“From West Virginia they came to stay/In sunny Cali-forn-i-a…”

While looking at some new releases over at DVD Price Search, I saw a listing for The Real McCoys: Season #1 that is apparently going to hit the streets May 22, 2007 courtesy of Infinity Entertainment.   McCoys was a monster sitcom hit for ABC (and later CBS) from 1957-63, starring character great Walter Brennan as cantankerous Amos McCoy, the patriarch of a West Virginia family who uprooted their holdings in the Mountain State and moved westward to California like a modern-day Joad family.  Dick Crenna (now being billed as Richard) co-starred as his grandson Luke, who was married to the magically babe-a-licious Kathleen Nolan as Kate; other regulars in the cast included Lydia Reed, Tony Martinez, Michael Winkelman, Madge Blake and Andy Clyde.

The Real McCoys isn’t entirely new to DVD; Rhino released two “Best of” collections a good while back but I’m glad to see that season-by-season sets are being attempted since the series ushered in the spate of rural situation comedies (The Andy Griffith Show, The Beverly Hillbillies, etc.) that dominated American television in the 1960s.  The series, although relying on the broad depiction of mountain folk for much of its humor, is one of the very few that featured positive images of West Virginians (the only other one I can think of right-off-the-bat is receptionist Jennifer Marlowe, played by Loni Anderson on WKRP in Cincinnati); the family McCoy might have been a bit uninformed on the ways of their adoptive state, but they were certainly a good role model for families back then.  I can’t help but think of the program when the University of Virginia’s “Pep Band” poked fun five years ago at their West Virginia University competitors during half-time by portraying a West Virginia girl as a “Beverly Hillbillies”-type they raised the ire of West Virginia’s then-governor Robert Wise, who demanded an apology from University President John T. Casteen III for the slight.  Had I been in Wise’s shoes, I would have painstakingly pointed out to U.Va. that the Beverly Hillbillies were from Arkansas (not West Virginia), thus saying all that needed to be said on the intelligence running rampant in that institution.  (Sadly, people still invoke the “Beverly Hillbillies” example in describing Mountain State natives to this day, as in the case of this overpaid clown from USA Today.)

Anyhoo, CD Universe is listing the McCoys set at $16.44 (which seems like a steal except their s&h rate is $6.99) for the time being…and there’s also a link to another set being released at the same time entitled Suspense: The Lost Episodes Collection which sounds as if they’re putting together episodes of the television version of “radio’s outstanding theatre of thrills.”  It sounds intriguing; I only wish there was more information to go with it.

Update: I spoke too soon about the Suspense set, DeepDiscount.com has the collection on their website and confirms that it contains thirty episodes from the 1949-54 series based on the long running radio anthology.  Nifty!

“Midnight…the witching hour, when the night is darkest…our fears the strongest…and our strength at its lowest ebb…”

While I was away at my sister’s, I scooped a handful of stray OTR CD’s to take with me, and one of them was an unfamiliar program to me: Murder at Midnight, a syndicated series that originated at WJZ in New York and was broadcast September 16, 1946 through September 8, 1947. The verdict: an undistinguished little show, not particularly memorable but easy enough to take—and some of the people involved later went on to greater triumphs.

The series would open with a creepy voice intoning “MURRR-DERRR-A-A-AT-MIIDNIIGHT!”—the voice belonging to a Long Island minister named Raymond Morgan, who had succumbed to the excitement of radio and, in turn, relinquished his career as a man of cloth. The program showcased tales of “Midnight!...when graves gape open and death strikes!”—a polite euphemism for “Um…we went and recycled a bunch of old Inner Sanctum Mysteries scripts.” The producer was Louis G. Cowan, later the creator of television’s The $64,000 Question—and as such, implicated in the subsequent quiz show scandal. Assuming the show’s directorial reins was Anton M. Leader, who would later go on to direct “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills,” Suspense.

Most of the actors on Murder at Midnight were veterans from New York radio: Elspeth Eric, Mercedes McCambridge, Lawson Zerbe, etc. A frequent performer on the show was Berry Kroeger, best remembered by old-time radio fans as the sinister host of several radio mystery programs: he was the original voice of Suspense (June 17-December 22, 1942); a frequent pinch-hitter for “Raymond” (Raymond Edward Johnson) on Inner Sanctum; and the host of the syndicated The Haunting Hour from 1944-46. Other radio roles of Kroeger’s included The Falcon (he originated the role of detective Michael Waring) and The Shadow, where he was called upon to “fill in for Bret Morrison for a few weeks. I’ll never forget that [the director] said the reason he wanted me was because, like Bret, I had a ‘mellifluous voice.’”

Kroeger’s melodic tones are present and accounted for in the first of two Murder at Midnight programs I previewed, “The House Where Death Lived” (12/23/46). He plays Dr. Goff, a psychic researcher who buys a haunted house—haunted because the previous owner murdered his wife. It’s a surprisingly good entry, thanks to a solid script by writer Robert Newman, and appropriately eerie organ music by Charles Paul.

