Spring Break
Acting up against Big Brother
Sixty years ago, the Hollywood 10 made their mark
by Scott Feinberg
Features | 10/30/07
Posted online at 9:07 PM EST on 10/29/07
/ Last updated at 2:00 AM EST on 10/29/07
A little over five years ago, I embarked on a journey that has changed my life. At that time, I was still in high school, but already a student and lover of film history, having been introduced to classic films at a young age. Privately, I felt great frustration that so few of my contemporaries exhibited any interest in the subject at all. With few exceptions, the only people with whom I could discuss it were much older than I. At some point, it dawned on me that one of them, my grandmother, 'came out,' if you will, the same year as the first feature-length film, 1915. This made me realize how young the medium of film is compared to other art forms, and also caused me to wonder if a young person like myself might still have a little time in the race against the clock to speak with the people who shaped it.
Ever since, I have been at work researching, tracking down and interviewing over 75 of those very people-from the last living star of the silent era to some of today's biggest stars-for a book that I hope will excite other young people about film history and the moments, films and people who have been a part of it. It has been the most challenging thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding.
Surprisingly, the most interesting interviews are often not with the Academy Award winners and world-famous stars (though they are undeniably cool), but with one of those 'little people' who most forget to remember until one day they come across their obituary. Their names aren't as familiar or exciting, but their unique vantage point of film history has provided them with stories that cannot be beaten-people like Jerry Maren, a midget who was picked out of a vaudeville act and cast as the Lollipop Guild Munchkin in 'The Wizard of Oz,' or Kenny Baker, another little person who a generation later operated inside R2-D2 in all six 'Star Wars' films, or Ruth Warrick, who was the last surviving cast member of 'Citizen Kane' and granted me what proved to be the last interview of her life. Each one of these conversations feels like discovering 'Rosebud.'
This account, however, is not about my project, or me, but about an event in film history that took place 60 years ago this week. You don't have to like black-and-white movies to find it interesting or relevant to your life, because it is above all a story of human courage, and those don't go out of style. This event was part of a larger moment in time that forever impacted our country, the film industry, and an actress whose name you almost surely do not know, but who impressed me as much as any with whom I have spoken.
This past Saturday marked the 60th anniversary of one of the most significant events in film history-one that most people fail to remember. On October 27, 1947, the members of the Committee for the First Amendment risked their careers by flying to Washington and protesting against the House Committee of Un-American Activities.
Screenwriter Philip Dunne and directors John Huston and William Wyler had formed CFA a month earlier, because they felt that the right to freedom of speech, which is guaranteed by the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, was being threatened by HUAC. They were soon joined by some high-profile friends, including Lucille Ball, Humphrey Bogart, Gene Kelly, Judy Garland, Katharine Hepburn, Danny Kaye and Frank Sinatra, among others.
In 1946, in reaction to the growing 'Red Scare,' the U.S. House of Representatives made the nine-member HUAC a standing committee, and Rep. J. Parnell Thomas (R-N.J.) its chairman. Almost immediately, Thomas and his colleagues began promoting the idea, initially advanced by the previous HUAC chairman Rep. Martin Dies (D-T.X.), that Communists were attempting to insert propaganda into popular entertainment in order to corrupt the American public. Thomas traveled to Hollywood to share his suspicions with studio chiefs and seek the names of potential "subversives." He then returned to Washington and began calling those individuals to testify.
Some acknowledged and renounced past left-wing activity, and also named others with whom they had associated or believed had been involved in similar activity. These "friendly witnesses" preserved their careers by ruining others' and therefore have been regarded with great disdain by survivors and students of the period. In the fall of 1947, however, 10 of the 39 subpoenaed witnesses took a more principled stand and refused to share any such information with HUAC-regardless of the personal and professional implications of doing so-in order to fend off censorship and preserve the integrity of the First Amendment. This group, which became known as the "Hollywood 10," consisted of screenwriters and directors Alvah Bessie, Herbert Biberman, Lester Cole, and Edward Dmytryk, among others.
