It is easy to see why the party attracted proportionately more writers than other sectors of the labor force. Communist writers often contended archly that they joined in greater numbers because they were smarter: however, more mundane forces were at play. Unlike virtually any other work in the industry, writing was done in isolation, with the writer’s presence often found undesirable on the movie set; this situation contrasted with the collectivity that characterized the film process as a whole. For the writers, the party was the collective. Paradoxically, however, this collectivity was stunted, since security concerns often meant that party writers knew few Reds beyond those who could fit comfortably into a Southern California parlor.

Nancy Lynn Schwartz has pointed out that “in a town of isolated residences and little cultural activity outside movie making, political involvement provided a connection for the Hollywood castaways—not just with the rest of the world but between husbands and wives…. [F]or the first time politically aware Hollywood wives had a broad social framework into which they could meaningfully channel their activities.” In a world of casual labor and transience, the party was a constant. In a city “without roots, peopled by orphans from urban centers and European refugees, the Party also provided a family of sorts that would not evaporate.” This helps to explain, she suggests, why “there were more writers than any other cultural worker in the Hollywood CP.” This shallowness of roots may also shed light on why—correspondingly—one of the nation’s strongest right-wing movements could arise in Southern California concomitant with the post-World War II boom.1