Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen
In September 1947, the most disgraceful period in American history was unveiled.An unexpected disaster has befallen Hollywood.
With the collapse of the US-Soviet alliance and the red scare sweeping the country, the ambitious Senator Joseph McCarthy realized that this was a good time to get ahead.One day he declared that there were communists in the army.
People asked him, "How many?"
"Hundreds of people."
A stone stirs up a thousand waves.McCarthy was on the covers of magazines and on the front pages of newspapers everywhere.
He then claimed that there were communists in the navy and in the military industry too.Every time he's interviewed by the media, those numbers change—and keep climbing.
J. Parnell Thomas and a small group of lawmakers formed an investigative committee known as the House Anti-American Activities Committee.The committee first took a stab at some Hollywood screenwriters, accused them of being Communist Party members and promoting communism in their scripts, and summoned witnesses to attend hearings in Washington.
McCarthy's reputation grew and his behavior became more and more unscrupulous.Many people were accused of being communists for no reason, without a chance to defend themselves, and lost their jobs.The military industry and other industries have also been investigated by the committee, but Hollywood has received the most attention from the public, and the committee has used the situation to make a big fuss.
Writers, producers and directors who are called in as witnesses face three choices: admit to being Communists and identify associates; deny being Communists; or refuse to take a stand, risking imprisonment.The committee is ruthless.They insist that once a respondent admits to being a Communist, associates must be identified.
Ten screenwriters refused to answer the committee's questions and were immediately sent to prison.At the same time, 324 people in the entertainment industry were blacklisted, and hundreds of people lost their careers and prospects.
In Hollywood, the head of the studio held a secret meeting to discuss how to deal with the current situation in the safest way.They issued a proclamation that they would not hire any more communists.This was the beginning of a decade-long blacklist.
The head of RK0, Dor Shahri, publicly declared that if the company hired screenwriters who were accused of being communists, he would resign immediately.Shortly thereafter, the committee named one of RKO's screenwriters, and Shari fired him.The Writers Guild were outraged.Shari begged the writers to give him a chance to explain his current situation.The auditorium of the association was full of people.
Shari said: "I want to remind everyone that I am a writer myself. I started out as a writer. I know many of you want me to resign from RKO when they order me to fire a writer. .I didn't do it because I thought I could do more to protect you guys if I stayed with RKO."
This sentence made him very disappointed.His self-defense drew boos from the crowd, and the meeting ended abruptly.
One morning during this extraordinary period, Marvin Schenk, a senior executive at the company and a relative of Nicholas Schenk, called me into his office.Nobody knows exactly what this guy does, but rumor has it that he was paid $3,000 a week to stare out the window and sound the alarm when a glacier moved toward the company.
Marvin was in his late fifties, a small, balding man with an entrepreneurial charm.
"Sit down, Sidney."
I sat down.
He looked at me reproachfully. "Did you vote for Albert Maltz at the Writers Guild meeting last night?"
We had a meeting the night before to elect a new board.It was a closed meeting, but I was stunned by his question at the time, and I didn't even think to ask him how he knew who I voted for.
I said, "Yes, I voted for him."
"Why did you vote for Maltz?"
"I've read his novel, The Journey of Simon McGovern, it's beautifully written, and the Board of the Society needs a screenwriter of his caliber."
"Who made you vote for him?"
I got angry, "No one asked me to vote for him, I just told you why I voted for him."
"Someone must have asked you to vote for him."
I raised my voice. "Malvin—as I said, I voted for him because he's a very good writer."
He carefully looked at a piece of paper in front of him, then raised his head, "In the past few weeks, have you collected donations for the children of the ten gentlemen in Hollywood?"
This sentence made me completely lose control.He was right, I donated first myself and then raised money in the company to take care of the kids whose fathers were behind bars.
I seldom lose my temper, but when I don't, it's out of control.
"I'm guilty, Marvin. I shouldn't have done it, let those damn little children starve to death. Now that the father is in prison, the children deserve nothing to eat. Let them all starve!" I was already snarling up.
"Calm down," he said. "Calm down. I think you'd better go home and try to remember who made you vote for Albert Maltz. Come see me tomorrow."
I stormed out of his office feeling hurt that the insult just now was unbearable.
I stayed up all night, tossing and turning in bed, and finally made a decision.At nine o'clock in the morning, I came to Marvin Schenk's office again.
I said, "I quit. You can tear up my contract. I don't want to work here anymore." After I finished speaking, I walked towards the door.
"Wait a minute. Don't be so hasty. I talked to New York this morning. They said if you sign that you're not a communist and never joined the Communist Party, the whole thing is over." He handed the A piece of paper, "Do you sign?"
I looked at that statement and started to calm down.I said, "Well, because I'm not a communist, never have been."
