The Motion Picture & Television Fund Needs Help!
MPTF, the 101-year-old nonprofit started by Mary Pickford to support industry workers in times of need, is desperate for donations to keep its storied retirement campus afloat. Read on!
Earlier this year, I interviewed (via Zoom) several members of the staff at the Motion Picture & Television Fund as well as a few residents. I also received a guided tour of the campus. It had been a very rough couple of years for everyone at MPTF due to the pandemic. Several of the interviewees grew emotional as they relayed stories of loss and survival. Even I had trouble keeping it together. I wrote a very lengthy story (too long for publication) about the org’s incredible work and how the campus offers Hollywood veterans a chance to age with dignity. Last week, the CEO, Bob Beitcher put out a desperate plea for donations as the organization is on the brink of financial collapse. A very stripped down version of this story ran in LA Magazine, so I’m posting the full version here to showcase the work and Herculean commitment that goes into keeping the fund afloat. Thanks for taking a look and if you’re able to throw a few coins in the bucket to help, it will certainly do some good.
(Left to right: Jean Hersholt, Mary Pickford, Kay Kiser, Jinny Simms at the groundbreaking of the Motion Picture and Television Country House in 1941.)
Tough Times at Shangri La
By Hilary Hattenbach
For CEO Bob Beitcher, the 100-year anniversary of the Motion Picture & Television Fund (MPTF) isn’t going as planned. A nonprofit that supports showbiz workers in times of need, MPTF depends on the generosity of donors to stay afloat. Glitzy star-studded galas—years in the making—were all set to celebrate the centennial and raise millions of dollars. That influx of cash would’ve helped pay for basic housing and upgrades to the Wasserman Campus—a Woodland Hills retirement community for industry veterans. There’d be a new state-of-art Kirk Douglas Memory Care Center and an overdue remodel of residential structures built in the 40s, 50s, and 60s. But then . . . Covid struck. No galas. Thousands of industry workers lost their jobs and needed financial assistance. People died. And the MPTF mega-fundraiser, Jeffrey Katzenberg stepped down as Chairman of the Governor’s Board. Now, two years later, a new era is upon this iconic institution.
“We had some harrowing months here,” Beitcher says.
In the early days of lockdown, six residents died of Covid-19 followed by the deaths of two employees a year later.
“Saturday was the one-year anniversary of the first staff member to die from Covid. Tomorrow will be the second.” His voice quavers. “Two young men in their 40s and 50s, in good health, no underlying conditions. Died a week or two before vaccinations were available.”
Unshaven, bespectacled, and dressed in a grey plaid flannel shirt, Beitcher Zooms in from his sunny office with panoramic windows at the Wasserman retirement campus. A blur of treetops hover in the distance.
When we spoke in early January, all 600 employees and 240 residents were vaccinated and boosted, with 10 Omicron-positive residents recuperating from mild symptoms in an isolation unit. Group activities were on hold until further notice.
“The residents aren’t happy about the isolation, but they're good sports,” Beitcher says.
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Our youth-obsessed culture often feels stacked against older adults, particularly in Hollywood. Just look at a list of stars who died in abject poverty —Judy Garland, Bela Lugosi, and Veronica Lake—to name a few. For older adults without means, the retirement housing options are bleak, something I learned first-hand after embarking on a six-month odyssey to find affordable and decent lodgings in Los Angeles for my convalescing mother-in-law.
And yet, for some lucky and eligible veterans of the TV and film business, age 70+ with twenty years of work history, MPTF’s Wasserman campus awaits. Named after the sartorial high-powered agent, and titan of Hollywood, Lew Wasserman, and his philanthropist wife, Edie (she raised more than $100 million dollars for MPTF), the twenty-acre campus offers numerous amenities. There are fountains, a koi pond, a Roddy McDowall Rose Garden, a warm-water pool and aquatic center funded by Jodie Foster, a 250-seat Louis B. Mayer movie theater showing first-run movies, a pharmacy, eateries, and tons of activities to keep the residents fit and engaged. Touting the motto, "creativity doesn't end in retirement," residents are invited to write, produce, and perform in original content for the on-campus closed-circuit TV station or join the Grey Quill Society—a writing workshop dedicated to exploring personal narratives. Money from the fund helps subsidize independent living costs and skilled nursing care on campus for anyone who can't afford the rent of $4,000 to $8,000 a month.
“We sing for our supper,” Beitcher tells me. “Half of our residents are supported by our charity to varying amounts, some have social security, but no pension or savings. Part of our budget is paid through Medicare reimbursements, but the bulk of the funds come through the generosity of industry members and sponsors.”
