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Sept. 19, 1995 - Bill Cooper
58:36
Original War of the World
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Time Text
You're listening to the Hour of the Time.
I'm William Cooper, and I guess you've noticed that we did not play our normal lead-in, and this is the only time since the beginning broadcast of the Hour of the Time that we have not done so, and it's for a very special reason.
In 1917, John Dewey said at a dinner given for Viscount Ishii and the Imperial Japanese delegation, and I quote, The best way to unite all humanity in a one-world government and do away with wars forever if we were invaded by some other species from some other planet.
This hypothesis was put to the test on October 30, 1938, when the Mercury Theater aired War of the Worlds, and it proved that it would work.
In 1947, near Roswell, New Mexico, a group of Army and Army Air Corps intelligence officers sprinkled debris over the desert and planted several shaved and surgically altered monkeys.
And today, blatant and incredible stories proliferate of alien abductions and outright and total phonies like Don Ecker perpetuate The Menace of the Alien Threat.
Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen.
The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air in The War of the Worlds by H.G.
well ladies and gentlemen the director of the mercury theater and star of these broadcasts
We know now that in the early years of the 20th century, this world was being watched closely by intelligences greater than man's.
Yet as mortal as his own.
We know now that as human beings visited themselves about their various concerns, they were scrutinized and studied.
Perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.
With infinite complacence, people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small, A spinning fragment of solar driftwood, which by chance or design, man has inherited out of the dark mystery of time and space.
Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that are to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool, and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, And slowly and surely drew their plans against us.
In the 39th year of the 20th century came the Great Disillusionment.
It was near the end of October.
Business was tethered.
The war scare was over.
More men were back at work.
Sales were picking up.
On this particular evening, October 30th, the Crosley service estimated that 32 million people were listening in on radios.
Not much change in temperature.
A slight atmospheric disturbance of undetermined origin is reported over Nova Scotia, causing a low-pressure area to move down rather rapidly over the northeastern states, bringing a forecast of rain accompanied by winds of light-gale force.
Maximum temperature 66, minimum 48.
This weather report comes to you from the Government Weather Bureau.
We take you now to the Mergen Room in the Hotel Park Plaza in downtown New York, where you will be entertained by the music of Raymond Rechello and his orchestra.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
From the Meridian Room in the Park Plaza Hotel in New York City, we bring you the music of Raymond Riquello and his orchestra.
For the Dutch of the Spanish, Raymar Raquel leads off with La Compensita. - Ladies and gentlemen, Raymar Raquel leads off with La Compensita. - Ladies and gentlemen, La Compensita. - Ladies and gentlemen, Raymar Raquel leads off with La Compensita. - Ladies and gentlemen, Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News.
At 20 minutes before 8 Central Time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars.
The spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen and moving toward the Earth with enormous velocity.
Professor Pearson of the Observatory at Princeton confirms Farrell's observations and describes the phenomenon as, quote, like a jet of blue flame shot from a gun, unquote.
We now return you to the music of Ramon Rochello, playing for you in the meridian room of the Quartz Laza Hotel, situated in downtown New York.
The End
The End
Ladies and gentlemen, following on the news given in our bulletin a moment ago, the Government Meteorological Bureau has requested the large observatories of the country to keep an astronomical watch on any further disturbances occurring on the planet Mars.
Due to the unusual nature of this occurrence, we have arranged an interview with a noted astronomer, Professor Pearson, who will give us his views on this event.
In a few moments, we will take you to the Princeton Observatory at Princeton, New Jersey.
We return you until then to the music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra.
We are ready now to take you to the Princeton
Observatory at Princeton, where Carl Phillips, our commentator, will interview Professor Richard Pearson, famous astronomer.
We take you now to Princeton, New Jersey.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
This is Carl Phillips speaking to you from the observatory at Princeton.
I'm standing in a large semicircular room, pitch black except for an oblong spread in the ceiling.
Through this opening I can see a sprinkling of stars that cast a kind of frosty glow with the intricate mechanism of a used telescope.
The ticking sound you hear is the vibration of the clockwork.
Professor Pearson stands directly above me on a small platform, Carrying through the giant lens.
I ask you to be patient, ladies and gentlemen, during any delay that may arise during our interview.
Besides the ceaseless watch of the heavens, this appearance may be interrupted by telephone or other communications.
During this period, he is in constant touch with the astronomical centers of the world.
Professor, may I begin our questions?
At any time, Mr. Foote.
Professor, would you please tell our radio audience exactly what you see as you observe the planet Mars through your telescope?
Nothing unusual at the moment, Mr. Coase.
A red disc swimming in the blue sea.
Transverse strikes across the disc.
Quite distinct now because Mars happens to be at the point nearest the Earth in opposition, as we call it.
In your opinion, what do these transverse strikes signify, Professor?
Not canals, I can assure you, Mr. Coase.
Although that's the popular conjecture of those who imagine Mars to be inhabited.
