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300 ¥es, Mr. DeMille the deer from nearby wooded arroyos gathered on the lawn in front of the main house for a daily meal of potatoes, a deer deli- cacy. They were "New Deal" potatoes, bought from the govern- ment surplus stocks at 5 cents for a 100-pound sackful. The sack itself was later sold for 17 cents. The results were twofold—con- tented deer and a nice profit, a situation which DeMille attrib- uted to New Deal bungling of the law of supply and demand. 6. IN the fall, 1950, Hollywood was caught up in one of those "brush fire" controversies which, in the highly emotional community, filled the air with bitter argument. Outsiders were charging that the film colony was a hotbed of communist sym- pathizers and actual party adherents, and old movie scripts were being dusted off to show how, unwittingly, the studios had produced movies that parroted the "party line" as set out by tainted writers, Fiery disputes licked hungrily in every direction. DeMille felt there was something to the charge, and so advised fellow direc- tors, friendly ones like George Marshall and Al Rogell. He was at the time a member of the board of Hollywood's strongest and most influential group-the Screen Directors Guild-and what better way to demonstrate the Guild's Americanism than to pass a resolution requiring every director to take a loyalty oath? While much of this behind-doors activity was going on, the Guild's president, Joseph L. Mankiewicz was traveling abroad. And while he was still away, the Guild's board, led by DeMille and "a few other conservatives like myself," enacted a bylaw calling for the loyalty oath. This, the Board felt, would silence the industry's accusers so