Like many people in the biz, (I worked at three movie studios as a marketing executive before I ran screaming from the buildings), I often wondered what it would take to secure a spot at the Wasserman campus. Could my friends and I spend our twilight years doing water aerobics with Hollywood greats? Surely demand outweighed availability. I’d always pictured people clamoring to gain access to this exclusive community like a scene out of Cocoon. Of course, that’s the naïve perspective of a young-ish person who hasn’t truly faced the perils of aging apart from occasional backpain. But after speaking to Beitcher and a few residents, it’s evident that the decision to relocate to campus often comes on the heels of a crisis.
That was the case for Harry Northup, the poet and actor featured in thirty-seven films including, Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, and Silence of the Lambs. Northup and his wife, poet and writer, Holly Prado were renting a place in Los Feliz when tragedy struck on July 18th, 2017.
“It was a hot summer night,” Northup recalls. “Holly got up around 3am with her walker, and said, ‘Harry, there's no electricity.’ I smelled something burning and looked in her study. All of a sudden, I saw flames.”
Northup ushered his wife to safety and raced back to try to put out the fire. Unable to access the building’s fire extinguisher, he banged on the wall for help and his neighbor, an “all-night DJ,” called 9-1-1.
“We lost almost everything,” Northup says.
Rendered homeless overnight, the couple holed up at the Sunset Dune’s Motel for two weeks, courtesy of The Red Cross.
“I told Holly, ‘We have a little savings, we should contact MPTF’,” says Northup. “We’d already filled out the paperwork the year before and were on the inactive list.”
To get on the waiting/inactive list, hopeful future inhabitants contact MPTF as soon as they turn 70 years old. Once eligibility is established through an audit of hours worked and money earned, availability is offered to the first name on the list. If that person isn’t ready to move in, the next name on the list has the option to take it. The name at the top maintains priority the next time a spot opens. If a resident runs out of money or outlives their savings, MPTF takes care of all their needs until the end.
One week after the fire, Northup drove out to the campus and met with a social worker. That meeting and a subsequent one with Prado, set the wheels in motion for the couple to move in.
“There was a waiting period,” Northup says. “A friend put us up for 45 days. MPTF called and we moved in on September 25th. A little over two months after the fire, MPTF rescued us, and we were so thrilled to be here. That first month, I’d be boxing things up from storage, and just break down crying because of the generosity of MPTF.”
Beneficiaries of MPTF’s assistance like Northup have Mary Pickford to thank. The beloved curly-haired silent film star, movie producer, and United Artists co-founder grew up in extreme poverty and later used her power and influence to help others avoid the same fate. Inspiration struck after Pickford traveled the country in 1918 selling millions of dollars in WWI bonds. Aware that her charm motivated people to open their wallets, Pickford brought a bucket to her movie sets and encouraged everyone to drop in a coin because once the movie wrapped, all the crew would be out of work. Early recipients of Pickford’s philanthropy were her fellow silent film cohorts cast aside by the rising popularity of talkies.
In 1921, Pickford joined forces with 20th Century Fox Co-chairman, Joseph Schenck and real-life priest/actor, Reverend Neal Dodd to officially form what was then called the Motion Picture Relief Fund whereby working industry employees would make contributions to help their unemployed associates. From benefit galas, film premieres, and a thrift store on Cahuenga that sold clothing worn by Hollywood elite, to legacy plans where industry veterans left a portion of their estate to the cause, Pickford explored every avenue to secure funds and provide essentials to the neediest members of the community.
The cofounders purchased an orange and walnut grove in 1940 and built the Motion Picture Relief Fund Country Home and hospital designed by William Pereira, the futuristic architect responsible for the spaceship Theme Building at LAX. In 1998, the campus was renamed to honor Lew and Edie Wasserman.
Over the years, the campus and hospital have attracted Hollywood legends including Bud Abbott—one half of Abbott and Costello, Fayard Nicholas—of the tapdancing Nicholas Brothers, Elsa Lanchester—the actress who portrayed the Bride of Frankenstein in the 1935 film, Hattie McDaniel—the first African American to win an Oscar for her role in Gone with the Wind, and Terry Semel—the former Chairman of Warner Bros and Yahoo!
Still considered one of best hospitals and skilled nursing facilities in the city, its excellent reputation motivated Sandy Bollinger, wife of Henri Bollinger—the award-winning Hollywood publicist and five-time President of the Publicist’s Guild—to sell the couple’s home and move to campus in 2018 when Henri had a medical emergency at age 89.
“Henri was never going to retire,” Bollinger says. “He was at a conference and came home, complaining of pain. We rushed him to Cedars, and he had brain surgery for a brain leak.”
