Schwartz A. Brad - Broadcast hysteria : Orson Welless War of the worlds and the art of fake news

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For Mom and Dad

Believe nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Like many Americans in the fall of 1938, John and Estelle Paultz had come to depend upon their radio. With their country seemingly in free fall and their world spinning out of control, Americans in the thirties sought to lose themselves in entertainment as never before. And no form of escape could be had more cheaply or more readily than the radio. A set cost ten dollars, well within the reach of even very poor families, and the programming it broadcast cost absolutely nothing but time.

The couple lived at 8 East Fifteenth Street, New York City, less than a block from Union Square. Theirs was a working-class neighborhood filled with low-cost amusements, where the stores were packed with cheap merchandise and the lunchrooms with cheap food. Between features in the movie theaters, patrons played screeno, a variant of bingo created for the Depression. Winners walked away with a coveted bag of groceries. But all the Paultzes wanted that Sunday evening was to curl up by the fireside and listen to their radio. When Estelle switched the set on, sometime after 8:30 p.m., it happened to be tuned to WABC, the New York affiliate of the Columbia Broadcasting System.

The Paultzes werent really listening at first, but the ominous announcements pouring out of the loudspeaker soon captured their attention. The CBS announcer read bulletin after bulletin describing some kind of armed invasion of the Eastern Seaboard. Enemy aircraft were landing in New Jersey, and war machines were sweeping across the state toward New York. The army could do nothing to stop them, and more were coming all the time. As the Paultzes listened, CBS patched into a transmission from the 22nd Field Artillery, which had established a line of defense in the Watchung Mountains of northern New Jersey. The gunners opened fire on the invaders and scored a direct hit on one of the machines, but that barely slowed them down. The other invaders released a thick cloud of black smokepoison gasthat swept over the artillerymen. The Paultzes thought they could hear the soldiers choking to death live on the air.

On the verge of terror, Estelle asked her husband what he thought they were listening to. A news broadcast, surely, he replied. It sounded so real, it couldnt possibly be anything else. Realizing that their city might be under siege at any moment, Estelle felt as though her blood were coagulating in her veins.

Now they were listening to a transmission from the leader of a bombing squadron, flying in over the invading machines as they crossed the Pulaski Skyway, the major artery leading into New York City. But before the airmen could release their bombs, the invaders sprayed the planes with some kind of death ray, bringing them all down in flames. The squadron leader managed to crash his plane into one of the machines, destroying it. But that still left five invaders moving rapidly toward Manhattan, trailing huge clouds of poison gas in their wake.

Another announcer broke in: Newark, New Jersey. Newark, New Jersey Warning! Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey marshes. Reaches South Street. Gas masks useless. Urge population to move into open spaces. Automobiles use routes 7, 23, 24. Avoid congested areas. Smoke now spreading over Raymond Boulevard.

Estelle had family in Newark; her sister lived with young children just a few blocks from Raymond Boulevard. Now, Estelle reasoned, they were all probably drowning in poison gas. The horror of it! Estelle later wrote. I couldnt listen any more. Her husband dashed upstairs to the roof and looked up at the sky, hoping to see the approaching invaders. Estelle remained by the radio, frozen, afraid to keep listening and afraid to shut the thing off. She didnt really know what was happening, but she knew she didnt want to die in Manhattan, trapped like a rat as she choked to death on the black smoke. All the primitive fear of the unknownawakened within me robbing me of all reason, she wrote. Only one thing remained to do[:] run fly get on the fastest thing on wheels, and go as far and as quickly as our (last) six dollars would take us.

When the Paultzes burst out the front door of their building, they found the streets largely empty, apart from one lone stranger peacefully leaning against the doorway. Rapidly they explained the situation to him: the invaders, the war machines, the poison gas. Then he took off in a panic down Fifteenth Street, desperate to reach the subway stop in Union Square. But the Paultzes, sprinting just ahead of him, got there first. They dashed down the stairs and through the turnstile, then jumped onto a train heading uptown. They got off at Forty-second Street, expecting to find Penn Station, but instead found themselves staring at the glittery brilliance of Times Square. Theyd missed their stop. Then we remembered that the Pennsylvania station is on 34th, Estelle wrote. Back we went to 34th running all the wayheeding nothingstopping for nothing flying for our livesbefore this horrible unknown.

Eight blocks and less than ten minutes later, John and Estelle made it to the massive neoclassical faade of Penn Station. They darted between the immense Doric columns and down into the cavernous waiting room, then spent most of their remaining six dollars on two tickets to Hartford, Connecticut. There they hoped they might be safe, or at least might be able to make it to the open spaces. They hurried to the platform and, hand clenched in hand, got on their train shortly before it left the station. Nothing to do but sit tensewhite faced and wait, Estelle wrote, while the train raced.

The Paultzes shared their car with several other passengers, none of whom seemed at all concerned about the invaders menacing New York. Clearly, they had missed the news. John and Estelle congratulated themselves on making it to the train ahead of the panic stricken mob that was sure to follow as soon as they heard! But when, somewhere in Connecticut, the train suddenly and inexplicably slowed to a halt, the Paultzes nearly went mad with anxiety. Apparently, none of the other passengers took notice of their terror. Why had the train stopped? Estelle wondered. What had happened ahead? On the radio, she had heard that the invaders were tearing up railroad tracks and destroying power lines, in order to crush resistance, paralyze communication, and disorganize human society. Had the invaders already reached Connecticut? Were they just ahead, bearing down on the train?

Unable to contain himself, John leaned toward two college students sitting nearby and explained the situation. Word of the invasion rapidly ricocheted around the car, and a crowd soon gathered around the Paultzes. One of the passengers went to find a conductor, to ask why they had stopped, and came back with an explanation. A woman on the train had fallen sick, he said, and an ambulance was coming to pick her up. But by now, the entire car was half convinced that the story of the invasion was true. Estelle was probably not alone in thinking that the conductor had made up the sick woman to keep the passengers calm.