 We've gone for blast off x-minus five, four, three, 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 may be worlds. echa echa echa echa echa echa echa... Minus minus minus minus minus one, one, one... Tonight's story, The Parade, by George Lefferts. Mr. Sid Ryan the same. My name is Lushar. I am a Martian. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Loe... What was that again? A Martian. A Martian? As in Orson Welle? Precisely. I'm a rotarian myself. Sit down and now that we've had our little joke, Mr. Lucian, what can publicity associates do for you? It has been my observation that advertising and publicity are the very backbone of earthly civilization. Foken like a true Marsha, Mr. Lucian. Now, if you'll tell me the name of the client. The client, of course, will be the Martian. You don't give up, do you? Give up? The gag, I mean. Oliver. Oh, yes, Mr. Ryan? This is Mr. Lucian. Mr. Lucian claims to be a Martian. Take him outside. Will you all ever get the name of the sanatorium he escaped from and tell them to bring the butterfly net? Wait, sir. I'm happy to see, Mr. Ryan, that my telling you I am a Martian has approximately the effect I supposed it would have. I believe we can do business. I have here the cash antenna of $5,000. All right, sir. Sit down, Mr. Lucian. Oliver, get the client a cigar. Yes, sir. No, no, no, no. The other ones, the other ones. Thank you, no. Well, now what can I do for you, sir? I wish you to manage a publicity campaign. A very large, a very important campaign. Is the product established or is it something brand new? Oh, something quite new. Now, what would you judge to be 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. Then finally, when you've teased them enough, you bust loose and unveil the product. Excellent. Very well, sir. We shall conduct a suspense campaign. Coursing 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-flopo. Yes, quite so, quite so. But most secrecy. That's right. You realize, of course, these things cost like crazy. Would say $1 million cover the expense. Come again? I said, would $1 million cover it. Yes, I imagine. You did say $1 million. I understood that you had handled some very large accounts. Of course, if this is too big. Oh, not at all, not at all. As a matter of fact, I seldom touch anything less. Right, Aldo? Oh, oh, oh, of course. That's right, Mr. Ryan, absolutely right. Good. You will begin, then, by saturating the newspapers, radio, street cars, with a very simple statement. What's that? I should write it for you. The Martians are coming. Sorry, that's not a bad teaser. Got that all over? Yes, sir. The next ad we'll 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 clients would like it to be a gay affair. Bloons, clowns, pennants, pretty drum majorettes. Hey, that sounds terrific. I might be able to interest the department stores in a tie-in. The parade will climax the campaign. On June 1st, the product will be unveiled. Good enough. By the way, Mr. Lucia, just what is the product? What are we selling? Oh, no, Mr. Ryan. Secrecy, remember. Oh, but after all. All will be revealed to you in good time, Mr. Ryan. Moment. Let us say we are selling the concept. Concept? Precisely. Concept of invasion from Mars. Benny Marcus, please. This is Benny. Benny, this is Sid Ryan over at Publicity Associates. Listen, Benny, how you fix for midgets? I got midgets. Fine. I need 40 midgets for a parade. 40. June 1st. And listen, Benny, I want them dressed in little spacesuits. You know, like men from Mars. OK? Midgets. And I want some movie extras. Maybe 50 of them. Also rigged up like men from Mars. Make them look gruesome. Got that? Crucified. Also, I need some horses with pretty girls on top of them. Maybe you can get that bunch from Maroney's Traveling Circus. The ones we booked for the firemen's parade in Albany last year. Oh, try, Sid. And never mind the expense. Just get me the talent, OK? I got to hang up now. I'll call me back, Benny. How you doing, Oliver? Oh, fine, Mr. Ryan. Just fine. We got full page ads in all the dailies and 10-second spot announcements on every local station. But it's costing a fortune. The more it costs, the bigger our percentage. Spend like you are going to the electric chair, Oliver. Yes, sir. How are you making out on the parade? If it comes off, it'll be the biggest thing since Barnum invented the midget. I've got Macy's, Gimbal's, and Saks to contribute floats. Everything is built around the Martian theme, see? Even horses will have long feelers attached to them and funny-looking extra legs. It'll be sensation. Oh, yeah, yeah, it sounds fine. Only, uh... Only what? Oh, 