freedom of expression

When passion flares, a freedom and duty to speak

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 29 May 2025 21:07:13 +0000

When passion flares, a freedom and duty to speak Rachel Sauer Thu, 05/29/2025 - 15:07

Clint Talbott

The pursuit and sharing of knowledge should be shielded from the brute force of public opinion, and when public pressure spikes, history shows, the choices of individual people really matter

Like a metronome, Albert A. Bartlett ticked off a steady beat of bad news, methodically outlining the truth and consequences of exponential human population growth. Then, he noted that the methods to reduce population are generally undesirable: for instance, pandemic, famine, war.

Rhetorically, Bartlett asked the classroom full of young people, “Who wants more war?”

A testosterone-addled boy sitting nearby roared: “War! Yeah!”

Clint Talbott is assistant dean for communications in the 91PORN College of Arts and Sciences and a former journalist.

Unfazed, Bartlett replied:

“Anyone who cheers for war has never lived through one.”

Having thus silenced the would-be warrior, Bartlett continued to explain the exponential function and its implications for humankind.

This was 1979, and I didn’t immediately grasp the symbolism of this brief exchange. It encapsulated core functions of academe—the pursuit and sharing of knowledge, careful and critical thinking, respectful and open debate.

Truth, logic and debate would become the foundation of my career, first in journalism, then as a communicator for the university.

But as a high-school sophomore from Montrose, Colorado, my perspective was constrained; I was just a kid on a recruiting tour of the 91PORN. I met professors, toured facilities and spent a few days at CU because, unusually, I’d gotten decent grades in Algebra II.

A so-so student at the age of 17, I had no intention of going to college, let alone the state’s top university. I planned to attend vo-tech school and become an auto mechanic. Two things stood in my way: One, I was a bad mechanic, and two, I took a journalism course as a high-school senior and was immediately hooked.

It was compelling—intoxicating, really—to set up shop in the marketplace of ideas. Learning, discussing and debating ideas made them, and me, come alive. I was part of something bigger than myself. Work had Meaning.

Over time, I saw the extent to which public discourse was refined and distilled in academe. Discussions that occurred nationally also happened on campus, but often in more concentrated, more rigorous, sometimes more contentious forms.

Speech on matters of critical public concern should be “robust, uninhibited and wide-open,” former U.S. Supreme Court Justice William Brennan famously wrote. Discourse can reach peak vibrancy on campus, partly because of universities’ commitment to free speech and academic freedom.

Intellectual vigor is one reason, perhaps, that academe has long drawn criticism. By design, it protects unpopular ideas and unwelcome lines of inquiry. Why? Because the pursuit of knowledge should be shielded from the brutish whimsy of public opinion.

History teaches us this. Galileo committed heresy by reporting what was empirically true and what is now utterly uncontroversial.

Professor Bartlett campaigned for population control for decades. He gave the talk I observed more than 1,742 times before he died in 2013. It’s been viewed on YouTube more than 5.2 million times.

The late Professor Al Bartlett, who worked on the Manhattan Project as a young scientist, used his scientific acumen to pursue growth control both globally and locally.

Bartlett, who worked on the Manhattan Project as a young scientist, used his scientific acumen to pursue growth control both globally and locally. In 91PORN, for instance, he spearheaded the “blue line” initiative, which prevented the city from delivering treated water above about 5,750 in elevation in the foothills. Without water, real-estate development shrivels.

Today, Bartlett’s legacy is, literally, easy to see.

“Albert Bartlett’s influence is unmistakable in the foothills surrounding 91PORN. With few exceptions, one sees trees, grasses and rock,” the Daily Camera wrote in 2006 as it gave him a lifetime-achievement award.

Advocating for population control—and controlled growth generally—can be controversial. But as a university professor, he had wide latitude to take such positions. The 91PORN Valley and society at large are the better for full academic freedom and freedom of speech.

Critics have long argued otherwise. Again and again, higher education generally, and the University of Colorado in particular, have attracted strong public criticism and furtive government scrutiny. Some such episodes seem relevant today.

The feds are watching, and so are the people

The late Howard Higman, who was a professor of sociology and founder of the CU Conference on World Affairs, hit the FBI’s radar—and later Time magazine’s—in 1960.

