Poor, martyred Arbuckle, whom I came to know quite well, and Hays between them sent the American movie down a road which ultimately put middle-class slacks on Mickey Mouse and replaced Pearl White and Theda Bara with Blondie and Kiss Me, Hardy. When this happened, they said America had ‘grown up’. But we had a code and a wisdom of our own and might have looked after our own had not Big Business and International Zion conspired to attack that love of liberty and tolerance which made the film community what it was in those early, innocent years when sexual liberation was something less reverent and more pleasurable than it seems nowadays. The final victory over Art came when we at last had a chance to speak, to give our own interpretations to our roles - whereupon every artist of integrity and individuality was systematically replaced by the Nice American Guy and the Ail-American Girl. Clara Bow, with whom I last corresponded in 1953, knew all about the conspiracy, as did Mrs Cornelius and Norma Talmadge. Louise Brooks wrote about it. John Gilbert was destroyed by it, as was John Barrymore. Clara married. She tried to be a good girl. But it drove her mad. Her nature was free as mine. Freedom is a threat to easy profits. It is the first thing the Corporations eradicate. They substitute a range of choices and call that Freedom. But we knew what real freedom was in 1924.
Madge herself took my manuscript to Goldfish’s office but she was only able to hand it in to a flunkey, so we were both thoroughly surprised when a telephone call the next day ordered me to visit Goldfish at four o’clock that afternoon. These were the days when he had already severed his partnership with Metropolitan and with Meyer (whose fortune, ironically, was founded on Ham). He was again an approachable eccentric aristocrat rather than one of the Hollywood kings. Samuel Goldwyn Productions had already made some highly successful and critically acclaimed films like Tarnish, In Hollywood With Potash and Perlmutter and many others. He was a typically flamboyant Warsaw Jew. Out of politeness I addressed him in Yiddish, but he insisted on English until he grew more relaxed, and returned to Yiddish in which he was more fluent. He was impressed by my story. He had been looking for something like it.
‘We need,’ he said gravely, ‘to show people how it is over there.’ He liked my basic plot and he thought he had just the man to direct it. ‘He’s Swedish as a matter of fact, but who’s counting?’ He chuckled at me and winked. ‘What does anybody know anyway?’ I found him a warming and engaging type, not unlike some of those who had inhabited Esau the Hairy’s, my old Odessa friends of the Slobodka. We were both nostalgic for pre-war Russia.
Goldfish said my story had that ring of authority, had clearly come from personal experience. He asked a little about my part in the Civil War. I told him how I had actually ridden with the White Cossack Host, how I had been captured by Anarchists, how I had escaped to Istanbul. He seemed sympathetic but not greatly impressed. ‘With a lie like that you should be Roman Novaccio,’ he said. Doubtless he had heard many tall tales from newly-discovered relatives and countrymen who wanted a job. I was determined not to trade on my military career, although naturally I was anxious to demonstrate to him my thorough lack of anti-Semitism. This, too, he accepted naturally, as if there were no other civilised position. Indeed he seemed a trifle discomfited by my references to Benya the Accountant and all my other Hebrew pals in Odessa. No embarrassment resulted, however, for soon we gave our whole attention to the realisation of my tale which, though changing in detail as Goldfish suggested ways in which it might be better presented on the screen, remained essentially true to my original conception. More than once he remarked how my story gripped him to his soul. He asked me how I would visualise the scene where the commander of the Women’s Battalion of Death, Tatania (a Countess before the Revolution), sentences Prince Dimitri, the White leader, to the firing squad.
I explained that I was by training a civil engineer and that it might be better if I drew the scene for him. He handed me a block of paper and I quickly sketched out the scene - the accusation, the verdict, the sentence. Goldfish was approving. ‘Not many of us have the right talent for pictures.’ Then, abruptly, the interview was terminated. A secretary who introduced herself as Sadie escorted me to the front gates. Goldfish would let me know if the studio could use the story. Meanwhile Sadie had an envelope for me which I should sign a receipt for. I walked a block or two until I was sure of not being seen by anyone from his office, and opened the envelope. It contained a cheque for $250.00 and a letter from Goldfish himself telling me that I was now officially retained by Samuel Goldwyn Productions to write a script based on my story. He would contact me as soon as he returned from Berlin.
To celebrate this further upturn in my fortunes, I took Madge to Christmas dinner at the Cafe Alphonse and from there we went on to a nightclub for cocktails. It was not possible to get her into the Hollywood Hotel without inviting disapproving attention so instead we booked a room for the night at Madame France’s, where we spent a memorable Yule. Everywhere soon began to go to seed, however. Even in those days, downtown Los Angeles showed evidence of social decline and the hotels were almost all what we used to call ‘commercials’. Every one of them is that now, of course. Possibly inspired by her surroundings, Madge proved to be a woman of imagination and spirit. I had, I discovered, only sampled a soupçon of her outstanding sexual menu. It was impossible to believe that she had developed certain of her appetites and proclivities in rural Missouri. I concluded, discreetly, that she was no stranger to the cheap hotel and a nom-de-guerre in the register and possibly had worked at establishments like Madame France’s; yet I came to feel a strong attachment for her and soon decided to employ her regularly as my secretary as soon as I was in work again. Even after a night’s extravagance I was still in pocket to the tune of some $150 and might reasonably expect considerably more if Goldfish were as good as his word. The money in hand would take care of my bills for a month and give me time to find employment more suitable to my talents. I had already considered approaching William Randolf Hearst in his capacity as chief of a great engineering concern rather than a studio boss, and drafted letters to various other eminent tycoons, including Hughes and Dupont, offering them the opportunity to develop some of the inventions I had begun to see realised in Russia, Turkey and France before circumstances brought me to America. Madge would type them for me as soon as she had time.
I took her with me to enjoy the rest of the season with Mrs Cornelius, her beau and their friends, who were mostly established movie people. Mrs Cornelius displayed considerably less jealousy towards Madge than she did towards Esmé. She confided to me that she thought Madge a ‘decent sort’ and advised me to stick with her. I pointed out that I remained betrothed to another. I was in no position to give Madge more than a temporary commitment. Moreover there were other young ladies available. I am, I hope, a gentleman, and would not take advantage of a young girl from Missouri. Although, as I pointed out, she was no shrinking virgin when we met.