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When the Nazis Tried to
Exterminate Hollywood
(Book Excerpt)
Decades before today’s white
nationalist movement, "the most
dangerous Jew in Los Angeles"
fought a plan to assassinate film
stars and studio heads by hanging
them in the streets.
By Steven J. Ross|Sept. 21, 2017
The Hollywood Reporter
In March 1934, Leon Lewis, a
44-year-old lawyer and former
executive director of the Anti-
Defamation League, invited
40 of Hollywood’s most powerful
studio heads, producers and
directors — men like Louis B.
Mayer, Irving Thalberg and Jack
Warner — to a secret meeting
at Hillcrest, the elite Jewish
country club in Cheviot Hills.
For nearly a year, Lewis had
used a network of spies (including
the son of a Bavarian general)
to keep tabs on Nazis and
American-born fascists in
Los Angeles. Some in the
group knew a bit about what
Lewis had been up to, but few
knew the full extent of his work.
As the group settled into the
Club Room after dinner, Lewis
rose to share what he had
learned: Anti-Semites had
invaded their studios. Foremen
sympathetic to the Nazi and
fascist cause had fired so
many below-the-line Jewish
employees that many studios
had “reached a condition of
almost 100 percent [Aryan]
purity.” Scarier still, Lewis
told them his spies had
uncovered death threats
against the moguls.
He pleaded with them for
money to continue his operations
so they could keep track of not
only how the Nazis were trying
to influence the studios but also
their plans for sabotage and
murder in Southern California.
Would the moguls help?
Thalberg promised $3,500
from MGM. Paramount production
head Emanuel Cohen matched it.
RKO’s David Selznick contributed
and said he would canvass the
town’s talent agents for additional
contributions. By the end of the
evening, the group had pledged
$24,000 ($439,000 in 2017
dollars) for the spy operation.
Lewis was elated. The money
would allow him to recruit more
spies and continue his undercover
operations. “For the first time,”
he wrote an ADL colleague,
“we have established a real
basis of cooperation with the
Motion Picture Industry, and I
look for splendid results.”
Over the next decade, until
the end of World War II, Lewis,
whom the Nazis called “the
most dangerous Jew in Los
Angeles,” used the money
raised from Hollywood to
recruit World War I veterans
— and their wives and
daughters — to spy on
Nazi and fascist groups in
Los Angeles. Often rising to
leadership positions, this
daring group of men and
women foiled a series of
Nazi plots — from hanging
24 Hollywood actors and
power figures, including
Al Jolson, Eddie Cantor,
Charlie Chaplin, Mayer
and Samuel Goldwyn,
to blowing up defense
installations on the day
Nazis planned to launch
their American putsch.
Even though Nazi plans
for murder and sabotage
failed, as with today,
we need to take this homegrown
extremism seriously. Lewis
certainly did. While local
and federal officials were
busy monitoring the activities
of communists, his operatives
uncovered enough evidence
of hatred and plotting to
be concerned about the fate
of Los Angeles Jews and
American democracy. Were
it not for Lewis and his spies,
these plots might have succeeded.
As he paced his downtown
office on Seventh Street
waiting to meet his first
potential recruit in late
July 1933, Lewis reflected
upon the events that
had led him to embark on
a new career as spy
master. On the evening
of July 26, 100 Hitlerites,
many dressed in brown
shirts and sporting red,
white and black swastika
armbands, held their first
public meeting at their
spacious downtown
headquarters in the Alt
Heidelberg building. Hans
Winterhalder, handsome
propaganda chief of the
Friends of the New Germany,
told the crowd of plans to
unify the 50 scattered
German-American organizations
of Southern California and their
150,000 members into
one body. It had been
seven months since Adolf Hitler
had become the Reich’s
chancellor of Germany in
January 1933 and five
months since Berlin had
sent Capt. Robert Pape to
Los Angeles to build a
Nazi organization in the area.