It was a great humiliation, but nothing compared to what so many innocent people went through during that time.
I have dozens of talented friends who lost their chances of working in Hollywood, and I will never forget them.
In February 1948, the nominations for the Academy Awards were announced.I was nominated with four other writers for "The Bachelor and the Chick."Colleagues, agents, and friends congratulated me, but one thing only I knew: There was no way I would end up winning this award. Those films of competitors are all very popular, including Chaplin's "The Age of Killers", "Double Lives", "Spirit and Desire" and the foreign blockbuster "Shoe Shine".It's an honor to be nominated.All I'm curious about is who among them will be the last lucky one. I got a call from Donna Holloway congratulating me on my nomination.Donna and I have become good friends and often go to movies and concerts together.She is a very interesting company. The morning of the Oscars, Donna called.She recently left William Morris to become Harry Cohn's personal assistant at Columbia, and I think Cohen was very lucky. Donna asked me, "Are you ready for the awards?" "I don't want to go." She seemed shocked, "What did you say?" "Donna, it's impossible for me to win an award, so why am I still sitting there in embarrassment?" She said: "If everyone thought like you, no one would go to accept the award. You have to go. What do you think?" I thought about it.Why not be a good spectator and applaud the winner? "Would you like to come with me?" "Of course I would. I'd like to see you on stage." The twentieth Academy Awards ceremony opened in the Shrine Auditorium.There was no televised broadcast at that time, but it was broadcast to listeners through ABC's 200 radio stations and the Army Radio Network.The auditorium was packed, and Donna and I found our seats and sat down. Donna asked me, "Are you nervous?" The answer is "no".This night is not mine, it's someone else who deserves an Oscar.I'm just a spectator, there's no reason to be nervous. The ceremony begins.The winners stepped onto the stage one after another to receive their awards.I leaned back in the chair, relaxed and happy. Finally, it's time to announce the Best Original Screenplay award.Multi-musical star George Murphy announced: "The nominees are...Abraham Pollensky, Soul and Desire...Ruth Gordon, Jason Carlin, Double Life "...Sidney Shelton, The Bachelor and the Chick...Charles Chaplin, The Age of the Killer...Sergio Amity, Adolphe Franet, Seymour Sa Giulio Viola, Cesar Zavatini, "Shoeshine." Then he opened the envelope. "The winner is . . . Sidney Shelton, The Bachelor and the Chick." I stay in my seat.Nominees with a little savvy will prepare a speech in case they are needed.I was not prepared for anything, nothing. George Murphy said my name again: "Sidney Sheldon." Donna poked me: "Go!" I stood up and staggered to the stage in a trance to the applause of the audience.I went up the steps and George Murphy came up to shake my hand. "Congratulations!" "Thank you." I managed to squeeze out a sentence. George Murphy said: "Mr. Sheldon, for the sake of science and for future generations, would you like to share with us your creative experience?" How can I prepare nothing?Just prepare something! I just stared at him and said, "Uh-ah- when I went back to New York, there were a lot of- you know- trendy girls, and they inspired me, and I thought I'd make a movie about them Not bad. Then, I—I had an idea." I can't believe how I can say something so stupid and feel like a complete idiot.Finally, I could muster enough energy to say thank you to the actors and to Owen Reese.I thought about Dor Shari and hesitated to mention him, I was very annoyed with him for all the dishonorable things he did.But then again, he did participate in the filming of the film. "...and Dor Shari," I added.I finally finished receiving the award and staggered off the stage again. When I got back to my seat, Donna said, "That's great. How do you feel?" How do you feel?I felt more depressed than ever, I felt like I had stolen something that was supposed to belong to someone else, I felt like a counterfeit. The ceremony continued, but after that moment everything on the stage was a blur.Ronald Coleman is holding up a statuette to talk about "Double Life," and Loretta Young is thanking everyone for "The Farm Girl."Everyone seems to be endless, never ending, and I can't wait to get out of this place.On what should have been the happiest night of my life, I was preoccupied with suicide.I thought: I have to see a therapist, there must be something wrong with me.
