Ties That Bind:
Searching for the Motion Picture Directors Association

By Lisa Mitchell

In 1926, members of the MPDA and VIP industry guests meet for a special King Vidor night. Second from left: William Beaudine, Sr., third from left: John Ford, fourth from left: Louis B. Mayer, sixth from left: King Vidor. (Photo courtesy of William Beaudine, Jr. Mr. Beaudine is a longtime Guild member, served on the AD/UPM/ TC Council for many years and was one of the first AD members of the National Board when the SDG merged with the RTDG in 1960.) Click photo for larger view

If you can find any mention of the Motion Picture Directors Association (MPDA) within acres of film books, it is only to cite connections with its two most publicized director-presidents: John Ford, because of the artistry associated with his name, and William Desmond Taylor, because of the scandal associated with his. Yet, for much of its 15 years, the MPDA counted among its members, some of the brightest and best directors around.

Incorporated in Los Angeles on June 18, 1915, the MPDA was not a union, not a guild, but an "other than for profit" fraternal organization. As stated in the Articles of Incorporation, to which 26 gentlemen set their hands and seals, its purposes were "(a) To maintain the honor and dignity of the profession of motion picture directors. (b) To cultivate the usefulness and exert every influence to improve the moral, social and intellectual standing of all persons connected with the motion picture producing business. (c) To cultivate social intercourse among its members. (d) To aid and assist all worthy distressed members of this association, their wives, widows and orphans."

The following year, on Nov. 14, 1916, Hollywood members helped their New York brothers form their own branch of the MPDA. It was incorporated on Jan. 2, 1917, with Alan Dwan elected "Director," i.e., president. The congratulatory telegram to Dwan from the West Coast boys read: "May the ties that bind us never be severed."

The "Scenarist," i.e., secretary, was J. Searle Dawley, who directed D.W. Griffith in his film acting debut (Rescued From an Eagle's Nest, 1907) and considered himself "the first motion picture director." And so he may be in the United States, as he was hired by the Edison Company's Edwin S. Porter specifically to direct a story (The Nine Lives of a Cat, 1907). "Till then," he would explain, "the cameraman was in full charge." Fortunately Dawley, who died in 1950, saved some papers relating to the MPDA.

From pencil scribbles in little spiral notebooks, we learn that before the MPDA's incorporation, eight Hollywood directors "met secretly one night in a mountain resort." Secretly? Apparently the relationship between directors and producers was tenuous even then. Elements of dissention will arise again and again, culminating 20 years later in another clandestine meeting -- this one at King Vidor's house, through which the Screen Directors Guild would be born.

In 1935 five of the 12 who met at King Vidor's house to found the SDG had also been members of the MPDA: Frank Borzage, John Ford, Henry King, Rowland V. Lee and King Vidor. Ford would be one of the last presidents of the MPDA in 1927. Vidor would be the first president of the SDG in 1936.

According to Dawley, the men had come together not only "to try to help each other," but also to "clean up the motion picture business" from preying on "girls who have ambitions but [are] weak on the side of resisting flattering offers by certain executives." The concern, however, was less altruistic than artistic, as "directors were often forced to use girls in their cast whose only qualification" was being the producer's girlfriend. "This sort of thing had to stop," Dawley wrote, "and eight directors decided to do something about it."

The trade paper, Motography (Jan. 17, 1917), described the MPDA as being "self-protective rather than aggressive," and reported that there were only four men at the group's inception. But founding member, Charles Giblyn, wrote in The Exhibitor's Trade Review (June 1, 1918) that he was present at that first meeting as one of nine directors, and that a brutal downpour detained other would-be attendees. They met because "envy and malice caused a wave of slander" to jeopardize the industry, as studios were being called "cesspools" and "habitats of criminals and vagrants." While the district attorney was investigating one studio, "an indignation meeting was held [and] it was decided that an organization of directors was necessary." Giblyn also stressed a "need of co-ordination" among directors, because it had been "'part of the game' for directors of rival companies to place as many obstacles as possible in the way of others" -- especially in battling over exclusive rights to choice shooting locations.