Unfortunately, scribe Newman strikes out with the second show, “Death Across the Board” (a undated show that was recorded but never broadcast)—in which Dr. John Strand (Eric Dressler) is admiring a chess set in a pawnshop, which its proprietor informs him is not for sale. Strand then finds himself in a living Hitchcock flick as he becomes a life-size chess piece in a deadly game of chess. It’s an interesting story premise, but its execution falls sort of flat. According to Jerry Haendiges’ log, Murder at Midnight had one more brief run on Mutual in 1950—but the programs consisted of the previously syndicated repeats.

”…designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half-hour of high adventure…”

During the “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense” marathon this month, frequent mention was made of the CBS series Escape and how it was considered by many to be the “sister show” of Suspense. If these shows—with the addition of a third program, Romance—were indeed siblings, then Escape was undoubtedly the “middle child.” So I thought I would devote a post to this “Jan Brady” of dramatic anthologies; I previewed two broadcasts at work last night because—believe me—in my line of work one needs a little “high adventure.”

Escape never received the lavish attention received by its older sister, Suspense—throughout its seven-year run (July 7, 1947-September 25, 1954), the show was shifted around in 18 different time slots, and except for a brief period from April-August 1950 (when it was sponsored by Richfield Oil) it was sustained by the CBS radio network. The top-flight Hollywood talent present on “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills” rarely if ever got a showcase on Escape, although there were some exceptions: Victor Mature, Edmond O’Brien, and Vincent Price, to name a few.

Yet Escape is held in high-esteem by fans of Radio’s Golden Age; although I like both shows, I sometimes wonder if Escape isn’t a little bit superior to the better-known Suspense. What the series lacked in big-time budget or celebrity guest stars it more than made up for in the best talent radio had to offer: performers like Elliott Lewis, Jeanette Nolan, Jack Webb, Lillian Buyeff, Hans Conried, Vivi Janiss, Harry Bartell, and Georgia Ellis were just a small sample of the fine performers featuring in front of Escape’s microphone each week. Distinguished veterans like William N. Robson and Norman Macdonnell oversaw the production-direction, and exceptional scripts were provided by the likes of Les Crutchfield, John Dunkel, Gil Doud, E. Jack Neumann and Kathleen Hite. Time and time again, Escape demonstrated that it could still be an outstanding show minus the “Hollywood gloss.”

While stories of mystery and crime were the bailiwick of Suspense, Escape concentrated more on tales of “high adventure”: war, westerns, supernatural horror and science-fiction. Esteemed authors like Rudyard Kipling, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Joseph Conrad provided much of the source material for the program, which set Escape apart from the other dramatic anthologies on the air at that same time. (I previously pointed out how many of the originals from Escape—“Zero Hour,” “Three Skeleton Key,” “Leiningen vs. the Ants”—resurfaced on Suspense during that show’s later seasons.) Some of my personal favorites include “Evening Primrose” (which I’ve mentioned a time or two); “Poison” (7/28/50, with Jack Webb and William Conrad), a real sweat-inducer in which a man wakes up to find that a deadly snake has joined him in his bunk; and “A Shipment of Mute Fate” (3/28/48, with Harry Bartell), another spine-tingling snake tale in which an African bushmaster is accidentally let loose on a passenger ship. (Full disclosure: I think my intense dislike of snakes might explain why I’m so fond of two of these shows, because they give me the willies.)

Escape featured one of radio’s most memorable openings, with either William Conrad or Paul Frees (they alternated every week during the show’s early run) intoning: “Tired of the everyday grind? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you…ESCAPE!” The orchestra would then strike up Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain and within seconds the listener would be transported to a Caribbean jungle or an icy glacier, effectively putting you in the shoes of that episode’s protagonist.

The first show I listened to last night was “The Scarlet Plague,” originally broadcast April 8, 1954 and adapted by Les Crutchfield from the novel by Jack London. It’s a chilling depiction of human existence after an apocalyptic plague spreads like wildfire and kills the world’s millions—the cast includes Vic Perrin, Parley Baer, Virginia Gregg. John Dehner, Eleanore Tanin, John Larch, Barney Philips and Sam Edwards. Following that, “Affair at Mandrake”—a taut espionage thriller (broadcast April 15, 1954) with Dehner as a British Army major assigned to command a battalion conducting field tests with rockets in Mandrake Forest. Again, a superlative supporting cast consisting of Baer, Joseph Kearns, Richard Peale, Gary Montgomery, Lawrence Dobkin and Ben Wright (who also wrote the script), adds immeasurably to this production.

Of the more than 200 episodes originally broadcast on Escape, there are but a mere handful that are missing today, which is wonderful news for the novice listener, as hours and hours of great radio drama awaits (and ultimately rewards). Several shows are available in both East Coast and West Coast versions; the East Coast shows are distinguished by the presence of a full orchestra, while the West Coast broadcasts (repeats usually performed a few days later with the same cast) have organ music as accompaniment.

”…which might mean something…or might mean nothing…”

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

The Black Door

Archaeologist Landry (Robert Readick) and his guide Pablo (Ralph Camargo) are exploring the ruins of the Lost City of the Fire God, the location of which was told to Pedro by his grandfather, who stumbled across it years earlier. Gramps also told his grandson about “la puerta negra” (the black door), which leads the two men to an underground city inhabited by creatures with human bodies...and dog-like heads...

