Bringing Up Oscar: The Story of the Men and Women Who Founded the Academy

by Debra Ann Pawlak

  THE GUARDIANS

  •

  Frederick W. Beetson—As secretary of the MPPDA, Beetson had recently returned from New York where negotiations concerning open versus closed union shops were started, averting a strike by studio craftsmen. The Central Casting Corporation was celebrating its first anniversary and, for the month of January 1927, placed over 30,000 extras in the movies. Beetson also faced censorship issues. He, along with major producers, soon pledged that movies would no longer contain profanity, disrespect clergymen or deride the U.S. Constitution—in particular the prohibition amendment. The group also promised to clean up their billboards. The “Don’ts and Be Carefuls” were about to kick in.

  •

  George W. Cohen—By now, Cohen had been with the law firm of Loeb and Loeb for almost three years. Married and the father of a two-year-old son, Cohen had become firmly entrenched in the legal wranglings of the motion picture industry. Louis B. Mayer called upon his trusted lawyers, Loeb and Cohen, to develop a solid constitution and practical by-laws for the organization he envisioned. The attorneys worked closely with the Academy’s original founders clearly documenting their intent, duties and responsibilities, officer election guidelines, membership rules and a formal method for conducting meetings, as well as creating amendments. They then submitted the completed paperwork to the state of California.

  •

  Edwin J. Loeb—The law firm of Loeb and Loeb counted among their clients Sam Goldwyn, Carl Laemmle, Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. They also represented Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg and assisted with the legalities concerning the establishment of MGM. Loeb and his wife, Bessie, were parents of two girls, thirteen-year-old Marjorie and ten-year-old Virginia. Loeb had recently handled a case for B.P. Fineman, general manager of Film Booking Offices (FBO) Studios, Inc. Fineman was embroiled in a lawsuit with actress Peggy Udall who charged him with “overfriendliness.” He countered by saying Udall tried to force him into giving her a contract. Another case of Hollywood “he said … she said.”

  THE TECHIES

  •

  Joseph Arthur Ball—In early 1927, Ball and his team of color engineers were still attempting to capture on film that mulish blue hue. The current two-color (red and green) process was workable, but could be much improved upon by adding a third color. The high cost of color film and its quality also remained problematic for filmmakers. After completing his work on The Black Pirate (1926) featuring Douglas Fairbanks, Ball was back in the lab attempting to improve the film itself. His team perfected a new dye-transfer process, which involved the use of specially prepared gelatin, preventing the film from buckling. At home, the thirty-two-year-old Ball and his wife were soon expecting their first child.

  •

  Cedric Gibbons—Brought in by Louis B. Mayer to head MGM’s Art Department, Gibbons ran his sector like an architectural office. Many of his staff members were actual architects and draftsmen that were organized into several distinct groups. A supervisor who reported directly to Gibbons ran each area. While he encouraged imaginative sets, accuracy was also important. Gibbons established an extensive library at the studio that included detailed books on art and architecture from around the world. Now in his mid-thirties and recently divorced from first wife Gwendolyn, Gibbons was an uncle to his sister’s teenage daughter, Veronica, whom everyone called Rocky.

  •

  Roy J. Pomeroy—With his knack for working on-screen magic, Pomeroy was an all-important figure at Paramount. As a result, he was appointed chairman of a special committee formed by several major studios, including Paramount and MGM, to analyze different sound systems. In addition, he would soon be working on one of Paramount’s most important features, Wings (1927), starring Clara Bow. The Great War drama, directed by former World War I aviator William Wellman, realistically depicted aerial battle scenes. Thanks to Pomeroy, the buzzing planes and booming explosions were recorded and played back by technicians who synchronized the sound as the movie played.

  A LITTLE SUNSHINE

  •

  Sid Grauman—They didn’t call Sid Grauman “Little Sunshine” for nothing. Small in stature and always smiling, he was one of filmdom’s most prominent figures. His lavish theaters were now focal points for the evolving movie industry. Stars, directors, producers, all sought his favor. Everyone wanted their films premiered at one of his over-the-top establishments. In addition to being President of United Artists Theater Chain, the always upbeat Grauman was busy with the construction of yet another theater. This new movie palace was located on Hollywood Boulevard a few blocks down from the Egyptian Theater. Grauman’s Chinese Theater was destined to become his most memorable.

  These 36 men and women realized that a daunting challenge was before them as they came together at the Ambassador Hotel. The industry they had shaped from novelty to art form was in trouble.

  All together now, it was show time!

  Chapter Seventeen

  LET’S GO ON WITH THE SHOW!

  Los Angeles’ Ambassador Hotel was only six years old in 1927, and considered a favorite Hollywood hotspot. Situated on Wilshire Boulevard between Catalina and Mariposa, the hotel was also home to a world-famous nightclub, the Cocoanut Grove, where nimble-footed celebrities often danced the night away. Frequented by the rich and famous, Louis B. Mayer knew the importance of location. He shrewdly chose the popular venue for the banquet he organized on January 11, 1927. Always concerned with that “class factor,” he could count on the Ambassador to provide not only an elegant backdrop, but an outstanding meal as well. His guests would be in a receptive mood that night and open to his ideas.