Well, the scientific viewpoint strikes me merely as the result of atmospheric conditions peculiar to the planet.
Then, you're quite convinced, as a scientist, that living intelligence as we know it does not exist on Mars?
I'd say the chances against it are a thousand to one.
And yet, how do you account for these gas eruptions occurring on the surface of the planet at regular intervals?
Phillips, I cannot account for it.
By the way, Purvis, for the benefit of our listeners, how far is Mars from the Earth?
Approximately 40 million miles.
Well, that seems a safe enough distance.
Just a moment, ladies and gentlemen.
Someone has just handed Professor Pearson a message.
While he reads it, let me remind you that we are speaking to you from the observatory in Princeton, New Jersey, where we are interviewing the world-famous astronomer, Professor Pearson.
One moment, please.
Professor Pearson has passed me a message, which he has just received.
Professor, may I read the message to the listening audience?
Certainly.
Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire addressed to Professor Pearson from Dr. Gray, Of the Natural History Museum, New York.
Quote.
9.15 p.m.
Eastern Standard Time.
Cosmograph registered shock of almost earthquake intensity occurring within a radius of 20 miles of Princeton.
Please investigate.
Signed Lloyd Gray, Chief of Astronomical Division.
Unquote.
Professor Pearson, could this occurrence possibly have something to do with the disturbances observed on the planet Mars?
Hardly, Mr. Phillips.
This is probably a meteorite of unusual size and its arrival at this particular time is merely a coincidence.
However, we shall conduct a search as soon as daylight permits.
Thank you, Professor.
Ladies and gentlemen, for the past ten minutes, we've been speaking to you from the Observatory at Princeton, bringing you a special interview with Professor Pearson, noted astronomer.
This is Carl Phillips speaking.
We are returning you now to our New York studio.
Ladies and gentlemen, here is the latest bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News.
Toronto, Canada.
Professor Morris of Macmillan University reports observing a total of three explosions on the planet Mars between the hours of 7.45 p.m.
and 9.20 p.m.
Eastern Standard Time.
This confirms earlier reports received from American observatories.
Now nearer home comes a special bulletin from Trenton, New Jersey.
It is reported that at 8.50 p.m.
a huge flaming object ...believed to be a meteorite, fell on a farm in the neighborhood of Grovers Mill, New Jersey, 22 miles from Trenton.
The flash in the sky was visible within a radius of several hundred miles, and the noise of the impact was heard as far north as Elizabeth.
We have dispatched a special mobile unit to the scene, and we'll have our commentator, Carl Phillips, give you a word picture of the scene as soon as he can reach there from Princeton.
In the meantime, we take you to the Hotel Martinette in Brooklyn, where Bobby Mallette and his orchestra are offering a program of dance music.
To Grover's Mill, New Jersey.
To Govers Mill, New Jersey. New Jersey.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again, out at the Wilmett Farms, Govers Mill, New Jersey.
Such a piss, I myself made the eleven miles from Princeton in ten minutes.
Well, I hardly know where to begin.
I'll paint for you a word picture of the strange scene before my eyes, like something out of a modern Arabian night.
Well, I just got here.
I haven't had a chance to look around yet.
I guess that's it.
Yes, I guess that's the thing directly in front of me.
Half buried in a vast pit.
Must have struck with terrific force the ground he stepped on.
It's covered with splinters of a tree.
It must have struck on its way down.
But I can see the object itself doesn't look very much like a meteor.
At least not the meteors I've seen.
It looks more like a huge cylinder.
Has a diameter of... What would you say, Professor Pearson?
About 30 yards.
About 30 yards.
The metal on the sheet is... Well, I've never seen anything like it.
The color is sort of yellowish white.
It's curious.
Spectators now are pressing close to the object in spite of the efforts of the police to keep them back.
They're getting in front of my line of vision.
Would you mind standing one side, please, while we're pushing the crowd back?
Here's Mr. Wilmot, owner of the barn here.
He may have some interesting facts to add.
Mr. Wilmot, would you please tell the radio audience as much as you remember of this rather unusual visitor that dropped in your backyard?
A step closer, please.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Wilmot.
I was listening to the radio... A little closer and louder, please.
Pardon me?
Louder, please, closer.
Yes.
I was listening to the radio and kind of drowsy.
A professor fellow was talking about Mars.
So I was half dozen, half... Yes, yes, Mr. Willett, and then what happened?
Well, as I was saying, I was listening to the radio, kind of halfway... Yes, Mr. Willett, and then you saw something.
Well, not first off.
I heard something.
And what did you hear?
I heard things sound like this.
Kind of like a Fourth of July rocket.
Yes, then what?
It turned my head out the window and would have sworn I was asleep and dreamless.
Yes.
I've seen a kind of greenish streak and then bingo.
Something smacked the ground.
Knocked me clear out of my chair.
Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmot?
Well, I ain't quite sure.
I reckon I was kind of riled.
Thank you, Mr. Wilmot.
Thank you very much.
