Pink Slips

The motion picture industry, whose aim is always to please the greatest number, last week staged its sequel to the big show put on by the Thomas Un-American Activities Committee. Fifty of the industry's top executives, representing virtually every U.S. film producer, got together in Manhattan's Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. After two days of conferences, they fired the ten Hollywood writers and producers cited for contempt of Congress for refusing to testify whether or not they are Communists.

Said the 50: "We will not knowingly employ a Communist." They then asked Congress to establish a policy covering employment of Communists, to "assist American industry to rid itself of subversive, disloyal elements."

The cinemagnates earnestly repeated that "nothing subversive or un-American has appeared on the screen" (there was no proof that any ever had). In the pursuit of their new policy, they acknowledged that "there is the danger of hurting innocent people ... the risk of creating an atmosphere of fear."

The hard fact was that the atmosphere of fear was heaviest around the box office. Most of the cinemoguls were scared stiff by what they thought was the average moviegoer's indignation over Communism in Hollywood, as spotlighted by Parnell Thomas' committee. In Hollywood there was fear of further movie retrenchments; last week Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer slashed its payroll by 40% and other studios were firing hundreds of carpenters, electricians and eyebrow-pencilers.

The movie bosses were in for a long and probably bitter legal fight with the ten talented men who got the pink slips of dismissal. The film industry, they cried, had been "stampeded into surrendering" its freedom of ideas and expression.

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