Categories
Memorial

1922 Murder of Director William Desmond Taylor

Precious little has generated the intense scrutiny like the murder of silent screen director William Desmond Taylor over one century ago in Hollywood, on February 1st, 1922.  Fate reared its ugly head that evening and delivered a lethal blow to director Taylor by an “unknown assailant,” so we are told.

What many people don’t realize is that in 1964 there was a deathbed confession to Taylor’s murder by silent screen actress Margaret Gibson, who also went by the stage name of Patricia Palmer.  She had worked closely with Taylor during the early silent era.

Margaret Gibson, aka Patricia Palmer
William Desmond Taylor

Clearly, the two were romantically entangled at one point, as had Taylor been with countless other young starlets.  His reputation as a lothario was cemented in stone, as was his proclivity for dumping said actresses after tiring of them or should they end up “with child,” as was said back in the day.  Taylor was infamous for such antics and had previously deserted his wife and young daughter in favor of greener pastures, showing little remorse.  Oh, the wonderful world of men!

Margaret Gibson & Wm. Desmond Taylor in “The Kiss” 1914 Vitagraph

Yet some people never forget treachery, and Margaret Gibson was one such individual.  She extracted her revenge on William Desmond Taylor February 1st, 1922, shooting and fatally wounding him.  Decades later, on her deathbed, Margaret Gibson, recently converted to Roman Catholicism, felt contrition, and confessed.  Her admission should not be taken lightly.

Miss Gibson suffered a fatal heart attack on October 21, 1964 and made the deathbed confession to a neighbor, after it was clear that there was not time for a Roman Catholic priest to get there to give the last rites. She freely admitted she was responsible for Taylor’s murder in 1922.  

Gibson’s conscience, apparently clear, allowed the former actress to move on to the next world, however her neighbor felt compelled to relate what had transpired between them.  Thus, the mystery that had weighed so heavily on people’s minds for decades was finally solved.

Charlotte Shelby
Mary Miles Minter

The name often brought up in connection with this “unsolved” murder is everyone’s favorite punching bag, Charlotte Shelby, mother of actress Mary Miles Minter. Mrs. Shelby is frequently portrayed as the quintessentially evil stage mother who was so incredibly protective of her daughter that she would commit something as heinous as murder, knowing full well that it would lead to scandal and the ostracization of her daughter in Hollywood.  

Unlikely at best, this writer says.  Charlotte Shelby was much too savvy to fall victim to that ruse.  She had just lived through the September 1921 Fatty Arbuckle scandal and knew exactly what would happen to her daughter should she rock the publicity boat with any off-color shenanigans. Incidentally, that is exactly what ensued – Mary Miles Minter’s career never rebounded and she died decades later in obscurity.

Mabel Normand

Occasionally, comedienne Mabel Normand, whose career was also ruined by the Taylor affair is brought up as a possible suspect since she was one of the last people to see the director alive the evening of January 31st. Normand’s connection with Taylor was ultimately determined to be nothing more than an innocuous friendship.

William Desmond Taylor’s cook and valet, Henry Peavey, is sometimes named as the person responsible for the murder, as is the man who held that same position in the Taylor household prior to Peavey, Edward F. Sands (aka Edward Fitzgerald Snyder, aka Edward Fitzwilliam Strathmore).  Neither of these two men were ever found to be connected beyond a reasonable doubt to the Taylor’s death.

In my opinion, the William Desmond Taylor murder case has been solved. Not only was there a deathbed confession by Margaret Gibson, also known as Patricia Palmer, such confessions carry a great deal of weight in legal circles – ask any lawyer or judge.

Case closed.

Margaret Gibson
Categories
Memorial

The Tragic Story of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle

Forgotten genius of the silent comedy world

Anyone who knows Hollywood history has heard the sad story of comedian Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle.  His dramatic fall from grace in September 1921, from the heights of silent comedy success to the depths of despair, became one of the first highly publicized Hollywood scandals. 

Arbuckle had achieved immense stardom working in silent films, often in tandem with fellow comedian and close friend, Buster Keaton.  His films were wildly popular and his salary among the highest of any star of that era.  Along the way, Fatty met and married the lovely young actress, Minta Durfee, though they had separated shortly before that fateful day, September 5, 1921.

Arbuckle fell victim to one of life’s cruelest blows, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and managed to become entangled in the definitive scandal of the year.  It was a horrible twist of fate that night…

September 5th, 1921, St. Francis Hotel, San Francisco

One unfortunate late summer day, Fatty Arbuckle checked into suites 1219, 1220 and 1221 for what he thought would be a well-deserved weekend of relaxation.  What followed came to be known as the “Fatty Arbuckle Affair,” would quickly ruin his career and eventually bankrupt him.

