The screen writer (Apr-Oct 1948)

that I had abandoned the punching project entirely. A couple of days later Mr. Gripes informed me as soon as I got to his office (or rather my office) that the ideal opportunity for carrying out my project had arrived. Miss Burner's latest vehicle Blondes In Cellophane was being previewed that night and following the preview a big party was scheduled to be given at the Cafe Mozambique on the Sunset Strip. The Committee should be informed that the Cafe Mozambique is one of the largest, plushiest and most popular night-spots in Hollywood. The lighting is indirect, the orchestra inaudible, the food inedible, the prices incredible and it is, therefore, jammed to the doors every night by Holfywood celebs, who esteem such qualities very highly in night-spots. Mr. Gripes informed me that he was going to be in a party which would include Miss Burner that night at the Cafe Mozambique. He did not invite me to be one of this party, but he told me that if I arrived at about 1 1 :00 p.m. in a tuxedo I would probably be admitted without difficulty, at least to the bar. He explained further that Miss Burner would doubtless be at the bar and likewise that most of the columnists might be found there, so that the incident I planned would receive the widest possible coverage. I spent the afternoon discussing with Mr. Gripes in the greatest detail every phase of my plan of action. I rehearsed for Mr. Gripes everything that I planned to do at the Mozambique prior to, during, and after the delivery of the punch. Mr. Gripes listened avidly and I would like the Committee to appreciate that he contributed not one constructive suggestion. He merely listened and enthusiastically endorsed my entire conception of the event. Before I left the studio, however, Mr. Gripes admonished me not to arrive at the Cafe Mozambique prior to 1 1 :00 p.m. He said that the party would not really be well under way until that hour. He was quite insistent upon this point and I fully concurred. A T precisely three minutes after •*• *-eleven p.m. that night I arrived at the Cafe Mozambique in a Yellow Cab. Assembled in front of the nitery there was the usual crowd of autograph seekers. They appeared to be milling around in a state of excitement but I attached no special significance to this and went straight into the lobby. I had, on one or two previous occasions, taken Mrs. Zilch to the Cafe Mozambique and I expected it would be crowded, but I had not anticpated the excited mobs which made the lobby almost impassable. I finally elbowed my way into the checkroom and as I was checking my coat I received my first intimation of what had happened. The checkroom girl said to me, "You just came too late to miss the excitement." Still unsuspecting, I enquired casually to what excitement she referred. Whereupon she replied, "Oh, boy, it was really something. A man hauled off and punched Miss 'Bunsen' Burner right in the nose." Unable to believe my ears I began to mingle with patrons in the lobby and the Committee will understand the amazement I experienced when I learned that the man who had, so to speak, beaten me to the punch and punched Miss Burner in the nose was none other than Mr. Gilbert Gripes. The name of Mr. Gripes was on everybody's lips. Every phone booth in the lobby was occupied by a frantic columnist telephoning the story which, as the Committee is well aware, made front page news throughout the United States and in all foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. When I had recovered from the shock of Mr. Gripes' duplicity I looked for him in the lobby and was informed that he had retired temporarily to the men's room. Miss Burner, I learned, had been removed in hysterics and an ambulance. The men's room, like the lobby, was crowded far beyond its normal capacity. Here I saw Mr. Gripes, who was being beseiged by reporters. To all their enquiries Mr. Gripes replied, "No comment. My lips are sealed." Infuriated beyond endurance I pushed my way through the reporters and attempted to remonstrate with Mr. Gripes, who ignored me completely. In loud tones he said, and I quote: "Who is this guy? Take him away. He sounds like a lousy red!" MY recollection of the ensuing few minutes is somewhat hazy. A scuffle developed, during which I attempted to hit Mr. Gripes. Waiters and personnel of the Cafe Mozambique intervened and to my great chagrin and humiliation I was ejected from the Cafe Mozambique onto the sidewalk, extremely disheveled, and still protesting loudly and, I believe the Committee will agree with me, justifiably, that I had been shamelessly betrayed. The next thing I knew I was in a patrol wagon on my way downtown charged with disturbing the peace, causing a riot, and unlawful assembly. I was so incoherent with rage and mortification when I was booked that an additional charge of intoxication was preferred. The following morning, in the Lincoln Heights Jail, I finally obtained permission to see a morning paper. There, in the Examiner, was an enormous picture of Mr. Gilbert Gripes on page one and on pages two and three there were additional pictures of his swimming pool, his dog and his speed-boat. There were eightand-a-half columns of text describing the affair, in which, by actual count, Mr. Gripes was mentioned forty-seven times. A full list of his screen credits since 1936 was also printed. On page five of Section two of the Examiner there appeared the only reference to my participation in the affair. This bore the headline "PARTY CRASHER ARRESTED." The item underneath this caption, which I will quote in full was as follows: "Warren L. Zipf, claiming to be a member of the Screen Writers' Guild was arrested last night for vagrancy in front of the swank Cafe Mozambique. The Screen Writers' Guild is a well-known Communist-front organization. "Mr. Zipf, who claims to be an The Screen Writer, April, 1948