Countdown for a blast off. X minus five, minus four, minus three, minus two, X minus one. Fire! From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future. Adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company presents X minus one. If you wanted to take over our world with a minimum amount of resistance and trouble, how would you go about it? Tonight we'll tell you how with a strange and chilling story by George Lefferts, The Parade. You are Mr. Sid Ryan. The same. My name is Lucha. I am a Martian. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lucha. What was that again? A Martian. As in Orson Welles? Precisely. I'm a Rotarian myself. Sit down. Thank you. Now that we've had our little joke, Mr. Lucha, what can publicity associates do for you? I am interested in obtaining publicity. It has been my observation that advertising and publicity are the very backbone of earthly civilization. Spoken like a true Martian, Mr. Lucha. Now, if you'll tell me the name of the client. The client, of course, will be the Martians. You don't give up, do you? Give up? The gag, I mean. Oliver. Yes, Mr. Ryan? This is Mr. Lucha. How do you do? Mr. Lucha claims to be a Martian. Take him outside, will you, Oliver? I am happy to see, Mr. Ryan, that my telling you I am a Martian has approximately the effect I guessed it would. I believe we can do business. I have here a cash retainer of $5,000. Five thousand? Oliver, take a look at that wad of lettuce. It's the real stuff, Mr. Ryan. And my client is prepared to spend many times that amount. Sit down, Mr. Lucha. Oliver, get the client a cigar, the 50 cent box. Yes, sir. Thank you. Well, now, what can I do for you, sir? I wish you to manage a publicity campaign. A very large and important campaign. Is the product established or is it something brand new? Something quite new. Now, what would you judge the most effective type of campaign? Well, if the client has a lot of dough to throw around, a suspense campaign is best. First, you place ads in the paper saying, watch this space. Then about a week later, you run an ad saying XYZ or PDQ, and you get people guessing what it means. And finally, when you've teased them enough, you bust loose and unveil the product. Excellent. We will conduct a suspense campaign. Of course, in this kind of campaign, secrecy is very important. Once the name of the product leaks out, it spreads like wildfire and the whole campaign is ka-flop-o. Quite so, quite so. The utmost secrecy. You realize, of course, these things cost like crazy. Would, say, one million dollars cover expense. Come again? I said, would one million dollars cover it? Yes, I am at... You did say a million. I understood that you have handled some very large accounts. Of course, if this is too big... No, no, not at all, not at all. As a matter of fact, I seldom touch anything less. Right, Oliver? Huh? Oh, of course, that's right, Mr. Ryan. Absolutely right. Yes. You will begin then by saturating the newspapers, the radio, the street cars with a very simple statement. What's that? I will write it on a card. Here you are. The Martians are coming. Sorry, that's not a bad teaser. Got that, Oliver? Yes, sir. The next ad will read, June 1st is Martian Day. June 1st is Martian Day. What happens on June 1st? The parade takes place. What parade? I wish you to arrange a parade up Fifth Avenue. You mean like the Macy Parade? Exactly. Except that the theme will be the world of tomorrow, the Martian world. My client would like it to be a gay affair. Balloons, clowns, pennants, pretty drum majorettes. Say, that sounds terrific. I might be able to interest the department stores in attire. Fine. The parade will climax the campaign. On June 1st, the product will be unveiled. Good enough. By the way, Mr. Luchard, just what is the product? What are we selling? Oh, no, Mr. Ryan. Secrecy, remember? Yeah, but after all... Mr. Ryan, all will be revealed to you in good time. For the moment, let us say that we are selling a concept. A concept? The concept of invasion from Mars. The Sorrow Telling Agency. Sammy Sorrow, please. This is Sammy. This is Sid Ryan over at Publicity Associates. Listen, Sammy, how are you fixed for midgets? I got midgets. Fine. I need 40 midgets for a parade. 