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* T A Y L O R O L O G Y *
* A Continuing Exploration of the Life and Death of William Desmond Taylor *
* *
* Issue 61 -- January 1998 Editor: Bruce Long bruce@asu.edu *
* TAYLOROLOGY may be freely distributed *
*****************************************************************************
CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE:
Reporting the Taylor Murder: Day Three
Mary Miles Minter: The Pre-Taylor Years
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What is TAYLOROLOGY?
TAYLOROLOGY is a newsletter focusing on the life and death of William Desmond
Taylor, a top Paramount film director in early Hollywood who was shot to
death on February 1, 1922. His unsolved murder was one of Hollywood's major
scandals. This newsletter will deal with: (a) The facts of Taylor's life;
(b) The facts and rumors of Taylor's murder; (c) The impact of the Taylor
murder on Hollywood and the nation; (d) Taylor's associates and the Hollywood
silent film industry in which Taylor worked. Primary emphasis will be given
toward reprinting, referencing and analyzing source material, and sifting it
for accuracy.
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Mabel Normand is the November 1997 Featured Performer at the Silents Majority
web site (http://www.mdle.com/ClassicFilms/FeaturedPerformer/1197.htm).
Included is a complete reprinting of Sidney Sutherland's lengthy 1927
interview with Mabel which was originally published in Liberty Magazine in
1930 after her death.
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Reporting the Taylor Murder: Day Three
Below are some highlights of the press reports published in the third day
after Taylor's body was discovered.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
LOS ANGELES EXPRESS
Peculiar Old-Time Bullet That Killed Film Director May Be Key To Slayer
While some of the most prominent members of the cinema colony in Los
Angeles shuddered in horror as the grim details of the slaying of William D.
Taylor, well-known film director, were told from the witness chair at the
coroner's inquest today, what was characterized as the most important
development since investigation of the slaying began was brought to light.
That was the story of the bullet with which the motion-picture director was
slain--a bullet that showed by its markings it had been manufactured years
ago.
As Detective Sergeant Herman Cline told of finding the peculiar shell
and its probable significance in the ultimate unraveling of the mystery,
listeners in the quiet hall outside the crowded inquest room could hear the
subdued sobs of Mabel Normand, friend of the slain man, one of the last
persons to see him alive, and herself one of the most noted figures in
filmdom.
Miss Normand was called as a witness and the inquest was delayed for
some minutes until she arrived. Until the time for her appearance on the
witness stand she was closeted in a small room adjoining the inquest chamber,
where from time to time she gave way to her grief.
...Those who were summoned and who were ready to testify after the jury
had been sworn in by the coroner were:
Jesse L. Lasky, vice president of the Famous Players-Lasky organization,
by whom Taylor was employed as director general.
Charles Eyton, general manager of the West Coast Studios of that
corporation.
Miss Mabel Normand, noted film star, who so far as the police know was
the last person to see Taylor alive.
Douglas MacLean, another film star, whose home adjoins that of Taylor.
Mrs. Douglas MacLean, wife of the star.
Detective Sergeants Wallis, Ziegler, Herman Cline, Winn, Murphy, Cato
and Cahill.
Henry Peavey of 127 1/2 East Third street, negro servant of Taylor, who
found the body of the slain man.
Harry Fellows, chauffeur [sic] for Taylor.
William Davis, chauffeur for Miss Normand.
Verne Dumas, wealthy oil man, who was one of the first neighbors to
enter the house.
E. C. Jesserund [sic], owner of the apartment occupied by Mr. Taylor.
...Charles Eyton, general manager of the Lasky coast organization was
called as the first witness. He was questioned by Coroner Nance:
Q. Mr. Eyton, have you viewed the remains? A. Yes.
Q. And you have identified the body? A. Yes, sir. It is William
Desmond Taylor.
Q. How old was Taylor at the time of his death and was he married?
A. He was 45. Yes he had been married.
Q. When did Mr. Taylor die? A. Thursday, or perhaps some time on
Wednesday evening. I did not see the body until Thursday morning.
Q. Please tell what you know of the situation. A. I was called Thursday
morning by Harry Fellows, assistant to Mr. Taylor, who said that he had died
suddenly as the result of a hemorrhage. I immediately went to the house
where I found a deputy coroner and several other persons. The deputy
declared death was due to an internal hemorrhage, and after reaching his hand
under Taylor's vest, and finding a little blood, he stated that he believed
it had run down from his mouth. I was not satisfied, however, that such was
the case, and I called Harry Fellows. We then turned Mr. Taylor over onto
his face, and pulling up his shirt, discovered the bullet wound.
Q. Did you speak to any one about Mr. Taylor's residence as to whether
or not a shot had been heard during the evening previous? A. Yes, I talked
with Mr. and Mrs. Douglas MacLean.
Q. Did they fix any definite time that they believed they heard the
shot. A. Mr. MacLean said it was about 8 or 8:15 o'clock. Mrs. MacLean
thought it was a little later.
Questioned by a juror Mr. Eyton answered as follows:
Q. Was there any evidence of a struggle in the room? A. Not as far as I
could see.
Dr. A. S. Wagner, county autopsy surgeon was the next witness.
Q. Did you perform an autopsy on William D. Taylor? A. Yes. Upon
examination of the body of Mr. Taylor I found a bullet wound in the left side
about 6 1/2 inches below the arm. The bullet passed through the left lung,
and came out through the chest and over the right lung, lodging in the neck
4 1/2 inches to the left of the right shoulder.
Q. What was the cause of Mr. Taylor's death? A. A gunshot wound in the
chest caused his death.
Mabel Normand, film star, was the next witness. She was not in the
court when called, and was compelled to make her way through the crowd. The
coroner told her to take a seat. She was plainly nervous, but not excited.
Q. What is your name? A. Mabel Normand.
Q. What is your occupation? A. Motion pictures.
Q. Were you acquainted with William D. Taylor, the deceased? A. Yes.
Q. Were you a visitor at his home last Wednesday evening? A. Yes.
I arrived at his home at 7 p.m.
Q. Did you leave Mr. Taylor alone in his room? A. No, he came with me
out to the car. He stood and talked with me and told me he would call me at
my home later in the evening. When I drove away I waved my hand at him and
then he went back to his apartment.
Q. Do you know when Henry Peavey, Mr. Taylor's valet, left the
apartments? A. I don't know just exactly the time, but he left before I did.
Q. Then Mr. Taylor told you that he would call you later, and did he
ever call you? A. No; he never called me. When I told him "good-by" at the
car it was the last time I ever saw him alive.
Henry Peavey, Taylor's valet was called to the stand. He told Coroner
Nance that his occupation is that of cook and valet, and that he had been
employed by Taylor for a period of six months. He said he was in the Taylor
apartments on the evening of the tragedy.
Q. When did you leave Mr. Taylor's home that evening? A. About 7:15
p.m.
Q. Was there anyone else in the house besides yourself at the time you
left? A. Miss Normand. That was all. Miss Normand came to the house to talk
with Mr. Taylor about a book. It was a red-backed book, and they were
discussing it when I left. They were both seated in the living-room not far
from the front door. I had locked the back door and was leaving by the front
door, and that's how I know where they were sitting. I always went out the
front door when I went home in the evening.
Q. When did you see Mr. Taylor again? A. The next morning about 7:30
o'clock.
Q. What was Mr. Taylor doing when you next saw him? A. He was lying on
the floor in the living-room flat on his back, a dead man. When I entered
the door I first saw his feet. I didn't know what to think of his position
on the floor and I spoke to him. I spoke to him two or three times, and then
suddenly I saw blood on his face and on the floor, and then turned and ran
out of the house, yelling at the top of my voice. Mr. Coroner, I was pretty
badly scared, and I did not know what I was saying.
Following a series of questions Peavey testified that Mr. Taylor was
wearing the same clothing he had worn the evening before. He said that none
of Mr. Taylor's jewelry had been disturbed. He also said the lights were
burning just as they were the previous evening.
The next witness was T. H. Ziegler. He stated he was a police officer
and he had been called to the Taylor home that morning to investigate the
shooting.
Mr. Ziegler said:
"I found Mr. Taylor just inside the door of his apartments lying on his
back, rigid and dead. Much blood had been flowing from his mouth, and it
covered the back of his head and a portion of the floor near by.
Q. Did you discover any evidence of violence? A. None whatever.
Q. Did you find any weapons in the room? A. Not in that room. I went
upstairs and found a 32-caliber automatic revolver in another room. It had
five loaded shells in it, and had not been fired for days, perhaps weeks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
NEW YORK JOURNAL
Los Angeles--...Captain of Detectives Adams issued the following
statement concerning the case at his office at Police Headquarters:
"With seven detective sergeants detailed on the case, I am confident the
slaying of Taylor will not be chronicled in the police records of unsolved
murders.
"True, it may be several days before we make the necessary eliminations
and definitely establish the motive of the slayer and get behind the scene
which now may appear somewhat hazy. It is the opinion of Captain Charles R.
Moffatt, veteran of the detective bureau, and myself that this most baffling
case will be cleared of all mystery.
"Where there is a will there is a way, is in expression which should be
adopted to this investigation and the officers running down the various clews
will eventually bring the slayer to book. This is my confident belief.
"This case is even more baffling than the recent sensational slaying of
Officers Brett and Clester. We had little or nothing to work on at that
time, but detectives did what was believed to be the impossible in rounding
up those alleged bandits and slayers.
"It is my desire to inform the many friends of Taylor that no stone is
being left unturned by us and we want their help and confidence, with the
assurance that we will arrest Taylor's slayer before the case is closed."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
PHOENIX GAZETTE
Los Angeles--...That a woman was involved in the murder was the theory
advanced by Sheriff William I. Traeger of Los Angeles.
"From what I have been able to learn," the sheriff said, "it appears to
me that one woman and one man are responsible for the victim's death. The
woman supplied the incentive and the man did the slaying."...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
LONG BEACH TELEGRAM
Gun Man Sought
Los Angeles--"Dapper Dan" Collins, two gun man, master blackmailer, is
"wanted for questioning" in connection with the murder of William Desmond
Taylor.
