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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 68 -- August 1998       Editor: Bruce Long          bruce@asu.edu  *
*                   TAYLOROLOGY may be freely distributed                   *
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                            CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE:
                       Six Interviews with Buster Keaton
                    Reporting the Taylor Murder:  Day Seven
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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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In 1992 there was a movie titled "Forever" which dramatized (or should we say
fantasized) the William Desmond Taylor murder case.  We had not mentioned it
before, because the film was so utterly wretched.  But a detailed review is
available at http://www.tvgen.com/movies/mopic/pictures/36/36109.htm
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The broadcast dates for the 1998 episode of "Mysteries & Scandals" dealing 
with the Taylor murder, on the E! cable channel: June 8, 9, 10, and 14.
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                       Six Interviews with Buster Keaton

     In past issues of TAYLOROLOGY, we have reprinted interviews with silent
film comedians Charlie Chaplin (issues 36, 46, 51), Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle
(28), and Harold Lloyd (53).  Some fans of Buster Keaton have requested that
we also reprint Keaton interviews, so here are six of them, conducted between
1920 and 1923.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                                 May 16, 1920
                                                               Grace Kingsley
                                                            LOS ANGELES TIMES
                          Buster Bursts Into Stardom
                                       
     "I gotta do some sad scenes.  Why, I never tried to make anybody cry in
my life!  And I go 'round all the time dolled up in kippie clothes--wear
everything but a corset!  Can't stub my toe in this picture nor anything!
Just imagine having to play-act all the time without ever getting hit with
anything!"
     It was Buster Keaton, bleating out his sorrows about portraying Bertie,
the Lamb at Metro.  He is appearing in "The New Henrietta," ["The Saphead"]
prior to starting work on his new starring contract in comedies.
     "Don't know why they chose me for the part, anyhow, only I've got a
blank pan.  Saw a nice fluffy pie on the set the other day that would've
looked good on the hero's face, but he got away just in time.  Winchell Smith
watches me all the time.  He's the author, and he's afraid I'll do something
all wrong.  I had to be shaved in a scene, the other day, and Mr. Smith was
scared to death.  He thought I might try to get funny and eat the soap!
Mr. Smith certainly does worry about me."
     From which it will be seen that the role of Bertie the Lamb does cramp
Buster's style something awful!
     From war and playing in slapstick comedy with Fatty Arbuckle, both extra
hazardous professions, Buster'll tell the world, he went smack into the
regular drammy in "The New Henrietta."  When I saw him the other day, he was
all dolled up in his moonlights, but he says that when playing the regular
drama gets him to feeling kind of numb, he goes over and does funny falls on
Nazimova's high-brow set.  That relieves him.
     "Fatty won't speak to me in these clothes," went on Buster, mournfully,
"and neither will Luke, Fatty's dog.  I'm losing all my friends.  And on top
of all this, I gotta do some love scenes."
     But there's a bit of consolation.  Keaton has his top sergeant working
for him now.  The top sergeant he had over in France is his property boy now!
Buster was in the war nine months, you know.  Says he went over for a little
peace and quiet, away from Fatty Arbuckle's studio.  Just that he volunteered
for service, crossed and got a decoration or so is neither here nor there.
What he wanted was more peace than he could ever get in Fatty's studio, and
he declares he got it too!
     But he never knew that when he came back he'd be called on to play a
denatured character like Bertie the Lamb!
     However, the agony won't last much longer, because Buster has his own
comedy company now, you know.  He even has his first comedy all planned out.
He says he's following Fatty Arbuckle's method, gets a plot first, then
builds the picture, leaving all the plot out.  He says it works fine.  The
first story is to be about a portable house and a young married couple, which
certainly does sound like a jazzy combination for comedy.
     Being a star now, of course, makes everything about Buster Keaton
interesting.  Mere trifles like the color of his ties and what breed of car
he runs are now raised to the dignity of themes for reams of press-agent
stuff.  Even the paper shortage won't stop it.  And so, delving down into
Buster's past, we find him as a youth a member of the Three Keatons.  Maybe
you remember him in vaudeville; anyhow, you'll try to.
     "Father didn't know what a stage whisper was," explained Buster, "and he
was an awful kidder.  Speaking of Mme. Nazimova, we traveled on the bill with
her when she was playing 'War Brides.'  I remember one day the famous lady
was standing in the wings watching us, father peeped over at her, then at the
stage manager beside her.  'You'll have to get Mme. Nazimova out of the
wings,' he admonished the stage manager.  'She annoys us!'  Mme. Nazimova
laughed right along with the audience, too!"
     When Keaton came to town on one of his vaudeville tours, about four
years ago, he heard that Roscoe Arbuckle needed a comedian and he went out to
see the rotund star.  Next day he started to work.  But each had much to
learn about the other.
     "The first day I worked in the picture comedy we were discussing the
action.
     "'Shall I fall?' I asked innocently.
     "'If it comes natural,' they answered.
     "They threw a safe or something at me and it came natural to fall all
right!  But they didn't know what a nice little playmate they'd acquired.
When a fight was staged that afternoon I cleaned out the bunch.  After that
we all got on beautifully together.
     "Oh, yes, and I gotta do some love scenes, too!  And I never did make
love before in my life.  What?  Oh, yes, of course, I mean before the camera.
But, anyhow," and Buster loosened the Arrow collar around his neck, "but
anyhow, the camera can't catch my blushes!"
                                       
      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                                December 1920
                                                         Malcolm H. Oettinger
                                                        PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
                               Tumbling to Fame
                                       
     If you're a "big-time" vaudeville devotee you'll remember "The Three
Keatons."  You may not remember the name, but, if you ever saw them, you
couldn't forget the big comedy Irishman who used to pick up his five-year-old
son by the back of the coat collar and hurl him across the stage into the
middle of the back drop.
     The animated football, known as "Buster" Keaton, and now grown up, is
being featured in a new set of comedies about to be released by Metro.
     It was an easy step from the rough-and-tumble work of the vaudeville
stage to screen comedies, and Buster is quite satisfied with the career for
which he began in his infancy, for his first public appearance as a member of
"The Three Keatons" was when, at the age of six weeks, he was carried onto
the stage on a tray by his father!  And Pa Keaton didn't wait any longer than
necessary to begin making more vigorous use of his young son and heir as
comedy material.
     "I've simply been brought up being knocked down," said the scion of the
Keaton family, when I recently met him at the studio.  "Pop's idea of comedy
was to throw me through every backdrop on the Keith circuit, and I'll bet
I've taken more punishment in the way of being used as a human mop than Bat
Nelson, Ad Wolgast, and Jim Jeffries combined.  The funny part of it is that
I like it.  Las month I did my first--and only--straight part in 'The
Henrietta'--the Bertie part--and between you and me, it was a bore.  There
weren't any falls, and for me a picture without falls is as bad as Niagara in
the same fix."
     Keaton really prefers slapstick to straight comedy.
     "It's harder work than the 'dressed-up drama,' but I get a much bigger
kick out of it.  I don't act, anyway.  The stuff is all injected as we go
along.  My pictures are made without script or written directions of any
kind.  We simply figure out enough story to build sets around, then we pull
our gags and 'quick stuff' in the set as we happen on the ideas.  After we
feel that we've shot enough to make about six pictures, we assemble it, rip
out whatever is left of the 'story'--and make one picture out of what's left.
That means an enormous lot of work.  This picture with the trick scaffold in
it that I'm working on now is called, 'It's a Cinch!'  But take it from me,
the title-writer is a liar.  It ISN'T!"
     Buster tumbled into the movies by way of the Arbuckle chuckle foundry,
where he fitted in harmoniously with Roscoe and jumping Al St. John.  Then
Fatty eased into what Pa Keaton's boy calls the "dressed-up" drama, and the
young knockabout comic sought other fields.  "Vaudeville has given you all of
this acrobatic training," I said.  "Tell me--what have the movies given you?"
     "A touring car and a cottage smothered in flowers!"
                                       
