Stars and Strikes: Unionization of Hollywood 9780231891196

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Stars and Strikes *

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UNIONIZATION OF HOLLYWOOD *

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By Murray Ross

NEW YORK : MORNINGSIDE H E I G H T S

COLUMBIA

UNIVERSITY

19 4 1

PRESS

COPYRIGHT COLUMBIA

UNIVERSITY

1941 PRESS,

NEW

YORK

loreign agents: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, Humphrey Milford, Amen House, London, E.C. 4, England, AND B. I. Building, Nicol Road, B o m b a y , I n d i a ; MARUZEN COMPANY, LTD., 6 N i h o n b a s h i ,

Tori-N'ichome, Tok\o, Jnpnn

M A N U F A C T U R E D IN THE U N I T E D S T A T E S OF

AMERICA

To Martha

Preface

O N E O F the most interesting developments in American unionism during the past decade has been its rapid extension among the professional and white-collar classes. Numerous highly paid professional groups as well as many supervisory and white-collar employees, who have traditionally identified their interests with management and therefore were considered immune from the leveling effects of unionism, have recently organized their own unions. Nowhere has this tendency been more pronounced than in the motion picture industry. Actors, writers, and directors— the entire creative talent of the screen—whose fabulous incomes have long distinguished them from all other employees, have established their guilds and insist on bargaining collectively with their employers. This sudden development was no less of a surprise to the trade union movement than to the general public. T h e unionization of the film studios constitutes a new chapter in the annals of American organized labor. T h e story of how it came about is for the first time told in these pages. T h e r e is no full-size study of labor organization in the studios and the subject has been neglected even by the periodicals. Only a few scattered references exist on the unions and guilds in the industry. As a result, this study is based on widely scattered materials. Many of the sources— union documents, trade agreements, and such government

viii

Preface

documents as the N R A files and the transcripts of N L R B cases—are not available in any library. A perusal of the files of the trade press, which carried unusually full accounts of the course of events in this industry, has been of great help. Considerable information and much enlightenment came from personal interviews with individuals concerned with the administration of studio industrial relations. Much of what was learned in this way has proved invaluable to an understanding of the problems of this study. T h e motion picture industry, the undisputed leader in the amusement world, has an estimated working force of more than 250,000 men and women and an annual payroll of $400,000,000. It consists of three closely interrelated branches: production, distribution, and exhibition. T h e artistic phases of the industry are confined entirely to production. In this branch 30,000 individuals, representing numerous talent and craft groups, are engaged in making seventy-five percent of the world's films. Film distribution serves as the link between production and exhibition and is responsible for selling the finished picture and delivering it promptly to the local theater. A typical wholesale marketing process, it involves routing, dating, inspecting, and transporting. All these functions are performed by 447 film exchanges strategically located in thirty-one key cities and employing 12,500 service workers. Although film production geographically is one of the most centralized industries in the country, exhibition is, of course, very widely diffused. Involving 17,000 motion picture theaters scattered among thousands of cities and towns, it retails the products of the motion picture industry. Exhibition normally employs an estimated working force of 241,000 and includes such varied personnel as projectionists, doormen, cashiers, and ushers.

Preface

ix

T h e exhibition branch of the industry was the first to be unionized. Long before the film industry came into existence, amusement unions had made considerable progress in the legitimate theater and other entertainment fields. Actually, many of the present-day labor organizations in the industry antedate the films. When motion pictures were first shown in theaters or offered as special attractions on vaudeville bills, they were handled by men with previous backstage experience. Consequently it was quite natural for the stagehands' union to include the new entertainment medium in its sphere of influence at an early date. T h e International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes and the American Federation of Musicians were the two most powerful unions in the amusement field when the film industry first made its appearance. As the industry grew in importance, these unions proceeded to organize the projectionists and the musicians in the motion picture houses. But unlike vaudeville and the legitimate stage, production in the film industry is physically removed from exhibition. Therefore the unionization of the motion picture houses was only the prelude to the unions' efforts to organize the other branches of the motion picture industry. After successful entry into the theaters, they turned their attention to production, for there were to be found a large number of potential members and an inestimable source of future strength and income. Employees in the distribution branch were the last to be unionized. T h i s book is a study of the unionization of the various employee groups in the studios. It stresses both the unity and the diversity of purpose impelling the activities of labor and management groups. An attempt is made to show the interweaving of the economic, political, social, and psychological forces which shape the trade union movement.

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Preface

Throughout, the emphasis is on ways in which industrial relations work in life rather than in theory and on how they affect the entire industry rather than a special group. T o o frequently, failure to perceive that an improved labor situation can best be attained in a healthy and prosperous industry has led to questionable conclusions. In undertaking the study of industrial relations in Hollywood, the author has hoped to do more than merely to trace the history of labor-management problems in a single industry. While Hollywood is unique, its very uniqueness provides an excellent setting. Few other places or industries can furnish as good a cross section of the American trade union movement. Hollywood is by no means a Middletown, but it harbors representatives from almost all major union groups. T h e wide scope of studio industrial relations should render the present findings of interest to students of botli labor and the motion pictures. M U R R A Y ROSS

Brooklyn College August, 1941

Acknowledgments

MANY I N D I V I D U A L S and organizations were helpful to me in the preparation of this book. Mr. Donald Gledhill, executive secretary of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, made available printed documents which enabled me to present the first complete account of his organization's efforts in industrial relations. Mr. Stewart McKee, chairman of the Standing Committee of the Motion Picture Producers and Screen Actors Guild, helped me with data on extra players. Dr. Leo Rosten, director of the Motion Picture Research Project, made a number of invaluable industry contacts for me. Mr. Joel Swensen of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America has always willingly shared his keen understanding and profound knowledge of the industry. Professors Leo Wolman and Carter Goodrich of Columbia University, from whom I learned much about industrial relations, have kindly read the manuscript and made many valuable suggestions. Professor Geroid Tanquary Robinson, also of Columbia University, has improved the manuscript with his fine scholarly and editorial advice. T o all of these and to many others— union representatives, studio executives, and public officials—many of whom prefer to remain anonymous, I owe an everlasting debt of gratitude. My wife, Martha Ross, has been a constant source of inspiration. Her interest and critical judgment made an imprint on every page.

Contents

1. Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

3

2. Equity or Academy

23

3. United Writers

48

4. Hollywood's "Extras"

64

5. T h e Blue Eagle

89

6. T h e Noble Effort

120

7. T h e Stars Rise

149

8. T h e Union Muse

175

9. Screening the Wagner Act

191

1 o. Conclusion

213

Sources and Selected References

221

Index

225

Tables

1. Percentage of Annual Placements of Extras 1926-40

74

2. Total and Average Daily Placements of Extras 1926-40

75

3. Total Annual Wages and Average Daily Rates of Extras 1926-40

76

4. Annual Earnings of Extra Players 1937-40

77

5. Child Extra Placements 1926-40

83

6. Employment of Child Extras: School Years 1926-40

84

7. Earnings of Screen Actors in 1933

108

8. N R A Minimum Hourly Rates for Studio Crafts

136

9. N R A Location Rates for Studio Crafts

138

10. Average Days Worked and Average Annual Earnings of Extra Players Cast through Central Casting Corporation 1936-40

169

Stars and *

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Strikes *

1 Unionizing

Hollywood

Backstage

H

O L L Y W O O D is a union town. From the highest-paid directors to the lowly electricians, every group is organized. A t labor rallies, its glamorous stars and suave writers hobnob with carpenters and painters. T h e popular conception of Hollywood as a land of make-believe is a figment of the imagination. T h e true Hollywood is just as firmly rooted in reality as Middletown. For every shining star there are thousands of little lights struggling to gain or keep a place. These men and women are interested in wages and hours, in working conditions, in union agreements, and in economic security. But there is always the touch of the unexpected which makes Hollywood unique—such as the occasional lack of parking space at union meetings.

T h e production of a sound film is a very complicated process requiring the active participation of many minds and hands. First, there must be a story. Once a story is chosen from the thousands that reach the readers' desks or an original is written by a trained scenarist, it must be fitted to a cast or a cast must be fitted to it. Research assistants and librarians check every detail in the scenario. T h e property department studies the script and gathers the required props

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Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

down to the minutest detail. T h e wardrobe department designs the costumes. Architects, art directors, set directors, carpenters, and painters go to work on the necessary sets. Eventually the stage is set and cameras go into action. T h e n come the j o b of sound recording, the scoring of music for the picture, and finally the editing of the film. Every stage of production is under the expert supervision of the director and his lieutenants. T h e producer is charged with the responsibility for starting and finishing dates, budgetary items, and selection of story material, cast, and director. 1 Each studio is a small town with main thoroughfares and side streets. It has its office buildings, its factories (stages), its theater and projection rooms, its laboratories, and its industrial plants, ranging from dressmaking establishments to carpenter, paint, and blacksmith shops. W i t h i n the tall gates of each major studio are between two thousand and three thousand employees—actors, writers, directors, stenographers, architects, carpenters, painters, electricians, cameramen, and sound men, to mention b u t a few of the 276 trade and professional groups involved in the m a k i n g of a feature picture. 2 Each studio employee belongs to one of four m a j o r categories: (1) creative talent, including writers, actors, musicians, and directors; (2) skilled professionals especially trained in studio publicity, set designing, film editing and cutting, and so on; (3) studio technicians skilled in work that is peculiar to motion picture

production—cameramen,

sound men, and laboratory technicians; (4) craftsmen, such as carpenters, machinists, painters, and plumbers, and office workers, whose skills are not confined to the film industry. 3 Film Facts, 1941, pp. 16-17. * Hollywood Tribune, Aug. s i , 1939. p. 4. 1

-Ibid.

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

5

Although the several highly paid talent and professional groups provide a colorful trade union membership, they are not the union veterans of the studios. They merely followed in the footsteps of their less glamorous brethren, the studio craftsmen. Their story is a relatively recent one and must be relegated to subsequent chapters. This chapter is concerned with the events of the unionization of the crafts, their characteristic problems and solutions. T h e story of how Hollywood became unionized covers a span of more than a quarter of a century. It is replete witli incidents in industrial relations such as few other fields can equal or excel. T h e unionization of film studios was a major objective of organized labor for several decades.4 Ever since the motion pictures became an important industry, their production has been very largely centered in Los Angeles, the citadel of the open shop in America. 5 This was a challenge to organized labor. A victory in the largest industry would facilitate further penetration of the hostile territory, and would lead to the final collapse of the citadel itself. Organized labor expected to gain considerable prestige from such a victory. T h e film industry is among the richest and largest in Southern California and has long assumed a position of unusual importance because of its far-reaching influence upon social and economic standards. Furthermore, much of the craft work in the studios, such as that of carpenters, painters, and electricians, is closely related to other local industries. T h e unionization of these film crafts was expected to provide a formidable entering wedge for organized labor in a general attack on this openshop city. Hollywood was to become a Trojan horse by •«"The Forty-Year W a r for a Free City," Los Angeles Times, Oct. 1, '929. P- 25• 5 T h e term "open shop" is used here in the popular sense, i. e., as synonymous with "antiunion."

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Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

means of which organized labor would penetrate antiunion Los Angeles. Although motion pictures were produced in Los Angeles as early as 1907, New York remained the principal seat of manufacture until after the World War. Hollywood did not achieve supremacy until the great advance of the industry in 1919-20.® With film-making scattered among several contending cities and still in a migratory state, with no established practices and with a shifting labor force, it was impossible for the unions to attain any considerable degree of success. During the period of 1915-17 many important studios were established in Hollywood, making it a leading production center. T h e industry had finally settled down, choosing its home in the heart of open-shop territory. T h i s was the signal for organized labor to go into action. Encouraged by its widespread successes in organizing labor during the World War, the American Federation of Labor made a valiant attempt to invade filmland in 1916. T h e campaign was guided by Samuel Gompers, the Federation's president, and was directed by James Gray, according to the local press "one of the ablest organizers who ever operated" in Los Angeles. 7 T h e immediate objective of the drive was the unionization of the studio crafts. Successful to some extent, the drive awakened motion picture producers to the existence of a labor problem which required handling by a single agency representing all producers. T o deal effectively with labor troubles and other industrial matters, they formed the Motion Picture Producers' Association, an open-shop organization of seventeen Hollywood studios. 8 Producers who had been attracted to Holly« B e n j a m i n H a m p t o n , The Story of the Movies, p. 199. 7 Los Angeles Times, loc. cit. a Ibid.

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

7

wood not only by its sunshine but also by its low labor costs, ranging from twenty-five to fifty percent below those in New York, were reluctant to part with such satisfactory conditions.® T h e formation of this trade association marked the beginning of a unified labor policy among Hollywood's major film producers. Although there were no open clashes in the first campaign, the fight was definitely on. During the next five years the studios experienced three strikes. Hollywood made its first acquaintance with serious labor trouble in July, 1918, when five hundred studio craftsmen went on strike 10 for a wage increase to meet the rapidly rising cost of living. T h e fact that several studios were forced to close down for varying lengths of time indicates the severity of this strike. It was finally settled in September, through the intervention of the United States Department of Labor. T h e terms of settlement included a compromise of the wage dispute, but the producers remained adamant on the open-shop issue. Exactly three years after the first strike, in July, 1921, some of the studio craftsmen walked out once again. 11 This time they were protesting a wage reduction inspired by the general post-war deflationary movement, which, however, did not affect the film industry. T h e producers refused government mediation and the dispute dragged on. Eventually a compromise was reached on the wage issue, since throughout the strike the industry actually was experiencing its post-war boom. One thousand striking studio craftsmen returned to work without having secured the recognition of their unions. Between these two disturbances occurred the less spectacular strike of the cameramen. 12 10 0 Hampton, op. cit., p. 1 1 5 . Los Angeles Times, loc. cit. 11 Ibid. 12 International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes, Convention Proceedings, iga8, p. 34.

8

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

In both strikes of the studio craftsmen similar tactics were employed. T r a d e unionists and their sympathizers were urged to boycott the films of studios on the "unfair list." Workers in theaters showing these films were asked to call sympathetic strikes. Union leaders joined hands with the film censorship and Sunday theater closing movements to harass the industry in the hope that it might succumb to their demands. But union participation in these movements never assumed serious enough proportions to force producers to capitulate. 13 Even before Hollywood had experienced its first strike, a second unionization campaign, which was to cause serious discord within union ranks, was under way. In the spring of 1918 the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes and Moving Picture Machine Operators 14 launched a movement to form one big union of all studio crafts. T h e Alliance is an A.F. of L. affiliate. It has always been a semiindustrial union of backstage employees—carpenters, electricians, and property men. Since it cuts across a number of crafts, it has frequently been involved in bitter jurisdictional quarrels with several large craft unions. In 1914, it won a major triumph when the American Federation of Labor settled in its favor a long-standing quarrel with the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers over the jurisdiction of motion picture projectionists. T h i s victory, coupled with other successes, encouraged the Alliance to penetrate film production; until then it had confined its activities to the unionization of the stagehands and projectionists in the theaters. 15 13 Los Angeles Times, loc. cit. " T h e Alliance accepted motion picture machine operators (projectionists) in 1908 and expanded its name accordingly. i» R o b e r t Osborne Baker, The International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes and Moving Picture Machine Operators in the United States and Canada, 1933, p. 41.

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

9

T h e big craft unions in the A.F. of L. had never completely accepted the surrender of some of their territory to the Alliance. T h e y had watched with annoyance as it absorbed the carpenters, electricians, and projectionists in the theaters. Its attempt to encroach upon the studio work, which they considered reserved for their own members, exasperated them. Civil war broke out between these two hostile camps of organized labor. As the Alliance proceeded to sign up carpenters, painters, electricians, and other artisans who had once been affiliated with locals of the separate craft unions, the situation became grave. Leaders of the craft unions held council meetings and voted to expel any member who joined the Alliance. 19 Hollywood's first real taste of a jurisdictional dispute brought great confusion into the studio labor situation. Even seasoned trade unionists did not know which way to turn. T h e y were reluctant to leave their locals for fear of losing their standing in the craft. O n the other hand, if the Alliance succeeded in securing a closed shop in the studios, their jobs would be in jeopardy. T h e easiest way out of the dilemma was to belong to both, despite the constitutional prohibition against membership in a dual or rival union. 17 Fifteen years later this ingenious device was instrumental in saving the jobs of several thousand Hollywood craftsmen. In craft union officialdom the Alliance faced an antagonism too powerful to overcome. Its dream of building a semi-industrial combine of the studio artisans, and of forcing producer recognition through A.F. of L. influence and a nation-wide boycott of all films made in open-shop studios died before it attained reality. T h e Alliance was strongly i* Motion Picture Daily, A p r i l 6, igi8, p. 1431. « Interview with a business agent of a Hollywood craft local.

10

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

organized in the motion picture theaters 18 but this weapon was not potent enough to break down the combined resistance of the producers and the craft unions. In the early twenties, after two unionization campaigns and three strikes, the Hollywood labor situation remained agitated. T h e Alliance had made a strategic retreat but did not consider itself defeated. It carried on organizational activity in the studios through its downtown Los Angeles local of stagehands and carefully planned for the day when it would be in a position to enforce its demands. Neither were the craft locals dormant. T h e y had never given up hope of unionizing the studios, and their locals in downtown Los Angeles made every possible effort to secure the lucrative jobs within the tall gates of the Hollywood studios. 19 T h e two groups were so set on establishing their jurisdictions that they frequently competed in supplying man power to the studios. It was not uncommon for one local to offer its men at a price somewhat lower than another was asking for artisans of similar qualifications. T h e unions curried the favor of foremen and managers in order to secure a lion's share of the work. As a result, neither wage rates nor conditions of employment in the studios were standardized. These chaotic conditions were frequently responsible for wage scales less favorable than in downtown Los Angeles 20 —a sad commentary on the contention that unionism eliminates unfair competition through standardization of employment conditions. For several years rivalry among the unions was so intense that it threatened to engulf the entire industry in a Baker, op. cit., p. 7. Los Angeles Citizen, 1918-25, passim. 2» Interviews ivith prominent A.F. of L . officials in Hollywood. N o comparative statistics are available. 18 19

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

11

controversy not of its own making. T h e basis of conflict went far beyond determination of which union would exercise job control, whose members would be permitted to work at certain tasks, which business agents would wield power in assigning work, and which union would stand to gain most in membership dues. T h e fact that the film industry was located in Hollywood engendered much of the bitterness. T h e building trades unions, composed of carpenters, electricians, painters, and a number of related crafts, have long been among the largest and strongest unions in the American Federation of Labor. In most large cities they have been able to secure closed-shop conditions, but in Los Angeles the open-shop plan prevailed even for them. For that reason the placement of every union member was an accomplishment. Naturally they resented any encroachments and fought inch by inch to maintain their very limited market. T h e weakness of the building trades unions in Los Angeles created a paradox. Had the studios been anywhere but in Hollywood, the construction unions would not have been so desperate over job control and so eager to stifle competition. On the other hand, the Alliance would have found it much more difficult to raid the building trades unions in most other cities. In Los Angeles they were weak and so busy fighting for existence that they could ill afford to take time off for a civil war. This enabled the Alliance to make considerable inroads into the studios. Another factor underlying union antagonism was the belief that the motion picture industry would be the first one in Los Angeles to yield to unionization. Financial control of the industry lay in New York, where unionism had achieved considerable power and prestige. Eastern producers and financiers who were accustomed to closed-shop

12

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

conditions had during their first years in Hollywood little understanding of or sympathy for the open-shop fight in Los Angeles. Furthermore, the existence of closed-shop conditions in the professional amusement field, among musicians, stage players, and theatrical crafts, in practically every important city was expected to be a big help to the unions in forcing a backdoor entrance into the studios. Both groups —the Alliancc and the craft unions—were anxious to take advantage of these favorable conditions. 21 T h e contending unions finally realized that as long as they quarreled among themselves they could not hope to achieve their goal. Each group had hesitated to undertake decisive action for fear of a stab in the back from the other. After several years of conflict over job control, they began to lay plans for cooperation. J o i n t action, in the form of a defensive-offensive pact concluded in 1 9 1 2 , between the Alliance and the American Federation of Musicians, 22 had been a great asset in the unionization of the theaters. Now similar agreements were sought by the warring Hollywood unions in order to entrench themselves in the studios. After years of negotiations and repeated admonitions from the conventions and executive council of the A.F. of L., a compromise was finally reached concerning the respective jurisdictions of the unions. T h e Alliance concluded its first Hollywood agreement with the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners in February, 1925,- 1 and a second with the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers in September, 1926. 24 These unions were its two 21 Los Angeles Times, loc. cit. 12 American Federation of Musicians, Comtitulion, pp. 177-80. 23 Agreement between International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes . . . and United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America (summarized in Baker, op. cit., p. 39). 21 Agreement between International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes and International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers (summarized in Baker, op. cit., p. 40).

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

13

chief rivals in the studios. T h e agreements divided all studio mechanical work, "to the end that no controversy shall be permitted to disturb operations" and "so that management can effectively and speedily prosecute the work with the men of our trades cooperating at all times." 26 T h e carpenters' and electricians' locals secured most of the construction work, the jurisdiction of the Alliance being limited largely to the actual process of shooting pictures. It retained control over workers in the property department, scenery, lighting effects, and miniature sets—work which corresponded closely to the types of activity which the Alliance controlled backstage in the legitimate theater. Having achieved a nominal peace among themselves, the studio craft unions were able to present a united front which finally brought them recognition. T h e unions were in a position to threaten the industry with a general strike. T h e y had close to a thousand members in the studios, 26 and their strength in the theaters 27 was a constant nightmare to producers. T h e box office is the pulse of the motion picture industry. Struck theaters would have deprived the producers of their sole source of income. Faced with such prospects, they agreed to recognize the unions. O n November 29, 1926, ten years after the first campaign to unionize Hollywood was launched, the producers affixed their signatures to their first union agreement, commonly known in the industry as the Studio Basic Agreement. 28 T h i s was negotiated and signed by the representatives of five unions and nine major producing corporations. Besides the stagehands, the carpenters, and the electricians, the pact included the painters and the musicians. T h e original agreement covered a two-year period but has been renewed at intervals so that it is still in effect. Ibid. 2« Memorandum from Frank Carotherc, Aug. 15, 1939. 27 Baker, op. at., p. 7. 28 Studio Basic Agreement, Nov. 29, iga6.

14

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

The Studio Basic Agreement, which has served as the cornerstone of the film industry's industrial relations policy for nearly fifteen years, is a simple two-page document—simpler than most trade agreements. It established an arrangement very similar to the one widely adopted in the World War, the so-called committee plan. Five union representatives, known as the Internationals' Committee, meet with an equal number of producer representatives. This union-management joint committee has wide latitude in choosing the problems it will handle. Its work ranges from examination of minor grievances to arbitration of questions pertaining to wages, hours of labor, working conditions in the studios, and any other matters which might cause misunderstanding or which might improve the conditions of the industry and its employees. T h e agreement is very flexible and contains no restrictions on the functions of the joint committee. A unique feature of the Studio Basic Agreement is the requirement that the Internationals' Committee consist of the five presidents of the national or international unions 29 signatory to the pact. Since the agreement specifically forbids local business agents to handle directly matters pertaining to studio employment, the secretaries of the two committees are the sole media through which workers and studio managers may voice their complaints. T h e producers insisted on this procedure in the hope that it might eliminate the petty jealousies of the business agents, so that a measure of stability could be achieved in the chaotic studio labor situation. Since the agreement obligates its participants to submit their grievances or disputes to the joint committee, the secretaries are in a key position. They receive reports from T h e distinction between " n a t i o n a l " a n d " i n t e r n a t i o n a l " unions is the fact that the latter unions include members in C a n a d a as well as in the United States.

Unionizing^Hollywood Backstage

15

their respective sides concerning matters which fail of immediate adjustment at any studio. After making an independent inquiry, each secretary reports the facts with recommendations to the chairman of his committee. T h e chairmen usually hold hearings and attempt a settlement. Almost all differences are settled in this manner, leaving very few for the full joint committee, whose decision is final. Many of the minor grievances are settled within a few days. It may be sufficient merely to call to the attention of the production superintendent the fact that a wage-scale ruling has not been observed or that a former decision has been misinterpreted. T h e management may then issue instructions to the offending department to correct the abuse and the case is finished. More difficult cases involving general principles are not resolved so easily and may take from several months to a year or more to settle.30 This manner of settling disputes prevents waste incurred through strikes, lockouts, and costly court battles. That the agreement compares favorably with other typical arrangements for settling labor disputes is proved by the fact that it has worked for fifteen years without any major disturbances. T h e two strikes by studio artisans since 1926 were called by groups outside the agreement." They were the result of personal ambitions and craft jurisdictional jealousies. T w o withdrawals from the agreement have occurred. One of these unions, the Alliance, reconsidered its move and was readmitted. T h e second place, vacated by the International Brotherhood of Painters, Decorators and Paperhangers, was filled by the International Brotherhood 30 "Peaceful Industrial Relations in the Motion Picture Industry" (unpublished memorandum), p. 3. Fully discussed in Chapters VI and I X , below.