Ladies and gentlemen, you've just heard Mr. Wilmot, owner of the farm where this thing has fallen.
I wish I could convey the atmosphere, the background of this fantastic scene.
Hundreds of cars are parked in the field and backless, and the police are trying to rope off the roadway, leading into the farm, but it's no use.
They're breaking right through.
Cars' headlights throw an enormous spotlight on the pit where the objects have buried.
Now, some of the more daring shows now are venturing near the edge, as the bullets continually stand out against the metal chin.
One man wants to touch a thing, he's having an argument with a policeman.
Now, the policeman wins.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, there's something I haven't mentioned in all this excitement, but it's becoming more distinct.
Perhaps you've caught it already on your radio.
Listen, please.
Do you hear it?
A curious humming sound that seems to come from inside the object.
I'll move the microphone nearer.
Here.
Now, we're not more than 25 feet away.
Can you hear it now?
Professor Pearson?
Yes, sir.
Can you tell us the meaning of that shaking noise inside the thing?
Possibly the unequal cooling of its surface.
I see.
Do you still think it's a meteor, Professor?
I don't know what to think.
The, uh, metal casing is definitely extraterrestrial.
Uh, not found on this Earth.
Friction with the Earth's atmosphere usually tears holes in a meteorite.
This thing is smooth and... seems cylindrical to me.
Uh, just a minute.
Something's happening.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is terrific.
This end of this thing is beginning to flake off.
The top is beginning to rotate like a screw and the...
Thing must be hollow.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I've ever witnessed.
Wait a minute.
He's back there!
He's going to get back!
Get off!
Get out there!
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I've ever witnessed.
Wait a minute.
Someone's calling someone or something.
I can see.
Turning out of that black hole through luminous disks.
The eyes, it might be a face, it might be almost...
But heavens, something licking out of the shadow like a grey snake.
Now it's another one, and another one, and another one.
They look like tentacles to me.
Oh yeah, I can see the thing's body now.
It's large, as large as a bear.
It's dripping like wet leather.
The face, it's as big as a gentleman could describe, although I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it.
It's so awful.
The eyes are black and they scream like a serpent.
The mouth is a kind of V-shape with saliva dripping from its rimless lips.
Oh, quiver and pulsate and monster or whatever it is can hardly move.
It seems weighed down by, uh, possibly gravity or something.
The thing's rising up now and the car falls back.
It seems quite easy.
Of course, it's not a very serious thing until I can't find words.
Well, I'll pull this microphone with me if I talk.
I'll have to stop the description until I can take a new position.
Hold on, will you please?
please I'll be right back in a minute we are bringing you an eyewitness account of what's happening on the Wilma farm Groversville New Jersey We now return you to Carl Phillips at Grovers Mill.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I?
Ladies and gentlemen.
Ladies and gentlemen, here I am, back of the stone wall that joins Mr. Wilmer's garden.
From here, I get a sweep of the whole scene.
I'll give you every detail as long as I can saw it and as long as I can see it.
More state police have arrived.
They're drawing up a cordon in front of the pit.
About 30 of them.
No need to push the guard back now.
They're willing to keep their distance.
The captain's conferring with someone I can't quite see who.
I ask.
I believe it's Professor Pearson.
Yes, it is.
Now they've parted and the professor moves around one side.
Studying the object while it's happening and two policemen advance with something in their hands.
I can see it now.
It's a white hatchet tied to a pole.
Flags of troops.
Those creatures know what that means.
What anything means.
Wait a minute.
Something's happening.
A humped shape is rising out of the pit.
I can make out a small beam of light against the mirror.
What's that?
It's a set of grain springs in the mirror that at least frighten the advancing men.
Who strikes them head on?
Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue the broadcast from Grover's Mill.
Evidently, there's some difficulty with our field transmission.
However, we will return to that point at the earliest opportunity.
In the meantime, we have a late bulletin from San Diego, California.
Professor Indelkofer, speaking at a dinner of the California Astronomical Society, expressed the opinion that the explosions on Mars are undoubtedly nothing more than severe volcanic disturbances on the surface of the planet.
We continue now with our piano introverts.
Ladies and gentlemen, I've just been handed the message that came in from Grover's Mill by telephone.
Just one moment, please.
At least 40 people, including six state troopers, lie dead in a field east of the village of Grover's Mill, their bodies burned and distorted beyond all possible recognition.
The next voice you hear will be that of Brigadier General Montgomery Smith, Commander of the State Militia at Trenton, New Jersey.
I have been requested by the Governor of New Jersey to place the counties of Mercer and Middlesex as far west as Princeton and east to Jamesburg under martial law.
No one will be permitted to enter this area except by special pass issued by state or military authorities.
Four companies of State Militia are proceeding from Trenton to Grover's Mill And will aid in the evacuation of homes within the range of military operations.
Thank you.
You have just been listening to General Montgomery Smith, commanding the state militia at Trenton.
In the meantime, further details of the catastrophe at Grover's Mill are coming in.
