The gloom deepened when
The Wall Street Journal
published the details of
Begelman
's crimes. Outsiders who had fallen for the expense-account rumors began calling their friends at Columbia to apologize and express horror that the studio would reinstate a forger and embezzler. There was further concern when it became known that
The Washington Post
had begun an investigation.
"This is the beginning of a scandal that will never die," Dan Melnick told production vice president Bill Tennant, who secretly had lobbied for Begelman's reinstatement and was one of the few studio people openly pleased by the result.
"Don't be silly," Tennant replied. "It's all over. Nothing can unseat David, because nothing can stop the Rabbit. The Rabbit controls the company. You'd better realize that. None of these New
*Eli Horowitz., the se
nior vice president
for
business affaire, had left the negotiations for
New York on the weekend of December 10-11
believing not only that Begelma
n would not return as president but also that he probably would not even join the studio as a producer because of the negotiators' inability to reach agreement on his production and consulting arrangements.
York people has ever wrestled with Ray Stark before. They thought he was just this little old man." "You wait," Melnick cautioned. "This will never go away."
Begelman
's reinstatement angered Allen Adler more than perhaps anyone else in the company. Hirschfield had assured Adler privately in October that
Begelman
would not return. Though Hirschfield had seemed less sure of himself when they talked in early December about ways of diluting or eliminating Herbert's role in the company, he had given no clue that he was considering reversing his basic decision against
Begelman
. On the day after the long meeting with Begelman in Scarsdale—the day before Hirschfield flew to London— Adler had urged him to reconsider, and had heard nothing more until the reinstatement was announced a week later. On Wednesday, December 21,
Hirschfield
's first day back in the office, Adler tried repeatedly through the day to obtain an audience with him. He did not succeed until 6
P.M
.
"I
just want t
o ask you a few questions," Adle
r began. "The f
irst
is: how could you do it?"
"In the end, I decided it was the only way to have any chance of healing the wounds and getting on with the running of the company. You saw how they were at the board meeting. Begelman is the president of the studio whether he's called president or consultant."
"Did you do it to save your job?"
"In a sense, yes. The situation isn't going to be helped if I lose my job."
"So what you're saying to me is that you've taken back a man who is a confessed thief, after one meeting at your house, in order to save your job."
"Yes, within the confines of this room, that is the answer."
"Fine,
I
want you to know that when the dust settles, when it's over, I'm leaving. I cannot work for you any longer. I have no respect for what you've done, and I think inevitably it will blow up in your face."
"I can understand what you're saying, but I can't believe you're saying it. What about all your tough talk about finding an outsider to take over the company. We can't do that if I'm not here."
"Of course, we can. You could lead an effort from outside."
"That would be very difficult. We'd
really
have a war on our hands then. It's more effective if I'm here."
"I can't believe you did this just to save your job."
"Look, I brought this company through one of the more spectacular recoveries on record. You and others helped, but I orchestrated it, and I'm not about to leave just as we reach the peak of our prosperity. I have no interest in being right but out. I plan to stay."
"You've weakened yourself and the company by taking him back. You should have hung in there and fought. You never really went nose to nose with them. If you had, they wouldn't have had a choice. They would have had to back down, and they couldn't have fired you. They wouldn't have dared."
"They would have gotten me eventually, and still might."
"By then you would have had a chance to find outside help. Now you've weakened yourself. It'll be much harder."
"I'm sorry you feel that way. I wish it were different, but it isn't."
The week dwindled toward Christmas. Hirschfield went shopping, took relatively few calls, held relatively few meetings, and tried to avoid the subject of David
Begelman
. The only substantive business he conducted was concluding arrangements with agent Sam Cohn, who represented the producers of
Annie,
for Columbia Pictures to purchase the motion-picture rights to the show for $9.5 million. It was the highest price ever paid for movie musical rights,
*
but Alan Hirschfield loved
Annie
and was determi
ned that Columbia would buy it.
He and Cohn also agreed that week on the final details of Columbia's investment in
Dancin'
, the Broadway musical review to be mounted by Bob Fosse, who would delay preparations of
All That Jazz
in order to stage
Dancin'.
*
If the
$5.5
million which Warner Bros, paid for
My Fair Lady
in
1962
were adjusted for inflation to
1977
value, that
price would have been higher.
Had David Bege
lman been president
of the studio through the autumn when the
Annie
deal was negotiated, he would have
opposed the purchase and conceivably might have talked Hirschfield out of it. Begelman
had seen a
preview performance of
Annie
in New York a week before its official Broadway
opening. Over a drink at
Gallagher's after the show. B
egelman told Sum Cohn and producer Lewis Allen that he did not feel
Annie
would convert well to
film.