16

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

of Teamsters, Chauffeurs, Warehousemen and Helpers. 32 Withdrawal from the agreement is voluntary and can be secured merely by notifying the chairmen of the committees. Most parties to the agreement have recognized its value and have found it advantageous to remain bound by it. Will Hays, czar of the industry, and high executives of motion picture companies take pride in pointing to the peaceful industrial relations record which has prevailed in Hollywood under their Studio Basic Agreement. 33 Equally enthusiastic is Frank Carothers, secretary of the Internationals' Committee, who has stated on several occasions: " T h e present agreement and its method of procedure have proven most beneficial to all concerned." 34 The apparent success of this agreement seems definitely to be due to conditions peculiar to the motion picture industry; the industry is not highly competitive and has enjoyed a very high degree of prosperity. Moreover, the labor cost of producing a picture 35 is less than five percent of the total.39 A substantial increase in the cost of the crafts adds only a small fraction to the entire cost of production. As a result, the producers have been quite able, and most of the time willing, to pay a price for industrial harmony. Ever since belligerent union rivalry ended, studio employees have enjoyed wage scales higher than those prevailing outside and therefore have been less inclined to dissatisfaction.37 82

Studio Basic Agreement, 1934 renewal. Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, Annual Report, 1938, p. 3; "Peaceful Industrial Relations in the Motion Picture Industry," p. 5; Film Daily, June 8, 1938. " "Peaceful Industrial Relations in the Motion Picture Industry," p. 5. 35 Only the labor of craftsmen is included here. M Film Facts, 1941, p. 19. 87 No comparative figures exist, but both labor and industry spokesmen agree on this. 83

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

17

Aside from the favorable conditions peculiar to the industry, the success of the agreement may in some measure be attributed to its unique procedure. Negotiations are not undertaken by the parties directly affected, who would naturally be less willing to concede any ground. Since final settlement does not rest in the hands of business agents, grounds for many petty jurisdictional squabbles are eliminated. T h e secretary of the Internationals' Committee is not engaged in furthering the interests of one local union against another. H e is appointed by the five union presidents and is responsible directly to them. By thus removing all direct action from the scene of the dispute, the agreement fosters an attitude of cooperation rather than demand and concession.38 An integral feature of the Studio Basic Agreement is the annual New York wage conference of the joint committee. All requests for higher wages, fewer hours, or changes in working conditions are presented by the business agent of a local to the secretary of the Internationals' Committee. Where the locals are democratically run, these requests are usually first voted upon by the membership. In all other instances, they constitute the will of an appointed business agent or of the union president's representative. Copies of the suggested changes are distributed among committee members to acquaint them with the proposed agenda. Local delegates attend these wage conferences when matters concerning their organizations are discussed, appearing in support of the arguments of the international officers. Decisions of the joint committee are presented to the interested locals for ratification. In the democratic locals, they are voted on by the membership; others merely abide by the decisions of the union officers. In no instance has a 3» "Peaceful Industrial Relations in the Motion Picture Industry," p. 5.

18

Unionizing Hollywood Backstage

local failed to ratify, or a producer to accept, a new agreement concluded in this manner. At the first conference, in April, 1928, the wage and employment conditions of the several studio crafts were standardized and codified in the "Mechanics' Wage Scale and Working Conditions." T h e studios, for the first time, were operating under union standards. In October, 1928, an amendment granted the skilled artisans an increase, on each May 1 from 1929 through 1931, of twenty-five cents a day over the prevailing rate of eight dollars.40 Employed artisans benefited considerably from the establishment of these standard wage scales and working conditions. By means of these contractual obligations they escaped the two wage reductions imposed by the producers upon unorganized groups in the industry in 1927 and in 1933. The grievance-procedure and wage-conference methods were not equally pleasing to all parties. After five years of experience with the agreement, the painters requested their parent body to withdraw. 41 They objected chiefly to the roundabout nature of the grievance procedure, which rendered the local organization largely impotent. Despite the fact that the producers risked facing shrewd bargainers on the union committee in preference to being at the mercy of "walking delegates," local labor leaders have frequently criticized the Internationals' Committee. Union presidents and their representatives are seldom well acquainted with local conditions. They are primarily interested in the stability of their organizations and the continued payment of dues to the international by the local. Not immediately responsible to the membership of a local, »» Memorandum from Frank Carothers, Aug. 15, 1939. " W a g e Agreement, Oct. 16, 1928 (summarized in I.A.T.S.E. Convention Proceedings, 1928, pp. 39-42). The "average daily" placements are computed on the basis of a six-day work week.

Annual studio expenditures for extra talent through Central Casting have fluctuated in the neighborhood of two and three million dollars. As revealed by Table 3, they were lowest in 1931, the year the smallest number of extras were hired, and were highest in 1939. Although placements in

76

Hollywood's "Extras"

1939 were not quite as high as in 1927, unionization and the use of more dress extras caused total expenditures in 1939 to exceed those in 1927 by $286,535. T h e variations in the amount spent annually for extras depend upon the economic and technical nature of film production. As a rule, more extras are employed in a prosperous year when film production expands. T h e type of picture produced, however, seems to have even greater influence. Screen epics such as Ben Hur and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which were produced in silent picture days, required much more human atmosphere than the more recent domestic comedies. This, to a large extent, explains the annual differences in the number of extra players engaged by the studios. T h e average daily wage of extra players has been relatively high, ranging from $8.46 in 1926, to $ 1 1 . 0 8 in 1940. T A B L E

3

T O T A L A N N U A L W A G E S AND A V E R A G E D A I L Y R A T E S OF E X T R A S

1926-40 0

6

YEAR

T O T A L WAGES

A V E R A G E DAILY R A T E

1926 1927 1928 1929 I93O »93» I932 '933 !934 !935 1936 »937 1938 1939 1940

$2,195,395.65 2,838,136.30 2,469,711.28 2,401,429.31 2,460,012.78 1,928,174.26 2,065,150.92 2,254,571.63 2,177,681.13 2,834,714.48 2,420,453.55 2,986,372.89 2,848,445.68 3,124,671.64 2,529,766.10

$ 8.46 8-59 8.94 9- 1 3 9-74 10.17 9.62 8-95 9-90 10.18 9.02 10.14 10.78 10.61 11.08

C o m p i l e d f r o m data furnished by Central Casting Corporation. T h e "average daily r a t e " includes overtime payments.

B

Hollywood's 'Extras"

77

Fluctuations in the average daily wage usually depend upon the type of wardrobe required. Increased use of dress extras, of course, would cause an increase both in the daily average and in the total annual expenditures. T h e high daily rate is not an indication of actual earnings. Very few professional extras receive enough work to earn a comfortable living. As indicated in T a b l e 4, during 1939 the most prosperous year for the extras, only 58 earned more than $2,000, 926 more than $ 1,000, and 3,171 more than $500. This group included the dress extras who must maintain an expensive wardrobe. T w o thirds of the regular extra players and all the "casuals" earned less than $500 during the year. T h i s is the lot of ninety percent of all human beings we see in motion pictures. 17 TABLE 4 ANNUAL

EARNINGS

OF

EXTRA

PLAYERS

1 937-40°

YEAR LESS THAN $500 $500-$999 Number

>937 1938 »939

1940

6,850 6,678

5,7*7

Percent

Number

8842 77.18 67.80 7141

1,120 1,287

>>3'5

Percent

7-°S

14.50 22.80 16.40

$1,000-

$2,000-

?>.999

»«.999

Number 617 664 868 845

$3,000

AND OVER

Per- Num- Per- Numcent ber cent ber 3.87 748 8.81 10.54

101

.64

74 -»4 58 -59 >23 >-53

7 0 0

10

Percent

-°4 0 0 0.12

o Compiled from data in Film Facts, 1938-40.

How the extra players have managed to exist on their meager studio earnings has been one of Hollywood's major mysteries. Central Casting has had on register between 8,000 and 17,500 extras and has been able to draw upon an additional reservoir of 20,000 to 30,000 "casuals." 18 It is an " Marian L. Mel, Method of Employment of Extra Players in the Motion Picture Industry in California, 1930, p. 1. is " T h e Central Casting Corporation," Jan., 1937, p. 18.

78

Hollywood's "Extras"

open secret that the overwhelming majority have not received more than a few days of work per year. While there are few figures on amounts and sources, it is generally presumed that most extras, particularly women, have some supplementary income. 19 A housewife, ordinarily occupied with homemaking, is not averse to accepting several days of work a year as an extra. Similarly, a girl living at home looks upon extra work as a "thriller" conveniently yielding pin money. But the case of the professional extra, who looks upon the work as a vocation, is different. This group found it extremely difficult to secure other employment. Some were rendered unfit for other work by long and continuous adherence to the extra trade. Women who tried to supplement their earnings by modeling gowns and men who undertook sales work soon discovered that other jobs interfered with their availability for extra employment. 20 Studios insist upon having the extras when they need them and cannot wait for other jobs to expire. As a result, most professional extras must depend almost entirely upon studio calls for a living. They must support themselves and frequently maintain an elaborate wardrobe out of the limited incomes listed in Table 4. A survey made by the Standing Committee of the Motion Picture Producers and Screen Actors Guild in 1939 throws some light on supplementary earnings. Of the 2,860 extras who answered the questionnaire, almost one third had no earnings other than what they received from extra work; 17 percent earned up to $500 annually from other than extra work; 6 percent earned between $500 and $1,000; 5.5 percent earned in excess of $1,000. T w o fifths did not reply to the question on supplementary earnings. Such earnings 18

Mel, op. cit., p. 2. 20 Interview with Campbell MacCulloch, manager of the Central Casting Corporation.

Hollywood's "Extras"

79

were derived from radio work, stage acting, professional singing, and the like, but did not include income from insurahce and annuities, aid from family and friends, or unemployment relief. Despite Central Casting's beneficial contributions, it has been rather unpopular among the extras. At the very start it had to overcome the enormous obstacles which had been created by the mistakes of previous years. T h e extras were angry and disgruntled. Many mistook Central Casting for a philanthropic or public agency, engaged in a public service, and became enraged when it failed to provide them with jobs. Considerable time was needed to impress them with the fact that Central was a private corporation owned by the major producers and engaged by them to select extra players who would satisfy the needs of the studios.21 Despite the obvious advantages of casting by telephone, many extras attacked this procedure in the belief that their personal appearance would obtain them the jobs. When pictures requiring few extras were produced, Central Casting was blamed for the shrinkage of job opportunities. Central undoubtedly carried over many of the previously existing shortcomings. T h e extras accused it of nepotism, favoritism, and discrimination. While much of the criticism was the result of the aggravated state of the labor market—the presence of so many extras and so few jobs—some of it was probably merited. 22 Many individuals previously connected with the commercial placement agencies were brought into Central because of their familiarity with the situation. A former owner of the largest extra employment agency was for eight years Central's manager. These men could not entirely divest themselves of their personal prefer21 Circular issued by C.C.C., Sept. 10, 1935. 22 Academy, Report on Employment Conditions of Hollywood Picture "Extras," Sept. 5, 1933, passim.

Motion

80

Hollywood's "Extras"

ences and prejudices. Furthermore, studio casting directors continued to ask for extras by name. T h e i r insistence upon obtaining the familiar persons who discharged their duties satisfactorily left the remaining extras a dissatisfied lot. With all its faults, the operation of Central Casting has been of great help to the extras. It has saved them five million dollars over a period of fifteen years—a sum equal to the average studio expenditures on extra talent during two years. T h e obnoxious practices which it helped to eradicate are too numerous to list. Its compliance with the order of the Industrial Welfare Commission was more than satisfactory. 23 Whenever studios failed to compensate extras for all the time occupied at their direction, Central attended to the complaints. In this manner, extras were benefited by settlements in their favor and the studios were spared the ordeal of being brought before the state authorities. Central's special adjustment bureau handled all legitimate claims. T h e only complaints it refused to consider were those pertaining to lack of employment. Grievances concerning wages, hours, and working conditions were, as a rule, amicably adjusted. Wherever Central Casting failed, the Industrial Welfare Commission took steps to protect the extra. N o discussion of Central Casting would be complete without some reference to its activities in connection with child labor in the movies. Prior to Central's establishment, children, like all other extra players, were hired haphazardly. T h e y swarmed about the studio gates in the hope of securing a day's assignment. Central placed the hiring of all child extras in the hands of a special department. Since 1926 the employment of minors has been under the protection of the minimum provisions of the Industrial Wel23

" T h e Central Casting Corporation," July, i933(?), p. 1 1 .

Hollywood's "Extras"

81

fare Commission's order and the California Compulsory Education Act. Jointly these control their entry into film work and their conditions of employment in the studios. Child labor in the studios is carried on under ideal conditions. Investigations by educational authorities reveal that the work is not detrimental. 24 Since child extras must submit to periodic examinations for permit renewals, their health is decidedly above average. High scholarship standards are maintained because of individual guidance and instruction by competent teachers. T h e constant threat of forfeiting the work permit acts as an incentive to good scholarship. According to the California School Law, the officer issuing a permit must be satisfied that the "environment is a proper environment for the minor and that the conditions of such employment are not detrimental to the health of such minors and that the minor's education will not be neglected or hampered." 25 Fortunately, the number of minors admitted to extra work has been restricted. No child may work as an extra without a permit from the Los Angeles Board of Education. Such permits are issued only upon the request of Central Casting, which exercises complete control over admissions. It accepts only the applications of children who represent rare types and abilities, provided they comply with the health and scholarship requirements of the school system. Every effort is made to keep film work from interfering with the normal life and growth of the youngsters. Central Casting interviews minors on Saturday mornings only so as not to interrupt their regular school activities. Studios must 2i Mel, op. cit., p. 9; interview with Los Angeles education authorities in charge of employment of minors. 2« Mel, op. cit., p. 6.

82

Hollywood's "Extras"

provide teachers or welfare workers who accompany the children from the time they arrive on the sets until they leave. Regular school work must be conducted in the studios for children of school age. T h e teachers and welfare workers report to the Board of Education concerning sanitary conditions and the general moral tone. A strict limitation is set on hours of work. If nursery facilities are provided, children between two and five years of age may spend six hours on the set. Otherwise the studio may keep them no more than four hours. In either case, they are permitted to work only half the time they spend in the studio. Children under two may work two hours. Children of school age may remain in the studio for eight hours, of which they may work a maximum of four. T h e remaining time must be used for study and recreation. T h e use of minors in the industry is greatly restricted since most motion pictures have no need for them. Occasionally a picture such as Dead End is produced with a cast consisting predominantly of minors. Pictures of this character are so few, however, that they contribute very little to the employment of child extras. As Table 5 reveals, the placement of minors has never been much more than five percent of the average daily placement of extras. Because of the need for great diversity in types and ages, the few available jobs are divided among many children. Physical changes are so rapid in this group that the studios are compelled to maintain a reserve which is much larger than they can use. Approximately half of the children with permits do not get any work during the year. Of those used, according to Table 6, about three fourths receive ten days of work a year. T h e meager earnings of minor extras do not create a serious economic problem since children, as a rule, are not breadwinners for families.

Hollywood's "Extras" TABLE

5

C H I L D E X T R A PLACEMENTS AVERAGE YEAR

83

1926-40® PERCENTAGE OF

DAILY CHILD

AVERAGE DAILY

PLACEMENTS

EXTRA PLACEMENTS

1926

24

290

1927

39

1928

29 26

3-69 3SO

1929

309

1932

'9 22 20

2-35 3-63 292

1933

33

4.IO

>934

29

4»3

•935 1936

31

3-49 4.78

»9SO 1931

4»

»937

24

1938

41 48

1939 1940

33

2-55 4.86 5.11 4-52

» Compiled from data furnished by Central Casting Corporation. ft C o m p u t e d o n t h e basis of a six-day w o r k w e e k .

As problems of placement and working conditions of the extras were gradually being solved, it became clearer than ever that these problems were not the source of all trouble regarding extras. Attention was once again drawn to what Miss Van Kleeck called the long-run problem—the decasualization of the extra labor supply. O n the tenth anniversary of the establishment of Central Casting, Dr. Louis Bloch, chief statistician of the California Division of Labor Statistics and Law Enforcement, made an official report on its achievements. He wrote: After carefully examining all available data, I feel confident in stating that the Central Casting Corporation has proved of immense benefit to the extras and that it has accomplished the objectives for which it has been established, with the exception of decasualization. There is still to be accomplished

84

Hollywood's "Extras" TABLE

6

EMPLOYMENT OF CHILD EXTRAS: SCHOOL YEARS 1 9 2 9 - 4 0 ®

DAYS OF EMPLOYMENT

1929-30 Percent

Children

t 2 t O 10 1 1 t o 20 21 tO JO 31 W50 51 t o 99 100— TOTAL

DAYS OF j EMPLOY- I MENT j

25 52 >3 4 3

31» 663 164

53 36 iti »5

639

25 53

4»

5 3

3

•

301

1

12 l

672

97 4« 39

49»

3 3

55

10 6

1

Children

30 54

824 130

8

28

5

1 0.5

1

Percent

32 54

8

4

2 0.3

0.1

»534

1202

»237

| »935_3®

»936-37

1268

»933 -34 Children

Percent

736

928 171

67 65 »7

2

37 47 9 3 3

0.9 0.1

1986

1

1934-35

1 486 27 2 tO 10 9 > 8 5 2 1 1 t o 20 228 13 21 tO 30 75 4 52 3 3» to 5° 20 1 51 t o 99 TOTAL

37»

11

130 66

2

»932 "33

Per- ' Chil- Percent t dren cent

Children

!

Chil- Per-1 Children cent j dren

100—

»93» -32

1930-31

1

1780

0.1

Per- Chilcent dren

598 28 1102 52 238 11

77 75

23 4 2117

4 4 1 0.2

295

»4

115 86

6 4

2039

»938-39

»939-4°

Per- Chil- Per- Chil- Per- Chilcent dren cent dren cent dren

4 7 4 23 1038 51

25 6

»937-38

» 0.3

Percent

3 9 6 22 5 3 2 20 4 1 9 22 9'3 5» » 2 3 5 4 7 1018 49 200 1 1 326 16 411 16 111 6 » 9 4 7 »36 7 »»9 7 184 7 85 4 48 3 63 2 65 3 1 2 0.7 24 1 14 0.7 »799

2643

j 2093

« Figures supplied by the Los A n g e l e s e d u c a t i o n a l authorities.

the task of regularizing and stabilizing the work of the extras with a view to enabling them to derive a livelihood from working in the motion picture industry. 2 ' A f t e r ten years the industry was no nearer a solution of its most pressing labor problem. W h e n Central Casting began operations, it secured the 2« R e p o r t to the California State L a b o r Commissioner, N o v . 26, 1955.

Hollywood's "Extras"

85

names of some 12,000 extras from the registers of the studio casting offices and from several commercial employment agencies. Although this number was considered more than adequate, new applicants were interviewed at specified intervals. Those who seemed promising or who represented types and abilities of which a temporary dearth existed were added to the rolls. T h e y were usually informed of the precarious nature of extra employment 2 7 and were registered only if they did not depend entirely upon extra work for a livelihood. On the whole, the industry pursued halfheartedly its official policy of discouraging new applicants. T h e "stay away from Hollywood" campaigns were always in a minor key, pitched well below the major glamor theme. 28 T h e conspicuous publicity given to the few fortunate extras who rose to the wealth and fame of stardom was responsible for the continuous flow of new hopefuls. 29 Glamor is such a great asset in selling pictures that it has been carefully nurtured by Hollywood. Studio prosperity depends upon the good will of the moviegoing public. T o turn back an aspiring extra who is probably an enthusiastic fan and thereby to antagonize all his friends is bad business. Unscrupulous advertising by employment agencies and "acting" and "make-up" schools also encouraged the influx. Despite general industry recognition of the need for decasualization, the ranks of the extras grew. T h e improvements which resulted from the free placement bureau and the state labor regulations were to a large extent offset by the introduction of sound. Early sound pictures were patterned after the modern stage play, using only the acting cast, so that calls for extras were sharply cut. 2» C.C.C., Interesting Facts. 2« Kinnell, op. cit., p. 7.

2» Mel, op. cit., p. 1.

86

Hollywood's "Extras"

When this beginning phase was over, studios returned to the use of atmosphere people, but on a somewhat different basis. Extras were hired not only for type and wardrobe but also for their "sound" abilities. T a l k i n g pictures required singers, linguists, and people capable of producing various sound effects. As a result, the ranks of the extras were extended from 12,000 in 1926 to 17,500 in 1929.30 A smaller number of jobs had to be distributed among almost one and one-half times as many extras. T h i s created even greater hardships for a group once characterized by the head of Central Casting as members of the "most heartbreaking and unsatisfactory [profession] in all the list of human employments." " Since sound followed promptly after the organization of Central Casting, many extras, failing to understand the technological change, attributed their added woes to the free placement agency. T h e introduction of sound created a sharp division between actor and extra, between those with speaking parts and those without. This division did not exist in the silentpicture days, when a number of prominent screen stars rose from the ranks of the extras.32 When producers want new talent now they get it from the legitimate stage, which previously spurned the silent pictures. It has been repeatedly emphasized in recent years that the number of stars and feature players who have fallen into the extra group is much greater than the number of extras who have risen to stardom. This not only has placed the extra group at the end rather than the beginning of the Hollywood ladder, but it has also removed much of the "psychic income" which the group previously enjoyed. Doubtless a large number of extras are attracted to Hollywood simply because they wish »0 Ibid., p. 5. 32 Kinnell, op. cit., p. 5.

31 Statement by C a m p b e l l MacCulloch.

Hollywood's "Extras"

87

to see themselves on the screen. T h e r e are many, however, who are willing to endure all sorts of privations in the hope of eventual success. T h i s hope has been withdrawn. As a result, the extra group, since 1929, has become entirely different from what it was before. T h e extras now know that they can expect no advancement; extra work has become their profession, and they want to make it as lucrative as they can. T h e problem of the extra can be solved only by providing adequate employment opportunities. T h i s is by no means an easy task. It may seem to the layman that the available extra work could be concentrated among a group of players small enough to insure each one a livelihood. This is made impossible by the enormous variation in type, age, nationality, and accomplishment necessary for film production. Extra work is not entirely atmospheric and the regular group of extras cannot be used for specialized activities. When a production requires swimmers, machinists, soldiers, horseback riders, or others with special skill, new individuals are brought into the studios. T h e y frequently remain as extras, using their specialties when needed and filling in with ordinary extra work the rest of the time. Various nationality groups, known as racials, similarly augment the extra group, dividing the annual studio expenditures on extras among an ever-larger throng. In many respects, decasualizing the extra labor supply is a more difficult task than regularizing the employment of water-front employees. Like extras, longshoremen are casual workers, required only when there are boats to load and unload. Enough longshoremen must be available to handle peaks at the arrival and departure of steamers. Most of the time there is work for but a few of the number requisite for peak periods. T o cope with this problem, a system of

88

Hollywood's "Extras"

rotating work has been instituted in ports as widely separated as Liverpool and San Francisco. T h i s was made possible by

the

interchangeability

of

longshoremen.

Un-

fortunately, realism in films restricts the possibilities of substitution of persons. In the case of a longshoreman, it matters little whether he is short or tall, white or colored. In the case of pictures, it matters a great deal. Speaking before the Second Pan-Pacific W o m e n ' s Conference in August, 1930, Miss Marian L. Mel, director of the Division of W o m e n and Children of the Central Casting Corporation, concluded with the following remarks: For the problem of casual employment as a whole, there can be no solution while the making of pictures maintains its present wide range in the types required in extra work, but it is the aim of the industry to meet each other problem of employment as it arises, and work toward the establishment and recognition of fair standards. 8 ' In the ensuing years of the depression the industry was not able even to maintain the prevailing standards. 83

Mel,

op. cit.,

p. 12.

5 The Blue Eagle

H E P R E C E D I N G chapters traced the development of industrial relations in H o l l y w o o d from the location of the film industry there through the "great depression." T h e present chapter is devoted to an analysis of the conflicts surrounding the formulation, adoption, and operation of the National Recovery Administration film code. It depicts the H o l l y w o o d labor crosscurrents d u r i n g the N R A

period,

the struggle for power among competing talent organizations, and the final collapse of the N R A machinery under the impact of the strife which it engendered. T h e economic depression which swept the nation from 1929 to 1933 undermined the peaceful basis of industrial relations in Hollywood. D u r i n g these trying years all studio employees, from stars to extras, felt the pinch of rapidly shrinking opportunities for employment and decreased earnings. T h e salary-waiver plan and subsequent reductions cut deeply into the actors' and writers' incomes. M i n i m u m daily rates for extras declined drastically. Fewer extras were used and a larger proportion were hired at reduced rates. Similarly, the studio craftsmen were suffering f r o m curtailed production schedules and impaired wage standards.

90

The Blue Eagle

Not even the producers were spared in the ravaging depression. When the National Industrial Recovery Act was inaugurated to cope with the protracted economic catastrophe, the motion picture industry, like many others, hastened to take advantage of the act's recovery provisions. 1 After much deliberation and many conferences among conflicting groups and interests in the industry, a preliminary code of fair competition 2 was drafted with the aid of Sol A. Rosenblatt, N R A Deputy Administrator in charge of the Amusement Division. T h e proposed code contained three provisions concerning the actors and writers which laid the basis for an industrywide controversy. T h e first was intended to abolish producer "raids" on the talent of competitors. T h e second set the modus operandi of artists' agents. T h e last established a salary-fixing board to control the astronomical salaries of some film individuals. For years picture producers regarded the enticement of talent by competitors and the activities of artists' agents as constituting Hollywood's most serious unfair trade practices.' Although these problems centered about a relatively small group of top-notch personalities, the loss of one individual frequently threatened complete disruption of production. Since enterprising motion picture magnates usually found it more profitable to engage talent already developed by others, they secured it by offering exorbitant salaries. Long-term contracts did not solve the problem of "talentraiding," because the coveted artists simply broke their existing contracts. T h e psychological effects of higher bids 1 NIRA was signed by President Roosevelt on June 16, 1933. 2 Academy, Bulletin 3j, Aug. 28, 1933. • NRA, Public Hearings on the Motion Picture Code, pp. 635 ff.