Being at the top of the Hollywood heap came with a lot of work.  Fatty had just completed several films, was exhausted from the grueling schedule, and needed some rest.  Yet, success also affords a star a certain degree of privilege, something surely on Fatty’s mind when he had a friend acquire some bootleg “hooch.”  Like most Americans, except for the WCTU – Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, the comedy superstar conveniently forgot the recently passed National Prohibition or Volstead Act.  

A party ensued, and at that affair was a young woman named Virginia Rappé.  As the record states, Miss Rappé, who by varying accounts was either an aspiring starlet or a professional escort, took violently ill.  According to reports from witnesses in the Arbuckle suites, she was initially found in the bathroom huddled over a toilet bowl, later transferred to Fatty’s bed, then reportedly dunked in a bathtub full of ice to “cool her off.”  Miss Rappé was eventually taken to a local hospital, where she soon succumbed to her malaise.  Her autopsy and the subsequent death certificate determined that peritonitis was the cause of death, exacerbated by a ruptured bladder. 

One Maude Delmont, a significantly older woman who had accompanied Miss Rappé to the St. Francis, later claimed that Fatty Arbuckle had “violated” her friend, causing said injuries.  As star witness for the prosecution, Delmont was later determined to be of such questionable character that she was never called to testify at any of the three Arbuckle trials. 

Media speculation about Virginia Rappé and Maude Delmont was rampant with accusations and conjecture, like Miss Rappé’s alleged history of promiscuity, venereal disease, and illegal abortions.  Another favorite subject of media blabber was Miss Delmont’s lurid arrest history, reportedly for extortion and running a house of ill repute (buzz word of the day for madame).

For all the intricacies of the Arbuckle affair and its series of three courtroom dramas, please refer to the online encyclopedia, Wikipedia, for a remarkably precise account.  There is a wealth of information available from other sources, as well.

Ultimately, Fatty Arbuckle, despite the allegations made by Maude Delmont, was found not guilty by a jury of his peers, which also took the unprecedented step of issuing a formal apology to the defendant.

Yet after the affair, Fatty’s career was a total disaster.  Estranged wife, Minta Durfee, with whom he had reconciled and who stood loyally by his side throughout the trial, divorced him in 1925.  Fatty eventually remarried but his friends, other than Buster Keaton, were conspicuously absent. 

Mercifully, the end was quick.  On June 29, 1933, Fatty died in his sleep from a massive heart attack.  In the weeks before his death, his future was looking brighter, and he had a contract with Warner Brothers for a feature length film.  He had also just celebrated his one-year wedding anniversary with Addie McPhail.

Completely unaware of what his final verdict from history would be, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle left behind a treasure trove of comedies like 1917’s “The Butcher Boy,” and 1918’s “The Cook.”  Both comic masterpieces can be found on YouTube.

Enjoy this master’s work.

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Social Media

Recent Excursions into the World of Social Media

My travels through the media age began decades ago in rural Indianapolis. We lived at 96th Street & Haverstick Road and were so far out we didn’t even have a street address. Our mailman delivered to a rural route, in this instance to RR14, Box 358R. In our living room perched upon a brass stand was a simple black & white television with rabbit ears that required continual adjustment. It was 1959.

In the family kitchen was a black wall phone, hardwired into the wall by Indiana Bell, as everything was back then before the divestiture of AT&T. It was the shared “party line” of my youth. Our phone number was VI (for Victor) 6-2342. VI was called an “exchange,” and you could always tell what part of the city a person came from when you knew it. I shall never forget that shrill ring! Two shorts followed by one long notified my family of an incoming call while one long followed by two shorts, signaled my aunt and uncle living one block away to respond.

Fast-forward 64 years to 2023 and here I am faced with a world of internet, smartphones, and social media. The journey has been a long one, and especially troublesome for someone my age. In a sense, I am still that young child living at RR14, Box 358R at 96th Street & Haverstick Road in Indianapolis, in 1959.

So, here’s my travelogue over the past decade:

Facebook profile photo, 2014

My journey began in 2014 when I first was introduced to Facebook. I posted a profile, a picture of myself, let people know my username, then sat back and watched…and waited. Unsure how to proceed, I looked to other Facebook pages which didn’t help much. Later, I decided to post a video of an 86-year-old friend marching in a parade with his American Legion chapter. It was about the only thing I posted for a long time, but I’m an introvert living in the past and I really don’t like keeping an online diary.

The late Robert C. Potter, member of San Francisco Alexander Hamilton Post #448 of the American Legion

In 2015, Twitter was the next part of my adventure. The instructor of a network security class I was enrolled in requested that everyone get an account, so I dutifully complied. Students all subscribed to various Twitter feeds from users that published network security data. Some of the information was quite helpful, but there was that “click bait,” some rogue individual hoping to garner a huge following by spewing a lot of controversy. Regrettably, I encountered that a lot. Oh, well…

Instagram/YouTube profile photo

My travels led me next to Instagram, which I began experimenting with in 2019. I found this to be the easiest for me to use since photography was already a hobby of mine. I tried to find my voice, even made some reels (short videos in Instagram lingo) and I kind of did, I guess? Suffice it to say I’ve got some rather interesting followers. Check out @keiths.theatre on Instagram. Better yet, check out some of my followers!