40. June 1st. And listen, Sammy, I want them dressed in little space suits. In little? Why? You know, like men from Mars. Mars. Okay? And I want some movie extras. Maybe 50 of them. Also rigged up like men from Mars. Make them look gruesome. Got that? Gruesome. Also, I need some horses with pretty girls on top of them. Maybe you can get that bunch from Moroni's Traveling Circus, the one we booked for the fireman's parade in Albany last year. I'll try, Sid. Never mind the expense. Just get me the talent. It sounds like you landed a big client there. Who is it? It's a secret. I gotta hang now. Call me back, Sammy. Bye. How you doing, Oliver? Fine, Mr. Ryan, just fine. I got a hundred small boys pasting little stickers. The Martians are coming on the subway platforms. We got full page ads on all the dailies. Good. And ten second spot announcements on every local station. Good. It's costing a fortune. Good. The more it costs, the bigger our percentage. Spend like you were going to the electric chair, Oliver. Yes, sir. How you making out in the parade? If it comes off, it'll be the biggest thing since Barnum invented the midget. I've got Macy's, Gimbals, and Saks to contribute floats. Everything is built around the Martian theme, see? Even the horses will have long feelers attached to them. And funny looking extra legs. It'll be sensational. That sounds fine, only... Only what? Mr. Ryan, we don't even know what we're selling. Oliver, my boy, do you think old Sid Ryan has been sitting here spending all this moolah and not putting two and two together? You mean you know who Lucha represents? Just by accident, understand? I have learned that Century Pictures is making a big new epic. One of those expensive pictures they make in secret and then spring on the public because they don't want the other studios to get the jump on them. What's the picture? A space opera titled Invasion from Mars. Get it? Oh, I begin to see. Also, by mere coincidence, it's supposed to have its premiere sometime around June 1st. You follow me? Yes, but Mr. Ryan, Century has an exclusive contract with New Features Syndicate for all our publicity. Suppose Century Pictures doesn't like the way New Features is handling their stuff. They want to get out of the contract, but New Features says no, so they have to get around the contract. A man named Lucha, client unknown, starts publicizing the Martian invasion. Need I go further? I don't know, Mr. Ryan. Sounds pretty far-fetched to me, but I don't know. That's what I like about you, Oliver. You're so innocent. Now, let me talk to Commissioner Patrick, please. Sid Ryan. Hello. Commish, Sid Ryan. How are you, Ryan? Fine. What is it this time? You want to drop a man off the Empire State Building into a teacup full of water? The answer is no. Also, we're not arresting any fan dancers. You know I don't handle fan dancers. I want a permit for a parade. June 1st, 5th Avenue. It's a Sunday. There's no traffic. Now look, Ryan, I... Macy's gets a permit, Gimbels gets a permit, the American Legion gets a permit. The Sons of Aaron march every time Morton Downey sings the Warrant of the Green. Oh, don't give me a hard time, Patrick. This is too big. I have the 5th Avenue Merchants Association behind me. Okay, Ryan. Fill out the forms. I'll pass them along to the License Commissioner. That's my boy. By the way, what's the occasion for this parade? Well, don't you read the papers, Patrick? June 1st is Martian Day. How is the campaign going, Mr. Ryan? Like wildfire, Mr. Lutscher, like wildfire. Everybody and his brother is going along with a gag. Yesterday we distributed 50,000 Martian hats to school kids. I got some of the merchants doing world of tomorrow displays in their windows. Every big novelty manufacturer in town is climbing on the bandwagon. They want to get into the parade with floats, giveaways, anything. Now, my brother has a big party. I wouldn't be surprised if the mayor himself declared Martian Day. I've even arranged for Commissioner Patrick to accept a 50,000 dollar check for the Policeman's Benevolent Fund from the man from Mars. Oh, it's terrific, terrific. My blood pressure's up to 200. Excellent. I understand Century Pictures spent over a million bucks making that space opera. My big pardon? Oh, come, come, Mr. Lutscher. Sid Ryan wasn't born yesterday, you know. I know who our client is, even if you don't admit it. You do? Always thinking, that's me. Well, as long as you know, let's keep it to ourselves, shall we, Mr. Ryan? As you once remarked, when these things leak out, it destroys the surprise and ruins the effectiveness of the campaign. Hi! Hey! I'm here, I'm here! Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ken Daly speaking to you from our portable transmitter atop the reviewing stand for the much heralded Martian Parade on Fifth Avenue. It's a beautiful, sunlit day here in New York, a perfect day for a parade, and the streets are packed with thousands of spectators all eager to find out what this is all about. There's an air of shrill expectancy. Some of the kids and their parents have been camped on the curb stones since early this morning to be sure of ringside seats when the so-called Martians pass by. I've just had word from Saul Brown up at Central Park Mall that the Martians have landed from big pink balloons. And while we're waiting for the arrival of the parade, we brought some people up to our microphone to tell you