary's doll story thrown into the ring for comedy, and the William
|
|
Desmond Taylor case dug up to supply the tragedy.
|
|
The play seemed over, and the audience ready for a new farce or tragedy.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 15, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES HERALD
|
|
Documents Located in South
|
|
Mary Miles Minter was 21 years old April 25, last.
|
|
The statements attributed to her father that she was 30 years old were
|
|
officially exploded today in dispatches received from Shreveport, La., where
|
|
the official records showed that she was born April 25, 1902, and christened
|
|
Juliet Riley.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
August 17, 1923
|
|
LOS ANGELES TIMES
|
|
Miss Minter is Found
|
|
After spending what she characterized at "the two happiest days of my
|
|
life, because I did not see a single reporter," Mary Miles Minter was found
|
|
by a reporter for the Times late last night.
|
|
But Miss Minter made up for time lost away from reporters by declaring
|
|
she has not "disappeared," but is only seeking seclusion, that she is "still
|
|
keeping advised as to mother's health," that she has not signed any
|
|
theatrical contracts as yet; and that she will be very grateful if anyone can
|
|
prove to her that she is 30 years old, as reported.
|
|
Miss Minter's statement is as follows:
|
|
"If the Los Angeles Times or anyone else in this world can prove that I
|
|
am 30 years old, I will be deeply grateful to them. I supposed I was only 21
|
|
years old. If I am really 30, I will be able to collect from my mother a much
|
|
larger sum than I hoped to get.
|
|
"The money I am seeking an accounting for comprises my earnings under my
|
|
Lasky contract for the past three years, or, in other words, since I have
|
|
been of legal age in California. The three years is on the basis that I am 21
|
|
years old. My mother has always told me that the legal age is 21 years,
|
|
therefore, I had supposed I was a minor until my twenty-first birthday. As a
|
|
matter of fact, however, legally I have been my own boss for three years and
|
|
did not know it.
|
|
"I have made considerable sums of money in pictures in the years prior
|
|
to my eighteenth birthday. Therefore, if I were now 30 I could have more
|
|
years of earnings for which I could seek an accounting from my mother."
|
|
In the meantime Mrs. Shelby is reported as still too ill to be
|
|
interviewed. Miss Margaret, upon orders of the family attorney, has nothing
|
|
further to say.
|
|
Word was also received from Dallas that the correct age of Miss Minter
|
|
is 21 years. J. H. Reilly, her father confirmed that Miss Minter was born in
|
|
Shreveport, La., in 1902. He also denied that he had made any statements to
|
|
the effect that Miss Minter was 30 years of age.
|
|
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
|
|
(This concludes the series "The Humor of A Hollywood Murder")
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
NEXT ISSUE:
|
|
Did a Canadian Army Veteran Kill Taylor?
|
|
Charlotte Shelby's Last Two Interviews (1937)
|
|
Interview with Mary Miles Minter (1937)
|
|
Wallace Smith: February 10, 1922
|
|
The Truth About Hollywood, Part 1
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
NOTES:
|
|
[1]"kale"-- money.
|
|
[2]This poem should obviously be sung to the tune "Sidewalks of New York."
|
|
[3]"demi-monde"-- the class of women who have lost social standing because of
|
|
sexual promiscuity.
|
|
[4]"poms"--Pomeranian dogs.
|
|
*****************************************************************************
|
|
For more information about Taylor, see
|
|
WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR: A DOSSIER (Scarecrow Press, 1991)
|
|
Back issues of Taylorology are available via Gopher or FTP at
|
|
etext.archive.umich.edu
|
|
in the directory pub/Zines/Taylorology
|