The Blue Eagle

91

caused a deterioration of the artists' work—in extreme cases rendering it worthless. Complete contentment was usually reestablished only when the employing producer equaled the exorbitant competitive offer. Appearing at the public hearings on the N R A code in Washington on behalf of Hollywood's major film producers, B. B. Kahane, president of R.K.O., cited as a typical case the company which had a long-term contract with an actor at a salary of $ 1,000 a week.4 As much as three years prior to the expiration of the contract another producer approached the actor through an agent and made an offer of $3,000 a week. This large increase does not seem to have been unusual; offers of ten times the existing salary have been made. T h e actor signed a contract which was to start as soon as the current one expired. A clause was included in the following vein: "If you can get out of your present contract sooner, we shall be glad to have you start the new contract then." Knowing that he could be getting much more money, the artist became temperamental and uncooperative. Since he was an important asset to the firm, the producer could not lose him and had either to buy up the outstanding contract or readjust his compensation. Maintaining that producers who had trained and publicized popular screen personalities at great expense were entitled to a fair return on their investments and to keep their employees, film executives tried twice to stamp out the disturbing practices. They made their first attempt in March, 1922, through the by-laws of the Hays trade association—the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America. 3 Its ineffectiveness spurred them to negotiate the * Loc. cit. » Federated Council of the Churchcs of Christ in America, The Relations of the Motion Picture Industry, p. 19.

Public

92

The Blue Eagle

Producers' Arbitration Agreement through the Academy in December, 1 9 3 1 . 8 T h e purpose of this agreement was to stabilize the industry by eliminating abuses such as talent raids and secret and premature negotiations with the employees of a competing company. Although both agreements were signed by many producing companies, neither proved successful. T h e producers now sought to achieve through the legal machinery of the N R A what they had failed to establish by mutual agreement. T h e code 7 made it illegal for a producer to take an employee away from another producer or to advise him not to fulfill his agreement. Since rival producers frequently obtained an artist's release by setting him at odds with his employer, this was forbidden by the code. Producers were permitted to negotiate with an employee of another studio only during the last thirty days of his contract. If the employing studio had filed notice with the Code Authority of its desire to retain the artist, it was to be provided with full particulars of the competing offer. A second copy had to be registered with the Code Authority. Employers who paid artists $500 to $1,000 per week or $5,000 to $10,000 per picture were to be advised of any offers made their former employees during three months after the expiration of their contracts. Where the remuneration had been higher, the period was set at six months. T h i s provision was included to prevent the evasion of the notice-filing requirement by the ostensible postponement of the offer until immediately after the expiration of the contract. It gave producers an opportunity to regain their former employees by matching the competing terms.8 T h e draft provisions set heavy penalties for violations. •Academy, Special Bulletin (Supplement No. 8), July 12, 1932, p. 3. 'Academy, Bulletin 25, Aug. 28, 1933. » N R A , op. eit.

The Blue Eagle

93

T h e Code Authority could bar from employment during a designated period of time any employee who broke his contract. In such an event it was considered an unfair trade practice for any producer to employ the artist or for any theater to exhibit pictures made by the artist during the penalty period. T h e Code Authority also had the power to restrict the exhibition of motion pictures produced by an offending studio. In an effort to reduce the extravagant salaries which had resulted from destructive competition, the Code Authority was empowered to investigate cases in which an employer had offered excessive compensation. It could fine the offending producer up to $10,000 for an unreasonable salary, but it could not abrogate the contracts. This established the Code Authority as a salary-fixing board. Kahane, in his testimony,0 portrayed talent agents as unrestrained trouble-makers engaged in stirring dissatisfaction among their clients. They were constantly telling artists: " I can get you so much more; I will talk to so and so." They played upon the fears of employing producers by misrepresenting the offers of others. His indictment did not include the reputable agents who represented their clients efficiently and were a constructive force in the industry. He insisted, however, that some form of control over the activities of dishonest agents was essential lest they wreck the entire industry by their ruinous tactics. T o forestall the impending disaster, the code improvised an agency committee. No studio was permitted to deal with any agent whom the committee declared persona non grata. T o remain in its good graces, agents were expected to observe a definite code of ethics. They were not to use bribes or to advise an artist to abrogate his contract. They were e Ibid.

94

The Blue Eagle

ostracized if they were f o u n d knowingly to have misrepresented a client to a producer. T h e code provision r e q u i r i n g registration of offers would, of course, act as an additional check on misrepresentation. T h i s

control o v e r

artists'

agents was the final step in the scheme to e l i m i n a t e cutthroat competition for talent. In concluding his appeal f o r the restrictive provisions, K a h a n e conceded that no producer was guiltless. I n the past, all had sinned and had been sinned against. 1 0 P r e v i o u s agreements had proven ineffective since they d i d not b i n d the entire industry. Companies just starting in business were free f r o m restraints and could compete at will f o r creative talent. T w o o r three such companies could seriously i n j u r e any H o l l y w o o d producer, thus forcing immediate retaliation. T h e producers were now w i l l i n g to abstain f r o m raiding provided all their competitors were bound by the same enforcible regulations. T h e Academy of Motion Picture Arts and

Sciences,

whose influence had been u n d e r m i n e d by its sponsorship of the salary-waiver plan, was m a k i n g a desperate attempt to reestablish itself through the N R A code machinery. Its newly elected president, J . T . R e e d , w h o succeeded C o n r a d Nagel on A p r i l 24, 1 9 3 3 , promised the m e m b e r s h i p "action."

11

E v e n before the N I R A became law, he had m a d e

every effort to revitalize the rapidly atrophying A c a d e m y . A new constitution which was to " s t r e a m l i n e " the A c a d e m y had been proposed. 1 2 T o speed its drafting, the five branch executive committees and the A c a d e m y Board of Directors appointed a constitutional revision committee consisting of two representatives f r o m each branch. T a k i n g its task seriously, w i t h i n two weeks the committee s u b m i t t e d the 11 Academy, Bulletin 12, May 22, 1933, p. 1. 12 Ibid., Bulletin 14, June 22, 1933.

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complete text of a revised constitution which, according to its sponsors, established a new Academy—"a soundly balanced organization structure profiting by the practical experience of the past six years." 13 T h e revisions were ratified by an overwhelming vote of the membership. T h e y expanded the purposes of the Academy by specifically including as one of its functions the handling of industrial relations. Besides reiterating earlier objectives, such as the encouragement of film progress and the establishment of charities to assist the indigent in the industry, the constitution undertook " T o advance the welfare of the motion picture industry by providing facilities for the arbitration and conciliation of disputes within the industry, and by establishing and administering agreements between and within the industry's branches." 14 Special provision was made in the by-laws for the establishment and enforcement of codes and agreements. Instruments of mediation, conciliation, and arbitration developed by the Academy, such as the Actors' Adjustment Committee, were now provided for in the constitution. In Reed's opinion, " T h e essential improvement brought about by these by-laws is that the organization now has the machinery to enforce the policies which the members undertake." 15 Vital changes were made in membership rules and privileges. Cognizance was taken of the criticism leveled at the self-perpetuating nature of the Academy officialdom. T h e small group of "foundation members" who had previously monopolized the Academy Board of Directors and the right to amend the constitution and by-laws was now entirely abolished. Membership requirements were relaxed by peris Ibid., Bulletin

12, May 22, 1933, p. 2.

" Ibid., Bulletin

14, June 22, 1933, p. 1.

1® Ibid., Bulletin

16, July 24, 1933, p. 2.

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mitting each branch to set its o w n qualifications. In addition, a new class of membership was created for producing companies. T h e y could become affiliated as corporate members if they accepted all the Academy agreements in force at the time of admission. T h e s e member companies had no voice whatsoever in the internal affairs of the Academy. A n y dues or assessments paid by them were credited to a special account and used by the Academy Research C o u n c i l . T h e Academy continued its policy of cooperating with other organizations who sought to improve the industry, but the new constitution, unlike the earlier one, did not mention the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America by name. T h e first major accomplishment of the reorganized Academy was the establishment of an code. 10

artist-agent-producer

T h e agency problem had been v e x i n g for a long

time, b u t it became alarming in 1932 w h e n certain motion picture agencies introduced a bill in the California state legislature to exempt them from the control of the labor commission. In California all motion picture employment agencies were subject to state regulation and supervision. 17 Agents were required to secure an annual license from the State L a b o r Commissioner. T h e form of contract between the agency and the artist was also subject to his approval. T h e agency could charge only for engagements actually procured by it, and the fee had to be specifically stated on the contract. A l t h o u g h there was no limitation on fees, the schedule had to be filed with the commission and posted in the office of the agency. Violations were punishable by suspension or revocation of license. Despite all these protective provisions, the agency situation had remained 1« Ibid., Bulletin

most unsatisfactory. T h e

¡8, July 29, 1933.

17

Academy

Ibid., p. 4.

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18

agency committee, which studied the problem for eight months, discovered that general ignorance prevailed concerning state agency regulations. It advised the membership "that much more protection against unscrupulous practices by agents can be secured by appeal to the Commission than is generally realized in H o l l y w o o d . " 1 9 In the letter accompanying its newly formulated agency code, the committee boldly declared to the membership, " Y o u are familiar with the present bad practices, either from experience, or from knowing about cases of racketeering, double dealing, arrogance, failure to live up to obligations, semi-legal trickery and the feuds between producers and agents which have caused loss to artist, agent and producer alike." 20 T h e Academy agency code contained a large number of provisions aimed at the eradication of these evils. It attempted to eliminate one-sided contracts between agents and artists by requiring a clear statement of the duties and responsibilities of each. While it protected the agent's legitimate commissions, the code, like the state law, prohibited his collecting for employments which he did not secure. Since some agents charged exorbitant commissions, the code set a definite maximum of ten percent. T h e y were not permitted to accept secretly any additional payment. T h e code required the agent to work diligently on behalf of his client, establishing as a criterion of the validity of his contract that "in advising the artist the artist's interest and benefit shall be the sole consideration." 21 If the agent failed to secure employment for the artist within the period mutually agreed upon, his contract was forfeited. T h e agent is indispensable to the artist. He manages his is The committee included such outstanding champions of the artists' interests as Frank Capra and Robert Montgomery, i® Academy, Bulletin 18, July »9, 1933, p. 4. so Ibid., p. 1. 21 ¡bid., p. 8.

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client's business affairs, negotiates his contracts, and generally supervises his professional welfare. Artists frequently suffered losses when their agents were barred from studios because of their long-standing feuds with the producers. O n e of the strongest clauses in the code laid down the principle that the artist is entitled to the counsel of his agent and therefore has the right to have the agent accompany or represent him. As a precaution against producers who were financially interested in an agency, the code required that a complete statement of the financial interests in all agencies be filed with the Academy. Hoping to put a stop to expensive legal battles, the code established a procedure for the settlement of disputes. All disagreements involving the code or artistagent contracts were to be arbitrated within the Academy by an impartial board which was familiar with industry conditions and trade practices. All these code provisions conformed to the state agency law and supplemented rather than superseded it. T h e agency code was by no means a novel venture. Previous attempts had been made to establish standards governing employment negotiations in the industry. T h e agents, cognizant of existing evils, yet forced for self-preservation to indulge in sharp practices, had tried to regulate themselves. And for years the producers had considered the establishment of a central booking agency for talent. 22 According to the code committee, both movements failed, because the forces behind them did not give first consideration to the artists, whereas their code was based on the premise that the agent is an employee of the artist. By protecting the honest agent from less scrupulous competitors, the code assured him of an adequate reward for his services and a 22 Ibid., p. i.

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secure place in the industry. T h e code was overwhelmingly endorsed by the Academy membership just prior to the N R A code hearings in September, 1933." The Academy's second move in its determined efforts to stage a comeback called for the inclusion of its collective negotiation machinery in the N R A code. It hoped to become under the N R A the representative of all the talent groups. T h e new constitution laid the groundwork for this step when it declared that the purpose of the Academy was " T o represent and coordinate the various branches of the motion picture production industry in their activities and relations with each other. . . ." 24 Since to accomplish this it was necessary to remove the stigma of alleged company unionism, the contributions from film companies were restricted to research uses. A proposed change in the name of the producers' branch would have presented producers as executive employees. Every effort was made to give the impression that both the new election system and the Academy as a whole were free from producer domination. As part of this general strategy, Reed, the Academy president, played a very active role in drafting the N R A code. Upon the invitation of N R A Deputy Administrator Rosenblatt, he became a member of the official code committee.25 T h e Academy Board of Governors appointed an industry code committee which reviewed N R A developments and made suggestions.2® Every effort was made to interest all the Academy branches in the work. Despite the Academy's constant emphasis upon the need for unity during a period of national emergency, such serious differences arose over the final report of its code committee that a new committee 23 Ibid., 24 Ibid., 25 Ibid., Ibid.,

Bulletin Bulletin Bulletin Bulletin

30, Sept. 26, 1933, p. 1. 14, June 22. 1933, p. 1. 24, Aug. 24, 1933, p. 1. ip, Aug. 5, 1933, p. 1.

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had to continue the w o r k . " On the whole, the Academy found itself in a very difficult situation. T h e position of peacemaker during those turbulent days was not an enviable one. Although Reed was a member of the code-formulating committee, he abstained from signing the draft because the new Academy constitution required that it be ratified by the entire membership. 28 Furthermore, the Academy wished to feel free to criticize the code. Its industry code committee submitted a critical appraisal of the code provisions to the membership. Although it assumed that the producers were acting in good faith, the committee proposed several vital modifications in the suggested provisions. 29 It applauded the inclusion in the code of all the actors' and writers' agreements negotiated through the Academy, but recommended that the executive committees of both branches negotiate desired changes before the contracts were finally incorporated. T h e producers had inserted the artist-agent-producer pact but had added clauses which were severely criticized by the committee because they concentrated control in the hands of the studios. T h e Academy objected specifically to the limitation of the right of an employee to representation by his agent in such matters as salary and employment. T o make the antiraiding provisions less offensive, the Academy industry code committee suggested several modifications which would have reduced their applicability to a very small group. T h e y were to apply only to employees under contract for one year or longer at a salary of $ 1,000 or more per week and to those under contract for three or more pictures at a salary of $15,000 or more per picture. Further" Ibid., Bulletin 3¡, Aug. 28, 1933, p. 3. 28 Ibid., Bulletin 24, Aug. 24, 1933, p. 1. 2» Ibid., Bulletin 25, Aug. 28, 1933.

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more, to keep them from interfering with legitimate salary increases, the provisions were to cover only expiring contracts which the employer did not have the right to extend by the exercise of an option. Otherwise, if the employing producer learned that there were no competing bids, he might refuse to take up his option at the higher salary. T h e N R A code had set a period of six months following the termination of a contract during which an employing producer who had made a bona fide offer was to be notified concerning a competing bid. T h e Academy committee wished to limit this time to three months. As a final safeguard, it wanted a provision added to the code which definitely declared that except for the stated limitations all employees, whether or not under contract, were free to negotiate with other studios. A producer who tried to interfere with this right was to be regarded as indulging in an unfair trade practice. Serious difficulties arose in the Academy when the actors' branch balked at the thirty-day limit on negotiations.30 It agreed to submit bids to employing producers but favored an "open season" during the entire life of the contract. Its opposition was based on the thesis that an actor who cannot take advantage of a hit that he makes in a part may lose the chance of a lifetime. Thirty days are too short a period for a studio to make a contract and to find a vehicle in which to use the player. In this stand the actors opposed the other four branches, thus disuniting the Academy internally. So far as its relations with the producers were concerned, the Academy could reach an agreement with them only on the agency question. Its other recommendations were ignored. so Ibid., Bulletin Lionel Atwell.

28, Sept. 5, 1933, p. 3; NRA, op. cit., testimony of

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T h e N R A code hearings in Washington were a turmoil of conflicting ambitions and irreconcilable factions. They became the forum of all the dissatisfactions in Hollywood. Independent talent organizations attacked the Academy's assumption of authority over the entire creative personnel of the industry, maintaining that they had much larger memberships. They resented being saddled with alleged company union agreements and a producer-dominated agency code. President Gillmore of the Actors' Equity Association made his final stand in behalf of screen actors at the hearing.' 1 He claimed for Equity the majority of Hollywood actors and bit players and charged that the Academy was an industry-wide company union established by the producers to parry effective collective bargaining by the talent groups and that its annual deficit of approximately $50,000 was met by the producers. Another attack on the Academy was made by John Howard Lawson, president of the Screen Writers' Guild, and William Hamilton Osborne, its attorney.32 They claimed for the guild more than five hundred members—four fifths of all screen writers in the studios. Maintaining that only sixty-two writers belonged to the Academy, the guild's representatives urged the Academy's elimination as the writers' representative on the code. They objected so strenuously to the code provisions pertaining to producer control over agents and to antiraiding that they wanted these provisions scrapped entirely. A group of 1,750 unaffiliated actors and directors were represented at the hearings by Max D. Steuer." They asked for a ban on the lending of creative artists, basing their request on the avowed purpose of the N R A to spread em»1 N R A , op. cit.

»2 Ibid.

»s ibid.

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ployment. Like the writers, they condemned the producer licensing of agents and the antiraiding clauses. Academy President Reed denied vigorously the charge of company unionism. He claimed a representative membership of 1,000 and cited the Academy's insistence on the modification of the agent-licensing and antiraiding provisions as a sign of its independence. 31 Reed's defense of the Academy was weakened by Lionel Atwell, who spoke on behalf of the actors' branch of the Academy. Atwell made public the disagreement of the actors with the other creative branches on the subject of the antiraiding provisions. It soon became obvious that there was a great deal of internal dissension in the Academy. T h e r e was mutual distrust even among its high officials. As a result, the Academy wielded little influence at the code hearings. Its pleadings carried no more authority than those of the independent groups. T h e N R A code drafted after the hearings did not take into consideration any of the points made by the Academy or the other employee spokesmen. So confident of victory were the producers that they incorporated a salary-fixing board into the N R A code after the hearings. T h e new provision set a fine for producers who offered excessive salaries. Despite its previous rebuffs, the Academy now took a determined stand. 35 It announced its vigorous opposition to the control of salaries on any basis other than fair competition among producers. T h e Academy maintained that it would be impossible for the board fairly to evaluate the unique personal services of the artist under the existing conditions in the industry. Under the prevailing system of block booking, 38 there was «/bid. " A c a d e m y , Bulletin )o, Sept. a6, 1933, p. 1. «•Sale of pictures to the exhibitors in "blocks" or " g r o u p s " of several.

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no way of measuring the value of the artist in any one picture. For fair evaluation, it would be necessary to change radically the method of picture distribution—something which the producers were unwilling to do. T h e Academy admitted that a small number of salaries were high but pointed out that the same statement was true regarding other personal service professions, such as law and medicine. Indeed, it threatened to air the salary controversy in public, "if the tendency to convey the impression that salaries in the creative branches of the industry are a sort of racket is persisted in. . . ." 37 It labeled as unfair the attempts which were being made to establish some connection between salaries and the financial difficulties of some of the major companies. Throughout these turbulent months of code preparation, large groups of Hollywood talent were becoming increasingly restive. T h e memory of the salary-waiver plan was still fresh, and many looked with suspicion upon the producers' proposals for the NRA code. Despite all its activity, the Academy had not been able to reestablish its prestige and influence. The artists remained unimpressed by its innovations, regarding them as so much window dressing. They maintained that the new Academy constitution was nothing more than an elaboration of the previous constitution, since it had done little beyond the codification of already existing practices. According to them, the Academy still lacked the power to enforce any of its decisions and the new election procedure did not guarantee freedom from producer domination. All the changes were viewed as surface inducements to keep the artist groups in the Academy so that the latter could qualify as the collec" Academy, Bulletin

jo, Sept. 26, 1933, p. 2.

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tive bargaining agent under the N I R A . When a definite impression that the Academy either could not or would not exert the necessary pressure to eliminate the undesired code provisions was superimposed on this latent distrust, the climax of dissension was reached. Upon the announcement of the salary-fixing board, the actors made a final break with the Academy. They refused to remain any longer in an organization which included producer members. T h e writers who had left in April, 1 9 3 3 , " were now joined by some of the most prominent actors in Hollywood. In October, 1933, the actors made a mass exodus from the Academy into their newly established independent Screen Actors Guild. T h e actors and writers had to move rapidly, since the code was almost ready. Losing no time and launching an unprecedented publicity campaign, they staged a grand show.39 Spirited mass meetings were held and determined resolutions were adopted. Telegram upon telegram was dispatched to officials in Washington. The press was fed daily with threatening stories of what the creative artists might do if the obnoxious code provisions were not peacefully deleted. As the dead line approached, the actors and writers threatened to strike. They made a last desperate appeal to President Roosevelt to intercede in their behalf. Eddie Cantor, president of the Screen Actors Guild, was invited for Thanksgiving to Warm Springs to discuss the situation. When the code appeared on November 27, 1933, it revealed all the strains to which it had been subjected during the preparation period. It contained the protested provisions, but they were all suspended by executive or3» They reorganized the Screen Writers' Guild. Screen Player, May 15, 1934, p. 9.

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d e r . " Seven months later the suspension was made permanent. In addition to eliminating the salary control, antiraiding, and agency-control provisions, the artists prevailed upon the Administration to delete all the Academy agreements from the code. T h e s e achievements, though important, were negative in a sense, since the artists had failed to incorporate any substitute provisions. H a v i n g spent all their time, money, and effort in fighting the code, they had been unable to concentrate on constructive activity. A f t e r continued agitation, however, the Screen Actors G u i l d and the Screen Writers' G u i l d did succeed in securing provisions for actor-producer and writer-producer committees which were to work out a set of fair practices. Despite producer opposition, they were included in the final code in an effort to quiet the artists. T h e guilds placed such great faith in these two committees that they had pledged themselves to refrain from further agitation against the N R A code. 41 T h e y believed that through them their demands would become part of the code. In spite of pressure by the guilds u p o n the C o d e A u thority and Administrator Rosenblatt, the appointment of the committees was constantly postponed because of the reluctance of the producers. A f t e r procrastinating for more than six months, Rosenblatt named five actors and five writers. T h e producer-controlled C o d e A u t h o r i t y refused to name the producer members. T h e guilds became so exasperated that early in July, 1934, they dispatched a telegram to President Roosevelt calling his attention to the dilatory tactics and reminding him that he had the power 4 0 N R A , Code of Fair Competition for the Motion pp. 215-16. 41 Screen Guilds' Magazine, April, 1935, p. 3.

Picture

Industry,

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to remove the Code Authority from office and make the necessary appointments. Six days later—seven months after the promulgation of the code—the committees were formally designated by the Code Authority. T h e appointment of the two committees (known as the Five-Five Committees) did not alter the situation materially. When Rosenblatt came to Hollywood late in July to get them under way, he expressed the hope that they would formulate concrete rules. He suggested that the two sides submit proposals and counterproposals and try to reach an agreement. T h e talent groups anxiously followed his suggestions but the producers refused to commit themselves to collective bargaining under the code. After bickering for more than three months, the committees agreed to disagree and filed briefs with Administrator Rosenblatt. T h e actors' brief was the first to reach Washington. It was a fiery and devastating document. Challenging the argument that the high compensation of talent was responsible for the financial ruin of the industry, the brief charged the producers with drawing exorbitant salaries and bonuses and with the mismanagement of their companies. It attacked the widely publicized idea "that the average actor is a plutocrat, rolling in wealth and for him to protest about his working conditions is the basest ingratitude." « Drawing upon a report by Administrator Rosenblatt on the earnings of film actors in 1933, the brief revealed some very illuminating facts. According to the figures in Table 7, more than a quarter of the players who worked in 1933 earned less than $1,000; about half received less than $2,000; three quarters made under $5,000. These earnings « N R A files on studio labor, "Report and Argument . . . of . . . Actors. . . ."

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were not net income; ten percent went to the actors' agents. Out of the balance, the actor or actress had to purchase working tools in the form of an expensive wardrobe. Even the twenty-five percent who earned more than $5,000 a year found it difficult to take care of themselves, since they had a short period of earning power and in this period the demands on them were excessively heavy.43 There were a great many players who received no employment whatsoever during the year. On the basis of these data, the brief concluded that the overwhelming majority of screen players needed N R A protection. Even if the 259 players in the two high-income brackets were not considered, the brief argued that the rest were entitled to representation. TABLE

7

EARNINGS O F SCREEN ACTORS IN

AMOUNT

Under 1,000 1,000- 1,999 2,000- 2,999 3,00a- 3,999 4,00a- 4,999 5,000- 5,999 6,000- 6,999 7,000- 7,999 8,000- 8,999 9,000- 9,999 10,000-50,000 Over 50,000 TOTAL

NUMBER O F ACTORS 432 332

158 108 82 64

1933" PERCENT OF TOTAL

28 21 10 07 05

04

42

03

I-563

13 04 LOO

38 23 25 196 63

02 01 02

a Figures from the N R A study by Administrator Rosenblatt, as compiled in the actors' brief.

T h e brief bitterly assailed actor-producer relations under the Academy, charging that it took away with one hand « T h e average " l i f e " of a film star is estimated at seven years.—New York Times, Magazine Section, J a n . 14, 1940, p. 4.