One by one, they were called before HUAC, and one by one, they refused to answer the infamous question: "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" Enraged, Thomas threatened to cite them for contempt of Congress, a charge that carried with it a significant prison sentence, but the Hollywood 10 held their ground.
With the matter coming to a head, members of the CFA decided to use their celebrity to call attention to the situation. On October 26, 1947, they participated in Hollywood Fights Back, a broadcast on ABC radio in which they each read brief but passionate statements in support of the Hollywood 10 and in defense of their industry. Then, the next day, 26 of them boarded a plane for Washington. On the way, they stopped at airfields in cities across the country to share their concerns with the Americans who came to greet them. Eventually they landed in Washington, where they sat in the audience of HUAC hearings in respectful protest for several days.
Their efforts failed to yield results. They departed with the Hollywood 10 still in jeopardy. Upon their return, the increasingly intimidating climate got the better of several members, who made statements and wrote articles renouncing the trip. Bogart, for instance, said he was "duped" into going, not realizing that the Hollywood 10 actually were Communists.
While CFA broke apart, the fear-mongerers only grew stronger. On December 2, HUAC cited each of the Hollywood 10 for contempt. The following day, the studio executives who employed them met behind closed doors and then issued a press release known as the "Waldorf Statement," condemning and explicitly blacklisting them, as well as terminating their contracts. Shunned by their industry, all 10 ultimately were found guilty and received sentences ranging between six and 12 months behind bars. For over a decade after their release, they were unable to find work.
The situation got worse before it got better. On June 22, 1950, Counterattack, a right-wing publication, began circulating a pamphlet titled "Red Channels" among studio executives. It accused 151 people from the industry of being "Red Fascists and their sympathizers." They, too, were subsequently blacklisted. Again, careers were ruined, families were destroyed, and lives were cut short.
All of this sounds rather depressing, and it was, but it is not the end of the story. This summer, I traveled to Los Angeles to conduct interviews for the book I am writing. One of the people I spoke with was Marsha Hunt, an 89-year-old woman with the looks and memory of someone decades younger, who in the 1930s and 1940s was one of the top stars in Hollywood. She began under contract with Paramount, moved to MGM (where she starred in Pride and Prejudice and was named the studio's "Best Dressed" actress), graced the cover of the March 6, 1950 Life magazine, and had offers from all three networks to star in her own show on the new medium of television. And then, even quicker than she had risen, she fell: her inclusion in Red Channels brought an abrupt halt to her blossoming career.
For the record, Hunt never was a Communist, not that she ever invoked that in her defense. She simply felt it was no crime to be a Communist or to refuse to discuss being one. She had been one of the members of CFA aboard the flight that left for Washington on October 27, 1947-one who didn't distance herself from the trip upon her return. In fact, the plight of the Hollywood 10 only prompted Hunt to continue the fight. She spoke out on committees (including as a member of the SAG board), in petitions and among friends and colleagues. For her principled stand, she lost her career, but never apologized or expressed regret.
Remembering the date on Saturday, I called Hunt, who turned 90 a little over a week ago, to thank her-on behalf of all of us-for what she did 60 years ago that day. She said she marked the anniversary by re-enacting her part in the Hollywood Fights Back broadcast at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles (The original broadcast, it should be noted, was co-written by screenwriter Robert Presnell, her late husband). Hunt noted that upon her arrival at the event, veteran actor James Whitmore, who was also reading a part, greeted her by asking, "What are you doing here? We're both supposed to be dead!"
Hunt, for her part, says she feels great and wants to live for at least 10 more years, "and then I'll look and see if it's worth hanging around." She says her best work is ahead of her and wants to make sure that mistakes of the past are not repeated. "We have things to be watchful about," she cautions. For example, she states, "The PATRIOT Act is misnamed. It steps on Constitutional rights and has to be protected against." It speaks volumes that Hunt, entering her 10th decade, is still looking out for the rest of us. One can only hope that we'll do a better job of looking out for ourselves.