  Mayer needn’t have worried. The enthusiastic group was already in tune with what was being proposed. After impassioned speeches by Mayer, Nagel and Niblo, each guest was given a chance to talk about their personal vision of this organized entity, as well as their own interests and any specific activities that they each might support. These 36 individuals, now joined together as founders of the Academy, unanimously agreed to continue meeting informally in the coming months to develop further details, as well as a constitution and by-laws. It is believed that Nagel, either at this meeting or one that soon followed, also suggested the name “International Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences” for the new association.

  Following some discussion, the founders agreed to the title, but only after dropping the word “International.” According to Pierre Norman Sands who documented those early years:

  … the title “Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences” reflected their convictions that the organization should represent all facets of motion picture production both in the arts and sciences. They also believed that this particular title would properly reflect the dignity and honor of a profession considered by them to be the equal of other creative fields of endeavor.

  By May, the industrious group had been officially recognized by the State of California and was planning another banquet—this time at the Biltmore Hotel. Located in Pershing Square in downtown Los Angeles, the luxury hotel opened in 1923. It was the largest hotel west of Chicago at that time and another favorite gathering place of Hollywood’s elite. The founders invited a cross-section of 300 men and women from the motion picture industry to the Biltmore on May 11, 1927 to discuss the Academy and what they hoped to achieve within the industry. According to the invitation:

  If we producing workers, actors, directors, technicians, cinematographers and producing executives who have the future progress of this great universal entertainment at heart, will now join unselfishly into one big concerted movement, we will be able to effectually accomplish those essential things which we have hitherto neglected. We can take aggressive action in meeting outside attacks that are unjust. We can promote harmony and solidarity among our membership and among our different branches. We can reconcile any internal differences that may exist or arise. We can adopt such ways and means as are proper to further the welfare and protect the honor and goo
d repute of our profession. We can encourage the improvement and advancement of the arts and sciences of our profession by the interchange of constructive ideas and by awards of merit for distinctive achievements. We can take steps to develop the greater power and influence of the screen.

  That night, the founders stuck together. They all sat side-by-side at one very long table that stood in the front of the room. Guests were seated at much smaller round tables, each adorned with a colorful flower arrangement, set up throughout the banquet hall. Under the direction of the Academy’s first President Douglas Fairbanks and Vice President Fred Niblo, the founders made it perfectly clear that the attendees were invited as their guests and under no pressure to join that day. They were simply there to enjoy a meal and hear about the newly formed group. Speakers included Cecil B. DeMille who reminded all present of the considerable power and influence they wielded. The founders must have made a strong impression. Of the 300 that attended, 231 signed up on the spot and paid their $100 dues to M.C. Levee, the Academy’s first Treasurer while Secretary Frank E. Woods took notes.

  Enough money was collected to fund the Academy’s first offices on Hollywood Boulevard. By the following November, their headquarters were ensconced down the street at the brand new Roosevelt Hotel that had just opened its doors six months earlier. The Spanish-style building was named after President Theodore Roosevelt and financially backed by a group of investors that included Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and Louis B. Mayer.

  Multiple committees were also established to accomplish specific goals. With writer Frank E. Woods actively involved, the Conciliation Committee was formed to settle disputes. Scholarly actor Milton Sills headed up the Committee on College Affairs and worked with members including Cecil B. DeMille, Irving Thalberg, Joseph Arthur Ball and Roy Pomeroy to ensure future filmmakers would have the advantage of a formal education. The Standards Committee was tasked with identifying industry-wide policies and practices. A committee chaired by Cedric Gibbons was also formed to design the Academy’s Award of Merit Program; Sid Grauman, Bess Meredyth, Richard Barthelmess and Henry King were also part of his team.

  And as if tackling all of these initiatives wasn’t enough, by the fall of 1927, the Warner Brothers premiered The Jazz Singer, the first feature-length film with synchronized dialogue spoken in between songs that were sung by entertainer Al Jolson. When audiences heard Jolson ad lib: “Wait a minute, wait a minute! You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!,” they hung on every audible syllable.

  After The Jazz Singer, the expressive silent pictures seemed stiff and outdated. Spectators were no longer content to simply watch—they wanted to listen. Sound, however, meant industry-wide changes and many of Hollywood’s top leaders like Jesse Lasky and Irving Thalberg maintained that “talkies” were no more than a temporary whim. People would soon tire of hearing their favorite players speak and filming would return to the silent norm of business as usual. Within a matter of months, these same men had to face facts: sound was here to stay and there was no going back.

  Sound, however, meant a whole new way of doing business. Soundproof stages had to be built to keep out unwanted noises while filming. Stationary microphones were now planted among flowers or concealed behind various props around the sets. Actors had to remain within range or their lines would be inaudible. Cameras stood still as they were enclosed inside soundproof booths causing many a cameraman to swelter. A new employee called a “sound mixer” sat in a small room behind glass listening to every line of dialogue on a headset. If the talking didn’t meet his approval, he spoke up causing many delays and limitless irritation for the directors.