“The Black Door” (broadcast November 19, 1961) is one of two broadcasts included on The Best of Suspense box set from the series’ final year—the script, written by Robert Arthur, had been previously presented on Mutual’s The Mysterious Traveler March 18, 1952. It’s not terrible, but it does illustrate that “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills” was definitely on life-support by that time.

The series had moved its production base to New York in late August 1959, and with its relocation, secured a new director-producer in Paul Roberts. (Roberts had previously helmed a CBS crime series called Indictment from 1956-59.) Suspense would continue to feature fine performances from the crème de la crème of New York talent—folks like Jackson Beck, Bret Morrison, Raymond Edward Johnson and Mason Adams—but the incredible shrinking budget made scripts for the series very hard to come by. When Bruno Zarato, Jr. became director-producer on June 25, 1961, he made do with old scripts (paying a total of $350 for the whole lot) from series like Radio City Playhouse and, as mentioned, The Mysterious Traveler, plus some contributions from actors on the show, like Ralph Bell.

Suspense was actually resurrected from the radio dead in 1961—it had originally received the axe on November 27, 1960, along with the likes of Have Gun, Will Travel, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, and The Amos ‘n’ Andy Music Hall. Johnny Dollar got a reprieve and returned on January 7, 1961—and Suspense was brought back several months later to replace the now-cancelled Gunsmoke.

The Second Door

Gordon Saunders (Robert Readick) begins to question as to just what is reality and what is illusion when he’s introduced to Dr. Howard Ederly (Paul McGrath) and his daughter Merilla (Barbara Cassar). Ederly, it would appear, has invented a door that can take any individual anywhere they desire in a matter of seconds.

Now, I will confess that I haven’t listened to a lot of Suspense episodes from its final period, but if this broadcast and “The Black Door” represent the best this venerable series had to offer then it was time to grab the paddles and yell “Clear!” Well, that might be a little harsh—again, “The Second Door” isn’t that awful, just “aggressively average,” as a friend of mine might say. This May 6, 1962 broadcast was scripted by Robert Readick (who also played the lead) who apparently had a lot in common with the episode’s protagonist in that he suffered from a case of schizophrenia, and had difficulty differentiating reality from illusion as well. Readick, who began his radio career at age 8 on the CBS series Let’s Pretend, came from a prominent show business family: his grandfather was an accomplished stage actor, and his father Frank starred as The Shadow during that program’s early years on the air. (Frank would later achieve radio immortality as reporter Carl Phillips in the legendary Orson Welles broadcast of “The War of the Worlds.”)

There have been some comparisons made between this episode and the 1999 film The Matrix but since I’m probably the only person in the entire Western Hemisphere who hasn’t seen the film (scavenger hunters take note) I’ll simply have to take their word for it. I did notice, though, that radio veteran Robert Dryden has a small part in this broadcast—Dryden passed away recently on December 16, 2003, having established a distinguished career in radio, TV, theater, and film. (Dryden was a noteworthy presence on Himan Brown’s The CBS Radio Mystery Theater from 1974-82. R.I.P, Robert.)

Shortly six months after this broadcast, Suspense wrapped up its twenty-year run on radio and was cancelled—along with Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar—by CBS on September 30, 1962. To paraphrase Don McLean, it was “the day the radio died.”

Epilogue

All in all, I was pretty pleased with most of the choices on The Best of Suspense, although I still wonder how some classic episodes—“August Heat,” “Track of the Cat,” “Wet Saturday,” “Banquo’s Chair,” “Return Trip,” and “Ordeal at Donner Pass,” to name but a few—got overlooked. (If they had dropped “The Bullet,” the programs with Escape origins, and these last two clinkers they certainly would have the room.) Then, of course, there are some of my personal favorites: “Dead of Night,” “Three O’Clock,” “Post Mortem,” “You Take Ballistics,” “Death on My Hands,” and “The Giant of Thermopylae” that got lost in the shuffle as well. If this box set were a term paper, I’d probably give it a B+. Thanks to everyone for indulging me in this Suspense-a-thon—beginning tomorrow, it’ll be B.A.U. here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.

”…they’re an elemental force, a gigantic catastrophe…an act of God…”

Day 19 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

Present Tense

A condemned axe murderer (Vincent Price) who is being transported to the death house seizes an opportunity to escape his fate as a result of a train wreck. He returns home, and finds that the individual whose murder he’s been convicted of—his wife (Ellen Morgan)—is alive and well and carrying on with her lover (Joe de Santis). He kills them both, and in doing so finds himself on the same train…only to escape, and kill again…is he trapped in some sort of time warp?

“Present Tense,” broadcast on Suspense March 3, 1957, brings Vincent Price back to a role that he had previously essayed on Escape January 31, 1950. (The script’s author, James Poe, also adapted “Three Skeleton Key,” which Price performed on the same series March 17, 1950.) It’s an interesting story, even a bit humorous, since Price gets to “ham” it up as only he can, but the ending’s a bit predictable, particularly if you’re familiar with Ambrose Bierce’s classic “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” (which was also performed on both Escape and Suspense).