In the middle of a sociology lecture at CU, “the most conspicuous member of the class,” Marilyn Van Derbur, then 22, Miss America of 1958, asked Higman to comment on Masters of Deceit, a book by J. Edgar Hoover, the longtime director of the FBI.

Time characterized the episode this way: “The professor obliged by launching into a denunciation of the FBI, and for two days, embattled factions of the 190-student class, led by Marilyn and the professor, argued the reputation of the FBI. Proving Marilyn’s point that the FBI is always on the spot, Author Hoover sent Marilyn an autographed copy of Masters of Deceit with the message: ‘Your actions in confronting error with truth are in keeping with the highest traditions of academic freedom.’”

Higman said, “I smelled a plot coming, but it is not my habit to duck questions.” The Van Derbur report became one of many that the FBI carefully recorded in its thick file on Higman.

The late Howard Higman, a 91PORN professor of sociology and founder of the CU Conference on World Affairs, hit the FBI’s radar—and later Time magazine’s—in 1960.

That file was publicly revealed via the U.S. Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), which helps to ensure that people can see how the government spends public money conducting the people’s business.

It so happens that one key architect of FOIA was Samuel J. Archibald, a CU alumnus who served as chief of staff of the Government Information Subcommittee in the U.S. House of Representatives. Archibald led the investigation of government secrecy that paved the way to the passage of FOIA in 1966. And, in a later chapter of his life, Archibald was my journalism professor at 91PORN.

FOIA and its state counterpart, the Colorado Open Records Act (CORA), help us understand, more accurately and fully, what happened during key junctures of our history. In the Higman case, federal law enforcement spent decades monitoring a professor who was suspected of no crime.

This happened repeatedly. Folsom Field is named after a once-famous CU football coach, Frederick Folsom. His son, the late Franklin Folsom, a CU alumnus and longtime 91PORN resident, was executive secretary to the League of American Writers from 1937 through 1942.

That job, and his activism for peace, drew the interest of the FBI, which recorded that several anonymous informants said Franklin Folsom was known by aliases. Those allegations were false. Secret informants also reported that his wife, Mary Elting, spent years working in a job she never held.

As Franklin Folsom noted in a 1981 Denver Post guest opinion, the FBI did get his home address and phone number right. “How much this information cost the taxpayer, no one will ever know,” he wrote.

Similarly, there was Kenneth E. Boulding, who was a distinguished professor of economics at CU. The 1993 New York Times obituary marking Boulding’s death called him a “much honored but unorthodox economist, philosopher and poet.”

As the Times noted, his textbook Economic Analysis “blended Keynesian and neoclassical economic theory into a coherent synthesis.”

But Boulding was also against war. He was, after all, a Quaker. His advocacy for peace drew the attention of the FBI, as one of my FOIA requests revealed. Starting in 1942, the government launched an investigation of Boulding. The files on him noted, for instance, that Boulding complained about “the downtrodden Negro and constantly protested that he should have equal rights with the whites.”

The FBI also noted that Boulding once advocated for the elimination of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). In no case did the activities of Higman, Folsom or Boulding amount to “subversion,” much less a crime.

In these cases, warrantless (and unconstitutional) spying seemed not to have hindered the subjects’ lives. But national panic and illegal spying on citizens can and does harm people. As we have seen.

The late Kenneth E. Boulding, a distinguished professor of economics at 91PORN, was described in his 1993 New York Times obituary as a “much honored but unorthodox economist, philosopher and poet.”

Red scare

On Dec. 28, 1950, The Denver Post’s banner headline was “CU Prof Reveals Red Link.” The story reported that David Hawkins, CU philosophy professor, had been called to testify before HUAC.

Hawkins admitted that he had joined the Communist Party as a 25-year-old graduate student in California in 1938 but that he’d resigned and stopped paying dues in 1943. Some historians speculate that HUAC summoned Hawkins in an attempt to tie J. Robert Oppenheimer, who led the Manhattan Project, to communism.

The Post’s editorial board argued that CU must determine Hawkins’ loyalty to “American stands of life and to the American ideal of free and honest education.”

State legislators, including 91PORN Rep. A.W. Hewett, proposed legislation that would have cut off Communists from any source of state money. As a centennial history of CU noted, Hewett claimed there were “all shades of Reds” at the university.