Ten years prior to her husband’s health crisis, Sandy Bollinger, at the behest of an industry friend, quit the YMCA to join the health club at MPTF; nonresidents pay a monthly membership of $35. She swam in the pool and took classes, with her husband joining on occasion. Curious about what life might be like as residents, they did a test drive.
“We came for a couple of days and stayed at a guest group house for a nominal fee. We participated in all the activities and acted like we were residents,” Bollinger says. “A friend introduced us around, and people kept saying, ‘you guys have to move in here.’”
By the end of the stay, the couple had filled out a resident application and put down the required deposit of $1000 to hold a space for the future.
“When we did need to move in, we were at the top of the list,” Bollinger says.
Uncertain of the length of her husband’s post-surgery recovery, Bollinger had Henri transferred to the rehabilitation center on campus where she trusted the quality of care. They moved into The Fran and Ray Stark Villa, named after the powerhouse producer behind box office hits like Funny Girl and Goodbye Girl. Over time, Henri regained his strength, taking music classes, and writing with the Grey Quill Society. He convinced his wife to take up writing, even though she’d never considered herself creative. All was well for six months.
“Henri went into the hospital for hernia surgery and never came out,” Sandy Bollinger says.
Just seventy-four years old when her husband died, Bollinger needed to figure out whether she wanted to stay at Wasserman.
“I was surrounded by so much love and support that I never left,” Bollinger says. “My friend said to me, ‘Why are you staying there with all those old people?’ I looked around and I didn't see old. I saw people. My best friend here is 92.”
Back in Pickford’s day, an estimated 22,000 people worked in the biz. Today that number in the US is somewhere around 2.1MM. MPTF anticipates 75,000 industry members will retire in the next 10 years and, with continued studio consolidations and subsequent layoffs, there’s likely to be more older adults pushed out of the workforce. To serve a population that large and subsidize housing for industry retirees without means demands an endless stream of hefty donations.
Enter Jeffrey Katzenberg. The veteran studio head, film producer, and media mogul established MPTF as a Foundation in 1993 and set up several VIP events to raise millions of dollars in donations. During his three-decade tenure, it’s estimated that Katzenberg brought in half-a-billion dollars for the Fund. A deeper dig revealed that $200M of that haul was classified as legacy gifts, meaning MPTF won’t see that money until a donor dies. The actual amount received to date from legacy gifts is $15M, a tiny fraction of the $70M required to provide services to industry members on and off campus each year. Typically, MPTF operates at a deficit of $7M. When Katzenberg stepped down as Chairman last year, he left a big hole in the organization.
“There’s only one Jeffrey Katzenberg and we haven’t been able to figure out who could replace him,” Beitcher says. “It’s likely that his responsibilities will be split among a number of people who may have a wider reach but need to be willing to step up and do the incredible work Jeffrey did.”
Katzenberg’s exit coincided with the Fund’s 100-year-anniversary in 2021—a milestone event woefully overshadowed by the pandemic. Crucial annual fundraising events and galas like “The Night Before” and “The Evening Before” the Oscar and Emmy-adjacent parties, as well as the big MPTF big star-studded Gala, were put on hold, scaled down, or broadcast as virtual events. The sudden shift in protocol combined with the massive expenditures for PPE, Covid testing, financial relief to out-of-work industry employees, and increased medical care for Wasserman residents, further taxed the Fund’s coffers.
Amid the struggle and challenges, the Chief Development Officer at MPTF, Courtney Bailey sees a silver lining. “We typically serve a 65+ population. Covid threw that all into a tailspin,” says Bailey. “30-year-olds, who didn't have a job anymore were like, ‘What do I do financially and for my mental health?’ For the first time, we helped the younger population of industry workers. Now those people are more willing to help us.”
Bailey oversees all fundraising efforts for MPTF, including the 100-year-anniversary campaign which has extended into 2022, marquee events, as well as communication and outreach to constitutes. The point she drives home to potential donors, particularly younger members of the community, is that they’ve “built their success on the backs of many,” and success is fleeting. It’s no secret agism runs rampant in Tinseltown. A 2021 study put out by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University, found that in 2020, only 10% of films featured a male character age 60+ and 6% of films featured a female character in the same age range. That underrepresentation applies to all jobs in the industry.
To gain visibility in the community and toot the horn, MPTF has recruited big name board members like George Clooney, JJ Abrams, and Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, but an affiliation with A-Listers can have its drawbacks.
“People think, ‘MPTF doesn’t need our help.’ They've got every star supporting this organization,’ which is not the case. There are thousands of incredible nonprofits to support that are very near and dear to people's heart,” says Bailey.