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 Lushar represents? Just by accident, understand? I have learned that Century Pictures is making a big new epic, a space opera entitled Invasion from Mars. Get it? Oh, oh, I begin to see. Also by mere coincidence, it happens to be the premiere sometime around June 1st. You follow me? But Mr. Ryan Century has an exclusive contract with new feature syndicate for all their 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 feature says no. So they have to get around the contract. A man named Lushar, client unknown, starts publicizing the Martian Invasion. Need I go further? I get it, Mr. Ryan. Gee, I suppose I should have thought of that. No, Oliver, that's what I like about you. You're so innocent. Let me talk to Commissioner Patrick, please. Sid Ryan. Commissioner, Sid Ryan. Oh, it's you. Well, what is it this time? A teacup full of water? The answer is no. Also, we are not arresting any fan dancers. You know I don't handle fan dances. I want a permit for a parade. June 1st, Fifth Avenue. It's a Sunday. There's no traffic. Oh, come on, look, Ryan. Macy's gets a permit. Gimbal's gets a permit. The American Legion gets a permit. The Sons of Aaron March. Every time Morton Downey sings, the wearer in the green. Don't give me a hard time, Patrick. This is too big. I have the Fifth Avenue Merchants Association behind me. OK, Ryan. That's my boy. Oh, by the way, what's the occasion? Don't you read the papers, Patrick? June 1st is Martian Day. Mr. Ryan, how is the campaign going? Like fire, Mr. Lucia, like fire. Everybody and his brother is going along with the gang. Yesterday, we distributed 50,000 Martian hats to school kids. I even arranged for Commissioner Patrick to accept a $50,000 check for the policeman's benevolent fund from the man from Mars. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Thank you, Mr. Lucia. I understand century pictures spend over a million bucks making that space uproot. I beg your pardon? Oh, calm, calm, Mr. Lucia. 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. From our portable transmitter atop the reviewing stand for the much-heralded Martian Parade on Fifth Avenue. Beautiful sunlit day here in New York. 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 real expectancy. OK, tell them all right. I just have word from Saul Brown at the Central Park that the Martians have landed from big pink balloons. And while we're waiting here for the arrival of the parade, we brought some people up to our microphone to tell you their reactions to this spectacular affair. What's your name, madam? Miss Aida Shackley. A little outer, please. Miss Aida Shackley. And where are you from, Mrs. Shackley? I'm not alone. Columbus, Ohio. I see. And I see you have your family with you. Two little curly-headed boys. Are you in New York for your vacation? Yeah, we came for the Shriners Convention with their daddy. What do you think of Martian Day, Mrs. Shackley? Well, it all seemed very strange to me, but the boys have been testing me to watch it, so we've been standing here for 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 already, there's a lot of curiosity. Curiosity killed a cat. No, no, no. Let's hope not. Thank you, Mrs. Shackley. And now, here's the... Here they come, ladies and gentlemen. The first unit of the big Martian parade, swinging down to staff. Manfare, colored streamers, music, confetti floats, and all that trash is in the article. Let's listen to the band from here. The folks look a little midget in weird-looking pink and blue spaces, carrying blue Goldberg weapons with fine-spated omens. I can read one which says, Atomic Blaster. Another has a placard reading, We're marching through Georgia. And here come the clowns, laughing and fooling all over each other. They're giving free sugar candy to the kids a long way. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a happy, laughing crowd long to stand here today. A true reflection of a great sense of humor and good nature that makes America the place it is. Why, only... What's that? What's this? Crowds murmuring now. They've fallen somewhat silent. Something's coming. I'll try to get it for you. What? Oh, ladies and gentlemen, here comes the Martian contestant. This is promised at the climax of the show. And now a great plush has fallen over the crowd. Quite a sight to see these thousands of people standing here expectantly, hearing only the great, regular sigh of their mass breathing. Now here they come, ladies and gentlemen, the Martians, marching in booted, helmeted ranks, row after row. This is an impressive sight, ladies and gentlemen. And around a serious