When Hollywood Had a King

by Connie Bruck

  Schreiber was surely disappointed by the delay. In a memo to Peter Flanigan in late May (with information from a recent phone conversation with Schreiber underlined in red), Loken wrote, “Taft Schreiber advises that what is really needed is favorable intervention by the Antitrust Division in the movie industry suit against the networks.” In the margin, Flanigan wrote, “Pls. Review status of this. I had understood McLaren [antitrust division head] was contemplating this.” But the political considerations continued to favor postponement. Presidential aide Charles Colson, who was dedicated to finding ways to pressure the news media to change its critical coverage of the Nixon administration, met with Nixon and Flanigan on July 2, 1971, and argued strongly against the suit’s being filed. Before The Selling of the Pentagon had made the moment inopportune, and now the Pentagon Papers case was being fought. In a memo to John Ehrlichman regarding the meeting, Colson wrote that “the President made it very clear that he would like the anti-trust case proposed against the TV networks held up for at least several months at which point he may want to review it again. The point is that it is worth much more to us as a threat than as an accomplished fact.” Or, as Nixon had expressed it in his conversation with Colson earlier that day, “If the threat of screwing them is going to help us more with their programming than doing it, then keep the threat. Don’t screw them now. [Otherwise] they’ll figure that we’re done.” And, in his memo, Colson had concluded by telling Ehrlichman, “The President told Pete Flanigan to talk to the Justice Department to be sure that this is done. I am simply advising you in the event that you would like to make the point yourself with the Attorney General.”

  The president and his aides were contemplating his meeting with the motion picture people for a second time, at San Clemente in July. As they weighed the pros and cons of such a meeting, however, one concern was the network suit. In a memo to Flanigan, Loken warned that the movie people might “inquire whether Justice will intervene in the industry’s antitrust lawsuit against the networks, and I gather McLaren has not yet made a decision to intervene.” (Loken seemed unaware that the decision was not McLaren’s—nor was it the attorney general’s.) On the other hand, the accelerated depreciation rules, providing for faster write-off of production costs, were ready to be announced—but there was some sensitivity about how and when that would be done. As Loken had written to Flanigan in June, “Treasury is rather gun-shy of criticism that the White House is directing tax and IRS policy. . . . If the President plans to announce the depreciation changes in a meeting with industry leaders in California, it should be possible to have IRS release the ruling with little fanfare that day or the day before. This should avoid the appearance of leaving IRS no choice but to make a decision predetermined by the President.” However, Loken added, “It should not prevent RN from taking the credit.” In the end, Nixon decided not to meet with the movie people. And the tax changes were announced—not by Nixon but the IRS—in early September.

  On September 10, Variety ran a banner headline across its front page: “Tax Change Benefits Film Biz,” with the subhead, “IRS Approves ‘Schreiber Plan’ That Will Enable Companies to Accelerate Amortization.” “The plan takes its name from Taft B. Schreiber, veepee and director of MCA Inc.,” wrote A. D. Murphy. “He was the prime industry force in arranging for film industry’s ‘summit conference’ last April 5 with President Nixon at the Western White House, San Clemente. IRS okay of the major tax computational change occurred exactly five months after that meeting—something of a record alongside assorted current and past industry pitches for government help.” (It was surely not dubbed the “Schreiber Plan” at Treasury, but in Hollywood the name stuck. Responding to a letter of gratitude Charlton Heston had written to the president, Flanigan struck a slightly defensive note, striving to emphasize that the government action had been taken on the merits. “I am advised by tax officials at the Treasury Department that the Schreiber Plan, as you call it, is an eminently sound approach to the difficult question of film amortization.”) A few days after the IRS ruling, MCA issued a press release; Wasserman stated that because of the ruling, MCA had “given the immediate go-ahead” on five additional feature films to be produced in the U.S. over the next twelve months.