The strange creatures, after unleashing their deadly assault, crawled back in their pit and made no attempt to prevent the efforts of the firemen to recover the bodies and extinguish the fire.
The combined fire departments of Mercer County are fighting the flames, which menace the entire countryside.
We have been unable to establish any contact with our mobile unit at Grover's Mill, but we hope to be able to return you there at the earliest possible moment.
In the meantime, we take you to... Just one moment, please.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that we have finally established communication with an eyewitness of the tragedy.
Professor Pearson has been located at a farmhouse near Grover's Mill, where he has established an emergency observation post.
As a scientist, he will give you his explanation of the calamity.
The next voice you hear will be that of Professor Pearson, brought to you by direct wire.
Professor Pearson!
Of the creatures in the rocket cylinder at Grover's Mill, I can give you no authoritative information either as to their nature, their origin, or their purposes here on Earth.
Of their destructive instrument, I might venture some conjectural explanation.
For want of a better term, I shall refer to the mysterious weapon as a heat ray.
It's all too evident that these creatures have scientific knowledge far in advance of our own.
It's my guess that in some way they are able to generate an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute non-conductivity.
This intense heat they project in a parallel beam against any object they choose by means of a polished parabolic mirror of unknown composition, much as the mirror of a lighthouse projects a beam of light.
That is my conjecture of the origin of the Heat Ray.
Thank you, Professor Pearson.
Ladies and gentlemen, here is a bulletin from Trenton.
It is a brief statement informing us that the charred body of Carl Phillips has been identified in a Trenton hospital.
Now here's another bulletin from Washington, D.C.
The Office of the Director of the National Red Cross reports ten units of Red Cross emergency workers have been assigned to the headquarters of the state militia, stationed outside of Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
Here's a bulletin from State Police Princeton Junction.
The fires at Grover's Mill and vicinity are now under control.
Scouts report all quiet in the pit, and there is no sign of life appearing from the mouth of the cylinder.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special statement from Mr. Harry McDonald, vice president in charge of operations.
We have received a request from the State Militia of Trenton to place at their disposal our entire broadcasting facilities.
In view of the gravity of the situation, and believing that radio has a responsibility to serve in the public interest at all times, we are turning over our facilities to the State Militia of Trenton.
We take you now to the field headquarters of the State Militia near Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
Attached to the State Militia, now engaged in military operations in the vicinity of Grovers Mill.
Situation arising from the reported presence of certain individuals of unidentified nature is now under complete control.
A cylindrical object which lies in a pit directly below our position, surrounded on all sides by eight battalions of infantry, without heavy field pieces, but adequately armed with rifles and machine guns.
All cause for alarm, if such cause ever existed, is now entirely unjustified.
The things, whatever they are, do not even venture to poke their heads above the pit.
I can see their hiding place plainly in the glare of the searchlights here.
With all their reported resources, these creatures can scarcely stand up against heavy machine gun fire.
Anyway, it's an interesting outing for the troops.
I can make out their cocky uniforms, crossing back and forth in front of the lights.
Looks almost like a real war.
There appears to be some slight smoke in the woods bordering the Millstone River.
Probably fire started by campers.
Well, we ought to see some action soon.
One of the companies is deploying on the left flank.
A quick thrust and it'll all be over.
Now wait a minute, I... I see something on top of the cylinder.
No, it's nothing but a shadow.
Now the troops are on the edge of the Wilmot farm.
Seven thousand armed men closing in on an old metal tube.
A tub rather.
Well, wait, that wasn't a shadow, it's something moving.
Solid metal, kind of a shield-like affair, rising up out of the cylinder.
It's going higher and higher.
What?
It's... it's standing on legs.
Actually rearing up on a sort of metal framework.
Now it's reaching above the trees and the searchlights are on it.
Hold on.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a grave announcement to make. - Okay.
Incredible as it may seem, both the observations of science and the evidence of our eyes lead to the inescapable assumption that those strange beings who landed in the dirty farmlands tonight are the vanguard of an invading army from the planet Mars.
The battle which took place tonight at Grover Mills has ended in one of the most startling defeats ever suffered by an army in modern times.
7,000 men armed with rifles and machine guns Pitted against a single fighting machine of the invaders from Mars.
120 known survivors.
The rest strewn over the battle area from Grover's Mill to Plainsboro, crushed and trampled to death under the metal feet of the monster, or burned to cinders by its heat ray.
The monster is now in control of the middle section of New Jersey and has effectively cut the state through its center.
Communication lines are down from Pennsylvania to the Atlantic Ocean.
Railroad tracks are torn in service from New York to Philadelphia discontinued except Rooting some of the trains through Allerton and Phoenixville.
Highways to the north, south, and west are clogged with frantic human traffic.
Police and army reserves are unable to control the mad flight.
By morning, the fugitives will have flown Philadelphia, Camden, and Trenton.
It is estimated to have twice their normal population.
Martial law prevails throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania.