their reactions to this most spectacular of all publicity stunts. Please, please, please, that's right, come on. What's your name, madam? Miss Ada Shackley. A little louder, please. Miss Ada Shackley. And where are you from, Mrs. Shackley? Columbus, Ohio. I see. And I see you have your family with you, too, two little curly-headed blonde boys. Are you in New York on vacation? We came for the Shriners' convention with their daddy. Well, what do you think of Martian Day, Mrs. Shackley? Well, it all seems very strange to me, but the boys have been pestering me to watch it, so we've been standing here two hours. I can't make head or tail of it. Well, neither can a lot of other people, Mrs. Shackley. But judging by the thousands here today, there's a lot of curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, folks say. Well, let's hope not. Thank you, Mrs. Shackley. Mr. Ryan's here. Ryan, sit right over here. Right. And this is Mr. Sid Ryan, ladies and gentlemen, the publicity man who's the brains behind the Martian Day stunt. Hello, Sid. Good morning, Kenneth. Easy, easy, not so close to the mic. Oh, sorry, sorry. Hey, Sid, you've certainly lifted the lid this time. Looks like it, doesn't it? Yeah, there's been a great deal of speculation as to exactly what all this is leading up to. I've heard some folks say it's a big war bond drive. Others think it's just to stimulate local business. And look, I understand in the trade itself, the smart money says you're building for the premiere of Century's forthcoming extravaganza, invasion from Mars. Now, come clean. Can you tell us what the real story is? I can. I'd like to, but honestly, I can't. You're a man of mystery, eh? Are you going to watch the parade from the stand here? No, I can't. I can't stand noise. I'm going up to my office and watching company. Well, thank you, Sid Ryan. And good luck. Good luck. And here they come, ladies and gentlemen, the first units of the big Martian parade swinging down Fifth Avenue with fanfare, colored streamers, music, confetti, floats, all the traffic's at a mardi gras. And here in the vanguard is a whole troop of little midgets in weird-looking pink and blue spacesuits carrying blue Goldberg weapons with signs painted on them. See, I can read one which says, atomic blaster. Another one has a placard reading, we're Martian through Georgia. And here come the clowns laughing and falling all over each other. They're giving free sugar candy to the kids along the way. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a happy laughing crowd along Fifth Avenue today, a true reflection of the great sense of humor and good nature that makes America the place it is. This is promised as the climax of the show. Now a great hush has fallen over the crowd. It's quite a sight to see these thousands of people standing here expectantly, hearing only the great regular sigh of their mass breathing. And now here they come, ladies and gentlemen, the Martians, marching in booted helmeted ranks, row after row of them. This is an impressive sight, ladies and gentlemen, and a rather serious contrast to the rest of the joyous slapstick parade we've witnessed. There are perhaps, oh, 200 tall broad-chested men dressed in metallic gray spacesuits with thick glass visors drawn across their faces. Each is holding an ominous looking ray gun at the ready position. They're marching in absolute silence, keeping step perfectly, as though some mute, unspoken command were marking time for them. The crowd seems rather grim and serious now. Perhaps they're reminded of the actuality of war and possible invasion. They stand solemnly, silently, watching. Even the children are awed. And now the first ranks of the Martians are moving past us, down Fifth Avenue toward the reviewing stands of the square. No one moves. What's that? What happened? There, a woman, a woman, ladies and gentlemen. She dashed out into the street. For what reason, I don't know. She attempted to lift the visor of one of the Martian spacesuits, but just as she reached the Martian, she fell forward in a dead faint. I tell you, I've never felt such mass tension in a crowd as we're experiencing here right now, today. All sorts of rumors have begun filtering back through the audience. There are excited whispers of, she's dead, she fainted, and now an undercurrent of, what? They're really Martians. This is an example of how a single incident can precipitate mass hysteria, ladies and gentlemen. And I tell you, it's a mighty reassuring sight to see the blue uniforms of New York's finest spaced every ten feet or so along the avenue. Somehow, I can't explain it, this incident has begun to work on what was a moment ago a happy, carefree crowd. The complexion is changing. Mr. Wright, did you see that? A woman fainted. Of course I saw it. What do you suppose she saw? Oliver, old