By Rit Carter
The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations present Orson Welles and the “War of the Worlds” by H.G. Wells.
Sunday, Oct. 30, 1938, was like any other day in Bristol.
The talk of the town that Sunday was the unexpected death the previous morning of Bristol’s most noted resident at that time, Epaphroditus Peck.
Because it was Sunday, most businesses were closed, but there were church services in the morning, a football game at Muzzy in the afternoon. After dinner, families gathered around their radio to listen to their favorite programs, with 8 p.m. being the primetime hour.
There was no WBIS yet, but Bristol radio listeners had several options for the 8 p.m. time slot.
WTIC 1040 (at the time) broadcasted the top-rated Edgar Bergen Charlie McCarthy Show.
If the AM radio waves of WBRY 1530 out of Waterbury bounced off the ionosphere and over South Mountain, the Bach Cantata Series would be heard.
Meanwhile, over at WDRC 1330, they aired The Mercury Theatre on the Air with Orson Welles.
For those who tuned their dial to 1330, they would be listening to history.
“Good heavens, something’s wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it’s another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me.”
—Carl Phillips from The War of the Worlds
The Mercury Theatre on the Air was an hour-long radio drama that presented literary works performed by Welles and his Mercury Theatre Company.
Welles’s partner at the Mercury was John Houseman. Houseman was a producer and came from the Federal Theatre Project. He was 13 years Welles’s senior.
A repertoire theatre company, they scored massive hits on Broadway, most notably Julius Caesar. Due to their success, they needed to branch out, and radio was the next logical step.
The program debuted in July of 1938 and starred Welles, 23, a prodigy; he was an actor and a theatre director. He graced the cover of TIME in May of that year.
Following the broadcast of their Oct. 23 program, “Around the World in Eighty Days,” Welles and Houseman needed a writer for the next show, “The War of the Worlds,” which would air seven days later.
Welles was in dress rehearsals for a Broadway production of “Danton’s Death” and was directing and editing film sequences for “Too Much Johnson,” a stage play, so he had no time to work on the drama. Nor did Houseman.
Howard Koch was assigned to adapt the novel into a radio dramatization. Koch was an upstart looking to start his writing career and had written two shows for the Mercury.
H.G. Wells’s “War of the Worlds” book takes place in late 1800s England, so Koch was told to set it in contemporary America in the style of a news broadcast and to use newsflashes and breaking news segments. With the threat of all-out war in Europe, it would be relatable.
Initially, Koch ran into difficulty with adapting the script and pleaded with Houseman to have it reassigned. Houseman consulted with Welles, and the answer was, “No.” It was Koch’s to write.
By Tuesday, Koch had momentum. The initial attack was to take place in Groves Mills, N.J., which he determined by closing his eyes and pointing his finger on a map. Years later, he reflected, “I found myself enjoying the destruction.”
Over the next 24 hours, Koch, with the editing help of Houseman, wrote and rewrote in a frenzy and produced a treatment worthy of reading late Wednesday evening.
Thursday was the first rehearsal with no music and basic sound effects. It was recorded and replayed for Welles in his mid-town Manhattan hotel room late that night.
Welles, Houseman and few others thought it dull. Welles went one step further and called it corny and demanded more news flashes.
Another night of writing and rewrites resulted in a completed script by Friday afternoon. The legal department made small changes, like changing the New Jersey National Guard to the state militia, which did not exist.
A studio rehearsal, including sound and music, was done on Saturday. Welles did not attend but was told by a soundman when he called the studio that it was not one of their best. Not only that but the Mercury actors were not impressed with what they were doing either.
Finally, it was Sunday, and Welles arrived in the early afternoon and was unhappy. He did not like what he was hearing. The script was no good, the acting was no better, and the show was worse.
But from the chaos came order. He sharpened the pacing with longer pauses and tightened scenes, increasing the tension.
As the seconds ticked down toward 8 p.m. from Studio One on the 20th floor of the CBS building on Madison Avenue, Welles, perched atop a podium, took a swig of his pineapple juice, donned his headphones and cued the opening music. His familiar and commanding voice then filled the air.
“We know now that in the early years of the twentieth century, this world was being watched closely by intelligences greater than man’s yet as mortal as his own.”
—Orson Welles, from the “War of the Worlds”
And with that, the “War of the Worlds” broadcast was on.
