***************************************************************************** * 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 ***************************************************************************** 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. ***************************************************************************** ***************************************************************************** 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. ***************************************************************************** ***************************************************************************** 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. ***************************************************************************** ***************************************************************************** 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. ***************************************************************************** ***************************************************************************** Back issues of Taylorology are available on the Web at any of the following: http://www.angelfire.com/az/Taylorology/ http://www.etext.org/Zines/ASCII/Taylorology/ http://www.silent-movies.com/Taylorology/ Full text searches of back issues can be done at http://www.etext.org/Zines/ or at http://www.silent-movies.com/search.html. For more information about Taylor, see WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR: A DOSSIER (Scarecrow Press, 1991) *****************************************************************************