This was revealed to the United Press exclusively today by private
investigators at work on the mysterious slaying of the famous motion picture
director.
"Dapper Dan" is now at large, detectives said, with a price of $5000 on
his head following the shooting in New York last May of John H. Reid, well to
do manufacturer, at the home of Hazel D. Warner.
"Dapper Dan" has been traced from New York to Denver, from Denver to
Salt Lake City, and from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles, the investigators
asserted.
He recently escaped a trap set for him when a motion picture actress
whom he was attempting to use as a tool in another blackmail project,
informed on him.
Detectives are attempting to establish whether or not this blackmail
scheme involved Taylor's mystery shrouded past.
Underworld acquaintances of "Dapper Dan" told investigators, according
to the latter, that Collins had boasted his intention of "finishing this deal
single handed, since the come on girl had crossed him up."
The detectives believe that "Dapper Dan's" intended victim was some one
obviously possessed of considerable wealth, who was connected with the motion
picture industry, they informed the United Press.
This belief is based on the fact that the blackmailer was attempting to
use a film actress as a lure.
Collins, it is believed, was very probably intimate with the details of
Taylor's past in New York, bits of which are now coming to light for the
first time...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
SACRAMENTO BEE
Los Angeles--...The imp of the perverse seems to have provided for the
director, who won fame for genius in producing movie thrillers, a more
colorful drama around his death than the motion picture screen has ever
provided the public. Mabel Normand, Mary Miles Minter and Neva Gerber are
three of the motion picture actresses involved in the police investigations.
Reports have come to the police, they say, that a love affair at one time or
another existed between each of these and the slain director.
Police say, without mentioning the name, that a motion picture actress
is at the center of the investigation.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
NEW YORK TELEGRAM
Los Angeles--...Taylor, from the evidence gathered by the police, was a
lover of the bizarre as well as a quiet student. Weird narratives of a
mystic love cult in the Hollywood district crept into his life. Stories of
his attendance at parties where underworld characters smoked opium are said
to have been uncovered...
His friends are certain that he attended these obscure and under-cover
affairs only to add to his artistic knowledge and to enable him to cast
properly and to arrange moving picture scenes. He was a man of mystery, who
made friends easily with men, but seemed to shun women...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
SAN FRANCISCO CALL
Search for the slayer of William D. Taylor, Los Angeles film director,
turned suddenly and unexpectedly to San Francisco today with the receipt of
telegraphic advices from the south that a suspect now hunted in this city is
believed to have directed the murder from San Francisco.
Telegraphic advices from authoritative sources in the south stated
definitely that the Los Angeles police had wired the local authorities asking
that a dragnet be set over the entire San Francisco Bay region for the
suspect.
Receipt of these instruction here was shrouded by the local police with
the utmost secrecy.
Linked with these new development in San Francisco was the theory
advanced by Los Angeles detectives that the man who looted Taylor's Los
Angeles home on December 4 or 5 was not his former valet, Edward F. Sands,
now sought in connection with the case, but a well known film star, who was
driven to burglary by desperation over financial troubles.
That Sands, who pawned Taylor's stolen jewelry in Fresno and Sacramento
under the name of William Deane Tanner, now known to be the true name of
Taylor, perpetrated the first burglary of Taylor's home, in July, and acted
as accomplice of the second burglar in disposing of loot, was a theory
entertained by the Los Angeles investigators.
...the burglary in December in the Taylor home showed strong signs of
having been perpetrated by a novice and information uncovered led to the
belief that a film star in financial straits was responsible.
Sands now is believed to have been implicated with this person and to
have acted as an accomplice by disposing of the loot...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 4, 1922
R. W. Borough
LOS ANGELES RECORD
Taylor Spent His Last Day Buying Books
Less than three hours before he was slain William Desmond Taylor, motion
picture director, was mulling through volumes of poetry on the shelves of C.
C. Parker's book store, 520 West Sixth street.
Veiling an aesthete's enthusiasm behind a kindly reserve Taylor glanced
casually through his beloved books and finally turned to Miss Mae Irons,
saleslady.
"He purchased 'The Home Book of Verse' in two volumes," Miss Irons said
today. "The work is a modern anthology of English verse. He paid $25 for
it."
It was only a few minutes before 5 o'clock when Taylor left the Parker
store.
"He seemed in normal spirits," Miss Irons said. "He was a very
courteous gentleman. I did not know who he was until Mr. Parker told me
afterward."
According to Miss Irons, Taylor said he was buying the anthology so that
he might give one of the volumes to a friend. He had previously given the
books to this friend, he explained, and one of them had been lost.
Taylor introduced himself to Parker before leaving the store.
"I know you well by reputation," Parker said to him jovially, "but those
of us who know, don't count much on reputation."
Taylor's answer was an amused smile.
It is believed the motion picture director went almost immediately home
from the book store...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Mabel Normand Letters Lost From Death House
Missing letters and telegrams sent by Mabel Normand, celebrated film
star, to William Desmond Taylor, the famous motion-picture director who was
slain last Wednesday night within a few moments after Miss Normand left his
home, formed the basis of a separate investigation hinging about the murder
mystery last night.
Captain of Detectives Adams and Detective Sergeants Cato and Cahill last
night questioned Mary Miles Minter, also a widely known screen actress,
concerning her knowledge of the life of Mr. Taylor. The officers, after a
long session with Miss Minter, declared they had uncovered no important new
facts.
Miss Normand made a personal visit to the home at 404-B South Alvarado
street, where Mr. Taylor's body was found, a bullet in his back and she asked
for her letters. She went to the top drawer of Mr. Taylor's dresser to get
them. They were not there. Captain of Detective Adams told her he did not
know where they were. Late last night he repeated the statement.
With the officials seeking these letters Charles Eyton, general manager
of the Famous Players-Lasky studio and who assumed charges of many of the
dead man's personal effects, also stated he did not have them, according to
police.
The visit of Miss Normand, directly after the Coroner's inquest earlier
in the day, was dramatic in many respects. She appeared at the Taylor
apartment while Officers Cline, Cahill, Cato and Winn were there with Capt.
Adams.
Mabel Normand then re-enacted the scene that the officers believe took
place shortly before the fatal shot was heard by neighbors within a few
minutes after Miss Normand left.
She arranged the furniture of the handsomely appointed apartment as it
was on the last visit she paid to the director, who has filmed such stars as
Mary Pickford, Mary Miles Minter, Betty Compson and others.
She showed where the chair that was overturned on Mr. Taylor's legs when
the body was found, was standing when she left the home about 7:45 p.m. last
Wednesday.
She again told of some of the conversation which she and Mr. Taylor had
that night. And she showed how Mr. Taylor had escorted her from the court of
the apartments to her automobile, in which her chauffeur was sitting...
But during this visit, Miss Normand asked for her letters. She said she
knew Mr. Taylor kept them in the top drawer of his dresser and there the
search was directed in vain. Public Administrator Bryson could not be found
all day yesterday but the officers declare that to the best of their
knowledge he has not taken charge of the letters.
Miss Normand last night said, "I am surprised that anyone should have
been interested in these letters of mine to Mr. Taylor. I am sure there is
nothing in them of any interest to the general public.
"There is nothing in them that would help the police in any way. There
were some of my letters in Mr. Taylor's room--I would say six or seven and
several telegrams I had sent him while I was in New York.
"The letters, too, were those sent by me to Mr. Taylor, when he was in
New York or when I was in New York.
"I knew they were in his dresser drawer because he showed them to me
once when he showed me over the house immediately after he was robbed.
"On that occasion he happened to open the top drawer of his dresser and
I saw the letters.
"I said, 'Why, you're not keeping those letters, are you?' and he made
some pleasant remark, saying he was keeping them."
In addition to the mystery of Miss Normand's letters and the efforts of
the officers to reconstruct as nearly as possible the scene before the crime
investigators from the detective bureau, the District Attorney's office and
the Sheriff's office worked well into the night unraveling some of the loose
ends of the case.
Mary Miles Minter, film luminary and close friend of Mr. Taylor, was
reported early yesterday to be confined to her home because of illness. On
the morning the murder was discovered she rushed to the Taylor home and
became almost hysterical when she confirmed the news of his death.
...Placing the home of a widely known Hollywood man under surveillance
late yesterday, officers were searching last night for this man, who is
wanted as a material witness.
Several new clews, one of which is declared to have placed this man's
automobile in the vicinity of the Taylor flat at 404-B South Alvarado street
about the time of the slaying, have been uncovered. This man is widely and
somewhat unfavorably known among many film celebrities and his name has
figured in previous police investigations. His mysterious visits at homes of
several members of the film colony are being checked in connection with the
new angle.
Officers late in the day were watching his home. Vigorous efforts were
being made to locate him for questioning.
Meanwhile, other officers, particularly Detective Sergeants Yarrow and
Mallheau, narcotic traffic experts, turned their attention to another new
angle. They started yesterday afternoon to investigate several reports
concerning "dope" traffic in Hollywood and other supposed clews, which tend
to indicate that visits of "peddlers" of dope had been made in that vicinity.
A report of a supposed threat made on the night of the murder also was
being run down by the officers. This report, made by a downtown business man
to the police, was expected to set the officers on the trail of a man who is
quoted as saying on the night Mr. Taylor was slain within a few minutes after
Mabel Normand, film star, left the Taylor home, "There will be a movie
director show up missing in the morning."
...Capt. Adams yesterday stated it is not impossible that Mr. Taylor was
killed by a burglar, who seized upon the opportunity provided when Mr. Taylor
escorted Miss Normand to her automobile to sneak in the house. The position
of the bullet and the line of fire indicated shows, Capt. Adams said, that
the assassin probably was crouching behind the door when Mr. Taylor
entered...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Valet Sobs at Inquest
There were no women's tears at the inquest yesterday which determined
that William Desmond Taylor came to his death at the hands of an assassin.