The biggest challenge for Bietcher and Bailey has been amplifying the breadth of services and resources available to industry members and their families through MPTF beyond the retirement home. Since the pandemic began, MPTF has assisted nearly 40,000 members. Requests for help via the intake phone lines have covered a range of needs, such as access to Covid vaccines, legal advice, housing assistance, patient advocacy, financial insecurity, medical support, or counseling for suicide ideation.
Jennifer Jorge, Director of Community Social Services oversees the team of social workers that field all calls. “On an average day pre-pandemic, we’d maybe get ten to fifteen calls. During Covid, we’ve been hitting fifty to a hundred a day,” Jorge says.
At the height of the outbreak, 11 employee Covid-relief funds were established by multiple unions, productions, and studios. Jorge and her team helped members determine eligibility and facilitated distribution of money. Many of those funds have been exhausted, but support continues through MPTF’s long-standing charitable assistance program replenished by donors.
One way the Fund tries to reach younger members is through its NextGen Council, a committee for up-and-comers to spread the word about the Fund’s mission. Michelle Homerin, Director of Casting for ABC Signature, first discovered MPTF when she was an assistant at ICM putting in “ridiculous hours for no pay.”
“I grew up in Chicago in a family where giving back was very important,” Homerin says. “Hollywood’s different. People are more self-centered. I was disheartened by that.”
But after attending the MPTF event, Reel Lives, Real Stories, where beneficiaries shared moving tales about the organization, Homerin wanted to get involved.
“By the end of the night I was in tears,” Homerin says. “It was a good reminder that Hollywood did have people who looked out for each other and provided that sense of community that I was lacking at the time.”
She joined the NextGen Council and little did she know, within a year, her father would suffer a severe stroke and she’d be relying on MPTF to throw her a lifeline.
“At my age, it was very emotionally taxing. My friends were out having a good time and I was trying to figure out how to fill out 700 forms,” Homerin says. “I couldn't even afford therapy at the time. MPTF helped me navigate everything. They were my sounding board.”
That sense of support and community, or what nearly everyone I interviewed called “a family,” seems to differentiate Wasserman from other retirement homes. It’s certainly a dramatic contrast to the impersonal and institutionalized treatment that my relatives and older friends experienced at senior facilities. The secret sauce seems to be the Wasserman staff’s dedication and concern for the resident’s well-being.
“I have the utmost respect for the older adult population. In my family, they're the top of the hierarchy,” says Wilson Wong, Director of Recreational Services. “We’ve adopted the residents, or they've adopted us. I'm like a stand-in for a grandson.”
According to the National Institute on Aging, isolation and depression in older adults severely increases the risk of dementia, stroke, heart failure, and death. When lockdown restrictions went into effect, the Wasserman team, aware of the dangers, quickly dreamed up new ways to keep the residents engaged.
“I knew that even if this lockdown only lasted a month, people would be climbing the walls because we have such an incredibly dynamic creative community,” says Jennifer Clymer, Director of MPTF Studios and Executive Producer of programming for Channel 22—the campus’ closed circuit television station. “The residents want to produce content, perform, and manifest their creative visions. So, the best way for us to do that during Covid was a live variety show on Zoom five days a week.”
That interactive show called Creative Chaos, features special guest appearances by Hollywood royalty such as two-time Academy Award-Winner, Jodie Foster—far from retired herself—who narrates/moderates the popular party game, Mafia. Other weekly favorites include, Harry’s Poetry Hour hosted by Harry Northup, and Phil Gittelman’s Original Foodie.
“In this really dark time where things could have gotten emotionally and mentally dire for this campus, the live show really swooped in to support and buoy people's creativity and overall happiness,” Clymer says.
Sandy Bollinger, who had a blast playing Password with Helen Hunt as her partner on Zoom, echoed the sentiment. “Creative Chaos has kept us sane,” she says.
Another popular pastime enjoyed by the residents now and in the Before Times is strolling around campus. I’d been hoping to scope out the place for ages and finally received the go-ahead to tour the grounds in late February.
Situated on Mulholland Drive across the street from a cluster of shopping centers, the Wasserman location is perhaps intentionally low-pro to maintain privacy. The only Hollywood-esque tip-off is a street that leads to the gate called “Spielberg,” in honor of another noteworthy donor.
At security, a guard directed me to take a Covid test at the on-site hospital where I perused photos of Lew and Edie Wasserman posed with famous types like Frank Sinatra, Pope John Paul II, Anwar Sadat, The Carters, Reagans, and Clintons.
