“Marco was prepared for the question. ‘For the sake of conversation, let’s suppose the same business was not owned by a convicted felon. What objection or possible jurisdiction would the government have?’
“They were confused by the question. Marco continued, ‘Here in my hand, I have a contract that calls for my acquisition of the company on the same terms and conditions listed in the third-party offer I have been presented.’
“Ten minutes later, Marco, signed agreement in hand, was headed for what he presumed would be his last visit to Sing Sing. That was the same day when MT had solved his problem, achieved a clean exit, and earned a substantial six-figure bonus. Marco ‘MT’ Tancredi had avoided the temptations of the neighborhood and participated in the American Dream.”
Fascinated by Don’s description of his old friend, Mike said, “I’d love to meet him. From where I sit, he seems like the kind of man who might appreciate what we are trying to do.”
CHAPTER 9
Natalie Cummins
BERKELEY, JUNE 1948
Half an hour before midnight on a balmy Thursday, Natalie Cummins and David Marcus, live-in companions, were driving eastward, across the upper level of the San Francisco Bay Bridge. They were returning home after attending a charity benefit hosted by one of San Francisco’s more socially prominent families. With the top of their convertible lowered into the down position, they were enjoying the warm summer night and the sight of the orange-tinted full moon rising in the east above the Berkeley Hills.
The presence of Natalie Cummins, the retired but still celebrated star of both London and New York musical stages, had ensured their hosts’ event would be well attended, and had indeed been a rousing success. Natalie, always pleased to perform for her friends, had been in great voice.
As the guests were departing, they made certain they graciously thanked their hosts for a fine evening, handed them a sealed envelope, and expressed their confidence that the charitable function would be long described as one San Francisco’s more spectacular charitable events of the year.
* * *
DAVID, WHO HAD CONSUMED MORE THAN ONE GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE, was concentrating on his driving. Natalie sat in irritated silence. He had learned the hard way that questioning her when she was in one of these moods usually made things much worse.
As they were passing through the Yerba Buena Tunnel, his curiosity and concern for her prevailed over his better judgment. Hesitantly, he asked, “What happened tonight to upset you? I thought the evening and your performance were a great success!”
Natalie sighed. “Just once, I would like to feel like I was an invited friend who had been asked to perform and assist some worthy cause. But tonight, I felt like I was the dancing bear invited to perform so our hosts could squeeze more money out of their friends.
“When I wasn’t performing, I sensed that I was expected to mingle with the guests. All they wanted to do was ask me questions about other actors, producers, and composers with whom I’ve worked. Not once did anyone express any curiosity about my personal interests, my teaching, or my life away from the theater, the person behind the mask.”
Slowing for the tollbooth on the east side of the bridge, David carefully ventured an observation. “Natalie, after all this time, you must have learned how intimidated people can become when they first meet a famous actress. You and I are familiar with what happens when people have made the effort to become aware of the real you—not just the image they’ve imagined.”
Natalie, somewhat mollified, treated him to a small smile.
They had turned off the Bayshore Freeway and were beginning their slower trek up the winding streets that led past the University of California, up into the Berkeley Hills, when David said, “This might not be the proper time for me to bring this up, but on two different occasions tonight, two different men approached me to inquire if you would be willing to audition for the new musical films they are planning to produce. I have their cards if you want to call them.”
“Why would I want to complicate our lives by going back to work?” Natalie asked.
Amused by the question, David said, “I have always believed, deep in every girl’s heart, is a secret wish to become a movie star. I have always assumed the day would come when you decided to return to the stage.”
“David, don’t you understand how much I care about you and want to become a supporting member of your exciting life? In the last year, since I retired from the stage, I have traveled around the world to help you sell those energy bonds. I have agreed to live with you while you complete your Visiting Fellow teaching assignment at the university, and I’ve even agreed to teach History of the American Musical Stage to undergraduate students. What else do I have to say to convince you this last year has been the most enjoyable time of my life?”
They had pulled to a stop in their slanted driveway that led from the street downhill to the garage. After turning off the motor, setting the handbrake, and putting the gear shift in reverse, it was a very serious David who turned toward her. “Natalie, I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. Ever since I asked you to live with me, I have been prepared to support you in whatever you choose to pursue. I might not like having to share you with your life on the stage, but I would prefer that to losing you.”
Natalie could tell by his strained tone of voice that he was keeping something back, something he was refusing to share. What is he trying to tell me? Is he encouraging me to make those calls, or is he telling me how upset he would become if I went back to work?
* * *
FOR SOME TIME, WHENEVER DAVID PICKED UP NATALIE AT THE TRAIN depot in Oakland, he would worry about who would be stepping from the train. Would it be my Natalie, the woman whose constant companionship, adulation, and affection I have become so dependent on, or will it be Natalie the star?
* * *
DAVID WAS STANDING ON THE PLATFORM WATCHING THE INCOMING train slow to a steam-hissing stop. Three cars down the platform, he spotted her among the other passengers exiting the train. Even at that distance, he knew, with one look, that something terrible must have happened to her in Los Angeles. Her head drooped, she wasn’t smiling, and she was moving very slowly.
