War of the Worlds
Montana at the end of October, is a bleak cold place, and the wind uses all that big sky to come racing across the northern prairie screaming about the onset of winter, warning about white blizzards and freezing temperatures which can kill a man. Weather which enjoys being evil — appropriate for Halloween I suppose. Montana during the Great Depression of the 1930s and all that big sky held nothing but fluffy gray clouds from horizon to horizon, squeezing every last drop of sunshine from the heavens until the air was humid with hopelessness. When the wind got real blustery there wasn’t nothing traveling outside except radio waves and on a Halloween night those radio waves were up to mischief.
Martha was home alone except for her two children. She was a young mother with a little boy and a baby to tend for. That little boy was Old Pop Corn back in the days before he was old and back before he was a Pop. This story took place when Pop Corn was just a kernel, a little boy named Russell Corn. By all accounts that I have heard, he was a rambunctious child and the baby, his little sister did the things that babies are good at — eat, poop, and cry. Sometimes Martha would get lonely to hear the voice of an adult and so she would play the radio to keep herself company.
She was listening to a radio play presented by the Mercury Theater on a blustery Halloween night when the radio cut away with a special news bulletin. A fleet of Martian rocket ships had been launched from the red planet and were headed this way. The brave reporter whispered into his microphone as he described the alien invasion. The longer Martha listened to the news the more alarmed she became. The Martians were coming, and they were more powerful than anyone could have possibly imagined. Martha had two children to protect and who knew what fiendish atrocities those spacemen might commit if they got their hands on a real live earth woman.
Martha bundled up little Russell, putting on layer after layer of jackets, coats, hats, and gloves. He needed to be bundled up tight and warm, who knew how long their desperate flight from the Martians would last? Who knew what hardships Martha and the children might be forced to endure during this war between worlds. The baby was wrapped and wrapped until all that could be seen of Russell’s little sister was a tiny pink nose poking out from the bundle of blankets.
“You’re cute enough to just eat you up!’” Martha cooed as she nuzzled her daughter, the baby giggling and giggling.
Then suddenly Martha realized with a start that it was probably true and those evil little green men would want to devour Russell too.
Before she could cry, Martha Corn emptied the icebox, throwing bread, apples, and other edibles into a picnic basket. She handed the basket to little Russell even though it weighed almost as much as he did. Martha stood at the door, baby on her hip and her hand attached to Russell. Russell’s other hand held the picnic basket and left him without a finger to scratch his nose — which was itching right then. The brave young mother reached out with the hand which was attached to Russell and placed both their hands on the door knob. The baby began to cry. Martha paused and took a deep breath, summoning her courage.
Russell was listening to the radio. “I ain’t never seen a real live Martian before,” he looked up at his mother, “But if I do I’ll whip him real good for you.”
Martha swung the open wide, prepared to face the Martian invasion and save the lives of her two little children. Russell remembered for decades how the sky looked, filled from horizon to horizon with dark gray clouds. The wind howled, shrieking like wailing banshees, just like the turbulence you would expect from hundreds of alien warships landing on planet Earth all at once. Martha scanned the heavens for spacemen and when none appeared she hustled her two children down the street before the Martians could invade Montana.
Russell remembered running down the street, trying to manage the heavy picnic basket with one hand while the other hand was being tugged by his mother, desperately pulling him towards sanctuary and refuge. There were other people out on the street, all of them hysterical and confused. The baby cried and cried, her voice nearly drowned out by the howling wind. Russell recalled trying to run straight into the teeth of that wind, the stiff breeze already promising the chill of winter blizzards. The wind rustled his hair, flattened back his ears and blew dust into his eyes. If his mother hadn’t been holding his hand so tightly he would have surely been blown backwards down the street like a tumbling tumbleweed. Still, his mother kept running down the street, scurrying as fast as the presence of the two little children would allow her to scurry, checking the sky for invading spaceships the whole time. Martha headed straight for Uncle Ken’s house.
Uncle Ken was living out the rest of his life in the quiet solitude which goes with being a confirmed bachelor. He was in the middle of dinner when there was a sudden and furious knocking at the door.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!
Martha had to let go of her son’s hand to knock on the door. Free at last, Russell shook his hand to help the blood flow back into it. Mother had squeezed his hand so tight that she had left the bones sore and the flesh white. There was a rustling inside the tiny house.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Uncle Ken was not answering the door fast enough, so Martha knocked again.
“Just a minute,” Uncle Ken cried out. “I am in the middle of dinner.”
Knock! Knock!
“Its an emergency!” Martha shouted.
Uncle Ken sprang to the door and flung it open wide.
“Are the children hurt?” Uncle Ken asked.
“The children are fine,” Martha said. “It is the earth that is in danger.”
Uncle Ken stood there with his mouth agape, not really understanding.
“It is on the radio,” Martha said, “The Martian army has invaded planet Earth. Their spaceships are everywhere.”
Uncle Ken walked out to the edge of front porch and stared into the sky, not seeing any spaceships.
He collected his wits. “Would you like to step inside?”
Martha, the baby, and little Russell all stepped inside.
“Are you hungry?” Uncle Ken asked. “I was just sitting down to dinner.”
“The Martians are invading and you want to eat dinner?” Martha was shrieking.
“I think that if I need to fight off an invading army of spacemen,” Uncle Ken replied “That it might be a good idea to do it on a full belly.”
“Its all over the radio!” Martha flew across the room with the baby on her hip reaching out to turn on Uncle Ken’s radio and let him hear for himself for the devastation being wrought by the invading Martians.
“Don’t turn that noise box on during dinner.” Uncle Ken commanded. “I like to eat in silence and enjoy my food” He looked at Russell, “You hungry boy.”
Little Russell nodded and sat himself at a chair, pulling up some silverware while Uncle Ken fixed him a plate. Russell liked eating dinner at Uncle Ken’s house. Meals usually consisted of man food; wieners, beans, hamburgers, corn on the cob. It was a home where farts were an acceptable expression of individuality.
“You want some,” Uncle Ken offered to Martha.
Tight lipped, Martha shook head no and waited for Uncle Ken to finish his dinner so she could turn on the radio. She did not want to speak, afraid she might distract Uncle Ken and slow him down. When Uncle Ken paused to chew, Martha cut his steak for him and when he was still too slow she began to load forkful after forkful into his mouth.
“Now wait just a dang minute,” Uncle Ken cursed. “Let me finish my meal in peace.”
Uncle Ken took a few more bites of his dinner while Martha waited breathlessly, looking as if she might faint from the terror at any minute. Uncle Ken chewed, swallowed, and got up to turn on the radio.
The Martian invasion was over. The deep voice of Orson Welles came on the air and thanked people for listening to his radio play. He hoped that they enjoyed it and wished his audience a happy Halloween.
Martha was flabbergasted. Uncle Ken chuckled but Martha was so embarrassed that she began to cry. Uncle Ken was forced to console her and couldn’t even enjoy a good laugh, afraid of hurting her feelings. Little Russell laughed, a little; chuckling into his hand — not wanting to get caught by his mother. The whole escapade had been an exhilarating adventure.
Of course this story took place when little Russell Corn was just a kernel, long before he became Pop Corn and now he is a grandfather many times over. Sometimes when his grandchildren gather around and ask if he was ever in the army, Pop Corn liked to look them in the eye and boast.
“By the time I was your age, I was already a veteran of the War of the Worlds.”
