by Dave Sim

June 3rd, 1909, a day of infamy in the history of this great Metropolis. On that date San Franciso became the first city in the great republic to have a genuine, official, brand spanking new, city-supported censorship board. Less than a month before, the SF Board of Supervisors, had passed unanimously, unanimously, ordinance #761. In the convoluted syntax and phraseology common to legislation the world over, it read, as follows, and you'll forgive me... when I read things like this, I tend to slip into a Groucho Marx voice:

"It shall be unlawful for any person, firm, association, or corporation to display or to cause to display, or permit to be displayed at any moving picture exhibition or at any entertainment at which moving pictures are exhibited, any picture, illustration or delineation of any nude human figure or of any lewd or lascivious act or of any other matter or thing of an obscene, indecent, or immoral nature or offensive to the moral sense or [now at this point, this guy is really struggling to make a sentence, so he throws in some parentheses at this point], in such detail as to offend public morality and decency [throws another parenthesis at the end of that one], any murder, suicide, robbery, hold up, stabbing, assaulting, clubbing or beating of any human being."

Unable to make hide, nor hair of what they were talking about, the Mayor signed it into law on May 13th.

Norman W. Hall, Secretary to the newly formed Board of Censorship, in regarding this dogs breakfast of alarmist incoherencies, was moved to observe, "From the above, it will be seen that the scope of the Board's action is wide." Mr. Hall is to be commended in retrospect as a master of understatement.

In its four years of existence, the Board found no fewer than 476 films to condemn, no fewer than 158 films to modify. At least four arrests were made. In one notable case, it required an arrest, a criminal prosecution, and the keen and even handed assessment of a municipal court judge to determine that a moving picture did not qualify for condemnation or modification under the (quote) "wide scope of the Board's action." That a film of a boxing match did not constitute the "assault and clubbing or beating of a human being."

The single public report issued by the Board of Censorship is a model of its kind, and I mean that in the unkindest possible way. Here's a great quote from it:

"The Board is enthusiastic in its endorsements of the moving picture, and desires to encourage its patronage by the public."

How very benign of them, how positively redundant to issue a report, in 1911 encouraging people to go see movies. It's rather like signing a petition in 1995 encouraging people to watch more television. The single public report (one pictures it descending from the hills above the city, carved on stone tablets) the single public report pontificates:

"With those moving pictures that depict positive immorality or criminality in detail there can be but one verdict... condemnation!"

The report then goes on to describe the positive immorality and criminality contained in those films in excruciating detail. By the way, shouldn't that be "a portrayal of immorality in a positive light"? Positive immorality, h'mmmm. Perhaps catching himself drooling from the corner of his mouth, the author of the report hastens to add:

"These particular pictures are mentioned not to condemn a great industry, but to impress the necessity of avoiding such productions, in order to secure the patronage of the decent-loving [I guess he means decency loving unless the Board was also in the business of rating the romantic abilities of the people of SF] self respecting public, and at the same time we have alluded to them to show the obvious importance of a careful censorship."

As we gaze back at the year of the report, 84 years distant from us, we are moved to speculate on the all consuming and disastrous effect upon the morals of the citizens of this great metropolis had the pharisees of Los Angeles, those eternal corrupters from Gomorrah by the Pacific, been able to circumvent the vigilance of the Board and inflict upon the unsuspecting, though by all accounts, decent-loving citizenry of SF, such Mephistophelean fare as, and these are the actual titles of films condemned by the Board:

"Saved by a Sailor," "Getting Even With Everybody," "The Bankers Daughter," "The Way of The Transgressor is Hard," "The Italian Sherlock Holmes," and my favorite - "The Story of Lulu According to Her Feet."

What peril, what disaster so narrowly averted, what heroism that for a stipend of a mere $50 a year, these stalwart defenders of the public good, submitted themselves to the soul jeopardizing imagery contained in "The Story of Lulu According to Her Feet." Of course there was another film that they condemned, a film banned from public display at the time of it's release, within the city limits of SF--Charlie Chaplin's "The Tramp."

It is at this point in my narrative, at this point in every confrontation with the forces of censorship, the forces of oppression, that their buffoonery, their silliness, their Keystone Cop, slapstick dog and pony show, ceases to be funny and become serious... deadly serious.