Introduction
As the head of Columbia Pictures, Harry Cohn earned a reputation as “the meanest man in Hollywood.” The stories around his conduct are the stuff of cinema legend. But despite the resentment he inspired, Mr. Cohn was also responsible for some of the greatest films in cinema history. He had a genius for recognizing talent and understood how to tie it to good, solid storytelling.
Harry Cohn: A Tyrant’s Beginnings
Harry Cohn was born in 1891 to immigrant parents in a tough, working-class neighborhood in New York City. His first taste of the movie business came during the silent era when his older brother Jack invited him to Hollywood. Soon, they formed their own film distribution company which in 1924 was re-branded as Columbia Pictures.
As both chief of the studio and head of production, Cohn held a unique position that had no counterpart elsewhere in the film industry. He wielded immense authority and applied it without mercy. He quickly became notorious for shouting at people…usually using phrases laced with profanity and colorful sexual references. Word quickly spread about Cohn’s iron-fist approach to management and the consequences that came whenever anyone dared to challenge his authority.
One day, Cohn was screening some rushes featuring one of his comedy “stars” when the door flew open and the actor demanded to know who was viewing his performance without inviting him. Cohn turned around and fired the man on the spot.
Classic Columbia Films
Soon, under Cohn’s direction, Columbia was churning out classic films that hit with both critics and audiences. These included It Happened One Night (1934), which won all five major Academy Awards, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Lost Horizon (1937), You Can’t Take It with You (1938) and the classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) which earned an incredible eleven Academy Award nominations.
As the awards and acclaim started to pile up, Columbia became an extremely profitable enterprise and Cohn used the opportunity to strengthen his grip on power. Seemingly possessed by the energy of a demon, he regularly ran throughout the studio all day long in order to make impromptu visits to each set.
Once there, he would inevitably lambast the actors and crew, accusing them of wasting time and studio money. Then question their competence. He regularly fired people on the spot if he caught any mistake such as an improperly exposed piece of film or a piece of wardrobe that didn’t fit perfectly.
A Visit to Harry Cohn’s Office
Visitors to Harry Cohn’s office were confronted by a huge desk, with the studio head sitting slightly elevated in darkness at the far end. Behind him was a wall mounted with all the Academy Awards the studio had won (the number eventually reached fifty-two). Inevitably, Cohn would acknowledge his visitors in one of two ways. Either:
“What the hell do YOU want?”
or:
“Your latest film is the worst piece of s**t I’ve ever seen…”
Occasionally, Cohn would also walk to his window in the midst of a meeting and open it up. From there, he had an unobstructed view of the studio gate. If it was prior to 5 PM and he saw anyone leaving, he’d yell down and accuse them of sneaking out early. When the person replied they had just come off working a 24-hour shift, Cohn would hurl expletives at them in a dismissive manner.
Harry Cohn as Dictator
On some days, Cohn would ask the guard at the front gate for a list of employees who had arrived late that morning. He would then call each person to his office so he could threaten them with termination. He did the same with anyone he found making long-distance phone calls on studio phones or who had left a studio light on overnight.
Like any dictator, Cohn understood the importance of communication and used the studio’s main switchboard to eavesdrop on his employees. If an actor or agent was foolish enough to share personal difficulties over the phone, Cohn would then leverage this information while negotiating their salaries.
One place that veteran employees at Columbia knew to avoid was the Executive Dining Room. There, Cohn would have one of the chairs wired with an electric buzzer. He would wait until some unfortunate soul was in the midst of taking a bite out of their food and then send out an electrical shock.
This inevitably caused the person to jump right out of their chair while choking on whatever they had in their mouth at the time. Of course, the other attendees found this hilarious and laughed right along with their boss.
Harry Cohn the Awful Party Host
One Christmas Eve, Cohn threw a party in his office for a group of employees. Among the attendees was a young secretary who had only been at the studio for a short time. He asked her to sit in his chair.
Cohn then announced that in honor of the Holiday, he was going to give her a very special present. He asked her to name anyone in the room that she didn’t like and said he would fire them on the spot.
Suddenly, the frivolity associated with the party vanished, and Cohn ordered all the doors closed so no one could leave. The room fell silent as the poor girl struggled with how to respond. Cohn pressed her for a name. Finally, she blurted out:
“Gee, Mr. Cohn, I can’t. I just love everybody!”
After a few awkward moments, he grouchily told her to get the hell out of his chair. The party then resumed.
Harry Cohn and Writers
Perhaps because of his own insecurities, Cohn loved to mock his writers who either came from the theater or who had college degrees. But sometimes, this tactic backfired. In one instance, he pulled a team of writers into his office to question their intelligence. After jabbing his finger at a script set in the Middle Ages, he said:
“Look at this. I never went to college, but I can tell you one thing. They didn’t say ‘Yes Sireee’ in the year 1200! You college men! I pay you bastards thousands of dollars a week and what do I get? Ignorance!”
To which one of the writers in the room meekly responded:
“But sir, the script says ‘Yes, SIRE!”