The supporting cast of “Present Tense” includes two interesting radio veterans: Jack Kruschen, a well-known character actor who gave memorable performances in films like The Apartment (1960; he was nominated for Best Supporting Actor in that year’s Oscar race) and Cape Fear (1962). Kruschen made the rounds on many of the shows of Radio’s Golden Age, particularly Dragnet and Gunsmoke, and even had a regular gig on Broadway’s My Beat (1949-54) as Sergeant Muggavan. Talented voice man Daws Butler also appears here in two separate roles; he played frequent bit parts on Suspense but is probably best remembered as the voice of many of the cartoon characters in the Hanna-Barbera stable (Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound, Quick Draw McGraw, etc.), proving he was just as versatile as his colleagues Paul Frees and June Foray when it came to dramatic parts.

By the time of this broadcast, Gunsmoke announcer George Walsh (“They satisfy…the most…”) was doing double duty on this program as well—he had a memorable bassy, foreboding quality to his intonation of “…and nowwwwww…another tale well-calculated to keep you in…” When the production of Suspense moved from Hollywood to New York (beginning August 30, 1959), Walsh could still be heard during the show’s opening and commercial breaks, but the episode title and cast fell to Stuart Metz, who took over full announcing chores on June 25, 1961 until the series left the air.

Leiningen vs. the Ants

An army of flesh-eating ants are working their way across the jungle, threatening to invade and devour the plantation of wealthy owner Leiningen (William Conrad). Leiningen has other ideas—but can he really hope to defeat millions and millions of hungry Army ants?

Considered by many to be radio’s ultimate adventure tale, “Leiningen vs. the Ants” was adapted for this August 25, 1957 Suspense broadcast by writer Robert Ryf from the short story of the same name by Carl Stephenson. (It would be again showcased on Suspense a second time—sans Conrad—on November 29, 1959.) I remember an assignment in a high school English class whereupon we had to do a verbal report on a short story, taking care not to reveal the ending in the hopes that our fellow classmates’ interest would be piqued as to read these tales in their copious free time. (I can’t recall which story I did my report on, but a friend of mine chose Stephenson’s classic tale, and I felt a teensy bit smug since I knew its outcome, having listened to it on Escape. I’d like to say that my classmates, envious of my knowledge and power, demanded that I reveal the ending—but in order for me to do so I would have to provide irrefutable evidence that they cared.)

Like the previously mentioned “Three Skeleton Key,” “Leiningen vs. the Ants” is a story I associate with Escape, so I must reiterate that it’s a bit like cheating, including it in this box set. I will say, however, that Conrad’s performance in this broadcast is especially good, in fact, he played the title role on three different occasions (in an adaptation by writer Les Crutchfield) on the series “designed to free you from the four walls of today.” Conrad was unfortunately overlooked when the story hit the silver screen in 1954 as The Naked Jungle (he played the Commissioner—a part performed by Ben Wright in this 8/25/57 broadcast); the lead role ended up going to Charlton Heston (“Get your feelers off of me, you damn dirty ant!”). “Leiningen vs. the Ants” was also “borrowed” for a plot line in an episode of MacGyver (“Trumbo’s World,” 11/10/85), but my advice to you is to stick with the radio version. You’ll thank me later.

”You’re about to experience…one of the most terrifying half-hours in your entire life…”

Day 18 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Waxwork

A down-and-out reporter looking for a story to sell to a newspaper agrees to spend a night in the “Murderer’s Den” exhibit of the local wax museum. An unnerving experience, to be sure—especially when he swears he can see one of the exhibits moving…

Certainly one of the most audacious of all the Suspense broadcasts, “The Waxwork,” from May 1, 1956, is literally a one-man tour-de-force: William Conrad plays all the characters in this show, including the narrator. Despite the fact that he doesn’t possess the versatility of a Paul Frees or Ben Wright (Conrad once joked that he was “the man of a thousand voice”) he still manages to pull it off; his scene where he discovers one of the wax figures moving is an incredible bit of radio acting, you could cut the hysteria present in his booming voice with a knife. On a personal note, William Conrad—for me, anyway—remains the only Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke, miles and away superior to that TV guy…you know, the one that plays the “intellectual carrot” in The Thing From Another World (1951). If you’ve ever been curious as to how the famous TV western might have looked had Conrad been chosen for the role, you should check out a little-known gem called The Ride Back (1957), which was released on DVD just last year. The script for the movie was written by Suspense director-producer Antony Ellis, and was originally broadcast as a Gunsmoke episode June 28, 1952. (Sadly, this is one of a handful of Gunsmokes that has not survived for us to enjoy today.)

“The Waxwork” was an encore performance of a Suspense episode originally heard March 20, 1947 starring Claude Rains, and was broadcast a third time with Herbert Marshall as the lead on May 1, 1959. The script was adapted by Mel Dinelli from a 1933 story written by Alfred M. Burrage, and is definitely a must-hear for any fan of the show.

Three Skeleton Key

Jean (Vincent Price), Louis (John Dehner), and Auguste (Ben Wright) are in charge of a maintaining a lighthouse, and one night they witness a derelict ship break up on the nearby reefs. The ship may be devoid of any human life, but the three men soon discover that the passengers have disembarked and are headed toward the lighthouse—an invading army of millions and millions of hungry rats!

