Posts Tagged With: Acting

Manhunt Review: Episode 6 Useless

I am (still) conducting an ongoing review of the seven-part AppleTV+ miniseries Manhunt, named after the Lincoln assassination book by James L. Swanson. This is my historical review for the sixth episode of the series “Useless.”  This analysis of some of the fact vs. fiction in this episode contains spoilers. To read my reviews of other episodes, please visit the Manhunt Reviews page.


Episode 6: Useless

At the Garrett farm, Julia Garrett is concerned about her absent father finding her alone with Booth and Herold. She tells the men they have to spend the night in the tobacco barn, and no amount of flirting by Booth is able to shake her resolve. Once inside the barn, Julia locks the men in, leading Herold to immediately fear the worst. Booth, meanwhile, is unphased and tells stories to Herold in an attempt to convince him that he has been through worse scrapes than this.

Back at the Star Hotel in Bowling Green, Secretary Stanton is being cared for by a doctor after the recent collapse that prevented him from riding off with the 16th New York Cavalry. Eddie Stanton and Thomas Eckert lament the toll the manhunt has taken on Stanton and worry about the Secretary’s health.

After another interlude between Booth and Herold in the barn, the 16th NY come riding up to the Garrett house. At the point of Boston Corbett’s gun, Julia Garrett admits that the fugitives are hiding in the tobacco barn and produces the key. Booth and Herold see some cavalrymen approaching the barn and debate opening fire when the barn door is opened. Everton Conger and Luther Baker step partly inside and order the men to surrender.

Booth refuses to surrender and instead offers to settle things with a duel. Baker tells the men that they have five minutes to come out or else he will force them out. The barn door is closed again. Booth fruitlessly attempts to break through the back wall, all while cursing at Herold for being useless to him.

Outside the barn, Corbett offers to attack the barn alone in order to draw Booth’s fire. Conger reminds Corbett that they have all survived the war and that he will not lose another man now. He then orders the other soldiers to lay brush around the barn. The barn is then lit on fire, much to the chagrin of Julia Garrett.

Inside the barn, Herold decides to give up. Booth opens the door and proclaims Davy innocent of the assassination saying that he alone planned it and made his escape. Herold exits the barn and is immediately tied to a tree, while Booth remains inside the smoke-filled barn.

In Bowling Green, Eckert comes into Stanton’s room with the news that Booth will not surrender and that the cavalry is smoking him out. Despite his still weakened condition, Stanton insists on heading out to the Garrett farm to see that Booth’s capture is done right. Stanton, Eckert, and Eddie head out en route to the Garrett farm.

Even though the barn continues to burn, Booth refuses to come out. Conger approaches David Herold and asks him to go back into the barn and convince Booth to surrender. Davy finds a coughing and weakened Booth, who has seemingly accepted his fate to go out in a blaze. Davy pleads with Booth to live, even if it is only one more day. Booth appears to agree, and Davy helps lift him up.

On the outside of the barn, Boston Corbett discovers a small hole and peers through it at the men inside. Davy leads Booth towards the door of the barn when Corbett aims his pistol through the hole and fires, striking Booth and causing him to collapse. Davy turns to Booth and announces that he has been shot. Conger and Baker pull Booth from the barn as Booth deliriously states that Jefferson Davis will save him. Corbett appears, stating that Booth was about to shoot, so he fired first. Herold screams that this is a lie as Corbett looks to the heavens in amazement for having become God’s instrument.

Booth is moved further away from the flames and placed on the porch of the Garrett house. Though Julia Garrett does not want him inside, she still provides a pillow for his head and laments that a “great man deserves the hospital.” The soldiers state that Booth won’t survive the hour. Booth spits up blood, makes a few statements, and dies.

The next scene shows Stanton’s arrival at the Garrett farm after daybreak. Luther Baker apologizes to the Secretary for not taking Booth alive but repeats Corbett’s story that Booth was about to fire. Stanton is led to Booth’s body, which is wrapped in a blanket and lying on a cart. He pulls the blanket off of Booth’s face and sees his quarry face-to-face for the first time. Everton Conger appears and shows Stanton all of the items found on Booth, including his diary, which piques the Secretary’s interest. After Eddie covers Booth’s face back up, Stanton orders Eddie to have Booth’s body fully identified by a coroner and then disposed of in a place that even he doesn’t know.

We then cut to the White House, where Stanton and Judge Advocate Holt prepare to inform President Johnson of their plan to try the remaining assassination conspirators using a military tribunal rather than a civilian court. Johnson is in favor of the idea. Stanton also announces his intention to formally charge Confederate president Jefferson Davis with Lincoln’s death, drawing an uncomfortable look from Holt. President Johnson agrees but tells Stanton he better be able to prove it.

The hunt is then on for crucial witnesses to be used in the trial. In Bryantown, Oswell Swann refuses Luther Baker’s request to testify, countering with, “Talk to me when I’m considered more than three-fifths a man.” From Dr. Mudd’s cell, he pleads with his visiting neighbors to testify on his behalf and tell of his good deeds as a neighbor. Later, Edwin Stanton meets with Mary Simms at a freedmen’s camp in Arlington, telling her how important her testimony would be against Dr. Mudd.

At the War Department, Holt and Eckert express their doubts to Stanton about their ability to prove a grand conspiracy plot against Lincoln involving Jefferson Davis, George Sanders, and the Confederate government. They beg Stanton to reconsider, but he refuses, saying that the trial is his call. A visit to David Herold, looking for a connection to something bigger, proves fruitless. There is a scene showing the capture and arrest of Jefferson Davis and a discussion in the War Department about how to share it with the press.

Near the end of the episode, Eddie Stanton informs his father that the inquest over Booth’s body is finished. Before departing with Luther Baker, Eddie notices his father reading Booth’s diary and inquires about it. The Secretary tells his son not to worry about it and dismisses him to his task. Once alone in the room, Stanton tears pages from Booth’s diary and throws them into the fire.

The episode ends with the Secretary announcing his readiness to prepare the next witness, while Eddie Stanton and Luther Baker are shown disposing of three bodies.


Here are some of the things I enjoyed about this episode:

  • The Final Dream

This episode opens with a dream sequence that shows Edwin Stanton walking up to Booth’s horse as it grazes in a wood. The Secretary is moving slowly with a pistol drawn and cocked. As he approaches a large tree, Stanton puts his ear close to it before his mouth turns into a wide smile. As we rotate around the tree, we see Booth on the other side, with a revolver in his hand, but his face showing signs of concern. The scene ends with the dreamer, Booth, waking up in bed at the Garrett house. This is the third episode to begin with a dream sequence. Episode 2 started with Stanton dreaming of stopping Booth at Ford’s Theatre. While successful in the dream, the assassin reacted to Stanton’s punches by laughing in the Secretary’s face. In episode 3, Booth dreamed of his ascendance to the Presidency of the Confederacy. His swearing-in ceremony was interrupted by real-life Oswell Swann, who quickly brought Booth out of his fantasy. It’s interesting how the dream in this episode is so different than the ones that came before. Booth is no longer in control or wrapped up in his own glory. Here, near the end, Booth’s dream tells him how closely tracked he truly is. His unconscious mind is telling him the end is near, even if he doesn’t want to accept it. Just a scene later, he reassures Davy that their success is assured and that a night in a barn is nothing. But that is his ego talking. Booth’s subconscious appears to know the truth. I enjoyed all three dream sequence openings.

  • Booth and Henrietta

This episode pleasantly surprised me for a bit during Booth and Herold’s time locked in the Garrett barn. Immediately after the title sequence rolls, we see Davy banging on the locked barn door like a caged animal, convinced that the pair are done for. Booth, still ignoring his subconscious mind, assures Davy that he’s gotten out of worse scrapes. To prove his point, Booth shows off a scar on his left cheek. He tells Herold the wound was given to him by a “dancer by the name of Henrietta,” who attacked him with a knife after she found Booth in bed with her sister.

This is a true story of an event that occurred on April 26, 1861, exactly four years prior to the events in the Garrett barn. The 1860-61 theatrical season marked JWB’s first tour as a leading star actor. Theater manager Matthew Canning acted as Booth’s agent and started him in the Southern states before moving north to New York in January of 1861. After arriving in Rochester, Booth met his leading lady for the engagement, an actress by the name of Henrietta Irving.

Henrietta Irving in 1864

Five years older than Booth, Henrietta was a native of New York and said to be a niece of author Washington Irving of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” fame. I have tried to verify this with genealogical records but haven’t been able to prove it. Still, there may have been some family connection. Henrietta made her stage debut in 1855. Now six years into her career, Henrietta wasn’t a big household name but was still an accomplished working actress. Henrietta was most appreciated in smaller-sized cities across the country that were bereft of true “star” power. She played the leading parts well and wasn’t above playing supporting roles or sharing billing.

In 1859, Henrietta’s younger sister, Marie, made her debut on the stage. When the next season began, Henrietta and Marie joined forces and were advertised as the Irving sisters. While Henrietta’s career in the theater would last decades before her death in 1905, Marie’s foray only lasted a couple of seasons.

On January 21, 1861, John Wilkes Booth made his debut in Rochester, playing Romeo to Henrietta Irving’s Juliet. After the Shakespearean play was done, Marie Irving starred in the comedic afterpiece, the Rival Pages.

The engagement proceeded normally for two weeks, with Booth and the Irving sisters performing various plays together in different combinations while supported by the local theater company. Booth was very well received in Rochester, with the newspapers comparing him favorably to his revered father, Junius Brutus Booth. Booth’s time in Rochester ended on February 2, but his next engagement in Albany didn’t begin until February 11th. His whereabouts during this week are unknown, but he may have stayed in Rochester. It has been claimed that during this period in Rochester, Booth was engaged in a tryst with his leading Juliet, Henrietta Irving.

The details of Booth and Henrietta’s romance are difficult to know for certain. It is the stuff of gossip with conflicting sources. In the years after Lincoln’s assassination, columnist George Alfred Townsend (GATH)  dug up as much dirt about Booth’s life and career as he could. In his 1865 book, The Life, Crime, and Capture of John Wilkes Booth, GATH described Booth and Henrietta’s relationship thusly:

“They assumed a relation creditable only in La Bohéme, and were as tender as love without esteem can ever be.”

Years later, GATH interviewed Matthew Canning, Booth’s agent during this tour. Canning stated that Booth’s “chief passion was for women.” We must remember that Booth was a rising star during this period. Womanizing and sex followed naturally from his growing success. During the same period in Edwin Booth’s life, the elder brother had also lived the Bohemian lifestyle of casual sex. In 1858, Edwin wrote a letter to his brother, June, bragging about bedding a supporting actress at the theater, saying, “can’t brag on her acting so much as what we do in secret.” The fact that Dr. Ernest Abel was able to write an entire 400+ page book about John Wilkes Booth and the Women Who Loved Him demonstrates that JWB was also not short on female companionship during his brief 26 years of life.

Without naming names, Canning recalled to GATH that Henrietta was “Booth’s temporary mistress” during their time in Rochester. Eventually, Booth had to leave for Albany. He performed at the Gayety Theatre in Albany from February 11 through March 16, with one week off during the run. After this engagement ended, JWB headed to Portland, Maine, just as  Henrietta arrived in Albany for her own engagement at the Gayety Theatre. Even though Marie is not listed in the newspaper advertisements, she likely appeared alongside her sister in Albany.

Lucille and Helen Western

John Wilkes Booth was in Portland from March 18 through April 13. During the first week, he performed alongside another pair of acting sisters, Lucille and Helen Western. Booth had acted alongside the pair a year earlier when he was still a lowly stock actor in Richmond, Virginia. The “Star Sisters,” as the Westerns were known, made ample use of their good looks. They often put on more exotic shows with costumes that showed off their figures or even saw them dressed as men. Some of their regular plays were filled with sexual innuendo, and they thrived on courting controversy.  However, as successful as the “Star Sisters” had been, the duo was at the end of their time together. Their engagement with Booth marked the last time the Western sisters would appear on stage together. In his book, Dr. Abel writes that John Wilkes Booth likely made a “temporary mistress” out of seventeen-year-old Helen Western during their time in Portland together, but the evidence to support this claim is lacking.

After his time with the Western sisters in Portland was over, Booth returned to Albany for a repeat engagement at the Gayety Theatre starting on April 22. Henrietta Irving had just concluded her own run at the theater and had last appeared on April 19. Whether she performed supporting roles to Booth in April is unknown. The newspaper advertisements for this engagement only mention Booth sharing billing with “Signor Canito, the Man Monkey.” The “signor” was a New York actor by the name of Samuel Canty, who dressed as a monkey and performed in acrobatic plays he wrote himself.

Booth’s engagement with the monkey man was going well until April 26, 1861, when Henrietta Irving made her attack. The details are unclear, but the incident occurred at the Stanwix Hall hotel in Albany, where both Booth and Irving were staying. Irving stabbed at Booth with a dagger, aiming at his face – the stock and trade of any handsome actor. Booth managed to parry the blow, but not before receiving a bloody gash on his cheek. Having failed in her attack, Irving returned to her own hotel room at the Stanwix and stabbed herself. The attempt at suicide proved non-fatal, and both the victim and the attacker survived their knife wounds.

The newspaper articles that popped up about the incident were vague. Most seemed to believe that Henrietta Irving’s attack on Booth was due to a love affair gone wrong. The short blurbs that popped up in papers about the incident blamed the stabbing on “disappointed affection,” “misunderstanding,” “jealousy,” “or some little affair of that sort.”

Henrietta Irving

The miniseries suggests that the stabbing may have been due to Booth taking an interest in Henrietta’s sister, Marie, during this time. There is some evidence to support this. In the same 1886 interview between GATH and Matthew Canning, Booth’s former agent recalled:

“There were two sisters in the company [in Albany], and neither of them very considerate. One of them was Booth’s temporary mistress, and he got a fancy for the other one, and the first sister kept watch on him, and as he was coming out of the other one’s room she jumped on him and stabbed him.”

This recollection from Canning implies that Booth had shifted his desires from Henrietta to her sister Marie and that Henrietta attacked him as a result. Whether this attack was from jealousy on Henrietta’s part or an attempt to protect her sister from a lothario she knew all too well is uncertain.

The incident marked the end of Booth’s debut touring season. The wound was not severe, but the latest of several misfortunes that had befallen the novice star, and Booth was ready for a break. From Albany, he returned home to Maryland and spent ten weeks at the family home of Tudor Hall memorizing and practicing plays for his next season.

Henrietta Irving

Henrietta Irving’s career was not hampered by the bad press. She continued to act and married fellow actor Edward Eddy in 1867. We’ll probably never know her true motivation for stabbing Booth and then turning the knife on herself in 1861. In an autobiography she wrote before her death in 1905, Henrietta Irving makes no mention of John Wilkes Booth.

  • The Favorite

While in the barn talking with Davy before the authorities arrive, Booth goes into a monologue regarding his relationship with his mother and father. I’ll cover more of this in the sections that follow, but I did enjoy one part of it. During his monologue, Booth recounts that his mother “didn’t play favorites like my father.”

Despite Booth’s claim that Mary Ann Booth “didn’t play favorites,” it was well-known among the Booth children that she did and that Wilkes was the favorite. Granted, this had not always been the case. The original favorite had been Henry Bryon Booth, the fourth of the Booth children. He had been named after the famous poet Lord Byron, whose words helped Junius woo Mary Ann into leaving England with him. Henry Byron died of smallpox at the age of 11 in December of 1836, while the family was on an extended visit to England. The Booths were devastated by the loss of this boy, with Junius writing back to his father in America:

“We have at last cause and severe enough it is, to regret coming to England. I have delayed writing till time had somewhat softened the horror of the event. Our dear little Henry is dead! He caught the small pox and it proved fatal – he has been buried about three weeks since in the chapel ground close by. Guess what his loss has been to us – So proud as I was of him above all others.”

John Wilkes Booth was the first child born after the death of Henry Byron. When he came in May 1838, it helped put the light back into a still-mourning Booth household.

In addition to the timing of his birth, John Wilkes possessed a strong loyalty to his mother. He acted as the man of the house while his older brothers, June and Edwin, traveled west on their acting careers. After Junius, Sr. died in 1852, John Wilkes tried his best to work the family farm and provide for his mother and siblings. Eventually, a successful Edwin came home and saved the family from their poverty, but it had been Wilkes who had stuck by his mother’s side during these hard times.