      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                                 October 1921
                                                               Wilis Goldbeck
                                                               MOTION PICTURE
                                                                             
                               Only Three Weeks
                                       
     "Silence is of the gods; only monkeys chatter."
     I sat once in a famous theater in the London Haymarket, and heard that
proverb drip from the oily tongue of an aged Chinese philosopher.  It
glittered for the moment on the surface of my mind and then sank into the
depths; depths termed by a recently famous philosopher and theorist, the
Unconscious.
     I sat, not very long ago, in Wonderful Harry's restaurant, opposite the
Metro Studio, in Hollywood, beside Buster Keaton, a recently famous comedian,
and that proverb, lost for two years or more, rose again, uninvited, to the
surface of my mind.  If silence be of the gods, I thought, then Buster's
middle name is Zeus.
     I had come to interview him upon his marriage with Natalie Talmadge, a
marriage, then, of just three weeks' duration.  My first conclusion was that
whatever else Natalie might suffer from, it would never be from "gab," Buster
simply hasn't the gift.
     But there are certain limits overstepping which virtues suddenly find
themselves vices.  I've an idea that the gold of Buster's silence would
quickly turn to dross if, when he finally does open his lips, he didn't
inevitably spill wisdom, or something sounding so deceptively like it that
the uncritical ear can accept it without question, and find sustenance in it
of sufficient substance to carry it over the next impelling gap of silence.
     I was introduced to Buster and he squeezed my hand, gentle enough.
     I was told to have a seat in Buster's dressing room, and I took one.
Buster concentrated his attention upon removing his make-up, allowing himself
a furtive stare in my direction now and then, but saying nothing.
I continued to sit.
     Three or four jovial henchmen then burst in to help create the
confidential atmosphere so necessary to revelation of marital secrets.
Buster continued to maintain his enormous silence, but he paused in his
business of cleaning up to join in a jig, started by one of his jovial
henchmen.  He shuffled and jumped there, silently, his face never altering a
hair's breath from its habitual solemnity.  It was grotesque.  He might have
been a marionette jerking on the end of his strings.  But presently the three
or four stout ones, hunger overcoming them, lumbered off in the direction of
the restaurant.  For the moment there was only Buster, his publicity man,
and I.
     "It's too soon yet to say anything," Buster's voice coming so suddenly,
seemed tremendous.  "I've only been married three weeks."
     "Three weeks!" I murmured.  "Where have I heard that before?  It seems
to recall tiger skins.  And, yes, I believe that there was a lady, Elinor,
who found that much could happen in three weeks."  I only murmured it, and
Buster was concerned with the birth of an epigram.  He finally delivered it.
     "Marriage is fine as an institution, but bad as a habit."
     And later:  "I shall never join the 'Why, dear' club.  You know how it
is.  A man comes home late.  Wife asks him where he was.  He starts to
stammer an explanation.  'Why, dear, you see I--' No, I shall never join the
'Why dear' club."
     From all of which it may be gathered that Buster is an old-fashioned
husband.  He has issued the pronunciamento that Natalie shall not work again
before the camera; and Natalie probably won't.
     Buster is an individual.  His silence, his solemnness, set him
distinctly apart.  I had been told that off the screen he was quite
different, animated, smiling, even laughing, most of the time.  He who told
me had met him in the hospital where he was recovering from a broken leg.
Perhaps it takes hospitals, or something equally as lugubrious, to make him
laugh.  He didn't even grin that afternoon.
     His eyes have something of a basilisk quality about them, as much as
brown eyes can.  He keeps them half concealed under their lids, so that they
seem expressionless.
     He is small but for all that an athlete.  There seems to be no ill
effect from his broken leg.  He sustained it when a bit of revolving
machinery on a complicated set went wrong.
     His romance with Natalie Talmadge started five years ago.  Despite the
hints and rumors of possible disaster that immediately preceded the marriage
--it was said that a rival for Natalie's hand had appeared and threatened to
oust Buster from her affection--there was never any question in Natalie's
mind.  The only hope for the rival, a wealthy merchant, lay in his own mind.
Natalie, when she was secretary for the Fatty Arbuckle company, out here in
California, had admitted her love for Buster.  Then he was playing in support
of Fatty.  They decided to wait, before committing themselves to any vows,
until Buster had himself achieved his own company, and made it an assured
success.  He had accomplished that when he sent his famous wire to Palm
Beach, Fla., asking Natalie to marry him.  Her monosyllabic acceptance, just
a plain "Yes," was enough for Buster.  As soon as his leg had mended so that
he could hobble about with a stick, he took a train for the East.
     One of the most interesting and least mentioned features of the Keaton-
Talmadge marriage is that it completes what is perhaps the most powerful
oligarchy in pictures today.  There are Norma, Constance and Natalie.  Norma
is the wife of Joseph Schenck.  Schenck's influence is far more reaching than
those unfamiliar with the film world ever dream.  Norma is at the peak of her
career now.  Constance is still rising.  Buster has just begun.  They are all
world-famous, all earners of fabulous salaries.  It is quite certain that in
aggregate wealth they outstrip even the famous Pickford-Fairbanks combine.
It is doubtful whether they equal the former Pickford-Moore family, as it was
before divorce and tragedy rent it asunder.  That will probably stand for all
time as the greatest combination in filmdom, both in aggregate earnings and
world fame.
     Buster, who before his marriage was making comedies for the Metro
Pictures Corporation, has now definitely aligned himself with his sisters-in-
law, Norma and Constance, as a First National star.  He has signed a contract
which calls for eight pictures a year for a period of three years.
     So far, though, it is quite true that only three weeks have elapsed at
the time of this writing, the Keaton barque has traveled through quiet,
untroubled waters.  For the nonce, Buster and Natalie have come to anchor in
a beautiful residence in Beverly Hills, which Buster had provided for his
bride before he went East to fetch her.
     It is not a venturesome prediction to say that Buster's phlegm will
probably prove a worthy sea anchor through whatever storms the two may be
destined to pass.  Silence is like a rock.  Rages break over it impotently.
I'm not hinting, either, that Natalie's rages are frequent.  But she will be
an unusual wife if she doesn't have at least one.
     Between mouthfuls--we had long since followed the four jovial ones to
the lunch table--Buster paused to remark solemnly: "The marriage bond is like
an elastic.  You can stretch it a lot, but the one who stretches it too far
always gets the snap-back."
     And again:  "Marriage--nothing can compare with it, not even the
straight-jacket."
                                       
      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                              October 8, 1922
                                                               Gertrude Chase
                                                           NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
                                                                             
