The screen writer (June 1945-May 1946)

AN OPEN LETTER TO AN UNNAMED MOTION PICTURE PRODUCER Dear Sir: I have been informed that you are sorry you can't assign me to the screen play which you are to produce because "after all, Mr. Harari hasn't had a single credit in the last three years." You are in error, Sir. In the last three years, S/Sgt. Harari earned two credits. They are entitled: Anzio Beachhead and Cassino. For these, I confess, I won no golden statuette, but a mere Silver Star. And I confess, too, that they were no solo jobs; I had several thousand collaborators. But the reviews were glowing, front-paged all over the world. And the returns — the returns were so rich that they contributed, among other things, to your holding your present position, to your company distributing such bright dividends and to this industry not falling into the hands of the enemy. Parenthetically, those, Sir, are some of the reasons that make me value these two credits a lot more than Daytime Wife, Everything Happens at Night, Larceny With Music, Ice-Capades, Music for Madame, Sun Valley Serenade and the rest of my previous credits. That I received no credits of that type in the last three years, was the fault of the war. If I receive none in the next three, the fault will be1 yours. Does the sin of the writer-veteran lie in the fact that he has not as yet been contaminated by the apathy now prevailing in the industry? Does his crime consist of bringing with him enthusiasm, freshness of mind, passionate desire to return to creative work? Has his temporary swapping of the Hollywood fiction-world for the reality of life among varied peoples in varied lands diminished his fund of knowledge? Have too many travels and adventures stifled his imagination? Has his association with buddies from all strata of life dulled his powers for character-study? Has contact with hardships, misery and death disqualified him to write dramas; or connection with the humorous aspects of Army life made him unfit to write comedies? Has fraternization with demoiselles, Frauleins and signorinas incapacitated him to write love stories? Has his forced vacation from Malibu, Palm Springs and Santa Anita given him an unhealthy outlook on the true problems of life? I'm not bitter; just mystified. I have been a writer 17 years, and only three a soldier. Yet, I have a suspicion that, in traditional Hollywood fashion, I have now been typed a soldier. I speak not only for those who in pre-war days had been in demand as veteran writers and are now snubbed as writer-veterans; I speak also for those who in predraft times had been welcomed as tyro writers and are now barred as creditless ex-servicemen. It seems — doesn't it, Sir? — that we are being penalized for having served our country. Sincerely yours, ROBERT HARARI. This letter, together with a cordial request for prompt solution of the writer-veterans' problem, was sent to the heads of the seven major studios. The results: four of them ignored it completely; one declared that its contribution to this date is "twelve writer-veterans were hired here"; another made an eloquent panegyric of its record with writer-veterans but failed, despite request, to substantiate it with figures; and finally one studio supplied facts and figures that show genuine accomplishment in that field. Not one studio answered the plea for cooperation in endorsing an inter-industry plan for re-employment of qualified writer-veterans. Z8