The only sobs were contributed by Henry Peavey, negro valet and cook, who
wailed aloud when he entered the inquest rooms at the Ivy Overholtzer
undertaking rooms, where Coroner Nance conducted the hearing.
...Sobs interfered somewhat with Peavey's testimony. He knelt on the
floor by the bier first and sobbed aloud and his wails were frequent during
the entire hearing...His mourning sounded so much like a guffaw that many
smiled, but there were tears in Peavey's eyes...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Error May Have Caused Murder
Denver, Feb. 4--William Desmond Taylor, Los Angeles motion-picture
director, may have been murdered by mistake due to his resemblance to a man
hated by some underworld avenger. This opinion was given today by Judge Ben
B. Lindsey when he learned of Taylor's death at the hands of an assassin.
Judge Lindsey said Mr. Taylor told him of having been held all night by
Denver police who believed he was a man much wanted. Mr. Taylor said his
protestations of innocence caused him to be severely beaten by police clubs.
The following morning, after he had established his identity, profuse
apologies were extended, but he never learned the name of the man for whom he
was mistaken.
"Was he murdered for revenge by some crook whom his double had
betrayed?" Judge Lindsey asked. "He may have been the image of some
underworld character."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Mabel Shy of Camera at Inquest
A separate "thriller" was staged at the undertaking establishment of Ivy
Overholtzer, Tenth and Hill streets, during the inquest over the body of
William D. Taylor yesterday.
Mabel Normand, the subject of millions of exposures, became camera shy.
After posing for still and motion pictures for years, the film star and
central figure in the murder investigation fought hard to avoid photographers-
-and failed.
At 10 o'clock, the hour set by Coroner Nance for the start of the
inquest, Mabel Normand was missing. The Coroner ordered a telephone search
for her. The wires began to buzz. About fifteen minutes later two of
Mabel's publicity men walked in the undertaking parlor. Then the newspaper
photographers discovered that while they were watching the front of the house
Mabel was hurried in through the back alley, under a fence and through the
back yard of the establishment and was sitting in a corner of the hall.
There was a lot of scurrying. The press agent brigade, always on the
effort to get Mabel's name and picture into the papers, formed a flying wedge
and with the help of other film officials and general assistants landed Mabel
safely inside a private office. There, in the seclusion and protection of
the darkened room. Mabel rested until she was called. After the inquest
there was more press agent strategy. Back doors were opened, gates held
ajar. The big limousine was backed into an alley, behind an ice truck.
Mabel, surrounded by various and sundry publicity experts, managers, legal
representatives and other friendly infantry, appeared in a small door at the
back of the undertaking establishment. From there she and her supporters
dashed madly toward a little gate, down three steps and into the alley.
Click, click, click went camera shutters. Then there was a race down
the alley, with Mabel and her manager in the lead.
Miss Normand managed to get inside the car. There she remained until
the last of her guard piled in and down the alley sped the $7000 automobile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
Lannie Haynes Martin
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
Double Role Jars Filmdom
Revelation in Life of Screen Director Astonishes Friends;
Thought Him to Be Bachelor
The most unfeigned astonishment was expressed yesterday throughout the
entire local filmdom over the disclosures made regarding the dual role played
in life by William Desmond Taylor, noted film director, who was shot
Wednesday night.
Both surprise and regret were the feelings expressed in the Mary Miles
Minter household. Mrs. Julia B. Miles, Miss Minter's grandmother, said:
"Somehow my faith in human beings is a little shaken this morning because of
all people with a shadowy past I would never have suspected Mr. Taylor. In
fact I asked him once if he were a bachelor or a widower and he said 'I am a
confirmed bachelor,' and as I believed him to be the very essence of truth I
naturally felt shocked to learn he had a wife and child.
"My granddaughter, Miss Minter, looked on him as a child might regard a
father. She is 19 and he was 55 [sic], and she is an impulsive child and
when she heard of his death the other morning she rushed over there and cried
all over the place without a thought of having her name dragged into the
affair.
"We all liked him and admired him because he was so kind, because he was
such a thorough gentleman and such a profound scholar. He was a man of
moods, however, sometimes becoming very depressed and gloomy, and one winter
when he was directing a picture of Miss Minter's which was being filmed in
Boston, he became so despondent that my grand-daughter nicknamed him
'Desperate-Desmond,' just in jest, you know.
"Miss Minter has only seen Mr. Taylor once in the last five months and I
was with her at the time. We were driving up Broadway and Mr. Taylor passed
us in his car and my grand-daughter said, 'Oh, Mr. Taylor has repainted his
car,' and I said, "Yes, I suppose that man who stole his things tore the car
all to pieces. Mr. Taylor stopped and we passed a few friendly greetings
with him, but we did not mention any of his troubles with the man who had
robbed him, or touch on any of his personal affairs, for while our friendship
with him was pleasant and cordial, it was by no means intimate."
Claire Windsor expressed surprise that her name had been connected in
any way with that of the dead man.
"I had never been out but once in my life with Mr. Taylor, " said Miss
Windsor, "and that time it was arranged without my knowledge. Mr. Moreno
invited me to join a party of four at the Ambassador and Mr. Taylor was the
escort he provided for me. He seemed an extremely reserved and diffident
man, but very courteous and dignified, and I liked him."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
ARIZONA REPUBLICAN
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--...The bullet which was taken from Taylor's body
was produced at the inquest, then returned to detectives who were endeavoring
to learn its history. The missile was found practically intact and retained
its original shape due, county autopsy surgeon A. F. Wagner said, to its not
having struck a bone during its passage through Taylor's body.
The bullet was declared to be of unusual type, a distinguished feature
being a groove around its circumference near the base.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
...[telling of Henry Peavey on the witness stand at the inquest]
"What did you see?"
"I saw his feet, and I said 'Mr. Taylor'--just like that. Then I saw
his face, and I turned and run out and yelled. And then I yelled some
more--"
And then Henry broke into high pitched laughter as he recalled his
fright and terror. Laughed as he thought of himself going in and speaking to
a dead man. It was a huge joke--no doubt about it. And the joke was on him.
Of course, He laughed and those in the room laughed with him...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
Mistaken for Double, New Crime Angle
Denver, Feb. 4--A clew uncovered her today suggests the possibility that
the murder of William Desmond Tanner Taylor was a case of mistaken identity.
Coupled with the statement of friends of Taylor that he was a genial soul,
without a known enemy in the world, the theory that he was murdered by a
person who though he was someone else becomes probable.
This new angle on the case was furnished by Judge Ben B. Lindsey of the
Juvenile Court, who became intimate with Taylor during the filming of "The
Soul of Youth," a picture which Taylor directed and in which Judge Lindsey
was featured.
Lindsey said that Taylor had told him of his experiences in Denver ten
years ago, when the famous director was a mining engineer working at Ouray.
On one of his frequent visits to Denver, Taylor told Lindsey he had been
mistaken for another man by a policeman and placed under arrest. When Taylor
protested and affirmed that he was not the man in question, the policeman
attacked him with his club and beat him severely. He was lodged in the city
jail over night. Taylor's story continued, but in the morning was able to
establish his identity and was released with profuse apologies. He never
learned the name of the man he was mistaken for and was booked merely "For
investigation."
Was Taylor the walking image of some underworld character?
Was he murdered for revenge by some crook whom his double had betrayed?
Did he know his own double and was he slain by the man he looked like to
prevent his informing the police of the caller's actions? These are
questions which the authorities will have to solve in their investigations of
the film director's mysterious murder.
Judge Lindsey himself did not suggest the possibility of Taylor's being
slain my mistake. He appeared quite perplexed about a motive for the crime,
describing Taylor as one of the kindliest and most gentle men he had ever
known.
By a coincidence he was reading a letter from Louis Sargent, who played
the leading juvenile role in "The Soul of Youth" when he learned of the
director's death.
"Don't you wish we could appear together again in one of Mr. Taylor's
pictures?" wrote Louis. Scarcely a moment later Mrs. Lindsey entered the
judge's room and informed him of Taylor's murder.
"William Desmond Taylor was one of the finest types of gentlemen I ever
met," said Judge Lindsey today.
"He was not the type of man one would connect with scandal in the
movies. I don not believe that anything will develop from this tragedy to
throw discredit upon his character.
"He was a scholarly man, patient, kindly, and gentle. Perhaps his quiet
disposition may have developed the impression of his being a 'mystery man.'
I do not believe there is any mystery to his discredit.
"It was in May, 1920, that I was with him almost daily while we were
working together on a moving picture called 'The Soul of Youth,' in which I
consented to do the part of a judge of a juvenile court. During this time I
met him frequently at the studio and a number of times at the office.
"He was interested in the boy problem, as shown by his productions of
'Tom Sawyer,' 'Huckleberry Finn' and 'The Soul of Youth.' I watched his work
at the studio with children, and I used to tell him he would make an
excellent juvenile court judge because he had such marvelous patience and
could get so much out of children. I suppose that is the reason he got so
much out of the stars among the women whom he had successfully directed,
including Mary Pickford, Mary Miles Minter, Elsie Ferguson and others.
"He had been the means of helping one little girl whom I once knew in
this court and was always glad to acknowledge any of my letters about young
people I knew in connection with the movies.
"The last I heard of him was about the first of the year, when he sent
me a little Christmas and New Year message."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
NEW YORK TELEGRAM
Noted Actor Barred From Studio After Jealous Outbreaks
Los Angeles--A film actor, known throughout the country to movie fans,
quarreled bitterly with William Desmond Taylor, murdered movie director, over
an unnamed actress they both loved, the police learned today.
Detectives, backed by the $100,000 fund which is being raised to track
down the director's slayer, are investigating the story of bitter
altercations between Taylor and this so-far unnamed actor, who is so
prominent his introduction into the case may prove its greatest sensation.