Dawley wrote that the association's rules were "formulated somewhat" on those of the Masons, and the rising sun was taken as its logo. Branches on both coasts fostered an atmosphere in which members "could call up each other for any help we might need." As World War I continued to rage, often the help was with funerals for fallen comrades.

But it was not just a social club. As Wid's Yearbook 1920-21 reported, the association was essentially formed to provide directors "a clearing house of ideas" and, by combining forces, "improve conditions [and] combat false accusations." The MPDA became the first vehicle to present directors as a single power. By their formal unification, members established the importance of their profession and could speak with one voice within the film industry and beyond.

On April 10, 1917, the MPDA sent a telegram to President Woodrow Wilson expressing its "loyalty and allegiance in this hour of national peril." It offered "any service that our association can render to the cause of humanity.... May right and justice prevail.... May God bless our leader and country." New York members had convened at the Astor Hotel and voted to help the government, particularly by using motion pictures for recruiting purposes.

September 1924 cover of The Director, the official magazine of the MPDA (courtesy of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences)

Conspicuously absent is a picture of William Desmond Taylor, who had been murdered the previous year. As a three-year president and highly visible spokesman, Taylor had been the most prominent member of the MPDA. He worked passionately to tackle matters affecting directors, but always with an eye toward ameliorating conditions within the whole movie industry.

The major issues Taylor was confronting at the beginning of the 1920s -- threats of censorship, runaway production, drug abuse, new film technologies overtaking substantive content -- could have come from this morning's trade publications. In a letter to the Assistant Directors Association, a group not connected to the MPDA, Taylor asked its members to join in the formation of a "Central Committee of Western Motion Picture Organizations ... for the purpose of protecting ourselves from all enemies and furthering our common interests."

The MPDA -- described in Wid's Daily (April 1921) as a "prosperous, energetic ... organization ... [that] stands for fair play and ... brotherly love" -- was gearing up to fight the "legislative menaces of censorship and so-called Blue Laws."

A can of worms had been opened as paid reformers were trying to get laws passed that would allow individual states and cities to determine what could or could not be shown on local screens. A movement was also afoot to close all movie theaters on Sundays.

As part of a combat effort, Taylor invited industry visionary, W.W. Hodkinson, an early founder of Paramount Pictures Corp. and a powerful film distributor, to address the association. On Feb. 24, 1921, Hodkinson's speech included a rally for self-censorship to avert imposed outside stricture. He reminded the directors, "...your influence is more potent than that of the school teacher... Fight for certain standards of cleanliness and decency in this business that you want to preserve in your home and in society generally, the standards that you want followed in theaters if your children were going to the theaters."

A grass-roots organization was formed called the Affiliated Picture Interests (API), in which all sectors of the industry, from machine operators to publicists, joined actors, producers and directors to become a political voice of their own. As a vice chairman, Taylor championed the API, whose members registered studio people to vote, manned polls and appeared before the city council to advocate the repeal of the censorship ordinance.

But it was through the MPDA that Taylor, who deemed "the director ... a power parallel with the statesman and the editor," really shined. One of the most unsettling situations facing the film industry during his tenure was the increasing number of pictures being produced abroad. Taylor took the matter to the Senate Finance Committee. "Members of this association," he wired Washington, "would deplore exceedingly, a situation wherein domestic producers would find it economically profitable to make pictures in Europe at lessened production costs and bring them to the United States for cutting, editing and distribution, ostensibly as American products." The MPDA, "for the protection of the workers of the entire motion picture industry, therefore, of the public," urged immediate correction of the practice.

