by
Elia Kazan
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When I first knew her, after Johnny’s death, she was being courted by Joe Schenck. He hadn’t moved in as quickly as I—he’d allowed a “decent interval” to pass—but soon he was trying to see her regularly. Mr. Schenck was one of the richest as well as the most respected men in the “Hollywood” community, especially honored for having gone to jail for bribing an officer of the International Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees, to prevent a strike in the industry. She told me about the night when Schenck had taken her dancing and asked her to marry him. Mr. Schenck was then seventy-one years old, had at least fifteen million dollars (a lot more money than now), and had had his first cerebral hemorrhage. He was a pretty good dancer for an old man, she told me, and as they moved around the floor, he suggested that they fly to Las Vegas right then and “get spliced.” “Every night you’d be right here in my arms,” he said. Later he took her to his home and showed her a large, expensively decorated room that would be hers anytime she wanted. But he didn’t make a pass at her. Then he gave her some paternal advice. “Don’t be a scalp in some man’s belt,” he said, “don’t be a cuspidor, don’t be an ashcan.” Again and again he told her his age, that he was not long for this world and his widow would be “fixed” with millions. Marilyn got the suggestion, but she didn’t respond; then Joe Schenck made his final appeal. “I’m seventy-one,” he said. “I know I’m a man of limited powers. But you’ll find that I’m understanding. If my wife feels she must go with other men, I’ll understand. But only so long as it’s not the same man twice in a row.” This did not appeal to Marilyn, who was a romantic. She was very touched by Joe’s offer, but the fact was that he had nothing but the money with which to try to buy his happiness at the end. A few nights later, she gave him her answer. I wondered about the women who had watched Darryl’s croquet game. Might not some of them have been tempted? In that culture, it seemed to me, Marilyn was the pure in heart.
god lol
Then he got down to business. “Have you thought of anything,” he asked us, “for the anti-Communist gimmick?” Neither Miller nor I answered him immediately, so Brewer went on. “As a suggestion, why couldn’t we have a reporter from the People’s Worker approach Marty [the central figure in The Hook, a longshoreman] and ask him for his support? Marty could say, ‘We don’t want any Commie sheets around here.’ ” Brewer stopped, looked at us, and waited.
Harry Cohn was studying Miller.
Art responded that we could try to get that in some way. Brewer noticed the lack of enthusiasm in Miller’s voice. “You don’t want to give the impression that your picture is a plea for the support of Bridges, do you?”
Harry Bridges, president of the International Longshoremen, was a man we admired.
“You should show in the strongest way you can,” Brewer went on, “that Marty does not represent the so-called progressives. The great problem in the unions is the Communist. The racketeers are much less a menace to labor than the Communists.”
Why couldn’t Art do the same thing—if he had reason to? Then—and perhaps here I was naive—we could continue our project. Maybe Art had been rattled by his marital situation and the distress it was causing him. But how could he be that deeply involved in a passion for Marilyn? (How quickly I’d forgotten Constance and how much I’d been on the verge of giving up for her!) He wasn’t a teenager, after all. It had to be because of his inexperience. I mean he couldn’t be thinking of marrying her! Marilyn simply wasn’t a wife. Anyone could see that. Even with all his inexperience, he was smart enough to know that. The wife he had (how patronizing I was!) suited him. He certainly wasn’t going to upset his whole life, divorce Mary, leave his children; it was too absurd to even imagine. I had the European viewpoint: Everything in its place. Marilyn was what she was, a delightful companion. A delightful companion is a delightful companion, not a wife.
Now that he’d left California and I was alone, I had a caretaker’s relationship with Miss Bauer. I knew she was in love with Art despite any feeling she had for me. His letters to me showed how much he cared for her. He needed what he got from her. After what had happened with The Hook, she was a blessing to me; she lifted my spirits. But I was not desperate about her—or she about me. We were good fellows. If Miller came back, I’d yield, and wait and see what happened.
wild lol
Then why did I marry? And why Molly? It’s a long story, but I’ll simplify it. Everything in my early life gave me a sense of worthlessness. (Relax, reader, I don’t want your pity.) My foreignness. My looks—or what I thought of them. The mumps at fourteen and what resulted. My father’s opinion of me and his disappointment, the boys in school pushing me outside their society, the girls whom everyone else was “taking out” and their indifference to me. At Williams I was not invited to join a fraternity, at the Yale Drama School I showed no talent, and none as an actor to the directors of the Group during that first unsuccessful summer. I finally had to believe what Harold Clurman believed: that I had no gift except an excess of energy, therefore no future with the Group or anywhere else.