The actor who quarreled with Taylor had just been barred, according to
Harry Fellows, Taylor's assistant director, from the Lasky "lot," and ordered
never to come again. He made attempts to reach Taylor, according to Mr.
Fellows, but failed. They were enemies because of their mutual love of a
pretty film star who played with both.
While working on this as a possible clew, detectives today planned a
general questioning of all women, most of them film beauties, who are known
to have been on intimate terms with Taylor...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
TOPEKA CAPITAL
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--...No clue was brought out at the inquest which
might shed light upon the gold-tipped, woman's cigaret found near Taylor's
rumpled bed...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
Edward Doherty
NEW YORK NEWS
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--...It has been learned that Taylor, or Tanner, kept
in his bachelor apartment bedroom, in the bureau drawer, a set of pink silk
nightgowns and combinations.
It has been learned that Sands had charge of these and that he used to
fold them up every morning and smooth them out. It has been learned that he
used to fold them in a certain way and that every morning he would find they
had been folded by some one else--and sometimes there were stray hairpins on
the floor.
They have learned that the halo painted around the dead man's head by
admiring friends does not belong there; is a mockery.
Taylor's body lies in the undertaking parlors, covered with a satin pall
save for the head--the head of an Aztec, with thin wide lips, thin
aristocratic nose, high cheek bones, spangled gray hair...
There were no women's tears at the inquest today; only the tears of
Harry [sic] Peavey, the dark-skinned valet and cook. He wailed aloud when he
went into the room. He kneeled down and cried. He cried on the witness
stand, cried brokenly, covering his face with his big hands...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
NEW YORK WORLD
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--...It is believed that if robbery was the motive
the burglar, after firing the shot, became frightened that the noise might
have aroused some persons in the neighborhood and fled without attempting to
steal anything. Taylor was a man who never would have obeyed an order to
"Put up your hands," his friends say.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
Edward Doherty
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--...Miss Minter was not at the inquest, which was
held this morning; but she was represented by counsel. She had known the
dead man well. She was hysterical when she learned of his death.
"It was terrible," she said. "I rushed at once to my mirror and looked
at my face. I was appalled. I kept the expression and hurried to mamma.
"'Mamma,' I cried, 'did you ever see this expression on my face before.'
"'No,' she said; 'it is perfect. Frozen horror! You've never done it
before.'"...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
ST. LOUIS GLOBE-DEMOCRAT
Los Angeles, Feb. 4-- ...[telling of Henry Peavey on the witness
stand at the inquest]
"Who was the first person that you told Mr. Taylor was dead?"
It was then that the negro began laughing in a hysterical manner. He
doubled forward in the chair. His shrieks of laughter caused a real
sensation. A number of women spectators appeared frightened by the actions
of the witness who was finally quieted. He was then asked...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--Henry Peavey, negro, who described himself as "Mr.
Taylor's valet," was a conspicuous figure at the inquest over the body of his
former master here this morning. Dressed in a natty check suit, Peavey
arrived early and was the center of several groups of curiosity seekers.
Just before the inquest began he asked permission to see the body. He
was led to the room where the body of the famous film director lay.
Peavey approached the body and then broke down. He cried for more than
a minute. Then he walked around the corpse several times.
"He looks just like he did many times when I would go to wake him up in
the morning to give him his medicine--just so natural," he said, tears
streaming down his face.
A few minutes later Peavey took his seat in the inquest room, having
mastered his emotions.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
BOSTON ADVERTISER
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--One of the leading motion picture actors of the
Hollywood colony is definitely under suspicion as the slayer of William
Desmond Taylor, noted film director. And the motive--jealousy over a woman,
who is as well known in the realm of the silent drama as he.
These were the latest developments today in the widespread police effort
to unravel the tangle of the tragic Hollywood mystery.
There were said to be many striking facts upon which to base the theory
of this man's possible participation.
1. His physical characteristics. He, like the man who was seen to
come from the Taylor apartment at No. 404B South Alvarado street on Wednesday
night by Mrs. Douglas MacLean, immediately following a revolver shot, is
about five feet ten inches in height.
2. This man, now believed beyond question to be the murderer, wore a
silk scarf around his neck and a plaid cap. The actor whose name has been
injected into the case is known to have worn a scarf, and frequently he dons
a cap.
3. The actress, who is believed to have been the innocent cause of the
assassination, is known to have received attentions from both Taylor and this
other man.
4. A few days before his violent end, Taylor received a telephone
message. He answered the caller gruffly in two or three monosyllables and
hung up. Within five minutes the same man called again. This time Taylor,
in a rage, refused to talk with him.
5. Taylor gave orders that this man was not to come on the "lot," the
colloquial name for the grounds of the studio.
Long and patiently these facts have been assembled; the police admit
that they may mean nothing or everything.
As a working hypothesis, the officers are proceeding in a straight line
from the crime to the threshold of the woman, there to find, if the theory is
correct, that the motive was something deeper even than jealousy.
What that something may have been remains to be revealed. It is enough
for the moment to say that, assuming the suspicion to be correct, the man
forced a secret from the actress, and upon learning it went forth with murder
in his heart...
The police are even more deeply interested in the past of the actor now
under suspicion--tentative suspicion, it might be called.
This man had been in Los Angeles only a few years. He is about thirty
years of age and once lived abroad. He was only recently raised to a high
place in the picture world. Before that he had much ado to make a fair
living as an "extra" and small part actor.
He is known to be deeply interested in criminology and had planned a
picture dealing with crime wherein he was to play a spectacular part.
He is known to have been very attentive to the young woman who recently
has been seen in Taylor's company. There has been no showing that Taylor was
in love with her; in fact, a fine tooth combing of the director's social life
in Los Angeles has not brought forth a line of evidence that he was in love
with any woman.
But the reverse of the equation is entirely different, it is said, that
is, there are women who are known to have been infatuated with him.
One of these stands at the very top of the profession. However, she is
not the one whose name is linked with the tragedy in the speculation
affecting the well known actor...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
AUSTIN AMERICAN
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--One of the most prominent actors of the Hollywood
motion picture colony is said to be under surveillance by the police while
they are investigating his movements on the night that Wm. D. Taylor, noted
director, was shot to death in his fashionable bungalow.
The actor, who also has directed several pictures, recently is asserted
to have had a bitter quarrel with Taylor due to jealousy over one of the most
beautiful film actresses.
Another theory engaging the attention of the police is that Taylor whose
dual identity as William D. Taylor and Wm. Cunningham Deane Tanner has been
revealed, was slain by a notorious blackmailer known as "Dapper Dan" Collins,
alleged murderer and gun man. Collins, the police say, murdered a New York
manufacturer in May, 1921, under circumstances similar to the slaying of
Taylor. For the New York crime a reward of $5000 is said to be standing for
Collins' apprehension.
The description of Collins tallies in many respects with that of the
mysterious man's double Mrs. MacLean claims she saw leaving the Taylor home
last Wednesday night, when the director met his death.
Fleeing from New York, Collins is said to have gone to Denver and Salt
Lake and thence to Los Angeles. Here he stopped at one of the most
fashionable hotels and immediately cast about for some wealthy victims. A
famous film actress was approached by Collins, who sought to force her to act
as his lure in victimizing rich members of the film colony. She put him off,
asking him to see her later and then informed her attorney. When Collins
came she talked with him while waiting her attorney's arrival.
Becoming impatient and enraged Collins is said to have struck the
actress in the face and rushed away. No complaint was made against him, as
the woman did not desire publicity.
Some weeks later a bunco man was arrested and he is said to have known
Collins and declared that the latter swore he would kill a certain prominent
motion picture man, feeling that the latter had thwarted him in the
blackmailing design.
The whereabouts of Collins now are unknown. He had a fondness for caps
and frequently wore those of plain patterns. The mystery man seen by
neighbors leaving the Taylor home shortly after the murder wore a plain
cap...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
...Late last night Detective Captain Adams, after a three hour
conference with Mary Miles Minter, issued an official statement in which he
said, "Detective Sergeants Cato and Cahill, together with myself, interviewed
Miss Minter. We talked with her several hours regarding her relations with
Taylor. We are absolutely satisfied that Miss Minter knows nothing that will
throw any light at all on this mystery nor do we believe that she is even
remotely connected with the case."
It was rumored late last night that Edward F. Sands, discharged
secretary of William Desmond Taylor, who has been sought as a material
witness in the slaying of Taylor, had been found, questioned and placed in
secret custody...
Another man was being looked for last night in the person of a man whose
reputation has been none too savory. While there is no direct evidence
implicating him, he is one of those persons coming within that classification
so frequently described in blunt police comment, "I wouldn't put it past
him."
Possible suspicion would not have turned in his direction but it had
been noted by some of this fellow's acquaintances that he had not been seen
in his familiar haunts since the murder. He is described as a man much
easier to find than to lose and the picture colony has been whispering about
him.
George Contreras of the district attorney's investigating staff, and
Deputy Sheriffs Fox, Nolan and Bell, who yesterday entered the case, were in
a search for this man last night. If he is not the actual murderer they
expect him to tell a story which will materially advance the investigation.
An earlier development of the day, however, struck the picture colony
with more amazement that this feature. It was the report that one of the big
figures of the screen, a man whose sudden rise to fame has been one of the
marvels of the profession, was under suspicion.
His name was first linked with the crime as a possibility to be
considered because he had been paying marked attention to an actress who is
known to have been one of Taylor's most intimate friends.
Then came the reminder that the man in question answers the physical
characteristics of the assassin whom Mrs. Douglas MacLean saw leaving
Taylor's apartment shortly after a shot had been heard.
It was further recalled that this man often wore a dark silk scarf, such
as that figuring in Mrs. MacLean's description, and also a cap.
However, it was learned last night that this man had voluntarily offered
to account for every minute of his time on Wednesday night.
It is stated in this connection that the actor has explained a telephone
conversation he had with Taylor two days before the murder.