Souvenir programme of MPDA members. (courtesy of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) Click photo for larger view

The murder of the ex-British army officer, former actor and respected director, sent shock waves throughout Hollywood that reverberated across the nation. Studio cover-ups further confused a public already buzzing over half-truths and rumors about Taylor's private life -- or lives. Voracious tabloids, which had come into their own in 1919, had a field day, and the mainstream press wasn't far behind.

The MPDA arranged Taylor's stately funeral to which an estimated 10,000 people came -- the largest crowd so honoring a private citizen in the history of Los Angeles. In addition to the director contingent, such top marquee stars as Rudolph Valentino and Wallace Reid attended the service. Within a year, Reid's own death -- tragically drug-related -- would further taint Hollywood's reputation.

Will Hays, who had just been appointed "watchdog" of the movie business as head of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (later the Motion Pictures Association of America), and who would promote industry self-censorship rather than the meting of penalties, did not comment on the Taylor affair.

The murder, still officially unsolved, has piqued interest for 80 years. Chief among the sleuths was King Vidor, who considered making a film about the enigmatic director, whom he saw as a scapegoat offered up to save a few powerful hides. "The movie bosses," Vidor believed, would "rather sacrifice Taylor than sacrifice the whole industry."

Dying in scandal, the good that Taylor did was interred with his bones. On the other hand, the obsession with his death has remained strong for eight decades and resulted in a wealth of information about the silent era of Hollywood and all its characters. Taylor himself has been the subject of an ongoing stream of books and articles, not to mention a segment of TV's Mysteries and Scandals, all with varying degrees of accuracy, but preserving for new generations at least some aspects of this period. There are also websites (keyword: "Taylorology" through Google.com), that are some of the few places on earth to find more than passing remarks about the MPDA.

A year before Taylor's death, the association, whose headquarters were at 1925 N. Wilcox Ave., announced plans to break ground for its own lodge -- a $200,000 four-story building of "modern Spanish architecture" to be erected on Highland Avenue. Though The Morning Telegraph promised that it would be "the Civic Center for Hollywood filmland," records indicate it was never built and that it remained on Wilcox until 1927, when it then moved to the Cherokee Building at 6639 Hollywood Blvd.

After Taylor, the men who served as president (of the Hollywood Branch) included David M. Hartford, Fred Niblo, Roy Clements, William Beaudine, Sr., Jack Ford, Reginald Barker and Henry Otto. On March 16, 1922, at the invitation of East Coast MPDA President Sidney Olcott, Will Hays addressed the directors at a lavish dinner at the Astor Hotel. Also present were political leaders; business magnates such as William Randolph Hearst; president of Actors Equity John Emerson; general organizer of the American Federation of Labor Hugh Frayne; and Adolph Zukor, head of Famous Players-Lasky the forerunner of Paramount. Hays acknowledged to the cheering 1,100 guests moviemakings' great potential for moral influence and education. "It is undeniable" he said, then admonsished, "so is your responsibility great."

MPDA membership card. (courtesy of the Robert S. Birchard Collection)

But the journal's main objective was to keep the MPDA membership (approximately 100 in Hollywood; 40 in New York) connected, informed about issues concerning directors and encouraged. Critical events, such as the formal West Coast reception for Will Hays (who labeled directors "the key men of the industry") might be covered in two installments. There was a networking column (What the Directors Are Doing) and an editorial (In the Director's Chair).

Offering input from beyond the choir were think pieces such as producer Louis B. Mayer's "The Importance of the Director" and exhibitor Joseph I. Schnitzer's "Soiled Drama Poor Picture Business." George Creel, the chairman of the National Council to Protect the Freedom of Art, Literature and the Press, wrote a diatribe against censorship, which he called "an attack upon liberty, doubly dangerous because it is made in the name of morality." Fellow directors could sound off in articles like Al Rogell's complaint against producers pigeonholing directors into a single genre, or Ferdinand Earle's "What's Wrong With Artistically Godforsaken Movies?" In it, Earle argues: "The director should be king and his authority unchallenged. And if he fails, chop off his head; but do not interfere with him!"

