Here’s a very short and odd article–with two very nice photos.

FLYING HIGH AS AN AIRPLANE PILOT—AND CAREER-WISE—MR. TAYLOR
IS LEARNING THERE’S NO FUN IN IT WHEN YOU’RE TRAVELING ALONE

MOVIE LIFE 31 (early Fifties)

“You’ve got any more like Taylor in Hollywood, send them on, we’ll take take them.”

“Mistah Taylor? Yas suh, he’s plenty okay in mah books.

“The way we figure, he’s just another guy.”

There you have a lieutenant, a janitor and a student speaking—and still Bob Taylor’s
scared. Scared that now he’s got his wings it’ll be the same story all over again. The old friends thinking he’s too big shot to stay on the old footing and never believing he’s aching to
stay there. Bob’s always had to be twice as terrific to get away with half the stuff the rest of us pull. Like having to put on the growl act after he’d made a splash in flickers to make the
old college gang understand that Tony’s Joint was still okay for a midnight beer. And displaying a chip big like a boulder out Hollywood way to wipe off the “pretty boy” tag that had the town smirking. And now, practically disowning the bright lights in the hope that the pals he’s made in the service won’t disown him as soon as the “Lieut. j. g.” handle dissolves into plain “actor.” In the beginning he was sore, resented the jabber about strength of his fame, sorer still that no one had troubled to check that he’d enlisted and had been accepted (and minus pre-flight, too) because he was a college grad with enough civilian flying hours. Well, he’s still in there punching for you and me.