For Nazi propaganda minister
Joseph Goebbels, no American
city was more important than
Los Angeles, home to what
he deemed the world’s
greatest propaganda machine,
Hollywood. Although many
people in the U.S. and
around the globe viewed
New York as the capital of
Jewish America, Goebbels
saw Hollywood as a far
more dangerous place,
one where Jews ruled
over the motion picture
industry and transmitted
their ideas throughout
the world. And Los Angeles
seemed the perfect place to
establish a beachhead for
the Nazi assault on the U.S.
Not only did Southern California
have a long history of anti-
Semitism and right-wing
extremism, but the Los Angeles
port also was less closely
monitored than New York
(or “Jew York,” as Nazis often
referred to it), which made
it easier to use as the central
depot for sending spies,
money and secret orders
from Germany.
What really frightened Lewis
was a small paragraph in a
Los Angeles Record story
about the rally describing how
Los Angeles-based Nazis
had turned the Alt Heidelberg
basement into a barracks
for unemployed Germans
who would be fed, bathed
and housed at no cost other
than being instructed in
National Socialism. Lewis
understood that this was
not done out of kindness.
The Nazis were raising an army
from among the unemployed
and discontented, especially
targeting veterans, just as
Hitler had done in the
1920s to fuel his rise.
There was little in Lewis’
background to suggest that
the modest Midwesterner,
6-foot-1 with light brown
eyes and black hair, would
come to this. After graduating
from the University of Chicago
Law School in 1913, Lewis,
committed to the Jewish
idea of tikkun olam (world repair),
became the ADL’s first
national executive secretary.
In 1923, after serving in
World War I, he added the
ADL’s international division
to his portfolio, and keeping
track of Hitler and the threat
he posed to Jews became an
obsession. Within days of
the local Nazis’ first meeting,
Lewis, convinced American
authorities were too obsessed
with communists to take the
Nazi threat seriously, started
his spy operation from his
small downtown law office.
His initial recruits to his spy
ring included an unlikely
array of non-Jews. He wanted
experienced soldiers (and
their wives) who would not
be prone to fear or exaggeration
so government agencies
could not accuse Lewis of
engaging in Jewish paranoia.
First to join was John Schmidt,
the German-born son of a
Bavarian general who had
moved to the U.S. around
1903, joined the Army and
been wounded in World War
I. After Lewis appealed to
his patriotism and promised
the cash-strapped veteran
a modest monthly stipend,
Schmidt — who operated
under the code names
Agent 11, 74 and Elf — agreed
to pose as a Nazi sympathizer,
and his wife, Alice (Agent 17),
joined him, becoming
president of the FNG’s
Ladies Auxiliary. Others
followed, including Charles
Slocombe, a former Long
Beach KKK member who
penetrated deep into the
leadership ranks of the
Klan and fascist groups
like the anti-Semitic
American National Party,
Silver Shirts and the
American Labor Party’s
military wing, the Lode
Star Legion. Lewis also
enlisted Neal Ness, an
engineer turned journalist
turned spy who became
the American right-hand
man and confidant to
FNG leader Herman Schwinn.
As millions of Americans
prepared to welcome in
the New Year on Dec. 31,
1935, Slocombe warned
Lewis of an outrageous
plot to assassinate a
number of Hollywood’s
leading figures. Ingram
Hughes, a failed attorney
and founder of the ANP,
was working closely
with local Nazi leader
Schwinn to rid the nation
of its “Jewish menace.”
The 60-year-old fascist
planned to assassinate
20 prominent Angelenos,
including Busby Berkeley,
Superior Court judge
Henry M. Willis, entertainment
lawyer Mendel Silberberg
and Lewis himself.
“Busby Berkeley will look
good dangling on a rope’s
end,” the ANP leader
quipped. Hughes hoped
the hangings would spark
a nationwide uprising against
Jews. He recruited Nazi
propagandist Franz Ferenz
(distributor of German
films and newsreels on
the West Coast), four
Nazis from the FNG and
several other trusted accomplices.
This was no hasty killing
fantasy but a carefully
planned terrorist plot.
