Cold Open 

It’s just before sunrise on October 5th, 1945, outside of Warner Brothers studios in Burbank, California.

Herbert Sorrell, leader of the Conference Studios Union, or CSU, paces anxiously among hundreds of his fellow union members.

His mind is a whirlwind of strategies and anxieties, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. Since March, he has been spearheading the strike of set decorators. They’re teetering on the brink of a major breakthrough against the studios but this struggle is more complex than it seems.

They're not only contending with the studios but also clashing with a rival union, the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, or IATSE. This conflict is more than a mere disagreement; it's a battle for control over Hollywood's labor negotiations.

But despite accusations from his enemies in the studios and in the union, IATSE, who both brand him as a communist, Herbert remains undeterred, his resolve unshaken.

The murmur of the crowd shifts to a tense whisper as several cars roll up, driven by non-striking IATSE members. Herbert's eyes narrow, a mix of determination and anger flashing across his face.

The sight of these 'scabs' arriving incites outrage among the strikers.

And as the IATSE cars inch forward, trying to push through the picket line, the strikers' fury reaches a boiling point.

Surrounding the vehicles, the strikers start rocking them back and forth.

Eventually, the drivers get out in flee as the strikers overturn the cars, then chase the scabs off with triumphant jeers. But the conflict between the two unions is far from over.

As the day progresses, the tension only escalates. Around noon, hundreds of reinforcements arrive from both the CSU and IATSE, their numbers swelling and emotions running high.

The overwhelmed Burbank police are joined by hundreds of additional officers too, turning the studio grounds into a ticking time bomb of strikers, scabs, and cops.

A physical fight breaks out between the strikers and the strikebreakers. The police rain down tear gas while the studio’s firefighters unleash their hoses on the crowd, but the sounds of men bearing brass knuckles, knives, clubs, and broken bottles fills the air as the situation in Hollywood spirals out of control.

After two hours, police will finally quell the chaos, and Herbert Sorrell will be arrested for inciting a riot. The day will be remembered as “Bloody Friday,” one of the opening silos in an ongoing fight between Hollywood’s more conservative and radical members. And as the Cold War begins, this division within the nation’s entertainment capital will only deepen.

Not long after the CSU strike comes to a successful end, Congress will begin scrutinizing Hollywood for signs of a Communist influence. Some in Hollywood will cooperate with investigations. Others will see Congress’s actions as an attack on their freedom of speech and freedom of association, including a group of ten men who will face immense punishment for resisting Congress’s investigation on November 24th, 1947.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is November 24th, 1947: The “Hollywood Ten” Are Held in Contempt of Congress.

Act One: Called to Testify

It’s the morning of October 27th, 1947, in the Cannon House Office Building in Washington, D.C. two years after Hollywood’s “Bloody Friday.”

John Howard Lawson sits in the crowded caucus room of the United States Congress. It's filled with reporters and onlookers captivated by the hearings of the House Un-American Activities Committee. This organization, known as HUAC, is the latest in a line of congressional committees dedicated to investigating communist activity in the United States.

And recently, HUAC has turned its attention to Hollywood. A month ago, John and 40 other actors, writers, directors, and producers were subpoenaed to appear before the committee. The hearings began last week with a lineup of so-called “friendly” witnesses. Many of them were members of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals, a conservative anti-communist group of people working in Hollywood. And over the first week of hearings, many of these witnesses accused other Hollywood workers of being communists or having communist sympathies.

But John is among the witnesses branded “unfriendly.” He and his like-minded peers have no intention of cooperating with HUAC. It’s a risky decision, but they firmly believe HUAC’s investigation into their political beliefs and associations violates their First Amendment rights.

So, as John sits waiting to be called to the stand, the room is abuzz with photographers, journalists, and audience members preparing for the chairman to call the hearings to order. Within the frenzy, John does his best to convey calm and confidence. Eventually, the chairman, Congressman J. Parnell Thomas, a Republican legislator from New Jersey, bangs his gavel and calls John to testify as the first witness.

But before John can even get up from his seat, his lawyers spring into action. Last week, they tried to object to the constitutionality of these hearings. They also demanded the right to cross-examine witnesses who were making accusations. But both requests were denied. Now, they try once more to raise their concerns before their clients are sworn in. But yet again, the chairman shuts down their requests and calls John’s name a second time. John reluctantly stands and steels himself for questioning. He knows that this trial is also being held in the court of public opinion and he hopes his objections will at least help sway the common Americans that are tuning in.

John takes his seat at a large table facing the committee. After the routine questions about his name, and the date and place of his birth, the interview gets heated. The committee asks John if he’s a member of the Screen Writers Guild — a writers' union that was singled out by a Warner Brothers producer as a hotbed of communism.