  All this time, Wasserman had been nearly invisible in a political scenario utterly dominated by Schreiber. That dominance, Wasserman implied, was something he had ceded to Schreiber most happily, and it went beyond the fact that Schreiber was the MCA Republican, and Wasserman the Democrat. “I never liked Nixon,” he said. “In his Senate race in 1950, Ronnie Reagan and I walked precincts for Helen Gahagan Douglas”—the congresswoman whom Nixon beat by a huge margin. Interestingly, though, Wasserman may not have been as disconnected from President Nixon as he appeared to be. Herbert Klein, Nixon’s director of communications and a longtime Californian, friendly with the MCA crowd, said, “We never really thought of Wasserman as being on the other side.” He added, “I’m sure he gave to us—probably not in his name. But I’m sure he gave.” The distance Wasserman seemed to keep, Klein insisted, was cosmetic. “We always went through Taft, whenever we wanted to get word to Wasserman.” Sidney Sheinberg, the MCA executive who was Wasserman’s protégé, and also a strong Democrat, recalled that Wasserman coordinated with Schreiber in this period. On the executive floors of MCA, the consensus was that there was much to be gained. “Nixon’s was an imperial kind of presidency,” Sheinberg said. “If you had a relationship with the White House, you could have an impact on what these so-called independent agencies did.”

  However imperceptible Wasserman’s collaboration had been previously, now he came into the open in the fall of 1971. He was spearheading a bipartisan effort on the part of the motion picture industry to win passage of the president’s tax package—because there was something truly momentous at stake for the motion picture industry. Investment tax credits, intended as a spur to economic growth, had been passed into law in 1962, allowing American companies to write off 7 percent of any investment made in machinery and equipment—that is, tangible property, which had a useful life of eight years or more. The motion picture industry could claim a credit for equipment such as cameras and projectors, but not for the full cost of making films—because while motion picture film is a depreciable asset, Treasury regulations stated that it is intangible property. But now, two very fortuitous things for the industry had occurred. Several months earlier, in May 1971, Walt Disney Productions, Inc., which had sued the government, arguing that it was entitled to the tax credit for the full cost of films, had won in the district court in Los Angeles. This decision could be used to bolster the industry’s legislative case for inclusion in the credit. Moreover, while the investment tax credit had been repealed in 1969, Nixon wanted to reinstate it as part of his revenue package for 1971. The financial implications for Hollywood were huge.

  Within the Nixon administration, Schreiber was given credit for bringing Wasserman into this joint effort, though it is doubtful Wasserman needed prompting. In a September 17 memo, Loken reported to Flanigan that Schreiber had met with Valenti, Wasserman, and Ed Weisl to discuss the tax legislation. And, he continued, “Schreiber convinced the group that the industry should push the entire RN tax package . . . with key Democrats in the Congress.” In case the motion picture producers’ influence was not sufficient, “Schreiber said the producers will enlist the aid of the distributors and exhibitors where needed to make an impact on the Democratic lawmakers.” Valenti—an ardent and well-connected Democrat who performed his job better when there was a Democratic administration—had been given his marching orders. “Valenti has been instructed to work for our full tax program and to give this effort top priority,” Loken wrote. And when the Revenue Act of 1971 was discussed on the floor of the House, Wilbur Mills, chairman of the Ways and Means Committee, uttered the words that would be transmuted into gold for Hollywood. Asked whether the costs of producing a film would qualify for the credit, just as the costs of acquiring a machine would q
ualify, Mills said, “That is correct.” According to Valenti, it was Wasserman who persuaded Mills of the wisdom of that position. And, Valenti said, “In those days, Ways and Means had no subcommittees. You only had to deal with Wilbur. If he said something, then everyone else saluted and went along.”

  For Wasserman, his support of Nixon’s revenue package was a well-defined, discrete public alliance. He would continue to leave Nixon fund-raising to Schreiber. And that suited Schreiber just fine. He had no desire to share this stage with Wasserman. Just as Wasserman had made much of his relationship with Johnson, and featured photographs of himself with the president in his home and his office, so Schreiber did with Nixon. (Ollie Atkins, the White House official photographer, enclosing a selection of prints of Schreiber with Nixon in the White House Library and the Rose Garden, wrote, “I assure you these are very rough prints but I think you look very friendly and you need not be alarmed about any strong lines or skin defects or the nose problem.”) Schreiber was so grateful for all Nixon had done that he seemed almost messianic about raising money for him. In a note to Flanigan on September 9, thanking him again for all that the Nixon administration had done “so far,” Schreiber wrote: “I am looking forward to the time when the President’s election campaign is in full gear and in my work for him I can reemphasize what a great man he is and why he deserves the support of every good American.”