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what it had given with the other. T h e Academy Minimum Contract of 1930 had guaranteed continuous employment and a twelve-hour rest period between calls. T h e actors charged that the second provision was generally disregarded and the first had been nullified by the Academy's approval of the supplementary contract of 1931—the socalled "deal." This "deal" or special arrangement proved very disadvantageous to the actor. An actor might be required for ten days' work over a period of six weeks. If the actor's salary was customarily $ 150 a week, he would probably be offered $300 for the engagement. Actually, therefore, he earned only $50 a week. Although theoretically he was free to accept other work on the days he was not employed on the picture, in practice he could not accept other work, since the days for which he was engaged were not specified in advance. Because of the obvious unfairness of such an arrangement, the actor members of the committee wanted the Academy's supplementary contract entirely eliminated. The actors' brief recommended the adoption of the set of fair practices to cover free-lance, day, and contract players which they had previously submitted to the Five-Five Committee for consideration. In general, the proposals suggested written contracts for all engagements, a modification of the less desirable provisions of the Academy agreements, and a limitation of hours of work for all actors. In case of disagreements, there was to be compulsory arbitration, with the actor free to choose the organization which was to represent him in the dispute. T h e brief argued the need for written contracts on the grounds that the producer frequently disregarded a verbal agreement with a minor player who was in no position to contradict a studio executive.

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T h e bargaining power of the free-lance actor and the day player is greatly weakened by the scarcity of jobs. There is little difference between these two groups; in fact, they are very largely overlapping. T h e actors shift from one classification to the other, depending on the job. T o give these players some measure of protection, the brief advocated abolition of the "deal," a new free-lance contract, and a day-player contract. Except for the liberalization of several minor provisions, the proposed free-lance contract was similar to the Academy's. T h e guild's chief argument in its favor pointed to the inability of the Academy to enforce the arbitration provisions of its contract, whereas the new one, as part of the NRA code, would have practical effectiveness. T h e actors wanted a written agreement, similar to the free-lance contract, for the day player. Since such players were frequently kept idle for weeks, waiting for a day's work which had been delayed, the contract was to specify a starting date. A player was sometimes required to work from nine till one and from eight till midnight for a day's pay, thus extending his working day from early morning to late at night. T o abolish this practice, the agreement provided for a continuous eight-hour day with regular overtime compensation. T h e brief admitted that high-salaried stars under contract could take good care of themselves. There was, however, a large group of contract actors commonly known as stock players whose bargaining power was limited. T o remedy abuses to which they were subjected, it suggested an arbitration clause similar to the one in free-lance contracts; a ban on the lending of actors without their written consent; and a rule permitting a stock player to act in only one picture at a time. By overworking their stock players,

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the studios had increased the unemployment of free-lance players. T h e brief made its strongest point on the question of limitation of working hours. While most industries made concessions in this direction, especially for their women workers, motion picture producers offered none. Films had originally been shot only while the sun shone. When it set, the actor went home. T h e perfection of klieg lights made night work possible, but during the silent-picture days night work was rare. When sound was introduced in 1927, the number of properly equipped stages was so small that these stages had to be used night and day.44 Companies worked all night on stages that were not sound-proof to avoid daytime noises. Although sufficient sound equipment was soon available, these early practices continued. When the actors tried to limit hours in the 1930 Academy contract, they got a twelve-hour rest period between calls instead. Although some companies observed this clause scrupulously, the players charged that they were the exception to the rule. T h e brief listed a number of common abuses in the industry with regard to hours of work. An actor was often required to work late on Saturday night, sometimes into the early hours of Sunday, thus cutting into his day of rest. T i m e lost during a holiday had to be made up the following Sunday. Some working stretches were as long as sixteen hours. Stars often demanded contract limitation of hours, but when they quit the set, the rest of the company went on working. T h e producers insisted that it was inadvisable to limit hours because overtime was required only in case of emergency. T h e actors replied that emergencies seemed to « N R A files on studio labor, "Report and Argument . . . ," p. 23.

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be the rule in film production. One major producer admitted that half of his production was on an emergency basis.45 T h e brief maintained that improved management could limit the hours of work without substantially increasing the cost of production. Actual shooting would take the same length of time but could be spread over a larger number of days. Because contract players ordinarily do not work every day, spreading their work would not increase costs. Day players would cost no more, inasmuch as they had been receiving extra pay for overtime. T h e brief conceded that the expenditures for free-lance players might rise, but pointed out that other labor groups which received time and one-half for overtime would cost less. T h e producers argued that most contract actors had many days off while under salary and that free-lance players sometimes did not work a full eight hours. It was just this situation that the players wanted to correct. They objected to working four hours the first day, six hours the second day, five hours the third day, and fifteen hours on each of the remaining three days, without adequate rest periods. These last long stretches were so fatiguing that they claimed they could not do their best work. Not only the picture but their reputations suffered as a result. T h e eight-hour day which the actors wished to establish began when the player arrived on the set complete with costume and make-up. These preliminary operations usually lengthened his actual working time at the studio to more than nine hours, so that on an average day an actor would arrive at the studio at 8:00 A. M. and leave at 6:30 P. M. Costume fittings took additional time. T h e brief was willing to permit longer hours if the rest period would be proportionately lengthened. After the actor is ¡bid.,

p. 25.

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leaves the studio his work is by no means finished. H e has still to study his lines for the following day. T h e producers' association operated a central bureau through which it hired free-lance actors. T h e

actors

wanted it abolished because of several abuses. Every call for an actor from any studio was recorded, so that a producer could tell at a glance how much work the actor had and therefore what his bargaining power would be. Furthermore, the actors suspected that their employers kept salary data to prevent raises. Producers could reserve actors without their knowledge. T h e studio casting office would place an "interested" call for half a dozen actors who were being considered for the same part. While the choice was being debated, these actors could get no other employment. If another studio asked for them it was informed that they were not available. 16 After its Five-Five Committee reached a deadlock early in 1935, the writers submitted a brief 4 1 which was considerably milder than the actors'. T h e y petitioned the administrator to incorporate into the code several rules governing their working conditions which they had failed to obtain by negotiation because of the stubborn refusal of the producers. Like the actors, the writers wanted compulsory written agreements. Producers were in the habit of requesting several writers to submit stories to suit a particular star and then buying the story they liked best. Each writer thought that he was the only one asked, but all but one soon found that they had been working without remuneration. For this reason the brief asked that writing on speculation at the request of a producer be prohibited. 4« Ibid., p. 46. N R A files on studio labor, " R e p o r t and A r g u m e n t . . . of . . . Writers. . . ."

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Both producer and writer were to give a week's notice before terminating a week-to-week contract. T h e layoff period of contract writers was not to exceed twelve weeks a year, with the minimum length of any one suspension to be seven days. T h e studios frequently laid a writer off for a day or two at a time and in some cases he was not even aware of the fact that he had been laid off until he received his salary check. Under such circumstances it was almost impossible for him to take an adequate vacation. Many contracts stipulated that the writer was not to work for anyone else during layoff periods. T h e brief objected to this stipulation, arguing that a writer when laid off should be master of his own time. T h e provisions for the allocation of screen credits were elaborate. Other rules suggested by the brief included payment for travel time; the writer's written consent for the lending of his services; arbitration of disputes by an organization of the writers' choice; and a fifty-dollar minimum wage for scenario readers. T h e actors and writers submitted their briefs to the administrator in the hope that he would hold speedy hearings and incorporate their proposed fair practices in the N R A code. More than thirteen months had gone by since the code became effective, and both talent groups were eager to achieve some results. Despite their pressure, however, the hearings were constantly delayed. At first the producers were granted time to study the demands of the artists. Challenging the legality of the briefs, they insisted, in their replies, 48 that the briefs were not within the province of the N R A code and urged Administrator Rosenblatt to dismiss them without a hearing. In the meantime, relations NRA files on studio labor, Producers' legal arguments . . . , Five-Five Committees.

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between Rosenblatt and the talent groups had been strained. T h e administrator felt that the actors were guilty of a breach of confidence when they published their demands in the press. When he set up the Five-Five Committee, he did not authorize the actors to take their fight outside of it. Regarding their brief as emotional rather than factual, he criticized it for being a war cry for a closed shop instead of an airing of legitimate grievances.49 While he was still pondering the wisdom of holding public hearings, the United States Supreme Court declared the N R A unconstitutional, shattering the artists' hopes of securing legal status for their reforms. T h e Academy had been badly crippled in the fight over the N R A code provisions. Nevertheless, although it had lost most of its influential members among the stars, it retained its will to survive. While the actors and writers were sparring with their employers in the Five-Five Committees, it staged a remarkable comeback. In the summer of 1934, the writers' branch of the Academy announced that it had established on a firmer basis the writer-producer code of ethics which had been signed two years previously." 0 It promised conscientious enforcement wherever its administration had been lax. Although the text of the agreement was the same, the procedure for allocating screen credits had been revised and clarified. T h e original contract had recognized the right of the participating writers to assign the screen credits. T o make certain that the writers would have sufficient time to arrive at a decision, the new agreement requested the studio to make available to them a copy of the final script or the rough-cut picture as soon as practicable. Since The Screen Guilds' Magazine, April, 1936, p. 11. »«Academy, Writers Branch Bulletin, July 14, 1934.

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the contract granted writers the privilege of designating credits only if they agreed unanimously on one or two names, the revisions recommended that the studio provide the writers with its own tentative choice of credits. T h e Academy believed that this "primary" might help the writers in their final selection. If they failed to agree on other credits, the studio could make their tentative ones final or change them as it saw fit. T o observe the spirit of the code, producers were asked to concentrate screen credits on one or two writers and to .recognize the screen play by a separate title card on the screen. T o insure some recognition for the minor contributors, the Academy published a monthly bulletin carrying the names of all participating writers. This was something which had been long needed in the industry. T h e actors' branch of the Academy emulated the increased activity of the writers by concluding a new freelance actor contract 51 upon the expiration of the old one in February, 1935. This new contract was a much more significant document than the revised writer-producer code of practice. Published shortly after the submission of the actors' brief on March 1, 1935, this contract had eclipsed it by granting practically all its demands. T h e new agreement abolished the chief difficulty—the "deal contract." Day players were guaranteed payment for consecutive days from the beginning of their engagement even if they did not work every day. A strongly worded clause prescribed a fine for the producer who disregarded the twelve-hour rest period. Even though the artist voluntarily returned to work without a twelve-hour rest, the producer had to pay him an extra day's salary. This penalty had to be paid whether or not the call back was caused by an si Academy, Bulletin 4, Feb. u , 1935.

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emergency. Actors on weekly contracts were granted six annual holidays with pay. Late work preceding holidays or on Saturday was prohibited. If fittings or make-up took more than one hour the additional time was to be considered part of the working day. Academy arbitration of actor-producer disputes which was previously compulsory for both parties was now made voluntary for the actor. Improvements were made in the terms of contract cancellation and in the setting of starting dates. T h e new Academy free-lance contract was a milestone in actor-producer relations. Every criticism and condemnation of Academy industrial-relations policies ever made had been carefully considered in its preparation. The only major demand made by the Screen Actors Guild which it did not incorporate was the limitation of working hours to the eight-hour day. DeWitt C. Jennings, chairman of the Actors' Branch Executive Committee, reported to Rosenblatt, that during the first seven weeks approximately 1,700 actors and actresses had been employed under Academy auspices and had enjoyed the benefits of improved working conditions.62 Of these, 400 were employed on weekly contracts and 1,300 were engaged on a daily basis. Jennings stated that the signatory studios showed complete willingness to cooperate with the letter as well as the spirit of the agreements.53 Casting and subordinate executives had been warned by studio heads that no evasion or sharp practices would be tolerated. Jennings commented that the actors working under the new agreements were satisfied. He believed that both members and nonmembers of the Academy appreciated the fact that the Academy hani2

N R A files on studio labor, Letter dated A p r i l 24, 1935. «»Ibid.

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died important economic problems on a friendly roundtable basis without disturbing the working life of the industry or imposing hardships upon individuals. Although most actors were no longer Academy members, only six failed to request the privilege of Academy arbitration despite its optional nature under the new agreement. In line with the experience of the previous five years, the Academy found that a mutually satisfactory settlement could almost always be effected without formal hearings. Besides many minor inquiries, the actors' adjustment committee generally received one important case a day. A considerable number of disputes which were referred to the Academy by the other actor organizations were handled without regard to membership. In concluding his report, Jennings wrote: . . . we feel that the record to-date under the renewed agreement substantially verifies that the real problems of working free-lance players are adequately taken care of by the Academy contracts and the revisions secured this year, and that the vigorous and effective administration by the Academy with sincere cooperation of the studios will continue to guarantee fair conditions for and harmonious relations with motion picture free-lance actors.54 However, the great majority of actors and writers did not share Jennings's optimistic sentiments about the Academy. T h e y continued to regard it with marked dislike and persevered in their efforts to gain the recognition of their independent guilds. At the time the N R A was eclipsed, industrial relations in Hollywood were very much disturbed. Not only had the code made no concessions to the artists but it had embittered them by shattering their high hopes of attaining recognition. T h e Academy's comeback was «

Ibid.

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startling, but only the most optimistic observers could regard it as possessing any degree of stability. The artists were irreconcilably opposed to it, and its fresh victories failed to win them back. T h e determination of the actors and writers to fight to the finish bore an ill omen for the Academy's future.

6 The Noble Effort

HE M O S T S E R I O U S problem facing the N R A film code was the plight of the extras. W h e n the New Deal arrived, thousands were on the brink of destitution. By 1933 their daily wages had dropped from a minimum of $3.00 to $i.25>1 Fewer extras were being used, and more hiring was being done at lower rates. T h e percentage of extra placements under $6.00 a day jumped from 17.78 in 1931 to 31.94 in 1932 and to a high of 35.52 in 1933, causing a decline to $8.95 in the average daily wage. 2 T h e annual studio expenditures for extras dropped from almost $2,500,000 in 1929 and 1930 to approximately $2,000,000 in 1931 and 1932.' These figures indicate the deplorable condition into which extra players had been plunged by the depression. So desperate was the state of the extras in the summer of 1933 that the Academy for the first time became actively 1 T h e manager of Central Casting testified before the Academy Speciat Committee on Extras that daily wages below $3.00 were not paid to regular extras in the studios but were in the form of " h a n d o u t s " to natives on location and to children in an orphanage. 2 Chapter IV, T a b l e s l and 3. » Chapter IV, T a b l e 3; a substantial drop for a very low-earning group.

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interested in them. As part of its comeback strategy, the Academy conducted a "thorough and fearless" investigation of the extra situation. As required by the proposed N R A code, it held formal hearings at which representative extras, casting officials, operators of independent agencies, and other persons intimately acquainted with the subject were examined. In addition, the Academy special committee on extras held scores of private interviews and studied reports and data from numerous sources, including a wealth of information submitted by a committee of the extra players. T h e committee's report 4 presented a careful analysis of the extra labor supply. It charged that the large number of unemployed or underpaid people who claimed to be motion picture extra players had become such a public scandal that it had reflected seriously on the good repute of the film industry. A very large proportion of the socalled extras, perhaps more than three quarters, were not picture people at all. Many were drifters or undesirables; thousands really belonged to the category of casuals but had come to regard themselves as extras because of an occasional day or two in crowd scenes. These, the committee maintained, had no just claim on the industry and were to be excluded from the extra problem. T h e remainder by experience and proven ability could rightly be classed as professional extra players. By actual service, often extending over many years, they had contributed to the creation and growth of the film industry. Unfortunately, so many of them were unemployed that their condition was more serious than at any other time in the history of the industry. * Academy, Report on Employment Picture "Extras," Sept. 5, 1933.

Conditions

of Hollywood

Motion

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From the testimony of Central Casting officials it became apparent that the advent of sound in 1927 and 1928 had brought a peak of 17,500 registered extras. 5 By 1933 this figure had fallen more than fifty percent to an estimated 8,000. T h i s n u m b e r included the so-called "active list" and the "casuals" w h o were defined as those who were only occasionally called into service. Theoretically, the active list consisted of extras w h o were in demand because their acting experience, personal appearance, or wardrobe enabled them to register properly in camera close-ups. Many of them had formerly been stars, featured players, or directors of long experience. A f t e r studying all the available evidence the investigators concluded that the active list included approximately 1,800 extras. In estimating the n u m b e r of qualified extras necessary to meet all studio demands, peak loads d u r i n g busy seasons had to be provided for. T h e average daily placements by Central during 1932 showed that the peak was reached in August, w h e n the average daily rate was 1,005.® Placements by independent producers increased the demand by fifteen to twenty percent. T h i s increase was probably offset by the n u m b e r of racial or mob placements included in the August, 1932, peak, which should not be classified as belonging in the extra player category. For instance, of the 1,608 placements made by Central on A u g u s t 29, 750 filled special atmosphere calls, leaving only 858 jobs for the regular extras. 7 T h e s e data indicated that

1,800 qualified

extras would more than fill all the ordinary demands ol the industry. H a v i n g arrived at an estimate of supply and demand, the committee turned to a consideration of the average amount of daily work available to see how far it would go. « Ibid., p. 5.

« Ibid.,

p. 6.

f Ibid.

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From the data at its command the committee estimated that about g,§oo placements per week were available to the qualified extras—or two placements per week for each of the 1,800 professionals, if the work were evenly distributed.8 T o meet the lowest weekly minimum fixed by the N R A , the extras would have to average at least $8 a day. Since qualified extra players are skilled and are frequently required to maintain an expensive wardrobe, the committee maintained that their average pay should really be much higher, depending on the quality of the work and the cost of the wardrobe. When the Academy committee arrived at the actual earnings of extra players, it was startled. Hundreds who had earned comfortable livelihoods through 1930 had been reduced to charity in 1932. The head of Central Casting testified that the 1,400 extras on his active list, a group which absorbed thirty-five percent of the total placements, had averaged only $8.22 per week during the first half of 1933. Only 69 persons had averaged two days a week; none had averaged as much as three. The independent agencies had no figures on earnings, but the data supplied by Central Casting led the committee to believe that its figures might even be an overstatement. The committee attributed most of these difficulties to the fact that increasingly large numbers of nonprofessionals were being employed. Forty-four percent of the extra jobs had been filled by such people during the first six months of 1933. T h e committee maintained that at least thirty percent could have been selected from the regular list. This » Central Casting data revealed that an average of 677 daily placements had been cleared through it in 1932. Placements by independents increased this figure to an average of 800 a day or 4,800 a week. Approximately one quarter of this number consisted of special requests which could not be filled from the qualified extra list. T h i s left a total of 3,600 placements.

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uncalled-for spread of employment opportunities seemed to be the result of many requests for special people made by the studios along with their daily requisitions to Central Casting. Relatives of the management, unemployed friends of studio mechanics, the unemployed from other industries dumped on the studios by pressure from outside groups—all of these encroached on the opportunities of the professional extras. Studio requests made u p thirty to eighty percent of nearly all lists. Three different studio casting directors testified that they had been required to include in their requests to Central the names of nonprofessional extras taken from standing lists compiled by their superiors. One casting director cited a request list of sixty names for a call requiring only fifty extras. Some extras charged that they were not called whereas favorites of Central were working constantly; these favorites received the higher rates of pay while others doing the same grade of work were paid the minimum. Central's manager maintained that the apparent favoritism was caused by studio demands. If several studios called for the same extra it was assumed by Central that this player did satisfactory work. Since it was the aim of Central to give each director the best available material, such a player would be sent repeatedly when his type was called for. This point of view was corroborated by several assistant directors. T h e casting director of one of the major studios criticized this manner of selection as a matter of habit and not of judgment. H e felt that Central Casting had fallen into a rut. T h e names which came habitually to its casting personnel were the ones assigned. Little trouble was taken to learn new faces. He declared that he had cast the finest "dress" sets without using a single name from the so-called

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select list of Central. A witness from the dress class, who had no complaint to make with regard to employment, expressed the conviction that the prevailing high standards could be maintained even if all the extras were permitted o share the work. Only four instances of the use of graft in securing extra employment were revealed and even these were uncorroborated. There was some evidence of bribing with small presents or free services. One group seems to have offered a studio casting official forty dollars a week for "keeping them busy." T h e committee concluded that the possibilities of petty graft were present here just as they are in all employment agencies but that the leads uncovered were too inconsequential for further investigation. T h e committee noted that all cases of proven graft were severely dealt with by Central Casting. T h e investigators found that the social contacts of some of the casting employees and the "favored" extra players warranted attention. Various groups of extras operated "clubs" where they congregated and received calls. A number of witnesses claimed that these clubs were frequented by casting officials and ex-casting employees who had courtesy access to Central during call hours. On the whole, there seemed to be ample evidence of undue favoritism in casting operations. T h e committee realized that the influence of friendship could never be wholly prevented but it felt that it should be curbed, especially during the trying conditions in the industry at the time. After investigating the frequent complaint that extras who dared to protest were blacklisted as trouble-makers, the committee concluded that this fear of retaliation seemed justified. It could not prove that such reprisals were concerted but it did have evidence that a number of

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individuals had stooped to these tactics. Of course the fact that a given extra received no work could be explained in a great many legitimate ways. However, the committee cited the well-known fact that young officials in any business tend to curry favor with their superiors at the expense of the lower-paid workers under their own authority. T h e extras were so helpless that they did not dare to protest. They even hesitated to testify at the hearings of the committee. Their reluctance was lessened only when it became apparent that there was some possibility of improving their situation. T h e investigation uncovered interesting information about the difficulties of the best-paid Class A "dress" extras. A member of this group in high standing testified that she spent $50 a month on her wardrobe to keep it up-todate. A typical dress man stated that laundry, pressing, and repair bills, as well as keeping up with the latest fashions, cost him fully as much. Class A dress people were expected to own fashionable indoor and outdoor clothing so that they could appear in close company with the best-dressed stars. One casting official claimed that such wardrobes could be maintained on average earnings of $25 a week, but he seemed to be the only one of that opinion. Actually these players earned less than that. They averaged two days of work a week at a maximum of $ 1 0 a day. The committee felt that $20 a week was totally inadequate to maintain the expensive wardrobes, to pay transportation expenses to and from distant studios, and to provide living expenses even for a single person. It recommended a pay increase for the dress extra on the grounds that such a move would benefit the industry by insuring a sufficient numbei of such players to meet ordinary demands. It also urged complete elimination of the three-dollar check because ii

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was inconsistent with N R A principles. T h e committee considered it a discredit for the industry to offer such low pay merely because the hungry were willing to work for it. It was obvious, of course, that raising the minimum for extras to the point where it would permit an approximation of the N R A weekly minimum for skilled services might increase the industry's expenditures. T o restore the rate to the 1930 level, when the depression was in its early stages, required that the prevailing totals be increased by 25 percent. Since the cost of extras was about 2.8 percent of the production budget, an increase of 25 percent would add $700 to each $100,000 of production cost. This, the committee thought, was not an appreciable burden, especially when the small amount might mean the difference between starvation and a bare existence to hundreds of underpaid employees. After its exhaustive inquiry, the committee made a number of positive recommendations. It called for a thorough and careful reregistration and reclassification of all extras by a competent impartial committee selected either by the Academy or the N R A authority or both and consisting of representatives of the producers, extras, casting offices, and directors. This reclassification was to be based on three groups: professional extra players, who could appear in close range of the camera; atmosphere people, who were to be called upon only for special qualifications which could not be filled from the registered extra players; and miscellaneous crowds, such as racial groups and large public assemblages. T h e industry was to feel responsible only for the professional extras. T h e others were not even to be registered. T h e committee suggested various ways of increasing the employment opportunities of regular extras. No one in the

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immediate family of a regular studio e m p k y e e was to be given a job as an extra. Only players who depended upon extra work as a means of livelihood were to b e registered. Studio casting offices were to hire only f r a n this list of registered extra players. Extras were not to work in more than one picture for the same day's pay. T h e length of the day was to remain eight hours, with striight time for overtime. Frank Woods, veteran scenarist and cluirman of the Academy investigating committee, presented its report at the public hearings in Washington. Whtn finally approved, the N R A code incorporated practically all of the committee's recommendations. T h e chief deletion seemed to be the Academy. Here as elsewhere in the code, the Academy was ignored. A f t e r some delay, the Code Authority established the Standing Committee on Extras, consisting of five producer and five extra player representatives. One of the first accomplishments of the new committee was an interpretation of the code's minimum wage provisions for extra players. 9 T h e code had adopted the scale recommended by the Academy Special Committee on extras. Class A dress extras with an "acceptable modern" wardrobe were to be paid $ 1 5 a day. T h e $io-a-day category included character extras and Class B dress extras who owned good informal clothes. Extras working on sets where costumes were furnished were entitled to $7.50 a day. Members of a miscellaneous crowd who did not require special wardrobes received the lowest rate, $ 5 a day. Extras who spoke individual lines were to receive not less than $25 a day. Although at first it questioned the committee's power to make such interpretations, the Code Authority finally approved them (March, 1934). T h e com» N R A Division of Review, Work Materials No.

p. 5g.