At this time, we take you to Washington for a special broadcast on the national emergency.
The Secretary of the Interior.
Citizens of the nation, I shall not try to conceal the gravity of the situation that confronts the country, nor the concern of your government in protecting the lives and property of its people.
However, I wish to impress upon you, private citizens and public officials, all of you, the urgent need of calm and resourceful action.
Fortunately, this formidable enemy is still confined to a comparatively small area, and we may place our faith in the military forces to keep them there.
In the meantime, placing our faith in God, we must continue the performance of our duties, each and every one of us, so that we may confront this destructive adversary with a nation united, courageous, And consecrated to the preservation of human supremacy on this earth.
I thank you.
You have just heard the Secretary of the Interior speaking from Washington.
Bulletins too numerous to read are piling up in the studio here.
We're informed that the central portion of New Jersey is flat out from radio communication due to the effect of the heat ray upon power lines and electrical equipment.
Here is a special bullet from New York.
Cables have been received from English, French, and German scientific bodies offering assistance.
Astronomers report continued gas outbursts at regular intervals on the planet Mars.
The majority voice the opinion that the enemy will be reinforced by additional rocket machines.
There have been several attempts made to locate Professor Pearson of Creighton, who has observed Martians at close range.
It is feared he was lost in the recent battle.
Langham Field, Virginia.
Scouting planes report three Martian machines visible above treetops, moving north toward Somerville, with population fleeing ahead of them.
The heat ray is not in use, although advancing at express train speed.
Invaders pick their way carefully.
They seem to be making a conscious effort to avoid destruction of cities and countryside.
Whether they stop to uproot power lines, bridges, and railroad tracks, their entire objective is to crush resistance, paralyze communication, and disorganize human society.
Here is a bulletin from Basking Ridge, New Jersey.
Coon hunters have stumbled on a second cylinder similar to the first, embedded in the great swamp 20 miles south of Morristown.
Army team pieces are proceeding from Newark to blow up the second invading unit before the cylinder can be opened.
In the fighting machine, Riggs.
They're taking up a position in the foothills of Washington Mountains.
Another field... Another... Another bulletin from Langham Field, Virginia.
Scouting planes report enemy machines, now three in number, increasing speed northward, kicking over houses and trees in their evident haste to form a conjunction with their allies south of Mars Town.
Machines also sighted by telephone operator east of Middlesex, within ten miles of plane field.
Here's a bulletin from Winston Field, Long Island.
A fleet of Army bombers carrying heavy explosives flying north in pursuit of enemy.
Scouting planes, active guides.
They keep the speeding enemy in sight.
Just a moment, please, ladies and gentlemen.
We've, uh, we've run special wires to the artillery line in adjacent villages to give you direct reports in the zone of the advancing enemy.
First, we take you to the battery of the 22nd Field Artillery, located in the Washington Mountains.
Range, 32 meters.
32 meters.
Protection, 39 degrees.
39 degrees.
39 degrees. 39 degrees.
Fire. 140 out to the right, sir.
Shift range, 31 meters.
31 meters.
Protection, 37 degrees.
37 degrees.
Fire!
Yes, sir.
That's the tripod of one of them.
That's Thomas.
The others are trying to repair it.
Get the range.
Shift 50, 30 meters.
30 meters.
Protection, 27 degrees.
27 degrees.
Fire!
Letting off a smoke.
What is it?
Moving this way.
Closer to the ground.
Put on gas maps.
You can't see, sir.
Smoke's coming near us.
There's no rain.
23 meters.
- What's it? - What's it? - Please. - What's it? - Please. - Please. - Please. - - Army bombing plane, B-843, off bay on the Chessy Road.
22.
Lieutenant Bolt commanding eight bombers.
Reporting to Commander Fairfax Langham Field.
This is Bolt reporting to Commander Fairfax Langham Field.
Enemy tripod machines now in sight.
Reinforced by three machines from the Mars Town Cylinder.
Six altogether.
One machine partially crippled.
Believed hit by shell from Army gun in Wachung Mountains.
Guns now appear silent.
A heavy black fog hanging close to the earth of extreme density, nature unknown.
No sign of heat ray.
Enemy now turns east, crossing Passaic River into the Jersey marshes.
Another straddles the Pulaski Skyway.
Evident objective is New York City.
They're pushing down a high-tension power station.
Machines are close together now and we're ready to attack.
Get blank circling ready to strike.
thousand yards and we'll be over the first 800 yards 600 Four hundred.
200.
There they go.
Giant arm raised.
Green flash.
Hit.
Spang us with flame.
2,000 feet.
Engines are giving out.
No chance to release bombs.
Only one thing left.
Drop on the plane and all.
We're diving on the first one.
Now the engine's gone!
Mrs. Fayon, New Jersey, calling Langham Fields.
This is Fayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham Field.
Come in, please.
This is Langham Field.
Go ahead.
Eight army bombers in engagement with enemy tripod machines over Jersey Flats.
