At this particular time, there was much in vogue in Los Angeles the type of construction known as the “bungalow court.” Bungalows were constructed side by side, not fronting on the street but on a walk or driveway which ran the length of a deep lot. In this way it was possible to crowd productive rentals on every inch of a relatively deep lot.
The bungalows in the court where William Desmond Taylor lived had been largely rented by people who were connected with the motion-picture industry. While newspaper accounts present some conflict as to the exact location of some of the neighboring tenants, it would seem from a reading at this late date that Taylor’s bungalow was a double, and in the other side of this bungalow lived Edna Purviance, at the time Charlie Chaplin’s leading lady. The bungalow opposite was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Douglas MacLean.
It was a period of transition in the picture industry. The early days, when pictures floundered around with train robbers and bandits, had given way to the adaptation of drama. It was the era of increasing salaries, of the silent film with its dramatic subtitles. One of those most frequently used at the time has become immortalized, “Came the Dawn of a New Day.” This subtitle was usually shown with a background of drifting clouds, gradually lighting up, and accompanied by appropriate inspirational music on piano or organ.
William Desmond Taylor, while an important director, was working for what would today be considered a mere stipend in the industry; but at that time, he was in the big-money group.
The income tax of the period was at the rate of four percent and there were, even then, mumblings and grumblings on the manner in which the tax hogs were gathering around the trough in an orgy of wasteful spending. The point is mentioned because it appears that Taylor was in the process of performing a very disagreeable task. He was making out his income tax for the year 1921. His partially finished statement showed an income of $37,000.
Henry Peavey, Taylor’s colored houseman, announced that dinner was served, and the motion-picture director left his income-tax work to go to the table where a simple meal was served to a lonely bachelor.
This was the period in Hollywood’s development when it was unnecessary for the famous to stroll into the night spots and be photographed by reporters for the fan magazines.
Here was an important director dining alone at 6:30 in a relatively small bungalow court. The furnishings, however, were in exquisite taste. The bookcases were filled with books which were well chosen and well read. Such art objects as were in the room were those which could only have been selected by a connoisseur. These surroundings give us a clue to the man’s character. They indicate a modest, simple man with a large income living a simple, unassuming life.
So far there has been nothing to indicate that the life of this man is other than an open book. His associates see in him a grave, dignified, thoughtful executive. Yet he has vision and imagination. His face lights up with a kindly smile. He is a practical philosopher with something big-brotherly in his grave manner.
Adela Rogers St. John, one of the most articulate of the associates of film celebrities, and a famous writer in her own right, was later to say of him: “William D. Taylor was the sort of man that revived your faith in the sex... He was so steady, so consistent, so sure in his judgments, that he couldn’t turn out a bad piece of work.... He had a breadth of vision and a businesslike understanding of what the screen needed.”
So here is a dignified, magnetic executive sitting down to dinner on this cold February night, his income-tax statement on his desk, his mind occupied with the destiny of the screen.
At about 6:45, Mabel Normand was driven up to the court by her chauffeur.
Mabel Normand was one of the most glamorous, colorful figures of the silent screen. It needs only a glance at the publicity given her to realize something of her dynamic character. For instance, it was mentioned at a somewhat later date that she simply couldn’t be bothered to set her watch backward and forward when, on a transcontinental train trip, she passed from one time zone to another. So she carried several watches with her, presumably set according to the different time zones. When she passed from one time zone into another, she disposed of the watch which was no longer accurate by the simple expedient of tossing it out of the window.
Under cold and careful appraisal, this story bears the unmistakable stamp of the press agent. Mabel Normand certainly was not traveling by day coach. Pullman windows of the period were double and of heavy glass. This was before air conditioning on the trains and, while the windows were frequently raised a few inches at the bottom, there were permanent, heavy, close-meshed screens to keep out as much of the dust as possible. But this watch-throwing episode is indicative of the period, of the thinking of the people, and of the star. The mere fact that this would have been considered good publicity at the time is interesting. Nowadays, if a star had the habit of tossing watches out of a train window merely because she couldn’t be bothered to set the hands forward or back, her public relations men would tear their hair in agony lest the idiosyncrasy be discovered and publicized. But in those days this was all a part of the temperament which one associated with a great actress.
On this night of February 1, 1922, Mabel Normand had been sitting in the back of her chauffeur-driven car eating peanuts and dropping the shells on the floor. As she left the car to call on Taylor, she instructed her chauffeur to clean up the car. Then she hurried through the cold chill of the early evening to the rear of the court and the bungalow occupied by the director.
Taylor was engaged in talking over the telephone when Mabel Normand was admitted by the houseman.
Mabel Normand visited with Taylor while the houseman served dessert to the director. Then apparently the houseman went out to visit with Miss Norman’s chauffeur, perhaps helping him to clean up the peanuts. His recollection is that he left around 7:30 and when he left, Miss Normand and Taylor were drinking cocktails.
There is an almost pastoral simplicity about the scene. The motion-picture director, having had his dessert served at around seven o’clock, is now engaged in drinking cocktails with Mabel Normand, who apparently must have dined before she arrived. Therefore the Normand stomach must have contained dinner, peanuts, and cocktail, ingested in that order. William Desmond Taylor, progressing from dinner to cocktails was spared the ordeal of the peanuts.
Now it appears that Taylor was very anxious that Mabel Normand should read a book. In some unaccountable manner an impression seems to have been created that this book was by Freud. There were, it seems, two books that Taylor was very anxious Miss Normand should read, and he had sent one of them over to her house that day. But the other was one for which he had asked her to call in person. On February 11th the newspapers were to contain a statement by Mabel Normand that this book was Rosmundy by Ethel M. Dell, and she is at a loss to understand how a rumor started that this was a book of Freud’s.
Did Miss Normand and Taylor discuss this book while they were chatting in the bungalow? It is worthy of note that while Taylor had sent one book over to Mabel Normand’s apartment that day, he had asked her to call for this book in person. Why?
And it was to develop, moreover, that when she left him at 7:45 it was understood he was to telephone her at nine o’clock and find out how she liked the book. Again, why?
Be that as it may, at 7:45 Mabel Normand says she left Taylor alone in his bungalow, and it is to be noted that according to the statements of both Mabel Normand and her chauffeur, Taylor escorted Miss Normand out to her car, a gallant gesture on the part of the director which may have cost him his life; for one of the police theories was that he left the door of his bungalow open while he was escorting Miss Normand and that a shadowy figure who had been lurking in the alley took advantage of this opportunity to slip into Taylor’s little bungalow.