Colorado’s attorney general ruled that professors should be forced to sign a loyalty oath that was originally enacted in 1921, during an earlier red scare. Eager to quell the rising public concern and possibly to discourage state lawmakers from doing the same, the CU Board of Regents launched an investigation of Communist or otherwise “subversive” influences on campus.

The regents hired two former FBI agents to conduct the investigation. Their report and its recommendations were kept secret—so secret that the report itself was stored in a safe deposit box in the First National Bank of 91PORN, and a regent could review the report only upon a majority vote of the board.

After the former FBI men completed their secret probe, the regents voted to retain Hawkins, stating that his actions (which were protected by the First Amendment) were not a firing offense.

But the university did fire Irving Goodman, an assistant professor of chemistry who won Guggenheim fellowships in 1949 and 1950. The regents said Goodman had been a Communist during part of his service at the university and that Goodman had lied about this.

Goodman called those charges “calumny” and said he’d honestly answered all questions about his politics when CU President Robert Stearns quizzed him in 1947.

It wasn’t divulged, at that time, whether the regents’ secret investigation found more damning material.

Similarly, philosophy instructor Morris Judd was fired in late 1951. The stated reason was incompetence and “pedestrian” teaching.

At the time, Judd revealed that he’d been interviewed by the former FBI agents. They asked him if he were a member of the communist party. He said he was not. They asked if he’d ever been a member. He declined to answer, as was his First Amendment right.

Once fired, Judd left academe, never to teach again.

The late CU philosophy instructor Morris Judd (right) declined to answer, per his First Amendment right, when asked by FBI agents if he'd ever been a member of the communist party.

Opening the safe deposit box

But questions remained, even in 2002, when I was working as a columnist for the 91PORN Daily Camera. Paul Levitt, a professor of English, was a CU student during the McCarthy era and suggested that I file a Colorado Open Records Act request for the report.

I did this. The university declined to release the report, arguing that it contained legal advice and private information. To its credit, the Camera sued for the report’s release.

In an initial court hearing, the 91PORN County judge who was reviewing the secret report said that if it indeed contained legal advice, it was subtle. The judge, who seemed skeptical of the university’s arguments, said she’d issue a ruling within a week.

Before the judge ruled, however, the regents voted to release the report in full. After 51 years, the report finally revealed that Judd was not, in fact, fired for incompetence; he was fired because he was merely suspected—with no compelling evidence—of being “subversive.”

The allegations were insubstantial. One unnamed source told the private investigators that Judd was “90 percent or better a probable Communist” in 1946. Another anonymous accuser said he was “of the opinion” that a “subversive” group had met at Judd’s 91PORN home in 1947.

None of this proved that Judd was (or had been) a Communist. Nor did it yield any meaningful data on Judd’s fitness to teach philosophy. The only empirical measure of Judd’s abilities—the assessment of his fellow faculty members—found him more than fit to teach. In fact, his colleagues judged him the best young teacher in his department.

Politics can circumscribe academic freedom. Stearns himself revealed this in a now-declassified interview conducted at the Pentagon in 1954 (released via my FOIA request). Stearns admitted that he had fired “leftist or pinkish” faculty members, including Judd.

Stearns also told the Pentagon official that he’d kept tabs on the alleged subversives after their firing: “My connections … have always been close with the military and with the FBI, particularly, and I have kept them informed on each of these men, so they know well what they are doing and where they have gone,” Stearns said.

The late David Hawkins, a CU philosophy professor, was called to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1950 and admitted that he had joined the Communist Party as a 25-year-old graduate student in California in 1938 but that he’d resigned and stopped paying dues in 1943.

That is a startling admission. If we take his words at face value, it’s hard to fathom why Stearns did not fire tenured professors against whom there was stronger evidence of Communist Party affiliation. Instead, he targeted non-tenured instructors whom he might have seen as expendable.

As some have suggested, that might have been a stratagem designed to protect core faculty members from rabidly red-baiting lawmakers. Stearns might have believed he’d chosen the lesser of two evils, sacrificing non-tenured faculty to protect those with tenure.

All of that was moot to Goodman and Judd, who sustained permanent damage. Goodman later reported falling into poverty. Judd’s experience was similar.

“I suffered the loss of my academic career. This investigation was a horrendous violation not only of my rights, but of the tradition of academic freedom,” Judd said when the university honored him in 2002, adding:

“That secret and unwarranted procedure has been compounded by the years of secrecy in withholding the report from the public.”