Harry Cohn vs. Herman Mankiewicz
However, the most famous story concerning Harry Cohn’s relationship with writers involved Herman Mankiewicz. The latter had won an Oscar for Citizen Kane (1941) and would also contribute scripts for The Wizard of Oz (1939), Pride of the Yankees (1942), and The Spirit of St. Louis (1957).
But despite being utterly brilliant, Mankiewicz was a hard-core alcoholic and contemptuous of authority. His razor-sharp tongue and sarcastic wit had alienated scores of people in Hollywood. So much so, he had trouble finding a job.
However, when a position for a staff writer opened up at Columbia, Mankiewicz’s agent landed it for him. He emphatically warned Mankiewicz to steer clear of Cohn, knowing the two of them would mix like oil and vinegar. Mankiewicz agreed, saying how much he needed the money, and promising to keep his mouth shut around the omnipotent studio boss.
“If My Fanny Squirms…”
One day, Mankiewicz was invited to the Columbia dining room to have lunch with Cohn and several of the studio’s big shots. While there, the men started discussing a recent film that was due to be released and which had done well with preview audiences. Cohn casually dismissed their opinion:
“That doesn’t make any difference. When I’m alone in the projection room, I have a foolproof device for judging whether a picture is good or bad. If my fanny squirms, it’s bad. If my fanny doesn’t squirm, it’s good. It’s as simple as that.”
An awkward silence followed. Then, unable to help himself, Mankiewicz filled the void:
“Just imagine – the whole world wired to Harry Cohn’s a**!!”
That was the end of Mankiewicz’s short-lived career at Columbia.
A Legacy of Quality
During Cohn’s tenure, Columbia films had a different look and feel compared to the product put out by other Hollywood studios. Columbia’s movies seemed almost hand-crafted.
They typically offered sharp, lean, and focused stories that depicted the modern world. They also featured superior photography and overriding attention to detail. Utilizing modest budgets, Columbia’s films often looked like they cost a lot more than they actually did.
A lot of this could be directly attributed to Harry Cohn. He kept an eagle eye on the studio’s bottom line and played a major role in shaping virtually every major film the studio produced.
The Score is One to Nothing…
In one instance, Cohn was having problems with a film in development for which no one could find a satisfactory way to tell the story. He had given his proposed solution to the three producers who were in charge of the production. But none were happy with Cohn’s idea. They hired a writer to come up with a new treatment and innocently brought it to Cohn for his approval.
Once at the meeting, they described the improvements they wanted to make to the proposed script. Unfortunately, one of them ended the presentation by saying:
“See, Harry. We think this is much better. It’s three against one.”
Cohn stood up, walked to a nearby open window, and spit out into the street before responding:
“You’re wrong. I’ll tell you what the score is. It’s one to nothing. See that street below? It’s paved with the bones of my producers.”
And then, he fired the whole lot of them.
Personal vs. Business
One victim of the Columbia axe had a clause in his will stating that upon his death he wished to be cremated – and his ashes thrown in Harry Cohn’s face. There were also plenty of altercations in Cohn’s office which came close to becoming physical.
Once, an actor became so enraged with Cohn that he dropped his pants and urinated all over the honcho’s desk. Cohn immediately fired him and had the desk burned.
On another occasion, Cohn found out one of his secretaries had been selling inside information to a producer who didn’t work for Columbia. Cohn locked her in a room for the better part of a day. When the producer found out, he barged into Cohn’s office and demanded that he release her.
After Cohn refused, the producer grabbed an Oscar statuette from a nearby shelf and held it over Cohn’s head. He then threatened to crush Cohn’s skull unless he freed the young lady. Cohn finally gave the order to unlock the door.
In a strange twist, that same producer was shocked when Cohn called him a year later and offered work on a new project for Columbia. The producer was taken aback, and asked a very natural question:
“Why would you hire me after I threatened to kill you?”
To which Cohn replied:
“Oh, that was personal. THIS is business.”
A Culture of Innovation
Perversely, Cohn’s approach spawned a culture of innovation at Columbia…as demonstrated by the string of quality films the studio produced. It was almost as if all the creative talent who worked for Harry Cohn remained at the studio because they truly believed in their artistic vision.
Oddly, once some individuals had proven themselves, Cohn often offered to put a very unusual clause in their new contracts. Quite simply, he’d promise to never talk to them again. This helped keep many talented people working at the studio.
As a result, throughout the 1940s and 1950s, Columbia continued to churn out a string of classic films. These included His Girl Friday (1940), Gilda (1946), All the King’s Men (1949), Born Yesterday (1950), From Here to Eternity (1953), The Wild One (1953), On the Waterfront (1954), The Caine Mutiny (1954), Picnic (1955), and The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957).
“I’m Free, I’m Free!!”
Successful films like these helped make a lot of actors and directors famous. But in predictable fashion, Cohn usually refused to give most of them any raises. This usually left them with two options: continuing to work at a salary well below their earning potential, or not working at all until their contract expired.