As soon as they reached each other, he wrapped his strong arms around what felt like an uncharacteristically frail body of someone who was emotionally disturbed. He could feel the strength of her tight hug and then the wetness of her tears on his neck. He continued to hold her and refrained from moving until her sobbing began to ebb. He then led her into the small coffee shop inside the train station, sat her down in a vacant booth, called the waitress over, and ordered two cups of coffee and one two-scoop vanilla ice-cream cone. Gathering his thoughts, David finally ventured, “Tell me, my dear, what problem can’t be solved with an ice-cream cone and a long talk with your old pal?”
The waitress soon returned, and Natalie readily accepted the cone. With each lick, she seemed to regain more of her composure. Finally, when she looked up with her tearstained cheeks, she said, “David, do you have any idea of what those sons of bitches were expecting me to do?”
Her statement startled him. It was the first time he had ever heard her swear.
“They didn’t want me for my talent and commercial success. They just wanted me as a replacement for some very talented actresses whose names have appeared on the Hollywood Blacklist.
“As interesting as it might be to star in a big-budget Hollywood musical, I’ll be damned if I am going to be associated with their game or be responsible for putting qualified actresses out of work! Can you believe it? Nearly the names of 300 writers, actors, and directors have been put on the blacklist. Overnight, these people have been put out of work, and they are being prohibited from finding new work in the only industry they know.
“It’s all part of this Communist inquisition stuff being conducted by the House Un-American Activities Committee. They are attacking Hollywood actors, writers, and directors suspected of havi
ng some prior affiliation with the Communist Party. If these people are not willing to sign affidavits incriminating themselves and their friends, they are served subpoenas and are expected to appear before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) for questioning.”
“Natalie, apparently, you have not been reading the newspapers. It just gets worse. This legally constituted congressional committee is questioning anyone who refuses to sign those affidavits or an employment-related loyalty oath. I’m having a difficult time understanding how the fear of Communism can cause the American government to violate the personal liberties of its citizens who are presumably protected by the Bill of Rights.”
After carefully composing what he was about to say, he reached over, put both arms around her, and whispered in her ear, “To me, the whole thing seems like a big publicity stunt designed to scare the hell out of the American public. The question we should be asking is . . . ‘What are they trying to accomplish?’”
As they walked from the car to their front door, Natalie suddenly stopped, looked directly into David’s eyes, and asked, “You’re a smart guy. What do you think it might be? What are your friends telling you? What would HUAC stand to gain by using its hearings to scare citizens over the threat of Communism?”
CHAPTER 10
Attacking Mr. Bill
WASHINGTON, D.C., JUNE 1948
Throughout the spring of 1948, the Hollywood Blacklist had grown in size and public recognition. Just as J. Jordan McWilliams and Congressman Richard Allen Bailey had predicted, no one, not even the most hardworking, serious, and talented people in Hollywood, were free from scrutiny. Those who refused to sign incriminating affidavits were subpoenaed and scheduled to appear before the committee.
Skillful public relations campaigns continued to amplify the threat of the atomic attack at every opportunity. Any incident that suggested possible aggressive behavior on the part of the Russians was played up in the press. The publicity was being carefully managed to expose a country exhausted from fighting the last Great War to fear the possibility of a whole new threat. Political candidates found it useful to accuse their opponents of being “soft on Communism.”
Frightened citizens built bomb shelters in their backyards. Schools regularly conducted air raid drills during which boys and girls were taught how to seek shelter under their desks. Street signs were erected to point the way to the closest public shelter. At movie theaters, weekly newsreels featured the Distant Early Warning Line, the radar surveillance system being constructed in Alaska.
Screenwriters were a favorite target of the anti-Communist zealots. The investigation arm of the HUAC had identified a promising new target: William W. Weyl, or “Mr. Bill,” as he was known to his friends. A best-selling author, a celebrated New York playwright, and a prolific screenwriter, Mr. Bill was one of Hollywood’s most respected personalities. During the war, he had been one of the first members of the film industry to enlist in the navy. He was a member of one of the early classes to earn their wings at the navy’s flight school at Pensacola, Florida. Following graduation, he was sent to a secret airbase in Western Nevada, known as “Area 51,” for special training.
In early 1942, Mr. Bill was one of the first newly graduated pilots to be assigned to a carrier group in the South Pacific. Flying missions off the carrier and land-based airstrips, Lt. William W. Weyl was one of the first American pilots to become a decorated ace pilot. He was being promoted as one of the early authentic heroes to emerge from the early chaotic war America was unsuccessfully waging in the South Pacific. Articles describing Lieutenant Weyl’s accomplishments frequently appeared in the American newspapers and weekly magazines. Newscasts often reported on his latest “kills.” While the war raged on, he had been asked on two different occasions to return to the United States to tour assembly plants and help the government sell war bonds. Mr. Bill was becoming a familiar name in American homes, offices, factories, and on school playgrounds.