The woman whose name has been mentioned professes entire ignorance as to
both the motive and the facts of the crime...
Captain Adams yesterday declared that an arrest would be made within
twenty-four hours, probably less.
"Working secretly, and while the suspected murderer believed that
suspicion was falling on another person," he said, "detectives from my office
have woven a chain of evidence that we believe is unbreakable.
"The net of evidence about this man is tightening like the inexorable
tentacles of a deep sea monster. The motive has been established, the
activities of the suspect have been checked to the night of the murder and
detectives will locate his hiding place easily when the links in the chain
are complete.
"A woman may have been, and possibly was, the indirect cause of the
crime, but no woman directed the murderer in this case."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 5, 1922
PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
"Dapper Don" Collins Involved in Murder Tangle of Film Man
Los Angeles, Feb. 4--"Dapper Don" Collins, "blackmailer of the century,"
is being sought here today as the man who murdered William Desmond Taylor,
noted film director.
Collins, known from one end of the country to the other as the head of a
blackmail syndicate, last was in the public eye in Philadelphia, where he
eluded Federal detectives seeking him as the head of a band of liquor
smugglers. He had earlier been in difficulty with the police there after his
band was broken up there, and several of his lieutenants jailed...
"Dapper Don" answers, even to the checkered cap, the description of the
man seen by Mrs. Douglas MacLean as he walked away from the Taylor home after
the murder, the detectives declare.
Collins recently was sought here in a blackmail case. According to
records in this case, he attempted to force a prominent motion picture
actress to act as a lure in a blackmailing plot. She put him off and then
consulted her attorney. When she again attempted to "stall" him, however,
the man became enraged, struck her over the face and departed. Not desiring
publicity, the actress did not swear out a complaint against him.
It is said that the fugitive, thwarted in his efforts to make the
actress work for him, had vowed to kill a prominent motion picture man.
Whether the man whose life was threatened was an actor or a director, the
police could not learn. This incident had been apparently forgotten until
the Taylor murder this week.
*****************************************************************************
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Interviews with Mary Miles Minter: The Pre-Taylor Years
Issue 32 of TAYLOROLOGY contains reprinted interviews with Mary Miles
Minter which were conducted between the time she first met Taylor in 1919 and
his death in 1922. Other issues of TAYLOROLOGY (11, 12, 37, 58) reprinted
some later interviews with Minter, given after his death. Below are some
interviews with Minter which were conducted from 1912-1919, before she met
Taylor and when she was between the ages 9 and 17. One of her interesting
comments was "King Arthur is my ideal man"--indicating her romantic
predisposition toward an individual such as Taylor (mature, British,
distinguished, chivalrous, leader).
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
March 1912
A. P.
THE THEATRE
Nine Years Young and a Near Star
"Who taught you to act?"
A plump little girl, with a round, firm muscled face, a round little
body, and candid blue eyes, which reminded me of my last and biggest far-away
doll, looked up from the playhouse in her dressing room, and considered.
While she is considering, let me explain how a playhouse can be in a dressing-
room, while the reverse is usually true. The chief object of her attention
was a playhouse within a playhouse. Playing now, she was about to play. At
the moment she had an audience of two--her grandmother and me.
A quarter hour later she would be playing to an audience of twelve hundred
persons, or the capacity of the Liberty Theatre.
The playhouse of her greater interest was a square table, not quite so
high as her shoulders; in fact, at the height which Shakespeare prescribed
for a loving maiden, "as high as the heart." There were a tiny bedstead, a
miniature sofa, some minute chairs, several infinitesimal platters, and over
them presided a wee black doll named Sally Ann, in honor of Mamie Lincoln's
Topsy-like part in the play. Between the question and answer an order, in a
piping, childish voice, was sent over the today telephone in the little
playhouse for "some good meat,--and cauliflower,--and sugar."
Her household duties finished, Juliet Shelby, standing within arm's
reach of Victoria, a doll that looked herself, and Hallowe'en, a rakish
looking male playfellow, and Katherine, the disreputable remnant of what was
once a doll, whose stage name is Susan Jemima, but whose title in private
life is Katherine, and who sat in a row on the long table of her dressing-
room, made answer:
"Everybody in the companies begins to teach me to act. Then they stop,
as Daddy--that's William Farnum--did, and Mr. Al Woods--that's my manager--
did, and say, 'Go ahead, Juliet, and play it in your own way.'
"Oh, yes, I like being an actress. My sister Margaret is an actress.
She's blacker, I mean she's a brunette. She has black eyes and dark hair,
and she's two years older than me. I wish they would take Margaret into the
company, and let her play 'The Littlest Rebel' one night, or one week, and me
play it the next. Then sister and I could always be together, and play as
much as we like--play keep house, I mean. I told Mr. Woods that, and he
said: 'Not such a bad idea for a kid. I'll think about it.'
"My days are just like any other little girl's. I go from here with
mamma--that's what I call my grandma. My mother is with my sister--they've
been playing in an awful failure. We go home to our flat at One Hundred and
Twelfth Street as soon as the play is over, eleven o'clock. I have a cup of
chocolate and a cracker, and go to bed. I get up next day about eleven and
have a light breakfast. My mother makes it for me when she is at home--
French toast with hot milk over it. Then I play with my sister, if she's
there; if she isn't, mother or mamma play with me until luncheon. My lunch
is some soup and a piece of beef, because they make me strong. Then I go out
on Riverside Drive, and walk, and run, and play for two hours. I come back
and spend two hours with my governess, studying reading and writing, and
geography and arithmetic. I'm going to study French. After my lessons I
have my dinner, any kind of a dinner that any other little girl would like,
except that I don't care for candy, nor pie, nor cake. That's at five. Then
it's time to come to the theatre. I like to get here early, about six, so
that I don't have to hurry, and can play house a long time before the curtain
goes up."
She looked as grave and reflective when I asked her what she had played
before "The Littlest Rebel," which Edward Peple had expanded from a sketch
for her, as any adult actress recounting her conquests, season after season.
"I played first in 'Cameo Kirby,'" she said. She lifted the tiny gold
locket, with a hint of a diamond at its centre. "The star, Mr. Goodwin, gave
it to me. I was with 'The Master Key' and with Mme. Kalich in 'The Woman of
Today,' and in stock companies out West, and with Mr. Hilliard in 'A Fool
There Was.'" A tender glance at the bald and disreputable doll remnant.
"And Katherine has been with me in all of them. Two of the plays were
failures, and between them I went to school."
Juliet has a brief record. You can't unroll many events in nine years,
if you happen to start as a baby. She was born in Shreveport, La. Her
grandmother, Mary Miles, is an actress. Her mother, Charlotte Shelby, is
likewise. That is all, except that she has accumulated fifty-nine dolls, and
her sister has fifty-six. The overwhelming doll family occupies a room in
the One Hundred and Twelfth Street flat. Her stage name was Mary Miles
Minter, until at family council it was decided to return to her own name,
Juliet Shelby.
"I don't think I would like to play Juliet, though," she said,
thoughtfully. "You know where she says, 'He has left no poison for me,' and
stabs herself. I wouldn't like to stab myself. If I were dead, what would
my dollies do?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
March 18, 1916
Genevieve Harris
MOTOGRAPHY
"The Littlest Rebel" Wants to be Big
"The Littlest Rebel," of stage fame, is growing up! Mary Miles Minter,
the famed child actress who played with William and Dustin Farnum, and who is
now a star in Metro pictures, gives evidence of being a bit of a rebel in real
life.
"I like the pictures, but I do not like to play the roles they have given
me. They are dreadful!" So says Mary, whom audiences love when they see her
as "Emmy," or "Dimples," or some other personification of sweet innocence.
Well, they had better enjoy these pictures while they may, for the little star
is going to turn her talent into another channel just as soon as she can.
"I want a serious play, of real life, one with a strong, vital story. I
don't like these 'dear little girl' parts."
This was not exactly the sort of an interview I expected to have with
Mary Miles Minter. The little girl who greeted me at the door, her bright
curls framing a mischievous little face, might have stepped out of the film
stories she makes so entertaining. She had come to Chicago to appear with her
pictures in several of Alfred Hamburger's theaters, and, though she was a busy
girl that morning, she would tell me about her work. So, between
interruptions of telephone calls regarding a photographer's appointment, we
talked of pictures and picture plays.
"Pictures are harder to work in than the real stage," "Why?" Her answer
unconsciously set forth her attitude toward her work. "Because when a picture
is taken, it stays that way, and you can't go over it and make it better.
When I watch myself in pictures, I usually sit like this." Mary illustrated,
with clenched fists and tense lips.
"How I'd like to take that little girl and shake her and make her do it
all differently. That's why I call picture acting hard, because you can't
remedy your mistakes in your next performance."
"But isn't it more interesting to play in pictures? You have something
new to do all the time," I suggested.
"No, the stage is just as interesting, because you are always trying to
do your part better."
Just what kind of a girl is this, who takes her work so seriously, and
who does not like to be admired for her charm alone? Just at the present
time, she is a very friendly, unaffected little fourteen-year-old carefully
taken care of by her charming mother, and the note of sincerity adds charm to
a bright, vivacious personality. She has more poise and grace than most young
ladies of her age, but with it there is just a touch of unexpected shyness
which tells you that a public career has not robbed her of her childhood.
It came time for the photographer's appointment, and I arose to leave.
"Just a minute. I want to show you the nicest gifts I've received lately,"
and she ran away to bring back a rich traveling bag, beautifully outfitted,
and a tiny camera of English make. "The Canadians gave them to me. I've been
appearing in Canada, you know, with my pictures, making speeches," she
laughed. "Aren't these the prettiest things? And how I loved Canada and the
cold weather." She was bubbling over with the unaffected delight of a child.
Then it was past time to go. "Good-bye," said Mary, "but I'll see you
again, for I'm going back to Chicago in a real play. I think I can do better
work on the stage than in pictures."
"She is like a little sunbeam," said Mr. Hamburger.