Engines incapacitated by heat rays.
All crashed.
One enemy machine destroyed.
Enemy now discharging heavy black smoke in direction of Newark, New Jersey.
This is Newark, New Jersey.
Warning!
Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey Marshes.
Reach of South Street.
Gas masks useless.
Urge populations move into open spaces.
Automobiles use routes 7, 23, 24.
Avoid congested areas.
Smoke now spreading over Raymond Boulevard.
2X2L calling C-Kill.
2X2L calling C-Kill. 2X2L calling 8X3R.
Come in, please.
This is 8X3R coming back at 2X2L.
How's reception?
How's reception?
K please.
Where are you 8X3R?
What's the matter?
Where are you?
Are you speaking from the... ...broadcasting building?
Amen.
I'm speaking from the roof of Broadcasting Building, New York City.
The bells you hear are ringing to warn the people to evacuate the city as Martians approach.
Estimated in the last two hours, three million people have moved out along the roads to the north.
Hutchinson River Parkway is still kept open for motor traffic.
Floyd Bridges to Long Island, hopelessly jammed.
All communication with Jersey Shore closed ten minutes ago.
No more defenses.
Our army is wiped out.
Artillery, Air Force, everything wiped out.
This may be the last broadcast.
We'll stay here to the end.
The people are holding service here below us in the cathedral.
Now I look down the harbor.
All manner of boats overloaded with fleeing population pulling out from docks.
Streets are all jammed.
Noise and crowds like New Year's Eve in the city.
Wait a minute.
The enemy is now in sight above the palisades.
Five great machines.
First one is crossing the river.
I can see it from here, wading, wading the Hudson like a man wading through a brook.
A bullet in his hand at me.
Carton cylinders are falling all over the country.
One outside of Buffalo, one in Chicago.
St.
Louis.
Seem to be primed in space.
Now the first machine reaches the shore.
He stands watching, looking over the city.
His steel, cowlish head is even with a skyscraper.
He waits for the others.
They rise like a line of new powers on the city's west side.
Now they're lifting their metal hands.
This is the end now.
Smoke comes out.
Smoke's drifting over the city.
People in the streets see it now.
They're running toward the East River, thousands of them.
Dropping in like rats.
Now the smoke's spreading faster.
It's reached Times Square.
People are trying to run away from it, but it's no use.
They're falling like flies.
Now the smoke's crossing 6th Avenue.
Fifth Avenue.
A hundred yards away.
It's... It's 50 feet.
Calling St.
I'm calling Sekio.
2X2L calling Sekio, New York.
Thank you.
Is there anyone on the air?
Is there anyone on the air?
Is there anyone?
X2L.
You are listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater on the Air.
In an original dramatization of The War of the Worlds by H.G.
Wells.
The performance will continue after a brief intermission.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
The War of the Worlds by H.G.
G. Wells, starring Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater on the air.
As I sit down these notes on paper, I'm obsessed by the thought that I may be the last living man on earth.
Thank you.
I've been hiding in this empty house near Grover's Mill.
A small island of daylight cut off by the black smoke from the rest of the world.
All that happened before the arrival of these monstrous creatures in the world now seems part of another life.
A life that has no continuity with the present.
Furtive existence of the lonely derelict who pencils these words on the back of some astronomical notes bearing signatures.
Richard Pearson.
I look down at my blackened hand and I try to connect them with a professor who lives at Princeton and who on the night of October 20th glimpse through his telescope an orange splash of light on a distant planet.
My wife.
My colleagues...
My students?
My books?
My observatory?
My... My world?
Where are they?
Did they ever exist?
Am I Richard Pearson?
What day is it?
Do days exist without calendars?
Does time pass when there are no human hands left to wind the clocks?
Writing down my daily life, I tell myself I shall preserve human history between the dark covers of this little book that was meant to record the movements of the stars.
But to write I must live, and to live I must eat.
Find moldy bread in the kitchen and an orange not too spoiled to swallow.
I keep watch at the window.
Time to time I catch sight of a Martian above the black smoke.
The smoke still holds the house in its black coil, but like there's a hissing sound, and suddenly I see a Martian mounted on his machine, spraying the air with a jet of steam as if to dissipate the smoke.
I watch in a corner as his huge metal legs nearly brush against the house.
Thrusted by terror, I fall asleep.
Morning.
Morning.
Sunstream's in the window.
Black cloud of gas has lifted, and the scorched meadows to the north look as though a black snowstorm had passed over them.
I venture from the house, I make my way to a road, no traffic.
Hear no wrecked car, baggage overturned, a blackened skeleton.
Bush on north.
For some reason I feel safer trailing these monsters than running away from them.
And I keep a careful watch.
I've seen the Martians feed.
Should one of their machines appear over the top of trees, I'm ready to fling myself flat on the earth.
I come to a chestnut tree.
October.
Chestnuts are ripe.
Sit on my pockets, always keep alive.
Two days I wander in the vague northerly directions through a desolate world.
