As I write this post, active members of the Writers Guild of America are gathering in their West Hollywood headquarters to vote on whether or not to strike when their contract is up on October 31.
I've heard lots of speculation and jokes in the media over the last few weeks over the prospect of a writers' strike. The one that sticks in my head is a comment made by NPR Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep in conversation with entertainment reporter Kim Masters:
Inskeep: "There must be room for a joke here about whether we would actually miss TV writers if we actually lost them."
To which Masters replied, "You know, I think that if you're a Jon Stewart fan... you might miss it."
Damn right you'd miss it. Inskeep's attempt at a joke was indicative of the lack of respect that writers have had to endure since since the beginning of film, an attitude that was perfectly summed up in "Sunset Boulevard," written by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett -- the best (and still relevant) movie ever made about Hollywood:
"Audiences don't know somebody sits down and writes a picture. They think the actors make it up as they go along."
Don't get me wrong. I love Jon Stewart. He's a very funny, quick, intelligent man. But he and his correspondents do not create their nightly presentation of fake news by themselves. I don't care how funny and talented you are; you need a huge staff of writers to create 30 minutes of comedy, five days a week. That's why the Daily Show employs 15 people (including Stewart) as writers.
Historically, writers have always gotten short shrift in the entertainment business. In the 1930's, it was common practice to make writers work on spec. Producers would often have multiple teams of writers working on the same project -- unbeknownst to each other -- and select the best one. There's nothing wrong with that -- except for the fact that the losing writers would work just as hard as the winners and see nothing for it.
Back then, it was common practice for a producer to slap his own name on a script created by someone else, and the writer had no recourse. Back then, producers could demand rewrite upon rewrite upon rewrite -- and didn't have to pay the writer another cent. And back then, writers were often paid a pittance, even when the scripts they wrote were turned into hit movies.
These were the kinds of abuses that led some of the movie industry's most successful writers to unionize.
They were not alone. The thing you have to remember about a glamour industry like entertainment, is that there is no shortage of young people who would do ANYTHING to get in on it.
And in the 1930's -- during the Depression -- that included seven-day, 20-hour work weeks, no benefits, no safety standards, no sick leave, no negotiations. If you didn't like it, too bad. There's always another starry eyed youngster desperate to take your place.
Hollywood's workers began organizing into unions and guilds, and the movie studios did all they could to stop them. Violent clashes were not uncommon outside the studios; police in riot gear would come to quash the laborers who had the audacity to demand a fair wage for a fair day's work.
Union supporters eventually won the legal right to organize at the studios, and today, those who are fortunate enough to land a union job enjoy better wages, fairer work rules and benefits like health insurance and pension plans. Most of the time, Hollywood workers and producers manage to set aside their tensions to get the job done -- and sometimes, the product they create is great.
And sometimes, the uneasy truce shatters and Hollywood workers go on strike.
The last time the WGA ordered a work stoppage was in 1988. Yes, that's me picketing CBS in the photo at the top of this post. I had sold a script to an unmemorable sitcom the year before and was proud to be a newly minted member of the Guild. I participated in phone trees, reminding other members of their duty to picket whichever studio the Guild deemed our target for any given day. And I made a lot of new friends on the picket line -- after all, while we were on strike, there was no dichotomy between successful writers and wannabees. We were all out of work together.
Unlike a strike by actors or directors, production can go on for a long time without writers, as long as there are scripts in the can. Aware of this, producers tend to stockpile scripts prior to the end of a writers' contract, and the writers comply. After all, if there is to be a strike, they want to squirrel away as much money as they can to prepare.
So it takes a long time for the business to really feel the effects of a writers' strike -- but when it does, it hurts. Once the scripts ran out, production stopped cold and layoffs were ordered all over town.
You didn't have to be in the entertainment business to be affected. With no shows being produced, wardrobe people weren't buying clothes for their actors. Prop guys weren't purchasing items for actors to hold; set dressers stopped buying linens and things.
Laid off workers weren't getting paid, so hairdressers and barbers and shop owners all over the city lost customers. As the '88 strike lasted for nearly six months, the economic impact on Southern California was huge.
I was fortunate. In 1988, I was a walking Hollywood cliche; the secretary with a script in her file drawer. (Second only to the actor who waits on tables.) My employer at the time was Johnny Carson, and he was a real mensch. Even though production was suspended while the writers struck and we went into immediate reruns, no one was laid off. No one (aside from his writers) lost any pay. We came in to work every day, even though -- without a show to produce -- there was little to do.
Since I did not perform writing services for the Tonight Show, the WGA allowed me to continue reporting to work. And since my boss was on strike and I had even less to do than the rest of the staff, no one cared if I had to take a morning off to picket another network or studio. I would let the producers know that I was coming in late, head out to our target of the day and then report to work. The one exception was when our designated picket was at NBC. Somehow, the idea of reporting to work immediately after carrying a picket sign right under the Tonight Show offices seemed tacky to me. So I took the rest of that day off.
Johnny Carson valued his writers. After one month of this, he made his own interim deal with WGA, promising to accept whatever terms were in the final contract, and everyone went back to work. But not before Johnny went on the air with a show he'd written all by himself. It took him that entire month to do it, but it was good. Like Jon Stewart, Carson was a smart and funny man -- smart enough to know that he needed his entire staff of ten writers if he wanted to do that every day.
In 1988, the issues included residual payments, health care and pensions. The Guild also wanted to get its members their fair cut of ancillary sales of videos.
In a business where your career has roughly the same shelf life as a pro athlete (after the age of 35, it's harder to get hired -- even for writers), residuals are the savior of many a Hollywood family. Like royalties for book writers, residuals insure that the original writer benefits when his or her work proves popular beyond its initial release. I used to know guys who were in the twilight of their careers (in their 40's) but were still able to send their kids to college because they had once been staff writers on The Love Boat. Residuals are an integral part of the Hollywood payment structure.
And the producers were threatening to do away with them... until yesterday, when it appears they realized that they were angering not just the writers, but the actors and the directors, who they must also negotiate with when their contracts expire next year.
I am still a member of WGA, although my status has been downgraded to "emeritus" (which is what happens if you go 10 years without selling a script). Emeritus members still receive notifications of Guild news and don't pay dues any longer, but they don't receive the Guild's excellent magazine, and they don't have voting rights. This is appropriate. Someone who is no longer in the business should not get a say in something of such vital importance to those who will be affected.
I don't know how the vote is going to go. If they do go on strike, I probably won't have to picket (because of my emeritus status). Frankly, I dread the thought of seeing anyone I knew back then. I was so full of hope and promise and I hate to go back as someone who isn't even a has-been, but a never-was. Still, it's doubtful that anyone would remember me from those days anyway.
But if the Guild tells me I have to picket, I will. As I only sold two sitcom scripts (neither of which was produced), I am never going to see a residual payment -- but when I worked in TV production I saw plenty of abuses by producers who knew their workers could be easily replaced. I believe in the necessity of the Hollywood labor movement. Without it, no one working in the business will get a fair shake.