"She is," I said, but I was thinking of the serious spirit which shone in
her frank blue eyes and which make one believe that she will climb to the goal
she has set for herself, above ingenue roles, above the pedestal of the child
star, way up to the heights of being a great actress.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
March 19, 1916
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
Mary Miles Minter Wants to Keep Busy
One approaches so young a film star as Mary Miles Minter for an interview
with a good deal of trepidation. Should you have brought along a stick of
peppermint candy as a bid for the good graces of the lady; or, on the other
hand, will she be a precocious child with the manners and airs of a woman of
forty?
All these doubts were dispelled before half a dozen words had been
exchanged. Miss Minter, is, for a wonder, just the age that the publicity man
claims, which is not quite fourteen, and she makes no attempt to appear
anything else. One might think her a little older, because the experience of
being a motion picture star has broadened her and given her an assurance that
less talented girls have not had the opportunity of acquiring, yet she is
above all simple and unassuming.
"I don't think I shall ever become very conceited," declared Miss Minter,
"because every time I start to be I get a hard knock. Either the director
takes it out of me or my mother lectures me, so that whenever I am inclined to
think well of myself I can be sure there's a puncture coming."
Moreover, Miss Minter is not satisfied with her screen work, which is a
good sign that self-satisfaction has not consumed her utterly.
"You probably don't believe a word about my age," she continued. "I
always hesitate about telling it when any one asks me, because it sounds as
though I were proud of it, but in reality I'm not. I have always felt old,
never younger than thirteen. Even when I was much younger than I am now I
could always sit up and converse with much older people. It seems to be a
family trait, and isn't due to any effort on my part, so why should I take any
credit for it?"
Miss Minter sat in a low chair, playing with her two dogs, Metro and
Dick, short for Richard Rowland, president of the Metro Company. Catching the
interviewer's glance at her hands, which fluttered ceaselessly about the
animals, she spread them apart in a theatrical gesture.
"Register despair," she remarked. "Mother tells me to 'cultivate repose
of manner,' but it doesn't do any good. I have to keep moving all the time.
Somebody once tried to compliment me by saying that it denoted temperament,
but that's silly. I guess it's just nervousness. I'm that way mentally, too.
Of course, I work pretty hard at the studio, and then I tutor in lots of
things, including French and German, and what little time is left I spend out
of doors if possible."
She pointed through the window at a snowy street that sloped down toward
the Hudson. "This Winter I've done lots of coasting on that hill, and I'm
strong enough to take the boys' sleds away from them, which is lots of fun,
because it makes them so angry. You don't know how strong I am. You see, I'm
crazy about jiu jitsu, and have been taking lessons in it for some time. Also
I like to box, because then I have an excuse to wave my arms about as much as
I want to."
Miss Minter look threateningly at the interviewer, but finally decided
not to fracture the laws of hospitality, so she continued:
"I can manage my sister Margaret quite easily, and she's sixteen, but
there's never any reason for demonstrating that fact. We are very different,
but I don't believe we've ever had a serious quarrel, only sometimes at night,
when I want the light left on to read by, and she wants it off so that she can
sleep, we keep popping it on and off for hours."
Miss Minter has the great gift of appearing animated and interested in
everything that she does, and this is one of the secrets of her screen
popularity. She has the intense enthusiasm of youth, which no one can
duplicate by mere acting, and it is as apparent on the screen as off. In
fact, Mary Miles Minter of the motion picture is no different from the Juliet
Shelby of real life.
Miss Minter does not consider screen acting as great an art as playing on
the legitimate stage.
"I appeared first on the stage, you know," she said, "and I want to get
back to it. My work before the camera is very interesting, of course, but I
remain true to my first love. It is really all a matter of opinion, but to me
legitimate stage work is the highest form of histrionic art. I suppose it's
because I was brought up to it. But there is one thing that I should miss if
I gave up my picture work, and that is the traveling. I have gone to so many
places and met so many nice people, all the way from Florida to the Pacific
Coast, that I really have a large number of friends. The people out West are
the most hospitable that I have ever met. Still, I want to go back to the
stage.
"The trouble is I'm too particular about parts. It is hard to find a
play that suits the sort of acting I can do best, and want to do. A story
like 'The Littlest Rebel,' in which I played with Dustin Farnum, can't be
picked up every day. Margaret is cut out for comedy, but I prefer drama, but
not of the gushy and sentimental kind.
"I go to the theatre as often as I can, and try to get pointers from the
actresses that I see. That all helps, whether for the screen or stage, and I
know that I shall go on acting in one form or another so long as I can. Lots
of girls seem to enjoy having nothing to do, but if I had to sit around with
nothing to occupy my time I know I should go insane."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
November 1917
Catherine Dick
PHOTO-PLAY WORLD
Just and Hour or Two with Mary Miles Minter
You get a glimpse of Holland at the American Film Company at Santa
Barbara, in the dressing rooms of Mary Miles Minter, the youngest real-for-
sure screen star on the electric signs.
Mary is so lovely herself that she just naturally calls for a
complimentary setting and the American Film Company have spared no pains in
surrounding her with the beauty that her youth and vivacity demands.
"Come in," she said, cheerfully. That's one nice thing about Miss
Minter--she is never bored with her visitors or with the fact that she is a
popular favorite with the picture fans. She enjoys it with the zest of
youth. She enjoys visitors. She enjoys almost everything but having her
picture taken and this she regards as punishment.
"Takes all our energy to drag Mary to the camera," said her mother, with
an indulgent smile. Guess she can afford to be put out occasionally, with
such a charming child as Mary Miles Minter in the family.
But Mary really does not like to be photographed, personally.
"It takes the whole family to make her behave properly," chimed in her
big sister Margaret, who is getting to be a screen personality herself.
"Mother usually goes to bed for the day after a camera seance with Mary for
her personal pictures, and when it is all over Mary shakes herself like a pup
coming out of the water, and declares that that batch must last for the rest
of her days."
We wouldn't dast, ourselves, to liken Mary to a pup coming out of the
water; but her own sister said it and Mary backed her up by imitating her
camera shake, and honest, it was so like a cunning little toy dog with its
water shake after a bath that everybody laughed.
"Look at my new decorations," said Mary, proudly, "Aren't they
heavenly?"
The upper walls and ceiling of the room are tinted a warm ivory to match
the old-fashioned Dutch furniture. Plain blue tapestry paper covers the
lower walls, topped by an eighteen-inch border, also in blue, depicting Dutch
scenes in story form. Blue hangings in a Dutch design combined with sheer,
dotted Swiss muslin are used at the window and a rare old blue rag run is on
the floor.
The dressing table is a work of art. On it is a hand-maid toilet set in
Dutch design, that attracted my attention.
"Isn't that a beauty?" said Miss Minter, touching one or two of the
pieces, lovingly. "That toilet set is the apple of my eye. The boys in the
technical department gave that to me. Aren't they darlings to think of it?"
If Miss Minter did not have to bother with modish gowns, she would be a
happy girl. Living the simple life is not at all a pose with her. She
realizes that clothes are part of her business as a screen star with a large
following; but she is always glad when she can hang up her exquisite gowns in
the wardrobe and turn them over to the care of the maid, while she enjoys
herself in plain little gowns that only enhance her appeal. Miss Minter's
beauty does not need beautiful clothes to bring it out. She is far more
fetching in a shabby little gingham frock, with her curls tumbling down her
back than she is in a chiffon dinner gown or silk ball gown.
For here's something you'd never guess. I would not have believed it
unless I had seen it myself on Mary's classic little nose. And it looks so
fetching that even Mary herself cannot consider having it removed.
Mary has freckles!
Yes, sir. And proud of 'em.
She contemplates those tiny brown beauty spots with great affection and
wouldn't lose one of 'em for the world. She says it keeps alive in her the
sensation that she is a regular girl--those freckles. There are only two or
three, or course, but they are freckles, nevertheless.
"I want to be a regular, everyday girl," she announced, looking at a
freckle with great friendship, in the gay Dutch hand mirror.
"Now, isn't that a nice, sociable freckle? Who would want to have that
taken off with lemon juice and buttermilk. No siree, that freckle stays."
As for the clothes--to go back to them--her mother chooses most of her
gowns. Mary doesn't care what she wears. She should worry.
"I want my clothes comfortable and then I want to forget them," she
said.
Her mother sighed again.
"We went to Los Angeles, recently," she began, "and went the rounds of
the shops to buy something really smart. The saleswomen were interested in
Mary, of course, and brought out all kinds of artistic designs to please
her."
"But there isn't anything I want, exactly," explained Miss Minter, to a
disappointed girl, who sure did want to be able to say that she had sold some
gowns to the popular screen star. "I want 'glad dresses.' Those frocks you
showed me look so cold, and formal, and haughty. Haven't you something 'glad
and happy' in gowns?"
The salesgirl knew exactly what Mary wanted and soon had the little star
arrayed in a creation that was both smart and "glad."
Mary nibbled her favorite fruit--an apple--while her mother told this
incident.
"I want everything around me glad," she admitted. "I don't like to see
even a frown in my direction. Why not be happy all the time. It's lots more
fun to make people happy than to make them sad, isn't it? That's why I like
the comedy parts in my stories so well, I love to see people laugh."
"Did you hear the story about the turtle?" asked Mrs. Shelby, as I rose
to depart. An hour had been allotted me and already I had loafed away an
hour and a half in the luxurious dressing room, chatting with Miss Minter and
admiring her gowns and her collection of nifty foot-gear and the beads that
are her fad--the child has almost fifty strings of beads and keeps adding to
her collection all the time. Regular Egyptian princess, she is.
"Mother," she protested, "it isn't fair to make me cry again about that
turtle. And if you tell that story, I know I'll cry. You see," she went on,
turning to me, and gathering up her little pet kitten in her arms, "we were
at the hotel and I saw a darling big turtle tied out on the back lawn. I
supposed he was a pet and I went down to get acquainted with him. Next day,
he was gone and another smaller turtle was there. They kept disappearing all
the time until, finally, there was a big fat old chap that I called 'Caruso.'