              Buster Keaton Can Smile and Yawn, Too, If He Wishes
                                       
     A small dark man stepped from the elevator at the Hotel Ambassador
looking as solemn as an owl, which is the old-fashioned way of saying as
solemn as Buster Keaton, for it was none other than the man without a smile.
     He followed us into the reception room and sat down with the
deliberation of a patient setting himself in a dentist's chair.
     Then he surprised us with a smile that would rank highly with any we
have ever seen.
     "You really can smile," we exclaimed, and realized at once that the
remark was in the class with the one made upon meeting twins and saying, "How
often you must be mistaken for each other."
     Buster did not reply, he suppressed a yawn and taking our cure, we asked
him about New York night life.
     "Terrible," he answered.  "I haven't missed a night at the theatre.
Then there are the races and now the World Series, no wonder I'm under
weight.
     "We are seeing as many plays as we can with a view toward getting a new
picture for Constance.  The one I would like to see her do is 'Kiki,' but it
may be hard to get."
     Mrs. Buster, Natalie, the youngest of the three Talmadges, it seems has
no desire to go back into pictures.  She is busy taking care of her four-
months old son.  Expressing a wish to see the baby, we were told that he was
airing on Park Avenue and that we could find him when we went out.
     "You can't miss him, he looks just like me," said the proud father.  "He
has a black buggy and a white nurse."
     The conversation turned to Buster Keaton's own childhood when, as the
little boy of the vaudeville act known as the "Three Keatons," he kept the
Gerry Society anxious because they couldn't find a bruise on him, although he
was tossed expertly about the stage in a way that made the audience hurt.
     "I got so used to it that I took my clothes off every time I saw an
officer.  We had the roughest act on the boards and used to play at old
Hammerstein's so often that we kept a set of props there.
     "By the way, how is Sam McKee, of the Telegraph?  He used to be a great
friend of ours."  We told him of the funny little picture of him given us by
Mr. McKee, showing him in the make-up of an old Irishman, the duplicate of
that worn by his dad, and he laughed at the memory of his own quaint little
figure.
     It was while playing vaudeville alone that he got his first opportunity
to go into pictures.  That was only five years ago and in that time they have
become so popular that the time has come for Buster to be seen in a feature
comedy, which he intends to start work on when he returns to California.
     Speaking of the material for his two-reel pictures, Keaton said that his
scenarios were usually on postal cards.
     "Ideas just come to us as we go along, for instance, in 'The Boat' I got
the idea from an actual occurrence.  The manager of a theatre on the old
canal at Utica built himself a swell cruiser in the cellar of the theatre and
had to knock out a side of the theatre to get it into the water.
     "In comedy, like any other kind of picture, you have to do stuff that
will be appreciated outside of New York and Chicago.  In big cities the
people are sophisticated enough to understand travesty and the more subtle
bits of humor, but they don't get over elsewhere.  Comedy is best when it
rouses the curiosity of the audience.  As an example of the kind of thing I
mean, take this situation.  A man sees a pretty girl get into one of those
'Old Mill' boats in Coney Island.  He gets in the same boat and it passes out
of the picture, the action progresses with no sign of the boat for many feet
of film, when it reappears the man has a black eye and other damages.  It is
simple, but there is nothing that requires more knowledge and has a greater
number of rules or technical stunts than comedy slapstick or the other kind."
     Born and reared in his work, Buster Keaton gives you the impression of
knowing it thoroughly from the ground up.  He is becoming more in demand as a
comedian every year, and if there is one thing the screen needs it is this
kind of entertainment well done by people who understand it.
     In parting, we asked him if he had any statement to make to the great
American public.  To our surprise, he rose and said: "I certainly have," with
all the conviction in the world.
     This was more than we had expected.
     "Yes, yes, what is it?" we asked, all a-twitter.
     "I hope the Yanks win," said Buster.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                                   March 1923
                                                         Malcolm H. Oettinger
                                                        PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
                           Low Comedy as a High Art
                                       
     For a long time it was considered a breach of critical etiquette, if
there be such a thing, to write of any one engaged in such a lowly sphere as
that of comedy.  It was little short of lese majesty to strum one's lyre in
praise of such funny fellows as Fred Mace, John Bunny, Mack Swain, and the
then blooming Chaplin.  Some few did it: venturesome souls, but as a general
thing it was discouraged.
     Times, capriciously enough, have changed.  Today Charlot is hymned by
the literati and the cognoscenti, the beautiful and the damning.  The mere
mention of his name is sufficient to start a feverish discussion in the
highest circles, even including the well-known vicious one at the Algonquin.
The critics have decided that the abominable movies have produced something
worth while in this harlequin of the mustachios and baggy trousers.
     Five years hence they will discover Buster Keaton.
     In writing of the leading drolls of the flittering photos, it is
tempting to take a leaf from Eugene Field's "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," for
it is conceded, almost without question, that the preeminent names today are
Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.  The methods of the three are utterly unlike.
Each leads an individual School of the Snicker.
     The comedy of Chaplin is most often elusive, bordering on the serious if
not the tragic.  Nothing more typical can be instanced than his moment of
contemplation beside the manhole, in "The Kid"--an amazing commingling of
pathos and humor.  In an earlier two-reeler, "The Bank," the great comedian
also officiated at the wedding of smile and tear.  It is characteristic of
Chaplin to appeal to philosophers as well as to flappers.
     We laugh with Lloyd, but we laugh at Keaton.  These two may better be
compared than Lloyd and Chaplin or Keaton and Chaplin, because Charlie is so
infinitely superior, amusing though the other pair are.  Neither Keaton nor
Lloyd attempt to reach your funny bone through your heart: they openly tickle
you.  For this reason, most of all, perhaps they are not in Chaplin's class.
For Chaplin has always stood alone.
     Many of Harold Lloyd's pictures have whole slices played in straight
comedy vein.  Keaton is rarely heroic; at such fleeting times he invariably
makes a swift and laughter-grafting turn to grotesquerie.  Buster's stuff
borders on the realm of burlesque; Lloyd at times suggests a Willie Collier
of the shadow stage.  His is the school sponsored by Sidney Drew, embellished
with quips and quirks and occasional stunts that are solely Lloyd's.
Originality marks the method of all leaders, and certainly this is true of
Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
     "That's the one thing that I dread," Buster told me sadly.  "I dread the
day when we won't find another new wheeze to wrap up, when all the gags will
have been sprung, when we're stumped for something new.  That's what a
comedian has to guard against:  running out.  That is why Charlie Chaplin
makes his pictures so slowly.  I know as a matter of fact that he takes
thousands of feet of film on every picture, only to destroy it when he sees
it in the projection room.  And this carefulness is just what helps to make
him a great artist."
     Keaton is master of snicker and guffaw technique.  His art is to work up
a situation deliberately, to build it as logically and as systematically as a
carpenter builds a house.  Gags, Buster told me, are natural or mechanical.
"Both get laughs," he explained, "but the natural gag is the one we lay awake
nights trying to dream of."  And it is the mechanical gag that Keaton has
mastered.
     Take the situation in "The Boat," where, after having built a boat, he
finds that he has not made the doorway large enough, and consequently, as the
boat slides to the water, it pulls the shed down with it.  Take the situation
in "One Week."  Buster has ordered a Sears-Roebuck bungalow for his bride-to-
be.  The wicked rival mixes the numerals on the various parts, and the comedy
ensues when Buster attempts to assemble the jazzed sections.
     This is mechanically perfect giggle material.  But though one of the
most adroit technicians of comedy. Buster fails to reach the heart, his
pictures elude the sympathy.
     It seems consistent to endow Chaplin with massive intellect, to read
sermons into his capering feet.  It is fairly simple to sympathize with the
lovesick Harold Lloyd, upon occasion.  But Keaton alone stands forth as the
Trouper--unabashed, unaffected, unassuming, and--very like Shaw's Undershaft
--unashamed!
     "We just wrap up a little hokum," he will tell you.  "We build up a
little story on some sure-fire idea, throw in a dozen gags, if we can think
of 'em, and let 'er ride.  The scenario we use is written on the
correspondence end of a picture post card.  If it's lost its no great
matter."
     You cannot read hidden motifs into the Keaton spoolings. You cannot
persuade him that there was a hint of satire concealed in his last comedy, or
the one before that.  You cannot coerce him into admitting that he planned an
unique characterization which he has steadfastly maintained.  He will take
credit for nothing.  Not even his make-up.
     "The pancake hat and the oversized collar and the misfit suit and the
slapstick shoes are my old vaudeville stand-bys.  My father rigged me out as
a third of The Three Keatons, when I was too young to 'originate' anything
but a yowl!  I've kept the same make-up ever since--guess I always will."
     Solemnity is more than a habit with Keaton; it's ingrown.  Throughout
our conversation his face was stony.  Nor was this an exception to his usual
attitude.  I have seen him in the turmoil of a comic sequence, a business of
break-away ladders, swinging ropes, and trapdoor scaffoldings; I have seen
him eyeing the proceedings at one of Manhattan's most energizing nights
clubs; I have seen him purring at his baby in father-like fashion; I have
seen him casually viewing the day's rushes, and upon not one but all of these
occasions Buster wore an expression that was infinitely more sphinxlike than
the Sphinx ever thought of being.  His is an entirely emotionless face,
suggesting most of all, a mask.  It is the ideal phiz for a droll pantaloon.
     "You originated the idea of never smiling," I supposed.
     But Buster refused to take credit for it.  In the days of The Three
Keatons, it seems, his father taught him never to crack a smile.  The habit
grew on him.  Now it is so deeply rooted that it is almost impossible for him
to grin.
     It has long been one of the beliefs of the American Credo that all
comedians are, off stage, lugubrious fellows, and never was a truth more
apparent than in the appearance and behavior of Buster Keaton.  His
countenance is little short of funereal, his speech laconic, his outlook none
too sanguine.
     "Next I'm going back to the Coast to do a five-reel picture.  No plots,
you know.  Just gags.  But we'll space our laughs.  If we ran five reels of
the sort of stuff we cram into two, the audience would be tired before it was
half over.  So we'll plant the characters more slowly, use introductory bits,
and all that.
     "It'll be just as easy to make a five-reeler, because we always take
about fifteen reels, anyway.  Now we'll cut to five instead of two."
     Buster thinks "One Week" his best comedy, but he admits he had hoped to
make "The Playhouse" his best.  In that clever picture, he essayed a dozen or
more roles.  He had intended doing all of the parts, but his ego failed him
at the crucial moment.
     Despite the fact that he is one of the big drawing cards, often featured
in the lights and billed above the longer picture of the program, Keaton has
assumed no airs, adopted no pose.  He denied that he made a preparation for a
picture.  He denied that he planned his plots.  Try as you will, you cannot
convince him that he is anything more than a trouper who manages to give 'em
what they like.  It is useless to talk to him of psychological effects.
     "It's hokum," said Buster definitely and positively.  "And by draping it
in different styles you disguise it and bring results each time."
     According to his lights, it is simply a case of old gags in new
clothing.  But if this were so, there would be more Keatons.  Unfortunately
enough, there aren't.
                                       