In some cases, that often took years. Actress Jean Arthur (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington) once reportedly ran through the Columbia lot screaming “I’m free! I’m free!” at the top of her lungs once her contract had expired and she was able to get away from Harry Cohn.
But Charles Vidor, who had directed the critically acclaimed Gilda tried taking a different tack to get out of his contract. He sued Harry Cohn personally. Not because the terms of the contract were illegal but because Cohn was such a reprehensible person. His suit hinged on the phrase “abusive behavior.”
Harry Cohn’s Abusive Behavior on Display
All of Hollywood sat up and took notice. In open court, Vidor described how Cohn had constantly harassed him during the production of Gilda. He said that Cohn had deliberately tried to undermine his authority on the set by telling stories about him behind his back to the entire cast and crew. Vidor claimed his judgment, professionalism, and work ethic had been repeatedly questioned.
As a Hungarian, Vidor described how Cohn had repeatedly slurred his ethnicity. He also related stories about how Cohn had personally insulted his wife and described what he wanted to do to her sexually. Vidor’s manhood also came into question courtesy of Harry Cohn. There was colorful language offered galore.
The reporters in the courtroom ate it up. But when it came time for Cohn’s defense team to offer a rebuttal, they took an unexpected approach. Rather than deny that Cohn ever said any of these things, they offered testimony from multiple witnesses who claimed that Cohn talked that way to EVERYONE.
They claimed that Vidor’s experience was nothing special and that the director didn’t seem to have a problem with how Cohn treated him previously. As such he knew what he was getting into when he went to work at Columbia. Cohn’s lawyers claimed that Vidor was now “feigning” offense for the sole purpose of getting out of his contract.
“Their Standards Are Not My Standards…”
Completely bewildered, the presiding judge didn’t know what to make of any of this. When the testimony concluded, he said he didn’t know why both parties hadn’t consulted psychiatrists instead of lawyers.
He then found in favor of Harry Cohn, basically agreeing with the unusual defense that had been offered. As part of his summation, the judge offered this insightful observation about the film industry:
“Their standards are not my standards. Let them be judged by those people of decency who inhabit their world of fantasy and fiction.”
Harry Cohn’s Generosity
Yet there was also another side to Harry Cohn. When The Jolson Story was close to release in 1946, Cohn found out that star Larry Park’s mother was dying of cancer. Before the film was even finished, he had a special print made and sent to her so she could see her son’s celebrated role right before she passed away.
When Cohn found out that his personal chauffeur was going to have his leg amputated, Cohn paid for all of his medical expenses. After the operation, gave him a job for life with the studio working at the concession stand.
There were dozens of other rank-and-file studio employees who fell on hard times for whom Cohn personally provided aid. He often gave substantial sums of money out of his own pocket just to put them back on their feet.
When Cohn did these kind deeds, they often came with a stipulation: the recipient had to promise to never tell anyone about their benefactor’s generosity. Clearly, Cohn wanted to protect his reputation.
Once, a gossip magazine printed an article about him entitled “The Meanest Man in Hollywood.” Comedian Phil Silvers remembered Cohn calling him up at three in the morning to quote passages from the piece, roaring with laughter as he read the best parts out loud.
Harry Cohn’s Twilight Years
People assumed that success combined with advancing age might have mellowed Cohn’s disposition. But nothing of the sort took place. One night, he was attending a preview featuring a Columbia film along with its director. Afterward, the show ended, and Cohn and the other man stood by the curb waiting for the studio car to pick them up.
It was then that a disheveled man approached and climbed a light pole right in front of them. The stranger then committed suicide by throwing himself onto the pavement head first, shattering his skull. Cohn and his companion were speechless. Then, as a crowd gathered, they got into the waiting car. Aghast, the director asked:
“My God Harry, What would make a man do such a thing?”
Scowling, Cohn replied:
“He must have seen your picture.”
“Get the Box!”
If Harry Cohn ever thought about his own mortality, he certainly didn’t talk about it. But in 1954, he checked himself into a hospital where he underwent minor throat surgery for a cancerous growth on his thyroid gland.
The operation was a success, but associates noticed that afterward, his energy level had dropped conspicuously. He seemed tired and listless while showing obvious signs of depression.
On February 27, 1958, Cohn was resting at a resort near Phoenix, Arizona when the ambulance was called. He was close to a state of collapse. They placed the once-powerful movie mogul onto a stretcher and wheeled him into the back of the vehicle.
One of his associates placed a nitroglycerin capsule under his tongue. Cohn immediately spit it out, and gave his last order: “Get the box!” Harry Cohn died a block from the hospital. He was five months shy of his sixty-seventh birthday.
Harry Cohn’s Funeral
Against Cohn’s wishes, a public funeral was held. Over two-thousand people attended. Many pundits attributed the large turnout to the number of people who wanted to make sure Harry Cohn was really dead.
A reporter asked comedian Red Skelton for his take on the proceedings, and he answered with one of the best-remembered lines in Hollywood history:
“Well, it only proves what they always say – give the public something they want and they’ll come out for it.”