The fact that Mary Ann favored Wilkes over her other children was not resented by the other siblings, either. In her own book about her brother, Asia wrote that she was closer to John than any of her siblings. When Mary Devlin Booth, Edwin Booth’s wife, died in 1863, John Wilkes canceled his engagements to rush to his grieving brother’s side. He regularly corresponded with his eldest brother, June, and took a great interest in the lives of his nieces and nephews. Wilkes even tried his best to provide some guidance and structure to his youngest sibling, Joe, whose lack of purpose and melancholy greatly worried their mother. As historians William Edwards and Edward Steers, Jr. concluded: “John was everyone’s favorite.”

With all this being said, I actually enjoy this part of Booth’s monologue in which he relates that his father played favorites, but his mother did not. Wilkes is either purposefully misrepresenting or completely ignorant of the fact that he is his mother’s favorite child. The former would demonstrate Booth’s manipulative nature and ability to lie to make himself look better, while the latter would show how selfish and narcissistic Booth was. The entire family knew and acknowledged that Wilkes was his mother’s favorite child, but his own self-pity and hurt ego over the idea that he wasn’t also his father’s favorite blinds him to the truth of his elevated status. I like this line as it is yet another example of something the miniseries accidentally gets right when you know the true context.

  • His Mother’s Prophecy

In the same monologue mentioned above, Booth recalls being the victim of a cutting insult on the part of his father and that his mother then came to his aid. Mary Ann looked at the palms of Booth’s “beautiful hands” and predicted that one day, her son would do something important with those hands. To Booth, his shooting of Lincoln was the fulfillment of his mother’s words, and that prophecy, not the soothsayer’s prophecy from episode 3 predicting his early demise, gave him comfort now.

This little story of Mrs. Booth having a vision of her son’s future actually has some basis in fact, though it comes from well before Wilkes could speak. In Asia Booth’s book about her brother, she recalled a family story told to her by her mother. It revolved around a night, not long after the birth of John Wilkes, when the mother was trying to coax her newest child to sleep as they both sat in front of a fire. According to Mary Ann, while thinking about the future of her young boy, she witnessed a vision. The story of what she saw was repeated so often that, in 1854, Asia wrote the story as a poem and presented the piece as a present for her mother’s birthday. Asia’s poem of “The Mother’s Vision” is as follows:

THE MOTHER’S VISION

Written 1854, June 2nd, by A.B., Harford Co. Md.

‘Tween the passing night and the coming day
When all the house in slumber lay,
A patient mother sat low near the fire,
With that strength that even nature cannot tire,
Nursing her fretful babe to sleep –
Only the angels these records keep
Of mysterious Love!

One little confiding hand lay spread
Like a white-oped lily, on that soft fair bed,
The mother’s bosom, drawing strength and contentment warm –
The fleecy head rests on her circling arm.
In her eager worship, her fearful care,
Riseth to heaven a wild, mute prayer
Of foreboding Love!

Tiny, innocent white baby-hand,
What force, what power is at your command,
For evil, or good? Be slow or be sure,
Firm to resist, to pursue, to endure –
My God, let me see what this hand shall do
In the silent years we are tending to;
In my hungering Love,

I implore to know on this ghostly night
Whether ’twill labour for wrong or right,
For – or against Thee?
The flame up-leapt
Like a wave of blood, an avenging arm crept
Into shape; and Country shone out in the flame,
Which fading resolved to her boy’s own name!
God had answered Love-
Impatient Love!

The story of Mary Ann Booth seeing the flames of a fire spell out “Country” and then John Wilkes Booth’s name is a compelling one that would have been perfectly suited for a dramatic recreation. While I wish that the miniseries had been more exact in recounting the details of this vision, I appreciate their hint at the family story.

  • Explaining the Trial

In the second half of this episode, we see Secretary Stanton preparing for the trial of the Lincoln conspirators. The series actually does a good job of showing Stanton’s strong belief that Jefferson Davis and other leaders of the Confederate government were behind the actions of John Wilkes Booth. We’ll talk more about this belief and how Stanton’s devotion to this theory ended up compromising the government’s case in the review for the final episode of the series.

However, I did appreciate how well the series showed a fictitious yet conceptually accurate discussion between Sec. Stanton, Judge Advocate General Joseph Holt, and President Johnson regarding the way in which the trial of the conspirators was to be conducted. The participants aptly explained the “danger” of attempting to try the conspirators in a civilian court where a jury of their peers might rule in their favor. JAG Holt explained how a panel of military judges would be better suited to the task and, of course, explicitly chosen by the War Department for the task. The scene also had Johnson lay out a basic but historically correct argument for why the conspirators should be tried by a military court for their assassination of the commander-in-chief. The whole scene was well written and explained a controversial decision using very human and understandable terms.

I also appreciate how Both Stanton and President Johnson were shown to be united in this area. One of my critiques has been how the series has shown the two to be at odds far too often this early in their relationship. Johnson wanted vengeance for Lincoln just as much as Stanton did. It was only as Johnson’s presidency went on that his deviations from his predecessor’s actions and beliefs caused an irreconcilable fissure between the men.

  • Will Harrison as Davy Herold

Back in my review for episode 3, I recounted how much I was enjoying how the writers managed to make David Herold a complex figure and how impressed I was with Will Harrison’s performance of this often-overlooked conspirator. My admiration for both Harrison’s acting and the interpersonal writing of his character only increased with the stand-out performance in the penultimate episode of the series. Herold experiences a whole gamut of emotions in this episode. In the barn, he finally refuses to entertain Booth’s ego and delusion any longer, and he is the only one of the two who truly acknowledges the severity of their circumstances. Herold is then noticeably wounded when Booth turns on him and projects his own inadequacies onto the pharmacist’s clerk, who had been nothing but loyal to the assassin up to now. Even though Booth is not worthy of his devotion, he still begs the assassin to live and not give up his life unnecessarily. Then, from his lonely prison cell, Davy acknowledges the powerful influence Booth had on him, yet is still unable to completely free himself from it, begging to read Booth’s diary once more.

Both Herold and Sec. Stanton reflect on their friends Booth and Lincoln, and how they made each feel important. Yet Herold fails to realize that his relationship was one-directional and with a narcissist who could only take. Though Tobias Menzies’ Sec. Stanton was correct that David Herold can’t be forgiven for what he did, Will Harrison’s portrayal of the conspirator in this episode returns a much-needed humanity to this historical figure.

  • An Equivocal Code

I was pleasantly surprised by part of the scene in the War Department where both JAG Holt and Thomas Eckert expressed their concerns to Stanton about the strength of the evidence to support the idea of a grand conspiracy involving the Confederate government. Stanton manages to acknowledge these shortcomings but is still unwilling to change his mind. He relates how the other side has shown its willingness to bend the rules and suggests his team do the same (as if trying the conspirators in front of a military court wasn’t bending the rules enough already).

As part of their equivocal evidence connecting Booth to Jefferson Davis is a coded message from Davis to John Surratt stating, “Come Retribution,” and the discovery of a cipher table in Booth’s room. As Holt and Eckert note, they can’t prove that the coded message related to the assassination or that Booth ever even saw it. To this, Stanton responds, “Very few, if any, understand how code works,” before ordering Eckert to “make it sound more definitive than it is.”

While I was not a fan of the miniseries creating a fictional coded message from Jefferson Davis to John Surratt just for the sake of intrigue, I am very happy that they are explicitly showing that the existence of Booth’s cipher table has been greatly misconstrued as being evidence of a connection between Booth and the Confederacy. I wrote as much in a blog post here back in 2019 entitled Booth’s “Confederate” Cipher (which you should all read). Given how very few others have ever written about Booth’s cipher table, I’d like to think one of the writers of this series read my post. In summary, the cipher table found in Booth’s room is in no way evidence of connection to the Confederate secret service. If you want to learn more, read the post.


Let’s dig now into the fact vs. fiction of this episode and learn about the true history surrounding these fictional scenes.

1. Booth’s Other Wound

In addition to mentioning the stab wound he received from Henrietta Irving, Booth shows Davy another wound he survived in the past. He points to a scar on his right hip and tells Davy that it was caused by a crazed fan who shot him in Columbus, Georgia. Booth then goes on to state that if Davy were to visit Columbus, he might hear some gossip of, “Booth’s own pistol going off in his pocket.” But Booth denies this story and assures Davy it was a deranged fan who shot him “demanding an autograph while I was taking home an ingenue.”

I appreciated how the miniseries clearly shows that Booth is making up a story to protect his vanity. However, even the “true” story that we are supposed to infer from this exchange – that Booth accidentally shot himself with a gun – is not exactly accurate.

The event in question happened on October 12, 1860, during Booth’s ill-fated debut season that would end with him being stabbed by Henrietta Irving. A concise version of what occurred can be read in this newspaper article.

I’ve written at length about Matthew Canning accidentally shooting his lead actor in a 2012 blog post entitled “Shooting Booth,” which I encourage you to read if you want to know the full story. While Booth may have had a hand in his own shooting, it would not be accurate to say that his own pistol went off in his pocket.

2. “Boy, you are useless.”

In the part of Booth’s barn monologue where he talks about his relationship with his parents, he recounts a time when he approached his father and asked the elder tragedian to train him as an actor. According to Booth, Junius responded cuttingly with, “Boy, you are useless,” dashing his hopes.

In this way, the miniseries is once again returning to the idea that Booth’s choice to assassinate Lincoln was motivated by an intense inferiority complex. While I have no doubt that the Booth family dynamic had an impact on John Wilkes Booth, I still find the belief that Booth did what he did because his father and brother were better actors than he was to be too contrived and simplistic.

I would agree that Booth likely felt that his father played favorites and that his brother Edwin had been given chances he had not. Part of this, however, was due to the age difference between Edwin and Wilkes. Their father’s alcoholism increased greatly in his later years, deeply impacting the family’s income stream. In earlier years, Mary Ann traveled with Junius to keep him sober, but her household was far too big for this to continue. She assigned her eldest boy, June, to the role of his father’s guardian for a time, but soon, June had a family and life of his own. In 1848, Junius needed a new traveling companion. The options were limited. While daughter Rosalie was 25 years old, it would not have been deemed appropriate for a daughter to become her father’s keeper. The only remaining Booth boys were Edwin, Wilkes, and Joe.  Of these, Edwin was the oldest at 14, followed by Wilkes, who was 10. By necessity and by age, Edwin became his father’s assistant. Wilkes was no doubt jealous of the opportunity and theatrical education his brother received in watching their father perform in cities across the nation. However, he was also ignorant of the immense struggles Edwin endured trying to keep their father out of the bottle and on the stage night after night. For both brothers, the grass was greener on the other side. While Wilkes was jealous that Edwin got to travel with their father, Edwin lamented his lost childhood and his lack of a formal education.

There is no evidence that Junius ever called Booth “useless.” The idea that Junius did not want to train Wilkes as an actor might be true, but likely not because of the old man playing favorites. In reality, Junius attempted to dissuade all of his sons from pursuing acting as a vocation. Junius knew firsthand the difficult lives actors lived. They were constantly away from their homes and families, and even the most successful of actors often struggled to make ends meet. Junius desperately desired for his children to go into respectable careers with stability. Actors were celebrated for their histrionic talents, but the applause was fleeting. It wouldn’t be until Edwin Booth established The Players Club in his later years that actors were welcomed as equals amongst men of power and influence.

In truth, had Junius been able to control his drinking and manic bouts, he may have been successful in preventing his sons from becoming actors. Without a need for a guardian, his two sons, June and Edwin, could have continued their studies and found other careers. Instead, they had to accompany their father, and their education and job training became that of the theater to which Junius was bound. While John Wilkes Booth was never tasked with being his father’s keeper in this way, his rose-colored interpretation of his brothers’s experiences led him to also want to be an actor.

3. The Garrett Family

One of my particular interests in the Lincoln assassination story is John Wilkes Booth’s time at the Garrett farm right before his death. He interacted quite a bit with the Garrett family, who were ignorant of his identity and agreed to take him in under the belief that he was merely a wounded Confederate soldier in need of assistance. The assassin spent about 39 hours at the Garrett farm before meeting his demise. He spent the first of his two nights sleeping comfortably in a bed inside the Garrett home as the family did not yet have any reason to suspect their houseguest was anyone other than what he claimed to be. It was only after the re-arrival of Davy Herold on the second day and the two men’s subsequent reaction to members of the 16th NY Cavalry riding by the farm that gave the family pause and resulted in the men’s banishment to the tobacco barn for Booth’s second night. Practically all documentaries and dramatic series fail to accurately portray this timeline. They all make it appear as if Booth showed up at the Garrett farm and was almost immediately condemned to the barn, where the troops cornered him a few hours later.

In truth, I had high hopes for Manhunt to finally show an accurate representation of the Garrett farm, Booth’s interaction with the family, and his death. Unfortunately, most of what is shown in this episode regarding the events at the Garrett farm is fictitious and only loosely based on fact.

The episode opens with Julia Garrett, fresh off of her awkward “bathing Booth” duty from the prior show, telling the men that they can’t stay overnight as her daddy will question her honor if they are found in the house. After some wooing by Booth, Julia agrees to let Booth and Herold take their horses in the morning, but only if her daddy approves. Julia leads them to the barn, and Booth once again tries to work his awkward magic on her, but she rebuffs him and locks the men in the barn, leading to the barn discussions between Booth and Herold that were previously mentioned.

Apparently, Julia’s daddy never comes home, as she remains the only member of the Garrett household that we ever see. While one of the children born to Richard Henry Garrett was named Julia, the real Julia Frances Garrett died in 1851 when she was less than a year old. The miniseries never shows the many other Garrett family members who interacted with Booth during his time at the farm, nor does it cover the actual series of events that led to Booth and Herold being locked into the barn and guarded by Jack and Will Garrett. The Garrett family did not know the true identity of the man they had been entertaining until he was already shot and dying on their porch. Booth was locked into the barn because he and Herold told the Garretts that they had gotten into a scrape with the Union cavalry over some horses, and so the Garretts were fearful the men might be horse thieves. They were locked into the barn to protect the Garrett horses, not because the Garretts suspected they were involved in the assassination of Lincoln.

4. The Fire Is Started Too Quickly

As is common in these types of dramatic portrayals, the miniseries shows the troopers lighting the tobacco barn on fire seemingly within minutes of their arrival at the Garrett farm. In reality, quite a lot of time took place between the arrival of the 16th NY Cavalry and the act of actually setting the tobacco barn housing the fugitives on fire. The act of dismounting the horses in groups of two and situating the horses away from where the blaze was planned took over a half hour as the cavalry was careful to maintain an unbroken line around the tobacco barn. Even after the dry brush was placed next to the barn in preparation to smoke them out, another hour went by as the soldiers tried to convince Booth to give himself up. The whole affair was a relatively patient one, as the soldiers wanted to capture Booth alive and were not out to destroy the Garrett property if it could be avoided. In the end, though, the trooper’s patience wore thin, and Luther Baker told the men that the barn would be set on fire in five minutes if they did not surrender themselves.

It was after this final ultimatum, given over an hour and a half after the arrival of the troopers, that David Herold finally surrendered himself. He did so before the barn was set on fire, and he came out alone with Booth verbally downplaying Herold’s involvement to the troopers as a way to protect his trusted conspirator. It was only after Herold’s surrender and his being secured to a nearby tree that Everton Conger lit the barn on fire, and Booth was shot within a matter of a minute or two.

5. The Shooting and Death of Booth

In the miniseries, David Herold is sent back into the burning barn in order to convince Booth to live another day by giving himself up. After telling Booth that his only chance is a day in court, Booth rises and begins to walk out of the burning structure with Davy leading the way. At this moment, Corbett finds a hole in the side of the barn, aims his pistol through it, and fires. The bullet strikes Booth, causing him to collapse. From Davy’s entreaties for help, the soldiers pull him from the barn, and Corbett appears to take credit for his actions, noting “what a fearsome God we serve” when told he struck Booth in the back of the head, “just like Lincoln.” The delirious and partially paralyzed Booth asks about Jefferson Davis before being placed on the porch of the Garrett house. Julia Garrett places a pillow behind Booth’s head and says he needs a hospital, but a soldier notes that he won’t survive the hour. In reality, the assassin doesn’t survive the minute as he chokes and spits up blood while calling for Davy. Booth then turns to Julia, mistaking her for his mother, and tells her, “Don’t look at my hands.” After a few more gasps, Booth mutters, “Useless, Useless,” and dies.