      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                                       
                                                             October 21, 1923
                                                                  Dorothy Day
                                                           NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
                                                                             
                 Buster Keaton Can Smile After Business Hours
                                       
     I went to interview Buster Keaton with one ambition in mind--I would
make him smile just to see if he could.  He can.  He favored me with a broad
grin, upon our introduction.  Maybe he thought I was funny, but that's
another story.  The comedian makes a business of never smiling during his
films.  When he was asked why he said that he didn't consider his work any
joke.  He has acquired the habit of keeping his face immobile only through
years of study, and it is perhaps because of this very trait that the Keaton
face has become famous.  At least that is one of the reasons.
     It was difficult to make him say anything.  I never saw anybody so
unwilling to talk.  This is a characteristic which Buster must find very
helpful on lost of occasions.  Anyway, being a star of the silent drama seems
to have its effect.  Well, after we sat quite still for a few moments I
decided to ask him how he liked the baseball games.  He came on for the
especial purpose of viewing the world series and so it was not amiss to
imagine that he would want to say something about it.
     "Oh, the games," said Mr. Keaton, "they were fine."
     "Were you satisfied with the outcome of them?" said I.
     "Sure," replied Buster.  "I bet on the Yanks."
     "Did you win much?"
     "Not much; a couple of dinners and the tickets."
     That seemed to conclude the conversation so far as he was concerned.
     "When are you going back to Los Angeles?" I ventured next.
     I knew all the time that he was leaving in the afternoon of the same
day, but it made something to say.
     "This afternoon," and Buster considered that settled.
     "You will be glad to get back, I suppose."
     "Yes."  It seemed that he agreed with me on that subject too.
     Buster fumbled for his watch, and I thought he was about to commit the
deadly sin of looking at it, but he had no such idea in mind.  Attached to
the other end of the watch chain was a little platinum locket.  Silently he
opened it and presented it to me.
     A cherubic face smiled out at me.  It was Buster Keaton, Jr.  "Does he
look like you?" I ventured.
     "Exactly," Buster assured me.  It was the first display of enthusiasm.
     "I thought so," said I as I handed him back the locket, assuring him it
was the loveliest picture of a child I had ever seen.
     That must have made a hit with Buster, for right away he began to take
more of an interest in the interview.
     The next time I interview anybody who seems to not care much about it I
am going to ask straight away if he happens to have a picture of his baby
with him.  If he has I'll know what to do, and if he hasn't I'm going to
consider myself out of luck.
     Mr. Keaton then proceeded to divulge some secret about the making of
comedy pictures.  It seems they have no script at all.  "You could write the
whole plot on a post card," said he, "we do the rest."  So far as I could
understand the making of comedies is very much like the juvenile sport of
"playin' theatre."  You don't know just what you'll do until you do it.
     "The director, a couple of scenario writers and I sit around and discuss
a scene.  That is how the gags are made," said Mr. Keaton.  "Then we shoot
the scene.  Lots of things develop during the actual taking of the picture
which we hadn't thought out at all."
     Having learned all there seemed to be to learn about the simple process
of making comedies I asked him if he ever thought of confining his activities
to the more serious drama.  Did he have any secret longing to play Hamlet or
Macbeth?
     Buster hadn't.  He looked disapprovingly at me for the mere suggestion
of such a thing.  I don't believe he cares much about the two gentlemen in
question.
     "I would like to play 'Merton of the Movies' thought," he said.  Then
somebody said something which struck Buster as humorous and he smiled a
broader smile than I thought him capable of.
     "How," said I, "do you keep from laughing during the filming of your
pictures, or don't you believe in laughing at your own jokes?"
     "It is hard sometimes," he confided.  "I particularly remember one time
in Philadelphia, where I went to attend the opening of one of the Loew
theatres.  We paraded up and down the streets in automobiles and I had on my
serious expression.  Lots of little kids yelled, 'Why don't yer give us a
smile.  Somebody tickle him and make him laugh,' and so on, and it was hard
that time not to burst right out laughing."
     Then we came back to the subject of Buster, Jr., again.  He appeared in
Buster, Sr.'s last picture, "Hospitality."  It was his debut as a screen
actor.  Incidentally, father and mother Keaton appeared in the same picture
with son Buster, and Natalie was in it, too, making three generations of
Keatons in the one offering.
     "He's a great kid," said Buster, Sr., proudly.  "And there's a vacant
space in the other side of the locket, you may have noticed.  I'm reserving
that."
     "Well, he sure is a lovely kid," I reiterated, first because I really
meant it and secondly because the subject of the baby seemed to be a common
bond of interest.
     "He sure is," Buster agreed, and it was plain to be seen there was no
argument there.
     "Well," I chirped, "know any more jokes?"
     It was inopportune and Buster noticed it.  He actually laughed, but loud
this time.  "What do you think of that; I show her the baby's picture and she
asks me do I know any more jokes."
     Evidently I had made an unforeseen nifty, but we laughed that off and
everything was fine.
     Keaton left for Los Angeles last week and expects to begin work on a new
picture soon.  What it will be about he hasn't an idea, but between you and
me and the rest of the world I'll bet it will be funny.

