Theatre of the Mind

Early in high school, I went to the public library to borrow some LPs of popular music.  And no, I'm not that old.  It just so happens the library was old and outdated, not me.  I swear.

Anyhow, quite by accident, I found an LP with this strange looking face glaring back at me - a face cast half in nightmarish shadows.  I took the album home with me, along with an LP of The Nylons and one of Mike & the Mechanics.  (There, that should date me!)

I dropped the LP onto the turntable and began to play it.  At first, all I heard was the rhythmic crackle and pop of dust under the needle.  Then, mysterious organ music played, and a strange, weaselly-sounding man began to laugh.

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?"  Derisive laughter rose in crescendo.  The voice sounded distant, muffled.  "The Shadow knows..."  Music and laughter intertwined, filling the kaiser-bun sized headphones with suspense and excitement.

For the next twenty-eight minutes I sat listening with my mouth open in a fascinated smile.  I'd discovered something amazing!  Almost no one I talked to seemed to know what a "radio play" was - not my high school friends, nor teachers, nor random strangers startled at my approach.  The radio play then became something that was utterly special to me.  The radio play became my discovery.  My art.

I listened to two episodes on that LP - one episode per side.  The first, I'll never forget, was entitled "The Firebug."  The second episode...I forget.  But I played the LP over and over again.  And because it was due back eventually at the library, I made a copy onto cassette.  Then I proceeded to play the cassette over and over again until the tape nearly snapped.


But what fascinated me wasn't just the acting or the plot or the sound effects, nor even the spooky atmosphere of the fireplace-crackling LP.

It was the information on the back of the album.  It was a piece of the history of The Shadow and its most famous of actors:  Orson Welles.  At the time, Welles had been a very young man (and skinny), but he'd been a relative unknown.  In fact, they never mentioned Orson's name in connection with The Shadow until after another great radio drama hit the air:  The War of the Worlds - though that's a story for another day.

What interested me about this story was about how Orson Welles could move about in complete anonymity, because at the time, no one knew what he looked like; however, because of the extraordinary fame of The Shadow, his identity would be known the moment he spoke.

People really believed there was a Shadow, who walked into the studio and dramatized some case in order to remind the guilty that "Crime does not pay!"  Some people honestly believed there was a crime-fighter who had the power to control men's minds.

So imagine for a moment:  What if (because all good story ideas come from "What if") - What if a man who has a such a recognizable and feared voice should suddenly make his presence known in the middle of a bank robbery?  Or a jewel heist?  Or a hostage-taking?

What would happen if Orson Welles, known only by his voice and his crime-fighting fame, should speak to wary criminals through a hidden intercom?

The Golden Age of Radio still provides its listeners a thrill of the imagination, and that's the spirit I want to bring to this blog:  a sense of fun, excitement and intrigue - not only in the sense of the content of these old broadcasts, but also to recall the impact radio had on its listeners.

And in case you'd like to suggest a topic or an artist, drop us a line at theatreofthemind at live.ca (address deliberately broken up to avoid all that pesky spam).  The voice behind the Golden Microphone wants to hear from you!


So, welcome to the new Sanctum of the Golden Age of Radio:  The Theatre of the Mind.

"Our story begins on a pleasant summer afternoon..."