From a global view, this portrayal of the shooting and death of Booth is fine. They have most of the highlights from the story: Booth is shot by Boston Corbett as he heads towards the barn door, the mortally wounded assassin is placed on the Garrett house porch, and Booth says, “Useless, useless” before he dies. All of these things happened, but not so quickly, and, of course, many other things also happened.

John Wilkes Booth was shot at around 4:00 am on April 26th and died a bit before 7:00 am. During the last three hours of his life, he regularly floated in and out of consciousness. While lying on the porch of the house, a mattress was placed under him, and the soldiers and Garrett family members took care of him as best they could. On more than one occasion, Booth asked the soldiers to kill him, but they refused, saying it was their hope he would recover. The detectives emptied Booth’s pockets and took stock of his valuables. A doctor was sent for and arrived from Port Royal to examine Booth and announced his wound as mortal. After making his prognosis, the doctor departed. Talking was difficult for the assassin as the bullet had passed through the back of his neck. Booth’s final conscious act was to ask the soldiers to raise his hands in front of his face so that he could see them. It was to his hands that he directed his final words of “Useless, useless.” After this exchange, he fell back into unconsciousness and died not long after.

6. The Disposition of Booth’s Body

At the Garrett farm, Edwin Stanton entrusts his son Eddie with the disposal of John Wilkes Booth’s body. He orders that a coroner fully document the body first and for Eddie to then dump it into a body of water. The Secretary states he doesn’t even want to know where the body is dumped. He insists that there should be no place where people could go to honor the assassin and tells Eddie to also dispose of decoy corpses in case he is followed. While mention is later made that an autopsy has been performed, we never see this on camera. However, we do witness Eddie following his father’s disposal instructions at the very end of the episode as he and Luther Baker dump a body in a river and then bury two others in random locations.

In reality, Booth’s body was never condemned to a watery grave. After an autopsy was performed, his body was placed in a boat and rowed to the grounds of the Old Arsenal Penitentiary, the same place where the conspirators would shortly be imprisoned and tried. Booth’s remains were buried under the floor of a storeroom. Edwin Stanton, himself, kept the key to this storeroom. In 1867, that part of the old building was slated to be demolished, so Stanton sent the key and men over to move Booth’s remains. Booth was buried in a different warehouse on the grounds, in a common grave in which David Herold, Mary Surratt, Lewis Powell, and George Atzerodt were also reburied. During the final days of Andrew Johnson’s presidency in 1869, the lame-duck president authorized the removal of the bodies and turned Booth over to his family. They transported him to Baltimore and buried him in the family plot at Green Mount Cemetery. While John Wilkes Booth does not have his own headstone in the plot, his name does appear on the back of the Booth obelisk, noting him as a child of Junius Brutus and Mary Ann Booth.

To be fair to the miniseries, there was a lot of misinformation out there about the final disposition of John Wilkes Booth. So many rumors swirled that Booth really was sunk into the Potomac that Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper devoted the cover of their May 20, 1865 edition to a supposedly “authentic sketch” of the deed. In the decades that followed, more than one former sailor/soldier claimed to newspapers that he was the last remaining member of the “sinking detail.” However, the actual whereabouts of Booth’s corpse have been well documented, and we can rest assured that he lies in Green Mount Cemetery, not at the bottom of the Anacostia or Potomac Rivers.

7. A Reluctant Baptist Washington

There is a brief scene in which Dr. Mudd is shown conversing with a group of his neighbors and his brother-in-law, Jeremiah Dyer, asking which of them would be willing to testify on his behalf at his trial. Dr. Mudd correctly recounts that he is not permitted to testify on his own and that he needs them to swear to his good character.

After making his appeal, each of the gathered crowd raised their hand in support of the doctor, save one. This lone holdout is Baptist Washington, the only Black man present among his white neighbors. Wordlessly, Dr. Mudd signals to Jeremiah, and the doctor’s brother-in-law slips Washington a collection of dollar bills. After pocketing the bribe, Washington raises his hand in support like the rest.

Baptist Washington was an actual person who testified at the trial of the Lincoln conspirators. Washington had been enslaved by Jeremiah Dyer before emancipation came to Maryland in November of 1864. While he was still enslaved to the Dyer family, Washington had been hired out to Dr. Mudd and worked at the Mudd farm during carpentry work between January and August of 1864. Washington was one of the few African Americans who testified on behalf of Dr. Mudd, mainly to counter the claims of the real Mary Simms, who stated that Dr. Mudd had harbored Confederate agents like John Surratt at the farm. There is no evidence that Baptist Washington was paid for his testimony.

However, as I wrote in my piece recounting the Formerly Enslaved Voices in the Lincoln Assassination Trial, there were reasons other than monetary why people like Baptist Washington may have felt pressured to testify in favor of an enslaver like Dr. Mudd. While many Black residents left the regions where they had been enslaved when emancipation came, many others did not have that option. Even when freedom came, people like Baptist Washington, his wife, and his children remained living among the people who had once enslaved them. Washington faced difficult choices in 1865 and beyond. Even if he didn’t want to testify on Dr. Mudd’s behalf, failing to abide by the wishes of his white neighbors in Charles County would have had lifelong negative repercussions for him. Many other formerly enslaved people who didn’t move away after freedom likewise chose appeasement rather than conflict. This appeasement became misconstrued by white authors as the “loyal slave” and “good master” narratives, contributing to the myth of the Lost Cause. But Dr. Mudd was far from the oxymoronic good enslaver, as evidenced by Elzee Eglent, who testified about Dr. Mudd shooting him in the leg for not working hard enough. It’s not surprising then that Baptist Washington and many others spent their whole lives appeasing the white folks around them and telling them what they wanted to hear. During Reconstruction and beyond, such appeasement was sometimes the only way to survive.

8. Burning the Diary Pages

Near the end of the episode, we see Edwin Stanton reading through the pages of Booth’s diary, which was recovered from his body at the Garrett farm. Eddie Stanton sees his father reading it and asks him, “Did Booth write down his motives?” followed by, “Is there anything in there that could stain your reputation?” The elder Stanton tells his son not to worry about it, and Eddie leaves. We then watch as Sec. Stanton approaches the room’s fireplace, kneels down in front of the flames, rips pages from the diary, and burns them to ash.

This scene was actually previewed in one of the teaser trailers for the series, so I knew it would come eventually. Still, it was my fervent hope that this series would not indulge this completely unsupported conspiracy theory that Stanton altered John Wilkes Booth’s diary. It is a truly baffling choice on the part of the writers of the series to include this completely fictional scene, especially since it has been their goal to show Edwin Stanton in a noble and heroic light.

The idea of Stanton destroying pages of Booth’s diary is based on the writing of chemist-turned-author Otto Eisenschiml. In 1937, Eisenschiml wrote his most famous work, Why Was Lincoln Murdered?, in which he claimed that Edwin Stanton was the chief architect of Lincoln’s assassination. According to Eisenschiml, Stanton worried that Lincoln was going to be too lenient with Confederate leaders after the war was over, so he had his boss killed as a result. Much of the “evidence” Eisenschmil provides to support his thesis is blatantly false or highly circumstantial. Still, the controversy over his claim grabbed the attention of the public, and there are still those today who falsely believe that Stanton had a hand in Lincoln’s murder and that he destroyed the pages of Booth’s diary that incriminated him.

In reality, there is no evidence that Booth’s diary was altered after it was recovered from him. Booth’s diary, as we know it, is actually a pocket date book for 1864. The pages that have been removed from the book correspond with the pages for January 1 – June 10, 1864. It is important to remember that, during the first half of 1864, John Wilkes Booth was still a working actor, traveling from city to city performing on stage. This book was likely used by the actor to keep track of his engagements, travel expenses, his percentage of the box office, and other assorted personal affairs. This diary was never intended to be his last manifesto. Booth had written his true motivations and given the papers in a sealed envelope to his friend John Mathews with instructions to turn the papers over to the newspapers the next day. After Mathews witnessed his friend assassinate the President, the Ford’s Theatre actor read the manifesto and then burned it out of fear it would incriminate him in Booth’s plot. While on the run, Booth was distraught to find that his words had not been published in the papers. He attempted again to make his thoughts known and was forced to make do with this otherwise forgotten 1864 datebook, which he still had tucked in his coat pocket. The most likely and logical reason for the missing pages in Booth’s diary is that the assassin ripped them out himself in order to remove the mundane details of a traveling actor in 1864 and ensure a clean slate for his last manifesto.

If you’re interested in reading the text of John Wilkes Booth’s diary, I transcribed it in a post here.

No reliable evidence supports the idea that Edwin Stanton, or anyone other than John Wilkes Booth, altered his 1864 datebook. This miniseries does a great disservice to history by portraying this completely fictitious scene, which only succeeds in spreading a long-debunked and baseless conspiracy theory to the masses. I’m still shocked that this otherwise pro-Edwin Stanton miniseries embraced the ugliest of conspiracy theories against him. I’m no Edwin Stanton fan, but he deserved better than this.


Quick(ish) Thoughts

  • While I really liked the opening dream sequence, the shots of Booth’s horse grazing in the woods reminded me that there was never any follow-up to Davy’s horse galloping away from the pair in episode 3. You’ll remember that Booth shot his horse in the pine thicket and ordered Davy to do the same to his. But Herold was unable to kill the animal, and it ran off. At the time, I was convinced that the horse would be found in a later episode. But this never came to be, likely because the following episode had nothing to do with the actual manhunt and dealt with the fictional George Sanders intrigue. I supposed it’s all for the best anyway since, in reality, both horses were shot and sunk in the Zekiah Swamp by Davy Herold and Franklin Robey.

  • When Booth shows Davy the scar from his 1860 Columbus gunshot wound in his right hip, Davy suggests that this wound was why Booth’s “leg broke on that side” when jumping from the box at Ford’s Theatre because the “bones were still fragile.” We’ve already discussed that the real Booth broke his left leg, not the right, as the miniseries portrays. But even overlooking this fact, a bullet in the hip would not make the bone in your lower leg just above the ankle “fragile.” I know Davy was not a doctor, just a pharmacy clerk, but this claim makes no sense. Even the miniseries Booth seems to think this suggestion is nonsense, dismissing Davy’s idea with a “yeah, possibly.”
  • Booth recounts to Davy that his “mother had many children. Four passed away. Three to cholera. One fell swoop.” It’s true that out of the ten children born to Mary Ann and Junius Brutus Booth, four died before reaching adulthood. They were Henry Bryon, Mary Ann, Frederick, and Elizabeth. But it was only two children who died of cholera at the Booth family farm in “one fell swoop.” These were Mary Ann and Elizabeth, who both died within days of each other in 1833 at about the ages of 5 and 2, respectively. Both sisters had been predeceased by their brother Frederick, who died in Boston in 1828 at the age of 16 months. In December of 1836, eleven-year-old Henry Byron Booth died of smallpox while the family was visiting England. With the exception of Henry Bryron, who was buried in England, the other three Booth siblings were buried at the family farm of Tudor Hall. In 1869, after the government agreed to release John Wilkes Booth’s body to his family, Mrs. Booth had the remains of her three young children disinterred and moved to Green Mount Cemetery, where Edwin had purchased a large plot. The remains of Frederick, Mary Ann, and Elizabeth were placed in a single coffin and buried on top of their younger brother, John Wilkes, in the family plot.

  • While I still enjoyed the portrayal of William Mark McCullough as Boston Corbett in this episode, I feel that the writers made him a bit too zealous in this, his big climatic episode. Corbett, the lowly sergeant, single-handedly leads the cavalry, busts down the Garrett House door, pulls a pistol on and then chokes Julia Garrett, and later offers to go on a suicide mission into the barn to draw Booth’s fire until the assassin is out of ammo. Corbett certainly was a zealous and eccentric man, but he did not have a death wish. Nor would he have overstepped his role as a sergeant. The miniseries never shows Captain Edward Doherty, the leader of this detachment of cavalrymen, but even without him, Everton Conger and Luther Baker were in charge. Corbett is just a bit too crazy in this episode.
  • After the barn is set on fire, Julia Garrett rushes towards it and tells the soldiers they have to get Booth out of there. Again, the Garretts never knew that Booth had been their guest until after he was shot. After this comment, Corbett tells Julia, “This is a federal investigation. You’re obstructing.” These words sound painfully modern and out of place in this historical context.
  • As quickly as the troopers in Manhunt are to set fire to the tobacco barn, the structure itself burns at an amazingly slow pace, and the fire never seems to catch on anything inside the barn. For a barn that was filled with dried tobacco leaves and hay, this is beyond belief. But I suppose an asbestos-lined barn was necessary so that the news of the barn being lit could reach Stanton back in Bowling Green and for him to think he could make it to the Garrett farm before it was over.

  • When looking over the corpse of John Wilkes Booth at the Garrett farm, Edwin Stanton touches Booth’s hair as he states, “You’re no one now.” This is reminiscent of the many locks of hair that were cut from the assassin’s head. While lying on the Garrett porch, one of the Garretts cut a lock of Booth’s hair, and part of that lock was later sent to Mary Ann Booth. When Booth’s body lay on board the USS Montauk during his autopsy, locks of hair were snipped by visitors who identified him. Just before his final burial in Green Mount Cemetery in 1869, more hair was cut from his head as a keepsake for his family. Keeping locks of hair of the deceased was a very common Victorian mourning custom.
  • Oswell Swann is partially redeemed in this episode. After Booth’s death, there is a scene in Bryantown between Swann and Luther Baker. Swann tells Baker that Booth and Herold had passed that way, with Baker replying, “Yeah, we got your tip,” implying that Swann had alerted the authorities at some point. However, Baker next complains that this tip did not come earlier, leading Swann to defend himself and the dangers posed to him living in an anti-Lincoln community. While this sentiment is fair enough, I still don’t feel this redemption is enough to undo the damage done to the real Swann in prior episodes in portraying him as an active agent for the Confederate underground.
  • After this episode features the capture of Jefferson Davis, there is a scene between Eckert and Stanton in the War Department where Stanton orders that the press be told Jefferson Davis was captured while wearing his wife’s dress rather than just her shawl. According to Stanton, the reason for this is because, “they humiliated Abe when he wore women’s clothes to avoid death threats in Baltimore.” It’s a bit unclear who the “they” are in Stanton’s sentence. It could be a reference to Confederate plotters like Davis or perhaps even the press itself. Regardless, the point is moot, as Abraham Lincoln never dressed in women’s clothing, nor was he said to have dressed in women’s clothing to avoid assassination. The event references an event in 1861 to possibly assassinate President-elect Lincoln as he made his way by train to Washington for the first time. There were threats that an attempt might be made on Lincoln’s life in Baltimore, so he changed his plans at the last minute and essentially snuck through Baltimore ahead of schedule and arrived safely in D.C. After this was learned, Lincoln’s political enemies ridiculed him for cowardice. One reporter basely claimed that Lincoln moved through Baltimore wearing a scotch cap and a long cloak. While Lincoln was never disguised in such a way, this lie stuck, and many political cartoons were made of the new President slinking into or panic-strickenly dashing into Washington. The event did damage Lincoln’s ego a bit and may have contributed to his later distaste for guards and security.

I apologize for the six-month delay between my review of episode 5 and this one. In truth, my frustration with the series really zapped my motivation to continue with these in-depth reviews. Since Booth’s time at the Garrett farm and subsequent death is my favorite aspect of the story, seeing how much the miniseries botched this aspect really made the prospect of writing this review seem like an unwanted chore. However, I made a commitment to review all seven episodes of the series, and that is what I am going to do, even if I have to take lengthy breaks between each one. I will do my best to write my review of the final episode before another six months go by. I would really like to cross this project off my to-do list. Thanks for sticking with me.

Dave

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“Back There” with The Twilight Zone

Last month, I published a post containing an episode of The Twilight Zone Podcast in which the host, Tom Elliot, included two radio shows based on the concept of time travel and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. That podcast episode was a prelude to Tom’s regular review of “Back There,” an episode of The Twilight Zone, which deals with the very same topic. I very much enjoyed listening to both of Tom’s podcasts, and they inspired me to do my own analysis of one of my favorite episodes of this iconic series. What follows is an exploration of “Back There,” containing an overview of the episode, biographies of the actors who took part in it, a look into the production and editing, some trivia, and a discussion of some other adaptations of this unique Lincoln assassination-related show. While the following post isn’t quite as “vast as space, or as timeless as infinity,” it is still quite a deep dive. If you’re ready for such an adventure into the fifth dimension, then read on as we travel “Back There” with The Twilight Zone.

