A copy of the following article was given to me by Bartine Burkett Zane in 1981. It was written in the late 1970s, when she had resumed her career after 50 years of retirement from acting. Bartine always claimed that she was only in show business because she "had to work" to support her family. She left films when she married Ralph Zane in 1928. After he passed away, she was encouraged by friends to return to acting. She continued working in television and films past the age of 80. She died in 1994, at the age of 96. Her memories of working with Buster Keaton were of a special friendship. She was very fond of Buster, and-judging by her stories-he felt the same way about her. Bartine owned a beautiful portrait photograph of Buster on which he wrote "Bartine-forever and a day, Buster." - Mark Jungheim

This article was published for the first time in the Autumn 1996 edition of The Keaton Chronicle -The newsletter of The Damfinos

My first meeting with Buster came about when I was called by the studio casting director and asked to come out and see about a part in a picture with "Mr. Keaton". We did not have agents in those days and, fortunately, casting directors didn't get ten percent from us performers -- however, the same human element existed then as at present. If you were known and liked by a good casting director you worked more often and were better paid.

Anyway, as I remember it, my call-time was around eleven-thirty a.m., but I had to wait quite a while before Mr. Arbuckle and Buster came to meet me. The first thing Roscoe said was "We're going to lunch before we interview you, wanna go with us?" without hesitation I said, "I'd love to". Hollywood actresses were known then, as now, to be the hungriest women in the world.

It was soon thereafter that Buster and I became good friends. I lived with my family in Hollywood and the studio was in Culver City, about ten miles away. Buster came for me every workday and we drove over Robertson Boulevard, who now is a highly traveled thoroughfare but at the time (over sixty years ago) was a little unpaved country lane.

I remember those trips so well because on each one Buster, invariably, kept me in stitches. I'm sure I was one of his all-time best audience, because everything he said or did was screamngly funny to me.

For instance, he spoke to everyone we passed going in the opposite direction -- only not one of them ever knew he had been spoken to because Buster's greeting and subsequent minute or so of verbiage always came a fraction of a second after they had passed us. (His timing was fantastic!) We would be deep in conversation but when someone approached and passed us, either on foot or in some vehicle he would interrupt, bow ceremoniously and inquire of this person the state of his health -- where was his wife today? How many children did he now have in school? Whatever happened to that one who was expelled? All that kind of thing without ever repeating himself. I would sit there literally doubled up with laughter.

To answer a question which has been asked of me hundreds of times, Was Buster solemn and unsmiling as he always appeared in his films? No! A thousand times no! I've never known anyone to laugh more than he did. In fact, when we were shooting he spoiled many a scene by cracking up with laughter.

Buster and I made only two pictures together with long lapses between working dates and during those months he came for me every Thursday evening and took me to the weekly dance at the Hollywood Hotel, a lovely rambling old building which occupied one corner of Highland Avenue and Hollywood Boulevard (and was considered very elite). I don't really know why he did this because he did not care for dancing very much or me! He would take my card, which we called our programs and which all young ladies held in their hands and tried to appear unconcerned while waiting for one after another young man to claim her dances by number. Buster, how-ever, had no time for such amenities. He would take my card and circulate among the young men asking -- "Wanna dance with Bartine?" and if someone had the nerve to show a lack of enthusiasm for this project, he'd say, "Aw come on she's a pretty good dancer." This of course embarrassed me, no end, but my protests were in vain; he would remind me that he had no time to 'fool around'.