Reagan: The Life (15 page)

Other witnesses were dealt with more harshly.
John Howard Lawson was one of those identified to the committee by Jack Warner and others as a subversive; he was summoned to explain himself. Trouble started at the outset of his testimony when he began to read an opening statement. Chairman Thomas demanded to see a copy. After a glance he tossed it down. “
I don’t care to read any more of the statement,” he said. “The statement will not be read.”

“You have spent one week vilifying me before the American public—” Lawson objected.

“Just a minute—” Thomas said.

“—and you refuse to allow me to make a statement on my rights as an American citizen.”

“I refuse you to make the statement because of the first sentence in your statement. That statement is not pertinent to the inquiry. Now, this is a congressional committee—a congressional committee set up by law.
We must have orderly procedure, and we are going to have orderly procedure. Mr. Stripling, identify the witness.”

“The rights of American citizens are important in this room here,” Lawson insisted. “And I intend to stand up for those rights, Congressman Thomas.”

“Mr. Lawson, will you state your full name, please?” Stripling asked.

“I wish to protest against the unwillingness of this committee to read a statement,” Lawson continued, “when you permitted Mr. Warner, Mr. Mayer, and others to read statements in this room. My name is John Howard Lawson.”

Things calmed down until Stripling asked whether Lawson was a member of the Screen Writers Guild.

“The raising of any question here in regard to membership, political beliefs, or affiliation—” Lawson replied.

“Mr. Chairman—” Stripling appealed.

“—is absolutely beyond the powers of this committee,” Lawson continued.

“Mr. Chairman—” Stripling said again.

“But—” Lawson attempted.

Thomas pounded his gavel.

“It is a matter of public record that I am a member of the Screen Writers Guild,” Lawson acknowledged.

Several audience members applauded.

Thomas glowered. “I want to caution the people in the audience: You are the guests of this committee and you will have to maintain order at all times. I do not care for any applause or any demonstrations of one kind or another.”

Stripling asked the chairman to require the witness to be responsive to the questions.

“I think the witness will be more responsive,” Thomas said, frowning at Lawson.

Lawson resisted. “Mr. Chairman, you permitted—”

Thomas pounded his gavel to make Lawson stop.

Lawson continued: “—witnesses in this room to make answers of three or four or five hundred words to questions here.”

“Mr. Lawson,” Thomas said, “will you please be responsive to these questions and not continue to try to disrupt these hearings.”

“I am not on trial here, Mr. Chairman. This committee is on trial here before the American people. Let us get that straight.”

Stripling proceeded with the questioning. “Mr. Lawson, how long have you been a member of the Screen Writers Guild?”

“Since it was founded in its present form, in 1933.”

“Have you ever held any office in the guild?”

“The question of whether I have held office is also a question which is beyond the purview of this committee.”

Thomas pounded his gavel again.

Lawson ignored him. “It is an invasion of the right of association under the Bill of Rights of this country. It is also a matter—”

Thomas pounded his gavel yet again. “You asked to be heard,” he told Lawson. “Through your attorney, you asked to be heard, and we want you to be heard. And if you don’t want to be heard, then we will excuse you and we will put the record in without your answers.”

“I wish to frame my own answers to your questions, Mr. Chairman, and I intend to do so.”

“You will be responsive to the questions or you will be excused from the witness stand.”

There was more jousting, more interrupting, more gaveling. Finally, Stripling asked the question everyone in the room had been waiting for: “Mr. Lawson, are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party of the United States?”

“In framing my answer to that question I must emphasize the points that I have raised before,” Lawson replied. “The question of communism is in no way related to this inquiry, which is an attempt to get control of the screen and to invade the basic rights of American citizens in all fields.”

“Mr. Chairman—” Stripling said.

Another set of gavel blows.

Lawson continued over the interruption and the gaveling: “The question here relates not only to the question of my membership in any political organization, but this committee is attempting to establish the right—”

More gaveling.