Contents


Episode Overview

“You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead. Your next stop, The Twilight Zone.”

The episode opens with an establishing shot of a building bearing the sign “The Potomac Club. Established 1858.” We fade to the interior of the club and find it to be a traditional gentlemen’s club in the year 1961. The decor is ornate, with various sculptures and paintings throughout the room. There are several seated men around the periphery of the room reading newspapers and playing chess. The club attendants dutifully move around the room, serving drinks to the members. Near the center of the drawing room is a round table with four men seated around it playing cards.

The camera pushes in on these men, and we begin to overhear their conversation. One of the members at the table named Millard has espoused his belief that if someone had the ability to travel back in time, nothing would stop them from changing the past. Specifically, Millard suggests traveling to the day before the stock market crash of 1929 and taking action to prevent financial disaster. A younger member of the group named Peter Corrigan is skeptical of the idea, noting he would be an anachronism in the past and that he really wouldn’t belong back there. He comes to the conclusion that an event like the stock market crash of 1929 is a fixed event in history that couldn’t be altered. Millard disagrees and continues explaining what actions he would take if he were to travel to 1929. The camera then pans over to reveal that one of the seated gentlemen reading a newspaper is none other than Rod Serling. He then gives the show’s opening narration:

“Witness a theoretical argument, Washington, D.C., the present. Four intelligent men talking about an improbable thing like going back in time. A friendly debate revolving around a simple issue, could a human being change what has happened before? Interesting and theoretical because who ever heard of a man going back in time? Before tonight, that is. Because, this is, the Twilight Zone.”

When we fade back in, Corrigan tells the group that he is going to retire for the evening, noting that he will leave the subject of time travel to the likes of H. G. Wells. Whitaker, one of the card players, bids him goodnight by joking, “Don’t get lost back in time, now, Corrigan.” After Corrigan bids farewell to the other gentlemen, he exits into the foyer of the Potomac Club. On a side table rests a bust of Abraham Lincoln. Corrigan turns and glances at the Lincoln bust. At the same time, one of the club’s attendants, William, is carrying a plate with a teacup of coffee. With Corrigan focusing on the Lincoln bust and William on the cup, the two men accidentally collide, causing William to spill the coffee over them both.

William is very apologetic and attempts to clean off Corrigan’s suit jacket with a handkerchief. Corrigan understands it’s an accident and takes it in stride. William offers to get Corrigan’s coat, but Corrigan states that he was rushing the season and came out without one. Through their conversation, we learn that the date is April 14, 1961.

After bidding William a good night, Peter Corrigan steps out of the door of the Potomac Club. Then, a strange sensation comes over him. The camera blurs and comes back into focus as Corrigan checks his watch. The camera blurs again, and Corrigan reaches for his head.

After the second blur effect on Corrigan, the camera pans over to a light on the club’s stair landing. Before our eyes, the light changes from an electric bulb to a gas-powered flame.

When the camera pans back to Corrigan, his outfit has changed to a more Victorian style and his watch has disappeared off his wrist. He is confused by these changes, turns, and knocks on the door of the club he just exited. After a beat, Corrigan turns around and tells himself to go home. He slowly walks down the steps of the Potomac Club landing and notices other changes have occurred. On the street are horse-drawn wagons. All of the pedestrians are also dressed in Victorian garb, with the men wearing top hats. He rushes across the street and walks to his home, but the building now has a sign in front that says “Rooms to Let.” Finding the door locked, he knocks on the door. It is answered by a woman named Mrs. Landers. Corrigan looks around the inside of the house, thinking he has come to the wrong address.

Looking at the period decor in the building that was once his home, Corrigan starts to realize that something is greatly amiss. He asks Mrs. Landers if she has a room in which he can stay. She replies that she does, but only for acceptable boarders. She proceeds to ask Corrigan a series of questions, including inquiring if he is an army veteran. This comes as a bit of a non-sequitur to Corrigan, but he still replies in the affirmative. When he tells Mrs. Landers that he is an engineer, her demeanor completely changes at the thought of a “professional man” lodging in her home. She begins to offer Corrigan a room upstairs when they are interrupted by a couple coming down who greet Mrs. Landers. The elegantly dressed woman confirms that she and her husband, a soldier in a Union officer’s uniform, are having dinner at Willard’s and are then “off to the play.”

Mrs. Landers tells the couple to have a good time and to “applaud the President for me.” She then starts up the stairs with Corrigan in the lead. After a few steps, however, Corrigan abruptly turns and asks Mrs. Landers what she just said. Mrs. Landers is confused, so Corrigan heads back down the stairs and asks the officer to repeat what Mrs. Landers said about the President. The officer repeats the comment but is now suspicious. He asks Corrigan where his sympathies lie and Mrs. Landers inquires which army he was in. Corrigan begins to answer but pauses to take in the officer’s uniform. He eventually states he was in “The Army of the Republic, of course.” The soldier then rhetorically asks why Corrigan would make a big deal about applauding President Lincoln.

Finally, Corrigan appears to understand what has happened. He has somehow traveled back in time to a point during the Civil War. Corrigan starts putting it all together. This couple is going to a play tonight, and Abraham Lincoln will be there. Corrigan asks what theater and what play. The couple replies that the venue is Ford’s Theatre and the play is Our American Cousin. We can practically see Corrigan accessing his memory of historical events as he slowly realizes the significance of what he’s being told. He asks about the date, but he already knows the answer. He moves to exit the house, announcing, “It is April 14, 1865.”

Through some mysterious and unknown means Peter Corrigan has traveled back in time to the night of Lincoln’s assassination. Armed with the knowledge of what is to come, he is now on a mission to stop this national tragedy from occurring.

As the dramatic music swells, we cut to Baptist Alley behind Ford’s Theatre. Corrigan rushes past posted theater broadsides and makes his way to the nicely labeled “Stage Door.” Finding the door locked, he proceeds to bang on the door. He yells repeatedly to be let in and says, “The President is going to be shot tonight!”

The scene then dissolves into the interior of a metropolitan police station. Corrigan is led into the room by a patrolman and is stood before a police sergeant behind a desk. Corrigan is nursing a wound on his forehead. When the sergeant asks what Corrigan is in for, the patrolman recounts how he was trying to pound down the door at Ford’s Theatre while shouting nonsense about how the President was going to be shot. The patrolman states that the doorman at Ford’s Theatre had “popped him on the head” for his mania. Corrigan repeats to the sergeant that Lincoln is going to be shot tonight and that a man named Booth is going to do it. When the sergeant asks how Corrigan knows the President is going to be shot, Corrigan demurs, saying that if he told the sergeant how he knows, they would never believe him. Convinced that Corrigan is drunk, the police sergeant orders him to be locked up so that he can sleep it off. As he is dragged to a backroom that contains cells, Corrigan begs the police to put an extra guard on the President and yells out to everyone in the station that Lincoln will be shot by a man named John Wilkes Booth.

Right after Corrigan exits, an elegantly dressed man enters the station. He approaches the police sergeant and introduces himself as Jonathan Wellington. He inquires about Corrigan and suggests to the sergeant that the man may not be drunk but mentally ill. He asks the sergeant if Corrigan could be remanded into his custody as he would hate to see a possible war veteran placed in jail. Wellington assures the sergeant that he would be perfectly responsible for Corrigan and that he might be able to help him. The sergeant agrees and asks Corrigan to be sent out while Mr. Wellington waits outside.

Before the prisoner is released, one of the other patrolmen who had been present for the whole affair and heard Corrigan’s protestations, approaches the sergeant. He humbly suggests that perhaps something should be done in regard to Lincoln. The sergeant on duty dismisses the idea of sending police over to Ford’s Theatre on the word of some crackpot who likely lost his mind at Gettysburg.

The patrolman continues to advocate for sending a special guard to Ford’s Theatre, drawing the ire of the sergeant, who recounts to him that Lincoln has the whole federal army at his disposal and if they are satisfied with his protection, he should be too. The patrolman watches as Corrigan is brought out from the back room and exits out the door to a waiting Wellington.

The scene then changes to the interior of Mr. Wellington’s room, where Corrigan’s benefactor pours the time traveler a glass of wine. Corrigan drinks it down, thanking Wellington for the courtesy. Corrigan then asks Wellington about himself. Wellington states that he is in the government service, and as a young man in college, he dabbled in medicine of the mind. He asks Corrigan how he came to believe that the President was to be shot that night. Again, Corrigan demurs, saying that if he told him the truth of how he knows, Wellington would surely believe him to be insane. Corrigan begs Wellington to help him prevent the assassination by reiterating that a man named John Wilkes Booth will commit the act.

In the midst of their conversation, Corrigan becomes light-headed. Wellington notes that his head wound hasn’t been treated properly and that Corrigan had best cover it. Wellington hands over his handkerchief to Corrigan, who holds it against his head. Corrigan proceeds to sit and explains how faint and strange he suddenly feels. After a beat, Corrigan looks at the wine on the table and draws the conclusion that Wellington has drugged him. He gets to his feet and grabs Wellington by the collar, but in his weakened state, he is barely holding on.

Wellington tells Corrigan that he had to drug him for he was a very sick man who needed sleep and rest in order to regain his composure and reason. He lets Corrigan down slowly to the sofa below and encourages him to rest. Wellington announces he will be back soon. Corrigan, struggling against the effects of the sedative, begs Wellington to believe him that Lincoln will be shot. Before exiting the room, Wellington replies, “And that’s odd…because I’m beginning to believe you.”

With that, Mr. Wellington bids good night to Corrigan, telling him to rest well. Corrigan then passes out on the sofa, and Wellington makes his exit.

The next shot shows the stage of Ford’s Theatre. A lively audience is laughing and clapping along to the actors performing Our American Cousin. We then get a side view of the audience and stage, with the passageway leading up to the door of the President’s box in full view.

The Ford’s Theatre footage only lasts for a few seconds before we go return to Corrigan in Mr. Wellington’s room. Corrigan attempts to rouse himself off the sofa but only succeeds in falling to the floor near the fireplace. He pulls himself around the floor, attempting to get himself into a chair, but knocks it over instead. He flails and knocks away the empty glass on the table from which he had drank the drugged concoction. He crawls to the door and manages to get a hold of the knob, but it is locked, and he is unable to open the door. He calls for somebody to let him out before falling back down. Right before he passes out again, Corrigan states, “I know…I know…our President’s going to be assassinated.”

Sometime later, we hear a female voice on the other side of the door telling an officer that she has a key. The door unlocks, and in comes a chambermaid and the same patrolman who had suggested sending an extra guard to Ford’s Theatre. The patrolman wakes Corrigan and asks him what’s happened before admitting that, madman or not, Corrigan has convinced him that Lincoln is in danger. The patrolman recounts how he had been all over the city trying to get an extra guard for the President to no avail. Corrigan tells the patrolman to go to the theater himself if that’s what it takes.

The patrolman helps Corrigan back to the sofa, and Corrigan recalls how Lincoln was shot from behind and the assassin jumped from the box to the stage and out into the wings. The patrolman says, “You’re telling me this as though it’s already happened.” Corrigan, desperate to stop the tragedy and no longer worried if this man will think him crazy, replies, “It has happened. It happened a hundred years ago, and I’m here to see that it doesn’t happen.” Corrigan then asks the chambermaid where Wellington is. The chambermaid replies that there is no one here by that name. Corrigan dismisses this remark and insists on the location of Wellington, the man who brought him there and lives in this room. The chambermaid replies again that no one named Wellington resides in this place. Exasperated, Corrigan raises his fist to shake it at the chambermaid when he sees he is still holding the handkerchief Wellington gave him. He opens up the handkerchief to reveal the stitched initials “JWB.”

The chambermaid confirms that Mr. John Wilkes Booth lives in this room and he was the man who brought Corrigan there. The realization comes to Corrigan that Booth lied about his name and had drugged him to prevent Corrigan from interfering with the assassination. With a bubbling anger, Corrigan gets to his feet and tells the patrolman that he has to get to Ford’s Theatre and stop it all.

However, just then, voices are heard from the street outside. Mournful voices proclaim that “The President’s been shot” and that “an actor shot Lincoln.” We cut to a gathered crowd mumbling over the news. Back inside the room, the occupants fall into a state of grief and shock. The chambermaid weeps into her hands. Corrigan collapses dejectedly back down onto the sofa. The patrolman removes his hat and mutters to himself, “You did know. Oh, my dear God,” before he and the chambermaid leave the room. A defeated Corrigan stands and walks to the window of the room. With righteous anger, he proclaims, “I tried to tell you. I tried to warn you. Why didn’t you listen?” He repeats his rhetorical cry, “Why didn’t you listen to me?” while banging on the window. Then suddenly, the shot shows Corrigan, back in his 1961 garb, banging on the door of the Potomac Club instead.

An older attendant opens the door of the club, and Corrigan rushes in. The attendant asks Corrigan if he has forgotten something, as he had only left a moment ago. Corrigan is confused by this remark and then asks the attendant for William, the attendant who had seen him out. The older attendant is perplexed and tells Corrigan that there are no attendants named William on duty at the club. Corrigan heads back into the drawing room, but not before taking a sad glance at the bust of Abraham Lincoln on the table.

The drawing room of the club is just like before, with Corrigan’s friends still seated around the card table. They make a remark about Corrigan being back so soon and invite him to join them, though his original seat is now occupied by a new fourth. Corrigan shakily says they had been talking about time travel, to which another member of the group, Jackson, says they are on a new tack now, “Money, and the best ways to acquire it.” Corrigan begins to address the group, noting that he has something important to say. However, before telling his friends about his trip into the past, he loses his nerve. Corrigan touches his head, implying that he now believes everything he has experienced has been in his mind. His friends ask him if he is alright, and Corrigan replies in the affirmative.

The group again invites Corrigan to pull up a chair and join the conversation about amassing a fortune. Jackson points out that William, the new fourth card player, has the best method. The camera focuses on William, and we see it is the same man who spilled coffee on Corrigan at the beginning of the episode, except now he is richly dressed and smoking a cigarette.

A gobsmacked Corrigan listens as this elegant and well-spoken William explains that the best way to amass a fortune is to inherit it. William discusses how his great-grandfather had been on the Washington police force on the night of Lincoln’s assassination and that he had gone around trying to warn people that something bad might occur. The details of how William’s great-grandfather knew something tragic might happen is not known, but the publicity surrounding his attempt to get extra security for Lincoln that night made him a known figure in Washington. He eventually became chief of police and a D.C. councilman before amassing a fortune in real estate. William’s wealth came to him in a beribboned box, courtesy of his notable great-grandfather.

Having previously written off his trip into the past as a hallucination of some sort, Corrigan is still shocked to find the much-changed William. He asks William questions like, “Didn’t you used to work here as an attendant? Didn’t you spill coffee on me?” These questions draw strange looks from all the men at the card table. William puts Corrigan in his place, telling Corrigan that he was a member of the club while Corrigan was still in prep school. He also snobbishly laughs off the notion that he would have ever been an attendant.

Now unsure of what he experienced, Corrigan tries to make sense of it all. He decides to return to the group’s prior conversation on time travel and announces that, “Some things can be changed. Others can’t.” The group returns to their card game as Corrigan walks away, still processing everything that has occurred. The men at the table remark how strangely Corrigan is acting and that he looks unwell. The camera stays on Corrigan as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. Looking down at the handkerchief, Peter Corrigan sees the now familiar stitched initials, “JWB.”

As a shocked and confused Corrigan walks out of the drawing room with his historic handkerchief in hand, Rod Serling’s voice provides the closing narration.

“Mr. Peter Corrigan, lately returned from a place “back there.” A journey into time with highly questionable results. Proving, on one hand, that the threads of history are woven tightly and the skein of events cannot be undone. But, on the other hand, there are small fragments of the tapestry that can be altered. Tonight’s thesis to be taken as you will, in the Twilight Zone.”


