Looking out my Backdoor: Martians, Killer Bees, Mutant Pigs and Hurricanes

Not many of us will remember, well, because not many of us were around, in 1938 in New Jersey when Orson Welles adapted the H. G. Wells classic, “The War of the Worlds” for a special Halloween radio broadcast over the “Mercury Theatre on the Air.”

Since the story of Martians invading earth seemed too silly and too improbable, more suitable for comic books, Welles asked his writers to gussy it up a bit, give it some bells and whistles. What they came up with was a minute-by-minute, recorded at the scene, rendition of a fake-news bulletin, the best part being the sound effects.

And panic ensued. The radio station, the police, hospitals, the mayor, the governor were deluged with phone calls. Otherwise sensible citizens armed themselves and set up bunkers, in fear of being zapped to dust.

I’m certain that we, being more knowledgeable and more sophisticated, would never be taken in by such hogwash today. Right?

Really? Martians armed with heat rays land on earth and conquer the whole planet. Well.

The only logical thing to come from this story, seems to me, is evidence that fear is a marvelous tool, easily manipulated.

Hot on my musings of this bit of history, an email from one of my Canadian friends hit my inbox.

He sent me an article stating “researchers” announce that mutant wild pigs are invading the cities of Alberta, (Just north of Montana, folks. Get prepared!) thus announcement motivating hordes of otherwise staunch and stolid Canadians to rush to the gun stores to arm themselves.

Two thoughts came to me in quick succession. First I couldn’t remember the name of Wells’ novel nor the year of the radio broadcast — was it in the ’30s or the ’40s? Secondly, I remembered a few years ago when researchers announced that “killer bees” were moving north wiping out everything in their path. Logically, I did some research.

Near as I can figure, after five minutes on each topic with Google, (See above; see below,) the Killer Bee craze started from a television show presented as a fake “eco-documentary” I kid you not. That generated a series of ultra-silly movies in the 70s and 80s, including a really dumb movie whereby the bees were sprayed with “eco-friendly poison” (I lifted those words from a quote.), proving that dumb has always been with us.

Then, in the ’90s, killer bee fear ramped up again, said bees still coming from South America by way of Africa — don’t ask me. So we rushed to empty the store shelves of Raid and other poisons. I don’t know why we didn’t think of scatter shot.

Gather around, my friends, I have a solution.

TURN OFF THE RADIO!

(“Radio” used here to cover multiple forms of media.)

That was my foray into “scientific research” and I promise to stay out of the research field forevermore.

Since I generally talk about things requiring no research, I’ll conclude with weather observations, being obsessed like any good Montana transplant, with weather.

Hurricane Agatha, our first of the season, kind of sneaked up on us. She grew up, matured, from vague clouds in the morning to tropical storm in the evening to earning her name overnight.

I confess to ugly and utter selfishness here. When I see a hurricane that close to the coast, I get excited. It means we will probably get peripheral rains in a few days. Not cyclone rains. Just rains. Which we need badly.

What I overlook (selfishly) is the devastation wrought upon the coastal towns, the people who live there battling high winds and floods, who lose houses, jobs, and often lives. None of those people in the path of Agatha are saying, “Oh, good, a hurricane.”

Other than a sincere Mea Culpa, that’s Latin for I’m really sorry, I don’t know how to change my brain. I could say, “Oh, look, horrors. A hurricane!” And with my grandiose superpowers, based on mutations of the Martians’ heat rays, try to zap the hurricane out of existence before it wreaked havoc.

But I’d be lying. I’d really be thinking, “Oh, look, a hurricane! Good, we’ll get rain.” I’m human. And human isn’t always pretty.

Agatha hit landfall early, saving me from an overload of guilt, may or may not bring us a smattering of moisture. Meanwhile, I check the NOAA hurricane site daily.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].