“—which has been historically denied to any committee of this sort, to invade the rights and privileges and immunity of American citizens, whether they be Protestant, Methodist, Jewish, or Catholic, whether they be Republicans or Democrats or anything else.”

More gaveling, and an order from Thomas: “Mr. Lawson, just quiet down again. Mr. Lawson, the most pertinent question that we can ask is whether or not you have ever been a member of the Communist Party. Now, do you care to answer that question?”

“You are using the old technique, which was used in Hitler’s Germany, in order to create a scare here—”

More gavel blows.

“—in order to create an entirely false atmosphere in which this hearing is conducted—”

More gavels.

“—in order that you can then smear the motion-picture industry, and you can proceed to the press, to any form of communication in this country.”

Thomas: “You have learned—”

“The Bill of Rights was established precisely to prevent the operation of any committee which could invade the basic rights of Americans. Now, if you want to know—”

Stripling: “Mr. Chairman, the witness is not answering the question.”

“If you want to know—”

Gavel after gavel.

“—about the perjury that has been committed here and the perjury that is planned—”

Thomas: “Mr. Lawson—”

“—you will permit me and my attorneys to bring in here the witnesses that testified last week and you will permit us to cross-examine these witnesses, and we will show up the whole tissue of lies—”

Thomas pounded the gavel and declared, “We are going to get the answer to that question if we have to stay here for a week. Are you a member of the Communist Party, or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

“It is unfortunate and tragic that I have to teach this committee the basic principles of American—”

More gaveling. “That is not the question. That is not the question. The question is: Have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

“I am framing my answer in the only way in which any American citizen can frame his answer to a question which absolutely invades his rights.”

“Then you refuse to answer that question—is that correct?”

“I have told you that I will offer my beliefs, affiliations, and everything else to the American public, and they will know where I stand—”

Thomas had heard enough. Pounding his gavel more definitively than ever, he directed the security officers present, “Excuse the witness.”

“—as they do from what I have written.”

More gavel blows. “Stand away from the stand,” he ordered Lawson.

“I have written Americanism for many years, and I shall continue to fight for the Bill of Rights, which you are trying to destroy.”

“Officers, take this man away from the stand.”

Applause and boos filled the hearing room as Lawson was led away.

Thomas pounded the gavel at the audience. “There will be no demonstrations. No demonstrations, for or against.”

L
AWSON
’
S PERFORMANCE AND
experience were repeated, in essence if not in detail, by nine other witnesses: writers and directors. All refused to answer the crucial question put by the committee: whether they were or had ever been members of the Communist Party. The
Hollywood Ten, as they soon came to be called, held that the committee lacked authority to require what amounted, in the fervid anticommunist mood of the time, to self-incrimination. They stood on the First and
Fifth Amendments, which trumped, they contended, the authorizing statutes of the Committee on Un-American Activities.

The committee responded by unanimously charging the ten with contempt of Congress. The full House supported the contempt charge by the margin of 346 to 17.

The Hollywood Ten became heroes and pariahs simultaneously. Leftists and many liberals hailed them as defenders of freedom of speech and association, artists who placed their calling and convictions above their personal interests. Conservatives condemned them as foreign agents or misguided dupes.

The movie industry itself split along slightly different lines. Studio executives and producers were initially ambivalent. They hesitated to impose a loyalty test on writers and directors, fearing lawsuits, negative publicity, and loss of creative talent.
Eric Johnston, the president of the
Motion Picture Association of America, summarized the drawbacks of any politically inspired ban or blacklist: “
With no vested right to be heard and no vested right to challenge accusations against him, the innocent citizen is helpless. He can be indicted and convicted in the public mind on the unchallenged say-so of a witness who may be completely sincere but can be either misinformed or riddled with prejudice.”