The Players

Let’s take a look at the actors and actresses who make up this episode:

  • Russell Johnson as Peter Corrigan

The protagonist of this piece is played by Russell Johnson. He was 35 years old when this episode was filmed. While not an army man like the character he portrayed, Johnson was a veteran, having served in the U.S. Air Force during WWII. A lifelong actor in both film and television, Johnson is best remembered for his role as “The Professor” Roy Hinkley in the syndicated TV show Gilligan’s Island. He also appeared in a number of Westerns and B-movies in his early career. Fellow fans of the show Mystery Science Theater 3000 will likely recognize Johnson for his supporting role in the 1955 film This Island Earth, which was lampooned in the 1996 movie version of MST3K. “Back There” was Johnson’s second of two appearances on The Twilight Zone. On March 31, 1960, he appeared in the first season episode entitled “Execution.” In that show, Johnson played a professor named George Manion, who had invented a time machine. He reaches back in time to 1880 and plucks out a man from the past and brings him to the present. Unbeknownst to the professor, the man from the past is a convicted murderer who was pulled through time just as he was to be executed for his crime. With fresh rope burns on his neck from the hangman’s noose that hadn’t quite finished the job, the murderer from the past eventually attacks and kills Johnson’s character before rushing out into a very modern and confusing world. In an interview he gave later in his life, Johnson fondly recalled his time in the “Back There”:

“That was a terrific story. It was interesting and it was a unique take on the time travel theme. I really enjoyed filming it, too. It was a period piece and I’m not a fellow who enjoys putting on false hair and beards and all of that, but thank God I didn’t have to  do that in this one. This was just costumes, and costumes are no hassle at all… I’m grateful for having had the opportunity to be in two Twilight Zones. I’m very proud of them and love to see them every time they have a marathon.”

Russell Johnson died in 2014 at the age of 89.

  • John Lasell as Jonathan Wellington/John Wilkes Booth

Fellow Lincoln assassination researcher Richard Sloan once interviewed John Lasell regarding his role in “Back There.” The actor told Richard that he was incredibly nervous filming the show, as The Twilight Zone was his first film role. His credits seem to bear this out as only a likely live production for the Armstrong Circle Theatre in March of 1960 predates the recording of “Back There.” Lasell had a background in live theater and was 32 during the filming of this episode. He worked pretty consistently from the 1960s through the mid-1970s in supporting television roles. His only recurring role was that of vampire hunter Dr. Peter Guthrie in the cult soap opera series Dark Shadows from 1966 – 1971. From 1964 to 1974, Lasell was married to actress Patricia Smith, another Twilight Zone performer. Smith appeared in the second season episode “Long Distance Call,” which was filmed three months after “Back There.” In that episode, a young boy, played by child actor Billy Mumy, is able to communicate with his dead grandmother over a toy telephone, and the grandmother tries to convince the boy to join her in death. Smith plays the mother of Mumy’s character in one of the most audacious episodes of the series. John Lasell’s last acting credit was in 1985. Like his co-star, Lasell had good memories of being on The Twilight Zone, telling an interviewer:

“I came out from New York in 1960 or so and ‘Back There’ was my first piece of film. Not the first to air, but the first one I shot out in California. I was always very fond of it. I was lucky to get the part and they were very nice people there, they really knew how to work with a young actor. But I can’t stand to look at it today. I was so uptight in my performance!”

The main catalyst of this post was the news that John Lasell just passed away on Oct. 4, 2024, at the age of 95.

  • Bartlett Robinson as William

Bartlett Robinson started his career as a stage and radio performer. He was the first person to voice the character of lawyer Perry Mason when the radio series debuted in 1943. His first screen credit occurred in 1949 during the first season of an anthology series sponsored by the Ford Motor Company called, somewhat ironically, the “Ford Theatre.” Robinson worked consistently in television for the rest of his career, often playing characters of authority. He made two appearances on The Twilight Zone. His second appearance occurs in one of the most famous episodes of the series, “To Serve Man.” In that episode, Robinson plays the army Colonel who tasks the main character with deciphering the book that the alien Kanamits have left behind. One of Robinson’s final roles was in the 1974 miniseries Lincoln, which starred Hal Holbrook as the 16th President. Robinson appears briefly as a “bewhiskered Senator.” Bartlett Robinson died in 1986 at the age of 73.

  • Paul Hartman as the Police Sergeant

The child of two vaudeville actors, Paul Hartman took to the stage at an early age. He was a notable dancer and comedian who performed on Broadway with his wife, Grace Hartman, and had a few early roles in movie musicals. In 1948, he and Grace both won Best Actor and Actress Tony Awards for their performances in their own musical revue show “Angel in the Wings.” In the 1950s, Hartman exchanged the hectic life of live theater for television. He moved to Los Angeles and made a living as a character actor. He is most likely remembered for his regular role of Emmett Clark, the fix-it shop owner on the final season of The Andy Griffith Show and its spin-off, Mayberry, RFD. Hartman died in 1973 at the age of 69.

  • James Lydon as the Patrolman

James was known as “Jimmy” Lydon from his early days playing child and adolescent characters. This included a series of nine films from 1941 – 1944 where a late teenage Lydon played the lead role of Henry Aldrich, a popular radio character. The following decade was filled with many young man roles for Lydon. By the 1960s, Lydon continued to act while also working in television production. His last acting credits were a handful of guest spots in the 1980s. James Lydon died in 2022 at the age of 98.

  • Jean Inness as Mrs. Landers

From 1920 until 1942, Jean Inness was exclusively a stage actress. She was a member of multiple touring companies that traveled around the country. In 1942, at the age of 41, Inness made her first film appearance. In 1952, she started a television career in which she played supporting roles like Mrs. Landers in “Back There.” Her only recurring role was that of Nurse Beatrice Fain in the medical drama Dr. Kildare, which aired from 1961 to 1966. Inness appeared in 37 of the show’s 191 episodes. Jean Inness died in 1978 at the age of 78.

  • Lew Brown as the Lieutenant

Lew Brown was an Oklahoma native who served as a Marine corporal in WWII. After the war, he taught English literature in Missouri before moving to New York to pursue an acting career on the stage. He eventually relocated to California and made his television debut in 1959 as a soldier in an episode of Playhouse 90. “Back There” was Brown’s first of three appearances on The Twilight Zone. He had a small role as a fireman in “Long Distance Call,” the same episode that featured John Lasell’s future wife, Patricia Smith. He also appeared in the fifth season episode, “The 7th is Made Up of Phantoms,” as a sergeant in General Custer’s ill-fated cavalry at the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Brown also appeared in an episode of Rod Serling’s follow-up series, The Night Gallery, in 1972. A common character actor from the 1960s onward, his only recurring role came in 1984-1985 when he appeared in 40 episodes of the soap opera Days of Our Lives as Shawn Brady. Brown died in 2014 at the age of 89.

  • Carol Rossen as the Lieutenant’s Wife

Carol Eve Rossen is the daughter of Hollywood screenwriter and director Robert Rossen. She made her screen debut in 1960, the same year “Back There” was filmed. Less than a year after filming The Twilight Zone, Rossen reunited with her costar, Jean Inness, when both women appeared in the first episode of Dr. Kildare. In 1966, Rossen married actor Hal Holbrook, and the couple was still married when Holbrook appeared in the Lincoln miniseries with Barlett Robinson. Rossen and Holbrook divorced in 1983. Rossen made her film debut in 1969, and in 1975, she appeared in the original The Stepford Wives movie. Tragedy struck Rossen on Valentine’s Day in 1984. While taking a morning walk through Will Rogers State Park in Los Angeles, Rossen said good morning to a random man jogging past her down a trail. Not long after, that same man turned around, ran back up to Rossen, and violently attacked her with a 3-foot-long hammer. She fought back against her attacker as he swung at her with his hammer. Rossen suffered a violent blow to the top of her head and was knocked down into a ditch. Rossen played dead, and her attacker fled. She miraculously recovered from the incident and wrote a book about her experiences in 1988. Sadly, Rossen’s attacker has never been identified. Since that time, Rossen has only had two other acting credits, both in the 1990s. In addition to her book about her attack, she has also written a biography about her father, which was published in 2019. Rossen is the last surviving cast member of “Back There,” having celebrated her 87th birthday in 2024.

Update: I reached out to Ms. Rossen through her website, asking about any memories she had in filming this episode. She replied with:

“Twilight Zone was one of the first shows I did in California. Truly, the only thing I remember about the very brief shoot was almost tripping on a camera cable as I walked down the staircase. A somewhat haphazard directorial attitude when working with young actors. There was no discussion of the Lincoln assassination or its historical context.”

  • Raymond Bailey as Millard

It’s fitting that the most vocal of Corrigan’s rich friends at the posh Potomac Club, Millard, was portrayed by Raymond Bailey, as his most famous role was that of the miserly banker Milburn Drysdale from The Beverley Hillbillies. Bailey portrayed Mr. Drysdale in 248 episodes of the show from 1962 – 1971. Bailey had made his screen debut in small uncredited film roles back in 1939. During WWII, he served in the United States Merchant Marines. His first television role occurred in 1952. “Back There” was Bailey’s second of three appearances in The Twilight Zone. He had earlier appeared in season one’s “Escape Clause,” playing the abused doctor of the hypochondriac main character. He later returned in season five’s “From Agnes – With Love,” playing the supervisor of the master programmer who takes love advice from a computer. In 1956, Bailey played the role of Secretary of War Edwin Stanton in the live television production “The Day Lincoln Was Shot” on the anthology series Ford Star Jubilee (my thanks to Richard Sloan for cluing me in on this fact). Raymond Bailey began experiencing memory issues near the end of The Beverly Hillbillies and only appeared twice more on screen after the series ended. He died on the anniversary of Lincoln’s death, April 15, 1980, at the age of 75.

  • Raymond Greenleaf as Jackson

Raymond Greenleaf was born in 1892, the oldest credited cast member in “Back There.” He had been a traveling stage actor since the early 1920s. He performed on Broadway in the 1940s before making his film debut in 1948. In 1949, he appeared in the movie All the King’s Men, which was written, directed, and produced by Robert Rossen, the father of Greenleaf’s costar in “Back There,” Carol Rossen. By 1952, he had started taking on television roles, and these came to outnumber his film credits as time went on. Greenleaf was often cast in the roles of judges, doctors, and sheriffs. He died in 1963 at the age of 71.

  • Nora Marlowe as the Chambermaid

Nora Marlowe’s first screen credit dates to 1953. A hard-working character actress in television and film, she has over 130 credits to her name. She appeared in two episodes of The Twilight Zone. Her second is in the season five episode, “Night Call,” where she plays Margaret Phillips, a caretaker for an elderly woman who begins receiving unsettling and otherworldly phone calls in the middle of the night. That episode was originally scheduled to air on November 22, 1963, but all regular programming was canceled on that date due to the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. “Night Call” eventually aired in February of 1964. Marlowe is likely best known for her recurring role as the boardinghouse owner, Mrs. Flossie Brimmer, on The Waltons. Her 27 episodes of The Waltons marked her final acting credits. Nora Marlowe died between season 6 and season 7 of the show on December 31, 1977, at the age of 62.

  • James Gavin as the Arresting Patrolman

James Gavin was a TV character actor working consistently from the mid-1950s until about 1970. Much of Gavin’s work was in Western shows, but he did have a few film credits to his name. His last screen credit was in 1975. Gavin died in 2008 at the age of 88.

  • John Eldredge as Whitaker

Like many of his costars, John Eldredge got his start as a stage actor in New York. He appeared on Broadway and secured a contract with Warner Brothers. He made his first film appearance in 1934. He was a prolific character actor in film, appearing in over 80 movies between 1934 and 1950. In 1950, he took his first television role and continued to split his time pretty evenly between TV and film roles in the years that followed. His only main role was on a short-lived television show called Meet Corliss Archer, which aired for a single season in 1954. Eldredge appeared in all 39 episodes of the series as the father of the titular teenager. John Eldredge died at the age of 57 in 1961, just eight months after the airing of “Back There.”

  • Pat O’Malley as the Attendant

Born in 1900, Pat O’Malley was the most prolific actor in “Back There.” He started his career in entertainment as a child vaudeville performer before moving into film. In 1914, he made his first screen appearance in the silent film The Best Man. The silent era was the most successful for O’Malley, as he appeared in over 90 films over a 15-year period. During this time, he often played lead roles. When talking pictures came in the late 1920s, O’Malley’s leading roles came to an end, but he continued to be a prolific character actor in supporting and often uncredited roles. He made his first appearance on television in 1950 and evenly split his time between film and TV for the next five years. Starting in 1956, he worked exclusively in television. “Back There” was O’Malley’s second of three appearances on The Twilight Zone. He earlier appeared in the nostalgic episode “Walking Distance” from season one, where he played the slumbering Mr. Wilson in the stockroom of the soda shop revisited by the main character. He returned in another nostalgic episode, “Static,” which is one of the videotaped episodes in season two. In that episode, O’Malley played Mr. Llewelyn, one of the older residents who witnessed Dean Jagger’s character get sentimental over an old radio that only he could hear. O’Malley made his last appearance on screen in an uncredited film role in 1962. He died in 1966 at the age of 75. Pat O’Malley more than doubles any of his “Back There” co-stars’ screen appearances, racking up just under 450 screen credits during his nearly 50-year career.


Production Facts

The Script

Out of the 156 episodes of The Twilight Zone, Rod Serling wrote the scripts for 92 of them. “Back There” was one of these Serling-penned stories. In his book, The Twilight Zone: Unlocking the Door to a Television Classic, media historian Martin Grams, Jr., writes that Serling had originally intended this to be an hour-long teleplay. Serling offered the hourlong version of this script, then called “Afterwards,” to the Armstrong Circle Theatre, but they decided against buying it. Serling attempted to convince the sponsors of The Twilight Zone to expand the show to an hour, but the second season was already over budget, which led to some of the shows being recorded on videotape instead of film as a cost-saving measure. Serling was forced to cut his script down to 23 minutes, and he retitled the show “Back There.” Serling eventually got his wish for an hour-long timeslot during the fourth season of The Twilight Zone. One of his scripts for that season, “No Time Like the Past,” also deals with the concept of traveling back in time in an attempt to change history. That episode even has a plot point about the assassination of a president, but it is about President Garfield, not Lincoln.

In volume 10 of the series, As Timeless as Infinity: The Complete Twilight Zone Scripts of Rod Serling, edited by Tony Albarella, a working script for “Back There” dated July 28, 1960, can be found. This script differs somewhat from the final shooting version of the script that was finalized on September 14. Some of the changes in the script are small, like “The Potomac Club” originally being called “The Washington Club” and the fact that the script has Corrigan gaining a hat when he appears in the past. There are also a few extra lines here and there, and altered versions of other lines. The largest change from the July script and what was eventually shot was the introductory scene between Corrigan and William. In this earlier version, William does not spill any coffee on Corrigan. Instead, their interaction goes like this:

As Corrigan heads toward the front door

WILLIAM
(going by)
Good night, Mr. Corrigan.

CORRIGAN
Good night, William.
(then he looks at the elderly man a little more closely)
Everything all right with you, William? Looks like you’ve lost some weight.

WILLIAM
(with a deference built of a forty year habit pattern)
Just the usual worries, sir. The stars and my salary are fixed – it’s the cost of living that goes up.

Corrigan smiles, reaches into his pocket, starts to hand him a bill.

WILLIAM
Oh no, sir, I couldn’t-

Corrigan forces it into his hand.

CORRIGAN
Yes, you can, William. Bless you and say hello to your wife for me.

WILLIAM
Thank you so much, sir.
(a pause)
Did you have a coat with you…

From there, the scene continues like the show, with Corrigan saying he felt spring in the air and William telling him the date is April 14th.

The Director

According to Martin Grams, Jr., rehearsal for “Back There” occurred on September 16 and 19, 1960, and filming took place on September 20, 21, and 22nd.

“Back There” was directed by David Orrick McDearmon. He had been a television actor in the 1950s before making the switch to directing. This was McDearmon’s third and final directorial outing for The Twilight Zone. Earlier in season two, he directed “A Thing About Machines” about a recluse narcissist tormented by the mechanical objects in his house. McDearmon’s first directing job in The Twilight Zone was season one’s “Execution.” That is the same episode that featured Russell Johnson as the professor who brings a murderer from the past into the present. He would direct Russell Johnson twice more on Gilligan’s Island in 1967. David Orrick McDearmon died in 1979 at the age of 65.