*****************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************
                                       
                    Reporting the Taylor Murder:  Day Seven
                                       
Below are some highlights of the press reports published in the seventh day
after Taylor's body was discovered.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                                Walter Anthony
                                                        SAN FRANCISCO BULLETIN
     Los Angeles--There is genuine sympathy here for Mabel Normand, whose
connection with the William Desmond Taylor murder has brought her a deal of
irreparable damage through undesirable publicity.  That the diminutive actress
heroine of "Mickey" and sole excuse for "Molly O," had anything to do directly
or indirectly with the death of Taylor is unthinkable; the police are not even
investigating that possibility, but that she visited Taylor just before his
death and was the last person, probably, to converse with him, is the sum of
her offense out of which millions of damaging words are spun.
     The discovery of a pink nightgown in the apartments of Taylor is
announced.  Its "identity" is stated in the papers to have been established,
and the excited reader is assured that the police know it to be the garment
and property of a "certain nationally-known film star."  The public draws its
own conclusions, encouraged into error by the fact that the article is
published next to one in which Miss Normand is interviewed.  The assumption
follows erroneously, that the "nightie" is Miss Normand's.
     These veiled accounts, printed intimations and curiosity-begetting rumors
are vicious in their implications and, if they be not stopped, will possibly
damage Miss Normand's professional career to an extent that can hardly be
estimated.
     That police have under rigid investigation a "certain nationally-known
film star" is certain, and I know the young lady's name; but nothing has been
definitely scored against her as yet.  The newspaper writers in honestly
seeking to protect her against a cruelly false accusation have unwittingly
permitted the spirit and nature of their stories to cast a hideous aspersion
on an actress whose only offense was a deep friendliness for the director and
an inability, apparently, to come to a proper appraisal of the character of a
man who abandoned his wife and his baby many years ago.
     The pitiful fact concerning Miss Normand's desperately unfortunate
position is that readers of the daily press, sure of their own genius for
solving mystery, place their damnable suspicions on her and will reluctantly
admit--that being the quality of all detective minds--they were wrong.
     Meanwhile, at this writing, the detective force of Los Angeles is working
on the theory that the undue intimacy which they declare existed between
Taylor and "a certain nationally known film star" was the immediate cause of
the murder.  That there was this intimacy has been positively asserted by men
engaged in the tragic task of finding the author of the tragedy.
     Of course, the film-folk are busy trying to minimize the effect the story
may exert on the industry, and some are seeking, unwisely, I think, to persist
in assertions of the innocence and beauty of the character of the murdered
man, ignoring the very obvious fact that men of high probity do not run away
and abandon without a word a wife and daughter.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                               CHICAGO JOURNAL
     Los Angeles--...In Miss Minter's contract--already famed for its clause
that she must not marry--is another unusual clause which states that every
film must be passed upon by her mother.  Wherein, say further those who here
claim to know, was the reason that in the latest Realart release in which Miss
Minter stars, an adaption of "Tillie, the Mennonite Maid," she is once more
dressed in the softer garb of girlhood.
     "Mary Minter's mother always held she was 'too young for love'," one
actress commented here today.  "She brought her up to be very exclusive.  She
was reported once last year to be engaged to Tom Dixon of New York.  She wore
his ring, but nothing ever came of it.  Mary, to the rest of us, has always
been 'holier than thou.'"

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                            LOS ANGELES RECORD
                     Mary Miles Minter is Near Break-Down
                                       
     Mary Miles Minter today was closely guarded by private detectives whom
she had stationed at her beautiful Spanish casita, 2039 North Hobart
boulevard, to keep away reporters and the merely curious.  Miss Minter,
according to reports from her house, is in a very nervous condition and has
not been able to sleep for two nights.  She was in conference with her mother,
several friends and her attorney, John R. Mott.  Expensive limousines lined
the street for half a block.  All correspondents who attempted to gain
admission were turned back by the guards.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                            LOS ANGELES RECORD
     ...A fight to save the professional reputation of Mary Miles Minter,
movie star, whose name has been dragged into the William D. Taylor murder
mystery, was started today by her friends here.
     Hollywood's financiers, dealt a severe blow in the Arbuckle case, are
resolved that no more screen prestige in which thousands of dollars have been
invested shall be lost.
     Magnates determined to preserve Miss Minter's screen popularity met with
attorneys at her home.
     Behind drawn curtains while private detectives stood guard to keep
outsiders away the conference continued during the night and up until and
early hour this morning...
     The son of a multi-millionaire eastern family may be arrested in
connection with the murder of Taylor within the next day or two.
     His arrest will occur if county detectives can find a few necessary bits
of corroborative evidence to support the theory already partly borne out by
recent discoveries.
     The man who is suspected of knowing something about the mysterious
assassination of the prominent picture director is now in Los Angeles under
close surveillance.
     He came to this city, according to report, because of his admiration of a
certain prominent woman movie star, whose name is among those mentioned as
friends of the dead director.
     He was accredited by mutual acquaintances with being insanely jealous of
the girl, although she, it appears, had never given him very much
encouragement.  Matrimony was his object, it is believed.
     Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz confirmed the supposition that the
sheriff's office is working on the theory that the murder was committed by
some admirer of an actress and not by Edward F. Sands, former secretary of
Taylor.
     Captain David L. Adams, head of the police detective squad that is trying
to solve the murder, still hold firmly to the theory that with the capture of
Sands the murder will be explained.  Police are concentrating on the task of
finding the secretary...