“Three Skeleton Key,” was a long-time favorite horror tale of many listeners during the Golden Age of Radio, and it remains so for modern-day fans today. It was broadcast on Suspense on November 11, 1956 (with an encore on October 19, 1958) and it marked one of the early episodes directed and produced by the newly-hired William N. Robson, or as he was billed, “the master of mystery and adventure.” Robson sought to reestablish the show’s former prestige, and with the signing on of several new sponsors (Fitch Shampoo, Kent Cigarettes, Four-Way Cold Tablets)—allowing CBS to increase the show’s budget slightly—he was able to bring back an occasional big-name to guest star, as witnessed by the presence here of horror movie icon Vincent Price.

Robson was no stranger to the program, having directed a January 31, 1948 Suspense show, “Bet With Death.” He had a long, distinguished radio career helming such critically acclaimed series as The Man Behind the Gun and The CBS Radio Workshop. He’s best-known, however, as the director of Suspense’s sister series, Escape, which ran on CBS from July 7, 1947 to September 25, 1954. During Robson’s stint with Suspense, he often went to Escape’s well for inspiration and scripts (as did his predecessor Ellis), which explains the presence of “Three Skeleton Key,” which was first adapted by James Poe from the 1937 story by George Gustave Toudouze and broadcast November 15, 1949. It would become one of the most requested of the program’s many fine broadcasts (always referred to by fans as “the story about the rats”), and it was encored twice, on March 17, 1950 (which also starred Price) and August 9, 1953.

Which leads to a tiny quibble: “Three Skeleton Key” is one of my all-time favorite radio plays, and I’m always up to listen to a broadcast—but it’s a show that I identify more with Escape, not Suspense. (Of its three Escape appearances, I think the March 17, 1950 broadcast is the best.) I think the individuals putting together this CD box set would have been better served leaving it out and choosing a worthy replacement, less it spoil a future The Best of Escape collection (in case anyone from Radio Spirits is reading this, hint, hint).

That nit-pick aside, “Three Skeleton Key” remains even today one of the most spine-tingling horror dramas ever broadcast, and every aspect of the show, from the sound effects of the ravenous rats (achieved by crunching/chewing berry baskets and rubbing cork against glass) to the performances (Price, as usual, is nothing short of magnificent) comes together to make a show that forever remains in the memory. As director-producer Robson comments in his opening remarks before the play, “It is unconditionally guaranteed to chill your blood…unless you happen to love rats…”

”…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.

”…tit for tat, measure for measure, love for love…whatever a man does comes back to him…”

Day 15 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Earth is Made of Glass

A line from Ralph Waldo Emerson—“Commit a crime, and the Earth is made of glass”—provokes a discussion between Richard Thomas Steele (Joseph Kearns) and his friend Elliott (Herb Butterfield) on the concept of “compensation” (the notion that doing good is rewarded with good while doing evil by punished by the same). Steele dismisses the whole idea as “twaddle,” and plans to prove his argument by murdering a total stranger in an “emotional vacuum”—a random individual to which he has no ties or connection.

An entertaining tale scripted for Suspense by Sylvia Richards, “The Earth is Made of Glass” was broadcast for a second time on June 15, 1954 (the earlier version, starring the ubiquitous Joseph Cotten, was originally heard September 27, 1945). This was the first of six episodes to be directed and produced by Elliott Lewis after the show lost its longtime sponsor Autolite the previous week. Lewis would then leave the series and the director-producer reins were taken over for a brief period by Gunsmoke’s Norman Macdonnell (who had served as director under producer William Spier during the program’s 1949-50 season).

With CBS now footing the bill for “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills,” the budget was lowered for Suspense, putting a crimp on the program’s traditional weekly roster of big-name Hollywood guest stars. Instead, many members of the show’s stock company—Joseph Kearns, John Dehner, Mary Jane Croft, Parley Baer, Ben Wright—were elevated to top-billing in the series’ productions. “The Earth is Made of Glass” serves as a wonderful showcase for the talents of Joe Kearns, who gives a splendid performance as Steele. Kearns had been with Suspense almost from the get-go; in fact, he was the on-mike "voice" of director Alfred Hitchcock on the program’s Forecast audition, “The Lodger” (7/22/40), and later took over the announcing chores from Barry Kroeger (after the show’s summer run) in 1942, serving in that capacity until 1948. (Kearns was referred to as “The Man in Black” from 1943-45, a character not unlike the host of The Whistler, whom Kearns also played on that program’s early broadcasts.) Paul Frees became “The Voice of Suspense” from 1948-50, and Kearns returned to the show for another year before relinquishing the job to Larry Thor.

Kearns was an actor adept at both drama and comedy; he was frequently employed on The Jack Benny Program as one of the many “stooges,” and he also had roles on A Date With Judy and Our Miss Brooks (where he played the school superintendent, Mr. Stone—a part he also played on the TV version of Brooks). Kearns is probably best-remembered by audiences today as “good ol’ Mr. Wilson” in the TV series based on the comic strip Dennis the Menace. Kearns, unfortunately, passed away in 1962 during the show’s third season—he was then replaced by Gale Gordon as the cranky next-door neighbor.