Filming Location

When not out at a field location like Death Valley, The Twilight Zone was filmed at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios. While the interior scenes could have been filmed at any number of MGM sound stages, I decided to take a crack at trying to pin down the location of the exterior scenes in “Back There.” These scenes consist of Corrigan walking from the Potomac Club to his home, turned 1865 boardinghouse. The city landscape of the scene led me to Lot 2 of MGM Studios in Culver City, CA.

One of the sections of Lot 2 was known as the “New York City Streets” section. This can be seen in the top right area of the map above. This section was used in a number of films and TV shows to represent any metropolitan city. While different streets in this section usually represented different periods of time, all of the existing exteriors could also be easily redressed to fit a desired time frame.

In the episode, the door of The Potomac Club building is accessed via a decorative landing with two sets of stairs running up either side. After walking down these steps onto the street level, Corrigan observes the horse-drawn carriages and the clothing of the passersby before running across the street. The words “Mantel Clocks” can be seen on the top of the building across the street.

In the next exterior shot, Corrigan walks on a sidewalk in front of some buildings to the front of what he expects is his home, but in 1865, is a boardinghouse instead. At the beginning of the shot, we can still see the steps of the Potomac Club in the background, showing that this was shot on the same street (and that Corrigan lives extremely close to the club).

This street layout perfectly matches Wimpole Street on the MGM Lot 2 map.

During my search, I came across an interesting website from a former “Phantom of the Backlot” – a person who used to trespass and explore studio backlots back in their heyday. In a post where the Phantom recalled playing baseball in this section of the lot, they included an image of Wimpole Street. I’ve highlighted the matching features.

From this photographic evidence, we can conclude that these scenes were filmed on Wimpole Street.

The only other exterior shot in the episode is when Corrigan rushes to the back of Ford’s Theatre and starts pounding on the door to be let in. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough detail in this shot for me to determine where it was filmed. As can be seen from the map, however, there were plenty of small alleyways and nooks where such a scene could have been shot on Lot 2.

Editing

In addition to having to winnow the original script down to fit the half-hour timeslot, even more cuts were made to “Back There” during the editing process. In the scene where Corrigan first interacts with Mrs. Landers at the boardinghouse, a jump cut can be seen between Mrs. Landers’ question, “Whom do you wish to see?” and Corrigan’s next line, “I used to live here.”

According to the script, after Mrs. Landers’ question, Corrigan replies with “I’m just wondering if…” before trailing off. Then Mrs. Landers repeats her question, “Whom do you wish to see, young man?” which is where the episode picks back up. Interestingly, according to Rod Serling’s script, all of this conversation is supposed to be taking place with Corrigan standing outside the door on the stoop. Mrs. Landers does not allow him into the house until after he tells her he is an army veteran. Obviously, filming constraints led the director to move this dialogue inside.

Another more significant edit occurred in the moments after Corrigan appeared in the past. After checking out his change of clothes, Corrigan turns to bang on the door of the club. In the episode, a subtle cut is made here, and then Corrigan turns around and mumbles about going home.

However, this edit actually removed an entire character from the show. According to the script, when Corrigan bangs on the door in the past, it is opened by a club attendant in 1865. The two men then have the following conversation:

ATTENDANT
Who is it? What do you want?

CORRIGAN
I left something in there.
He starts to push his way in and the attendant partially closes the door on him.

ATTENDANT
Now here you – the Club is closed this evening.

CORRIGAN
The devil it is. I just left here a minute ago.

ATTENDANT
(peers at him)
You did what? You drunk, young man? That it? You’re drunk, huh?

CORRIGAN
I am not drunk. I want to see Mr. Jackson or Mr. Whittaker, or William. Let me talk to William. Where is he now?

ATTENDANT
Who?

CORRIGAN
William. What’s the matter with you? Where did you come from?
(then he looks down at his clothes)
What’s the idea of this –
(He looks up. The door has been shut. He pounds on it again, shouting)
Hey! Open up!

ATTENDANT (voice from inside)
You best get away from here or I’ll call the police. Go on. Get out of here.

This scene was filmed but cut during the editing process. The 1865 attendant was portrayed by actor Fred Kruger. A television character actor, Kruger had also appeared in the first season Twilight Zone episode, “What You Need.” In that show, he played the “Man on the Street,” who received a comb from the elderly peddler who foresaw he would be getting his picture taken.

His cut work in “Back There” would be among Fred Kruger’s final roles as he died on December 5, 1961, at the age of 48.

Borrowed Footage

There are four shots in “Back There” that utilize footage from another production. These consist of two shots showing the interior of Ford’s Theatre during Our American Cousin and two shots of a crowd ostensibly on the street outside Corrigan’s window announcing the news that the President has been shot.

I knew that these scenes had to have come from somewhere else, so I reached out to Richard Sloan, an expert on Lincoln in film and TV, and asked him if they looked familiar. He quickly recognized that Frank McGlynn, Sr., a regular Lincoln actor, portrayed the Lincoln in the box. Richard determined that the Ford’s Theatre scenes came from the 1936 film The Prisoner of Shark Island, which tells a largely fictional tale about the arrest and imprisonment of Dr. Samuel Mudd. With this lead, I was able to determine that the crowd scenes also come from The Prisoner of Shark Island and depict the crowd that arrives at the White House at the beginning of the film to hear McGlynn’s Lincoln speak about the surrender of Robert E. Lee.

Interestingly, all of the footage from The Prisoner of Shark Island used in “Back There” is supplemental footage that wasn’t used in the film. While the film has similar shots using the same angles and actors, the footage used in The Twilight Zone is slightly different, showing that the production acquired unused material, likely from the film’s own cutting room floor.

Richard emailed Martin Grams, Jr., asking about this, noting that The Prisoner of Shark Island was released almost 25 years prior to the filming of “Back There.” Grams replied that Twilight Zone producer Buck Houghton likely contacted 20th Century Fox looking for Lincoln assassination footage, and the studio licensed the use of stock footage from the movie.

The Score

This episode features a custom musical score that was written and conducted by noted composer Jerry Goldsmith. The different tracks of this episode bear titles such as “The Club,” “Return to the Past,” “Ford’s Theatre,” “Mr. Wellington,” “The Wine,” “The Assassination,” and “Old William,” to name a few. As budgetary and time constraints prevented each episode of The Twilight Zone from having its own custom score, the tracks from “Back There” became part of the studio’s stock music collection and were often reused. In all, music from “Back There” can be heard in ten other episodes of the show*. Most notably, “Return to the Past” is heard when the Kanamits make their first appearance to the U.N. in the classic episode “To Serve Man,” and “Ford’s Theatre” is played at the climatic moment of “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” when William Shatner’s character opens the door of the plane to shot at the gremlin. I’ve created a short video highlighting these examples:

The Trailer

In addition to his normal opening and closing narrations, Rod Serling also appeared at the very end of each episode in a short trailer highlighting next week’s episode. These casual trailers are not included in reruns or on streaming services. However, the episode trailers do appear on some of the physical releases of the series. Here is the trailer for “Back There,” which appeared at the end of the prior episode, “Dust:”

The total cost for the production of “Back There” was $47,090.82, with the cast pay consisting of $4,518.46. Despite Russell Johnson’s character giving the date as April 14, 1961, “Back There” originally aired on January 13, 1961. It was the thirteenth episode of The Twilight Zone‘s second season.


Trivia (historical and otherwise):

  • A healthy chunk of the show occurs at The Potomac Club in Washington, D.C. The sign outside of the club states that it was established in 1858. There actually were a few Potomac Clubs that existed in D.C. during the pre-Civil War years. In 1854, one Potomac Club was founded by members of the local Vigilant Fire Company and acted as a fundraising arm for the fire department. In 1857, the Potomac Fishing Club was established and hosted its first-ever picnic. In 1858, the Potomac-Side Naturalists’ Club was founded, devoted to the study of natural history. Unlike the Potomac Club in the show, however, none of these organizations had fancy clubhouses of their own. The Potomac Club in “Back There” is a purely fictional gentlemen’s club, but not unlike the club Edwin Booth later founded in New York City, The Players.

  • When the camera pans over to Rod Serling as he gives the opening narration, he is seen seated in an armchair and reading a newspaper. The newspaper he is reading is “The Daily Journal,” a fictional prop newspaper. We’re all familiar with the TV and movie trope of a shot of a newspaper with a headline about a plot point in the drama. While this main story is often unique to a specific production, the same secondary articles can be found over and over again across many movies and shows. In Serling’s newspaper, some of the article titles include “Three Persons Die in Crash,” “Northside Hospital Building Fund Nears Goal with State Support,” “Bids Given on Bridge Project,” “Move to Ban Office Mergers is Begun,” “Fire Destroys State Aresnal, “$60,000 Damage in Gigantic Eastside Warehouse Fire,” and “Firemen, 18, Hurt as Engine Upsets.” If you image search any of these article titles, you will find their appearance not only in other Twilight Zone episodes but in many other shows and movies. For example, fictional newspapers containing the story “Northside Hospital Building Fund Nears Goal with State Support” can be found in movies like The Day the Earth Stood Still, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and The Godfather.

  • The bust of Abraham Lincoln that is displayed at the Potomac Club was sculpted by Max Bachmann, a German-born sculptor who resided in New York. Bachmann lived from 1862 to 1921. As early as 1901, he sculpted two busts of Lincoln, identical except that one featured the bearded President and the other was clean-shaven. These busts were distributed by P.P. Caproni and Brother and became very popular. Bachmann’s Lincoln busts were credited as being the most life-like recreations of the President in sculpture. In 1911, Caproni started offering full Lincoln statues, the bodies of which were based on Augustus Saint-Gaudens’ standing Lincoln statue, but with Bachmann’s busts used as the heads. I’m indebted to fellow researcher Scott Schroeder for helping me identify this Lincoln bust. Scott and Dave Wiegers have been working on a great map of known Lincoln statues and monuments that you can check out by clicking here.

  • In the scene where Corrigan is shown running up Baptist Alley and pounding on the stage door of Ford’s Theatre, two large broadsides are shown. One of them is a mock-up of a broadside announcing that night’s performance of Our American Cousin. It is similar in style to a modified Ford’s Theatre playbill and, as far as props go, is well done. The other broadside, only seen as Corrigan runs up, is not a duplicate of the Our American Cousin poster but an advertisement for the next night’s show of The Octoroon. After the assassination of Lincoln, this performance did not go on, but the Ford brothers had commissioned the making of a broadside announcing the performance. In a picture taken of Ford’s Theatre draped in mourning shortly after the assassination, the broadside for The Octoroon can be seen posted on the side of the street near the theater.

“Back There” did a decent job of recreating this broadside and gets bonus points for including such an obscure reference in a shot that lasts just seconds.

  • There are a few notable decorations in the police station where Corrigan is brought after his unsuccessful attempt to enter the back door of Ford’s Theatre.

Hanging on the back wall of the police station, near the door where both Corrigan and Mr. Wellington make their entrances and exits, we can see a lithograph of General Grant and President Lincoln. The specific print shown is called “The Preservers of Our Union” and was published by Kimmel & Forester in 1865.

  • Behind the police sergeant at the front of the room, there is an American flag on a staff and two portraits. While the flag is not completely unfurled, the visible star pattern looks like it might have been the correct 35-star flag that existed between July 1863 and July 1865. You have to respect the prop department for going out of their way to find a period flag, even though very little of it is seen.
  • One of the portraits hanging near the flag is a copy of Gilbert Stuart’s Athenaeum Portrait of George Washington. The original painting was done from life in 1796, but was left unfinished by Stuart.

Stuart used the Athenaeum Portrait as his model for many subsequent paintings of Washington made after the President died in 1799. A print of one of Stuart’s paintings was framed and used to decorate the outside of the box at Ford’s Theatre, which was occupied by President Lincoln on the night of his assassination. The image below shows that portrait of Washington, which was knocked off the box when John Wilkes Booth made his leap to the stage.

  • The image to the left of the police sergeant’s podium is a large, oval portrait of Abraham Lincoln. This appears to be a painting based on Francis Bicknell Carpenter’s 1864 drawing of Lincoln, which was published in 1866 by engraver Frederick Halpin.

Carpenter lived in the White House for six months in 1864. During this time, he was engaged in painting his most famous work, “First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation of President Lincoln.”

  • During the police station scenes, one of the cameras used for some of the close-up shots suffered from a “hair in the gate.” This is when an actual hair or a sliver of broken-off film gets trapped in the camera’s film gate. This hair blocks part of the film, preventing it from being exposed. Since these hairs couldn’t be seen through the viewfinder, a hair in the gate could ruin a shot and might not be noticed until editing. Sets often stopped to “check the gate” after each shot to ensure that the footage was usable since it was extremely difficult to edit out such hairs in the pre-digital age. In the close-ups of the police sergeant and then of the patrolman who suggests putting extra guards on Lincoln, a small hair can be seen in the top right corner of these shots. Evidently, someone didn’t “check the gate” during these shots.

  • In his room, Mr. Wellington relates to Corrigan that he dabbled in “medicine of the mind.” Corrigan replies with the word “psychiatrist,” but Mr. Wellington says he doesn’t know that term. This is a correct statement. The term psychiatry didn’t really make its appearance in English until around 1846, and it took far longer than that before the word psychiatrist came to be used to refer to a practitioner. It will be remembered that most psychiatric disorders were given the broad description of “insanity” in those days, with affected individuals being sent to insane asylums. Even if Mr. Wellington had truly dabbled in the “medicine of the mind,” the term psychiatry and psychiatrist would have been completely foreign to him in 1865.
  • Wellington/Booth recalls his own days “as a young man” in college. Like in many other productions featuring the Lincoln assassination, John Wilkes Booth is portrayed in “Back There” as a far older man than he was. Booth was only 26 years old when he killed the President and had never gone to college. It’s even more humorous that Booth refers to Corrigan as “his young friend” since Russell Johnson was three years older than the 32-year-old John Lasell, who played Booth. While Lasell may have looked a little on the older side, his portrayal is a marked improvement over Francis McDonald’s appearance as JWB in The Prisoner of Shark Island:

Francis McDonald as John Wilkes Booth in The Prisoner of Shark Island

McDonald was around 45 when he played the assassin, but looked far older than his years.

  • “Back There” did a great job of costuming Lasell as John Wilkes Booth. From the moment he arrives at the police station, it is clear that he is a man of elegance. Even the otherwise curt police sergeant speaks to him reverently because of his dress and appearance of standing. The long coat that “Wellington” wears is a decent copy of a similar fur-collared coat that Booth wears in multiple photographs.

  • The decor in Wellington’s room also matches the aesthetic of wealth. While Booth may not have been considered wealthy, especially after spending a great deal of money to further his plot against Lincoln, he would have undoubtedly wanted to portray the illusion of wealth and status. His room is filled with images, artwork, vases, and sculptures, not unlike the decor in the posh Potomac Club. The only decorative items I’ve been able to identify in this room are two silhouette images hanging near the door of the room. They are both lithographs duplicating the work of William Henry Brown, a well-known silhouette artist who lived from 1808 to 1883. Extremely skilled in the craft of capturing a person’s profile, Brown often cut his silhouettes from life free-hand in a matter of minutes. Numerous notable persons had their silhouettes cut by Brown.

The rightmost lithograph, only partially visible when Wellington starts to exit, depicts President John Quincy Adams. The left lithograph, which turns up in multiple shots in the room, depicts another president: John Tyler. While I don’t know John Wilkes Booth’s view on John Quincy Adams, the actor would have likely been a fan of President Tyler due to his support of the South’s secession. The former President was actually elected as a Representative to the Confederacy’s House of Representatives but died in January of 1862 before he could take his seat. Jefferson Davis had Tyler buried in Virginia with his coffin draped in the Confederate flag. Due to his betrayal of the country he served as President, Tyler’s is the only Presidential death that was not officially recognized or mourned in Washington.

  • In the room, when Corrigan asks for the time, Wellington looks at his watch and states, “Half past seven. [The] play doesn’t begin for another three-quarters of an hour.” According to Thomas Bogar’s wonderful book, Backstage at the Lincoln Assassination, the normal curtain time for performances at Ford’s Theatre was 7:45 p.m. However, on the night of April 14th, the starting time for Our American Cousin was delayed as the house waited for the arrival of the President and his party. Musical director William Withers led his orchestra in the playing of several patriotic songs to pass the time. However, half an hour passed, and the President’s party still had not arrived. John B. Wright, the stage manager of Ford’s, decided they had waited long enough, and so the play began without their celebrated guests present. While “Back There” actually gives the correct start time of Our American Cousin as 8:15, Wellington/Booth would not have known about the delay if he were still in his hotel room at 7:30.