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mittee then promulgated regulations governing the employment conditions of extras which were substantially the same as those contained in Order 16-A of the California Industrial Welfare Commission for women and minors except that these conditions now applied to men as well. As an agent of the N R A , the standing committee had the authority to enforce the rules. T h e major task facing the Standing Committee on Extras was the decasualization of the extra labor supply. It began by asking casting offices, extra player organizations, various racial groups, and the Motion Picture Relief Fund to submit the names of persons wishing to register as extra players. Questionnaires were mailed to all of these, and 4,164 were returned complete. O n the basis of these questionnaires, the committee devised the following "merit rating" scheme:

10

Percent

1. Number of times named by different sources (maximum of four) 2. If entirely dependent on picture work (graduated accordingly) 3. If no other source of income (graduated accordingly) 4. If any dependents 5. Number of years experience (5 percent for each year up to four)

35 20 20 05 20

Only the 1,181 applicants who received a rating of 35 percent on the first question were selected for further consideration. By requiring that an applicant be named by at least four casting directors, this plan placed major emphasis on experience in the industry. Need was the second consideration. 10 N R A files on studio labor, folder on extras.

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T h e standing committee obtained from Central Casting a second list of 1,181 frequently used extra players who received $7.50 or more a day; 775 of the extras with ratings of 95 percent or more on the committee's original list were also on the Central Casting list. Names added to this number because of wardrobe and other considerations raised the final total to 998. T o provide for flexibility, the standing committee permitted an increase of fifty percent during 1935 and ten percent each year thereafter. After eleven months of hard work the final list was sent in March, 1935, to the Code Authority for approval. For a time it appeared that the heretofore impossible had been done—after years of failure, the decasualization of the extra players would finally be accomplished. These hopes were soon shattered, however, when the Code Authority and the N R A failed to approve the scheme. Many extra players complained loudly of discrimination in the drawing up of the final list, pointing out that only those at the top of the active list of Central Casting received benefits from the code provisions. 11 They were under the misconception that decasualization could suddenly transform Central from a private placement bureau into a philanthropic organization able to provide jobs for all needy extras. 12 Mrs. Mabel Kinney, head of the California Industrial Welfare Commission, resigned as chairman of the Standing Committee on Extras and the vacancy was filled by Kenneth Thomson, executive secretary of the Screen Actors Guild. The new chairman found many errors in the new list and asked the N R A administrator to withhold his approval pending further check, since its release meant that some 3,000 extras could no longer expect employ11 Ibid.

12 Central Casting Corporation, circular of Sept. 10, 1935.

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ment. T h e Legal Division of the N R A expressed the opinion that the standing committee had overstepped the powers granted it by the code when it confined employment to the list it had prepared. While the matter was held in abeyance, the Schechter case invalidated the N R A and ended this attempt to decasualize the extras. T h e Standing Committee on Extras was one of the most successful bodies created by the Code Authority to handle industrial relations in Hollywood. Despite the various restrictions imposed upon it by the Code Authority, the committee, under the able leadership of Mabel Kinney accomplished more during its brief existence than all the other N R A labor committees in this industry. Although never formally approved by the N R A as an official agency for the adjustment of labor complaints, the standing committee claimed that this power was specifically granted it by the code. Of the 1,065 complaints brought to it by the extras, 92 percent were satisfactorily adjusted. 13 Although Central Casting was essentially the studios' personnel office, it nevertheless took a very active part in the recovery program. It favored the standing committee's plan to reduce registration to 1,000, estimating that on this basis a registered extra could average about $1,400 annually. Central had always maintained that the industry needed professional extras and that if it wanted to have them available when needed, they must be able to live on their earnings. In the summer of 1933 Central had tried a work-spreading plan to relieve destitution but dropped the attempt after three months when it found that this method kept everyone from earning a living. 14 Despite the failure of the decasualization plan, profesis N R A , Division of Review, op. cit., p. 60. 14 Interview with a Central Casting official.

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sional extras benefited greatly during the N R A period. Their working conditions and wage rates were considerably improved. T h e standing committee attended vigorously to all their grievances. J o b opportunities increased somewhat because of the curbing of favoritism. The studios stopped asking for extras by name. All these improvements were accomplished despite the fact that the extras had divided into several warring factions by the time the standing committee was appointed. T h e problems of the studio craftsmen were not as pressing as those of the extras or as dramatic as those of the artists. They did not evoke sympathy like the former or create antagonisms like the latter. T h e standards under which the studio craftsmen worked were considerably superior to those prevailing for similar work outside of the studios. Until March, 1932, the skilled artisans had been able to maintain their wage levels. When the film industry began to feel the devastating effects of the depression, their basic daily rate was reduced from $8.75 to $8.25. 1S This decline in wage standards and a very serious shortage of work constituted the chief problems of the studio craftsmen at the time of the N R A . At their annual wage conference with the producers in August, 1933, for the first time since the standardization of the wage scale under the Studio Basic Agreement, the entire situation of the studio crafts was reviewed. A completely new plan 10 was put into effect after Labor Day. A basic six-hour day for all studio craftsmen replaced the eight-hour day. Although the daily wage was reduced from $8.25 to $7.00, the hourly rate was actually increased by ]S N R A , Public Hearings on the Motion wage data in transcript. is Ibid., testimony of Fred Pelton.

Picture

Code, computed from

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13.5 percent. All other working conditions in the Studio Basic Agreement remained unchanged. T h e new agreement was to be tried experimentally for one year in the hope of spreading employment and raising the purchasing power of the craftsmen. This was in line with the basic principles of the N R A . At the N R A code hearings in Washington, President Green of the American Federation of Labor sounded the note of the proceedings when he declared that the chief problem was the creation of more employment opportunities for studio artisans. 17 He asked for the adoption of a universal thirty-hour work week as a cure-all. T h e studio craft representatives reiterated his appeal for the short work week, urging the discouragement or even the complete elimination of overtime in order to effect the widest possible spread of employment. T h e spokesman for the cameramen maintained that to begin to solve their unemployment problem it would be necessary to reduce hours from sixty to thirty a week and to make proportional salary decreases. The industry spokesmen were quite sympathetic but cautioned against the adoption of overzealous measures. Fred Pelton, then executive manager of Metro-GoldwynMayer, warned the labor leaders that an extremely short work week might prove disastrous to the industry, 18 especially since the recently adopted six-hour day for carpenters and electricians had already worked great hardship during production peaks because of a serious shortage of competent craftsmen at that time. He feared that the short hours would lower production standards or increase costs to such a point that the industry might be compelled 17

Ibid., testimony o£ William Green. is Ibid., testimony of Fred Pelton.

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to return to a longer work week. Will Hays declared that the wage scales in the newly promulgated wage-and-hour pact had already raised labor costs from twelve to fifteen percent above those in 1929- 19 Pat Casey, the producers' seasoned labor diplomat, asked for a private session to ponder all proposals and integrate them into the code.20 Section 7A of the N I R A , guaranteeing employees the right of collective bargaining, was reaffirmed in the film code. 21 T h e code established a basic minimum wage of forty cents per hour and specified the wage rates for many types of skilled, semiskilled, and unskilled labor. Whitecollar and service workers were granted a forty-hour week and studio craftsmen a thirty-six-hour week. So many exceptions were made, however, that the limitation on hours carried little weight. Excluded from its benefits were executive employees, professional and talent groups, and workers on emergency or maintenance jobs. T h e most significant exemption from the hours provisions was that of the employees engaged on a production unit. A large variety of workers—directors, cameramen, make-up artists, hairdressers, script clerks, sound recorders, wardrobe fitters, and many other groups—must be on hand at all times during the shooting of a picture. At the conclusion of the production, however, those who worked on an hourly or daily basis with overtime compensation were given a full day off without pay for every six hours they had worked in excess of a thirty-six-hour weekly average. This aimed at spreading the existing jobs among as many of the studio craftsmen as was feasible under the circumstances. T h e work week for employees such as art directors and assistant directors, company wardrobe men and fitters, cosw Ibid., testimony of Will Hays. 20 ¡bid., testimony of Pat Casey. 21 NRA, Code of Fair Competition for the Motion Picture Industry, p. 224.

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tume designers and draftsmen, make-up artists and hairdressers, optical experts, process projectionists, and script clerks, who worked on a weekly basis, was set at fifty-four hours. At the conclusion of a production those earning less than $70 a week were to be laid off one full day without pay for every six hours of work in excess of a thirtysix-hour weekly average. During this layoff they were not to work in other studios. Higher-paid employees in these classifications worked unlimited hours. T h e aim of this section of the code was to penalize excessively long hours on the part of the lower-paid weekly workers by requiring the payment of overtime beyond fifty-four hours and to spread the available jobs among them by providing for compulsory layoffs. 22 T h e code provisions for studio crafts were really an extension of the August, 1933, agreement between producers and studio craft unions. They incorporated a basic sixhour day and wage rates which were approximately fifteen percent higher than the 1929 level. Skilled journeymen were paid $7.00 per day and artisans working in a supervisory capacity |8.oo. This meant an hourly rate respectively of $ 1 . 1 6 % and $1.33%- Some skilled workers such as upholsterers got a little less, while others like projectionists and marbleizers were paid a little more. Highly skilled artists, sculptors, and modelers received $1.94 an hour, and the rate for scenic artists was as high as $2.25. T h e lowest rate for unskilled labor was set at sixty cents an hour; semi-skilled workers received $1.00. All the studio crafts included in Table 8 were guaranteed time and a half for all time in excess of six hours a day. Other technical help, such as assistant cutters, chauffeurs, truck drivers, and sixteen classifications of laboratory workers, were paid the straight 22 Ibid., p. Si6.

TABLE N R A

8

M I N I M U M H O U R L Y R A T E S FOR STUDIO CRAFTS °

Artists a n d sculptors Automotive mechanics Blacksmiths Carpenters Casters and moldmakers (staff) Cement finishers Construction foremen (carpenter) Electrical foremen Electrical workers Floormen (electric) Foundrymen Gaffers Grips Laborers L a m p operators Machinists Marbleizers, grainers, furniture Modelers (staff) Modelmakers (staff) Molders (metal) Operating engineers Ornamental iron workers Painters Pattern makers Plasterers Plumbers Projectionists Propertymen (first) Propertymen (second) Scenic artists Set drapers Sheetmetal workers Sign writers Sprinkler fitters Steam fitters Structural steel workers Swing gang (property) Upholsterers Welders

$ 1.94 1.00 1.16^ 1.16^ 1.162/, -33 , /s 1 -331/s 1.16^ 1.00 1.162/^ 1.1624 1.00 .60 1.00 1-163^ 1.40 1.94 1.25 1.162^ 1.162^ 1.16^ 1

finishers

1.162^ 1.25 1.162^ 1.25 1.00 .90 2.25 1.00 1 1.662/j 1.162^ 1.16^/3 1.1 f>2/3 .75 1.10 1.162^

« From NRA, Code of Fair Competition for the Motion Picture p. 226.

Industry,

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rate for hours in excess of thirty-six a week. Most clerical and service employees were guaranteed a minimum of fifty cents an hour. By placing foremen on a weekly salary, the studio could work them for an unlimited number of hours and could keep them on call for a seven-day week. However, only one of these "stand-by men" or "key men" could be assigned to a producing unit. This prevented the studios from hiring many artisans on a weekly-guarantee basis at lower hourly rates or concentrating employment. On the other hand, it assured the studio, at somewhat more reasonable rates, the basic trained help necessary during production. T h e studio scale of minimum wages prevailed on all locations. Since it was sometimes necessary for a production unit on location to work as much as fifteen hours a day, the studios could substitute the special daily or weekly rates indicated in Table 9 for the hourly rates. When paid on this basis, the workers were "subject to call at any time." Although it meant being on the job for excessively long hours, the craftsmen were eager to get this type of work because they could seldom earn as much at the studios. The Code Authority appointed a bipartisan Studio Labor Committee to adjust all studio labor disputes except those relating to actors, writers, directors, supervisors, and extras. T h e committee personnel consisted of Pat Casey (chairman), and three others recommended by him. The producers used every excuse to keep this committee inactive because they objected to having their labor difficulties aired before it.23 They feared that it would become the outlet for the pent-up resentment which had 23 N R A , files on studio labor.

The Noble Effort

138

T A B L E

9

N R . A L O C A T I O N R A T E S FOR STUDIO C R A F T S

0

DISTANT LOCATION STUDIO HOURLY R A T E

DAILY RATE WHEN LESS THAN 1 WEEK

?2.25 1.94 i.66$/£ 1.40 i-SS'/s 1.25 1.16^ I.IO 1.00 .90

DISTANT LOCATION W E E K L Y RATE

527-25 24.00 20.75 17.25 !5-75 14-75

$161.75 1 4 I -75 121.75 101.75 9i-75 86-75 81.75 78.00 71-75 66.75

13.75

1325 12.25 ii.50

•831/s •75

8.50 8.00

.60

51.75 46.75

6.50

a From N R A , Code of Fair Competition p. ss7.

37.75

for the Motion

Picture

Industry,

accumulated during the arid depression years and would thus become a demoralizing influence on their labor force. T h e y claimed at first that the committee was not legally appointed because the Code Authority had failed to confirm it in writing. W h e n this confirmation arrived, the studio representatives on the committee complained that it could not function because it had received no specific instructions or money. Months went by and this bickering continued. Meanwhile, complaints alleging violations of the code were pouring in. W h e n the number reached 107 and the committee still gave no sign of life, George Creel, California State Director of the National Emergency Council, ordered

the N R A

labor-compliance

Benjamin B. Lindsey, to begin 2« Ibid.

hearings. 24

officer, Judge Administrator

The Noble Effort

139

Rosenblatt criticized this move as a duplication of authority and insisted that all studio complaints be turned over to the Studio Labor Committee. H e reorganized this committee by reducing its bipartisan personnel to two—Pat Casey and Ed Smith

2 5 —and

adding an impartial chairman,

W . Jefferson Davis. T h e composition of the new committee made it particularly suitable for conciliation and mediation purposes. T h e Compliance Division of the N R A yielded and turned the complaints over to the reorganized committee. T h i s threat of interference by an outside agency spurred the committee into activity. It soon faced the difficulty of the unions' refusal to divulge the names of their complaining members for fear of blacklisting. T h i s reluctance stemmed from their objection to the presence of Pat Casey, the producers' personal labor representative, on the committee. 28 Furthermore, the committee's long procrastination had caused many studio employees to lose faith in the N R A . Despite these handicaps, the committee heard 262 complaints and adjusted 98.5 percent satisfactorily. 27 T h e

complaints

included unjust discharge,

underpayment of wages, and miscalculation of overtime. T h e largest number of complaints involved incorrect classification of employees and the "over-riding" clause of the code which provided that the August 23, 1933, craft agreement was to have precedence wherever its wage and hour provisions were more favorable than the code scales. After eight months of

operation,

Administrator

Rosenblatt

stated: " N o decision of the committee has been disrupted 25 Ed Smith was formerly business agent of the Los Angeles musicians' union. 28 N R A , files on studio labor. 27 N R A , Division of R e v i e w , op. cit., p. 61.

140

The Noble Effort

nor has any appeal been taken. T h i s is noteworthy in view of the fact that all studios were uniformly affected by the decisions of this committee."

28

T h e Compliance Division of the N R A objected to the committee on the grounds that the N R A had not given the Code Authority the power to adjust labor complaints; the Labor Advisory Board of the N R A opposed it because it objected in principle to the appointment of labor committees by the code authorities. 29 T h e board, however, had no complaints to make relative to the committee's performance. And after an investigation, the Compliance Division gave the committee informal recognition, with the proviso that its decisions could be appealed. Prior to the NRA, only the unionized artisans and musicians had achieved standardized working conditions. Now, for the first time in the history of the industry, white-collar, service, semi-skilled, and unskilled employees in the studio could point to codified wage and hour scales. These standards, unlike the fixed rates of the unionized groups, merely set the bottom level. Nothing prevented individuals from bargaining for higher rates. There are no indications that the N R A minimum also became a maximum. In addition to setting wage and hour standards for the unorganized groups, the code gave them the opportunity to discuss their grievances with the management—a privilege previously reserved for the parties to the Studio Basic Agreement. Reduction in hours and increases in pay met the existing emergency by improving employment

conditions,

spreading job opportunities, and generally stabilizing the Hollywood labor situation. As was to be expected, however, the changes did not please everyone. T h e craftsmen MIbid.

2» Ibid.

The Noble Effort

141

who had been getting very little employment found the "stagger" or "work-share" plan very acceptable. But it was resented by the more competent artisans who had been getting the lion's share of the work and who now had to divide with many others. The studio managements complained that the short work day decreased the productive efficiency and increased the cost of labor. They had acceded to it as a temporary emergency measure but, having granted it, soon discovered that they could not withdraw it. Although established as an experiment for one year, the six-hour day has remained in force ever since. Union officials would not permit its withdrawal because it has helped to pacify their unemployed members. By rotating the work they have managed to maintain a large paid-up membership. 30 Although the N R A left an indelible mark on industrial relations in Hollywood, it was somewhat overshadowed, in so far as the crafts were concerned, by events which preceded its adoption. The jurisdictional agreements 31 concluded in 1926 between the Alliance and the carpenters and electricians to foster harmony among the unions in the industry proved responsible for continued strife. T h e minute job divisions, requiring members of different unions to work side by side and cooperate in production, actually laid the basis for several interruptions in production. For some years the unions continued to work under these agreements without an overt act of hostility, but beneath the surface the old rivalry continued to seethe. T h e armed peace was finally ended in August, 1933. 82 so Because of the recent departure of many artisans for defense work the studios have suggested a return to the eight-hour day, but the studio craft locals have turned down the suggestion. si See Chapter I, above. " Academy, Bulletin 20, Aug. 10, 1933, p. 1.

142

The Noble Effort

Shortly after President Roosevelt's appeal for industrial cooperation, Hollywood experienced one of its worst jurisdictional strikes. Like most disturbances of that nature, this strike resulted from technological changes. When the stagehands, the electricians, and the carpenters established their respective zones in 1926, A1 Jolson had not yet startled the country with his epoch-making Jazz Singer. T h e sound technician then arrived on the Hollywood scene. He was a desirable asset and both stagehands and electricians claimed him. Everyone was convinced that the future of the industry centered on sound. T h e union that controlled the sound men, therefore, would hold a strategic bargaining ace; these well-paid technicians could also help materially in lining union coffers. T h e upshot was that sound men found themselves being organized by Local 40 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers and by Local 695 of the Alliance. By the summer of 1933 the stagehands claimed a membership of over 600 sound men and the electricians 60.33 T h e producers had no difficulty in keeping aloof from the entire controversy, because neither of the locals requested recognition for the sound men under the Studio Basic Agreement. No new group could enter the agreement unless it obtained the unanimous consent of the signatory unions. This clause was originally inserted by the unions in order to maintain wide job control by preventing recognition under the Studio Basic Agreement of an outside union which infringed upon their own territories. T h e sound men, therefore, could not obtain producer recognition as long as both unions refused to concede jurisdiction. Finding itself blocked in this direction, the stagehands' union employed a new strategy. Local 695 »s Ibid., p. 2.

The Noble Effort

143

entrenched itself in the independent studios which were not parties to the Studio Basic Agreement and got them to sign its wage contracts, thus giving the local implicit recognition as the proper bargaining agent for sound men. In the course of this campaign, the local reached Columbia Picture Corporation in the early part of March, 1932, and demanded that the corporation sign its wage-scale contract. This move had a strategic purpose. The corporation had not joined the producers' association until December, 1 9 3 1 , and therefore had not signed the Studio Basic Agreement when it was extended to March 14, 1934. For this reason, Local 695 maintained that Columbia was not bound by the agreement and could sign its sound men's contract. Columbia refused on the grounds that it had automatically become a party to the agreement by virtue of its membership in the producers' association.34 In this belief, it had always complied with the provisions of the agreement. If Columbia had recognized Local 695, the union would have driven a wedge into the producers' association which might have split it. The union would have created a situation in which one member would have recognized the right of the Alliance to represent the sound men while all the remaining members refused to do so until the settlement of the jurisdictional dispute. Since this would have proven most embarrassing when the time arrived for the extension of the Studio Basic Agreement, Columbia refused to recognize Local 695. The local dropped its negotiations with Columbia until July, 1933, when its hand was forced by the N R A . Workers discovered that they had to organize into pressure groups in order to secure benefits from the codes. They set out to unionize with a will, under the aegis of the New Deal. Ibid.

144

The Noble Effort

T h e Alliance wanted to make sure that it would be the organization which would represent the sound men. It had never given up the hope of controlling all studio labor. T h e jurisdictional concessions which it had granted the carpenters and electricians in the 1926 pacts had always been considered temporary expedients. T h e Alliance was eager to annex every new occupation in the studios. T h e business agent of Local 695 called the Columbia sound men out on strike in July, 1933. 35 T h e members of the other Alliance locals—cameramen, laboratory men, film editors, electricians, studio projectionists, and studio technicians—struck in sympathy and forced the studio to cease operations. Up to this point Local 40 of the electricians' union took no part in the proceedings. After the Columbia strike was called, the two competing locals tried to settle their jurisdictional fight by a tentative proposal that all members of Local 695 be transferred to the electricians' union; 3 6 but these efforts were soon abandoned. Had the Alliance acquiesced in these negotiations, it could have extricated itself from an embarrassing situation, albeit without the sound men. Instead, when Columbia failed to capitulate in the strike, the Alliance was forced into the logical but dangerous gamble of a general walkout. While the Columbia studios were still paralyzed, the business agent of Local 695, accompanied by an international representative of the Alliance, presented Pat Casey with a proposed contract for sound men in all studios. After consulting with the members of the Association of Motion Picture Producers, Casey informed them that the producers could not negotiate until the jurisdictional dispute was settled.37 There»3 Ibid.

"¡/bid.,

p. 3.

37

Ibid.

145

The Noble Effort

upon the union officials, without consulting the membership of the local, called a strike of all sound men. T h i s strike was a direct violation of the Studio Basic Agreement since the Alliance, the parent body of the local, was a party to it. T h e local defended itself by arguing that it could act as an independent agent since it had not been recognized under the agreement. 58 This strike gave the electricians' union just the opening for which it had been waiting. Since Local 695 was a member of the Alliance, with which the electricians had a working agreement, they had been reluctant to pick an open quarrel with it. W h e n the local struck in violation of the Studio Basic Agreement and declared itself an independent unit, the electricians' officials felt that they could safely take a hand in the situation. Harry P. Brigaerts, the vice president of

the

International

Brotherhood

of

Electrical

Workers, assisted the producers by replacing the striking sound men with members of Local 40.39 T h e producers obtained additional replacements by advertising in the local newspapers and by employing nonunion men. T h e striking sound men became so concerned for their jobs that hundreds flocked to Local 40 and returned to the studios as members in good standing of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers. In retaliation, the Alliance called a general strike of all its studio members. This automatically broke its connection with the Studio Basic Agreement, since the Alliance had neglected to use the peaceful adjustment machinery provided in the agreement. Four hours after it had called the general strike the Alliance telegraphed its withdrawal to Pat Casey. T h i s was another breach of the agreement, ss Ibid.

«»Ibid.

T h e Noble Effort

146

which provided for prior written notice to the chairman of both the producers' and the internationals' committees. T h e strike was a disastrous step for the Alliance. T h e combined efforts of the producers and its sister unions to break the strike proved too strong for the Alliance to combat. Although its members responded solidly to the strike call, their morale was low because they never really understood why they had been called out. W h e n they saw their jobs slipping out of their grasp, they signed up with the competing unions. Attractive contracts offered to the cameramen through the American Society of

Cinema-

tographers induced them to return. T h e carpenters' union jumped at this opportunity to regain some of the work which it had conceded to the Alliance in the early jurisdictional pact. With the cameramen and sound m e n — t h e two key occupations—back at work and with the electricians' and carpenters' unions ready to supply most of the other craftsmen, the strike rapidly lost force. Claims made by the producers and by the unions concerning the efficacy of the strike were conflicting, of course. T h e extension of the strike to the 6,000 members of the Alliance locals threatened to paralyze production entirely. T h i s would have rendered about 30,000 studio workers idle. Production at Columbia Pictures was suspended entirely, but the cooperation of the other craft unions with the producers kept the general level of production in other studios from dropping below the halfway mark. 40 T h e loss of the strike was a staggering blow to the Alliance. It lost the studios after having lost control over exhibition during the depression years. Union leaders threatened to block the exhibition of pictures which did not carry the Alliance label, but they knew that the threat «0 Film

Daily,

J u l y 26, 1933.

T h e Noble

Effort

147

could not be made good. Unable to rely on its economic strength,

the Alliance

resorted

to political

pressure.

Leaders of the Alliance locals in Hollywood asked President Roosevelt to prohibit the producers from displaying the N R A emblem. Another appeal was sent to Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, who replied by sending two Federal conciliators to investigate the situation. T h e case finally reached the National Labor Board established by the N R A to handle cases involving alleged violations of Section 7 A of the act. Dr. Leo Wolman, the acting chairman of the board, announced on August 23, 1933. the settlement of the strike on the following terms: (1) the strike was to be called off at the suggestion of the National Labor Board; (2) the employees were to be taken back without prejudice; (3) there was to be no discrimination against membership in any union; (4) jurisdictional questions were to be settled by the American Federation of Labor, and pending settlement of these jurisdictional disputes, no strikes were to be called; (5) disputes as to the interpretation of this agreement were to be decided by the National Labor Board. Both parties were to accept the decision of the board as final and binding." T h e board's decision in this case was not based on the formula it had evolved for the settlement of ordinary strikes, since in this case the issue was jurisdictional. T h e board wisely refused to take sides and referred the dispute to the Executive Council of the A.F. of L., which was the supreme arbiter of jurisdictional difficulties. T h e decision had little effect on the situation. T h e electricians and the carpenters continued to supply the studios with all the «1 New York Times, Aug. 24, 1933. p. 6.