Yet when public opinion sided with the House and against the Hollywood Ten, the executives shifted their position. They countered the free-speech argument by arguing that the crux of the matter wasn’t speech but employment. The
First Amendment guaranteed free speech to the Hol
lywood Ten, but it didn’t guarantee them jobs. The studios were entirely within their rights in withholding employment from those who damaged the studios’ business by alienating customers. The executives gathered hastily at New York’s Waldorf Astoria hotel in November 1947 to consider their course; the meeting produced a statement delineating their policy: “
Members of the Association of Motion Picture Producers deplore the action of the ten Hollywood men who have been cited for contempt. We do not desire to prejudge their legal rights, but their actions have been a disservice to their employers and have impaired their usefulness to the industry. We will forthwith discharge or suspend without compensation those in our employ and will not re-employ any of the ten until such time as he is acquitted or has purged himself of contempt and declares under oath that he is not a Communist.” Nor would this policy be confined to the Hollywood Ten. “We will not knowingly employ a Communist or a member of any party or group which advocates the overthrow of the Government of the United States by force or by illegal or unconstitutional methods.” The producers acknowledged that their policy entailed hazards. “There is the danger of hurting innocent people. There is the risk of creating an atmosphere of fear.” Creative work suffered when fear ruled. But the risk was worth taking, for the good of the country.

T
HE
HUAC
HEARINGS
on Hollywood changed Reagan’s life. Beyond exposing him to the allure of politics and premiering him on a new stage, the hearings placed him at the bank of an ideological chasm, which he leaped right over. He sided with the studios on the communist question with scarcely a second thought. He would have had greater difficulty had the
Hollywood Ten included actors, his constituents as guild president. But writers and directors weren’t his responsibility. What
was
his responsibility was to keep the actors working, and in this regard his and the guild’s interest coincided with that of the producers.

Not long after the release of the
Waldorf Declaration, as the producers’ policy statement came to be called, Reagan and other representatives of the movie guilds met with the industry executives. Louis Mayer explained that the motive behind the declaration was economic rather than political; the producers’ primary obligation, he said, was “
to protect the industry and to draw the greatest possible number of people into the theaters.”

Reagan saw his responsibility in similar terms. He quizzed Mayer and the other producers on the terms of the declaration. How would they know who was a communist and who wasn’t? Would the word of the person in question suffice? Mayer responded that no formal screening procedure had been established. The producers would use their discretion. Reagan asked what would happen if the congressional investigators charged someone with being a communist and that person denied it?
Nicholas Schenck of Loew’s, the corporate parent of MGM, answered that the industry would not abdicate decisions on hiring to Congress, but
if a congressional committee called a studio employee to testify and that employee refused to say whether he was a communist, he would be terminated. Reagan didn’t object.

Though Mayer and the other producers, and Reagan with them, cast the communist question as an economic issue, in the anxious atmosphere of the emerging
Cold War it had undeniable political ramifications. It would have had them even if the
Hollywood Ten had not taken their stand precisely on the politics of the HUAC probe. After they did so, no one could deny that politics was at the heart of the matter. By siding with the producers against the Hollywood Ten, Reagan proclaimed his anticommunist politics to the world. He didn’t know it yet, but he had found the issue on which he would build a political career.

P
ARNELL
T
HOMAS WASN
’
T
the only one investigating communists
in Hollywood, nor was his committee the only group to whom Reagan spoke.
J. Edgar Hoover and the FBI had tracked subversives since before the war. They initially focused on German sympathizers, and in this context agents of the bureau interviewed Reagan in 1943.
He reported having encountered a man they were trailing, and he said he had nearly punched him for anti-Semitic remarks at a party. After the war Hoover’s men shifted their aim to communists, and they renewed their acquaintance with Reagan. They visited him at his and Jane’s home in Hollywood amid the stagehands’ strike. By Reagan’s recollection he initially rebuffed them. “
I don’t go in for red-baiting,” he said. They replied that they didn’t either. They were looking for spies and saboteurs. They added that they thought Reagan would want to help them, in light of the fact that the communists hated him so much. He asked what they meant. They described a meeting at which some radicals had posed the question: “What are we going to do about that sonofabitching bastard Reagan?” Reagan decided to cooperate. “We exchanged information for a few hours,” he recalled. “The whole interview was an eye-opener.”