man, did I ever tell you you were too naive for this business? But that young woman ran out into the streets to get a close look at the Martians, and then she screamed and fainted dead away. I'm well aware of that, Oliver, since I paid her 50 bucks to do it. What? The dramatic moment, Oliver, the stock and trade of the good publicity man, relax. Holy smokes, you sure think of everything. For my share of this deal, roughly $100,000, I can afford to think of everything. Shut the window. Don't you want to see the finish? We'll get on the reviewing stand for the finish right now, I want to make a phone call. By the way, where's Lucha? I haven't seen him. He'll be around. Boy, those Martians sure look like the real thing. How would you know the real thing if you saw it, Oliver? Gee, I don't know. Close the window, Oliver. Oh, yes, Mr. Ryan. Saros Talon, agencies. Sammy, this is Sid Ryan. Say, listen, Sid, I was going to call you. I'm awful sorry about those Martians. What do you mean sorry? They're terrific. No, don't joke, Sid, I mean it. Well, I mean it too. They're great, great. Are you in the bag? Never felt better. You mean it, don't you? Of course I mean it. What is this? There are Martians in the parade? About 150. Of course I only ordered 50, but under the circumstances... Sid. What is it? Sid, don't you know? I couldn't get you a single movie extra. There's a studio strike in New York. I was going to call you, but I figured... Wait a minute. Where do these guys come from if you didn't hire them? I don't know. Maybe Oliver... Hold on. Oliver? Yes, Mr. Ryan? Did you hire those Martians? No, sir, I... Sammy, this is on the level, isn't it? Honest, Sid, I... Okay, Sammy, I'll call you back. What's the matter, Mr. Ryan? I don't know. I just don't know. I've got to locate Lucha. What's Century Pictures' number? Mr. Ryan, this is Sunday. Oh, yeah. Well, get me their publicity director, Marty Sanford, at home. Oh, yes, sir. Here you are. Thanks. Sanford. Hello, Sid Ryan. Oh, hello, Sid. How's the movie? Fine, fine. Listen, Marty, this is dead serious. On the level. Get it? What's wrong? I've got to locate Lucha. Lou who? Lucha. Come on now, Marty. This is life and death. The guy you sent over to hire me for the invasion picture. Invasion picture? Invasion from Mars, the space opera. Are you batty? Marty... That picture was shelved last month. What? Sure. Back in the can. Too expensive and too fantastic. The big shots decided you can't sell a Martian invasion to the American public. And I never heard of a guy named Luke... Mother... What is it, Mr. Ryan? You look terrible. That's too fantastic. What's too fantastic, Mr. Ryan? Is something wrong? Open that window. I want another look at those Martians. Yes, sir. Look at them. Oliver, you were in the army. Could 150 movie extras learn to march like that in, say, 24 hours? Not in 24 days, Mr. Ryan. Not a second's hesitation. Not one not a step. Look at the way they carry those ray guns at the ready. The only other time I've seen troops march like that was in a film of the Nazi storm troops marching through the streets of Paris. See those chests on them? That's pride. Sheer arrogant pride. Look at those chins. That's contempt. That's contempt. Nobody could act like that. Mr. Ryan! Oliver, get down there. Find that woman who fainted. Her name's Gloria Montex. Get her up here. Make it fast! Here she is, Mr. Ryan. I can't get much sense out of her. Stay away from me! Gloria, it's me, Sid Ryan. You don't kid me. You're a Martian. Gloria, settle down. No, you're wearing a mask. Baby, it's me, Sid. And underneath it's awful. It's all big green eyes and those feelings like a cat's feet. Baby, snap out of it. Listen, what happened down there? You ran out and screamed like I told you, but the fainting, that wasn't the act. Go away, please. Go away. What'd you see? Oh, no, please. It's too awful. Please, please. Just one question, baby. Inside that helmet, what'd you see? You won't get anything out of her, Mr. Ryan. She needs a doctor. Okay, Oliver, I've heard enough anyway. You take care of Gloria here. Get her a drink. Where are you going? To see the Commissioner. We gotta stop this parade before things begin to happen. Okay, Ryan, what's the beef? Listen, Patrick, I don't know what it is, Sid, but something's wrong. You gotta stop that parade. I suppose you'd like the riot squad. That would get you a front page spread on every paper in town. Honest to you, publicity guys give me a pay. This may be a matter of life and death. Oh, sure, sure. Look, Ryan, I've got no time for your cheap publicity gags. I'm a busy man. Listen, I'm trying to tell you I don't know where these Martians came from, who they are, anything about them. All I want you to do is stop the parade and make sure they're on the level. Uh-uh, Ryan, I'm wise to your tricks. If