Other Adaptations

From 2002 – 2012, classic episodes of The Twilight Zone were adapted as audio dramas and played over syndicated radio. In these Twilight Zone Radio Dramas, a guest celebrity actor would come in and take on the main role of an episode while the rest of the roles were played by a regular company of voice actors. These radio dramas were published in physical and digital form, and many have been included as special features on the Blu-Ray releases of The Twilight Zone. The audio remake of “Back There” features actor Jim Caviezel in the role of Peter Corrigan. The adaptation is very close to the original, though extended by about ten minutes and altered to fit the audio-only format. Personally, I feel that Caviezel is a bit underwhelming as Corrigan, but I still enjoy the audio drama as a whole. You can listen to the radio adaptation yourself by clicking here or on the picture above.

The radio show is not the only adaptation of “Back There.” In 1963, Cayuga Productions published a book entitled Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone. The book was subtitled, “13 New Stories From the Supernatural Especially Written for Young People.” While published by Serling’s production company and bearing his name, the volume is actually a collection of short stories written by Walter B. Gibson. A prolific author, Gibson is known for penning over 300 stories about the cult fictional character, The Shadow. Of the 13 stories contained in the book, two of them are adaptations of actual Twilight Zone episodes. These are season one’s “Judgement Night” and “Back There.”

Gibson makes many changes in adapting “Back There” into a short story. In the story, Peter Corrigan is an astrophysicist from New York who has recently been accepted into The Potomac Club, which leans more toward being a scientific society in this version. He travels to D.C. to visit the club for the first time. Caught in a downpour of rain outside of the club, William, the attendant, offers Corrigan a rather antique suit of clothes to wear while his outfit is dried and pressed. In the “monument room,” Corrigan meets with his club sponsors, Millard, Whitaker, and Jackson. Rather than just being three affluent men casually talking about time travel, the trio are experts in parapsychology, biochemistry, and history. Millard recounts his theory about time travel and theorizes that a time traveler may have been accidentally responsible for the stock market crash of 1929. Jackson, the historian, then takes Corrigan on a tour of the club, pointing out all of the old period pieces that were put in around the time of the club’s founding. When attempting to catch up with William to inquire about the status of his clothes, Corrigan slips on the wet marble and falls, hitting his head on the floor. A much younger-looking William comes to his aid, but Corrigan shakes off the fall. Upon being told by a quizzical William that it is not raining, Corrigan decides to take a walk and get some fresh air. Outside, Corrigan sees a horse-drawn carriage and, struck by the novelty of it all, decides to take a ride. During this ride, Corrigan observes sights like the incomplete Washington Monument and soldiers dressed in Union uniforms. He realizes he has somehow traveled back to Civil War Washington. At the Willard Hotel, he spots a newspaper bearing the date April 14, 1865. He flips through the paper until he sees an announcement that President Lincoln and General Grant will be attending the play Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre that evening. [Note: This has a basis in fact. Announcements were made in the evening papers that Lincoln and Grant would appear at Ford’s Theatre.]

Corrigan rushes over to Ford’s Theatre and enters the lobby, but the box office is closed. After a few knocks, a ticket taker opens it up but tells Corrigan he can’t do anything but sell him a ticket. Instinctively, Corrigan buys a ticket while asking to see Mr. Ford, the manager. The ticket taker tells him to check the bar next door or around the backstage door. After no luck at the bar, Corrigan pounds on the locked backstage door until a stagehand opens it. Corrigan tells the stagehand that the President is in danger and that he needs to see Mr. Ford. The stagehand tells him that Mr. Ford isn’t around, but Corrigan attempts to push past him anyway. A brawl ensues, and Corrigan is arrested. At the station, Corrigan learns that the stagehand who tried to get rid of him was Ned Spangler, a name he recognizes as one of Booth’s conspirators.

While Corrigan sits in a cell, the same basic conversation between the sergeant and one of the patrolmen occurs, with the patrolman wanting to secure an extra guard for Lincoln and the sergeant telling him to forget it. The only real change in the conversation is how the sergeant notes that General Grant is going to be with Lincoln at the theater, so the President will be guarded enough. Then, a handsomely dressed man enters the police station and introduces himself as “Bartram J. Wellington, M.D.” He tells the sergeant that he is in the government service as part of a mental branch that is tasked with helping misguided folks who see assassinations and plots everywhere. Not wanting to be stuck in a prison cell, Corrigan agrees to go with Wellington. On the way out, Corrigan tells the patrolman that Grant will not be at Ford’s that night, and, just then, a message comes into the station announcing the same.

In the 1963 edition of Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone, each short story was accompanied by an illustration by artist Earl Mayan. This is Mayan’s collage for “Back There.” (Click to enlarge)

Corrigan and Dr. Wellington walk to the National Hotel, where Wellington is staying. Not wanting to appear crazy and seeing that there are still two hours before the play begins, Corrigan briefly drops the matter of Lincoln’s assassination. In his room, Dr. Wellington asks Corrigan about himself and how he came to believe the President was in danger. He asks if Corrigan has suffered any accidents lately, and Corrigan points out the bruise on the back of his head from his fall in the club. Wellington pulls out a handkerchief, soaks it in a liquid, and wraps it around Corrigan’s head like a bandage. He then pours Corrigan a drink, which he insists Corrigan take to relax. Wellington then leads Corrigan to believe that he has convinced him of the legitimacy of his claims. Wellington suggests sending a messenger to the surgeon general’s office so that they might be granted an audience with the President. Corrigan lies back and rests as Wellington exits, ostensibly to get help. However, then Corrigan hears the sound of a key locking him in the room. He attempts to stand but finds that he can’t. His body feels paralyzed. He can only pull the handkerchief bandage off his head, and he notices the initials JWB in the corner. His mind tries to understand:

“‘Bartram J. Wellington…B-J-W…B-J-‘ Corrigan’s breath came with a hard gasp. ‘J-W’ Another gasp – ‘J-W-B…J-W-B.’ His mind, still alert, turned those initials into a name: ‘John Wilkes Booth!'”

Corrigan passes out but is awakened by the sound of the patrolman entering the room. Corrigan asks for the time, and the patrolman replies that it is 10 o’clock. It’s not too late! The pair get into a carriage outside the National and rush towards Ford’s Theatre. The patrolman tells Corrigan that he started investigating Wellington after his appearance at the station. He discovered there was no Dr. Wellington nor a government service dealing with the mentally ill. After learning Wellington matched the description of the actor, John Wilkes Booth, the patrolman rushed to his room at the National Hotel and procured the key. The pair rush to Ford’s Theatre as fast as they can, with the patrolman showing other carriages, horses, and pedestrians out of their way.

Just as they arrive at the theater, a crowd of panicked people come rushing out of the door, announcing that the President has been shot. Corrigan shouts that it was Booth who shot the President and that he was now on his horse galloping off toward Maryland. A group of theatergoers grab Corrigan, convinced the only way a person on the street could already know this information was if he was involved in the crime. An angry mob descends on Corrigan before the patrolman manages to break through the throng and get Corrigan back into the carriage. The patrolman sends the carriage off, telling the driver to get Corrigan far away from there. A dazed and battered Corrigan lies in the back of the carriage as it rapidly moves through the streets. The driver takes Corrigan to the Potomac Club, and he wearily ascends the stairs and knocks on the door.

When the club door opens, Corrigan is greeted by William, this time looking quite old once more. William informs Corrigan that the time is six o’clock and that his suit is now dried and pressed. Corrigan realizes he has arrived back to the present. He changes into his dried suit and reenters the monument room. He finds that a fourth man has joined Millard, Whitaker, and Jackson. This man is the spitting image of the patrolman who came to Corrigan’s aid, and he tells the story of his great-grandfather, who attempted to save Lincoln’s life with the help of a crackpot who was never heard from again. Corrigan says nothing about his experience in the past to his friends, nor anything about time travel in general. On his way out of the club, he asks William if he had a great-grandfather who worked at the club. William responds that his great grand-uncle, also named William, was the doorman at the club during the Civil War. Reflecting on his experience, Corrigan waits for a cab outside the club. Just as one arrives to take him to the airport, William returns and hands something to Corrigan:

“‘This was in the pocket of that old-time suit you were wearing,’ said William. ‘So I suppose it must be yours. Good night, Mr. Corrigan.’

Soon the cab was speeding down along a smooth street into the blaze of lights that represented downtown Washington. They passed the now completed Washington Monument, which was illuminated to its full height; and off beyond, Corrigan saw the stately pillars of the magnificent Lincoln Memorial. Then, as the cab reached the bridge leading to the airport, Corrigan studied the printed cardboard strip that William had handed him.

Deliberately, he tore the strip in half; then again, again, and again. Near the middle of the bridge, Corrigan tossed the pieces from the cab window. Caught by the night breeze, they fluttered over the rail and down to the broad bosom of the Potomac River.

Those scattered scraps were all that remained of a unique collector’s item – the only unused ticket to Ford’s Theatre on it’s closing night of April 14, 1865.”

While not a true adaptation of Serling’s original teleplay, I do enjoy Walter Gibson’s take on “Back There.” This version gives a little more action to the story, with Corrigan and the patrolman rushing to Ford’s. And the switch of the JWB handkerchief for a ticket is a nice touch.


Final Thoughts

Marc Scott Zicree, author of The Twilight Zone Companion, is not a fan of “Back There,” writing:

“For all the intellectual fascination of its premise, however, ‘Back There’ is a dramatic failure. The reason is obvious: from the outset the conclusion is known; Lincoln was assassinated, therefore Corrigan won’t be able to intercede. Says Buck Houghton [the producer of The Twilight Zone], ‘I think that when you play ducks and drakes with the shooting of Lincoln, your suspension of disbelief goes to hell in a bucket.'”

While I certainly understand this critique, I still feel that this episode is more than a foregone conclusion. Yes, new viewers will likely go into it pretty confident that Russell Johnson won’t be able to save Lincoln, but watching the attempt play out is still compelling. This opinion was shared by the associate producer of The Twilight Zone during its second season, Del Reisman, who later recalled:

“We had a big struggle on that topic in the sense that we know that Lincoln was assassinated. So when the ending is already known by everyone, where’s the suspense? My feeling was that the suspense lies in how the character does it, how he tries to prevent the shooting. That’s the interest. It doesn’t matter that we know that Lincoln was assassinated. We want to know how Russell Johnson’s character does this, his approach to it… Incidentally, that theme comes up a lot, whenever you’re dealing with historical storytelling. I was working at Fox television at the time when they did The Longest Day. That was the Cornelius Ryan story, a World War II all-star movie about the assault on Normandy Beach and the move into the beachhead. A very good producer on the Fox lot said, ‘This is gonna flop.’ I asked why and he said, ‘Because we all know that the landing succeeded.’ I argued that the story is about how they did it. It’s the same thing on the wonderful The Day of the Jackel, which was the fictional tale of the attempted assassination of Charles de Gaulle. In effect, production people were saying, ‘We know that Charles de Gaulle was not assassinated, so what’s the suspense?’ It’s in how they attempted it. I felt that way about ‘Back There’ and I liked it.”

While some episodes like “Eye of the Beholder” or “Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” are built around a single twist at the end, “Back There” gives us multiple twists and turns. It’s true that Johnson is undoubtedly hamming it up at times as Corrigan, especially in the scene where he writhes around the floor somewhat laughably knocking things over, but there is still a sense of humanity in his performance. The look on his face at the very end of the episode, when he finds the JWB handkerchief in his pocket, perfectly encapsulates a man who knows he’s experienced something remarkable but is completely unsure how to make sense of it all.

One of my other favorite parts of “Back There” is the unknown nature of the mechanism that sent Corrigan back to 1865 in the first place. There’s no convoluted time machine like in “Execution” or “No Time Like the Past.” A strange feeling comes over Corrigan, and he just appears in the past. We accept this because it’s The Twilight Zone we’re dealing with, and the Twilight Zone operates under its own rules, rarely providing an explanation. There’s an elegance in that that doesn’t exist in the world of complicated sci-fi time travel movies or shows.

As far as episodes of The Twilight Zone go, “Back There” may not be considered a classic by many. However, it will always hold a top spot on my list. This is not just because it deals with a subject that I find fascinating but because the episode is everything I want from The Twilight Zone. The best episodes not only keep you thoroughly engaged while you’re watching but also give you something to think about when they are over. “Back There” invites us all to reflect on the concepts of time, fate, and our own ability to influence the future. As Rod Serling’s ending narration states, “Back There” is a thesis for each of us to take and mull over in our own way.


References

The following sources were consulted in composing this post

A very special thanks to Richard Sloan and Scott Schroeder for lending me their expertise for this project.

*The ten Twilight Zone episodes featuring music from “Back There” are: “To Serve Man,” “Death Ship,” “No Time Like the Past,” “The Parallel,” “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” “Uncle Simon,” “Probe 7, Over and Out,” “You Drive,” “The Masks,” and “Stopover in a Quiet Town.”

While my own handkerchief is missing the embroidered JWB in the corner, it does have the autographs of both John Lasell (JWB) and Russell Johnson (Peter Corrigan).

Categories: History | Tags: , , , , | 7 Comments

The Last Words Lincoln Heard

In January of 1890, an article appeared in the Century Magazine by John Nicolay and John Hay, the personal secretaries of President Abraham Lincoln. For the past four years, the pair had been releasing regular articles in Century documenting the life and Presidency of their former boss. Nearing the end of their project, this 1890 chapter of their ongoing Abraham Lincoln: A History series was titled “The Fourteenth of April” and covered Lincoln’s assassination. Nicolay and Hay set the scene well, documenting Lincoln’s movements that day and highlighting the fateful events at Ford’s Theatre that evening. When discussing the moments just before the fatal shot was fired, the duo wrote:

“No one, not even the comedian on the stage, could ever remember the last words of the piece that were uttered that night – the last Abraham Lincoln heard upon earth. The whole performance remains in the memory of those who heard it a vague phantasmagoria, the actors the thinnest of specters.”

This claim –  that no one could recall the words spoken on stage before the shot was fired – came as a surprise to several people who had witnessed the assassination or had heard the story from those who had been there. While the memory of the last words may have waned in Hay and Nicolay, there were some alive in 1890 who remembered well the last lines of Our American Cousin that were uttered before the building erupted into chaos. Not the least of those who remembered the event vividly was the described “comedian on the stage” himself, actor Harry Hawk.

In 1865, William Henry “Harry” Hawk was a star performer in Laura Keene’s acting troupe. Our American Cousin had been a breakout hit for the trailblazing actress and theater owner when she debuted it in 1858. Even seven years later, the play was immensely popular, so much so that Keene had gone to court against actors like John Wilkes Booth’s brother-in-law, John Sleeper Clarke, who had put on the show themselves without her consent. Even though Harry Hawk had not been part of the original 1858 cast, as part of Laura Keene’s troupe for the season of 1864-65, he aptly played the titular role of the American cousin, Asa Trenchard.

Just before Booth fired his derringer at Ford’s Theatre, Hawk’s character had been upbraided for his lack of proper English manners by the character of Mrs. Mountchessington, played by Ford’s Theatre stock actress Helen Muzzy. The flummoxed Mrs. Mountchessington, unaware that Asa had selflessly burnt the will granting him a large portion of the English estate so that members of the immediate family were not dispossessed of their inheritance, lambasted the backwoods American for not being used to “the manners of good society.” She then exited in a huff along with her daughter. This left Harry Hawk’s character as the only person present on the stage.

So, what were the last lines that Lincoln heard on stage? Well, according to the play’s script, after Mrs. Mountchessington leaves the stage, the somewhat frustrated Asa Trenchard is supposed to call after her with the comment, “Don’t know the manners of good society, eh? Wal, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal – you sockdologizing old man-trap.”

This famous line has gone down in history as the last words Abraham Lincoln ever heard, for according to witnesses, Booth used the laughter that followed this line to help cover the report of his pistol.