“The Earth is Made of Glass” is an excellent example of how Suspense emerged unscathed after losing its weekly-guest-star gimmick; indeed, programs like The Whistler and Escape rarely showcased guest stars, and they remained just as entertaining if not more so. This broadcast features a top-notch supporting cast—Whitfield Connor, Charlotte Lawrence, Jerry Hausner, Paula Winslowe and Junius Matthews—and a delicious surprise twist at the conclusion; definitely an underrated winner on all counts.

The Last Letter of Dr. Bronson

Dr. Bronson (John Dehner) has a revolutionary theory that there are five “checks” (for example, fear of the law) that keep any individual from committing murder. He sets out to prove this theory by conducting a bizarre experiment in which he extends to five people the opportunity to murder him…and get away with it.

A companion piece—one might even say its doppelganger—to the previously mentioned “The Earth is Made of Glass,” “The Last Letter of Dr. Bronson” (broadcast November 4, 1954) marked the third time around for this adaptation (by Leonard St. Clair) of Richard Kreyke’s well-told short story. It was first broadcast on Suspense on July 27, 1943 with George Coulouris and Laird Cregar, and then again with Henry Daniell on August 15, 1946.

What makes this version so good is the presence of actor John Dehner in the title role; a man who became one of the truly great character actors of movies, radio and TV. He was originally employed by the Walt Disney Studios as an animator (working on both Fantasia and Bambi) before giving radio a try, hosting the radio horror show The Hermit’s Cave over KMPC in Los Angeles in 1942 (where he also met up-and-comer William Conrad). He soon became a pivotal member of director-producer Norman Macdonnell’s stock company of actors, appearing on shows like Suspense, Escape, and especially Gunsmoke. Later still, as the Golden Age of Radio came to a close, he starred in two of its finest western series: Frontier Gentleman (1958), considered second only to Gunsmoke as radio’s all-time best western, and Have Gun, Will Travel (1958-60), a radio version of the hit TV western starring Richard Boone. Dehner is joined in “The Last Letter of Dr. Bronson” by a splendid supporting cast: Parley Baer, Howard Culver, Paul Richards, James Nusser and Virginia Gregg—who worked alongside Dehner on Have Gun, Will Travel as Missy Wong.

Director-producer Macdonnell stayed with Suspense until December 1954; the network then hired writer Antony Ellis to take over the production reins, which he did until October 16, 1956. As a writer, Ellis had previously contributed scripts to not only Suspense but also Escape, On Stage, Pursuit, and Gunsmoke (his wife, Georgia, played Miss Kitty on the program). The blending of all this exceptional acting/directing/writing/producing talent is the main reason why Suspense continued to be such a major force in radio drama, maintaining its high-quality standards even during the soon-to-be-numbered days of Radio’s Golden Age.

”It was a small item…I doubt if many people read it…”

Day 14 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Moonstone

Franklin Blake (Peter Lawford) returns to England to execute the will of his deceased uncle, Colonel John Hancastle, long considered the “black sheep” of the family. While in India, the Colonel made off with a sacred jewel—nicknamed “The Moonstone”—from an idol of an Indian moon god. Though there are many who believe it to be cursed, he has bequeathed the precious stone to his niece Rachel (Ellen Morgan), daughter of his sister Lady Julia Verinder (Norma Varden), on her first birthday after his death. Blake presents his cousin with the gem the night of her party—but in the morning, the diamond is discovered stolen. There are no shortage of suspects: a group of Indian jugglers, a maid named Rosanna (Betty Hartford)—even Rachel herself. The mystery continues on for a year until new information on the diamond’s theft develops as a result of one suspect’s untimely death.

Richard Chandlee adapted this two-part Suspense play (broadcast November 16 and 23, 1953) from the classic 1868 novel by Wilkie Collins—considered by many, particularly his friend T.S. Eliot, to be “the first, the longest, and the best of the modern English detective novels.” Collins, also a close friend and collaborator of author Charles Dickens, introduced in the novel one of the earliest fictional detectives, Sergeant Cuff (played on this program by talented radio character actor Ben Wright). The novel’s plot—the search for a missing gem—could also have very well inspired later works of detective fiction, like Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon.

“The Moonstone” was the last of four two-part productions to be presented during Suspense’s twenty year run during the Golden Age of Radio. In addition to this and the previously reviewed “Donovan’s Brain,” the program also presented the Dickens’ novel “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” (January 5 and 12, 1953) and William Shakespeare’s “Othello” (May 4 and 11, 1953) in two-part adaptations. While I enjoyed “The Moonstone,” a remarkably understated yet intriguing mystery, I might have gone with “Othello” as a better choice for the CD box set due to its novelty and more daring production, showcasing an amazing cast that includes Elliott & Cathy Lewis, Richard Widmark, William Conrad, Joseph Kearns and Irene Tedrow. Still, I heartily recommend you give “The Moonstone” a listen; in addition to those previous mentioned the cast includes such great talents as William Johnstone, Herb Butterfield, Alistair Duncan, Dick Beals, and Eric Snowden. Listen closely enough, and you’ll also hear Patricia Hitchcock (daughter of Sir Alfred) in a small role as the daughter of Bettridge (Snowden), Lady Verinder’s faithful steward.