contrast to the rest of me, the joyous slapstick parade we've been witnessing up until now. There are perhaps over 200 tall broad-chested men dressed in metallic gray spaces with thick glass crisis drawn across their faces. These ones holding an ominous-looking ray gun at the ready position. And marching in absolute silence, and being stepped perfectly as though some mute, unspoken command is marking down for us. Even the children are awed by unexpected, war-like realism of the Martian Legion. And now the first ranks of the Martians move past us down this avenue toward the revealing stands at the square. No one moves. A woman, ladies and gentlemen, just dashed out into the street. For what reason, I don't know. She just slipped through the police cordon somehow. They're after her now, but she's already reached the ranks of the marchers and she's trying to lift the visor of one of the Martians' faces. Wait, wait, she's falling. She's screamed and then fell forward in a dead pain. The Martian column keeps right on coming. Unless they break ranks, they're going to trample her. No, no, no, the policemen have got her now. She's trying to revive her now. What's that? All sorts of rumors have begun filtering back through the crowd. For some reason, whispering is the woman's death. We don't know yet, but whatever has happened, the incident seems to cast a slight shadow over the mood of the crowd. Carefree holiday air seems to have vanished. The crowd is stirring uneasily. A little disturbed at what we've just seen. Nothing to be alarmed at, however. It just seems a shame that anything like this should happen to spoil our enjoyment of the Martian parade. Brian, did you see that? A woman fainted. She ran out into the street to get a close look at the Martians. 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 should think of everything. For my share of this deal, roughly $100,000, I can afford to think of everything. Shut the window. Okay, but don't you want to see the finish? We'll get out of the reviewing stand for the finish. Right now, I want to make a phone call. And by the way, where's Lucia? I haven't seen her. Well, I'll close the window, Oliver. Okay, Mr. Ryan. This is Sid Ryan. What do you mean, sorry? That's terrific. No, don't joke, Sid. I mean it. I mean it, too. That's great. Never felt better. Yes, I mean it. What is this? There are Martians in the parade. About $150. Of course, I only ordered $50, but under the circumstance, what is it? Sid, but you know, I couldn't get you a single movie extra. Wait a minute. Where these guys come from if you didn't hire them? I don't know. Hold on. Oliver. Oh, yes, Mr. Ryan. Did you hire those Martians? Well, no, sir, I didn't. Benny, this is on the level, isn't it? I said I would. Okay, Benny, I'll call you back. Madam, Mr. Ryan. Oh, no. Just don't know. Wonderflucia, Adam. What's a Century Pictures number? Tremaine 4, 1,000. Thank you, old stars. Give me Marty Sanford, your publicity director. My moment. Marty, this is Sid Ryan. Oh, hello, Sid. Fine, fine. Listen, Marty, this is dead serious. On the level, get it? What's wrong? I've got to locate Lucia. Lu who? Lucia, come on now, Marty. This is life and death. The guy you sent over to hire me for the invasion picture. Invasion from Mars, the space opera. Thank you, Benny. Marty. You took your shell last month. What? Mr. Ryan, you look terrible. Mr. Ryan, is something wrong? Open that window. I want another look at those Martians. But 150 movie extras learned to march like that in, say, 24 hours? No. Not in 24 days, Mr. Ryan. Now, the second hesitation. Now, the one other 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 the film of the Nazi SS troops marching to the streets of Paris. Mr. Ryan. Oliver, get down there. Find that woman who painted her. Her name's Gloria Montez. Get her up here. Make it fast. What about the act of relax? It's me, said Ryan. Gloria, settle down. Baby, it's me, said. 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 in the act. Go away, please. Go away. Just one question, baby. Inside that helmet, what did you see? Nothing on her. Ryan, she needs a doctor. Okay, Oliver. I've written up anyway. You take care of Gloria. Get her a drink. Where are you going? To see the commissioner. You've got to stop this parade before things begin to happen. Okay, Ryan. What's the beef? Listen, Patrick. I don't know what it is. See, but something's wrong. You've got to stop that parade. I suppose you'd like the riot squad. That would get you a front page spread on every paper in town. Now, look, Ryan. I've got no time for your cheap publicity. Gags are a busy man. Listen, I'm trying to tell you I don't know where those Martians came from, who they are, anything about them. I'm wise to your tricks. Now, if you let the sergeant show you out. You won't do it, huh? An honest citizen appeals for protection and you refuse? I most emphatically do. Now, beat it. All right, Patrick. I'll go right to the mayor's office. I'll have you busted, flattered on the Friday. 