Now, only a few years following Captain Bill’s separation from the navy, the FBI had placed his name on their list of possible subversives. They had honed in on his prewar literary work, Spain: Road Test for Fascism. Set largely in the trench warfare of the Spanish Civil War, his book told the story of loyal, brave, Spanish patriots who valiantly fought alongside local Communist forces. They were engaged in an unsuccessful attempt to defeat national armies under the command of Fascist General Franco, whose armies were trained and equipped to test Nazi Germany’s recently developed air and ground equipment and weaponry.
Mr. Bill, a serious and decorated defender of America, never considered his subpoena as a confrontational threat. When he refused to sign what he considered to be an inaccurate affidavit, he never considered the possibility that a writer of novels and screenplays, and a decorated war veteran, would be suspected of Communist subversion. Choosing to appear without the benefit of counsel, he would do whatever he could to be helpful and leave as quickly as possible.
Congressman Bailey and the rest of the committee were pleased. The appearance of a known war hero would help them to convince the American public the spread of Communist influence could be found anywhere. What better way could the committee demonstrate the pervasiveness of spreading Communism than to expose a decorated war hero as a Communist sympathizer?
* * *
MOST OF THOSE IN THE ROOM FOR THE HEARING WERE NOT AWARE that the witness, Mr. Bill, and Richard Allen Bailey had both attended the University of Southern California at the same time. Although they were members of different fraternities, the social world of fraternities and sororities was small and relatively close. Their paths had frequently crossed. Every time Bill thought back to those days, he remembered the former football hero as being braggadocios, craving to be the center of attention, and a seeker of approval. He remembered why the nickname “Slick” suited him so well. Ten years had passed since he had last seen the “campus hero” but his recollections of Dick’s ball handling skills, his ability to bed rich women, and his ability to talk his way out of trouble still remained clearly etched in his mind.
As the hearing was called to order and he was sworn in as a witness, Mr. Bill watched Bailey, now older but still displaying his signature arrogant air, began his questioning of him and his book. Almost from the asking of the first question he doubted Bailey had ever read his book.
In the first round of questions, Mr. Bill answered Bailey’s questions with “yes” and “no” answers. Or at most, with very few words. As they moved deeper into the hearing, the questions began to take on a more sinister tinge. It was difficult for Mr. Bill not to perceive the committee regarded his book Spain: Road Test for Fascism was being written out of some deep conviction on his part that Communism was a noble and worthwhile enterprise.
Several questions later, when he began to realize he was being regarded as a Communist sympathizer, he concluded that he needed to start thinking about how best to protect himself. Two questions later, he responded, “Excuse me, Congressman, if I correctly understand your question, it pertains to the hero, or protagonist of the book, and begs the question, ‘Was he a secret member of the Communist Party, trained in Moscow by the Russians?’ Since I don’t recall including any information describing what you have just finished asking me, may I inquire if you, personally, have read my book?”
Unprepared for the challenge, Bailey attempted to regain the high ground. “Did you attend a party at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Adams on May 17, 1937?”
“Most likely; that was years ago. I can’t verify the precise date. But, yes, I regularly attended social functions at their home around that time.”
“And were you aware that Mr. Adams and several of his guests were active members of the Communist Party?”
“Yes, sir, I recall participating in several conversations where people were comparing the then-current economic consequences of Democratic Free Enterprise with those of socialist economics.”
Believing the witness had finished answering his qu
estion, Congressman Bailey was beginning to pose his next question when Mr. Bill continued his testimony. “Might I inquire what law was broken? Was it against the law to be a member of the Communist Party in 1937? Did we break the law by discussing the comparative advantages between Democratic Free Enterprise and socialist economics? Am I mistaken in my belief American citizens are granted the right to be a member of whatever political party they choose, they are free to assemble with people of their choosing, they are free to discuss whatever they wish, and as an author, I am free to write about whatever I choose, and in any manner I choose, provided I don’t violate any laws pertaining to libel and slander?”
“Not so fast, Mr. Weyl. It’s only fair that I advise you that unless you cooperate and answer the questions of this committee, regardless of your desire to invoke your First or Fifth Amendment rights, you can be found in contempt of Congress. Do you understand?”
Glaring at the congressman, Mr. Bill said, “I’ll tell you what I believe. In appearing here today, I expected to be asked routine questions about anything I might know about Communist influence I may have witnessed as a citizen, a former military officer, or a working member of the Southern California motion picture industry. I now believe, by answering any more of your questions, I could implicate myself, or even worse, someone else.”
Congressman Bailey, challenged by the response but not wishing to test the legal validity of a witness invoking his First and Fifth Amendment rights, snatched up a sheet of paper, strode up to where the accused sat, and slapped it on the table in front of him. In his most intimidating tone, he commanded, “Mr. Weyl, I want you to carefully study the names on this sheet. When you are finished, I will be asking you some questions.”
Voices Behind the Curtain Page 7