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                           LOS ANGELES EXPRESS
     A conspiracy of silence intended to thwart police investigation; the
assurance of immunity for Edward F. Sands on a felony charge; the asserted
career of the alleged slayer; entry of the federal government into the probe;
the grilling of witnesses and the widespread probing of new and secret
evidence featured developments in the mystery surrounding the slaying of
William D. Taylor today...
     Sands, the man whom Police Captain David L. Adams is confident is
responsible for the slaying of Taylor, today invited the fugitive to
communicate with police headquarters and eliminate himself from the case if he
is not guilty.
     "Sands will not be prosecuted on the grand larceny charge now pending
against him," Captain Adams said.  "He can't be.  The complaining witness in
that case--Taylor--is dead.  That case could never come to trial.
     "If Sands is innocent, all he has to do is to notify me and prove his
whereabouts on the night of the murder.  If he can explain his movements
successfully he will be released.  We don't want him..."
     That there is an apparent plot afoot to prevent the true facts in the
case from coming to light was corroborated today by Undersheriff Eugene
Biscailuz.
     "To date practically every source of possible information has proved a
blank wall as far as the investigation is concerned," he said.  "Plenty of red-
hot information has been obtained by this office, but it has been wormed and
ferreted out from various sources where it should have been forthcoming from
persons who know.
     "There is to be no further patience shown these persons who have been
extended every courtesy and given every opportunity to tell what they know.
Those who have facts which should be known to this office must 'come clean.'
Sheriff Traeger will brook no more of these petty delays and unwillingness on
the part of those who apparently have reached a unanimous decision to thwart
the efforts of officers of the law interested in seeing that justice be
done."...
     It seemed today that activities for the time being would center at county
headquarters where, under the personal direction of Sheriff William I.
Traeger, Deputies Al Manning and Harvey Bell are working night and day in
their efforts to bring the slayer to justice.
     Three men have been under suspicion by these officers for the past two
days.  One of them may be arrested today.  It was definitely stated by the
sheriff's office that steps would be taken to charge one of them with
complicity, at least, in the crime.
     This assertion dovetails with intimation that Taylor was the victim of a
sinister plot in which many persons well known to the public are more or less
involved.  It is whispered that before the investigation is concluded a
startling list of names will be bandied about as co-conspirators in the
slaying of the noted director.
     Shortly after 9 o'clock deputies were dispatched to look for the one of
the trio said to have full knowledge of the murder and to collect further
evidence relative to the asserted conspiracy...
     Sand's connection with the case has proved the bone of contention between
various officials working on the mystery.  The police department, practically
to a man, are inclined to believe him guilty of the murder.
     Representatives of the sheriff's office take a diametrically opposite
view.  There is nothing in the evidence thus far disclosed which would connect
the former secretary with the crime, they say.
     But Chief Deputy District Attorney William C. Doran is of the opinion
Sands is the man and as a result a formal complaint charging him with the
crime may be issued today.  The district attorney's office has Detective
Sergeants Contreras and King working on the case since it was first opened and
they are in possession of certain facts that warrant such procedure, they say.
     All of the officers working on the case, however, are proceeding with
"open" minds and are accepting each clue at its face value.  They were also
busy today searching for a new figure in the tangle--a man said to have been
deeply in love with a prominent motion picture actress mentioned in connection
with the case.
     This man was seen in the vicinity of the Taylor home a few days prior to
the murder and is said to be similar in build and general appearance to the
man seen lurking about the Alvarado street residence on the night of the
slaying.
     The "mystery woman" interjected into the case late yesterday at the
sheriff's office was also scheduled to make a second appearance today.  Her
identity has been closely guarded and the nature of her testimony has been
withheld.
     According to Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz, however, she is of the
"utmost importance' to the ultimate unraveling of the mystery...

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                              LONG BEACH PRESS
     A new figure was drawn within the scope of investigation in the William
Desmond Taylor murder case today, when operatives of the district attorney's
office made efforts to question one of the biggest independent figures in the
motion picture business, it was learned by United Press.
     This man, recently divorced, was said to have been madly in love with an
actress who apparently held Taylor in higher esteem than she did the man now
being questioned.
     The man under surveillance was the only one of the half dozen biggest men
in the picture game in Hollywood who did not attend Mr. Taylor's funeral
yesterday, investigators said.
     He is reported to have proposed marriage on numerous occasions to the
actress whose silken nightgown police detectives assert they found in Taylor's
home shortly after he was shot.
     Still another investigation agency was interesting itself today in the
son of a multi-millionaire eastern family.  This young man has also been known
in Hollywood for some time as an ardent admirer of the actress who is today
the nucleus of the Taylor murder investigation.
     "We are looking today for a few necessary bits of corroborative evidence
to support the theory already partly borne out by recent discoveries," one
detective said.
     "Someone is going to be arrested--and suddenly--for the Taylor murder,"
Undersheriff Eugene Biscailuz said today.  "And it will not be Edward F.
Sands, Taylor's missing valet.
     "Mr. Taylor was killed through jealousy, and not revenge."
     The police took a diametrically opposite view.
     "Sands killed Taylor," said Captain D. L. Adams.  "We want him."
     The police hunt, Mr. Adams indicated, is being concentrated almost solely
on an effort to arrest the former secretary.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 8, 1922
                                                           LONG BEACH TELEGRAM
     Police seeking the slayer of William Desmond Taylor, movie director, were
working on the theory today that his assassin was hired to kill him.  It is
believed that Edward F. Sands, former valet of the director, may have been the
hired assassin.  In pursuance of this theory, detectives were checking up on
members of the movie colony who were acquainted with Sands...
     The new theory is that the person who desired to have Taylor slain
remembered the old enmity between the director and his former valet and used
this, as well as money, to secure his death.
     Taylor is believed to have had enemies, as well as friends, in the motion
picture colony.  These enemies were men as well as women, and some of the
enmities sprang from the numerous love affairs he is understood to have had.
     One of these enemies employed Sands to do the killing, according to the
police theory...

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                                NEW YORK TIMES
     Los Angeles--...A new theory of the murder was advanced today and
received some consideration at the Sheriff's office.  It is that Taylor was
shot by a woman whom he was embracing and who had her arms around him.  The
theory is based on the position of the bullet found in his back and the fact
that Taylor is thought to have had his arms raised when he was killed.  Rage,
because she had been scorned by the director, is the motive imputed to the
woman...

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                          Lannie Haynes Martin
                                                          LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
                      Taylor Home Ideal Scene for Tragedy
                                       
     No more perfect stage setting for a dramatic tragedy could have been
wished for by the most exacting director or stage manager than the artistic
arrangement of the house in which William D. Taylor, director and art
connoisseur, met his death.
     If the front wall of the house had been removed, a description of the
first floor might well be taken for the preface of a one-act play.
     Imagining this front wall to be a drop curtain which has just been rolled
up there will appear in the extreme foreground, a little right of center, a
small mahogany writing desk, over which are scattered papers, checks and
letters.  At the left of center stands a magnificent grand piano [sic] with an
oriental covering of soft mauves and mulberry shades.  At right of center a
large tapestry divan of neutral tone, figured in dull mauve tints.  Behind the
divan a large window curtained in deep cream filet lace with aide drapes of
figured chintz harmonizing in color with the mulberry velvet carpet on the
floor.
     Immediately behind this large living room, separated from it merely by
simulated pillars, is a small dining room.  The carpet is of the identical
color, fabric and pattern as that which covers the living room floor; a
William and Mary dining room table stands in the center and scattered through
both rooms are reed and mahogany chairs, upholstered in mulberry velvet.  The
walls of these adjoining rooms are covered with dull gold and olive tapestry
over which are hung scores of photographs, pictures of beautiful moving
picture actresses and of men known internationally in the film world.  Perhaps
no single wall in the world held so complete a collection of famous screen
beauties.
     Behind the dining room is a small kitchen, complete in every detail from
its white enamel sink and drain boards to its spotless refrigerator and
polished range.
     The front bedroom, furnished in old ivory, with a pale blue Axminster rug
and white muslin curtains, was the one formerly occupied by the man who met
his death at the hands of an assassin's bullet.  Two large windows looked out
on the wide, green court and side windows, allowing floods of light and air,
gave the room an unusually well ventilated aspect.  On the dresser lay
numerous toilet articles, all silver mounted and handsome, showing the
aesthetic taste of a fastidious man, but all plain and substantial without any
effeminate touches.
     On the table lay a variety of books, fiction, history, technical volumes
connected with the work of the dead man.
     A blue and white blanket and a white Marseilles spread covered the bed in
which the dead man was wont to sleep.  This had been his home for the last
three years and standing there on the threshold of this room, the most private
sanctum and retreat a human being maintains for himself, one wondered what
dreams of romance, wealth or glory flitted through the brain of the man now
sleeping beneath six feet of earth [sic] and a blanket of roses, or what
haunting fears, arising from spectres of the past, tormented that crumpled
pillow?  Of all the beautiful women that he knew, which face was it that
floated through his dreams, and was it to hope and anticipated pleasure or to
despair that he awoke in the morning?
     In the bedroom at the rear stand twin beds, covered with plain white
spreads.  Between the two bedrooms is a white tiled bath room with a huge tub
and shower and a large medicine cabinet filled with bottles of every
description, household remedies and simple drugs, but showing that the former
occupant suffered with a variety of ailments from eye trouble to falling hair.
In this cabinet were two varieties of talcum powder, two perfume bottles with
distinctly different odors, and other articles pertaining more to feminine
tastes than masculine.
     An air of seclusion and security one might have felt in this house, which
is set well back in the court from the street and surrounded by sedate looking
dwellings that would seem to frown on and forbid the presence of crime.
     But from the successful manner in which the murderer has broken all
threads of the clew which would implicate him in the deed, probably no more
cold-blooded crime was ever planned.  There at the little mahogany desk, in
the immediate foreground, a trifle to the right of center, on Wednesday
evening, February 1, about eight o'clock, sat William D. Taylor, probably the
best known and best loved moving picture director in the West.
     A bright light burned over his desk and a long evening's work lay ahead
of him.  With the lights out in the kitchen and the dining room at the rear, a
murderer might well have hidden in the dusky, purple shadows, and over the
soft velvet carpet he could have glided in silence until he reached out and
touched his victim.  Who knows but what he may have muffled his revolver and
shot at such close range that the speeding bullet made no perceptible report
or echo, except in the startled consciousness of the man whose soul and body
were rent apart in the twinkling of an eye.
     And all night long, as the body of the murdered man lay on the floor, the
crimson life-blood silently oozing out drop by drop, dyeing the soft carpet a
deeper hue, all night long the lights burned on his desk, throwing weird
gleams and shadows on the pictures of the beautiful moving picture actresses
on the wall; what ghosts stalked through this silent sepulcher that night?
What echoes of the fleeing murderer resounded in the streets outside?
     But now, as though no breath of crime had ever stifled out a human life,
the birds twitter in the eaves and over the doorway and the sun streams
through the windows and flickers in dancing circles over the carpets, which
show no visible reminders of the crime.  Only a silence, a hush like that of
wonder, seems to hold the unspoken whisper.  Why?  Who?  Where is he now?

