Everyone Knew; Nobody Cared. But, That Was Then

There's been a major outbreak of revulsion in the country.  It started with ugly allegations involving the repulsive Hollywood mogul and Democrat party donor, Harvey Weinstein.  This epidemic of outrage, accusations, apologies, and expiation reached Black Plague proportions with devastating revelations exposing our power elite in show business and government as disgusting predatory misogynists.

My question is, why now?  Why not decades ago when some of the offensive sexual misconduct was allegedly occurring.  How many women, I wonder, suffered over those decades because no one came forward to protect innocent victims from the established and accepted culture of abuse?

At first I thought Harvey Weinstein's downfall was a signal from the Left that Harvey's friend Hillary was now a loser and no longer welcome at the trough.  But the scandal has exploded and is taking down alleged abusers faster than Gloria Allred can say, "Gotcha."

There must be another answer to the question, "why now?"

Could it be that the careers of some early accusers were on life support and slimy cruds like Weinstein weren't exactly preying on aging divas anymore?

Oh, of course not.  That would make these brave anti-harassment warriors hypocrites, wouldn't it?

And yet, the host of the Oscars once told best actress nominees that they had made it and could not stop pretending to be attracted to Harvey Weinstein.  An inside joke, perhaps, that was never very funny, but was probably very true.

I did my time in show business and what I witnessed left me with definite impressions and attitudes about sexual harassment.  When Harvey Weinstein vehemently denies non-consensual sex, I almost think he believes it. 

Garry Marshall got me into the business, almost through no fault of my own.  A UC Berkely friend got a summer job in Tom Pollock and Jake Bloom's law office.  An urgent long distance phone call that first night had me writing a script over the weekend.  The silly thing was passed from Jake to Tom to other prominent writers and producers until Harvey Miller read it and gave it to Garry, who called and invited me to fly down for a lunch meeting.  He had loved the script and had a "plan" to make me "rich and famous."

Before my momentous lunch with the successful producer/director/writer, I met Jake and Tom, who warned me about the rampant sexuality at Paramount.

Harvey Miller, the writer and producer, also wanted to meet me.  He greeted me with, "You're a very pretty girl," and cornered me on the couch in his office.  He wanted to say how much he liked the script and did I "have a boyfriend?"

At the time, no one considered sitting too close on a couch sexual misconduct or harassment.  It was called "flirting."  Coming from Harvey, it almost seemed like a joke.  If he had touched me inappropriately, I would have slugged him.  Garry later called Harvey the funniest man in America, and based on that first awkward interaction with an insecure, socially inept, grumpy young man, I would have agreed.

When I began working at Paramount, secretaries who stoically endured indignities like producer Jerry Davis lifting their skirts with his prop walking stick, loved talking about the problems their bosses had with women.  Harvey Miller, they told me, went out with high school cheerleaders who expected to get acting parts in return.  One morning after one of these "dates," Harvey came to Paramount and bragged about his "helluva night."  I confronted him and asked if he wasn't embarrassed, using his prominence in television to take advantage of young girls.  He flapped his arms and sputtered contemptuously, "You don't know what you're talking about."  When he got into television, Harvey explained after calming down, he "felt like a kid in a candy store."  Women pursued him, he said, and it made them happy to get close to show business insiders.  Harvey invited me to go out with him once.  It was to his group therapy session, where, "They'd rip your head apart."  I respectfully declined.

I couldn't dislike Harvey.  He was like a sad little boy, who sought attention and affection, and finally found a way to feel important.  A female producer once said to me, "Show business is for guys who couldn't get a date in high school."  That may have been true of Harvey.

Garry was different; he turned insecurity into advantage with his humble, self-mocking sense of humor.  As we waited at the bar for a table at our first lunch, he told me to have whatever I wanted, but said, "I only order sissy drinks."  He often seemed sweet and vulnerable...and innocent.  Women adored him, and he used them, I believe, to combat the insecurities that plagued him.