To hide their identities,
he ordered the kidnappers
to wear cotton gloves and
heavy wool socks over
their shoes. “Every man
will have a perfect alibi,”
Hughes explained, and
“several weeks will be
spent in developing the
minutest details to the
nth degree.” The police,
Hughes’ friends on the
force had assured him,
“will not interfere but
will give a sigh of relief.”
Lewis knew all this because
Slocombe had penetrated
the ANP. Lewis’ spy
impressed Hughes at their
first meeting when he
insisted the KKK and Silver
Shirts “were not militant
enough” and that he
“wanted to have action
and not a lot of talk.”
The 28-year-old Long
Beach water-taxi driver
soon became the fascist’s
most valued assistant.
Hughes’ slaughtering of
Jews did not proceed
as planned. He and
Schwinn suspected that
Lewis’ spies had penetrated
the operation; they just did
not know who was spying
for the Jews and did not
wish to risk being arrested
for murder until the traitor
was revealed. “We must
watch our step as we
proceed,” Hughes confided
to Slocombe. Fearing Lewis’
reach, Hughes postponed
the killings.
Another plot surfaced a
year later, hatched by the
British fascist Leopold
McLaglan, the estranged
brother of 1936 Oscar
winner Victor McLaglen
(Leopold changed the
spelling to differentiate
from his brother). The
53-year-old World War I
veteran had turned to
teaching martial arts to
rich Californians and
Nazis (he had once
taught at Scotland Yard)
after his brother blackballed
him from acting. Schwinn’s
crowd loved McLaglan;
not only had he built a
fascist organization in
England, but he was
teaching Nazis and White
Russians “how to kill
through jiujitsu.” Soon
after they met in September
1937 at the Nazi-run German
Day Celebration (which attracted
a crowd of 3,000), McLaglan
invited Slocombe, longtime
fascist Henry Allen and
prominent Hollywood
photographer and Silver
Shirts leader Ken Alexander
to dinner at his favorite
restaurant, the House of
Sullivan. Over Tom Collinses
and scotch and sodas,
McLaglan shared his “bloody
good idea.” And bloody it
was. To garner “worldwide
publicity, we are going to
have to do a wholesale
slaughtering here in the
city of plenty of the leading
Jews.” He planned on targeting
Jewish studio execs, the
Hollywood Anti-Nazi League
and the Christians who
aided them. “I can get the
Nazi boys and the White
Russians who would do this
for us,” he promised.
White Russian leader George
Doombadze, he added, has a
“psycho” fellow “who does this
stuff for him all the time.”
Slocombe sent Lewis 24 names
on McLaglan’s killing list, which
included some of the most famous
people in the world, including
Cantor, Chaplin, Goldwyn, Jolson,
Jack Benny, James Cagney,
Fredric March, Paul Muni,
Joseph Schenck, B.P. Schulberg,
Gloria Stuart, Sylvia Sidney,
Donald Ogden Stewart,
Walter Winchell and William
Wyler. As they reviewed the hit
list, McLaglan revealed he had
spoken to FNG leader Schwinn
about the assassination plot
“many times.” Schwinn told
McLaglan that his Nazi allies
“were particularly interested
in eliminating” the key leaders
of the Anti-Nazi League.
Boasting that he “could get all
the dynamite he needed through
the police,” McLaglan would
provide two dozen Nazi and
Russian assassins with the
bombs and the names and
addresses of their targets, all
of whom would be
murdered on the
same night. Knowing
that they would likely fall
under suspicion, McLaglan
suggested they spend the
night of the killings in Santa
Barbara to have “a perfect alibi.”
The plot unraveled when
Slocombe convinced Allen
and Alexander that McLaglan
planned a double-cross in
which he would pin the murders
on them. So they double-crossed
first, striking a deal with District
Attorney Buron Fitts: sworn
statements implicating McLaglan
in return for immunity. Evidence
in hand, the police arrested McLaglan
on Oct. 26, 1937; but instead of
charging him with attempted
murder, the D.A.’s office covered
up police involvement in the murder
plot by charging the British fascist
only with extorting money from
millionaire Philip Chancellor
(who had hired McLaglan to
conduct an undercover operation).