Scott Feinberg '08 is working on a book about the history of film as seen through the eyes of the people who were a part of it. It features an introduction by Academy Award winner Margaret O'Brien and interviews with more than 75 key figures from the world of film, from the last living star of the silent era through some of today's biggest stars. Feinberg hopes it will excite other young people about the great films and filmmakers of the past.
Ever since, I have been at work researching, tracking down and interviewing over 75 of those very people-from the last living star of the silent era to some of today's biggest stars-for a book that I hope will excite other young people about film history and the moments, films and people who have been a part of it. It has been the most challenging thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding.
Surprisingly, the most interesting interviews are often not with the Academy Award winners and world-famous stars (though they are undeniably cool), but with one of those 'little people' who most forget to remember until one day they come across their obituary. Their names aren't as familiar or exciting, but their unique vantage point of film history has provided them with stories that cannot be beaten-people like Jerry Maren, a midget who was picked out of a vaudeville act and cast as the Lollipop Guild Munchkin in 'The Wizard of Oz,' or Kenny Baker, another little person who a generation later operated inside R2-D2 in all six 'Star Wars' films, or Ruth Warrick, who was the last surviving cast member of 'Citizen Kane' and granted me what proved to be the last interview of her life. Each one of these conversations feels like discovering 'Rosebud.'
This account, however, is not about my project, or me, but about an event in film history that took place 60 years ago this week. You don't have to like black-and-white movies to find it interesting or relevant to your life, because it is above all a story of human courage, and those don't go out of style. This event was part of a larger moment in time that forever impacted our country, the film industry, and an actress whose name you almost surely do not know, but who impressed me as much as any with whom I have spoken.
This past Saturday marked the 60th anniversary of one of the most significant events in film history-one that most people fail to remember. On October 27, 1947, the members of the Committee for the First Amendment risked their careers by flying to Washington and protesting against the House Committee of Un-American Activities.
Screenwriter Philip Dunne and directors John Huston and William Wyler had formed CFA a month earlier, because they felt that the right to freedom of speech, which is guaranteed by the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, was being threatened by HUAC. They were soon joined by some high-profile friends, including Lucille Ball, Humphrey Bogart, Gene Kelly, Judy Garland, Katharine Hepburn, Danny Kaye and Frank Sinatra, among others.
In 1946, in reaction to the growing 'Red Scare,' the U.S. House of Representatives made the nine-member HUAC a standing committee, and Rep. J. Parnell Thomas (R-N.J.) its chairman. Almost immediately, Thomas and his colleagues began promoting the idea, initially advanced by the previous HUAC chairman Rep. Martin Dies (D-T.X.), that Communists were attempting to insert propaganda into popular entertainment in order to corrupt the American public. Thomas traveled to Hollywood to share his suspicions with studio chiefs and seek the names of potential "subversives." He then returned to Washington and began calling those individuals to testify.
Some acknowledged and renounced past left-wing activity, and also named others with whom they had associated or believed had been involved in similar activity. These "friendly witnesses" preserved their careers by ruining others' and therefore have been regarded with great disdain by survivors and students of the period. In the fall of 1947, however, 10 of the 39 subpoenaed witnesses took a more principled stand and refused to share any such information with HUAC-regardless of the personal and professional implications of doing so-in order to fend off censorship and preserve the integrity of the First Amendment. This group, which became known as the "Hollywood 10," consisted of screenwriters and directors Alvah Bessie, Herbert Biberman, Lester Cole, and Edward Dmytryk, among others.
One by one, they were called before HUAC, and one by one, they refused to answer the infamous question: "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" Enraged, Thomas threatened to cite them for contempt of Congress, a charge that carried with it a significant prison sentence, but the Hollywood 10 held their ground.