Matt Lauer, it was said, had a button under his desk which locked his office door.  Garry had one too.  One day during my first week at Paramount he asked me to work late.  After everyone had left, I was called into his office.  He was too tired to work, but since I didn't have a car he would drive me home, he said.  When he stopped his Cadillac in front of my apartment, I thanked him and said good night.  The next morning his secretary told me he complained that I was "the most naïve person" he had ever met.

I started to catch on pretty fast.  The atmosphere was sexually-charged, as Tom Pollock had warned, and it became increasingly uncomfortable.  The secretaries made me aware of women who were frequent visitors to producers' offices, including Garry's.  When they entered, that door lock clicked quite audibly in the reception area.  The visitors whom I saw enter seemed genuinely pleased to interact with Garry--who was an easygoing, attractive man--and pleased to be enhancing their career prospects.

With me, Garry's behavior was always avuncular and overprotective.  He didn't want me in story meetings with certain writers because "they talk smut."  At Christmas he told me to take extra time off because he didn't want me "flying home with servicemen" because they always fly during the holidays and he knew "how they are around young girls."

Eventually, I was asked again to work late in his office.  When I sat down I heard the door lock click.  He told me that when we met, I was a "sweet young thing," but I "had grown into a sexy lady."  Well, I wasn't all that naïve anymore, but "sexy?"  No--and definitely not interested in sordid workplace endeavors.  I stood up and said, "I'm going home now, Garry."  The lock clicked, I opened the door and left without hearing a word from him.

I can't imagine any of Garry's visitors calling themselves "victims" or filing sexual misconduct complaints against him, although one of them later became a Bill Cosby accuser.  Garry didn't harass, coerce, or put knock-out drops in a "sissy drink."  He was almost meet, maybe hoping for aggressive women to make the first move.

It was difficult for Garry to talk about "letting me go."  He finally told me, in that reticent, slow-talking way of his, he "couldn't work with women...unless 'something special' was going on."

I felt disappointed, betrayed, and lost, but not harassed.  He had the right to pick the people he wanted to work with, even if he used the wrong criteria to do it.

Garry's secretary called a successful writer we both knew and left a message for him to call me.  He became a friend and tried to help by arranging meetings for me with agents.  I walked into one office at a big agency where two young men were starting out and looking for clients.  "What did you learn at the Garry Marshall School of Charm?" they asked with salacious grins and chuckles.  I said I learned that I didn't belong there.  Nothing came of that meeting.

I had other encounters with powerful individuals who offered employment--at a price.  But, politely declining their terms just meant rejection, not physical assault.  I guess I got off easy.

But, something terrible happened to women in the '90s.  There was a rapist in the White House--and people--including women--defended him.  I can call him a rapist because I know Juanita Broddrick's account of the crime and I believe her.  I don't know of any denial from the perpetrator; no reporter ever directly asked him, "Is Juanita Broddrick lying?"  The media basically suppressed her story and sanctioned the perp's silence.  I also believed Clinton's other brave accusers who were victims of gross sexual misconduct--and they were vilified, ridiculed, and dismissed.

This major victory over victimized women undoubtedly emboldened misogynists--not "sex addicts" but women haters--like Clinton's friend and donor, Harvey Weinstein, Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, John Conyers, and Al Franken, who provided graphic evidence of physical assault as a women slept.  How weak and sick and hateful can a man get?  And yet, there are those who defend him, too.

Women who are happily heralding a virtuous new world where all men are decent and respectful need to reconsider their folly.  Abusive men won't generate character and sensitivity just because they learn to apologize in the language of political correctness.  Those who need to control women will find ways to do it.  And they'll find enablers--women who empower them without complaint.  At least while they benefit from their abusers, like Senator Claire McCaskill when she was an intern.  Then, maybe they, like the women at Fox who worked for years and collected big paychecks under the intolerable conditions of sexual harassment, will file lawsuits, pocket massive settlements, and sign non-disclosure contracts prohibiting them from discussing their ordeals.  And it'll be deja vu all over again.