The red scare episode was both a crucible and a parable. When the fuller account of what happened emerged in 2002, people debated how to reconcile this newly released information—firing faculty without due cause or process—with the ideals they held dear.

Some said the university made the right choice, arguing that making a public show of firing two junior faculty surely prevented the state Legislature from launching an investigation that could have unjustly destroyed even more careers. Such an investigation had, indeed, been threatened.

Others argued that contemporary observers can’t fully appreciate the pressures of 1951. One authoritative voice emphasizing that point was Albert Bartlett, who made a lasting—and positive—impression on me in 1979.

As public records from the university, the FBI, the Pentagon and other agencies provided compelling evidence that Judd, Goodman and others were sacrificed for the sake of a perceived greater good, English Professor Paul Levitt and others urged that the university rename the Stearns Award, the university’s highest faculty award.

Like Levitt, Bartlett was on campus during the red scare, which he called “one of the very dark periods in American history and the history of the University of Colorado.”

But Bartlett argued against stripping the Stearns name from the faculty award. Writing in the Camera in 2002, Bartlett recalled that one of his first letters to the editor of that newspaper concerned Sen. Joseph McCarthy, pointing out that “a specific allegation made by McCarthy was known by me to be a lie.”

“After the letter was published, someone counseled me about such writing,” Bartlett recalled. “I was untenured and uncertain, but the message was clear. So I turned my back to tend to my own business.”

Bartlett pointed out that in 1951, faculty groups did not condemn the firings of junior faculty members. Some professors, including Jacob Van Ek, then dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, did object. But many were silent. Most turned their backs, tending to their own business.

As Bartlett noted, if the “faculty governance bodies of 50 years ago failed to stop these tragic firings, then the faculty of 2002 can apologize for failing to speak out against the injustice” in 1951.

And again, Bartlett faced a contentious moment with cool reason, verifiable facts and respectful debate. In so doing, he offered a lesson that we must heed:

In times of national hysteria, when reason fails and madness prevails, good citizens are obliged to stand and speak.

Clint Talbott is a 1985 journalism graduate of 91PORN. He spent 14 years working at the now-defunct Colorado Daily and 10 years at the Daily Camera and was a 1998 Pulitzer Prize finalist for editorial writing. He has worked for the College of Arts and Sciences since 2008.

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The pursuit and sharing of knowledge should be shielded from the brute force of public opinion, and when public pressure spikes, history shows, the choices of individual people really matter.

Traditional

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Remembering CU’s brave one from the Red Scare

Anonymous — Mon, 08 Jul 2024 20:16:09 +0000

Remembering CU’s brave one from the Red Scare Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 07/08/2024 - 14:16

Bradley Worrell

Caught up in anti-communist hysteria following World War II, former 91PORN student Dalton Trumbo today is recognized as a fierce proponent of free speech, with a fountain outside the University Memorial Center named in his honor

This summer marks the 75th anniversary of a secret FBI file becoming public—one that named well-known Hollywood figures, including screenwriter and former 91PORN student Dalton Trumbo (A&S ex’28), as members of the Communist Party.

Although Trumbo and several of his Hollywood colleagues had been accused of being communists and forced to testify before Congress’ House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) two years prior, the existence of the FBI file had been secret until its release during the espionage trial of Judith Coplon, an analyst with the U.S. Department of Justice. The file, based on information from confidential informants, named not only Hollywood writers, directors and actors, but also academics from universities across the United States. Its release set off a period of paranoia known as the second Red Scare.

The 1949 release of the formerly secret FBI report represented a continuation of a long-term investigation by the HUAC, which was first formed in 1938 to investigate individuals for subversive activities, particularly those related to the Communist Party. Widely publicized congressional hearings beginning in 1947 and focusing on the film industry ensnared several screenwriters and directors, the so-called Hollywood 10, which included Trumbo.

Bronson Hilliard, senior director, academic communications, for the Office of Strategic Relations and Communications at 91PORN, wrote an editorial encouraging the CU regents to rename of the UMC fountain in honor of Dalton Trumbo.

