My father was a great actor, but also a fervent patriot. He had tried to enlist in World War II but failed his physical. Instead, he found a way to contribute by organizing, with Bette Davis, a club in Los Angeles called the Hollywood Canteen to entertain troops. The canteen gave service members, many on their way to war, a chance to relax and the reassurance that they had the country’s support. He went on a number of tours in combat zones predating those of Bob Hope.

The F.B.I. had been following my father for about a year before his death, shadowing him wherever he went, even when he paid a visit to the deathbed of his friend (and co-star) Canada Lee. Agents visited my school. They followed my mother to the grocery store. They tapped our phones.

These actions were in every respect a true “witch hunt.” The committee hounded United States citizens, looking to prosecute and persecute anyone it considered a “leftist,” very often with scant proof. More frequently all it had was innuendo, insinuation and lies.

Most of those blacklisted people weren’t famous like my father. They were teachers, writers, directors, painters, intellectuals; many, but not all of them, worked in creative fields.

My father was never a member of the Communist Party, although my mother briefly was. He had learned his craft in the legendary Group Theater, some of whose members had been in the party. They were idealists searching for a way to help the poor and hungry, the unfortunates of our country. They had survived the Great Depression and took literally Emma Lazarus’s words inscribed on the Statue of Liberty: “Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Both the House Un-American Activities Committee and Senator McCarthy’s committee were focused on hunting down as many “Reds” as they could, destroying reputations and careers along the way. Some of those people left the country. Others were able to work only under assumed names. And some, like my father, were hounded to death.