The Grove Book of Hollywood by Christopher Silvester

Author:Christopher Silvester
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 1998-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

Harry Cohn Continues to Employ a Known Commie

Garson Kanin, Hollywood (1974)

It is often difficult to distinguish between courage, stubbornness, and principle – particularly as Harry Cohn exemplified these qualities.

When the notorious witch-hunt was on, the House Committee on Un-American Activities was combing the film industry for signs of subversion. It was an ugly period and brought out the worst in many: cowardice, fear, greed, vindictiveness, deception, informing, and lying.

A solemn group of Cohn’s executive assistants came in to see him late one afternoon on urgent business.

‘What’s a matter?’ said Cohn, lighting a cigar. ‘You guys look like a funeral.’

The group exchanged a look. The spokesman began.

‘Listen, Harry. Those Washington guys from the Committee? You know. They’re around.’

‘The hell with ‘em,’ said Cohn.

‘Take it easy, Harry. It’s not so simple. They’re moving, studio to studio, and they’re going through the list of every single person on the payroll in every single department.’

‘So what about it?’

‘Thank God we got tipped off. It cost something but we got tipped off.’

‘Cost what?’ demanded Harry. ‘How much?’

‘Never mind that for now. That’s not important.’

‘It’s important to me. It’s my money!’

‘Will you shut up, Harry, and listen for a minute?’

This sort of outburst from an associate – rare, unbelievable – conveyed to Cohn the gravity of the situation and he did indeed fall silent. The spokesman went on.

‘The way they work it is this way. They’ve got their own list. Not just the Red Channels thing but their own list and that’s what they use to compare it with our list and anybody they find makes us look bad, because we’re not supposed to employ Communists.’

‘We don’t,’ shouted Cohn.

‘Wait a minute, Harry.’

‘Name me one!’

‘Take it easy.’

‘Name me one,’ shouted Cohn. ‘I dare you!’

‘All right. John Howard Lawson.’

Cohn jumped up and struck his desk top with his open palm. A characteristic act. He had learned that it made a more startling noise than the conventional fist thumping.

‘Who says so?’ he demanded.

‘He does.’

‘Who does?’

‘He does’

‘Who’s he for Christ’s sake?’

‘John Howard Lawson.’

Cohn sat down again and stared at his staff, incredulously.

‘John Howard Lawson says he’s a Communist?’ he asked. ‘He says so himself?’

‘He doesn’t make any bones about it, Harry. It’s his political affiliation. He doesn’t hide it. He admits it freely. He takes the position that there’s no law against it and that he has a right to be a member of any legal party there is.’

‘The Communist party is legal?’ asked Cohn.

‘It is so far.’

Cohn shook his head. ‘Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,’ he said.

‘So there you are.’

‘Where?’

‘We’ve got to get John Howard Lawson off the lot right now. Today. Off our payroll, off our list. Off our property. But right away, Harry. It can’t wait.’

Cohn stared at the faces in the room, one by one. Everyone knew what he was thinking. They were thinking the same thing: John Howard Lawson had written the screenplay for Sahara, one of the studio’s few profitable films of the previous season. In fact, the most profitable. Without it, the company report would have made depressing reading for the stockholders.

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