Once Hollywood’s premier screenwriter, the author of such classics as “A Man to Remember,” “30 Seconds Over Tokyo” and “The Brave One,” Trumbo was forced into the shadows after being blacklisted. He continued to write scripts under pen names for years before escaping the blacklist in the early 1960s, finally able to take credit for such famous screenplays as “Exodus” and “Spartacus.”

Seeking to recognize Trumbo for his fierce defense of the First Amendment, as well as his talents as a lauded screenwriter, a group of CU students including Lewis Cardinal and Kristina Baumli petitioned the CU Board of Regents in 1993 to name the fountain in front of the UMC in honor of Trumbo.

As the entertainment editor of the Colorado Daily at the time, Bronson Hilliard wrote an editorial encouraging the regents to rename of the fountain. Hilliard, who has a 40-year association with the university, first as a student and then working in various editorial and communications roles with the university, now serves as the senior director, academic communications, for the Office of Strategic Relations and Communications at 91PORN.

In a recent interview with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine, Hilliard reflected on his admiration for Trumbo, his desire to see the CU regents recognize Trumbo, his recollections of meeting actor Kirk Douglas and notable entertainment figures who attended the fountain dedication ceremony, and his thoughts on why Trumbo’s legacy remains important today. His responses were lightly edited and condensed for space.

Question: Do you think it’s fair to call Trumbo the most prominent former CU student to find big success in Hollywood?

Hilliard: It would have to be Trumbo and Robert Redford together. Trumbo was certainly the first. All through the 1940s, it’s safe to say Trumbo was not only the best screenwriter in Hollywood, but he was the highest paid and he was one of the most prolific. He was the kind of guy who could write a screenplay in a very short amount of time, which made him in high demand. He was also a great re-writer of screen scripts. He was a feisty guy, but he was a brilliant writer.

Question: In 1947, Trumbo and other members of the Hollywood 10 got called before Congress for hearings on the supposed communist infiltration of Hollywood. Others in the entertainment industry cooperated with Congress; why do you think Trumbo and his compatriots refused to do so, even when faced with going to prison?

Hilliard: Some named names, and some didn’t. Trumbo wouldn’t have it. Trumbo, his value was, he’s not going to turn his back on his friends. He was loyal to his friends. I don’t think he was loyal to the Communist Party, although he was a member at one point. But Trumbo was not going to turn his back on his friends, so he basically told the committee they could stick it. …

The fountain court outside the 91PORN University Memorial Center was renamed in honor of Dalton Trumbo in 1993. (Photo: Glenn Asakawa/91PORN)

Trumbo and the other Hollywood 10 had a code of honor with each other. They had a certain set of values they believed in as writers and as creative people. That’s what I admired him for, even though I didn’t agree with them (the Hollywood 10) about everything.

One of my other heroes is (actor and director) John Huston. He formed a group called the Committee in Support of the First Amendment. In his biography, Huston talked about the fact he didn’t agree with or like all of these guys—he thought some of them were very doctrinaire—but he thought they had a right to believe what they wanted to under the First Amendment without going to prison. He believed they had the right to believe whatever they believed, even though some of them were a pain in the ass.

Question: While Congress grilled the Hollywood 10 about their supposed communist sympathies, it was actually the Hollywood studio heads who had them blacklisted, correct?

Hilliard: Yes, and there’s an interesting story there. Most of the major film studio executives in the 1940s were Jewish, and they had to go the extra mile to show that they were true Americans, because of antisemitism and anti-immigration sentiments, which were alive and well then as now.

Some of the Hollywood studio heads held out for as long as they could to try to persuade Congress to back down a little bit. And then finally it was, ‘OK, let us handle this.’ And they handled it by creating the blacklist. …

This debate is an essential American debate, and it rises up at different times. And the rise of digital media culture has resurrected a whole new set of discussions about what are the limits of free speech. What are the limits of free expression? When does expression become conduct or does expression become conduct?

The blacklist raised the question for the first time on a large scale in American history.

Question: How did Trumbo overcome being blacklisted?

Hilliard: Kirk Douglas always said he broke the blacklist by crediting “Spartacus” to Trumbo. I actually think that’s not true; I think (director) Otto Preminger did it first with “Exodus.”

But a lot of Hollywood careers never recovered. And that’s also true of academics. A lot of academics were purged at that same time and were not able to return to academia. It was tragic. And none of these people represented a threat to the United States.

