”Adventures in time and space…told in future tense!”

Before 1950, science fiction had never been fully realized on radio; the genre was usually relegated to kiddie fare like Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, or an occasional production on Escape or Suspense. Even the success of Orson Welles’ classic “War of the Worlds” in 1938 couldn’t help the genre get a toehold (though NBC did take a stab at it in 1941 with a hybrid series, Latitude Zero). With the release of Universal-International’s Destination Moon (1950), a boom in sci-fi finally made radio sit up and take notice—three series debuted within a single month in 1950: Two-Thousand Plus (on Mutual), Beyond Tomorrow (CBS) and the most successful of the three, NBC’s Dimension X.

Although Dimension X’s radio run was relatively brief (April 8, 1950-September 29, 1951), the series was a breath of fresh air for audio drama, at a time when radio was watching its audience slowly wane. D-X’s scripts were adapted from the finest writers in the field of science fiction: Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Kurt Vonnegut, and many others who wrote for the premiere magazine Astounding Science Fiction. As the show’s producer, Van Woodward, explained matter-of-factly: “We went the ‘adaptation route’ simply because that’s where the best stories are.”

Dimension X distinguished itself by making enormous strides in the field of special effects, with two and sometimes three SFX artists working per show. The programs were produced in a massive studio two stories high, ideal for “tremendous echo effects” that no equipment at that point in time could effectively record. Albert Berman composed both the show’s memorable opening theme (which combined organ, cymbals, and tympanic rolls) and futuristic musical scores which made liberal use of the Theremin. The series also had the luxury of some of the finest New York acting talent participating in its productions, Joseph Julian, Santos Ortega, Alexander Scourby, Lawson Zerbe, Joan Alexander, Jan Miner, Les Damon, and Joseph Curtin.

The series’ premiere episode, “The Outer Limit,” got things off to a good start, though the fact that it had been dramatized previously on both Suspense and Escape tempered the enthusiasm somewhat. Before long, however, D-X began churning out an endless number of classic sci-fi tales: “No Contact,” “Knock,” “The Green Hills of Earth,” “Universe” (a particular fave of mine), and “The Martian Death March,” to name but only a few.

Last night, I killed an hour of what I laughingly refer to as my job by listening to “Nightmare” (originally broadcast June 10, 1951), which is another favorite of mine. The program stars John Gibson (best remembered as the sardonic bartender Ethelbert on Casey, Crime Photographer) as Samson Gurney, a statistician who is working with a super computer at a construction company and discovers that what appears to be a series of random accidents is in fact a plot by machines to destroy humanity. This tale, based on Stephen Vincent Benet’s “Revolt of the Machines,” was adapted for D-X by future Emmy winner George Lefferts (who, along with fellow NBC staffer Ernest Kinoy, scripted many of the show’s adaptations). Lefferts also adapted the second show I listened to, William Tenn’s “Child’s Play” (6/24/51), with features Leon Janney, Karl Weber, and Patsy Campbell in a tale about an attorney who receives a “Build-a-Man” kit, a child’s toy from the future. This is a good, semi-humorous story with a slightly chilling ending reminiscent of Ray Bradbury’s “Marionettes, Inc.”

Like Escape and its 1955-58 offspring, X-Minus One, Dimension X was handicapped by frequent timeslot shuffling (the show once disappeared from NBC’s schedule for nineteen weeks during 1951) and its status as a sustained series (it was briefly sponsored by General Mills-Wheaties for two months beginning in July 1950) to achieve any long-lasting success. But the quality of its drama remained first-rate, and it continues to be—along with X-1—radio’s premier science fiction series. OTR fans are fortunate in that D-X’s fifty shows still exist today in excellent sound, so that future generations can listen to the magic and wonderment of “DIMENSION X…X…x…x…x…x…”

”These are stories of the future, adventures in which you’ll live in a million could-be years on a thousand may-be worlds…”

In the entry for the classic science fiction series X-Minus One in John Dunning’s invaluable On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio, the radio historian writes that “the most interesting dramatic radio of the 1955 season was produced by two genre series, Gunsmoke, a western, and this space opera.” I’m inclined to agree with Dunning’s assertion, and I’ve often found it interesting that I discovered the delights of “this space opera” and—well, “this horse opera,” at the same time.