  Even in this pre-campaign period, Schreiber was trying to build support for Nixon in Hollywood. It was not an easy task. Frank Price, a top TV executive at MCA close to Schreiber, recalled Schreiber’s asking him to have a cocktail party at his home for Nixon—not a fund-raiser, but a kind of outreach to people who had not voted for Nixon before. “I said, ‘What! I’ve spent my adult life hating Nixon!’ ” Price declared. “But Taft said it was important, Nixon was doing a big favor for our industry with the investment tax credit. He also enlisted Dick Zanuck and Sammy Davis, Jr., to host a cocktail party at their homes. And, I remember, I had let people know why I was inviting them to the party—that it was for Nixon. Word came back that I wasn’t supposed to tell people why they were coming. I said, if I can’t tell them why they’re coming, I’m not having the party. Finally, they said okay.” Schreiber also organized an event for Attorney General John Mitchell to attend a dinner in Los Angeles with people from the industry on November 9; the next morning, Mitchell met in his suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel with fourteen movie and television producers, including Schreiber.

  Not all Schreiber’s efforts were deemed so worthwhile. In a conversation with Haldeman in late September, Nixon complained about Kissinger’s spending so much time in Hollywood.

  NIXON: I talked to him [Henry] yesterday about his over-scheduling. He was going to California to meet with Jews, with Taft Schreiber—which he does on a regular basis. Taft Schreiber was getting 500 people to a big dinner. I said, ‘Henry, it’s not worth it . . .’

  HALDEMAN: First place, Taft Schreiber can get him 500 people—I could get him 5000 people, any night of the week, in any city in the country. Henry Kissinger, right now—I’d love to be his booking agent. No trouble at all, booking a crowd for Henry. . . . Whether he gets 500 or 5000 doesn’t mean much, either. He should be on TV . . . or at a university.

  NIXON: Meeting with Jews out there doesn’t mean one goddam thing for us . . .

  HALDEMAN: . . . We don’t need their money!

  NIXON: Right.

  HALDEMAN: We don’t need it and there’s a real question whether we’re gonna get it—and if we’re gonna get it, we’re gonna get it whether Henry makes a speech to these people or not.

  NIXON: Right. If we’re gonna get it, we’re gonna get it as a payoff for Israel.

  HALDEMAN: . . . either a payoff or a bribe.

  NIXON: . . . those people who came around with those five million dollars—where is it? Where is it? Where is those five million dollars they were gonna give?

  HALDEMAN: With no strings attached. The day a Jew gives five dollars with no strings attached!

  NIXON: That’s right.

  (words deleted)

  Referring to Jewish supporters of Israel, Haldeman concluded, “They’re a ruthless bunch. . . . They’re going to turn off the instant you don’t send them the signal they want and they’ll stay on as long as they think you’re going to. Anything they think they can pressure you into.” (Haldeman’s attitude toward Jews seemed both clear and consistent. In July 1970, he had written a memo to Dwight Chapin, a presidential aide, in which he said, “As a matter of general scheduling policy remember that from now through November all appointments should be weighed on the basis of their political implication. The President’s time should be used at the maximum extent possible to aid in picking up Senate seats. . . . We have, for the last year and one-half, overloaded schedule activity to Blacks, youth, and Jews. From here on, until further notice, there are to be no Jewish appointments set up per se.”)

  Israel was another item on Schreiber’s agenda, albeit not as high as Hollywood. And Nixon’s comment about the $5 million apparently referred to an offer connected to Schreiber, and described in Haldeman’s diaries. In an entry for May 27, 1971, Haldeman wrote that “the P” had asked him to look into a report from Len Garment, who said that “Taft Schreiber has told him that Sam Rothberg in Hollywood has committed to raising $5 million in Jewish money for the P’s reelection,” Haldeman wrote. “This is because of our position on Israel. The P’s concerned that we are sure to have it understood with the Jewish people that we will not accept any strings at all on any contribution in this area. He doesn’t want to get trapped into a situation there.” Asked about this offer, Garment confirmed that it had been made, but declined to say whether the money was given. However, an entry in John Mitchell’s log shows that in early January 1972—several months after Nixon was railing about the $5 million not having materialized—Mitchell had a meeting with Schreiber, Sam Rothberg, Luis Boyar, and Ted Cummings.