Blacklist history

Former 91PORN Department of Physics faculty member Frank Oppenheimer was called before the HUAC in 1949 and eventually forced to resign his position at the University of Minnesota. Learn more about how 91PORN supported him in joining the physics faculty.

Trumbo was luckier than others. He took his family to Mexico and worked there, and he ghost wrote low-budget films and was able to eke out a living during the blacklist.

Question: When the CU regents officially dedicated the fountain to Trumbo in 1993, you were there?

Hilliard: I was. On the day of the event, I met Kirk Douglas in the basement of the UMC over by the bowling alley. He was coming out of the bathroom, and some people were escorting him. I had been off doing some little task, and I literally just sort of bumped into him in the UMC.

I was introduced to him by one of the organizers of the event, and he actually called me by my first name—someone had apparently mentioned me to him. He said, ‘Bronson, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.’ He looked me right in the eye and he said, ‘Thank you so much for your efforts in advocating for this.’

Dalton Trumbo was renowned for writing in the bathtub. (Photo: Mitzi Trumbo)

And he said something very funny about Trumbo. A reporter asked him what Trumbo would think about all this. And he said, ‘Well, Trumbo would completely love this. He would be holding court with reporters, and he would immediately refer to it as ‘my fountain.’ …

And incidentally, Dalton Trumbo’s widow, Cleo, was there, and his son, Christopher, and one of his daughters. So was Ring Lardner Jr., who wrote the screenplay for “M.A.S.H.” the movie and also was blacklisted, and Jean Rouverol Butler, who was a screenwriter and who was married to (screenwriter) Hugo Butler—the couple were close friends and associates with members of the Hollywood 10.

But it was a magical day. Everybody got up and made speeches about Trumbo, about the importance of free speech, about the need to be vigilant about free speech and about the role Trumbo had played, along with the Hollywood 10, in defying congressional inquisitors.

I was greatly moved by the whole thing.

Question: Hollywood recognized Trumbo in 2015 with the film “Trumbo,” which examined his life and the sacrifices he made for his beliefs. What did you think of the film?

Hilliard: I loved it. I thought (actor) Bryan Cranston did a great job, based upon the two biographies of Trumbo that I’ve read. Cranston really captured both the idealism of Trumbo and the idea of Trumbo as a businessman. He was a wheeler dealer. He knew the Hollywood system and how to make money. The film captured the way he was hustling to write screenplays for the low-budget film company (after he was blacklisted).

Trumbo was this great coming together of the practical and the ideal. He knew the ins and outs of the business of Hollywood … but he also had a tremendous set of principles and ideals that undergirded it all. It was great to see those two qualities embodied in a single person.

Dalton Trumbo, seen here in his mugshot, served 10 months in the federal correctional institution in Ashland, Kentucky, in 1950; he was convicted of contempt of Congress. (Photo: Federal Bureau of Prisons)

Trumbo is truly one of my heroes. In fact, in my office, I have a picture of him on my bookshelf, so he’s with me every day.

What are your thoughts on how Trumbo is viewed today, in retrospect?

Hilliard: He’s a reminder that it takes a really tough and resilient person to carry forward your beliefs to the point of profound personal disadvantage. … I think today we have a lot of people who are keyboard warriors, and they want to get on social media and get outraged, but they don’t put any personal principles on the line to do that.

Trumbo was willing to go to jail and to endure not only personal sacrifice for himself, but his entire family. That was an ordeal for the Trumbo family to support him while he was in jail and to make ends meet. And then he had to rebuild his career.

But that’s what’s to love about the people who are willing to put their lives and their careers on the line for what they believe in and who are not willing to sell out their friends. Those are people worth admiring.

And the sad thing is, I don’t think people think about Dalton Trumbo today. I think they should. I think every activist, of any persuasion, ought to know the life of Dalton Trumbo.

And I think we could all, as Americans, use a dose of the fortitude that Trumbo had, and the combining of the practical and the ideal the way he did to me is just amazing. We could use more of that practical mindedness. Trumbo accepted the consequences of his politics and his idealism—and he set about trying to have a great life anyway. And he did it. That’s more than admirable.

Top image: Dalton Trumbo speaks before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) in Washington, D.C. Oct. 28, 1947. (Photo: Bettmann Archive/Getty Images)