148

The Noble Effort

craftsmen they needed. T h e stagehands' officials complained to the board that their men could get work only by joining the other unions, but their protests were of little avail. T h e Alliance had matched its strength with the powerful carpenters' and electricians' unions and had lost. From August, 1933, until December, 1935, it was a negligible factor in the Hollywood labor situation. In an agreement with the Association of Motion Picture Producers, in August, 1933, the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers took over all electrical work. Salary and working conditions continued unchanged. T h e producers recognized the electrical workers' union as the bargaining agent for sound men and agreed to negotiate a contract.42 As before, all grievances were to be settled under the Studio Basic Agreement. In conclusion, the pact declared that jurisdictional jealousies were to be subordinated to the welfare of the men and the industry. In its gamble for control over all studio labor, the Alliance had brought about its total eclipse in Hollywood. *- Agreement of August 4, 1933. between the I B . of E.W. and A. of M.P.P.

7 The Stars Rise

D

U R I N G the turbulent days of the summer of 1933— between the salary-waiver plan of March and the con-

tested N R A code provisions of September—a group of

union-minded free-lance actors and actresses secretly held weekly meetings in a house in the Hollywood hills. On July 12, 1933, they formally launched the Screen Actors Guild with eighteen founding members, among them Ralph Morgan, Alan Mowbray, and Kenneth Thomson. 1 Boris Karloff and two others who attended the conferences which led to the formation of the guild were absent from the final organization meeting but joined immediately afterwards. T h e incorporation expenses were met by Alan Mowbray. T h e guild's first few months were difficult. It did not attract any star names and seemed doomed to obscurity. T h e film industry did not take it seriously; its finances were inadequate. T h e only bright spot was its growth in membership to fifty-four by October, 1933. These few pioneering actors agreed not to make any attempt to enlist 1 Screen Guild Magazine, June, 1937, p. 18.

150

T h e Stars Rise

a large membership until the need for their organization became dramatically apparent. The guild did not have long to wait for its opportune moment. T h e final draft of the N R A code published in September, contained the agency-licensing, salary-control, and antiraiding provisions which aroused instant and widespread indignation. The knowledge that Reed, the president of the Academy, was a member of the committee which drafted the obnoxious provisions intensified the actors' resentment. The guild now had its issue. Groucho Marx and Charles Butterworth met with the guild's Board of Directors and agreed to arrange a meeting of stars at which the need for the guild could be presented.2 At about the same time Ralph Morgan managed to arouse the interest of his brother Frank. The meeting was held at the home of Frank Morgan on October 4, 1933. Twenty-one of the luminaries present joined the guild immediately.3 They included George Bancroft, Charles Butterworth, James Cagney, Gary Cooper, Ann Harding, Jeanette MacDonald, Fredric March, Adolphe Menjou, Robert Montgomery, Frank Morgan, Chester Morris, and Paul Muni. Those in the group who were members of the Academy had become convinced that the latter was a sham and tendered their resignations. This meeting marked the beginning of the great exodus from the Academy. T h e guild was now assured of the necessary support from the small number of very highly paid actors and actresses who were indispensable to motion picture production.4 Since the guild was organized around the N R A code issues, it was natural that its first important step in the fall of 1933 was a campaign against the objectionable pro2 Ibid.

SIbid.

«Ibid.

The Stars Rise

151

visions. T h e Screen Writers' Guild too was battling them, and the two groups joined forces. T h e actors' union was too weak to make an appearance at the public hearings on the motion picture code in Washington in September. After the influx of stars in October, however, its belligerency increased until it was leading the fight. T h e actors' guild launched a spirited publicity campaign which culminated in a mass meeting in the El Capitan Theatre on October 8." T h e meeting resulted in a long and strongly worded telegram to President Roosevelt.' In it the actors charged the producers with responsibility for the financial embarrassment of the industry because of their extravagance and mismanagement. T h e y protested the salarycontrol provisions, arguing that they would cut the salaries of the lower-paid actors and writers. T h e y emphasized the fact that the legitimate theater paid its talent groups a much higher percentage of its gross receipts than did the film industry. T h e telegram asserted "that the motion picture companies have not been bankrupted by salaries to talent, but by the purchase and leasing of theaters at exorbitant prices, caused by the race for power of a few individuals desiring to get a strangle hold on the outlet of the industry, the box office." 7 It ended by asking the President to order a thorough investigation of all the issues involved. As mentioned in Chapter V above, President Roosevelt responded with an invitation to Eddie Cantor, then president of the Screen Actors Guild, to visit him in W a r m Springs, Georgia, to present the actors' side of the case. Cantor left with the President a brief which explained why the s Screen Player, May 15, 193.1, p. 9. « ¡bid., p. 4.

1 Ibid.

152

The Stars Rise

code was objectionable to the guild. Speaking at the 1934 annual meeting of his organization, Cantor stated: " I found the President warmly sympathetic to our problems, a delightful gentleman and real friend of every man who works for his living be he large or small." 8 A few days after Cantor's visit, President Roosevelt suspended the salary-control, antiraiding, and agent-licensing provisions. Even though this was not a constructive victory, guild leaders expressed the opinion that the guild's existence was justified by this single accomplishment. T h e union followed up this victory by getting the ActorProducer Five-Five Committee written into the N R A code. When the producer-controlled Code Authority and Administrator Rosenblatt kept postponing its appointment, the guild exerted sufficient pressure to force their hand. T o select representative members for the committee, the guild held an election in February, 1934, which was open to all actors with screen credits. Robert Montgomery, Claude King, Ralph Morgan, Kenneth Thomson, and Richard Tucker, who were nominated and unanimously elected, were all guild members. Rosenblatt appointed them to serve on the committee. As was to be expected, they followed guild policies. Their proposals to the committee were prepared in collaboration with guild officers. All prospects of peaceful settlement seemed to vanish with the breakdown of the Actor-Producer Five-Five Committee. T h e guild was digging in for a long-drawn-out fight when it unexpectedly received new encouragement. Administrator Rosenblatt invited Laurence W. Beilenson, attorney for the actors' and the writers' guilds, to visit him in Washington. From the tenor of their conversation, 8 Ibid., p. 9.

The Stars Rise

153

Beilenson gathered that the guilds could secure most of their demands if they would arrange matters so that the producers could save face.® Rosenblatt suggested the formation of a central industry body somewhat similar to the Academy except that each talent branch would have complete autonomy and producer recognition. T h e central board would function only in an advisory capacity. Beilenson left with the understanding that the administrator would further explore the possibilities of his scheme among the producers. If it proved acceptable to them, Rosenblatt wanted the actors' and writers' guilds to invite him to Hollywood for a final agreement. In the meantime, Beilenson was to sound out the artists' leaders. In Hollywood the attorney was informed that the proposed organization would be acceptable only if both guilds were incorporated in toto as the actors' branch and the writers' branch. T h e word "Academy" was taboo even as part of the name of the new group. Furthermore, guild shop was an absolute necessity. Beilenson relayed these minimum conditions for a peaceful settlement to Washington and inquired as to whether the administrator believed there was sufficient common ground with the producers for the guilds to extend him the requested invitation. Rosenblatt asked for several days to check on the situation and then wired: "Confidentially have invitation for my personal efforts extended at once in form as discussed and on basis that I may be able to be of service and that matter is urgent. You can give out statement when wire sent. Will advise you of acceptance and date next week arrival." 10 T h e guilds were very enthusiastic; the proposed settlement would have been a great victory for them. A special 8

The Screen Guilds' Magazine, April, 1935, p. 6.

10

Ibid.

154

The Stars Rise

committee dispatched the following telegram: " T h e complete deadlock in the Actor-Producer Five-Five Committee and a like condition apparently soon to result in the writer committee creates a serious situation in actorproducer relations. We feel that your presence in Hollywood is urgently required, and request your good offices to help clear up the situation." 11 T h e message was signed by Robert Montgomery, vice president of the Screen Actors Guild, and by Ralph Block, president of the Screen Writers' Guild. Rosenblatt arrived in Hollywood on Thanksgiving eve and was greeted in typical Hollywood style. After the celebration was over, the guilds expected him to unroll blueprints for the new agreement. T o their dismay, he had no specific proposals to make. Instead he asked Beilenson to scale the guilds' NRA demands down to an absolute minimum, eliminating all proposals which had been advanced purely for bargaining purposes. T h e next day, the special committees of the two guilds met at Robert Montgomery's home to revaluate their N R A proposals. So fully reduced to essentials did they consider their final list that they preferred to call negotiations off if any one of the items was not accepted by the producers. T h e document was delivered to Rosenblatt on Thanksgiving night. T h e NRA administrator conferred with the local production heads, principally Louis B. Mayer and Edwin Loeb, counsel for the producers. T h e following day, he informed Beilenson that Mayer flatly refused to accept the guild shop.12 Eager for agreement, the guilds notified Rosenblatt, after a hurried meeting, that an eighty percent guild shop would be acceptable. As an alternate arrangement the guilds agreed to their incorporation into the n Ibid.

«Ibid.

155

The Stars Rise

Academy, provided the producers accepted their proposed working conditions and agreed to employ only Academy members. T h i s would have meant Academy shop. Under no circumstances, however, would this latter plan be acceptable unless the two guilds were incorporated with all their machinery. 13 T h e guilds felt this to be a necessary safeguard for the execution of all agreements. As the discussions progressed, it became quite obvious to the guilds that the Hollywood producers had no intention of agreeing to anything beyond the establishment of an organization similar to the Academy. Through such a group they would be willing to improve working conditions. T h e y released to the local press their "Producers' Plan for New Institute."

14

It did not provide for the incor-

poration of the two guilds, but the actors' and writers' branches were to have greater autonomy than they had in the old Academy. T h e plan included improved working conditions but failed to establish a new enforcement procedure. T h e guilds wholly disapproved the suggested plan. T h e y believed that any organization which could not compel arbitration would have no enforcement powers. Since they felt that acceptance of the institute would doom them to destruction, the guilds turned it down. T h e administrator seemed deeply disappointed that the whole affair was shipwrecked on the "institute plan" even before minimum working conditions had been discussed with the producers. Here again the guilds offered an important compromise. Feeling that under any circumstances an agreement on working conditions should be achieved, they made an offer to the producers through Rosenblatt: they were willing to make a contract with the producers, accepting the administrator as the final arbiter is Ibid.

« Hollywood

Reporter,

Dec. 5, 1934, p. 7.

156

The Stars Rise

of working conditions. Rosenblatt presented the offer to the producers and the next day reported to Beilenson that they were willing to negotiate a contract with the guilds but would sign it only with guild members acting as individuals." T h e guilds interpreted this as meaning that the producers were willing to negotiate a contract as long as they did not have to live up to it and promptly declined the offer. Rosenblatt tried unsuccessfully for almost a week to reconcile the two sides. A t the time of his departure, in a press release he declared that before his Hollywood visit he had understood the producers to be unwilling to meet employee groups for a discussion of their problems and that he was glad to find that this was not the case.18 In a sharp retort, Beilenson reminded Rosenblatt that the guilds had invited him only because they assumed that the producers were willing to discuss working conditions. 17 Even more than that, they had expected an agreement on the basis of a guild shop. Instead, the producers refused even to sign a working-conditions agreement with the guilds. T h e administrator also mentioned in his press release that the actors' branch of the Academy was discussing a revision of the minimum contract between

free-lancc

actors and producers and that the producers were willing to accept suggestions from the guilds. 18 According to Beilenson, Rosenblatt's statement implied his approval of a company union. 10 T h e attorney appealed to him to undo the harm by notifying the producers that Section 7 A of the N R A outlawed the Academy as a collective bargaining 1» Ibid. 18 Hollywood Reporter, Dec. 5, 1934, p. 1. 17 The Screen Guilds' Magazine, A p r i l , 1935, p. 6. i s Hollywood Reporter, Dec. 5, 1934, p. 1. 1» The Screen Guilds' Magazine, A p r i l , 1935, p. 6.

The Stars Rise

157

agency and that to preserve industrial peace he himself would write fair working conditions into the code. But Rosenblatt took no action. His relations with the guilds were now strained to the breaking point. Rosenblatt's visit to Hollywood was a very unfortunate incident. It raised the guilds' hopes very high and then dropped them so suddenly that it caused an unusual amount of bitterness and resentment. Speaking of the incident, the guilds' magazine declared: ". . . the whole affair was as neat a bit of tricky business as this tricky town has ever known."

20

From his first discussion with

Rosenblatt in Washington, Beilenson got the idea that Rosenblatt

had

already

talked

over

the

"face-saving

scheme" with at least one leading producer. T h e guilds assumed that Rosenblatt had delayed in answering Beilenson's wire stating that the guilds would invite him only if he was sure of the acceptability of their three basic demands because he wanted time to confer with executives. When in his reply he asked for an invitation to the annual ball of the Screen Actors Guild, they were sure that he had obtained the cooperation of the Eastern executives and would conclude the deal upon his arrival. At the ball, Rosenblatt asked Beilenson for the guilds' minimum conditions. T h e attorney protested that he had already given them, but he yielded when Rosenblatt explained that he did not wish to get into long-drawn-out

negotiations.

T o the guilds the inference was unmistakable once again that the administrator in his government capacity intended to prevail upon the producers to accept the minimum terms without argument. 21 When the guilds discovered the true state of affairs they concluded that they had been tricked. T h e y believed that 20 Ibid.

21

Ibid.

158

The Stars Rise

New York executives, working with those in Hollywood, had followed a shrewd and insincere procedure.22 Using Rosenblatt in order to avoid direct dealing, they had sought to raise the guilds' hopes for a settlement of their differences so that the guilds would bring Rosenblatt to Hollywood. Then, with their attention on the possibility of great accomplishments, the guilds could be drawn step by step away from their initial proposals. Finally, as the negotiations proved futile, the producers hoped to induce the guilds to lead their members into a new Academy, reducing the guilds themselves to impotence. This was the trap which the guilds believed the producers had set for them. In a last attempt to accomplish something, the actor members of the deadlocked Five-Five Committee, with the help of their guild, wrote up a detailed brief. So great was their distrust of the administrator that they immediately released the document to the press to keep Rosenblatt from burying it in his files. Apparently Rosenblatt had come to Hollywood largely to forestall the publication of such a brief and was very much disappointed when he failed to achieve peace between the guilds and the producers. He had not realized that the Academy was anathema to the artists. Furthermore, he did not seem to share the guilds' views concerning the Academy's impotence as an enforcement agency. When he discovered that the producers were willing to concede all the working conditions, he refused to press them any further. How or by whom the working conditions were to be arranged did not concern him. T h e failure of his conciliation attempts disgusted him completely with the Hollywood labor situation. He labeled the actors' brief a war cry for a closed 22 Ibid.

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shop 23 and refused to hold public hearings. T h e Schechter decision finally put an end to the matter. Even during its hectic battle for N R A recognition, the Screen Actors Guild was carefully strengthening its labor alliances. Despite its fatal defeat in 1929, the Actors' Equity Association still retained jurisdiction over screen actors. A t the public hearings on the N R A code, Gillmore had appeared on their behalf. T o secure the support of organized labor, therefore, the guild had to arrive at an agreement with Equity, an achievement which required a great deal of tact. T h e strife of 1929 was not entirely forgotten; deep-seated suspicions still remained. Enemies of the guild revived the old hatreds by suggesting that the guild was planning to yield control over screen players to Equity. 24 T h e guild had to reassure its membership that it would never surrender its autonomy. Equity, unlike most trade unions, which cling tenaciously to their jurisdictions, took a practical view of the situation. Frank Gillmore, its president, realized that the antagonisms of 1929 were still smoldering. O n November 15, 1934, Equity surrendered its motion picture jurisdiction to its parent international, the Associated Actors and Artistes of America, in an agreement with the Screen Actors Guild. 25 T h e Four A's issued a charter to the guild granting it complete autonomy and giving it exclusive jurisdiction over screen actors. T h i s settled satisfactorily one of the guild's major difficulties. Since many guild members were critical of Equity's 1929 Hollywood strike, the agreement provided that neither union could call the other out on strike. If a strike did occur, however, members of the nonstriking union who 23 The Screen Guilds' Magazine, April, 1936, p. 11. 24 Ibid., Nov., 1934, p. sa. 2' Ibid., Dec., 1934, p. 20.

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indulged in strike-breaking were to be disciplined. T h e guild was now assured that stage players could not be used by producers if the screen actors went on strike. T h e manner in which the agreement settled the status of Equity members playing in motion pictures gave the guild an important boost. It had become quite common for actors to shuttle between stage and screen. Players who ventured on the screen from the legitimate stage retained their membership in Equity, as a rule, because Equity had a closed shop on Broadway. Failure to remain members in good standing might have barred them from return engagements. Equity notified its Hollywood members that it would write their arrears off its books if they joined the guild before August 1, 1935. Most of them took advantage of its offer. A few recalcitrants, including Lionel Barrymore, were publicly suspended.2® T h e guild reciprocated, of course, by ordering its members to join Equity when they accepted stage appearances. Since Equity's Hollywood members were now required to pay dues to the guild only, the arrangement threatened Equity with a considerable financial loss, and the guild undertook to reimburse Equity for the lost dues. During the three years that this arrangement was in effect, the guild turned over to Equity $50,000." Since the guild's dues are somewhat higher than Equity's, this financial drain did not prove embarrassing at first. Later when various circumstances were causing a rapid depletion of the guild's treasury, the guild terminated the agreement. Its new affiliation with the American Federation of Labor proved a valuable asset to the guild. T h e California State Federation of Labor and the Los Angeles Central Labor Council now admitted it into their ranks. T h e 2« New York Times, Oct. 15, 1936. " Equity Magazine, Feb., 1939, p. 3; Dec., 1939, p. 3.

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guild's executive secretary, Kenneth Thomson, was chosen as the delegate to the 1936 convention of the A.F. of L. from the central labor council. 28 H e introduced a resolution asking the A.F. of L. and its studio craft affiliates to back the guild's fight for producer recognition. T h e presidents of the international unions in the Studio Basic Agreement pledged their support. T h e guild left no stone unturned in its efforts to secure recognition. It made a direct bid in the spring of 1936 and again in the spring of 1937 at the annual wage conferences between the craft unions and the producers under the Studio Basic Agreement. T h e craft unions did not give it active support and the producers continued to ignore it. After the validation of the National Labor Relations Act in April, 1937, Pat Casey, the industry's labor representative, announced the establishment of machinery which would enable any group wishing to bargain collectively with the studios to present its case.29 T h e guild took immediate advantage of the seemingly auspicious occasion by asking for the acceptance of its standard contract, but still with no results. After campaigning for recognition unsuccessfully for four years, the actors became belligerent; they were ready to go to any length to obtain recognition. T h e guild polled its membership on the question of a strike. T o everyone's amazement, the response was over ninety-nine percent for it. Hollywood's most prominent stars proclaimed that they were ready to break their contracts.30 W h e n the trade press broke the sensational news, the producers were faced also with a strike of craftsmen. If the actors walked out, the =8 The Screen Guilds' Magazine, Dec., 1936, p. 4. =8 Hollywood Citizen, April 20, 1937. so Report of S.A.G. to NLRB, Dec. 21, 1938; Hollywood Reporter,

7- '937-

May

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studios would have been completely paralyzed. Fearing the economic consequences of stars on strike, the producers yielded just before the dead line. After holding out for four years, the producers granted the guild shop on May 15, 1937. A number of important concessions in regard to wages and working conditions benefited the extras and the lower-paid actors. 31 The N R A minimum provisions for extras were guaranteed. The California Industrial Welfare Commission Order 1G-A was permanently extended to men. Extras receiving $ 1 5 or less a day got a ten percent raise. Stand-ins were classified as extras, with a minimum of $6.50 a day. Stunt men were to get at least $35 a day. The producers agreed to pay all agency fees for extras. Provision was made for committees which would work out rules for weather-permitting calls. T h e guild was to have access to the records of Central Casting. All disputes regarding extras were subject to guild conciliation and arbitration. T h e day players were granted a new daily minimum of $25. Travel time to and from location was paid for by the studios. Half a day's pay was allowed for costume fittings and tests. If a player was engaged but not used, he was allowed one day's pay. As in the case of extras, the guild was to conciliate all disputes. T h e free-lance player retained the concessions he had obtained under the existing Academy contract, with the guarantee of guild enforcement. Every actor was entitled to a written contract. If it was terminated before the starting date, he received his minimum guarantee. His working hours were limited to fifty-four a week, with an assurance of twelve-hour rest periods. A player earning less »1 Screen Guild Magazine, June, 1937, p. 7.

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than $200 a week was entitled to overtime for each extra hour. T h e guild was given access to the Call Bureau—the central placement agency for free-lance players. Stock players got a minimum of $50 a week. Those receiving under $75 a week were guaranteed return transportation if brought from outside of California. T h e y were given the six annual holidays which had been granted to free-lance players. All layoffs had to be continuous for one week except for retakes. Although a one-hundred percent guild shop was immediately established for extras, stunt men, and day, free-lance, and stock players, a ten percent leeway was permitted for stars and feature players during the first five years of the agreement. After that all screen actors must be guild members. T h e guild policed these regulations by maintaining checkers on all sets. As its end of the bargain, the union agreed to keep its membership books open and not to impose unreasonable dues and initiation fees. It promised not to call a strike during the life of the agreement. Committees were to meet once a year to discuss modifications. T h e guild at first had no intention of taking up the problems of extras. But the mass meeting at the El Capitan Theatre in October, 1933, revealed that many of its members were extras. T h e y implored the guild to keep them as part of the organization because their enormous oversupply rendered their own bargaining power negligible, and the union succumbed. 32 Throughout the N R A period the guild championed the extras' cause. T w o guild members served on the Standing Committee on Extras. During its last days, Kenneth Thomson, the guild's astute executive secretary, was its chairman. 32 Report of S.A.G. to NLRB, Dec. s i , 1938.

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Despite its slowness, the guild relied upon the standing committee and managed to secure many concessions for the extras through it. W h e n the N R A went out of existence, the producers, upon the recommendation of Central Casting, agreed to maintain the N R A standards for extras.33 Central Casting increased its compliance and adjustment work to absorb complaints involving hours and wages. Except for occasional lapses, the studios lived up to the agreement. Extras were sometimes worked overtime without adequate compensation or were required to speak lines without getting the established minimum. For two years, from the collapse of the N R A until the conclusion of the guildproducer agreement, the guild waged a successful guerrilla warfare to stamp out these practices whenever they developed. Occasionally the guild became obstreperous on location if nonunion extras were employed. W h e n the union found itself with the extra problem on its hands it established a junior guild. T h e extras governed themselves through this branch, electing their own council and officers. T h e branch was subject only to the veto power of the guild's Board of Directors—and the veto prerogative was seldom exercised. T h e junior members were not permitted to vote for the Board of Directors because their numerical predominance was so great that permitting this vote would have meant handing control of the guild over to them. T h e extras seemed satisfied with this procedure, especially since practically all of the guild's energies were bent toward obtaining concessions for them. After the guild was recognized, its checkers carefully weeded out all nonunion extras. Its adjustment machinery collected many thousands of dollars for the extras.34 33 " T h e Central Casting Corporation," p. 13. s< Screen Guild Magazine, March, 1938, p. 8.

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T h e guild was immediately faced with the old problem of decasualization which for so long had defied solution. W h e n no action was taken on the reregistration list of the N R A Standing Committee on Extras, the producers had decided to take matters into their own hands by restricting casting to approximately i , i o o professional extras through Central." T o avoid the hue and cry which had arisen over the standing committee's decisions, this action was not made public. Many of the studios objected to such drastic reductions, however, and the problem of relatives and favorites came up again. T h e whole decasualizing scheme was considered hopeless by the producers and was dropped. As its first step toward decasualization, the guild closed its books almost entirely to new extras." A special guild committee on admissions was to examine all applications and admit only those who were absolutely essential to production. T h e guild compiled an exhaustive file of all the characteristics and abilities of its extra players. W h e n a studio needs some unusual qualities or rare specialty the guild may issue a waiver permitting the studio to hire outside the guild. T h i s procedure has saved a great deal of work for the professional extras which otherwise would have gone to outsiders. In 1940 the extra work was divided among 7,007 extras as compared with 9,849 in 1939, 8,875 in 1938, 15,936 in 1937, and 22,937 in 1936." Since junior guild membership involves dues of eighteen dollars a year, many thrill-seekers and casuals have gradually been eliminated. Junior guild membership dropped from 11,000 in 1937 to 6,500 in 1940," thus reducing competition for extra jobs by almost one half. Even this reducInterview with California state labor official. so Screen Guild Magazine, March, 1938, p. 8. 37 Film Facts, 1938-41; " T h e Central Casting Corporation," p. 12. 88 Screen Actor, Sept., 1940, p . 7.