”This is not a pretty story…”

Day 13 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Treasure Chest of Dan Jose

Don Jose Gasparillas (J. Carrol Naish) is the great-great-grandson of his namesake, better known as the “King of the Pirates”—whose booty of precious gold doubloons has never been found. When a hurricane inadvertently reveals the location of the missing treasure chest, Gasparillas goes off in search of it. But this legendary treasure carries with it an equally legendary curse—one that allegedly resulted in the deaths of both his father and grandfather. Don Jose’s discovery of a dead body amidst the chest of doubloons suggests that there just might be something to that curse after all…

“The Treasure Chest of Don Jose,” originally broadcast on February 4, 1952, was written for Suspense by Christopher Anthony, and features Life With Luigi star J. Carrol Naish in the title role. It’s a very good entry in the series, one that has faint overtones of the 1948 film classic The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Although Naish is terrific in a wonderfully sympathetic performance, I was personally more impressed by Joseph Kearns’ turn as the police chief; he nicely captures the dry, Titus Moody-like demeanor of a native New Englander. Kearns would later team up with actor Edgar Barrier in an encore performance of this tale, broadcast June 26, 1956.

The Wreck of the Old 97

On a cold frosty morning/In the month of September/When the clouds were hangin’ low/Ninety-seven pulled out/Of the Washington station/Like an arrow shot from a bow

“The Wreck of the Old 97,” an interesting dramatic experiment from Suspense’s director-producer Elliott Lewis, was broadcast to a tremendous audience response on March 17, 1952, becoming the most well-received program of the 1951-52 season. It tells in story and song of the historical September 27, 1903 tragic train wreck detailed in the folk ballad “The Ship That Never Returned,” by Henry C. Work. Although Suspense curiously never returned to the story for an encore appearance, guest star Frank Lovejoy (who played the role of the train’s engineer) did stop by the following week’s broadcast (“A Murder of Necessity,” with Robert Young) to thank the listeners for their enthusiastic support.

Lewis, however, did manage to do several other episodes based on folk ballads in the wake of this broadcast’s success, including “Frankie and Johnny” (5/5/52, with Dinah Shore), “The Death of Barbara Allen” (10/20/52, with Anne Baxter), and “My True Love’s Hair (10/19/53, with Jeff Chandler). The balladeer who sings “The Wreck of the Old 97,” Harry Stanton, returned the following year to Suspense to sing “Tom Dooley,” in an episode starring Joseph Cotten (3/30/53) and based on the 1866 folk song.

During Lewis’ stint as producer-director, many of Suspense’s scripts were often based on real-life historical events in addition to the series’ more traditional fiction-based entries. “The Wreck of the Old 97” is an excellent example of how this experimentation worked extremely well; from the top-notch script (from writers Mindred Lord and Christopher Anthony) to the equally fine performances from the episode’s cast (Lovejoy, Junius Matthews, Roy Glenn, Joseph Kearns, Jack Kruschen, Clayton Post, Eddie Firestone, and Herb Butterfield), this show is a true winner in every respect.

”Ruth? Turn around, Ruth…”

Day 12 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Bullet

Harry Martin (Elliott Lewis) has just been released from a three-year stretch in prison, and his wife Ruth (Ida Lupino) has transformed his failing business into a booming success during that span of time. But Harry is jealous of Ruth’s newly-acquired independent streak, and when Ruth asks him for a divorce so that she may marry her lover (William Conrad), he demands that she sign a divorce decree turning over the entire business to him. She refuses, and Harry makes her life a continual hell by pointing a gun to her head and pulling the trigger with a resounding…CLICK! Sure, the gun is empty—but what’s to guarantee it will stay that way?

Written for Suspense by Larry Marcus, “The Bullet,” originally broadcast December 29, 1949, is the first real clinker in The Best of Suspense CD box set. What sinks this episode—and what makes me scratch my head in complete puzzlement as to why it was included in the first place—is an ending that destroys the credibility of everything that preceded it.

There are some things of interest in “The Bullet”: Elliott Lewis gives a memorably slimy performance (and even receives billing in the show’s opening credits) as the abusive, no-good louse of a husband, and William Conrad nearly matches him as Lupino’s paramour—who may even be more of a creep than Lewis’ character. But the biggest disappointment resides in Lupino; for a newly-independent female she certainly lets herself be pushed around by Lewis a lot. It’s also hard to swallow that she could love either of these two jerks; she’s a graduate of the Barbara Stanwyck School of Dames—the same gal who got rid of Alan Hale in They Drive By Night (1940) by closing the garage door on his still-running automobile, croaking him with carbon monoxide fumes. Hale didn’t even point a gun at her. (A cartoonist I once knew, who was fond of Ida, would often remark “If Ida Lupino is the poor man’s Bette Davis—then thank Heaven I’m a poor man!”)

I briefly considered giving away the ending to “The Bullet,” in the hopes that it would ward off anyone curious enough to give it a listen. But after careful deliberation, I decided not to play God and instead, invite you to exercise your own free will. I will reiterate, though, that after hearing this Suspense episode, both “The Search For Isabel” and “The Red-Headed Woman” look a heck of a lot better in retrospect. You’ve been warned.