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 can't 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 guy, something horrible is already happening. A couple of hundred little kids are in the hospital. It's the main poisoning. From that phony marchin' candy you passed out. What? Or didn't you know? I... I didn't. We've got to stop that parade. Sure. You'd like nothing better than to start upon it now. Maybe a few hundred people get trampled to death. Think of the newspaper space. That'd get you and your phony brought up. I won't stand for this, Adolf. This may be a matter of life and death. Get out of here quick. It'll be your death. Go on, beat it. Get out. You and your publicity, sons. Make me sick to my stock. Scream at him, Mr. Ryan. Your friend is quite dead. Lucia. He wanted to run to the police with some story about a marchin' invasion. I found it necessary to restrain him. Restrain him? You're a stinking murderer. No, no, Mr. Ryan. Collect yourself. After all our panning, it wouldn't do to have everything spoiled now, would it? Lucia, I'll start talking and talk fast because when you get through, I'm gonna take you apart piece by piece. What's this all about? Surely you know, Mr. Ryan. After all, you've been publicizing it for months. See, before colonizing your planet, the marchin' government sent some of us as scouts in advance, disguised as earthmen, of course, to study your habits, your weaknesses. We found that the people on earth are predominantly conditioned by advertising and publicity. So we conceived the idea of treating our entire invasion as a vast publicity stunt. Clever, yes? 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 plan? Holy chump. You've done very well, you see. Then there was no product. Ah, but there is a product. The product. Yes. What are you trying, Lucia? We marchins are a humane people, Mr. Ryan. We do not like to destroy thousands where a few hundred will suffice. In exactly two minutes, our troops will treat the world with a spectacle of death, which will bring the rest of your planet to its knees in horror. Nations will clamor to surrender. Perhaps, Mr. Lucia, but not if I can help you. Stop! Stop! Operator, this is Mr. Ryan. Get me the field telephone on the reviewing stand of the marchin' day parade. Hurry. Just hurry. Get me Commissioner Patrick. Hello? Hello? I want Commissioner Patrick. Patrick! Patrick! This is Ryan. I have to talk to the commissioner. It's a matter of life and death. Listen, you're going to stop him. Tonight by transcription, X minus one has brought you The Parade, written by George Lefferts, featured in the cast, where Joseph Curtin as Ryan, Barry Kroger as Lucia, Alexander Skurby as Ron Heilman, music by Albert Berman. X minus one was produced by Van Woodward and directed by King Fred Collins speaking. X minus one is an NBC radio network production. Next week, the Cave of the Night, the gripping story of the first man to pilot an Earth satellite beyond the reach of gravitational pull, and of what happened when a watching world learned that something had gone wrong, that he could never return, that he was doomed to die a lingering death in the arching blackness of the sky, the Cave of the Night. Hear it next week at X minus one. Did you ever stop to realize that four American coins show us the importance of elections? The first one is the Washington Quarter. It was George Washington who reminded us that on the unity of our government depends our independence, our peace at home and abroad, our safety, prosperity and our freedom. The second coin is the Jefferson Nickel. It was Thomas Jefferson who said, no government can continue good but under the control of the people. The third coin is a penny bearing the likeness of Abraham Lincoln, who said, among free men, there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet. Finally, the Roosevelt dime reminds us of something Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, every man and every woman in this nation, regardless of party, who have the right to register and to vote and the opportunity to register and to vote have also the sacred obligation to register and to vote. These four Americans, by recognizing the importance of elections, added another page to your political history. Thank you.