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tion was not sufficient, however. It is impossible for 6,500 people to maintain themselves on earnings which at best can provide a modest livelihood for 1,500 regular extras. T h e producers and the guild cooperated to create a J o i n t Standing Committee on Extras 5 " in 1938 and entrusted it with the task of solving the extra problem. For a year the committee studied the situation thoroughly, gathering factual data and compiling over 500 statistical tables. Its first recommendations 40 were very enthusiastically received. After sifting carefully all the criticisms made of Central Casting, the committee concluded that it had proven the most satisfactory method of securing employment for extras. It recognized that it was an inconvenience to the extra to have to call Central Casting every day but felt that this was preferable to his going from lot to lot. Direct casting by the studios would merely reestablish the unsatisfactory procedure which had existed prior to 1926. T h e committee summarized the probable result as follows: "Direct casting might distribute somewhat the resentment of the many unsuccessful extra players, but the diffusion of this feeling would serve only to relieve the manager of Central from their concentrated charges of indifference, incompetence, or venality, which would thereafter be made against the studio casting offices." 41 T h e committee believed that direct dealing with the studio casting offices would be disadvantageous to the extras, since such a procedure would be likely to attach a group of extras to each studio. T h e y would probably be unaware of openings at other studios or else might hesitate to take other calls for fear of losing an opportunity to work at the 3» Under the Modification Agreement of 1938. Standing Committee of the Motion Picture Producers and of S.A.G., The Problem of the Extra Player, Oct., 1940. «Ibid., p. 8.

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studio where they had friends who might give them better treatment. As a result, the available total payroll would be distributed over an unnecessarily large number of people. By concentrating the supply of labor and the demand for it, Central Casting gives qualified extras the maximum opportunity to get all the work available and provides the producers with the widest possible choice of players to fill their calls. T h e producer also has found Central Casting a great convenience. He has merely to teletype his requirements and can confidently expect their accurate fulfillment the next morning. T h e general absence of producer complaints suggests that Central is adequately performing the employment-agency function for which it was designed. T h e committee examined carefully all the proposals which had previously been made to solve the extra problem. A former manager of Central advocated the formation of a Central Casting Stock Company which was to be guaranteed a minimum annual wage. T h e committee termed this plan impractical since at most it would be a palliative rather than a cure. T h e changing character of film production would necessitate such a tremendous turnover in this group as to make the plan difficult to continue for long. Furthermore, it would raise the serious problem of eliminating stock-company members who had ceased to be useful. Because of the character of extra work, seniority alone is an unsatisfactory criterion upon which to base employment. It seemed advisable, however, to assure some priority rights to the more experienced extras. In this way the producers would utilize the best players and at the same time would provide them with more continuous employment. Such a policy would undoubtedly induce the more proficient extras to continue this work and to improve their artistic

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standards. In line with this analysis, the committee recommended that extras who received more than ten days' employment during 1939 be placed on a preferential list. T h e extras who had been used fewer than ten days during the year were to be placed on a supplementary list. They were to get the same pay as the preferred extras but were to be told plainly that they could not look to the industry for support. T o assure the industry of an adequate supply of new workers, the committee suggested a novel apprenticeship system. Newcomers were to be given probationary membership in the guild. Only if their work was found to be satisfactory and necessary to the industry could they become full-fledged extras. T h e committee emphasized that "In any event the introduction of new people must be accomplished under such close control and with such knowledge of the need for them that they do not intensify the existing condition of over-supply." 42 With fewer people to remember, the casting directors at Central would probably find it possible to accomplish some rotation of work. T h e committee suggested that they could do so more efficiently if Central had eighteen or even twenty-four hours in which to fill calls. With this additional time at their disposal, they might even be able to telephone to the extras wanted. T h e standing committee's recommendations thus far have been restricted largely to the basic problem of decasualization. T h e committee feels quite confident that its goal can be reached. It recognizes the existence of other important problems, but the data which it has gathered are still insufficient. It. hopes in future reports to make additional constructive proposals. The committee made a very «2 Ibid.

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positive contribution to Hollywood industrial relations by interpreting the Producer-Guild Agreement and rendering many important decisions. T h e guild's activities in behalf of extras raised the average yearly number of working days from 11.72 in 1936 to 32.58 in 1940 and the average annual earnings in these years from $105.63 to $361.03. Table 10 43 shows the trend for these five years. The total amount earned by extras who TABLE

10

A V E R A G E D A Y S W O R K E D AND A V E R A G E A N N U A L EARNINGS E X T R A P L A Y E R S C A S T THROUGH C E N T R A L CASTING CORPORATION 1 9 3 6 - 4 0

YEAR

AVERAGE NUMBER OF DAYS WORKED PER INDIVIDUAL

AVERAGE A N N U A L EARNINGS PER INDIVIDUAL

1936 1937

11.72 18.46

$105.63 187.40

193 8

29.77

320-95

1939 1940

28.89 32.58

3!7-26 361.03

OF

worked less than ten days in 1939 was $157,000. T h e individual average amounted to $34, 44 a sum obviously insufficient for support. This money, however, would have been a very welcome addition to the earnings of the more regularly employed extras. Since the extras who are very rarely called naturally tend to become malcontents, it would also benefit the community if this marginal group were eliminated. T h e committee's records show that of the 9,849 individuals placed through Central in 1939, 4.564 had worked ten days or less. Of this number 2,942 were guild members.45 According to «Ibid.,

p. 7.

««Ibid.

«Ibid.

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the new plan these are to be dropped from the rolls of vocational extras. This would eventually reduce the extra membership of the guild to approximately 3,500. T h e standing committee seems likely to succeed where individual studios, Central Casting, the producers' association, the Academy, and the government through the N R A have failed. Both the guild and the producers have endorsed the committee's recommendations, and a plan is being devised to put them into effect. In time, the limited number of guild extras should be able to earn a living wage. Atmosphere work or specialties which cannot be filled by guild members are to be open on the same terms to nonprofessional casuals listed by Central Casting. T h e new plan is similar, although somewhat less drastic at the outset, to the N R A proposals. In addition, the guild has been responsible for a thorough house cleaning of Central Casting, which seems to have eliminated the last vestiges of favoritism and nepotism. 48 Most extras, appreciating the guild's efforts in their behalf, have waited patiently for the beneficial results. Many of the malcontents, however, have caused the guild a great deal of trouble. Almost from the very start factionalism and power politics among extras put the guild to a great deal of expense and inconvenience. Disgruntled extras involved the guild in all sorts of court disputes. They complained to the N L R B that the guild was not run democratically; that it built up large memberships for the sake of dues; that it spent illegally about a million dollars—charges which the guild easily refuted. 47 In desperation, the guild dissolved the junior council which was the governing body of the extras and the source 48

Official Bulletin of the Screen Actors Guild, April, 1940, p. 7. Ibid., Nov., 1938, pp. 8-9.

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of most of the dissension. T h e entire guild is now governed by the Board of Directors. By keeping the administrative reins in their hands they hope to procure benefits for the extras which the selfishness of some of the junior members might otherwise have jeopardized. T h e recent decline in annual expenditures on extras has been a matter for great concern. T h e i r total wage bill was $2,986,373 in 1937, $2,848,446 in 1938, $3,124,672 in 1939, and $2,529,766 in 1940." Although expenditures on extras in a picture are on the average not more than three percent of the total, they are being pared in the drive to cut production costs. Scripts call for less human atmosphere; the camera in the hands of a master can magnify a small group into a huge crowd. T o offset the shrinking employment opportunities for extras, the guild in 1941 negotiated "the best contract in the history of the motion picture player." 48 Earnings of extras are expected to increase by at least $309,000 annually because of the establishment of a new $10.50 rate as the basic classification for general extra work. Much of this work had previously been compensated at $8.25. T h e use of the $5.50 check has been further restricted to sets which employ a minimum of 30 extras in this category. T h e $16.50 bracket for dress extras remains unchanged. Extras doing specialized work, such as singing and dancing, have also secured wage increases. Working conditions have been considerably improved, with more liberal allowances for canceled calls, overtime, travel time, and holiday work. T h e new contract likewise raises the standards for free-lance actors by increasing the weekly minimum from $66 to $100. T h e day-player minimum of $25 remains unchanged. T h e median annual earnings of screen actors during the 936, p. 15. • Ibid. T Ibid.

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T h e parent body then assigned him to the guild within whose sphere he happened to be working at the time. H e had to pay an additional assessment to this group unless his annual earnings were below $2,500, in which case he was exempt. Screen writers paid one-half of one percent of their earnings, up to a maximum of $250 a year. Authors in other fields were assessed on the same basis for material they sold to the studios. Having assured themselves of effective backing, the guild's officials mapped out the strategy whereby they hoped to obtain a guild shop.8 T h e y proposed first to invoke Article X I I of the guild's code,® which empowered the Executive Board to set a specific date beyond which members could not contract their services. T h e limiting date was set at May 2, 1938. Realizing the dissension which such a move might create, the Executive Board planned to refer it to the membership at the annual meeting of the guild on May 2, 1936. If the order were endorsed, the council of the Authors' League planned, when the time seemed ripe, to prohibit all of its members from selling the motion picture rights to their work—plays, novels, magazine stories, and original stories—unless the studios agreed by contract that all such material would be adapted by union writers. Faced with this ultimatum, all screen writers would have to join the guild or else content themselves with very minor jobs. With the expiration of all their writers' contracts in the offing, the producers would virtually be forced to grant the guild shop by this threat to stop the flow of their story material at its source. 10 T h e Dramatists' Guild and the Authors' Guild had readily adopted the amalgamation plan, but some of the members of the Screen Writers' Guild, for whose benefit « Ibid., p. 6.

»Ibid.,

p. i s .

10 Ibid., p p . 16-17.

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the plan had been ostensibly formulated, proved recalcitrant. As the annual meeting of the guild drew closer, the agitation grew. Belligerently the guild leadership charged that: "Its numerical strength is vitiated by the soft belly, status quo attitude of some of its more highly paid members." 1 1 Ernest Pascal, president of the guild, argued that although some writers considered it a hardship to limit their contracts to two years, the limitation would actually prove a boon. "We will be in the invulnerable position of controlling both material and man power." 12 The Authors' League of America would hold the winning hand. T o the guild officials it seemed only reasonable to conclude that the producers would grant peacefully all the guild wanted —guild shop and a fair minimum basic agreement. A leading editorial in the Screen Guilds' Magazine declared: "Guild shop is yours for the asking. You can get it by helping create one mighty league of all American writers for the protection of their rights and your rights." 13 The temper of the union's officials was indicated in another editorial: "The picture business belongs to those who make it —writers, actors, directors and others who work in it, as well as the producers. It is our right to carve out of it by organization an equitable share of its profits and fair working conditions. We do not have to 'take it or leave it.' " 14 Such utterances did not inspire the producers with confidence in the guild. Moreover, they antagonized the more restrained screen writers who were quite content with working conditions which provided them with $1,000 a week or more. A powerful minority of the better-known, highly paid writers was opposed to amalgamation because of its fear of Eastern domination.15 The guild leaders marshaled a for11 Ibid., p. 4. 12 Ibid., p. 17. 13 Ibid., p. i. " Ibid. 1» N L R B , Cases R-402 to R-420, testimony of Howard Emmett Rogers, pp. 1912 ff.

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midable array of arguments to prove that the consolidation really assured the autonomy of the screen writers. T h e league was to be governed by a council of twelve, four of whom would represent the screen guild. Meetings of the council would be held both in New York and in Hollywood. T h e league could not order a guild to strike unless two thirds of its members approved. But this was all in vain. As the annual meeting drew closer, the differences threatened a serious break. May 2, 1936, is a memorable day in the history of the Hollywood writers. Coming up for ratification were the new constitution based on amalgamation and the order limiting contracts to a two-year period. When the meeting opened, all eyes were focused on the opposition to see whether it would create difficulties. T o everyone's surprise, it accepted the principle of amalgamation. This apparent cooperation had been achieved in last-minute sessions with the executive board. The guild's leaders were jubilant, but their joy was short-lived: on the very next day the dissidents repudiated the new constitution which they had just ratified.18 Dreams of victory crumbled like a house of cards. All the latent factionalism broke into the open and split the guild into warring camps. T h e opposition walked out and established a rival organization, the Screen Playwrights, with Grover Jones as its president.17 Just before the annual meeting, the guild claimed 422 active and 521 associate members; by June 1, the numbers had declined to 2 1 1 active and 169 associate members.18 This setback forced the guild into temporary inactivity. From May, 1936, until the end of April, 1937, the membership figures remained stationary. While the guild was slowly recovering from the shock, its J« Ibid. " Ibid., testimony of Grover Jones, pp. 1699 ff. 1« Ibid., testimony of Charles Brackett, pp. 1439 ff.

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new competitor the Screen Playwrights was making a strong effort to win over the writers and to secure producer recognition. It managed to negotiate a contract in April, 1937, 19 which was published by the Academy, side by side with its own writer-producer contract. T h e two agreements covered the same points and granted similar concessions. T h e y were merely to be administered somewhat differently. A standing committee composed of playwrights and producers was substituted for the writers' adjustment committee. T h e guild, of course, labeled the agreement a typical company union contract designed to divert the writers from seeking a real contract through the guild. T h e schism among Hollywood writers created a bitterness unusual even for a labor civil war. Lifelong friendships were broken, and deep animosities were formed. T h e root of the trouble lay in the sharp political, economic, social, and professional differences among the writers. Many of the guild's officials were dramatists or former dramatists who had tasted the fruits of bargaining power on Broadway and wished the same fare in Hollywood. O n the Great White Way every word spoken before the footlights had been penned by the dramatist or had at least received his blessings. In movieland he was often tempted to complain that his name graced the title card of the wrong film. T h e writers were emphatic about showing their indignation. T h e opposition openly suspected that the political sympathies of many guild leaders were in the direction of extreme radicalism. 20 T h e opposition consisted largely of old-time scenarists who had never welcomed the influx of dramatists into Hollywood. T h e y feared that the newcomers would infringe upon their territory. T o them, amalgamation within 1» Academy, Bulletin, April 19, 1937. so Rupert Hughes's letter, Hollywood Reporter, Aug. 4, 1937.

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the framework of the Authors' League meant the loss of their last vestige of independence and a threat to their livelihood. T h e y had been very much impressed by warnings from the producers that the intended limitation on the source of its materials would paralyze the industry. Unlike many of the other guild writers, the scenarists were almost entirely dependent upon the films and took the admonitions seriously. T h e two groups differed even in their social outlook. T h e guild leaders, with their enthusiastic philosophy of "all for one and one for all," had shed the scribes' traditional individualism. Although there was no disagreement concerning the desirability of helping the low-paid writers, the humanitarian impulses of the opposition were weakened by realism and by a fear that they might be gobbled up by their beneficiaries. 21 T h e validation of the National Labor Relations Act on April 12, 1937, revived the guild. T h e union asked the studios in which it represented the majority to bargain with it collectively. After two such efforts were repulsed, the guild filed a petition with the National Labor Relations Board asking it to hold a consent election in the disputed studios. T h e increased activity of the guild attracted a hundred new members by October, 1937, raising the total to 523-" T h e producers tried to stop the proceedings by objecting that film-making had no relation to interstate commerce; that writers were not employees in the sense of the National Labor Relations Act; and that in any case they already had a written agreement with the Screen Playwrights. T h e Screen Playwrights advanced substantially the same arguments as the producers. T h e y contended that 21 N L R B , op. cit., testimony of Grover Jones. 22 Ibid., testimony of Charles Brackett.

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the professional character of their services and their high salaries took them outside the sphere of the act. T h e y were to be considered independent contractors rather than employees. Unimpressed, the N L R B ordered an election. T h e hearings before the board fill a transcript of more than two thousand pages." Guild members earning $1,000 a week argued that they were employees in the eyes of the law and were entitled to bargain collectively in an organization of their own choosing. With the same vehemence, the equally well-paid Screen Playwrights insisted that they were artists and not within the purview of the act. Grover Jones pictured the young free-lance writers as gamblers playing for high stakes. T h e y would not be satisfied with a standard wage and time and one half for overtime. Brian Marlow, a member of the guild's executive board, summarized the events which had led up to the split. Confirming Marlow's testimony, Charles Brackett, the president of the guild, testified that some of its members had objected to the new constitution on the grounds that it deprived them of self-government. At the last-minute meetings with the opposition, the executive board had agreed to ask the Eastern organizations to make certain constitutional changes which would guarantee self-government to the screen writers. T o charges made by the counsel for the Screen Playwrights that his clients left because the guild officials had failed to obtain the promised amendments, Brackett retorted that no one could have expected them to be put through in one day. He believed that most of the secessionists had left really because they were afraid they would lose their jobs. Producers had addressed meetings of writers at the various studios. Immediately afterwards a batch of resignations reached the guild. Brackett knew 23 N L R B , Cases R 402 to R - ^ o .

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writers w h o had been threatened with blacklisting if they d i d not sign contracts beyond the date set by the guild. H o w a r d Emmett Rogers, the guild's bitterest opponent, directed a scathing blast against it for alleged breach of faith. H e had disliked the union's leadership for some time. W h e n the amalgamation proposal came to the fore he was so distrustful of its implications that he had organized the opposition group. H e believed that the strike which was virtually voted at the annual meeting worked a hardship on writers in the lower-income brackets, who now had to turn down any producer offer running beyond 1938. T h e higherpaid writers were not affected, since most of them were already signed up. Soon after the meeting he heard that the two Eastern guilds had turned down the proposed autonomy amendments just before the opposition had made its peace with the guild leaders. H e tried to verify the rumor. U p o n learning that the league's executive committee, though it had not finally turned them down, had not agreed to them either, he resigned from the guild. His action was followed by threescore other resignations from the guild. 24 T h e producers' unfriendly attitude toward the guild is easily explainable. T h e writers' approach to their employers was certainly not conciliatory; their program was definitely militant. T h e y demanded complete control of very important materials going into the motion pictures. T h e producers were afraid that this would work a great hardship on the industry. In any case, they objected to amalgamation because they had already had their difficulties with the dramatists in the Authors' League. Many of the H o l l y w o o d magnates had backed Broadway stage productions and in return had gained sole option to the motion picture rights on these productions. T h e Dramatists' G u i l d objected to this finanIbid.,

testimony of Howard Emraett Rogers.

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cial invasion of Broadway. 25 T h e granting of a motion picture option prior to the staging of a play prevented the competitive bidding which might have assured the author of an adequate return from a Broadway hit. Furthermore, the playwrights feared that dependence on Hollywood would rule out the production of theater plays which did not seem suitable motion picture material. T h e attitude of the Dramatists' Guild proved so annoying to the film producers that for some time Hollywood capital did not overtly venture into Broadway. After months of bickering before the National Labor Relations Board, an election was finally held and the Screen Writers' Guild was certified on August 8, 1938, as the collective bargaining agent for the writers employed in eighteen studios. T h e vote was 267 for the guild and 57 for the screen playwrights. 20 T h e negotiations which began shortly afterward between the producers and the guild broke down very quickly. 27 T h e frosty atmosphere of distrust nipped any possible fruitful developments in the bud. T h e guild did not help matters by insisting that a reporter be present at all times. T h e union demanded recognition as the exclusive bargaining agency for screen writers. T h e producers refused because of their agreement with the Screen Playwrights. They argued that their negotiations with the guild constituted recognition, but the writers did not take the same point of view. At this stage the meeting broke up. T h e guild brought the producers back before the N L R B on charges of breach of faith. T o everyone's surprise, the producers, in their statement before the board, offered to recognize the guild as the exclusive bargaining agent for writers employed in the studio.28 T o demonstrate their New York Times, Jan. 1, 1930, p. 12; Feb. 25, 1930, p. 25. 2« New York World-Telegram, June 22, 1938. 27 NLRB, Cases C-1055 to C-1064. 2» ibid.

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sincerity, the producers declared that they had a committee which was ready to confer with the guild immediately. T h e board postponed the hearings for two weeks to give the two groups an opportunity to conclude an acceptable agreement. At the end of that interval both parties were back before the board. 29 T h e guild wanted a short-time contract whereas the producers insisted upon a ten-year agreement. T h e writers maintained that material they wrote during layoff periods was their personal property, whereas the producers declared that it belonged to them. T h e producers still indicated their readiness to continue negotiations. T o save the situation, the board's trial examiner offered to mediate the controversy. Both sides accepted his suggestion and the hearings were again postponed. But these efforts also fell through. Neither side was willing to compromise enough to reach an agreement. Unable to agree on fundamentals, they had never really got down to bargaining. T h e producers refused to grant the guild shop. T h e y were willing to reduce the life of the agreement to seven years, but the guild continued to demand a one-year contract—under no circumstances was it willing to consider anything longer than three years. T h e Screen Playwrights' contract still caused difficulty since the producers would not break it. T h e complaint which the board issued against the producers was not unanimous. 31 ' Its new member, William M. Leiserson, had voted against it. Hearings were renewed at which Hollywood's biggest producers were accused of many unfair practices. Writers who had been afraid to testify before now told of coercion and threats to blacklist them. T h e producers admitted that they opposed the amalgamation plan but defended themselves on the grounds that the con29 Ibid.

so Los Angeles

Times, M a r c h 10, 1940.

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trol which it would have established over screen material would have been detrimental to the best interests of the industry and might have even put the studios out of business. T h e board examiner found that the companies "interfered with and maligned their writers' activities in the guild" 31 but recommended that the portions of the formal complaint alleging refusal to negotiate be dismissed. Although he urged the board to order cancellation of the contract with the Screen Playwrights, the examiner noted that the producers had endeavored to bargain in good faith. Tired of the continued bickering, the producers voided the contract with the Screen Playwrights and again offered to negotiate with the guild. 32 When the negotiations entered their final stage in May, 1940, Hollywood was already experiencing a loss of markets as a result of the war. T h e producers took the position that they could grant nothing which would increase costs. T h e guild had to content itself with a six-month agreement granting recognition and an 80 percent guild shop.33 When this contract expired, the guild again had to threaten to strike before a new one was concluded.34 Running for a period of seven years, it established an 85 percent guild shop for the first three years and a 90 percent guild shop thereafter. A weekly minimum salary of $ 1 2 5 for all screen writers will go into effect at the end of the contract's first year. Minimum flat deals for feature pictures are set at $ 1,500 and for Westerns at $ 1,000. Writing on speculation is banned. One third must be paid on submission of treatment, when the producer must decide whether or not to accept the story. T h e remainder must be paid when the completed story is handed in. A two-week minimum period of employment is guaranteed to writers on week-to-week consi/bid. S3 Ibid., Oct. 2, 1940.

32

Variety, Feb. 14, 1940. si Hollywood Reporter, June 17, 1941, p. 4.

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tracts receiving less than $2 50 a week. Writers earning between $250 and $500 must be employed at least one week. A novel feature provides for layoffs in blocks of not less than three weeks for writers hired on 26-week to 52-week contracts. Writers earning less than $500 a week who have been employed on a weekly basis for at least eight weeks are entitled to a week's termination notice. Those who have been employed 52 weeks are allowed two weeks' notice. A writer, upon request, must be told whether other writers have been assigned to the same material. Location expenses are to be borne by the producers. T h e matter of screen credits is left entirely in the hands of the guild. Writers are granted the right to attend previews of their pictures if they are still employed by the studio at the time of the preview. A conciliation committee has been established to settle differences between the producers and the guild arising from the interpretation of the contract. Producers also agree to the principle of arbitration. In fact the guild secured virtually every major point for which it asked, and thus gained a major victory. T h e only demand flatly denied it was that of ownership of material written during layoff periods. T h e guild did not succeed in getting vacations with pay for writers on a weekly basis, but this question is subject to arbitration after three years, when the contract may be reopened. T h e guild secured a firm footing as sole bargaining agent for all Hollywood writers during the next seven years. T h e stormy history of writer-producer relations in Hollywood illustrates what happens when moderation yields to extremism. Many of the bitter antagonisms reared during the controversies have not yet been obliterated. T h e achievements of the writers' guild do not compare with the positive

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contributions made by the actors' guild to its members and to the industry as a whole. If recognition has a stabilizing effect on the guild, it may solve some of the writers' problems thus serving the purpose for which it was originally created. T h i s will by no means be an easy task. Shifting credit allocation from the producers to the guild does not eliminate its intricacies. What effect will the new minimum for writers have upon the salaries of the higher-paid playwrights? W i l l this new minimum have any effect upon the employment of the low-paid writers? These are some of the problems which the guild will have to face in the near future. 35 as Fifty percent of the members of the Screen Writers' Guild earned less than $120 a week in 1939; only four writers received more than $2,000 a week. T h e salary of the most highly paid writer was $3,750 a week; that of the lowest-paid was I27.50. On the average, the writers worked 24.4 weeks during the year. Of those who were employed, 31 percent averaged $50.00 a week or less; only 6.6 percent averaged over $1,000 a week.—Los Angeles Examiner, Feb. 29, 1940.

9 Screening the Wagner Act

D

U R I N G the N R A period labor relations in Hollywood were turbulent, but after this period they were still more disturbed. T h e NRA was immediately followed by the National Labor Relations Act or Wagner Act, which was meant to reduce industrial strife by guaranteeing collective bargaining. Under its aegis the studios have known scarcely a single quiet day. Every labor group stirred into activity and tried to use the N L R B to attain its goal. T h e board's offices were frequented by common laborers and by screen directors. Over a hundred cases were lodged with its regional office, the charges varying from refusal to bargain collectively and blacklisting to company domination and union racketeering. The producers' labor-relations representatives were constantly busy. On the surface, the studio situation appeared serene at first. T h e studio craftsmen were content with their improved wages and working conditions. The carpenters' and electricians' unions with great satisfaction watched their coffers bulge with the initiation fees and dues of their new members. It was the Alliance that broke the apparent harmony.