Armed with a clean bill of health, I met up with my guides, Tim Farish (VP of Communications) and Nat Thompson (Digital Guru). We stood in front of a modern building that houses the Jodie Foster Aquatic Center and Beitcher’s office. Sun reflected off the mirrored glass and the temp hovered in the 50s as Tim pointed out Doggywood, a fenced off grassy dog park area across the way. At 11am on a Thursday, the campus appeared nearly deserted, a circumstance my guides blamed on the chilly weather.
What I found most striking at first glance was the gorgeous landscaping—neatly trimmed hedges, towering trees, topiary animals, rose bushes, bougainvillea, native plants, and manicured lawns—maintained in perpetuity through an endowment from Edie Wasserman’s estate.
We stopped to admire the Roddy McDowall Rose Garden, where the actor bequeathed the roses from his home garden as well as a statue of Caesar featured in the film, Battle for the Planet of the Apes. Nat relayed the garden’s backstory—a heartwarming tale of McDowall’s dying wish to get his two best friends, Elizabeth Taylor and Sybil Burton, to bury the hatchet (Liz stole Richard Burton away from Sybil) and raise money for the garden. The two women did as requested, and at the dedication ceremony, Taylor publicly apologized to Burton. They remained friends for the rest of their days.
At one point, I asked if I might obtain a list of trees planted on campus. Minutes later, as if summoned by some secret signal, we bumped into the man most suited to provide that info; Michael Spalinger, Head of Facilities.
A silver-haired straight shooter, Spalinger said, “You’re the one we had to make a big fuss about getting on the property.”
I laughed at the notion that I, of all people, a MPTF fan girl, could’ve possibly caused “a fuss.”
Spalinger rattled off names of trees with ease; Mexican Fan Palms, Fruitless Pear Trees, Chinese Elms, Maples, Sycamores, Oaks, Magnolias, and identified an Elder tree planted in 1972.
“When we start doing construction, we’ll try to save as many trees as we can,” he said.
“When is that going to happen?” I asked.
He explained that plans had been in place to tear down the old skilled nursing building and erect a new Kirk Douglas Memory Care unit, but “money is a little bit short” so now the idea is to revamp the interior of the existing building, “as long as the money is enough.”
I later discovered that the price tag for the memory center is $50M—a big hit for an organization that operates at a multi-million-dollar loss every year—and it’s only one of many upgrades Beitcher hopes to greenlight.
“A lot of the spaces on campus we're built seventy or eighty years ago,” Beitcher says. “We’ve maintained them beautifully, but they need to be redone, torn down, and rebuilt in a more contemporary style, with larger rooms, and more amenities to accommodate additional residents.”
Though I only viewed the buildings’ exteriors due to Covid safety measures, I felt as if I’d entered a time capsule. Memorabilia honoring the once famous lined the hospital corridors and popped up around the grounds, creating an enchanting shroud of nostalgia. And yet, I couldn’t ignore the fraying edges and the insurmountable loss of great talent that would’ve all but faded into oblivion if not for the ephemera on display. Harry Northup summed up this unavoidable reality of growing old in one of his poems as living “on the perimeter of death.”
“I could do a litany of all the people who have died here that I really liked. There was Anne Coates, she won the editing award for Lawrence of Arabia, 1963. And Richard H. Kline who shot over 200 pictures,” Northup recalls. “My friend, the actor Larry Newman, about a month before he died at 95 said, ‘Life is terrific, except for dying.’ When somebody dies, it motivates me to make use of my time.”
By all accounts, Beitcher and his team at Wasserman go to great lengths to ensure that the residents stay active. Those efforts keep spirits lifted and the mind stimulated. It’s easy to imagine how renovations to the campus would have a similarly invigorating effect, in the same way a new hip or cataract surgery improves one’s quality of life.
The good news is, all the big galas are back on track this year, and kicked off with “The Night Before” the pre-Academy Awards© bash on 3.26.22. Held on the Fox lot, the red-carpet soirée attracted big-name presenters and nominees/winners like Javier Bardem, Ariana DeBose, and Dame Judi Dench, and succeeded in raising $4.5M for the cause.
When I circled back with Beitcher post-Oscars bash, campus restrictions had lifted and his general outlook was far rosier. “The gala was a big hit, and the residents are enjoying their new freedoms. They love mingling with each other, playing cards and kibbitzing, but like so many people their age, they want to be safe and careful as well.”
That sense of resilience embodied by the residents, staff, and everyone who made it through the pandemic would be admired by Mary Pickford who famously said, “You may have a fresh start any chance you choose. For this thing we call failure is not the falling down, but the staying down.” Such unwavering tenacity has fueled the Fund’s existence for 100 years, but only time will tell if Hollywood’s younger generation will heed the call and keep Pickford’s legacy alive for another century.