He was a darling old thing and every day I used to go down and play with him.
He grew so acquainted with me that when he saw me coming he would poke out
his funny head and bob it up and down as if he really was saying 'howdy' to
me. And then one day Caruso disappeared, too. I went down to the steward
and asked him where Caruso was and what he was doing with all the turtles and
he told me he had made soup of them!
"That night at dinner when the waiter brought my soup--"
Mrs. Shelby broke right in on the story at this point.
"Mary looked up at me with tears in her eyes," she explained, "and
sobbed."
"'Oh, mother, it's Caruso!' and that ended our dinner. We had to take
her out of the dining room and have her dinner sent upstairs. Even then she
wept so that she could not eat a bite."
Little Mary nodded solemnly.
"I'll never eat turtle soup again," she said, mournfully, "wasn't it a
shame to make Caruso into turtle soup--the old dear. I know he used to bob
his darling old head at me purposely," and she danced out to a call from the
director, to come and be ginghamed, little barefooted Sally, the Mate of the
Sally Ann.
And then her sister Margaret told me a story that had no comedy in it at
all. We were sauntering through the studio, where Mary was rehearsing and
watching her put her expressive little self into the story.
"She's the coolest little thing you ever saw," said Margaret. "Not long
ago we were driving along the horseshoe curve on one of the mountain drives.
Mother had really forbidden us to go there; but I was driving and I thought
we could make it all right. I saw a big car coming and I thought we'd better
turn around and go back while the road was wide enough. The brake turned
defective just then--and, to my horror, the car began sliding back to the
brink. And then the engine stalled.
"I'll never be any more frightened than I was then. I called to Mary to
jump; but the brave little thing refused to leave me. She just smiled and
said:
"'Don't worry, sis, you'll manage all right--just keep cool.'
"I knew I just had to get that car out, so between us we held on to the
brakes until the engine could get started again and we went on to safety."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
January 1918
Mary Miles Minter
MOTION PICTURE
I never "broke into" the movies. Mother and I "dodged" them for months;
but, of course, the inevitable is sure to happen, and finally one amazingly
persistent manager won mother over.
I was a wee bit of a girl, playing the title role in "The Littlest
Rebel," and mother agreed to permit me to appear in just one picture, provided
I was to work only on Sundays, in order not to interfere with my real work in
"The Rebel." Everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I was to receive the
unheard-of-salary of twenty-five dollars a day. Eventually Mr. Al Woods, the
manager of "The Rebel," learnt of the arrangement and was simply wild. He had
my contract rewritten, adding a clause which prevented my appearing before the
camera during the run of "The Rebel," and also increasing my salary from one
hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a week.
After four seasons with "The Littlest Rebel" and having entirely outgrown
my part, mother and I returned to New York for a new Broadway production. At
this time we were besieged with tempting offers from Motion Picture producers,
but mother still looked askance at the movies.
Finally, through the efforts of a mutual friend, mother consented to at
least have a talk with Mr. D. W. Griffith. An appointment was made for the
following morning at nine o'clock, and promptly at the hour mother and I
appeared in all our glory. Accustomed as we were to the courteous and yet
businesslike treatment of the all-powerful magnates of the theatrical world,
we were prepared to be received in state and escorted into the presence of the
great Griffith. Hundreds of people were waiting in the reception room, and
occasionally the door of the sanctum sanctorum would open and some one pass
hurriedly out. As the minutes ticked by past the hour of nine, mother began
to fidget. At nine she was painfully disturbed. We looked about expectantly,
but no one seemed to notice us particularly. It was quite apparent that the
famous Mr. D. W. Griffith was not eagerly waiting to greet us, and at 9:10 we
rose haughtily and swept from the room. We had never dreamt of such a thing
as "being late" for a business appointment, nor ever heard of such a thing as
being "kept waiting." We then turned our backs on representatives of Motion
Picture magnates, with their distressing business methods.
Some time later another agent phoned mother, pleading that she consider a
contract for me with a new and very fine company just starting. Wearily
mother inquired the name of the said company, and was informed that it was a
Frohman project.
"One of 'the Frohmans'?" inquired mother.
The agent assured her that it was.
"That is quite a different matter," emphatically declared mother. "We
will be down immediately."
A few hours later mother signed a contract with Gustave Frohman for my
first picture, and within a few days we started production on "The Fairy and
the Waif."
It was one of the happiest experiences we ever had; and thus the mystic
shadow-drama won another follower.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 1918
Elizabeth Peltret
PHOTOPLAY
The Golden Girl of the West
Mary Miles Minter did not float out on any tobacco cloud. Instead, she
sat on a couch and knitted with a rapidity that proved her thoroughly expert.
She was dressed in purple velvet which brought out in sharp relief the vivid
yet soft coloring of her skin and hair and eyes--a coloring that makes her
more exquisitely lovely in real life than she is on the screen. She looked as
if Riley had made his verse for her.
Her real name is Juliet Shelby and she was born in Shreveport, La.,
April 1, 1902, which makes her fifteen, "going on sixteen" years old. She
became Mary Miles Minter when she was nine years old and playing in The
Littlest Rebel with the Farnum brothers, Dustin and William.
"The real Mary Miles Minter was a cousin who died when she was a baby,"
said "Julie," as the home folks call her. "She was nine years older than I,
and my mother naturally thought of her when it looked as though we would have
to close the show because I wasn't sixteen years old. So, when the Gerry man
came, mother showed him the birth certificate of Mary Miles Minter and said
that I was Juliet Shelby's cousin. She had padded me all up beforehand, too,
as I was supposed to be a dwarf. My, but we were scared. We got by all
right, though, but I had to keep my cousin's name until mine was forgotten."
The fact that New York fell in love with the little girl of "The Littlest
Rebel" is too well known to need mention. Not so the fact tha at the time she
was "no pampered, velvet-and-ermine-clad doll, whose charms are emphasized by
curls," to quote the New York Dramatic Mirror of November 22, 1911, "but a
ragged, straight-haired, woman-faced little one. Critically analyzed," the
article goes on to say, "the visage of this small conqueror of a big city is
not pretty, except in the inevitable prettiness of childhood in any state--"
Mary Miles Minter likes that clipping. It proved that radiantly
beautiful as she is now, she did not walk into fame on the strength of that
beauty.
"I loved 'The Littlest Rebel,'" she said. "I want to do something really
dramatic in pictures--like Tennyson's 'Elaine,' for instance.
"King Arthur is my ideal man," she went on. "King Arthur or Lancelot,
but really I don't like any men very much. Even King Arthur had a fault; he
was so busy taking care of his Kingdom and his Table Round that he neglected
his wife."
She is very girlish.
"My favorite play used to be 'Romeo and Juliet,' but it isn't any more.
It seems too sentimental, somehow, and then, too, I believe so firmly in life
after death--you know that Romeo and Juliet lived good lives, and that in the
end they were together and happy--it really doesn't seem a bit sad to me--not
a bit."
She has quick intuitive likes and dislikes and, as soon as she meets
people, associates them with some color or combination of colors, that seem to
suit them most. She has given colors to all the people with whom she played
on the stage, going as "far" back as the time of her first appearance when she
was five years old, in Cameo Kirby with Nat Goodwin and Maude Fealy.
"I can't remember what color I gave Mr. Goodwin," she said, "but Maude
Fealy's was white and yellow, Mrs. Fiske was beige; Robert Hilliard, French
gray, and Emily Stevens--I had a great deal of trouble giving a color to Miss
Stevens. For her, I thought of marigold with a narrow stripe of violet, but I
wasn't exactly sure. Mary Pickford is many different colors, but they are
always warm and soft and beautiful--she is like a sunset sky. Dustin and
William Farnum are very different. To William I gave russet brown and
woodland green, while to Dustin I gave purple streaked with cerise. I gave
Madame Bertha Kalich violet streaked with crimson." She laughed lightly.
"Perhaps I put in the crimson because she got mad at me once. We made it all
up afterward and I love her.
"In the play, she was supposed to be my mother and all through rehearsals
I persisted in skipping when she wanted me to walk. Finally she said, 'Oh, it
is true! The child CAN'T walk! Come here to me, Little One. I, Kalish, will
teach you how to walk!'" (Miss Minter had laid aside her knitting and was
giving a funny imitation of herself and Madame Kalich.)
"'See!' Madame Kalich went on, 'I am your mother, but you have not seen
me for a long time. Come, express it, so!'"--(Showing just how Kalich wanted
her to do, she took two little steps and drew back a little, then three little
steps and drew back a little, finishing up in a run.) "It wasn't natural for
me to do it that way," she want on. "Madame rehearsed me again and again, but
I wanted to skip and so I could not--or would not--do it right. Anyway, I
didn't skip on the night of the performance; I walked, but not--oh, no--as
Kalich wanted me to! I held my knees as stiff as if they were sticks--(she
illustrated with telling effect)--it broke Kalich all up and she was furious.
'The child have ruin everyt'ing,' she said. 'She have deser-r-crate my art!'
"All of us get mad when we have some good cause for it. I can remember
just as well how mad I got at Maude Fealy because she used one of my socks as
a handkerchief, and I was only about five years old. It was during Cameo
Kirby. Miss Fealy had a dreadful cold, she had mislaid her handkerchief, and
had only a few seconds before it was time for her to go on. She was looking
around desperately, when she spied Mama standing there with a pair of my
socks. 'Oh, give me that, please,' she said and snatched one of them. I had
to go on 'sockless!'
"Here, at the studio, everything goes like clockwork," she remarked.
"I'm living the most monotonous life."