Let’s take the WABAC machine to 1983, when a young college student (that would be me, by the way) discovers that the library at Marshall University has a small collection of old-time radio shows on reel-to-reel tape. Still being an OTR novice at the time (I had a small—very small—collection), I did what anyone in my position would do—I went at those tapes like the kid in the proverbial candy store. As production director at the campus radio station, I was allowed access to the production studios on the weekend and I took every one of those tapes and dubbed off copies for myself—I just wish I had managed to hang onto them. A March 14, 1956 episode of X-Minus One, “Tunnel Under the World,” still continues to resonate with me today. Based on a story by Frederick Pohl, it’s about an experiment conducted by an ad agency that it so monstrous it…well, I can’t do the program justice by describing it. I heartily recommend that you seek that particular one out, because the ending will knock your socks off.

Since radio is often referred to as “the theater of the mind,” I’ve always believed that both it and the genre of science fiction are a match made in heaven. Both depend heavily on the power of the individual’s imagination; indeed, when sci-fi is presented either on television or the silver screen, I’m in awe for maybe five seconds, and then I start wondering what kind of special effects or, as Arch Oboler once humorously described such visual trickery, “paper mache” it took to put the production together. My imagination makes anything more frightening than the efforts of a special effects wizard. I suppose you could attempt something like “Tunnel Under the World” on TV or in the movies with an assist from George Lucas’ bankbook—but why would you want to?

X-Minus One, which debuted over NBC Radio on April 24, 1955, was an extension of an equally fine NBC science fiction anthology, Dimension X (1950-51). X-1’s first 15 broadcasts were adapted from this earlier series, after which it blazed trails with newer “transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space.” Two highly respected sci-fi magazines, Astounding Science Fiction and Galaxy, supplied the material for the series’ stories, with an occasional original—usually penned by either George Lefferts or Ernest Kinoy, two NBC staffers—tossed in for good measure. X-Minus One transcended the usual radio kiddie fare like Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers in favor of adult, literate tales from the likes of the finest science fiction writers: Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, etc. Happy endings were often nudged out by meatier wrap-ups that allowed the “bad guys” to emerge triumphant, like the unforgettable “Mars is Heaven,” an adaptation of Bradbury’s classic short story.

As with Gunsmoke, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a really bad X-1; even the weaker entries manage to avoid the pitfall of being dull. The series maintained a consistently high batting average, with classics like “The Cold Equation,” “Junkyard,” “Hallucination Orbit,” and “The Seventh Victim.” “A Gun For Dinosaur,” “The Skulking Permit,” and “Lulungameena” are also among my personal favorites. I treated myself to a triple helping of 1957 shows last night at work—since the length of X-1 shrank during its later run to accommodate a five-minute network newscast, it was possible to squeeze in three programs on one CD. First, “Volpa” (8/29/57), a bizarre comic entry about a scientist (Nelson Olmsted) who creates a species of flying mutants and convinces them that they hail from another planet in order to play an elaborate practical joke on the world.

Following that was “Saucer of Loneliness” (9/5/57), a quiet, understated piece based on a story by Theodore Sturgeon, in which a woman (Lydia Bruce) finds herself badgered and harassed by government officials and the press after coming into contact with a flying saucer. (I had previously heard this one on Victor Ives’ syndicated The Golden Age of Radio Theater, so it was kind of like “old home week.”) The final show, and my favorite of the three, is “Death Wish” (10/10/57), in which the crew of a spaceship that has been shot out of the solar system tries to solve its problem by computer—which provides them an ingenious (and deliciously ironic) solution.