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                         PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
     Los Angeles--A conspiracy of silence calculated to defeat the efforts of
police detectives and deputy sheriffs in Los Angeles who are seeking to
unravel the mystery surrounding the slaying of William D. Taylor was charged
today by the Sheriff's office.  A number of persons having definite knowledge
directly bearing upon the murder which they are withholding as part of the
suppression plot, it was inferred from statements by investigators.
     One woman prominently identified with the investigation is said to be in
possession of information which she has thus far failed to turn in.  She has
adopted an attitude of uncertainty in the whole matter, it is asserted.
Detectives from the central police station were assigned orders to visit the
woman and insist upon the facts in the case.  Police informants declare she
has been instructed by her husband to "develop" a sudden loss of memory.
     Henry Peavey, valet to the murdered director, and the first one to find
his body, was taken to the Hall of Justice for his first "real" grilling.
Peavey, it is generally stated by all officers connected with the case, is "in
on the know" as far as important angles previous to the death of Taylor are
concerned and they assert he has thus far given only a minimum of
information...

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                             LOS ANGELES TIMES
                  Mabel Normand Letters Found in Death House
                                       
     Mabel Normand's missing letters to William Desmond Taylor, slain film
director, have been found.  A dainty handkerchief with the initials "M.M.M."
in a corner--apparently a keepsake of Mr. Taylor--also has been recovered.
     The letters, about which an investigation has been conducted for several
days, were written by the famous screen actress during her friendship with the
noted director, who had directed such stars as Mary Miles Minter, Mary
Pickford, Betty Compson and others.
     Miss Normand has attempted to recover these letters, which she stated
were in the possession of Mr. Taylor before his murder a week ago Wednesday
night shortly after Miss Normand left his home.  The officers have made every
effort to find them.
     Yesterday the police search was rewarded when a packet of letters,
admittedly written by Miss Normand, was found in a boot in Mr. Taylor's
closet.  The find was made during a search of the place by Captain of
Detectives Adams and his aides, Detective Sergeants Cahill, Herman Cline, Cato
and Murphy.
     Charles Eyton, manager of the Famous Players-Lasky studio, to whom Mr.
Taylor was under a two-year contract, said last night that he was at the house
when the letters were found, but was not present in the upstairs room when the
actual discovery was made.
     E. C. Jessurund [sic], proprietor of the apartment court in which Mr.
Taylor lived, was present, Mr. Eyton said.  The letters comprised a large
packet and from statements made by Chief Dep. Dist. Atty. Doran yesterday it
was understood the District Attorney's office came into possession of them.
     Miss Normand was an intimate friend of Mr. Taylor and during times when
she was in New York and he was here she wrote to him, she said, in explaining
her desire to get the letters.  She stated she wished to have them because she
feared that some of the terms used in them might be misconstrued, although she
and Mr. Taylor understood there was no serious love affair.
     The handkerchief, which was kept among other personal effects of Mr.
Taylor, was found by Henry Peavey, negro houseman, who found his employer's
body last Thursday morning.
     "Here's the handkerchief all you boys have been bothering about," Peavey
says he announced.
     It was taken from him by the detectives and placed with the other
personal effects that may have a bearing on the solution of the crime.
     From statements Peavey had previously made about seeing the handkerchief
many weeks before the murder, however, it is believed, it has no direct
bearing on the problem of who killed Mr. Taylor.

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                       CHICAGO HERALD-EXAMINER
     Los Angeles--...Members of the sheriff's office made an outright
declaration that they were being hindered in the Taylor investigation by an
"iron-clad conspiracy between police and members of the film colony," with
regard to giving information concerning Taylor...
     ...Another clew that has disappeared is a handkerchief initialed "S."
which the police did not believe was the property of Edward F. Sands, former
butler, now sought in connection with the case.
     The police said they believed this handkerchief belonged to a motion
picture producer and they wanted it so they would have something tangible with
which to confront him as a basis for interrogation...
     The police announced that they proposed to limit the news given out by
them in future.
     "The newspapers have been publishing everything and anything and they
will get nothing further from me in this case until I get something worth
while," said Capt. David L. Adams, who is in charge of the investigation.
"I know nothing about any pink nightgown or any letters returned to actresses.
I have several letters, four or five, which the newspapers have not seen and
which they will not see.  They are from Taylor's mother and daughter and
others and are not connected with the case."...
     It was reported that more information had been given to the police to the
effect a man in love with a screen actress, who did not return his love but
who was believed to have affection for Mr. Taylor, had been seen near the
Taylor residence before the murder...