Welles does the opening narration to the story and sticks closely to the book, but from then on, it becomes its own thing,
The first six minutes of the broadcast give the listener a false sense of security, but by the 12-minute mark, when the top-rated Charlie McCarthy show went to a musical number and listeners began channel surfing, the tension increased, and the drama unfolded.
In the studio, where once there was doubt, excitement brewed. The actors and production personnel felt they were onto something. The studio was described as electric.
Soon, the switchboard at CBS began to light up with frantic phone calls asking if the Martian invasion was real. The police then appeared, wanting to know what was going on. But rather than back off, Welles increased the tension.
2X2L calling CQ . . . 2X2L calling CQ . . . 2X2L calling CQ . . . New York. Isn’t there anyone on the air? Isn’t there anyone on the air? Isn’t there anyone . . . 2X2L —
—Operator Four from the “War of the Worlds”
Houseman, many years later, called it “a careful and elaborate process of acceleration.”
Davidson Taylor, a CBS producer associated with the Mercury broadcasts, took a phone call advising that some listeners were taking the show seriously.
He wanted the 23-year-old kid from Kenosha, Wisc., who seemed to have the world in his hands at that moment, to cut the broadcast short, so he tried to rush into the studio. Houseman blocked him. He did get a message to him, though, to tone it down.
As the show neared its conclusion, more police arrived, presumably looking to arrest someone, anyone for all the phone calls to the police precinct.
When the show finally ended, there were reports of Americans in panic. Overcome with fear that the world was under attack by creatures from outer space.
This is the end now. Smoke comes out . . . black smoke, drifting over the city. People in the streets see it now. They’re running towards the East River . . . thousands of them, dropping in like rats. Now the smoke’s spreading faster. It’s reached Times Square. People trying to run away from it, but it’s no use. They’re falling like flies. Now the smoke’s crossing Sixth Avenue . . . Fifth Avenue . . . one hundred yards away . . . it’s fifty feet . . .
(BODY FALLS)
—Reporter, “War of the Worlds”
In Bristol, there are no police reports or newspaper stories of residents fleeing to Tory’s Den to escape the invading Martians. Nor are there reports of farmers on Chippens Hill firing their shotguns at the sky to repel the tripods.
It appears that the bedlam portrayed throughout the country by newspapers was overblown.
Radio had damaged the print media, so the newspaper industry used the opportunity to discredit radio as a reliable source and began writing stories of people dying maimed or injured as they fled. While some listeners were duped, widespread panic did not occur.
For several days, Welles and CBS took a beating in the media about their “fake news” broadcast, but eventually, everyone moved on to the mounting war in Europe.
Ironically, an AP report appeared on Nov. 1 in area newspapers reporting that the Griffith Institute had found no evidence to suggest that life could exist on Mars.
In January 2023, the “War of the Worlds” was one of the first 50 recordings added to the National Recordings Registry of the Library of Congress.
Locally, on Halloween night, 1969, WCCC FM rebroadcasted the original recording and interviewed New Jersey police and residents who believed extraterrestrials were invading the world.
In 1985, WTIC, now 1080, aired the show on Sunday, Oct. 13, at 5 p.m. The Journal Inquirer of Manchester sponsored it.
Postscript
Welles and Houseman, who later moved the Mercury Theatre to Hollywood, had a falling out over “Citizen Kane.” They traded unflattering stories about each other in the media for the rest of their lives.
Houseman became a Hollywood producer and an occasional actor. In 1973, he won an Academy Award for his 1973 performance in “The Paper Chase.”
Following the “War of the Worlds,” Howard Koch also went to Hollywood, where he won an Academy Award in 1943 for writing “Casablanca.” He also authored several books and screenplays.
In 1943, at the request of Jack Warner, the CEO of Warner Bros, he penned the screenplay “Mission to Moscow,” which gave a positive portrayal of Joseph Stalin. As a result, he was criticized by the House Un-American Activities Committee and blacklisted in 1951.
For several years, he wrote under a pseudonym. His blacklisting was later removed.
Howard Koch died in 1995 at the age of 93.
Orson Welles went to Hollywood and directed “Citizen Kane,” a cinematic masterpiece.
After Kane, he had other accomplished and admired works, such as “Touch of Evil” and “Chimes at Midnight.”
He died in 1985 of a heart attack while at his typewriter.
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