John is a founding member of the Screen Writers Guild, but he tries to deflect the question, refusing the committee’s right to ask him about his membership in any organization or his personal beliefs. His answer, though, is cut short by Congressman Thomas. He interrupts John and hammers his gavel repeatedly.

Finally, John states that his membership in the Screen Writers Guild is a matter of public record, and leaves it at that. This answer draws applause from the audience. Many of them are fellow screenwriters, and they’re happy to see John answer the question without backing down on his right to privately held beliefs.

But in exasperated, Congressman Thomas bangs his gavel again. He warns the audience to show some decorum, and at this John angrily interjects. He tells Congressman Thomas that it’s the committee, not him, who should be on trial. This enrages Thomas, who threatens to throw John out of the hearing and hold him in contempt of Congress.

John tries to control his temper. He acquiesces and allows the committee to continue their interview until they ask the question he’s been waiting for, “Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party of the United States?”

John leans forward in his chair and speaks firmly into the microphone:

JOHN: 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 Americans of all fields. 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 which is historically denied to any committee of this sort, to invade the rights and privileges of American citizens whether they be Protestant or Methodist or Jewish or Catholic, in order that you can then smear the motion picture industry and you can proceed from that to the press to any form of communication in this country.

Congressman Thomas silences John with his gavel again and repeats the question.

John has been a member of the Communist Party for years. If he answers no, he’ll perjure himself. But if he answers yes, he’ll validate the committee’s right to investigate the private ideologies and associations of American citizens. So John continues to talk around the question. Until Congressman Thomas cuts him off again and orders him to leave the stand.

But before John is removed, he shouts that he will continue fighting for the Bill of Rights, which he says HUAC is trying to destroy. And when he fled away, it’s to a chorus of both cheers and boos.

For the next three days, these hearings will continue. John Howard Lawson will not be the only person to refuse to answer HUAC’s questions. He and nine others will be labeled “The Hollywood Ten” for their protest during the hearings. Their futures will lay in the hands of the House of Representatives, which will be forced to decide if the hearings do go against First Amendment rights, and if the Hollywood Ten deserve to be vindicated or to be punished.

Act Two: Held in Contempt

It’s November 24th, 1947, in the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C., less than a month after the Hollywood Ten attempted to defend their First Amendment rights against the House Un-American Activities Committee.

Spitting into the microphone in front of him, HUAC chairman J. Parnell Thomas rails against the Hollywood Ten and implores his fellow Congressmen to find them in contempt of Congress for their insolence, impropriety, and refusal to answer questions during hearings held weeks prior. He declares that the group has tried to vilify HUAC and confuse the American people. When Congressman Thomas completes his remarks, another member of the committee follows up with similar outrage.

But in the audience, Herman Eberharter impatiently awaits his own turn to speak. The bookish Pennsylvania congressman has been following HUAC’s Hollywood hearings closely. Eberharter was a member of an early version of HUAC, and when this committee recommended that the US should incarcerate Japanese-Americans during World War II, Eberharter was the lone voice of dissent. So today, as members of the newest version of HUAC present their case against the Hollywood Ten, Eberharter is feeling oppositional once again.

And he soon gets his chance to speak. He then clears his throat and proceeds to lay out his argument against holding the Hollywood Ten in contempt.

He asks his fellow members of Congress whether it makes sense to support a committee that is going against the Constitution. To Eberharter, it’s clear that HUAC wants to unfairly censor and control Hollywood. But he doesn’t believe HUAC has that right. Eberharter maintains that it’s the American people who should be left to decide for themselves which movies they want to support.

As he closes his speech, Eberharter frames today’s vote as a decision to support HUAC or to support freedom of speech. He hopes his peers will choose wisely. But as Eberharter looks around for signs of support, the faces he sees are mostly angry or blank. In the end, his words fall on deaf ears. In rapid succession, all of the Hollywood Ten are found in contempt of Congress.

When the news of the vote reaches the Hollywood Ten, they are disheartened, but not surprised. They expected a long legal battle, and they’re more than willing to keep fighting for what they believe is right. After Congress’s vote, they make plans to defend themselves in court against the charges. And if they lose that trial, they’re ready to take their case all the way to the Supreme Court.

But a drawn-out legal process isn’t cheap. Many of the Hollywood Ten are forced to sell their homes. Others crisscross the country giving speeches to raise money for their defense. They find supporters from the Communist Party and others who believe in their free speech arguments. But the men find themselves very isolated professionally.