Like its predecessor, Dimension X, X-1 suffered from an extensive shuffling of its timeslot while on NBC’s schedule, which made it difficult to secure an audience beyond that of its devoted cult following. Yet in the tradition of shows like Escape, it overcame this handicap by showcasing some of the finest radio drama ever broadcast. The program ended its run on January 9. 1958, but the radio renaissance of the 1970s allowed X-Minus One a reprieve: transcriptions from the 1955-58 series were brought back in a test run beginning June 24, 1973. Alas, a resurgence in radio drama was not to be—its scheduling was even more erratic (once a month, sometimes on Saturdays, sometimes Sundays), proving that those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. It came to a sad end on March 22, 1975, but fortunately for both sci-fi and OTR fans, X-1’s entire run has been preserved today—to give a generation of new listeners an opportunity to start another “countdown for blast-off…”

”…each in his orbit of loneliness…”

Day 17 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

Kaleidoscope

Their spaceship blown to pieces, six surviving crew members—Hollis (William Conrad), Applegate (Stacy Harris), Stone (Parley Baer), Laspaire (Howard McNear), Stimson (Sam Edwards), and the ship’s captain (John Dehner)—are set helplessly adrift in space. The men communicate with one another via the headsets in their spacesuits in order to maintain their sanity in the face of their impending deaths.

Ray Bradbury’s classic 1949 science-fiction tale “Kaleidoscope” was adapted by Suspense director-producer Antony Ellis and presented on the program July 12, 1955. This wonderfully moving story is a testament to the talent and genius of the celebrated Bradbury, and in addition, provides irrefutable evidence of the power of the aural medium. To achieve the stunning effect of being stranded in space, the six actors performed in individual isolation booths—and special sound patterns were also developed to convey the illusion of flying debris and open space.

Conrad receives top-billing in the opening credits, and he’s joined on this broadcast by his fellow Gunsmoke co-stars Baer and McNear. In fact, all four members of the celebrated western’s acting ensemble are present and accounted for—Georgia Ellis has a small role at the episode’s poignant conclusion (with the part of her son being played by, coincidentally, her real-life son Jonathan). Dehner and Edwards were also part of Gunsmoke’s stock company, though Dehner later achieved stardom on Frontier Gentleman and Have Gun, Will Travel and Edwards was best known as boyfriend Dexter Franklin on the situation comedy Meet Corliss Archer. Harris was a regular on both the radio and TV Dragnet, and also starred as agent Jim Taylor on This is Your F.B.I. (1945-53).

The Cave

Young Dan Embry (Dick Beals) receives a flashlight for Christmas, prompting him and his friend George (Billy Chapin) to explore a nearby cave. To their surprise and delight, their venture in spelunking reveals a strange, magical world complete with pirates, buried treasure—and a damsel in distress in the form of a princess (Ellen Morgan) in desperate need of being rescued.

Director-producer Ellis revived his earlier December 24, 1950 Escape script—an unusual Christmas fantasy tale—for the December 20, 1955 broadcast of Suspense. It’s very entertaining, perfect for both children and adults, and features a hardy crew of radio veterans—Hans Conried, Ben Wright, Larry Dobkin, and Raymond Lawrence—as the bloodthirsty pirates, with the always reliable John Dehner providing the narration as the adult Dan. Conried, who provided the voice of Captain Hook in the 1953 Walt Disney classic Peter Pan, seems to be having the time of his life, helping himself to seconds and thirds of scenery du jour as the pirate Blackton.

Dick Beals’ high-pitched voice made him the ideal choice for children’s roles—he began his professional radio career in Detroit working on the programs that comprised the George W. Trendle/WXYZ triumvirate: The Lone Ranger, The Green Hornet, and Challenge of the Yukon. He moved to Hollywood in 1952 and secured work with CBS, with appearances on Escape and Gunsmoke. Beals’ most memorable turn on Suspense was a February 1, 1959 episode entitled “Return to Dust,” in which his unique vocal talents were employed to simulate that of a scientist who gets smaller and smaller after an experiment (in shrinking cancer cells) goes horribly awry.