Someone suggested Pinterest, so I stepped right up, not knowing anything about it. I still don’t get it. Could someone please explain what it’s about? Categories?

By then, I’d traveled all the way to YouTube, the most intimidating of all social media. I diligently studied popular channels, then took a flurry of Skillshare classes about making YouTube videos. Finally, time to jump in the water since I had probably learned enough not to sink, right?

Obviously, I didn’t sink, but what did I learn?

One’s channel must fill a niche and a person needs to stay in the channel’s designated lane. A cooking channel should not tackle fashion commentary or an analysis of international politics. If one must depart radically from the subject matter of an established channel, then time to start a new one. Also, shorter videos are infinitely better than longer ones. I discovered that producing YouTube content is a lot of hard work, and running a successful channel is not for the faint of heart.

Hard work, yes, but I learned videomaking & editing, how to cook, how to replace the worn-out cords on my venetian blinds, as well as all about geriatric medical issues I face. There are countless old television shows and movies to watch, as well. What a perfect way to help me to recreate the era I’ve never progressed past, the Eisenhower era. Will I ever move on? Probably not!

This entire ordeal was exhausting, so it will be a while before I plan the itinerary for my journey to the magical world of TikTok…

Categories
Memorial

In Memory of Bert Eibner 7/18/1951 – 2/2/2023

Bert Eibner was born July 18, 1951, in Baltimore, Maryland and died on February 2, 2023, at his home in San Francisco.  He and I shared a friendship that spanned nearly 30 years and I will be mourning his loss for a very long time.

Bert had a life that some people would consider nothing out of the ordinary, but to me, he was more than that – he was extraordinary, larger than life because he really knew how to live life.  Bert loved life as well as people, and people loved Bert! People always gravitated to him and incidentally, so did pets.  Dogs and cats would always rush up, dogs wagging their tails and cats purring contentedly.

It all started with an unexpected birth at home, and the premature twins caught wife Marcella Eibner and husband Albert Otto Eibner, Sr. quite by surprise.  Barely 3 pounds, young Albert Otto Eibner, Jr. (Bert) and James (Jimmy) spent the first few months of their life in an incubator.  In 1951, it was phenomenal that a set of twins born prematurely survived, let alone when it happened at home! Yet survive they did.  The infants did quite well for their first few months, then sadly, little Jimmy fell ill at the age of 3 months and succumbed.  Yet, going against all the odds of being born prematurely in that era, young Bert continued to thrive and went on to become a bright, outgoing, inquisitive, and often mischievous youngster.

Young Bert Eibner with his family in Baltimore, Maryl

Young Bert Eibner attended parochial schools in Baltimore, where he developed, like his father before him, that classic Eibner sense of humor.  He loved to crack jokes and get people laughing.  It naturally followed, of course, that anything potentially distressing coming in his direction would be instantly shot down with one of Bert’s hilarious quips.  People loved and admired this rare ability.

Bert, hamming it up for the camera, holding his mother, Marcella Eibner.

A more mature Bert eventually graduated from Calvert Hall High School in 1969.  He went on to receive an Associate of Arts degree in Art from Community College in Baltimore, decided to pursue his dream of becoming an artist, and moved to the West Coast.

“I arrived in San Francisco in January 1976, and it was then that my life really began,” he always loved to tell people.  Bert quickly found a position as a customer service representative at Pacific Bell.  It was a lucrative union job with excellent benefits, and he worked there until his retirement in 2009.  Bert found the time to pursue painting and loved working with acrylics, leaving behind many canvases for his survivors to treasure.

Bert Eibner & longtime friend, Keith Warren, in front of Golden Gate Bridge

The beginning of the end started in spring 2020, when Bert’s medical issues began compounding.  Trips to the hospital were becoming more frequent and sensing there wasn’t much time left, he had begun to become philosophical about life.  As we traveled together in a taxi to the hospital one day, a question he asked caught me completely off-guard.  “Why do you suppose that I survived back in 1951 and my brother Jimmy didn’t?” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just shrugged.  I think at that point we both knew what was coming.

Eventually, Bert accepted his failing health, possibly aware that we all eventually share the same destiny…like a clock that begins moving backwards.  “It’s just birth, only in reverse,” he joked.  He always loved to cheer people up when things got gloomy, and I will always remember that.

The end eventually came for him and when it did, family and friends were by his side.  Bert Eibner crossed over peacefully and I’m sure that heaven is now a much cheerier place.

Joking right up until the end with friends John Poe and Dennis Edwards.