you let the sergeant show you out... You won't do it, huh? An honest citizen appeals for protection and you refuse it. I most emphatically do. Now beat him. All right, Patrick, I'll go right to the mayor's office. I'll have you busted, flatter than a fried egg. Go ahead. I'm sure his honor will be glad to toss you out on that phony nickel-plated skull of yours. You heard me, Ryan. You cannot see the mayor. Adolf, please, this isn't a gag. I don't want publicity. All I want to do is maybe prevent something horrible from happening. In case you don't know it, wise guys, something horrible is already happening. A couple hundred little kids are in the hospital with tomaine poisoning from that phony Martian candy you passed out. Or didn't you know? I didn't. We've got to stop that parade. Sure, sure, you'd like nothing better than to start a panic now. Maybe a few hundred people would get trampled to death. Think of the newspaper space that would get you and your product. I won't stand for this, Adolf. You won't have to because you're going to get out of here right now. Go on, beat it. Get out. You and your publicity stunts make me sick to my stomach. Oliver? Oliver, where are you? Oliver? Oliver! It is useless to scream at him, Mr. Ryan. Your friend is quite dead. Lucha? He wanted to run to the police with some story about a Martian invasion. I found it necessary to restrain him. Restrain him, you stinking murderer? Now, now, Mr. Ryan, collect yourself. After all our planning, it wouldn't do to have everything spoiled, now would it? Lucha, start talking and talk fast because when you get through, I'm going to take you apart piece by piece. What's this all about? But surely you know, Mr. Ryan, after all, you've been publicizing it for months. Well, then you... Please do not interrupt. You see, before colonizing your planet, we Martians sent advanced scouts to study your habits, your weaknesses. We found that the people on earth are predominantly conditioned by advertising and publicity, and so we conceived the idea of treating our entire invasion as a vast publicity stunt. Clever, huh? After all, Mr. Ryan, who would suspect an invader who advertised his invasion in the newspaper invited the public to his surprise attack and spent millions publicizing his plans. Holy jumping catfish. You've done very well. Then there was no product. Ah, but there is a product. The product is death. What are you trying to do, Lucha? We Martians are a humane people, Mr. Ryan. We do not like to destroy thousands where a few hundred would suffice. In exactly two minutes, our troops will treat the world to a spectacle of death which will bring the rest of your planet to its knees in horror. Nations will clamor to surrender. Perhaps, Mr. Lucha, but not if I can help you. Yes, please? Operator, this is Mr. Ryan. Get me the field telephone on the reviewing stand of the Martian Day Parade. Hurry. Anyone in particular? Just hurry! Reviewing stand, Sergeant Cassidy. Get me Commissioner Patrick. Hello. Hello. You'll have to talk louder. I want Commissioner Patrick. Patrick, Patrick! Wait a minute. Things are quieting down. Now, what was it you wanted? This is Ryan. I have to talk to the Commissioner. It's a matter of life and death. I'm sorry, you can't talk to him now. The Chief Martian is presenting the PBA check to him. The Martians are going to fire us of loot. Listen, you've got to stop him! What? Stop him! I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan. You idiot! The words! It's going to... This is the operator. I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan. You've been cut off. I can't seem to get them back. Doesn't matter, Operator. Nothing matters now. Tonight, X-1 has brought you The Parade, an original story written by George Lefferts. Featured in the cast were Joseph Curtin as Ryan, Joe DeSantis as Luchar, Alexander Scorby as Daly, Agnes Young as the Woman, Ellen Deming as Gloria, John Thomas as Oliver, Arthur Anderson as Sammy, Wendell Holmes as the Commissioner, and William Keen as Sanford. Your announcer, Don Pardo. X-1 was directed by Fred Way, and is a transcribed NBC Radio Network production. Next week, the tables turn. Instead of Martians invading Earth, we bring you a tale of men invading Mars. Ray Bradbury's brilliant short story entitled, Mars is Heaven. Suppose you were a member of the first rocket ship crew to land on Mars, but instead of seeing Martians, you find that you've landed in a town that looks too far away and that you've landed in a town that looks just like home. That all your dead relatives and friends are there to greet you. So that as incredible as it may seem, you think you're really in heaven. That is, you think so right up to the fatal moment. The moment of X minus one. Join the Abbots on another baffling mystery tonight on NBC Radio stations.