Her days are, for the most part, spent at the studio, and her evenings at
lessons. She is taking music (vocal and piano), French and literature, and
has three tutors, giving two nights a week to each. Even in as small a city
as Santa Barbara, she is personally very little known, outside of the Hotel
Arlington where she lives with her mother, grandmother, and her beautiful
brunette sister, Margaret Shelby. But, of course, Mary Miles Minter is none
the less a favorite subject of conversation and some of the things said about
her would make good plots for scenarios. For instance, one day Margaret
Shelby was sitting next to some of the inhabitants of Montecito, the
millionaire colony, in a picture show, when she heard one say:
"Mary Miles Minter is thir-r-rty-nine years old; you'd never think it,
would you?"
"Oh, I don't know!" said the other. "They hide it with make-up, you
know."
"She looks so dainty," said the first. "But really, she is quite
ignorant and uneducated. She was born in New York on the east side. Her
father was a common drunk, and her mother had to scrub office floors for a
living. At last, her father disappeared and her mother died--of exhaustion,
probably. She was adopted by a neighbor almost as poor as her parents had
been. This neighbor took care of her until she was about sixteen years old.
Then a show girl saw her, noticed her beauty and got her a place in the
chorus. She worked herself up from there, gradually. Remarkable, isn't it?"
Margaret Shelby thought that it was remarkable. For a moment she had an
intense desire to enlighten them, but she didn't. "It would really have done
no good," she said.
As a matter of fact, Mary Miles Minter is descended from a famous pioneer
and Indian fighter, Gen. Isaac Shelby, who became the first Governor of
Kentucky and she never suffered,, even the least little bit, from poverty.
She has a fervid ambition, is direct, earnest and sincere.
"I know that I will do big things," she said. The sentence was, of
course, without a trace of egotism. She was ignoring the fact that her name
is famous all over the world. "I have my wagon hitched to the very highest
star of all and I'm determined to get there and sit right on top of it, some
day."
It was just as we were leaving; and Mary called us back.
"Yes?"
"I wonder if I might write a little letter to the people who have been so
kind to me--send them a little message through PHOTOPLAY?"
We agreed that it would be very nice indeed; and Mary disappeared for
some minutes. When she came back she handed me the letter, with a little
smile, half-shy, half-triumphant.
"Dear Friends Everywhere:
"I'm writing to you, care PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE, because I want to tell you
all that I've been hoping to tell you for a long, long time.
"You know, when I was on the stage, I was pleased with my little success.
But I never dreamed that some day I would have so many friends. You have made
me very happy; and I shall do my best to please you always.
"Perhaps by the time this reaches you, Christmas will have come and gone.
But the thought is uppermost in my mind, and I wish you all the merriest
Christmas possible, and the happiest New Year.
"Your friend from Shadow-Land,
"Mary Miles Minter."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
August 1918
Ellen Chapman
MOTION PICTURE CLASSIC
[from an interview with Minter]...I learnt, too, that Mary bitterly
resents the use of her family name, Juliet Shelby, by any one outside her
family or intimate circle of friends. "To the world I wish to be Mary Miles
Minter," she declared. "And the public has no more right to intrude on the
intimacy of my family name than it has to enter my home and peer into my
closets."
...In our little exchange of confidences that day out in the silent
hills, I peeked into a little chamber in Mary's heart which I feel sure very
few know of. We were speaking of her life as compared to the life of other
girls of her age. Mary stared out over the valley with unseeing eyes and
spoke almost unconsciously.
"I sometimes envy other girls," she said, "even the poorer girls who
cannot always have everything they want. I envy them their home life, safe
from the public's curious star. I envy them the companionship of other girls
their age; some one to play with; some one to have secrets with. Girls just
won't get chummy with me. When I meet them and try to be friendly, they star
at me, round-eyed with awe. They never think of telling me their secrets or
asking me about mine. To them I am ALWAYS Mary Miles Minter, the actress;
they forget that I'm, first, just a girl. In my whole life long I've had only
one or two girl or boy friends."...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
May 4, 1919
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
[from an interview with Minter]..."I haven't had a vacation in nine
years," said Mary in a plaintive voice. "Let me see, not since I was a little
girl playing on the stage, and I am so tired."
"She is nearly dead," repeated her mother. "I want her to dance and shop
and play like other girls her age, and forget work."
"Just think," interrupted Mary, "I have never had a checkbook, even.
I differ from the other picture stars in that I do not smoke, I do not drink
and I never owned a checkbook."
"You had one once, darling," said her mother. "Remember when I gave you
a checkbook, showed you how to use it and came away and left you to run
things?"
Mary did remember and laughed rather shame-facedly. "But I was tiny,
then," she said.
"Let me tell you what she did," explained her mother. "I left plenty of
money in the bank, gave her a checkbook and told her to pay the bills. When I
came back nary a bill had been paid and all the money spent."
"How did she spend it?" I asked, "on dolls, clothes or parties?"
"Mercy, no," said her mother; "on deformed Chinese babies, and for the
saving of the colored people, the missionaries in Hindu, and Heavens knows
what."
"But, mother, you know very well those poor Chinese babies were left in
the field to die, and I couldn't bear it," defended Mary...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
March 1920
Hazel Simpson Naylor
MOTION PICTURE
The Golden Girl
What a lure in the word gold! Gold, the open sesame to happiness; gold,
for which men in their prime have died; gold, for which brothers have slain
one another; gold, for which women have bartered their souls; gold, gold,
gold--cold, hard, and yet ever beckoning with its yellow glitter, offering
the open doorway to happiness.
I can hear you ask, if this be true, why do I call Mary Miles Minter the
Golden Girl.
Because, in her way, she is all gold. Her young personality seems to
offer all great things--just as unlimited gold holds out the promise of
happiness.
Rumor has it that this little lady's new contract with Realart forbids
her giving interviews. If this be true and not mere press agent junk, I was
lucky, for I spent a busy afternoon with her a day or so before she placed
her highly valued signature to the new scrap of paper.
Mary Miles Minter, whose real name of Juliet I found much more suitable,
has the divine enthusiasm and ambition of youth, combined with periods of
depression, which are equally a proof of her youth and her genius. She is,
to a certain extent, a little rebel.
For her snappy blue eyes flash with anger and her whole mobile little
face tells the story of her feelings when she tempestuously talks about the
past year.
"All last year I never did anything worth while," she cried,
protestingly. "Look at the namby-pamby stories they gave me! I told them I
wanted to do real things, stories with a problem or lesson in them, stories
that gave me a real chance to do something. After I saw each one projected;
I cried--cried over them. I said I wouldn't do any more. What happened?
Everybody patted me on the back and told me to be a sweet little girl and
that they knew the type of part that suited me best. Consequently I went on,
doing nothing worth while, just a set of sugary program pictures! I tell
you, I'd rather die than go on doing stuff like that."
Juliet's eyes fairly flashed her indignation. Youth, I thought, youth
and outraged genius.
"It's the same way with my hats, my gowns, my shoes," continued this
electric youngster. "MOTHER always picks them out for me. Mother always
decides what is best for me. Mind you, mother is a wonder, I couldn't even
breathe without her, but oh, dear, I WOULD like to pick out my own hats!"
What girl of seventeen or eighteen hasn't experienced that identical
feeling at one time or another? Every week Mary Miles Minter earns thousands
of dollars, and yet her whole soul agonizes with a desire to select her own
hat. The delicious unhappiness of youth!
"What DO you want to play?" I cried, beginning to feel with the same
intensity of the little live wire sitting beside me and wishing that the
camera could catch the wonderful animation of her face in real life.
"Oh, dear," she cried, jumping up uneasily and coming back to our
davenport with a box of candy very nearly as large as herself, "do have some
candy. If mother were here, she would never let me talk this way, but I tell
you, if I don't do something worth while in the next year, I want to either
die or leave the screen. I mean it. I can't bear this mediocre stuff. If
there is anything in me, it is time I did something. If I don't do something
big now, I never will. I couldn't bear standing still. I've got to go on--
or DIE. I want to do 'Romeo and Juliet,' or something equally big. Why will
picture audiences be satisfied with namby-pamby stuff? That is one reason I
want to go back on the stage, the opportunity for real portrayals is so much
greater."
Mary Miles Minter has no false vanity. She is not the type of girl who
goes around with a powder puff in her hand. She is not a perfection of
grooming or a product of hours spent under a maid's tutelage. She is too
vivid, too colorful, too full of life to be restricted in any way.
Her golden curls were pinned in a loose knot to her prettily shaped head
and they bobbed and danced wildly with each vehement gesture that accompanied
her burning words. Her soft, simply made dress of silk didn't quite meet
where it should, but she curled her feet under her and chatted on, sublimely
unconscious of her looks. She is small, tiny-boned but beautifully rounded.
She thinks she would like to be taller and openly enthused because I was
shorter than she.
In spite of her care-free girlishness, this Juliet-Mary possesses a very
sweet dignity which holds forth the promise of splendid womanhood. During my
stay she brought in her grandmother and her sister that I might meet them and
introduced them with quaint pride. I have never heard anything sweeter or
more womanly than the way she said with bated breath that she thought the
greatest thing in life must be to be married to the man you loved and have
babies.
"Of course," she added, "I am too young to think of such things and
mother wouldn't like me to talk about it, but oh, I do think it would be
wonderful, more wonderful than all the fame and money in the world, to have
babies of one's very own. That's what God put us on this earth for, after
all, didn't He?"
I nodded. Such a moment in a cynical world was too holy for speech.
Then I watched Mary as she was called to manage several business matters
over the telephone. She took care of them with a poise lacking in many an
accomplished woman. She met one of the reporters of the great dailies and
recounted her life's history dutifully.
And when all had been attended to and we were at last alone again, she
brimmed over with joy and enthusiasm because it was time to get dressed for
dinner and the theater and the rare treat which mamma had promised her--a
real cabaret!
I hope Realart will give my Golden Girl the opportunity she deserves,
for it is indeed seldom that one meets an ingenue with the brains of Mary
Miles Minter, the beauty--and the genius. She is--truthfully, in spite of
her early triumphs, an uncoined mine of gold.
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For more information about Taylor, see
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