On a Country Road

David (Cary Grant) and Dorothy (Cathy Lewis) are driving home one night when they hear a bulletin on the car radio about an escaped female mental patient who’s apparently already decapitated four people with a meat cleaver. So it was probably not a wise idea to have taken the shortcut down that desolate country road—and an even worse plan to run out of gas…

In a story (written by Walter Bazarr) that would have felt right at home on Inner Sanctum Mysteries, Suspense presents one of its all-time classic nail-biters: “On a Country Road,” first broadcast November 16, 1950. It’s a heart-pounding little suspenser that features one of Suspense’s favorite guests, Cary Grant—and excellent support from Cathy Lewis, Jeanette Nolan, Larry Thor, and Joseph Kearns.

Radio Spirits founder Carl Amari cites “On a Country Road” as the program that started his love affair with old-time radio; I myself first heard it while attending Marshall University some twenty years ago, so I can identify with how influential this particular broadcast can be. I rented it from the college library, took it back to the dorm and listened to it with the lights out. It literally terrified me more than any horror movie I’d ever seen, and it was then that I began to truly understand the power of radio. “On a Country Road” quickly became a favorite of the show’s fans, making three encore appearances after its inaugural broadcast: twice in 1954 (January 4 and December 9) and the final on May 10, 1959. The latter broadcast is interesting in that it features the husband-and-wife team of Howard Duff and Ida Lupino in the Grant and Lewis roles, long after celebrity guests had become a page in Suspense’s history.

At beginning of the series’ 1950-51 season, frequent Suspense performer and occasional announcer Elliott Lewis took over the directing-producing chores from William Spier and Norman Macdonnell. Lewis experimented by taking the program into different directions, often basing the scripts on real-life events in history. Lewis, best remembered for his roles on The Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show (as Frankie Remley) and Voyage of the Scarlet Queen, became quite a force at the Columbia Broadcasting System during that period, acting as director-producer-writer for several CBS shows, including Broadway’s My Beat, Crime Classics, and On Stage (a program which also featured wife Cathy). Lewis would continue in the role of director-producer on Suspense until Autolite dropped its sponsorship in 1954.

”Loo-see…you got some ‘splainin’ to do…”

Day 11 of “Twenty Days Well-Calculated to Keep You in Suspense.”

The Red-Headed Woman

Linda (Lucille Ball) is having one of those days—no sooner does her fiancé Frank (Elliott Reid) call her to say that he’s fallen for another woman than she decides to start a new life for herself by embezzling $21,000 from her employer (Paul Frees). As she makes tracks for the border, she hears a news bulletin on her car radio about an elusive bank robber—a man who matches the description of Jose (Desi Arnaz), a stranded motorist she runs into…

Written for Suspense by Nancy J. Cleveland and originally broadcast November 17, 1949, “The Red-Headed Woman” marked Lucille Ball’s fifth appearance on “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills.” On this occasion, she is joined by her real-life husband, Desi Arnaz—the two of them were just two years away from their stupendously successful television sitcom I Love Lucy, a modified version of the radio comedy series My Favorite Husband that Lucy was appearing in on CBS at the time (alongside Richard Denning).

To be honest, I’m not certain why “The Red-Headed Woman” was included in this CD box set. It’s not a bad episode, it’s just that apart from the novelty of Lucy and Desi appearing together (they would return to the Suspense microphones on April 21, 1951 with “Early to Death”) it’s really not that much to write home about. It starts out well enough, and then takes a slight detour from believability in order to tack on a “happy” ending.

Had I a say in the matter, I would have instead recommended two superior outings by husband-and-wife comedic teams: “Too Little to Live On” (12/26/47) with Ozzie & Harriet Nelson, or “Death on My Hands” (5/10/51) featuring Phil Harris & Alice Faye. I suspect the inclusion of this episode was probably a ruse to get Lucy fans to buy the set, but fortunately, there’s no real harm done as there are still plenty of great episodes to choose from.

Mission Completed

World War II veteran Tom Warner (James Stewart) has spent the past four years in a veterans’ hospital in a completely paralyzed state—able to communicate only by blinking. But all that is about to change; when his nurse takes him for a stroll in his wheelchair, he spies a man working in a florist’s shop that is a dead ringer for “Suki,” the Japanese official who tortured Warner while he was interned in a P.O.W. camp. Warner now finds the strength to nurse himself back to health in order to exact revenge.

John R. Forrest’s “Mission Completed” is another solid gold Suspense classic; a gripping, sweat-inducing drama that benefits from an outstanding performance from Stewart and equally great support from Lurene Tuttle, John Dehner, Elliott Lewis and Herbert Butterfield. The show, broadcast December 1, 1949, aired to commemorate the event of the bombing of Pearl Harbor eight years previous.

During the program’s curtain call, Suspense gets a surprise visit from Gracie Allen, who wants to know if her husband—George “Sugar Throat” Burns—can appear on the program to sing, an idea not enthusiastically received by either announcer Harlow Wilcox or guest Stewart. (Stewart jokingly tells Gracie that the lineup of guests for Suspense is pretty much booked for the next 4,000 weeks.) George and Gracie had moved their program back to CBS at the beginning of the 1949-50 season (this season would also be their swan song), and apparently were doing a publicity stunt identical to the “missing brother” gag that they instituted on their show during the 1930s. Gracie had previously appeared a few days earlier on The Adventures of Philip Marlowe (“The Birds on the Wing,” 11/26/49) to make a similar request.