Finally I notice a living creature.
A small red squirrel in a beech tree.
Stare at him and wonder.
He stares back at me.
I believe at that moment the animal and I shared the same emotion.
The joy of finding another living being.
Push on north, I find dead cows in a brackish field and beyond charred ruins with dairy in a silo.
I may stand guard over the wasteland like a lighthouse, deserted by the sea.
Stride the sallow perch of the weathercock, the arrow points north.
North.
Next day I come to a city.
A city vaguely familiar in its contours, yet its buildings strangely dwarfed and leveled off as if a giant had sliced off its highest tars with a capricious sweep of his hands.
I reach the outskirts and found Newark.
No, undemolished, but humbled by some whim of the advancing Martians.
Presently with an odd feeling of being washed, I caught sight of something crouching in a doorway.
I mean, a step towards it.
It rose up and became a man.
A man armed with a large knife.
Stop!
Where do you come from?
Oh, I come from... from many places.
A long time ago from Princeton.
Princeton, huh?
That's near Grover's Mill.
Yes.
Grover's Mill.
There's no food here.
This is my country.
Always send a town down the river.
There's only food for one.
Which way are you going?
I don't know.
I guess I'm looking... for people.
What was that?
Did we hear something just then?
No.
Only a bird.
A live bird.
You get to know that birds have shadows these days.
Hey, we're in the open here.
Let's crawl in this doorway here and talk.
Have you seen any Martians?
No.
They're going over to New York.
Tonight the sky is alive with their lights.
Just as if people were still living.
By daylight, you can't see them.
Five days ago, a couple of them carried something big across the flats from the airport.
I think they're learning how to fly.
Fly?
Yeah, fly.
Well, it's all over with humanity.
Stranger, there's still you and I. Two of us left.
Yeah.
They got themselves in solid.
They wrecked the greatest country in the world.
Those green stars, they've probably fallen somewhere every night.
They've only lost one machine.
There isn't anything to do.
We're done.
We're licked.
Where were you?
You're in a uniform.
Yeah, what's left of it.
I was in the militia.
National Guard.
That's good.
There wasn't any war.
Any more than there's war between men and ants.
Yes, but we're eatable ants.
I found that out.
What do we do?
I've thought it all out.
Right now, we're caught as we're wanted.
A Martian only has to go a few miles to get a crowd on the run.
If they don't keep on doing that, they'll begin catching us systematically, keeping the best and storing us in cages and things.
They haven't begun on us yet.
Not begun?
Not begun.
All that's happened so far is because we don't have sense enough to keep quiet.
Bothering them with guns and such stuff and losing our heads and rushing off in crowds.
Instead of our Rushin' around blind, we gotta fix ourselves up.
Fix ourselves up according to the way things are now.
Cities, nations, civilization, progress.
Yeah, but if that's so... What is there to live for?
Well, there won't be any more concerts for a million years or so, and no nice little dinners at restaurants.
If it's amusement you're after, I guess the game's up.
What is there left?
Life, that's what!
I wanna live!
Yeah, and so do you.
We're not gonna be exterminated.
I don't mean to be caught, either.
Tamed and fattened and bred like an ox!
What are you going to do?
I'm going on.
Right under their feet.
I've got a plan.
We men, as men, we're finished.
We don't know enough.
We've got to learn plenty before we've got a chance.
We've got to live and keep free while we learn, see?
I've thought it all out, see?
So what are the risks?
Well, it isn't all of us that are made for wild beasts.
That's what it gotta be.
That's why I watched you.
Or those little office workers that used to live in these houses.
They'd be no good.
They haven't any stuff in them.
They used to run.
Run off to work.
I've seen hundreds of them running to catch their commuter's train in the morning.
Afraid they'd get canned if they didn't.
Runnin' back at night.
Afraid they wouldn't be in time for dinner.
Lives insured and a little invested in case of accidents.
Damn, on Sundays.
Worried about the hereafter.
The Martians, they'll be a godsend for those guys.
Nice roomy cages, good food, careful breeding, no worries.
Yeah, after a week or so of chasing around the fields on empty stomachs, they'll come and be glad to be caught.
You've thought it all out, haven't you?
Sure, you bet I have.
That isn't all.
These Martians are gonna make pets of some of them.
Train them to do tricks.
Who knows, get sentimental over the pet boy who grew up and had to be killed.
Yeah.
And some, maybe, they'll train to hunt us.
That's impossible.
Yes, they will.
There's men who do it gladly.
If one of them ever comes after me, by... In the meantime, you and I and others like us, where are we to live when the Martians own the Earth?
I got it all figured out.
We'll live underground.
I've been thinking about the sewers.
Under New York, they're miles and miles of them.
The main ones, they're big enough for anybody.
Then there's cellars, vaults, underground storerooms, railway tunnels, subways.
You begin to see, huh?
We've got a bunch of strong men together.
No weakness.
That rubbish, out.
As you meant me to go.
Right away.