By early Friday afternoon, Christmas parties had begun in each corporate department at 711 Fifth Avenue: business affairs, creative affairs, foreign distribution, accounting, payroll, public relations, and the rest. At Christmas of 1973—Alan Hirschfield's first at the company—he had discovered that the party in the eleventh-floor executive suite was substantially more lavish than those held on the other floors. He asked that in subsequent years the other departments be permitted the same food, beverages, and other trappings that the executive suite had. The gesture had endeared Hirschfield to every Columbia employee in the building, and it had become customary for him to visit each of the parties, shaking hands and wishing seasons gre
etings. Everyone looked forward
to those visits. But as he and Joe Fischer made the rounds on Friday, December 23, 1977, the atmosphere was more poignant than celebratory. The idle chatter was a bit awkward, the meeting of eyes a little tentative. Columbia's New York employees generally felt considerable affection for Alan Hirschfield, and still did. But they knew that something bad had happened to their company. Apparently David Begelman had been caught stealing, and
Hirschfield
, for reasons that remained mysterious, was not going to do anything about it. There had been a lot of angry, cynical talk about the episode in the ranks of the company in recent days. However, the only emotion evident during the Christmas parties, behind the smiles and obligatory conversation, was a wistful sadness.
An even more awkward Christmas party was held that afternoon in the luxuriantly landscaped atrium of the Columbia building at the Burbank Studios. Instead of separate gatherings, the studio threw a single large party to which all employees were invited. There was a live band, lots of food and liquor, and a special guest, added at the last minute, David
Begelman
. Friday was
Begelman
's second day back as president. After returning briefly to Los Angeles from New York the previous week, he and Gladyce had flown to Colorado for a vacation and had not come home until Wednesday, December twenty-first.
A few of the senior studio executives gathered in Begelman's office just after noon, in effect to escort him to the party and make him feel as welcome as possible. Sitting around the office before going downstairs, they tried hard to talk and act as if nothing had happened, as if there had been no forgery investigation, as if David had just returned from a routine business trip, as if it were just another relaxed, preholiday Friday afternoon.
Then someone decided it would be better to break the tension with a David
Begelman
"joke." Hollywood contains more amateur comedians
per capita
than any other community in the world, and the
Begelman affair had spawned a number of jokes, none particularly witty but each good for a chuckle.
"Hey, David, I hear they're going to make a movie about your life."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, Cliff Robertson is playing the lead."
The laughter was brittle. To the group's surprise, however, it turned out that Begelman, who had not lost his sense of humor and had a particularly fine sense of black humor, had somehow heard all of the David
Begelman
jokes and immediately joined the fun.
"How would the Polish government have handled the David Begelman problem?" he asked.
"Just like Columbia Pictures," someone answered.
The laughter was less brittle.
"Free the Beverly Hills One," somebody said.
Louder laughter.
"Well, it looks from now on like Columbia Pictures will be
forging ahead
with David Begelman," somebody else said.
Roaring with laughter,
Begelman
and the others proceeded down the stairs to the party.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Cliff Robertson told his story to Jack Egan and John Berry of
The Washington Post,
and the
Post
published their article on Sunday, Christmas Day. With a Beverly Hills dateline, the story began:
From the banquettes of the Polo Lounge bar to the elegant tables at Chasen's restaurant, wherever movie industry people meet
this Christmas season, the No. 1
topic of conversation is the surprise reinstatement of David Begelman as head of Columbia Pictures studio und speculation about what drove him allegedly to embezzle from the company in the first place.
It is a measure of Begelman's renewed power that the subject invariably is discussed in hushed tones, after a quick glance to make sure that nobody will overhear. It is also, says one director, "typical of the fear that permeates this industry."
"One who has been willing to speak out is actor Cliff Robertson
..."
The article contained a lengthy account by Robertson of how he had received the IRS form, communicated with the studio, discovered that Begelman had forged his signature, reported the matter to the police and FBI, and then grown frustrated at the lack of law enforcement action.
"I'm not going to race to the witness stand," Robertson was quoted as saying, "but I don't see how I can avoid it. It'll probably be pretty lonely up there." And he added: "There is a spreading cancer of corruption in Hollywood, of which the Begelman incident is but one example."
The article was sprinkled with other general allegations about Hollywood, mostly anonymous. From a "Hollywood insider": "The producers want David Begelman back. They don't want the boat rocked. A little thing like theft doesn't mean anything in the movie business, because in the movie business, people have been stealing for years." From a "Hollywood director": "Wrong has become right. These powerful guys are just like Nixon was—they simply are not accustomed to being questioned."
Neither the
Washington Post
article nor the
Wall Street Journal
article the previous Tuesday captured much immediate public attention. The articles appeared on inside pages, and newspapers
are
read with less attention on Christmas, when the
Post
piece came out, than on any other day of the year. The officers and directors of Columbia Pictures and the entertainment community at large, however, were acutely aware of both articles. Having hoped in vain that the
Journal
article would spark no further coverage, Columbia awaited the
Post
story with apprehension. A Columbia employee was assigned to buy the
Post
in Manhattan on Christmas morning and read the article by telephone to Joe Fischer at his New Jersey home. Fischer in turn briefed
Hirschfield
. The article or gists of it were read that day over dozens of long-distance telephone links to Los Angeles, and between the coasts and several Rocky Mountain ski resorts.