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T h e Alliance had secured enormous power in the theaters by getting all of its demands into the N R A film exhibition code. 1 Confronted with mass unemployment and rival unionism in many large cities in 1932, the Alliance had adopted the slogan, "work at any price"; 2 by 1935 it was a prosperous organization, dominating all skilled exhibition labor. A change in its administration accentuated its growing belligerency. George E. Browne, now vice president of the American Federation of Labor, became president of the Alliance at the 1934 convention. Known as a man of action, he lost no time in reestablishing the prestige and power of his union in Hollywood. Browne demonstrated his power by closing the Paramount circuit in Chicago 3 because of a jurisdictional dispute with the electricians. Chicago was Browne's stronghold, of course, but the industry realized that this was just a sample of the Alliance's newly acquired power in the projection booths. Shuddering at the mere thought of darkened theaters, the producers succumbed to Browne's closed-shop demands. A l l the studios posted notices requiring former Alliance members to return to its fold. 4 T h e erstwhile victorious craft unions gave in without a struggle. By this single stroke, Browne compelled some twelve thousand reluctant workers to join his union at a time when he had no more than a hundred members on all the studio lots.5 In January, 1936, the Alliance reentered the Studio Basic Agreement. It had obtained the first closed-shop agreement in Hollywood, establishing a very vital precedent. 1 1 . A . T . S . E . Convention Proceedings, 1934, p. 119. 2 W i l m o t h D. Evans, History of the Code . . . , p. 77 ( N R A files on studio labor). 'New York Times, Dec. 1, 1935. * Petition of Motion Picture Technicians' Committee before the N I . R B , Los Angeles Regional office. eIbid.

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As in most other industries, the effects of the National Labor Relations Act were not felt in Hollywood until its constitutionality was upheld on April 12, 1937. A number of small crafts which had been yearning for producer recognition immediately became active. For years these groups were kept out of the Studio Basic Agreement because their jurisdictions overlapped those of parties to the agreement. Resenting the dictatorship of the stronger unions, they banded together into the Federated Motion Picture Crafts. Leading the loosely knit group was the painters' union. T h e painters were angry because they were excluded from the ten percent wage increase obtained by the Alliance for all the artisans in the Studio Basic Agreement when it rejoined the pact. After the painters' union had left the Studio Basic Agreement in 1932 because of its dissatisfaction with the grievance procedure, one of its imaginative business agents had absorbed the make-up artists even though their brushes moved over faces instead of walls. T o get the wage increase, the painters had to reenter the Studio Basic Agreement, but this they could not do without dropping these new members, since the latter were coveted by the Alliance. T h e only other alternative was a strike action. T h e eleven member unions of the Federated Motion Picture Crafts, all of whom had been excluded from the wage increase, walked out of the studios on April 30, 1937." T h e painters were actively supported by the plasterers, stationary engineers, plumbers, molders, cooks, scenic artists, boiler makers and studio utility employees (common laborers). Most of the smaller crafts, however, including the disputed make-up artists, proved unreliable. Although the strike was only partly effective in paralyzing the studios, it created a very serious situation. « Screen Guild Magazine, June, 1937, p. 16.

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T h e Alliance immediately set out to break the strike since it had no desire to see the small crafts, which it wished to absorb, attain independent status.7 As part of its strategy, it applied the principle of "divide and rule." T h e actors were campaigning for recognition at that time and had threatened to strike with the F.M.P.C. 8 Such an action naturally would have bolstered the cause of the striking craftsmen considerably. T h e Alliance headed off this move by helping the guild to secure recognition. When its affairs were settled, the guild remained sympathetic but could no longer give any promise of active support. T h i s episode embroiled the actors in factional labor politics. 9 T h e guild had collaborated in the formation of the F.M.P.C. although it never joined the federation and was not consulted when the crafts walked out of the studios. Since the crafts relied upon the guild for strength, they were elated when the stars overwhelmingly endorsed an actors' strike. 10 T h e guild leaders, however, had really polled their membership with the hope of impressing the producers with their determination to call a strike and thus avoiding one. T h e producers were duly convinced and would have recognized the guild regardless of Alliance support. T h e F.M.P.C. accused the guild of walking out of the federation and leaving the strikers high and dry. It even threatened to boycott the pictures of certain guild leaders. Not wishing to jeopardize the position of the strikers, the guild refrained from answering the misleading accusations. T h e attacks grew to such proportions, however, that the guild was forced in self-defense to clarify the situation pub7

Los Angeles Daily News, May 3, 1937; Motion

Picture Herald, May

8. '937* Motion Picture Daily, May 4, 1937; New York Times, May 3, 1937. * Screen Guild Magazine, June, 1937, p. 15. Film Daily, May 8, 1937.

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licly. As a parting gesture of good will, the guild made a sizable contribution to the federation. T h e Alliance weakened the strike still further by moving in upon the studio utility workers' local, 11 the painters' chief ally. These common laborers were striking for recognition and an increase in their wage rate from 60 to 75 cents an hour. T h e Alliance established a new classification for laborers, the "Class B grip," in its studio technicians' local. After forcing a wage scale of 82l/£ cents an hour for this new category, it raided the Studio Utility Employees' Local. 12 A wage of 821,4 cents an hour proved too attractive a lure for men who had gone on strike for 75 cents an hour. Its morale broken, the local ordered its 1,500 members back to work but soon discovered that most of them had gone over to the Alliance." These two successful coups by the Alliance broke the F.M.P.C. strike. Seeing how mercilessly the laborers had been treated, the smaller crafts sued for peace. Except for the painters, they all went back to work. Now that the make-up artists, hair stylists, and set designers had been beaten, the Alliance had no real objection to the painters' securing a contract. Its few attempts to break their ranks proved unsuccessful. 14 T h e painters won a fifteen percent wage increase and a closed shop." This was the first contract which extended direct recognition to a studio craft local. All the members of the Studio Basic Agreement had to be represented by their international officers. The Alliance gave the make-up artists and the hairdressers a charter and got them a very favorable agreement. T h e producers gave the machinists, plasterers, and a num11 Los Angeles Daily News, April 24, 1937. 1S 12 Film Daily, May 3, 1937. Nation, Oct. 7, 1939, pp. 374—77. Interview with business agent of the studio painters' local. is Moving Picture Painters Local No. 644, Agreement.

196

Screening the Wagner Act

ber of the smaller crafts tacit recognition and conditions as favorable as those enjoyed by the parties to the Studio Basic Agreement. Most of them appealed to the N L R B to certify them as the bargaining agents for their respective crafts to avoid possible absorption by the Alliance. After concluding his closed-shop deal with the producers in 1936, Browne placed all his Hollywood locals under the dictatorial rule of his personal representatives, among whom was the notorious William Bioff. These men, according to various charges, collected hundreds of thousands of dollars in dues and special assessments without any accounting to the membership. 16 Many studio technicians objected to being herded into an organization with an allegedly racketeering leadership and to paying exorbitant dues and assessments for the support of an organization not of their own choosing. 17 T h e y resented the perpetuation of an emergency situation during which no membership meetings or elections of local officers could be held. 18 T h e Alliance policies during the F.M.P.C. strike had antagonized leaders of the smaller crafts and they joined hands with the rebellious groups in the Alliance locals. 19 Up to the time of the F.M.P.C. strike, a group calling itself the "White Rats of 37" led the rank-and-file movement for autonomy in the Alliance locals. T h e real revolt did not start, however, until the news leaked out that the president of the producers' association, Joseph Schenck, had made a loan of $100,000 20 to William Bioff shortly after the collapse of the F.M.P.C. strike. Led by the "I.A.T.S.E. Progressives," the rebels got the State Assembly Interim Committee on Labor and Capital to make an official inquiry into labor racketeering in the Alliance. 21 T h e investigators 1» Hollywood Citizen, Sept. u , 1937. 18 Los Angeles i s Ibid. 20 Los Angeles Herald, Jan. 10, 1940. 21 Los Angeles Times, March 35, 1939.

1 7 Ibid., Sept. 28, 1937. Examiner, April 1, 1939.

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presented the committee with a report giving the Alliance a clean bill of health. 22 Several of the committeemen challenged the veracity of the report and the committee adjourned abruptly. 23 It held several open hearings, however, which gave the insurgents a brief opportunity to air their grievances. Shortly afterward the Alliance lifted its two percent assessment and for the first time in two years permitted membership meetings of the four locals.24 In June, 1938, a Sacramento grand jury investigated charges of corruption in the assembly committee which had made the abortive inquiry concerning the Alliance. 25 T h e Bioff case was aired in public, and it caused the Alliance officers so much embarrassment that Bioff was forced to resign. T h e four locals were granted partial autonomy and were permitted to elect their own officers. They remained, however, under the supervision of an international representative, who continued as the guardian of the Studio Basic Agreement. T h e insurgents remained dissatisfied. They wanted complete autonomy and control of the contract with the producers. Before the struggle for power was over, the Alliance granted the locals complete autonomy, temporarily withdrew from the Studio Basic Agreement, and finally forcibly seized control over the local union offices.26 T h e insurgent group countered with a series of court actions and a complaint to the N L R B charging producer domination of the Alliance and demanding the restitution of all dues paid to the international since 1936." When all these maneuvers proved fruitless, the insurgents withdrew from the Alliance and founded a new rump organization, the United Studio 22 Hollywood Reporter, Nov. 17, 1937. 23 Hollywood Citizen, Aug. 4, 1938. z* Los Angeles Times, Feb. 1, 1939. 2» Ibid., Oct. 24, 1938. 2« Los Angeles Herald, March 13, 1939. Motion Picture Technicians' Committee petition before the N L R B .

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Technicians' Guild. The new guild admitted receiving C.I.O. funds. 28 In an exposé, the Los Angeles Central Labor Council also linked it with Communist influence." All these complications rendered the Hollywood labor scene more confusing than ever. T h e U.S.T.G. was formally launched in July, 1939, when it petitioned the N L R B to hold an election. The Alliance threatened at first to call a studio-wide strike if forced to submit but finally agreed to take part. Three feverish months of electioneering followed. During the heated contest, what the Alliance had dreaded most was not the strength of its young opponent but its own weakness. For twenty years it had fought every other A.F. of L. union in Hollywood, and these unions, it feared, would now side with the enemy. This is probably what would have occurred if the U.S.T.G. had not been linked with the C.I.O. and the Communists. If a rival organization without such affiliations could have been established, it would have had better than an even chance of winning the allegiance of studio labor. Browne adopted a policy of appeasement. Bioff was again temporarily displaced. T h e help of the Los Angeles Central Labor Council, upon which the Alliance normally looked with disdain and whose authority it had flouted, was now solicited. T h e Alliance was willing to pay the price for remaining in Hollywood. It promised to return all the members it had taken in raids on other unions, and the Central Labor Council would decide the matter of disputed jurisdictions. Once this was accomplished, the Alliance would no longer bar other unions from producer recognition under the Studio Basic Agreement of 1926. In return, the craft unions undertook to hold their members in line and to 2» U.S.T.G. circular.

2® Los Angeles Citizen, July, 1939.

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help the Alliance in the N L R B election. When the results came in, the Alliance was found to be the winner by more than two to one.' 0 T h i s was a crushing blow for the insurgents as well as for the C.I.O. forces which had hoped to penetrate the A.F. of L. studio fortress through the newly organized guild. W h i l e Hollywood was embroiled in the C.I.O.-A.F. of L. wrangle, the American public was being treated daily to sensational front-page headlines containing such distinguished names as Tallulah Bankhead, Sophie Tucker, Lawrence Tibbett, Ralph Morgan, and Eddie Cantor. Under these headlines appeared the story of a stagehand-versusactor controversy which was a direct outgrowth of the U.S.T.G.-I.A.T.S.E. battle." T h e incident which led to the violent explosion occurred during the 1937 F.M.P.C. strike. A n extra in the Screen Actors Guild obtained a card in the Alliance. Contrary to guild policy on the strike, she worked as a make-up artist, and the guild suspended her. In reprisal, the Alliance threatened to raid its members." For some time the Alliance had been eyeing the large extra group covetously. T h e guild took the matter before the Associated Actors and Artistes of America, a holding company of eleven actor unions. T h e subsidiaries of the Four A's, with one exception, voted to combat the Alliance threat. T h e exception was the American Federation of Actors, a union consisting of variety actors in night clubs, cabarets, and vaudeville. Ralph Whitehead, the federation's secretary, treasured the friendship of the stagehands and the musicians since they had helped him more than double the membership of his union. This aroused the suspicions of Whitehead's sister unions to such an extent that the council of the Four A's voted to unseat him. »0 N L R B release, Sept. 27, 1939. »1 Nation, Oct. 7, 1939, pp. 374-77. a2 Equity Magazine, Aug., 1939, p. 16.

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Whitehead took his union along with him and obtained a charter for it from the Alliance,*3 thus creating a jurisdictional dispute which had to be handled by the executive council of the A.F. of L. Sophie Tucker, the president of the variety actors' union, sided with Whitehead. Her acceptance of the Alliance charter led to her suspension by the Four A's. As a result, no Equity member could appear with her in Leave It to Me. T h e stagehands threatened a strike if a substitute were put in. Their strike would have closed every Broadway theater.*4 The decision of the A.F. of L. executive council was a clear-cut victory for Whitehead. T h e Alliance was ordered to return the American Federation of Actors, but Whitehead was to remain its executive secretary. This greatly displeased the actors' leaders. The stagehands were to return their booty, but the actors feared they would resume their claims after their Hollywood craft fight was over. T h e actors decided that if they were ever to curb the stagehands' designs upon them, they had to do it while the Alliance was fighting for life against the U.S.T.G. in Hollywood. When Browne learned that the screen actors were favorably disposed toward the U.S.T.G., he apparently realized that he had overstepped his bounds and made a peace pact with them.35 Browne recognized the independence of the Four A's, promised never to raid them again, and accepted their verdict in the Whitehead case. In return, the Screen Actors Guild promised its aid in the N L R B election. This agreement was concluded at the expense of both Whitehead and the U.S.T.G. Resentment of U.S.T.G. leaders against what they considered a betrayal by the actors mounted as some of them failed to get work in the studios. Many were blacklisted by the Alliance, and so long as it has a closed» Ibid.

84Ibid.

*> Actors News, No. i, Sept. n , 1939.

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shop agreement they may be considered permanent casualties of the labor war. A "Thanksgiving amnesty" 3 6 restored membership in the locals to some of the rebels; others took their cases to the courts. T h o u g h the technicians considered themselves betrayed by the Screen Actors Guild, it is a matter of record that when the U . S . T . G . first challenged the Alliance it did so without any promise of support from the guild. Moreover, the U . S . T . G . killed its few remaining chances of winning the election by incompetent handling of the case before the N L R B . 3 7 Joseph Padway, chief counsel of the A.F. of L., who supervised the election for the Alliance, outsmarted the dissidents on every point. T h e y made their most damaging concession when they allowed the Alliance to negotiate a new wage agreement before the election. A lastminute effort to rectify this error failed. When the Alliance shrewdly asked for a raise, the question before the voters was no longer who should represent them but whether they preferred a contract containing a wage increase to taking their chances with the U . S . T . G . and seeing what it could obtain for them. It is easy to understand why, when the election was over, the vote stood 4,460 for I . A . T . S . E . , 1,967 for U.S.T.G. 3 8 T h e Alliance then fulfilled its promise by securing a ten percent wage increase for craftsmen despite the war-shrunk foreign markets. 39 Whoever was the victor, the studios were the losers. T h e struggle between the actors and the stagehands stimulated nation-wide interest from Hollywood to Broadway and focused public attention on Bioff, who was still the power behind the Alliance throne in Hollywood. In an effort to embarrass their opponents, the Screen Actors G u i l d 3« Los Angeles Times, Nov. 18, 1939. " Nation, Oct. 9, 1939, pp. 374-77. as New York Times, Sept. 27, 1939.

38

N L R B , release, Sept. 27, 1939.

202

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had uncovered a great deal concerning the racketeering careers of some Alliance leaders.40 In one of his characteristic crusades, Westbrook Pegler investigated the pasts of Bioff, Browne, and others. He discovered in a Chicago police record that Bioff owed the state of Illinois nearly six months on an uncompleted sentence for pandering. 41 T h e long arm of the law reached out for Bioff and he was extradited to Illinois by Governor Olson of California. 42 Browne and Bioff have since been indicted by the Federal government on the charge of extorting $550,00043 from four big motion picture producing organizations, under threats to foment strikes in picture theaters throughout the country. During the past few years the chief economic problem of studio craftsmen has been the shrinkage of employment opportunities. T h e studio craft unions have not helped to stabilize employment or increase the volume of work. T h e i r rigid wage policies and insistence on the maintenance of wage scales regardless of the economic condition of the industry have occasionally contributed to the reduction in the number of jobs. Artisans are now hired only when they are absolutely essential. Much experimental work, which might have been undertaken under less rigorous rules and more favorable wage conditions, is not even considered. 44 With the exception of the electricians and machinists, a great many of whom are in the maintenance category, the crafts suffer from intermittency of employment. A small number of artisans are steadily employed; the rest must depend on daily or weekly calls based on immediate studio requirements. T h e casual nature of studio work is illusA . A . A . A . letter to all members, A u g . , 1939. 79

picture, 48-50, 52,

231

Rogers, Howard Emmett, 185 Roosevelt, Franklin D., President, 44, 105, 142, 147, 151; suspends control features in actors' code, •5* Rosenblatt, Sol A., 99, 172; criticizes actors for making protests public, 115, 158; participation in struggle over actors' code, 90, 106, 107, 15258; over writers' code, 106, 107, 152-58, 176 Rosten, Leo, 172, 174 Russell Sage Foundation, survey of " e x t r a " problem, 66 Salaries, control under N R A , 90, 93, 103, 105, 151, 217; of actors, 1079; of assistant directors, 210; of unit managers, 210; of writers, 188 Salary-fixing board, provided in code, 103, 105 Salary waiver plan, 45-47, 62, 89, 94, 104, 175, 216 Satisfaction clause, 29, 37 Scenarios, protection of rights in, 5" Scenario writing, public interest in, 5> Scenarists, activities in early days, 52; resent influx of Eastern writers, 182 Schenck, Joseph M., 26, 196 Schools for child extras, 82 Screen actors, see Actors Screen Actors Guild, 44; actors leave Academy to join, 105; affiliation with A. F. of L., 160; assumes problem of extras, 163-71; cooperates with Central Casting Corporation, 164-70; with Equity on dues, 160; with Screen Writers' G u i l d , 176; demands set of fair practices for code, 106; establishes junior guild for extras, 164, 165; jurisdiction over, surrendered by Equity, 159; organization, 149; participation in Alliance-technicians battle, 199201; protests N R A code provisions, 150; recognized as bargaining agent, 161-63; relations with strike

232

Index

Scrccn Actors G u i l d ( C o n t i n u e d ) of crafts, 194-96; rise to power, 14974; uncovers racketeering in Alliance, 201 Screen Actors of America, 23 Screen awards, 215 Screen credits, for directors, 209; for writers, 53, 59, 60, 1 1 5 , 176, 189, 190 Screen Directors G u i l d , a g r e e m e n t with p r o d u c e r s , 208-11 Screen Guilds' Magazine, 176», 180 Screen Office Employees G u i l d , 2 1 2 Screen Playwrights, 181, 183, 184, 186, 187. 188 Screen rights, 48-50, 52, 179 Screen technicians, revolt against d o m i n a t i o n of Alliance, 196 Screen writers, see Writers, screen Screen W r i t e r s ' G u i l d , accepts p r o ducer-writer contract, 59; activities, 54; asks election to d e t e r m i n e b a r g a i n i n g agent, 183: a t t e m p t s association with other writers' guilds, 177-81; certified as b a r g a i n ing agent, 186, 189; cooperates with Screen Actors G u i l d , 175; defers to Academy in f o r m u l a t i n g contract, 57- 59; d e m a n d s set of fair practices for code, 106; organization a n d purposes, 53; r e c o m m e n d s economies to producers, 55; resentm e n t against Academy, 215; resuscitated, 63: splits on d e m a n d s , 180-83; struggle for recognition, >75-9° Semiprofessional g r o u p s , unionization of, 2 1 1 Seniority, 19 Set designers, 195, 2 1 1 Sills, M i l t o n , q u o t e d , 34 S m i t h , Ed, 139 S o u n d pictures, 3; effect o n d e m a n d for musicians, 29, 204; on d e m a n d for screen writers, 175; o n situation of extras, 85, 122 S o u n d technicians, affiliated with electrical workers, 148; contest over jurisdictional status of, 14246

S o u n d track, use p r o h i b i t e d by musicians' u n i o n , 206 Specialization of types, 87 S p e c u l a t i o n basis of free-lance writing. 59. »13' >77. 1 8 8 S t a g e h a n d s , a n t a g o n i s m between actors a n d , 36; jurisdictional contest o v e r s o u n d technicians, 142-46 S t a g e h a n d s ' u n i o n , signs S t u d i o Basic A g r e e m e n t , 13 Stage players, m i g r a t i o n t o Hollyw o o d , 30 S t a n d a r d c o n t r a c t , f o r actors, operat i o n , 42-44; revised, 39-41; secured by A c a d e m y , 37; sought by Equity, 25-28, 30-33 for writers, provisions, 59-61; sec u r e d by A c a d e m y , 59; signed by managers with Dramatists' G u i l d , 53; u r g e d by A u t h o r s ' L e a g u e , 50 S t a n d i n g C o m m i t t e e of M o t i o n Pict u r e P r o d u c e r s a n d Screen Actors G u i l d , 78 S t a n d i n g C o m m i t t e e o n Extras, see N a t i o n a l Recovery A d m i n i s t r a t i o n Stand-ins, 162 Stars, establish Screen Actors G u i l d , 105, 149; factors in u n i o n i z a t i o n of, 173; flock to G u i l d o n N R A issue, 150; o p p o s e N R A code provisions, 150-59; resent E q u i t y ' s int r u s i o n in screen affairs, 3 1 ; serve o n Five-Five C o m m i t t e e , 152, 158; see also Screen Actors G u i l d S t e u e r , M a x D „ 102 Stock players, see C o n t r a c t actors Strike, of Alliance, closes Param o u n t ' s Chicago circuit, 192; of Alliance, over s o u n d technicians, 142-48; of c a m e r a m e n , 7; of crafts, 7- >93-95- >9 6 . >99; o £ E q u i t y , 39 S t u d i o Basic A g r e e m e n t , Alliance establishes, 13-18; A l l i a n c e local violates, 145; Alliance reenters, 192; c e r t a i n crafts e x c l u d e d f r o m , 193; f a c t o r in s t r i k e o v e r s o u n d technicians, 142, 143, 145; I n t e r n a tionals' C o m m i t t e e , 14, 17, 18, 19: m e m b e r s p l e d g e s u p p o r t to actors'

Index guild, 161; original signers, 13; terms and operation, 14-21 Studio L a b o r Committee, activities for craftsmen, »37-41 Studios, categories of employees of, 4 Studio Utility Employees, 195 Stunt men, 162, 163 Sympathetic strikes, 35 T a l m a d g e , Norma, 31 Technicians, workers included among, 4 Technological change, cause of intra-union strife, 218 Technological factors excluded from union control, 19 Theaters, union affiliations of employees in, 8, 9, 10, 13 T h o m s o n , Kenneth, 130, 149, 152, 161, 163 T i b b e t t , Lawrence, 199 T u c k e r , Richard, 152 T u c k e r , Sophie, igg, 200 T w e n t i e t h Century-Fox Film Corporation, 212 Unfair practices, 90-94 Unionization in studios, early efforts at, 6; prediction for future, 219-20; significant circumstances of, 5 United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, 12 United States Department of Labor,

7. 32 United Studio Technicians' Guild, conflict with Alliance, 199-201; linked with C.I.O. and Communists, 198 Unit managers, 208, 209; guild, 210 Universal Pictures Company, Inc.,

44 Unorganized workers, wages h o u n standardized, 140

and

Van Kleeck, Mary, 66, 67, 83 Variety actors, 199

under N R A , 134; under producera c t o n ' guild agreement, 162; under Studio Basic Agreement, 16, 18 Wages, of extras, methods of payment, 67, 70 Wagner Act, see National Labor Relations Act Warner Brothers Pictures, Inc., 46, 212 "Weather permitting" calls, 72, 162 White-collar groups, unionization, 211-12 Whitehead, R a l p h , 199 White Rats of 37, 196 Wolman, Leo, 147 Woods, Frank, 51, 55,56, 128; quoted, 38 Working conditions, of assistant directors, 210; of crafts, standardized under Studio Basic Agreement, 18; of day players, 41, 162, 171; of extras, 71-79, 129, 162, 171; of freelance actors, 39-41, 109-13; of unit managers, 210; of writers, 113-14, 177, 188; on location work, 22, 137; on production unit, 134, 137, 207 Work week for craftsmen, 133-37 Writer-producer code of practice, 5860, 115, 176 Writer-producer relations, through Academy, 58-63, 115-18, 176; through Association of Motion Picture Producers, 54, 55, 58; through Screen Writers' G u i l d , 53-58, 106, 113, 176-90 Writers, screen, economic exploitation of, 48-53; effect of sound pictures on demand for, 175; file briefs demanding set of fair practices, 113-14; working conditions, 113-14, 188 Writers' guild, see Screen Writers' Guild Written contract, for actors, 109, 162; for writers, 113, 176 Young, Waldemar, 53, 176

Wage rates, affected by union rivalries, 10; of extras, 71-76, 162, 171;

233

Zanuck, Darryl F., 46