The Anthologist Fall 2021

Shotgun Shells and Orson Welles A small-town story about the biggest Halloween hoax our country has ever seen. //Jessica Storch “They put me in the back seat of our car, next to the milk, bread, shotgun and shells, and we headed out of town.” This was my father’s recounting of his young family’s escape from their small, rural New Jersey hometown. Dad had been just a young boy at the time of the incident.

The year was 1938, and our nation was on edge. We had just come out of the Great Depression, only to watch Hitler’s rise to power in Germany. Many Americans feared that the worst could happen at any moment. My grandparents, William and Irene Bathgate, were no exception. While thoughts of a possible worldwide catastrophe were always lingering in the corners of their minds, the predictability of day-to-day living provided them an ample amount of immediate security.

Life moved slowly for Pap and Gram at home in Branchville, Sussex County. They were raising their two young children in a small and humble home at the top of Fox Hill Road, a short walk from the center of town. “More often than not, the spoils from a day of Pap’s hunting or fishing were that evening’s dinner. This community has always provided for its sense of country living, with its’ dairy farms, lakes, streams, and meadows,” my father explained to me. He went on to fondly recall a childhood when, “Sunday mornings were for church going, and the afternoons were for porch sitting and waving.”

It was during one of those ordinary moments, on Sunday evening, October 30th, 1938, when Pap, Gram and their young children fell victim to one of the most notorious pranks in the history of our country. Finally settling in for a bit of evening respite, they tuned the dial of their Philco tube radio to a live broadcast of the Orson Welles and Mercury Theater production, War of the Worlds. The program had already begun, but the family was eager to spend a few moments being entertained by what remained.

Many other Americans, like my grandparents who had tuned in to the show late, missed an introduction that clearly described it as a theatrical performance. Instead of dialing into the intended entertainment, they were shocked by reports of a violent extra-terrestrial takeover, and the result was panic! Modern day listeners most likely would have immediately identified the inconceivable storyline as fiction. Yet, as with so many people of the time, my father’s family was vulnerable due to the precarious state of the world. It was later reported that listeners throughout the entire country feared for their lives as well.

“I know what folks these days would think. I’m sure they would get a kick out of the thought of us sitting on the edge of our seats, straining to hear through the static for every bit of information that was reported. But I tell you, you can’t really know what it was like if you weren’t there. Lots of other folks were pretty frenzied as well,” Dad shared with me.

Whether or not the broadcast caused a widespread panic has been debated, but many things are for sure. On October 30, 1938, The Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) featured War of the Worlds on their radio theater program. The radio play was performed as a series of interruptions to the live performance of an orchestra at The Meridian Room in the Hotel Park Plaza, New York City. These news bulletins created a sense of true, live coverage.

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