"Peek-a-boo...!!!"

Day 16 of "Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense."

The Screaming Woman

It's Thanksgiving, and ten-year-old Margaret Leary (Sherry Jackson) is returning home from running an errand for her mother. While taking a shortcut through a vacant lot—a place where she and her friends often play—she hears a woman screaming. Margaret runs home to tell her parents (John Dehner, Paula Winslowe) but they remain unconvinced—and Margaret realizes that she alone must save the woman’s life.

When writer Antony Ellis assumed the directing-producing chores on Suspense, he phased out the previous stories based on true-life events and concentrated more on what he felt the show’s fans wanted to hear: science-fiction and horror. Ellis was also a huge fan of the work of fantasy author Ray Bradbury—whose short story, “The Screaming Woman,” was adapted by Sylvia Richards for this March 1, 1955 broadcast.

“The Screaming Woman” had been presented previously on the November 25, 1948 program, with MGM’s star moppet Margaret O’Brien in the lead. (Agnes Moorehead, “the first lady of Suspense,” also appeared on this broadcast, but allowed herself to be unbilled so that O’Brien would receive the honors.) In this 1955 version, child star Sherry Jackson essays the role—she was at that time a featured player on Make Room For Daddy, the popular TV sitcom starring Danny Thomas. In support of Jackson is a first-rate cast featuring Dick Beals, Howard McNear, Eve McVey, and Herb Butterfield—but the standout performance in this drama belongs to John Dehner, who offers a nicely understated turn as Margaret’s father.

Both the 1948 and 1955 editions of “The Screaming Woman” feature a small change in the story’s finale because, according to Bradbury, “broadcast morality in those days would not allow the sort of unhappy ending I originally had in my story.” While I prefer Bradbury’s conclusion, I will admit that the tacked-on “happy ending” doesn’t really hurt the material all that much. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for “The Crowd,” a September 21, 1950 Suspense production adapted by Morton Fine and David Friedkin from another excellent Bradbury story. (Read this one if you can, because it’s a doozy; it involves a photographer who begins to notice that the faces in the crowd that eventually gathers around any murder scene are the same every time.)

Zero Hour

Children all over the world are swept up in a new game called “Invasion,” though their clueless parents don’t seem to care enough to pay any attention. The exception is the mother (Paula Winslowe) of young Mink Morris (Isa Ashdown), who is concerned about the effect the game is having on her child—and further worried that what her daughter refers to as “Zero Hour” is rapidly approaching at five o’clock…

One of my very favorite Ray Bradbury stories was adapted by director-producer Antony Ellis to become one of the most memorably chilling episodes ever broadcast throughout the twenty-year run of Suspense. This classic show—originally heard April 5, 1955—was first presented on Suspense’s sister series, Escape, on October 4, 1953, after which a small controversy erupted, resulting in thousands of letters and phone calls to CBS. Many listeners were complimentary—others were horrified—but the huge response, both positive and negative, convinced Ellis to give the script an encore to Suspense’s larger audience. “Zero Hour” made two additional appearances on the program, on May 18, 1958 and January 3, 1960.

I can certainly understand why some people were unnerved by “Zero Hour” to write and phone the network; nearly fifty years later, this broadcast still packs one hell of a wallop. (As many times as I’ve heard it, I still get tiny hairs sticking up on the back of my neck.) Although child star Ashdown receives top billing in the opening credits, it is clearly Winslowe’s show all the way; I’m fascinated by how she deftly switches from blasé housewife mode (Winslowe starred opposite William Bendix for many years as wife Peg on radio’s The Life of Riley) to Agnes Moorehead-like hysteria by the episode’s conclusion. The rest of the cast—Parley Baer in particular—are equally fine, with a special nod to John Dehner for his flawless, eerie narration.