I went to Dr. Judd Vollmer, who was recommended to me by a friend who had seen him for counseling before.I know that many people in the entertainment industry are his patients. Dr. Vollmer was a large, sincere man with silver-gray hair and penetrating blue eyes. "Mr. Sheldon, how can I help you?" I was reminded of my missed appointment at Northwestern University. I honestly said, "I don't know." "Why did you come to see me?" "I have a problem and I don't know what it is. I have a job I love at MGM, I make a lot of money, I won an Oscar a few days ago, and I..." I shrugged, " But I'm just not happy, very depressed. I'm working hard towards my goal, and I'm successful, but... there's no goal at all.” "I see. Do you often feel depressed?" I said, "Sometimes, but isn't everyone like that? I might be wasting your time." "I've got plenty of time. Tell me about something from the past that got you down." I think back to times in the past when I should have been happy but I was sad, and when I should have been sad but I was ecstatic. "Well, when I was in New York, there was a songwriter named Mark Rich..." I started, and he listened quietly. "Have you ever thought about suicide?" Sleeping pills stolen from Aflemo's pharmacy... You can't stop me, even if you stop now, I'll kill myself tomorrow... "Had." "Do you feel damaged in self-esteem?" "yes." "You feel worthless?" "yes." "Do you think you shouldn't have the success you have now?" He really knew me all too well, "Yes." "You feel incompetent and guilty?" "yes." "Sorry." He leaned forward and pressed an internal button, "Miss Cooper, tell the next patient to delay the time." I felt a chill run through my body. Dr. Malmo looked at me. "Mr. Sheldon, you have manic depression." I really hate how the word is pronounced, "What does that mean?" "It's a part of the brain that's very manic and depressive, and that's causing the ups and downs. It's like there's a curtain between you and the outside world, so in a way, you're an outsider watching everything happen." I feel parched. "How serious is it?" I asked him. "Manic depression can bring a devastating blow to people. There are at least two million people with this symptom in the United States, that is to say, one out of every ten families. For some reason, people who engage in art are especially prone to Vincent van Gogh, Herman Melville, Edgar Allan Poe, and Virginia Woolf, for example, got it." I don't feel better, it's their business that they get sick. "How long will it take to heal?" I asked him. Long silence, "There is no cure." I panicked, "What?" "What we can do is try to control the condition with drugs." He hesitated. "The problem is that sometimes the medications have side effects. About one in five people with manic-depressive disorder will eventually commit suicide, and 20 to 50 percent of patients will attempt suicide at least once. There are 30,000 suicides a year across the country , and this type of situation accounts for the majority of them.” I sat there listening and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Sometimes, without warning, you can get out of control." I'm having trouble breathing. Dr. Malmö continued: "Patients can have different types of symptoms. Some people can have extreme mood swings for weeks, months or even years, while they also have periods of normal mood. This type is called Be the 'emotional normal' type, which I think you are. Sadly, as I just said, there is no cure for this disease." Now, the bug with me at least has a name.He prescribed me medicine, and I left the consulting room trembling.Then I thought, he doesn't even know what he's talking about.I am normal, normal.
In February 1948, the nominations for the Academy Awards were announced.I was nominated with four other writers for "The Bachelor and the Chick."Colleagues, agents, and friends congratulated me, but one thing only I knew: There was no way I would end up winning this award. Those films of competitors are all very popular, including Chaplin's "The Age of Killers", "Double Lives", "Spirit and Desire" and the foreign blockbuster "Shoe Shine".It's an honor to be nominated.All I'm curious about is who among them will be the last lucky one. I got a call from Donna Holloway congratulating me on my nomination.Donna and I have become good friends and often go to movies and concerts together.She is a very interesting company. The morning of the Oscars, Donna called.She recently left William Morris to become Harry Cohn's personal assistant at Columbia, and I think Cohen was very lucky. Donna asked me, "Are you ready for the awards?" "I don't want to go." She seemed shocked, "What did you say?" "Donna, it's impossible for me to win an award, so why am I still sitting there in embarrassment?" She said: "If everyone thought like you, no one would go to accept the award. You have to go. What do you think?" I thought about it.Why not be a good spectator and applaud the winner? "Would you like to come with me?" "Of course I would. I'd like to see you on stage." The twentieth Academy Awards ceremony opened in the Shrine Auditorium.There was no televised broadcast at that time, but it was broadcast to listeners through ABC's 200 radio stations and the Army Radio Network.The auditorium was packed, and Donna and I found our seats and sat down. Donna asked me, "Are you nervous?" The answer is "no".This night is not mine, it's someone else who deserves an Oscar.I'm just a spectator, there's no reason to be nervous. The ceremony begins.The winners stepped onto the stage one after another to receive their awards.I leaned back in the chair, relaxed and happy. Finally, it's time to announce the Best Original Screenplay award.Multi-musical star George Murphy announced: "The nominees are...Abraham Pollensky, Soul and Desire...Ruth Gordon, Jason Carlin, Double Life "...Sidney Shelton, The Bachelor