The day after the Hollywood Ten were held in contempt of Congress, the film industry executives introduced Hollywood’s first systematic blacklist, targeting anyone with communist ties. One group of Hollywood producers announced that none of the Hollywood Ten will work until they admit under oath that they are communists. It’s a brutal blow. The blacklist has huge financial consequences for the Hollywood Ten, and it also sends a chilling message to the rest of the film industry: even a whiff of sympathy for communism will not be tolerated.

As people grow scared to be associated with such a maligned group, the Hollywood Ten begin losing support from some of their most valuable allies, including famous Hollywood actors like Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.

Then in the spring of 1948, the group endures another discouraging loss when juries find the Hollywood Ten guilty for contempt of Congress. The case proceeds to the U.S. Court of Appeals. But in June 1949, the courts hand down another defeat, declaring that freedom of speech is not absolute and that Congress has the right to investigate in the name of national interests.

Following this decision, the Hollywood Ten’s fate comes to rest with the Supreme Court. With a liberal majority on the Court, the group feels confident about their chances. But before their case can be heard, two of the liberal justices die unexpectedly. President Harry Truman replaces them both with more conservative judges.

So, when the Hollywood Ten’s appeal reaches the Supreme Court, the justices refuse to hear the case, affirming the earlier decision. As a result, the ten men are each fined $1,000 — the equivalent of almost $14,000 today — and then sentenced to six months to a year in prison.

When they’re released from behind bars, the Hollywood Ten are eager to return to work. But the blacklist barring them from the film industry endures. Many of the Ten never work in film ever again, though some do find a way back to their old professions. One member of the group grows so desperate to resume his career that he renounces his original stance and names more than 20 other Hollywood coworkers as communists. Others write scripts using pen names. And over the years, many of these writers become responsible for some of Hollywood’s most beloved films and win Hollywood’s top honors.

One such member is Dalton Trumbo. In 1957, Dalton anonymously receives the Academy Award for Best Screenplay. But as questions swirl about the winner’s true identity, many begin to speculate that the script was made by the blacklisted Dalton.

His high accolade will make it clear that Hollywood’s blacklist is both ineffective and misguided. Many of the film and television’s most popular works were already being created by blacklisted writers. And soon producers will begin publicly hiring those blacklisted again.

And in 1960, Dalton’s true name will appear on the blockbusters Exodus and Spartacus. Protestors will try to picket Spartacus, but when President-elect John F. Kennedy goes to see the film, it will signal a conclusive end to Hollywood’s blacklist, which will become regarded by many as a terrible mistake — though not before years of damage have been done.

Act Three: Best Picture

It’s May 15th, 1975, in West Hollywood, California, almost 25 years after the Hollywood Ten were sentenced to prison.

Screenwriter and member of the Hollywood Ten, Dalton Trumbo, is lying in bed when he hears a knock at the door. Dalton has spent most of his life smoking four packs of cigarettes a day. And now, he’s sick with cancer.

Dalton gingerly lifts himself to his feet and finds his way to the door. When he opens it, he finds Walter Mirisch, the president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, holding an Oscar in his hand.

Before spending a year in prison for contempt of Congress, Dalton was one of Hollywood’s most sought-after and highest-paid writers. But after refusing to cooperate with the House Un-American Activities Committee, he and the rest of the Hollywood Ten were blacklisted, along with many others accused of Communist leanings. This blacklist expanded to include hundreds of actors, writers, and directors — many of whom were never able to work in Hollywood again.

But fortunately for Dalton, this hasn’t been his fate. After serving his prison time, he was able to restart his career by writing under a pseudonym. In 1957, his script for a film called The Brave One won the Academy Award for Best Screenplay. But at the time, the only way to continue writing was to protect his anonymity. So Dalton never received his Oscar. Until today.

Dalton smiles at Walter and welcomes the president of the Academy into his home. Walter tells Dalton that the Academy wants to straighten out the wrongs of the blacklist era. So, the two take a seat and Walter hands Dalton the Oscar he won almost twenty years ago.

Dalton holds the award and studies it carefully. Then, he sets the trophy down and thanks Walter, assuring him that having the Oscar, even two decades late, means the world to him. But there’s no way to erase the hurt that’s been done to him and many of his peers in Hollywood. Dalton may have found a way to reclaim his success, but far too many careers were destroyed.

Because of the Hollywood Ten, only Dalton and four more will be able to find work. The five others will never work in movies or television again, punished irreparably after they were held in contempt of Congress on November 24th, 1947.

Outro

Next on History Daily. November 27th, 1978. San Francisco politicians George Moscone and Harvey Milk are assassinated by a former colleague.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Katrina Zemrak.

Music by Lindsay Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Ruben Abrahams Brosbe.

Executive Producers are Alexandra Currie-Buckner for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.