  Wardrobe had to alter costumes making sure to use material that wouldn’t rustle. Set directors had to re-evaluate their construction to minimize echoes and extraneous sounds. Directors could no longer use their megaphones or give pertinent pointers while the cameras were rolling. Writers had to rethink their screenplays adding dialogue where once pantomime sufficed. Even film editors had to learn how to work with dialogue so they didn’t cut important lines. Nervous actors either learned to talk in front of a camera or they were out of a job. Studio musicians who normally provided mood music fell victims to progress. Finally, theaters all over the world that had made it their business to run silent films now had to be wired for sound or face closing their doors.

  The Academy responded to the technical issues that accompanied the sound revolution. Their technical committee with Joseph Arthur Ball, Irving Thalberg, M.C. Levee and Fred Beetson took on three critical issues: camera noise, improved set materials, and stage construction, along with the buzzing of the arc lights.

  Meetings were held exclusively to discuss the impacts of sound on the industry as the L.A. Times reported on September 23, 1928:

  The academy has been holding a series of conferences on the subject of talking pictures, which have been very actively and largely attended.…

  One report has already been published on the investigations into the subject of incandescent illumination, which occupied the attention of the body for four or five months. This deals extensively with the cost of this new form of lighting, the use of which in studios has been stimulated through the academy efforts. It also takes up the problems of photography, make-up and the like which have been induced by the change from the old form of arc lighting. Practically all studios now use the incandescents in a majority of sets. They are virtually a necessity for sound pictures.

  The impression is gleaned from all this that the academy is providing by degrees a clearinghouse for the exchange of ideas in the industry. And while a great many of the subjects dealt with have little of interest for the public at large, they are of enormous value to the industry, and it is surmised will lead to economies and other benefits in the making of pictures.

  The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences was off to a running start with forward-thinking founders and committed members who wanted to secure not just the industry, but also the art form for future generations to come. And those original men and women who got the ball rolling still had a lot more to offer.

  Part Three

  BABY, TAKE A BOW!

  Chapter Eighteen

  SCHOLARS, TOUGH GUYS AND BISHOPS

  Matinée idol Milton Sills valued education. A former college professor, now considered one of Hollywood’s most steadfast leading men, Sills believed that the motion picture industry, in order to remain successful, must be passed on to a new generation of formally trained filmmakers. It’s no wonder that he chaired the Academy’s Committee on College Affairs. Sills assisted with the development of the groundbreaking curriculum at the University of Southern California (USC) where a new four-year program dedicated to the technical training of filmmakers began in the fall of 1927. Students would not only earn their degrees, but would also be given a chance to work in the studios. According to Dr. Karl T. Waugh, USC Dean of the College of Liberal Arts:

  As is the case with all newly-evolved and rapidly growing enterprises, the motion-picture industry has been manned largely by those found readiest, who seemed to have some of the qualifications desired. It is now beyond the experimental stage, and has arrived at the point where success in the various lines of motion-picture work is to be achieved only by those who have made the most thorough and careful preparation for the work, and who have the best practical and cultural backgrounds for the tasks to be undertaken.

  At work, Sills was in his third year under contract with First National Pictures where he continued to star in various dramatic roles that kept movie patrons returning to the theaters. His abundant fan mail flooded the studio’s mailroom while his personal appearances created chaos. During a visit to Chicago, rowdy female admirers mobbed him just outside the Stevens Hotel. Security men came to the rescue and escorted the disheveled actor into the building where another crowd of ladies anxiously awaited their hero.

  One of Sills’ final pictures for First National was His Captive Woman (1929) adapted for the screen by scenaris
t Carey Wilson. The film was originally released in its silent form on February 3, 1929 and then again with sound a few months later—a common practice for studios at that time. Most theaters were not yet equipped to run talkies, and to ensure success at the box office, it was necessary to release two versions—one with sound and one without.

  At home, Sills and his new wife had a son, Kenyon Clarence, born on May 6, 1927. The family lived in Brentwood Heights on an estate they called “El Sueño” (The Dream). His daughter, Dorothy, recalled that the newly built home was situated in the middle of a deserted area where wild coyotes gave chase to scampering rabbits. The house had a large library where the actor kept thousands of books, a private tennis court where he practiced a favorite sport and an elaborate garden for his carefully cultivated plants.

  Sometime after filming Love and The Devil (1929) with Hungarian actress Maria Corda, Sills suffered what the press termed a “nervous breakdown.” His wife took him to New York where he was admitted to a sanitarium in Westchester County. Kenyon, who declined to discuss the specifics of her husband’s malady, blamed his illness on overwork. Once he was released from the hospital, a much thinner Sills spent most of his time golfing and relaxing with friends and family. One year later, a stronger Sills returned to moviemaking—this time with the Fox Film Corporation.