With the matter coming to a head, members of the CFA decided to use their celebrity to call attention to the situation. On October 26, 1947, they participated in Hollywood Fights Back, a broadcast on ABC radio in which they each read brief but passionate statements in support of the Hollywood 10 and in defense of their industry. Then, the next day, 26 of them boarded a plane for Washington. On the way, they stopped at airfields in cities across the country to share their concerns with the Americans who came to greet them. Eventually they landed in Washington, where they sat in the audience of HUAC hearings in respectful protest for several days.
Their efforts failed to yield results. They departed with the Hollywood 10 still in jeopardy. Upon their return, the increasingly intimidating climate got the better of several members, who made statements and wrote articles renouncing the trip. Bogart, for instance, said he was "duped" into going, not realizing that the Hollywood 10 actually were Communists.
While CFA broke apart, the fear-mongerers only grew stronger. On December 2, HUAC cited each of the Hollywood 10 for contempt. The following day, the studio executives who employed them met behind closed doors and then issued a press release known as the "Waldorf Statement," condemning and explicitly blacklisting them, as well as terminating their contracts. Shunned by their industry, all 10 ultimately were found guilty and received sentences ranging between six and 12 months behind bars. For over a decade after their release, they were unable to find work.
The situation got worse before it got better. On June 22, 1950, Counterattack, a right-wing publication, began circulating a pamphlet titled "Red Channels" among studio executives. It accused 151 people from the industry of being "Red Fascists and their sympathizers." They, too, were subsequently blacklisted. Again, careers were ruined, families were destroyed, and lives were cut short.
All of this sounds rather depressing, and it was, but it is not the end of the story. This summer, I traveled to Los Angeles to conduct interviews for the book I am writing. One of the people I spoke with was Marsha Hunt, an 89-year-old woman with the looks and memory of someone decades younger, who in the 1930s and 1940s was one of the top stars in Hollywood. She began under contract with Paramount, moved to MGM (where she starred in Pride and Prejudice and was named the studio's "Best Dressed" actress), graced the cover of the March 6, 1950 Life magazine, and had offers from all three networks to star in her own show on the new medium of television. And then, even quicker than she had risen, she fell: her inclusion in Red Channels brought an abrupt halt to her blossoming career.
For the record, Hunt never was a Communist, not that she ever invoked that in her defense. She simply felt it was no crime to be a Communist or to refuse to discuss being one. She had been one of the members of CFA aboard the flight that left for Washington on October 27, 1947-one who didn't distance herself from the trip upon her return. In fact, the plight of the Hollywood 10 only prompted Hunt to continue the fight. She spoke out on committees (including as a member of the SAG board), in petitions and among friends and colleagues. For her principled stand, she lost her career, but never apologized or expressed regret.
Remembering the date on Saturday, I called Hunt, who turned 90 a little over a week ago, to thank her-on behalf of all of us-for what she did 60 years ago that day. She said she marked the anniversary by re-enacting her part in the Hollywood Fights Back broadcast at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles (The original broadcast, it should be noted, was co-written by screenwriter Robert Presnell, her late husband). Hunt noted that upon her arrival at the event, veteran actor James Whitmore, who was also reading a part, greeted her by asking, "What are you doing here? We're both supposed to be dead!"
Hunt, for her part, says she feels great and wants to live for at least 10 more years, "and then I'll look and see if it's worth hanging around." She says her best work is ahead of her and wants to make sure that mistakes of the past are not repeated. "We have things to be watchful about," she cautions. For example, she states, "The PATRIOT Act is misnamed. It steps on Constitutional rights and has to be protected against." It speaks volumes that Hunt, entering her 10th decade, is still looking out for the rest of us. One can only hope that we'll do a better job of looking out for ourselves.
Scott Feinberg '08 is working on a book about the history of film as seen through the eyes of the people who were a part of it. It features an introduction by Academy Award winner Margaret O'Brien and interviews with more than 75 key figures from the world of film, from the last living star of the silent era through some of today's biggest stars. Feinberg hopes it will excite other young people about the great films and filmmakers of the past.
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