When the trial began six weeks later,
McLaglan, dressed in a dapper
suit and sporting a monocle,
pleaded not guilty, but a jury
found him guilty of extortion.
Sentenced to five years in prison,
McLaglan received probation on
the condition that he take the
first ship back to England.
Having saved Hollywood Jews
a second time, Lewis and his
spies turned to getting Schwinn
deported. In September 1938,
armed with evidence provided
by Lewis and Ness, the U.S.
Department of Naturalization
and Immigration began steps
to revoke Schwinn’s citizenship.
Nine months later, federal
judge Ralph Jenny ruled that
Schwinn had perjured himself
by providing false information on
his application for citizenship.
Although Schwinn told the court
he had made “an honest mistake,”
the judge, insisting that the Nazi
was not of “good moral character,”
revoked his citizenship. Two hours
later, Lewis’ informant Jimmy
Frost gave him more good news:
The immigration service had
begun deportation proceedings
against the Nazi.
Despite their success, Lewis and
his spies never received the
recognition they deserved.
It was not until after Pearl Harbor
that the communist-obsessed
FBI acted against Nazi spies.
In the days and weeks after the
attack on Dec. 7, 1941, J. Edgar
Hoover’s men received nationwide
acclaim for the speed and
efficiency with which they rounded
up Axis spies and fifth columnists.
Yet, as Lewis’ assistant Joseph
Roos later noted, the Los Angeles
FBI “had scant security information
of their own.” Government intelligence
agents simply retyped the list of
suspected German agents and
subversive fifth columnists sent
by Lewis and claimed it as theirs.
As far as the FBI was concerned,
its job was done. On Oct. 3,
1942, the L.A. bureau filed
what it believed was its last
report on Schwinn: “As no
further investigation is
contemplated … this case
is being closed.”
The FBI may have closed
its case on Schwinn and the
Bund, but Lewis knew that
the fifth-column movement
remained alive and that
hatred of Jews had grown
stronger since Pearl Harbor.
With the FBI focused on
rounding up suspected
foreign agents, it was up to
him to expose any threats to
the city’s Jewish community.
Over the next several years,
he relied on the mother-daughter
spy team of Grace and Sylvia
Comfort to keep tabs on —
and foil the plots of — anti-Semites.
One member of the California
Women’s Republican Club told
Sylvia Comfort that all Jews
should be “hung from lampposts
within five years,” while another
complained, “that was too slow.”
Knowing it would take only one
crazy person to carry out these
threats, Lewis and his operatives
continued watching over the city
with an eye to protecting Jews
from Nazis and anti-Semites.
There are many ways to fight
an enemy, not all of which require
guns. The actions taken by Lewis
and his allies require us to change
the way we think about American
Jewish resistance in the 1930s.
From August 1933 until the end
of World War II, with few resources
at their disposal, Lewis and his
courageous undercover operatives
ontinually defeated a variety of
enemies — Nazis, fascists and f
ifth columnists — bent on violence
and murder. Without ever firing
a weapon, they managed to
keep Los Angeles and its citizens
safe.
Lewis and the men and women
who aided him were heroes who
never sought glory. He died of a
heart attack at age 65 in 1954
mostly unrecognized, except by a
few, and what happened faded
from memory.
In the wake of recent events in
Charlottesville, Virginia, and the
rise of neo-Nazi activities across
the country, Lewis’ story offers a
guide to what happens when
hate groups move from the margins
into the mainstream of American
society and when an American
government seems complacent or,
as some would argue, complicit.
Lewis understood that democracy
requires constant vigilance
against all enemies, internal and
external. He and his network of
spies showed that when a government
fails to stem the rise of extremists
bent on violence, it is up to every
citizen to protect the lives of every
American, no matter their race or
religion. Only in a “unified America,”
he said after the war, could the nation
and its citizens achieve the true
“realization of the American democratic
ideal.”
Adapted from Hitler in Los Angeles:
How Jews Foiled Nazi Plots Against
Hollywood and America.
Copyright © Steven J. Ross, 2017.
Published by Bloomsbury USA.
The Hollywood Reporter
Published: Sept. 21, 2017 |