and the Chick...Charles Chaplin, The Age of the Killer...Sergio Amity, Adolphe Franet, Seymour Sa Giulio Viola, Cesar Zavatini, "Shoeshine." Then he opened the envelope. "The winner is . . . Sidney Shelton, The Bachelor and the Chick." I stay in my seat.Nominees with a little savvy will prepare a speech in case they are needed.I was not prepared for anything, nothing. George Murphy said my name again: "Sidney Sheldon." Donna poked me: "Go!" I stood up and staggered to the stage in a trance to the applause of the audience.I went up the steps and George Murphy came up to shake my hand. "Congratulations!" "Thank you." I managed to squeeze out a sentence. George Murphy said: "Mr. Sheldon, for the sake of science and for future generations, would you like to share with us your creative experience?" How can I prepare nothing?Just prepare something! I just stared at him and said, "Uh-ah- when I went back to New York, there were a lot of- you know- trendy girls, and they inspired me, and I thought I'd make a movie about them Not bad. Then, I—I had an idea." I can't believe how I can say something so stupid and feel like a complete idiot.Finally, I could muster enough energy to say thank you to the actors and to Owen Reese.I thought about Dor Shari and hesitated to mention him, I was very annoyed with him for all the dishonorable things he did.But then again, he did participate in the filming of the film. "...and Dor Shari," I added.I finally finished receiving the award and staggered off the stage again. When I got back to my seat, Donna said, "That's great. How do you feel?" How do you feel?I felt more depressed than ever, I felt like I had stolen something that was supposed to belong to someone else, I felt like a counterfeit. The ceremony continued, but after that moment everything on the stage was a blur.Ronald Coleman is holding up a statuette to talk about "Double Life," and Loretta Young is thanking everyone for "The Farm Girl."Everyone seems to be endless, never ending, and I can't wait to get out of this place.On what should have been the happiest night of my life, I was preoccupied with suicide.I thought: I have to see a therapist, there must be something wrong with me.
I went to Dr. Judd Vollmer, who was recommended to me by a friend who had seen him for counseling before.I know that many people in the entertainment industry are his patients. Dr. Vollmer was a large, sincere man with silver-gray hair and penetrating blue eyes. "Mr. Sheldon, how can I help you?" I was reminded of my missed appointment at Northwestern University. I honestly said, "I don't know." "Why did you come to see me?" "I have a problem and I don't know what it is. I have a job I love at MGM, I make a lot of money, I won an Oscar a few days ago, and I..." I shrugged, " But I'm just not happy, very depressed. I'm working hard towards my goal, and I'm successful, but... there's no goal at all.” "I see. Do you often feel depressed?" I said, "Sometimes, but isn't everyone like that? I might be wasting your time." "I've got plenty of time. Tell me about something from the past that got you down." I think back to times in the past when I should have been happy but I was sad, and when I should have been sad but I was ecstatic. "Well, when I was in New York, there was a songwriter named Mark Rich..." I started, and he listened quietly. "Have you ever thought about suicide?" Sleeping pills stolen from Aflemo's pharmacy... You can't stop me, even if you stop now, I'll kill myself tomorrow... "Had." "Do you feel damaged in self-esteem?" "yes." "You feel worthless?" "yes." "Do you think you shouldn't have the success you have now?" He really knew me all too well, "Yes." "You feel incompetent and guilty?" "yes." "Sorry." He leaned forward and pressed an internal button, "Miss Cooper, tell the next patient to delay the time." I felt a chill run through my body. Dr. Malmo looked at me. "Mr. Sheldon, you have manic depression." I really hate how the word is pronounced, "What does that mean?" "It's a part of the brain that's very manic and depressive, and that's causing the ups and downs. It's like there's a curtain between you and the outside world, so in a way, you're an outsider watching everything happen." I feel parched. "How serious is it?" I asked him. "Manic depression can bring a devastating blow to people. There are at least two million people with this symptom in the United States, that is to say, one out of every ten families. For some reason, people who engage in art are especially prone to Vincent van Gogh, Herman Melville, Edgar Allan Poe, and Virginia Woolf, for example, got it." I don't feel better, it's their business that they get sick. "How long will it take to heal?" I asked him. Long silence, "There is no cure." I panicked, "What?" "What we can do is try to control the condition with drugs." He hesitated. "The problem is that sometimes the medications have side effects. About one in five people with manic-depressive disorder will eventually commit suicide, and 20 to 50 percent of patients will attempt suicide at least once. There are 30,000 suicides a year across the country , and this type of situation accounts for the majority of them.” I sat there listening and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Sometimes, without warning, you can get out of control." I'm having trouble breathing. Dr. Malmö continued: "Patients can have different types of symptoms. Some people can have extreme mood swings for weeks, months or even years, while they also have periods of normal mood. This type is called Be the 'emotional normal' type, which I think you are. Sadly, as I just said, there is no cure for this disease." Now, the bug with me at least has a name.He prescribed me medicine, and I left the consulting room trembling.Then I thought, he doesn't even know what he's talking about.I am normal, normal.