On all these particulars Molly set out to reassure me. She was the first person who saw artistic potential in me; she not only stood behind me, she pushed me forward. She was sure I had a great talent; when events proved that I did have some, she became my talisman of success. She made me feel I could get to the top of a profession in the performing arts. With her help! And along with all that, she couldn’t wait to get in bed with me.
he doesnt need our pity cus he's already up to his neck in his own
I wanted everything I could get and went after it. When she withheld her approval—or when I thought she did or might or would—I resented her. After a time even her esteem alienated me; I didn’t want to have the qualities she praised me for possessing. Anger fired revenge, and the revenge was always a woman who liked me for what Molly disapproved of. I would seem perfect to the newcomer and I’d enjoy that and contrast it to the critical stance of my wife. But since I was the same man, the others soon developed the same reservations about me that Molly had. For a time they’d be reticent about expressing their criticism; there’s always a mini-honeymoon in these affairs. Then the same relationship would recur—with a different person.
All that sounds sick, and it was. But there was a true side to the struggle, which I cannot discount. People make fun of the male crisis at forty-five. I had that crisis all my life. I knew there was more to life than I was getting, and I didn’t want to miss out on anything. People forget that we only live once; I knew it from the day I was born. Every new girl was an adventure and an education, a friend in need, someone from whom I benefited in many ways. I even believed that my infidelities were an effort to continue with my wife, to “save the marriage.” It was the only way I could go on with her. As I say, I should not have married. But I wanted that too.
Months before, Julie Garfield had testified as I intended to, not offering names, defying the committee. Immediately well-wishers, whose number included his agents and others who had a financial stake in his well-being, were at his side to advise him that if he maintained the position he’d taken, his career in films was over. The studio heads already were afraid to employ him, and a star was becoming an unemployed actor. When I saw Julie, the impression I had was that he’d begun to look seedy and to wonder what was most important in his life. He turned to a lawyer, Louis Nizer, for advice, and I suspected that Julie’s feelings were shifting to a more “reasonable” position. His wife, Roberta, had hints of Julie’s evolving change of heart and disapproved of it. Julie told me that he was now uncomfortable in his own home, that his living room was always full of people who were scornful of him—friends of his wife. He said that when he came home he didn’t feel welcomed. He hadn’t done anything overt, but the left was alert and quick to condemn.
ahh the justifications begin
AT TEN-THIRTY on the morning of January 14, 1952, I arrived a half hour early in the chambers of the House Committee on Un-American Activities in Washington. I’d made up my mind what I was going to say: that I’d been a member for a year and a half, that I’d quit in disgust, that the plan of the Party to take over the Group Theatre had failed, that we’d never really influenced the course of our theatre. I knew they’d ask me to name the others in our “cell” and I’d refuse.
I described what happened in Washington, told him that I was sure from a reaction on Kearney’s face that I’d soon be called back for a public session. What did I intend to do then? Bela asked. When I told him, he said, “Wouldn’t that make you unacceptable to the film industry?” “Probably,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be a terrible loss for you?” I said I’d thought it over carefully and decided I could get along okay without film work. I had the theatre and even a play to do immediately. And some money saved. “I can take the loss,” I said. He seemed dubious. “I’m wondering,” he said, “if your fellow members would do the same for you if they were called upon to protect you by endangering their careers.” It was obvious what he thought. I recalled that Bela was a refugee from … I’d never asked him exactly from where, but to judge from his accent, it was east of Vienna. “That’s not the point,” I said, and changed the subject.
prisoner's dilemma :/
At the same time, when I thought about it, I agreed with Molly. I believed it was the duty of the government to investigate the Communist movement in our country. I couldn’t behave as if my old “comrades” didn’t exist and didn’t have an active political program. There was no way I could go along with their crap that the CP was nothing but another political party, like the Republicans and the Democrats. I knew very well what it was, a thoroughly organized, worldwide conspiracy. This conviction separated me from many of my old friends.
So I was in the clutch of a dilemma, between two emotions, swaying one way, then the other, and the squeeze was just beginning. I didn’t want to cooperate with this committee. On the other hand, I didn’t want to defend the Party by a silence on critical points of their inquiry.
is it?????
She was getting into bed, and that woke me. All excited and very happy, she announced her engagement. “I’m going to get married,” she said. “I made up my mind tonight.” “A hell of a time to tell me,” I said. “It’s three-thirty in the morning.” “I wanted to tell you first,” she said, “because now I’m not going to see you again.” “Sounds real this time,” I said. “He comes all the way down from San Francisco just to have dinner with me,” she said, “and we haven’t even done it yet!” She sounded astonished. “Who?” I said. “Who are you talking about?” “Joe,” she said. “He wants to marry me, and I really like him. He’s not like these movie people. He’s dignified.” Then she went on about Joe DiMaggio, and I could tell she really did like him. It was nice to see someone so happy and so hopeful. We made love; congratulations and farewell.
crazy lol