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                             LOS ANGELES TIMES
     ...An asserted love cult, an organization of mysterious ways and
membership, yesterday was reported to attaches of the District Attorney's
office, and is under investigation now.  Mr. Taylor is declared to have been
on intimate terms with the members, if, indeed, he was not one of the cult's
followers.
     A touch of oriental mysticism was included in the report given to the
investigators...
     ...Mr. Manning turned over to the police the report from Arizona
concerning Sands.  The message from Tucson, reads as follows:
     "Walter Peterson, on way to Imperial, Cal., care of H. H. Peterson,
Imperial, feels certain he met Edward F. Sands at Lowell, Ariz., February 4
and 5.  Description same as Los Angeles newspapers of February 7, also wore
dark suit with light pin stripe, plain yellow shirt; brown shoes; soft brown
hat.  Sands told him he was a deserter from the British navy, and was machine-
gun man for Pancho Villa.  Had been in New York, British Columbia, Alaska, Los
Angeles and Hollywood.
     (Signed)  "B. F. Daniels
                 "Sheriff"
     ...A final search of the Taylor home, conducted yesterday by Detectives
Cline, Cato and Cahill while Public Administrator Bryson was removing the
possessions from the apartment disclosed a bank-book belonging to Sands.  This
book, showing he had made deposits in a Los Angeles bank, was found behind a
book case.
     A business card, apparently dropped in the house, also was found.  A
check on the person whose name appeared thereon is being made although it was
regarded as probable that the card had been there some time before Mr. Taylor
was shot to death.
     Undersheriff Biscailuz late in the day admitted the Sheriff's office is
working hard on three "leads" tending to connect prominent film people with
the slaying.  The Sheriff's office holds little credence in the theory that
Sands committed the crime.
     Information in the hands of the police detectives, however, indicate that
Sands was near the scene of the crime about the time of the shooting, which is
officially believed to have been about 7:50 or 7:55 p.m. a week ago yesterday.
He also has been reported from reliable sources to have been in Los Angeles
both before and after that day.

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                        SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
     Los Angeles--...Mrs. William McBurney, wife of a Los Angeles real estate
man, who resides at the Westbrook Apartments, 310 South Alvarado street, a few
doors from the Taylor home, declared that she and her husband saw the lurking
figure of this man hidden in the shadows of the heavy foliage that surrounds
the Alvarado Hotel, two blocks south of the scene of the murder.
     According to Mrs. McBurney, he was still in that vicinity as late as 9:45
o'clock on the evening Taylor was shot.
     "My husband and I were returning from the theater shortly before 10
o'clock," said Mrs. McBurney today.  "On passing the place we noticed the man
standing under the trees at Alvarado near West Sixth, directly in front of the
car stop.
     "I particularly noticed him on account of the fact that he wore no
overcoat, although the night was chilly.  He wore a dark gray muffler and a
cap.  He did not take the car, although one passed while we had him in view,
and we remarked at that time that his actions were suspicious."...

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                        SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
     Los Angeles--...The more the case is delved into the more it appears that
Taylor, the "man's man," was also a woman's man.  At least four women figured
in his life, two of them on terms of romance as ardent as any ever conceived.
     Two of the women figured in his life, but it seems they were passing
fancies, did not enter deeply into heart interest.
     The case has practically resolved itself into this, according to some of
the investigators:
     Which one of the women is bound in the scarlet skein of the mystery?
     Now it is not assumed that either of these women was an accomplice in the
crime or knows who killed the film director whom they both loved passionately.
     But it is felt that one of them, if she would, could sit down with an
intelligent investigator and give him facts which would lead him with
unmistakable accuracy to the assassin.
     It is believed that both of them are revealing only half truths because
the complete disclosure might affect their professional interests...

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                          LOS ANGELES EXAMINER
     ...Mr. Doran is said to be interested in the report that Taylor's body
had been carefully laid out.  This statement comes from F. Parsons, a member
of the police flying squadron, who, with Detective Zeigler, was the first to
reach the scene of the crime.
     The director, says Parsons, was not sprawled on the floor, as one would
have expected, considering the apparent physical facts of the slaying, but was
lying with feet together and hands at sides as though some person had very
carefully arranged his body.
     Would a man like Sands have taken this trouble?  Would a man whose
jealousy had turned into hate and hate flared forth in an act of murder have
been concerned how the victim appeared in death?
     Rather, ask the police, does not the patient care with which this
funereal task was performed suggest the slayer to have been a woman who loved
him?...
     Captain Adams and men working under him on the case attach great
importance to the bullet removed from the body of Taylor and to its peculiar
value as evidence should the murderer ever be caught and brought to trial.
     Firearms experts have determined that it is of a kind manufactured many
years ago and have found rifling marks and a nick on one of its edges.  As a
result of its classification the police now have a fairly accurate idea of the
character of revolver used.
     It was learned yesterday that operatives of the United States Department
of Justice have conducted an independent investigation and have developed
certain angles not appearing in the evidence secured by the police or
sheriff's officers.  One of these, it is said, relates to a woman who has not
been mentioned in any of the reports thus far published.  Valuable
information, it is said, was secured from this woman.

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                             LOS ANGELES TIMES
                      Ohioan Doubts That Sands is His Son
                                       
     Marion, O.--Disbelief that his son, Edward Fitzgerald Snyder, could be
the man known as Edward Sands and sought in connection with the murder of
William D. Taylor, motion-picture director at Los Angeles, Cal., was expressed
by Murray T. Snyder, manager of a local telegraph office tonight.  While he
did not know his present location, Mr. Snyder said he presumed his son was
alive, since he had received a telegram from him in Cleveland about three
months ago.  Mr. Snyder said he did not know whether the son had been in
California in several months...

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                                                              February 9, 1922
                                                                Edward Doherty
                                                                 NEW YORK NEWS
                                                              ARKANSAS GAZETTE
     Los Angeles--...Some of the detectives even advanced the theory that
Edward F. Sands, the ex-valet of the murdered man, might have been taken into
the custody of some of Taylor's friends; might very possibly be held now to
keep his tongue from spilling out the secrets of cinema land, from supplying
the police with information as to Taylor's life, Taylor's intimates, Taylor's
foes...
     The theory was advanced, following the story told by Fellows, that a
woman may have murdered Taylor.
     The theory is that she was enraged when she saw Miss Normand come out of
the house, waited nearby until the moment when the director took his fair
visitor to the automobile and then slipped into the house through the open
door.
     They picture her running to Taylor as he entered.
     They even see as though it were part of one of Taylor's photodramas, the
meeting of the two--hate and scorn on the face of the woman, bitterness and
malice and a deadly purpose, and on the face of the man a question, a look of
anxiety perhaps, perhaps fear.
     There were few words, they believe, if any.  Taylor, they say, may have
sat down at his desk to write her check--in the manner of the photoplay father
who wants to make it worth while for the vampire to give up his only son and
heir.
     This woman, the police think, took it as deadly insult, and, overpowered
with anger, shot him through the body and made her escape.
     Or it is possible--it is a very broad theory--that the woman nestled in
the arms that once had held her lovingly, pleaded for the love that had died,
and finding the bitterness of defeat put her arms around him, and fired...
     ...The "love cult" angle was introduced into the case late in the day
through the troubled conscience of a resident of Chinatown.  This man through
an intermediary communicated with the District Attorney's office and asked
that he be given immunity  in exchange for information in his possession.
     He had supplied the opium for the members of this cult, all men, of
which, he says, Taylor was a member.  He declares the men would lie in silk
kimonos, smoke the essence of the poppy flower and so commence their ritual,
old as Sodom.
     The Chinese asserted that the members of the cult were held together by a
bond, unthinkable, unnamable, unbelievable, and that each had sworn an oath of
undying affection for the others.
     He believes the jealousy of one of these degenerate cultists may have
caused him to slay the movie man.
     The office of District Attorney Thomas Woolwine is said to have arranged
to interview the Chinaman tomorrow and to protect him so far as possible
against punishment for opium smuggling.
     Investigators believe he can give them many important clews as to the
cult, the mysterious life Taylor led, and the operation of the drug ring that
has driven many a promising actor from the screen...

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Back issues of Taylorology are available on the Web at any of the following:
                   http://www.angelfire.com/az/Taylorology/
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                     http://www.uno.edu/~drcom/Taylorology
Full text searches of back issues can be done at http://www.etext.org/Zines/
For more information about Taylor, see
           WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR: A DOSSIER (Scarecrow Press, 1991)
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