  His lack of support among Jews was a theme that Nixon harped on repeatedly, and that seemed to eat at him. In a conversation in June 1971 with Vice President Spiro Agnew, Nixon had said, steaming, “There isn’t a damn thing the Jews are gonna do for us. We have individual Jewish friends, like Bunny Lasker. You’ve got a few, and I’ve got Taft Schreiber in California. But as far as the Jewish vote, it’s eighty percent the other way. Eighty percent!” And his resentment contributed to a deep ambivalence about support for Israel. In a conversation with Haldeman in early May 1971, Nixon had insisted that the U.S. could not continue to be such a singularly staunch friend of Israel. “Now, Henry’s [Kissinger] argument will be that, well . . . the Jewish editorial writers and columnists in this country, if we’re nice to Israel, will be nicer to us on Vietnam . . . Who? The goddam Jews are all against us! . . . There’s no politics in it for me, to just be pro-Israeli. Now, godammit, there just isn’t. And when they talk to the contrary, they’re nuts! Now I know we’ve got a few friends—in California, we’ve got Taft Schreiber and Ted Cummings. . . . But you see the writers, half of them are Jews. You see the people who are supporting [presidential candidate Senator Edmund] Muskie and the rest, they’re Jews! Frankly, if we’ve gotta have a political enemy, by God it’ll be the Jews.”

  Kissinger was smack in the middle of Nixon’s emotional stew. Nixon wanted his secretary of state, William Rogers (with whom Kissinger had a fierce rivalry, and whom Kissinger would ultimately replace), to take the lead on Middle East issues. “There are plenty of things wrong with Rogers, we know that, but on the other hand on this particular issue, he is squeezing the Israelis because I want him to. . . . I don’t buy it, just taking the Jewish line, I don’t buy it, we’ve gone too far,” Nixon told Haldeman. “Another reason we’ve gotta keep Henry out of this is when he gets involved with Israel, he is totally irrational about everything else. We just gotta keep his mind on Vietnam, Soviet-American relations, and China. And it’s really for his own benefit. . . . You say, what do you think the Israelis ought t
o do? And he won’t say another goddam thing but what Mrs. Meir [Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir] says. Nothing. Nothing. It’s a strange thing, but I think if any one of us were Jewish it would be exactly the same thing. I’ve never met a Jew that was rational about Israel. Never one . . . and I understand it but we are just damn fools. . . . That’s why [President] Johnson’s appointing [Arthur] Goldberg to the U.N. was just a terrible, terrible blunder. Send Goldberg out to negotiate between the Jews and the Arabs? . . . No Jew can see the Israeli problem, just as no Irishman can see the Northern Ireland problem.”

  For all Nixon’s remarks that sound anti-Semitic, at this moment he seemed to be attempting to put himself in a Jew’s place, see through Jewish eyes—and, also, trying to enlighten Haldeman a little. Moreover, in the Yom Kippur War in the fall of 1973, when Egypt and Syria attacked Israel, Nixon would attempt, quite judiciously, to strike what he believed was the right balance. Despite his earlier tough talk about Israel, Nixon would order so many planes sent to Israel that the Israeli military advantage was quickly and definitively restored. But he also directed Kissinger to convey to Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev that the two superpowers should seek not only to bring about a cease-fire, but to use the opportunity to impose a comprehensive peace in the Middle East. According to Nixon: Ruin and Recovery, 1973–1990, by Stephen Ambrose, Kissinger—knowing the Israelis’ opposition to a cease-fire at this point, let alone an imposed settlement (and realizing, also, that Nixon was distracted by Watergate’s “Saturday Night Massacre”)—flouted the president’s orders, and sought only a cease-fire.

  Feeling for Israel provided some of the glue between Kissinger and Schreiber, but Kissinger’s fondness for Hollywood’s sybaritic pleasures probably helped encourage their friendship, too. On occasion, this proclivity of Kissinger’s caused him some embarrassment. On the morning of October 15, 1972, in the midst of a substantive conversation with Nixon in the Oval Office, Kissinger suddenly digressed, declaring angrily, “That Maxine Cheshire story [in the Washington Post] today is an absolute outrage! I met that one girl at Taft Schreiber’s house.” (In the story, entitled “Problems of a Presidential Adviser,” Cheshire wrote that Kissinger was dating starlet Judy Brown, best known for her role in the X-rated Danish sex film Threesome. “Miss Brown, a former Miss University of Missouri, said yesterday that she had decided to make public her year-long friendship with Kissinger,” Cheshire continued, “because she was ‘tired’ of being kept in the background while he allows himself to be photographed on dates with other, better-known actresses such as Marlo Thomas and Jill St. John.” After Kissinger left the Oval Office, Haldeman—who always considered Kissinger suspect, since he was a former Harvard professor with Eastern Establishment credentials, and who must therefore have been privately relishing the contretemps—delivered his commentary on the situation to the president.