Gave you a chance, didn't you?
I won't quarrel about that.
Go on.
Well, we've got to make safe places for us to stay in, see?
Get all the books we can.
Science books.
That's where men like you come in, see?
We raid the museums.
We'll even spy on the Martians.
May not be so much we have to learn before... Just imagine this.
Four or five of their own fighting machines suddenly start off.
Deep rays, right and left.
Not a Martian in them.
Not a Martian in them, see?
But men!
Men who've learned the way how.
May even be in our time.
Gee, imagine having one of them lovely things with its feet very wide and free.
We'd turn it on Martians.
We'd turn it on men.
We'd bring everybody down on their knees.
That's your plan?
Yeah.
You, me, us.
We'd own the world.
I see.
Hey.
Hey, what's the matter?
Where are you going?
Not to your world.
Bye, stranger.
Well, after parting with the artilleryman, I came at last to the Holland Tunnel and entered that silent tube, anxious to know the fate of the great city on the other side of the Hudson.
Cautiously, I came out of the tunnel and made my way up Canal Street.
I reached 14th Street, and there again were black powder and several bodies and an evil, ominous smell from the gratings of the cellars of some of the houses.
Wandered up through the 30s and 40s.
Stood alone on Times Square.
Caught sight of a lean dog running down 7th Avenue with a piece of dark brown meat in his jaws and a pack of starving mongrels at his heels.
Made a wide circle around me as though he feared I might prove a fresh competitor.
Walked up Broadway in the direction of that... that strange powder.
That silent shop windows displaying mute wares to empty sidewalks.
That's the Capitol Theater.
Silence.
Dark.
That's the shooting gallery where a row of empty guns faces an arrested line of wooden ducks near Columbus Circle.
I noticed models of 1979 motorcars in the showrooms facing empty streets.
Over the top of the General Motors building I watched a flock of black birds circling in the sky.
Hurry, don't.
Suddenly I caught sight of the hood of a Martian machine.
Standing somewhere in Central Park, gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
Insane idea.
I rushed recklessly across Columbus Circle and into the park.
I climbed a small hill above the pond at 60th Street.
From there I could see, standing in a silent row along the mall, 19 of those great metal titans, their cowls empty, their steel arms hanging listlessly by their sides.
I looked in vain for the monsters that inhabit those machines.
Suddenly my eyes were attracted to the immense flock of black birds that hovered directly below me.
They circled the ground, and there before my eyes, stark and silent, lay the Martians with their hungry birds pecking and tearing brown shreds of flesh from their dead bodies.
Later, when their bodies were examined in laboratories, it was found that they were killed by the It's putrefactive and diseased bacteria against which their systems were unprepared.
Flame, after all, man's defenses had failed by the humblest thing that God, as wisdom, has put upon this earth.
Before the cylinder fell, there was a general persuasion that through all the deep of space, no life existed beyond the petty surface of our minute sphere.
Now we see further.
Dim and wonderful is the vision I've conjured up in my mind of life spreading slowly from this little seedbed of the solar system throughout the inanimate vastnesses of sidereal space, but... it's a remote dream.
Maybe... Maybe that the destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve to them and not to us.
Is the future ordained for us?
How strange it now seems to sit in my peaceful study, Princeton, writing down this last chapter of the record begun at a deserted farm in Grover's Mill.
Strange to watch children playing in the streets.
Strange to see young people strolling on the green where the new spring grass heals the last black scars of a bruised earth.
Strange to watch the sightseers Enter the museum where the dissembled parts of a Martian machine are kept on public view.
Strange when I recall the time when I first saw it.
Bright and clean cuts.
Hard and silent.
Under the dawn of that last great day.
Ladies and gentlemen, when the War of the World aired in 1938, people jumped out of windows.
The stock market took a precipitous fall the following day.
And that night, in Grover's Mill, New Jersey, farmers and townsfolk picked up their shotguns and their hunting rifles, walked out, and shot their own water tank full of holes, thinking that it was one of the alien tripod machines.
Today, these same globalists attempt to bring about world government by creating an artificial threat from space.
The alien abduction phenomenon is nothing more than a very sophisticated mind control operation.
And people like Leo Sprinkle, Bud Hopkins and others are not interested in helping those that go to them for solace in their terror, not understanding what is happening to them.
They are merely judging the effectiveness of this mind-control operation, and the data that they collect helps those who conduct it to perfect their methods.
And all across the world and across the United States, people gather to hear phonies like Donald Francis Ecker, who is no more a police officer or criminal investigator than the man in the moon.
And so-called nuclear physicists like Stanton T. Friedman Who, in our investigation for the last thirty years, has never gone near anything even resembling nuclear physics.
And I could go on and on and on.
The technology that we see in the sky belongs to humans, that which we have been able to identify.
And someday you will be presented with the scenario that the Earth is being invaded by some other species from some other planet, and the answer will be for all humanity to come together under one world government and sacrifice whatever is needed to oppose this threat.
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