The magazine stopped in 1927, as the cost of those ambitiously increasing pages was rising while the strength of the association was falling. But Film Daily's last Annual Directors Issue in 1927 featured an article by MPDA President John Ford arguing that the live entertainment at movie houses should be more compatible with the pictures to be screened. Film Daily Yearbooks show MPDA address listings through 1930, with diminishing numbers of names. There is nothing at all for 1931, except for a handful of members in the New York branch.

Then all the lights go out. Discovering who shut them off, exactly why, exactly when, becomes a fascinating pursuit. While unearthing every detail may not be in the cards, theories abound.

In playing his game of Who Killed Cock Robin, J. Searle Dawley once again pointed his finger at the producers. Within those little spiral notebooks, he tells of a plan the directors had (though he doesn't say when) for forming their own production companies, and for which they had secured start-up financing from a San Francisco bank. When "the top motion picture producers" got word of this, they met with the Hollywood branch for a "discussion." According to Dawley, a producer front man threatened that "the first director who makes a picture for the MPDA ... will never be able to work for [the] producers again as long as he shall live. Bombshell." After saying "today the MPDA is dead as a doornail," Dawley fantasizes, "the big-shot producers" writing its epitaph:

But causes for the MPDA's demise are probably more complex. We can't ignore what else was going on in Hollywood as the association began its last hurrah -- for 1927 was one of the most pivotal years in motion picture history.

The coming of sound -- exploding in the release of The Jazz Singer in October 1927, but growing more ubiquitous through 1928 -- set not just the actors on their ears. "After the revolution of talking pictures," Leo C. Rosten writes in Hollywood: The Movie Colony, The Movie Makers, "the movie director was forced into an absurd secondary [to producers] position." Adding insult to injury, "dialogue directors were imported from New York to guide movie directors."

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was chartered on May 4, 1927; a Directors' Branch was formed on June 7, and most MPDA members joined it. Whether confronting the challenges of sound, relationships with producers or the new Production Code (another 1927 delivery), directors would profit by inter-branch exchanges. Over the next few years, they would also gain clout through the growing prestige of AMPAS in a movie business that was becoming ever more complex.

But after a few years, the benefits were outweighed by the problems inherent in an Academy that was not only against Hollywood's burgeoning labor movement, but supported the studio moguls' plans for industry pay cuts.

This brings us to that night, Dec. 23, 1935, in King Vidor's living room and the birth of the Screen Directors Guild, a night when five former MPDA members met with seven other directors. The SDG was formally incorporated on Jan. 16, 1936, and those 12 directors were joined by many more. As The Hollywood Reporter (Jan. 18, 1936) announced, the "40 Topnotchers" who organized the Guild immediately bolted from the Academy. It also pointed out that "the directors have had no ... recognized official body since the silent days..."

The very issues that took root in the MPDA, would re-emerge under the umbrella leadership of the SDG. In 1936, for example, directors would protest being thrown pictures without time to prepare for them. In 1921, Cecil B. DeMille, in Wid's Daily, was adamant that "the director must start planning weeks in advance."

The MPDA's fingerprints were also all over the Screen Directors Guild because so many of the SDG founders and members had been members of the association. And so the genealogy from grandfather to progeny takes us forward to the Directors Guild of America, Inc. -- into which the SDG and the Radio and Television Directors Guild merged in 1960. The solidarity skills the forefathers developed run through the DGA like a bloodline, empowering today's generation of directors, and all generations to come.

Lisa Mitchell has been a regular contributor to DGA Magazine for eight years. For research on this story, she gratefully acknowledges the assistance of Barbara Hall of the Margaret Herrick Library, Center for Motion Picture Study, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, especially for providing access to the Special Collections of J. Searle Dawley and William Beaudine. She also heartily thanks Sandra Archer of the Margaret Herrick Library, William Beaudine, Jr., and film historians Robert S. Birchard, Samuel A. Gill and Marc Wanamaker.

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