There is a minor fly in the ointment, however. What appears in the “script” for Our American Cousin may not be the exact lines that were spoken that night. Our American Cousin was very much a “living play” at the time it was being performed. The original version that British playwright Tom Taylor had written and sold to Laura Keene was very different from the show that became famous. Taylor’s version was a melodrama with some instances of farce. To spice the play up a bit, Keene and her original cast made drastic changes to Taylor’s work and increased the comedic aspects. Most notably, the character of Lord Dundreary was altered from a minor role with only 40 or so lines into the major comic relief of the entire play. Rather than being just a slightly out-of-touch aristocrat, E. A. Sothern, the original actor of Lord Dundreary, wholly reinvented the part, transforming Dundreary into a laughably loveable buffoon with a crazy style who talked with a lisp and uttered his own uniquely rearranged aphorisms such as “birds of a feather gather no moss.” The changes Keene and Sothern made to Tom Taylor’s work are what made the show a hit. Sothern became so popular in the role that he penned his own Dundreary spin-off shows that he acted in for the rest of his life.

By 1865, much of the show had become more structured, but ad-libbing and the alteration of lines were still common. In the years after the assassination, the show continued to evolve as well, making it unclear how much the 1869 printed version of Our American Cousin differs from what was heard in 1865. We know, for example, that Laura Keene herself did some ad-libbing at Ford’s Theatre, adding a line to draw attention to the President’s arrival after the show had started. Another adlib was made after one character stated their line about their being a draft in the English manor house, only for one of the actors to reassure the audience that, with the Civil War now practically at an end, there would no longer be a “draft” in the military sense.

One would think that our best source for the exact words said on stage would be from the man who uttered them, Harry Hawk. In the hours after the assassination, Hawk was interviewed by Corporal James Tanner in the front parlor of the Petersen House, where Lincoln lay dying. While Hawk discussed his placement on the stage and was among the first to formally identify John Wilkes Booth as the assassin, he did not mention the words he had spoken just before the shot. Over a decade ago, I transcribed a letter Harry Hawk wrote to his parents in the aftermath of the assassination. In that letter, Hawk confirms he was “answering [Mrs. Mountchessington’s] exit speech” when the shot was fired, but he does not include his lines.

The genesis of this post was a letter from Harry Hawk that I recently viewed in the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas in Austin. The letter is merely dated “Sept. 21” with no year given. However, based on the reference to the Century Magazine article, we can conclude that the letter was likely written in 1890 or perhaps 1891. Hawk is writing from the Camden House, a lodging establishment in Boston. The recipient of the letter is unknown, but it appears that they originally wrote to Hawk asking him about his experience the night of Lincoln’s assassination. This letter from Hawk is transcribed below:

Camden House
331 Tremont St.
Sept. 21st [1890 or 91]

Dear Sir

In reply to yours I will state, first that Mr. John Mathews, W. J. Ferguson, Thos Byrns [sic], Emerson, and myself are the last survivors of the men of that sad fateful event. That is to my knowledge. I haven’t a bill with the cast by me. In contradiction to the statement made by The Century Article last January, that, not even the comedian who was speaking at the time could remember the last words spoken is all rot. I was speaking at the time being entirely alone on the stage, and as I played the character many times after it would be very strange if I did not remember the lines and incidents. They are all indelibly impressed on my mind, and as clear as thought it occurred last night. I have positively refused to be interviewed on account of my friendship for Edwin Booth. And would not wound his feelings by permitting the papers publishing what I did and did not say. A few days after the Graphic article, I was awakened early in the morning at the Lindel Hotel St. Louis, by a reporter for the World, N.Y., to interview me regarding it. The last words spoken on that stage and the last ones dear old Martyr Abe Lincoln heard, these in reply to the old lady Mrs. Muzzy, who had just gone off the stage – I knew enough to turn you inside out – old woman, you darned old sock dolagin man trap 

Resp. Yours

Harry Hawk

In this way, Harry Hawk describes the last lines heard by Lincoln as a slight variation of the lines printed in Our American Cousin. While I would like to take Hawk at his word here, we should be cognizant to remember that this letter was written at least 25 years after the events it describes. Despite Hawk’s claim that the lines and incidents are “indelibly impressed” on his mind, human memory is a fickle and unreliable thing. That is why, as historians, we try our best to find sources as close to the event as possible while the memory is still fresh and is unlikely to have been inadvertently altered by the passage of time.

A photo of Edwin Booth taken in 1892.

It appears that Hawk stayed true to his word to not discuss the events of that night with reporters so long as Edwin Booth lived. The famous tragedian died in 1893, which is probably why, in 1894, Hawk agreed to be interviewed by reporters. An article about Hawk was published in March by the Washington Post, followed by a slightly different one from a Chicago reporter in April. The second article, republished across the country, described the events at Ford’s Theatre and Harry Hawk’s experiences. In this recounting of the last words said before the shot, Hawk stated, “My lines were: ‘Not accustomed to the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old woman. You darned old sockdologing mantrap.’

In some other similar articles from Hawk in 1894, the only significant change in the lines given is the use of the word “damned” rather than “darned.”

An engraving of the assassination from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper. Here we can see Booth brandishing his knife on stage and uttering “Sic Semper Tyrannis” while a stupefied Harry Hawk looks on. In reality, Hawk fled from the stage when he saw Booth running towards him with a knife.

The exact phrasing Harry Hawk used to say his lines in Act 3, Scene 2 of Our American Cousin will never be known for absolute certainty, but through the printed script and Hawk’s own reminiscences from that night, we can get very close to the last words heard by President Lincoln. Regardless of the phrasing, as Hawk uttered these lines, “the audience clapped their hands and laughed in glee, in which the President joined with a smile.” For all the tragedy of that fateful night, we should take some solace in the fact that Abraham Lincoln’s last moments of consciousness were filled with joy and laughter.

Epilogue:

I’ve often heard the Park Rangers at Ford’s Theatre give their presentation about the assassination. As part of their schtick, they tell the audience that Lincoln was shot during the “biggest laugh line of the play” and then recite the printed line above. Other than some nervous laughter from a few who fear they’ve missed the joke, the line regularly goes over like a lead balloon. Part of the problem is that the line alone is just not that funny. It’s the character of Asa Trenchard as the American country bumpkin finally breaking loose and telling his British counterparts “what for” that makes the line funny. There’s also irony that the stuck-up Mrs. Mountchessington claims Asa doesn’t know his manners when he has demonstrated better manners than the entire household by selflessly renouncing his inheritance so that his British relatives would be taken care of. Out of context, the line just doesn’t pack the same comedic punch.

The other issue is likely to do with the word “sockdologizing.” It’s a completely foreign word to a modern audience, which creates confusion. But, in truth, it was a slightly made-up word in 1865 as well. The basis of the word appears to be “sockdolager” which an 1897 Dictionary of Slang struggled to define. The Dictionary of Slang attempts to connect it to the word “doxology,” a religious verse that is sung at the end of a prayer. In this way, a sockdolager could mean something conclusive that settles or ends something. If interpreted this way, Asa Trenchard is criticizing Mrs. Mountchessington for acting like she is the final word on everything, which is ironic since she doesn’t even know what Asa has done, and his news could “turn her inside out.” However, a “sockdolager” was also the name of a type of fish hook that closed via a spring.

A circa 1847 sockdolager fish hook. (Don’t ask me to explain how it works)

Given that the word “sockdologizing” is followed by the phrase “old man-trap,” this line could be interpreted to mean that Asa is calling Mrs. Mountchessington out for her own aggressive barbs and ruses hidden under the facade of her so-called “good manners.” In the end, we can’t be sure how to interpret the word “sockdologizing” in this line, but, at the same time, it really doesn’t matter. The creative wordplay alone invokes the sense of exasperation Asa is feeling, and that, above all, is where the humor comes from.

Categories: History | Tags: , , , , , , | 7 Comments

William A. Howell and the Booths

Old actors love to reminisce about the old days. They love to tell stories about great actors they acted alongside and the great one-time performances that they took part in. This is especially true of smaller actors who never rose to the level of fame themselves and instead spent their careers in supporting roles to the star attractions.

William A. Howell was one of those small time actors. Born in Philadelphia in 1831, Howell got his start upon the stage as a $10 a week supporting player at the Arch Street Theatre in that city. By 1860, Howell had been hired by theater owner John T. Ford to work in his Holliday Street Theatre in Baltimore. His career on the stage was relatively short lived and did not extend beyond the Civil War, but during his time, Howell had acted alongside many of the greats.

By 1879, Howell had relocated to San Antonio, Texas where he worked in the railroad industry. But his favorite thing to do while in San Antonio was to reminiscence about his hey day in the theater. In 1906, a series of four articles were published in the San Antonio Daily Express about the life and theatrical memories of William Howell. The veteran actor told stories about many of the great actors of the past including Joseph Jefferson, Edwin Forrest, Charlotte Cushman, and John McCullough. In addition, Howell had a lot to say about the Booth family.

William Howell got his acting training through a private group in Philadelphia called the Boothenian Dramatic Association. The Boothenian was little more than a slap-dash theater school run by a couple former stock actors that operated out of an abandoned building. The group had no connection to Junius Brutus Booth or his kin, but the operators of the association knew that the name of Booth would help attract paying customers who wanted to learn the basics of acting. The Boothenian was one of several such “schools” with others bearing the names of the “Forrestonian”, “Byronean”, and “Shakespearean”. Such schools usually had brief lifespans. Still, in his later years, Howell was always proud to say he had been educated in the “Boothenian” school, thus showing his admiration for Junius Brutus Booth and his family.

What follows are the portions of Howell’s 1906 Daily Express articles that deal with the Booths. The digitized editions of the Daily Express that I had access to are very poor. I tried my best, but several times I was unable to decipher what the text was meant to have said. At those instances I have inserted the word [illegible].


January 7, 1906

Stealing the Family Skeleton: Reminiscences of William A. Howell, the Veteran Actor – Tells About Traits of Character of Some of the Other Actors He Supported and Things They Did.

This was the first of four articles containing Howell’s memories, but aside from mentioning he acted alongside Edwin and John Wilkes, there is nothing in this article that is pertinent to the Booths. Still, if you’re interested the full article can be read by clicking the title above.


January 14, 1906

Duke Saved by Big Bass Drum: Howell, the Veteran Retired Actor, Resumes His Reminiscences of Former Great Actors and Actresses – Joe Jefferson Was Delicate – Met England’s Monarch – Was With Wilkes Booth.

“…To very large and extremely appreciative audiences John Wilkes Booth was playing at the Holliday Street Theatre in Baltimore in 1861 and I was a member of the stock company that supported him. [Note: Booth was not starring in Baltimore in 1861. At the end of May, JWB returned home to Baltimore after a less than stellar starring engagement in the Southern States in which he was accidentally shot. It looks like Booth performed a single night at the Holliday Street Theatre alongside William Howell on May 16, 1861, which may be where this exaggeration comes from.] From his distinguished father, Junius Brutus Booth, he had inherited much of his histrionic talent and genius, but I fear that from the same source he inherited the impulses that made him take the terrible and misguided steps that he did when he murdered the Martyr President, Lincoln. Both he and his father were of moody and gloomy dispositions and morbid temperaments. I was much attached to Wilkes Booth. He and I occupied a room together and he frequently had long conversations with me in which he spoke of his love of liberty and of his father’s patriotism. Even at that time he was endeavoring to raise a military company in Maryland to take to Virginia and place in the cause of the South but I do not believe that he had at the time any idea of undertaking the terrible tragedy which he enacted in the box of Ford’s Theatre in Washington several years later. From what I saw of him and his abstraction, I am entitled to the belief that his mind was unbalanced. His expression at the time of the tragedy – Sic semper tyrannus – was not appropriate or in any way applicable to Lincoln whom he had just slain, because Lincoln was anything but a tyrant. On the contrary, that President was one of the greatest exponents of liberty this country has ever produced. The expression showed the frame of mind in which Wilkes Booth was when he killed the President. The Shakespearian play in which the killing of Caesar is portrayed and which is a very strong one, was one of Wilkes Booth’s favorites. In all probability he had devoted so much earnest study to it that it unhinged his mental balance and made him feel that he was enacting the scene of slaying Caesar when he took the life of Lincoln.

In the course of my professional career I met quite a number of prominent and distinguished people. Among those [illegible line] was the present King of England. I was introduced to him in company with John Wilkes Booth at Barnum’s Hotel in Baltimore by the Mayor of that city. This prominent [illegible] was then merely the Prince of Wales and only the heir apparent to the throne of Great Britain. He was quite a young man then, probably about my own age. But I noticed that he was even then a man of quick discernment. I heard him observe to the Mayor of Baltimore that Wilkes Booth appeared to him to be a very fascinating man. On that remark the young Prince was then eminently correct, for Booth exerted off the stage the same fascination he possessed on it. The Prince did not long remain in Baltimore. The Civil War had broken out and it was thought best for him to get out of the country before getting into any diplomatic entanglements that might possibly be presented. [Note: As intriguing as this story is, there is no way that JWB made the acquaintance of the Prince of Wales in Baltimore. The Prince only spent about 24 hours in Baltimore on Oct. 8-9, 1860. On those dates, JWB was performing in Columbus, Georgia.] Excitement was very high, too, about that time, and there was a very tough element in and around Baltimore just about then, which was in a very ugly mood. This element was very properly called the plug uglies. The sudden entrance into Baltimore of federal troops stopped Booth’s movement of raising a Confederate company. Soon after the Federal troops took possession of Baltimore, I returned to Philadelphia on a wood boat. I found Philadelphia also ablaze with excitement and war preparations were in progress.”


January 21, 1906

Was Not Sunset But Burning Opera House: Howell, the Actor, Resumes His Reminiscences of Booth, McCullough, Barrett, and Other Eminent Actors

The text of this article is very faded, making it difficult to decipher. Despite the title hinting that there was to be more about Booth, I was unable to find anything in this article that seems relevant. But perhaps I just couldn’t read the applicable parts. The article can be read by clicking the title above.


January 28, 1906

Booth and Howell Were Going to War: Wilkes Booth was to Have Been the Captain and Howell the Lieutenant. Booth’s Confederate Friends Captured Cannon to Fire on New York Troops – Edwin Booth’s Sore Trial.

This is the fourth and final of Howell’s 1906 articles. It is almost entirely about the the old actor’s connection to the Booths. As a result the entire article is transcribed below. As with the other articles, you can view the original text by clicking the title above.

“William A. Howell, the veteran retired actor, being still in a reminiscent vein, was asked by me to continue his relations of incidents connected with the careers of the various prominent people with whom he had appeared in the stage and did so:

“Just after the fall of Fort Sumter,” he said, “and after Baltimore was fairly ablaze with excitement, as I was going down the street I met Joe Booth. He was the youngest brother of John Wilkes Booth, and the youngest of the Booth brothers, of whom Edwin was the oldest [Note: Junius Brutus Booth, Jr. was the eldest of the Booth siblings]. Joe had been serving in the army as a surgeon at Charleston under the Confederacy. He was a quiet, dreamy, indolent sort of a fellow, who was always planning for something out of the usual trend of events for his own special benefit. He was the finest architect and constructor of air castles that I ever knew. He was chockfull of romance. He, however, had not inherited any of the histrionic talent of his father, Junius Brutus Booth. By Joe’s looks and manners I at once discovered he had something he considered of great importance to tell me. He acted as though he were afraid to speak of it on the street, fearing that someone in Baltimore might overhear it. My impression was at once confirmed by his asking me to come with him to his room at Barnum’s Hall.

Joseph Booth

As soon as we entered the room Joe locked the door. After satisfying himself that one one was peeping or prying he opened his trunk. Then he exposed to my view such a heterogenous make of trophies of war as I had never seen or hardly dreamed of, many of them horrible to contemplate. They gave me an idea of what a horrible affair war is. Joe showed me balls of rifles, pistols, and even of cannon. He had shells, and fragments of them. He also had pieces of human anatomy, bones and parts of skulls and other gruesome and [illegible] objects of grim-visaged war before its wrinkled front was in anywise smoothed out. These he had secured from the battlefield after the fight at Sumter between the fort and the ships. [Note: The fall of Fort Sumter was not a bloody battle, therefore it is likely the pieces of anatomy Joe had with him were specimens from the medical school where he had been studying when the conflict broke out]

His mother has sent Joe to attend the medical college at Charleston. He was there when the hostilities commenced, and he was able to get on the medical staff. Soon after I met him in Baltimore, I lost sight of him, for he made his way to Philadelphia, where his mother lived.

Very soon after Joe had gone from Baltimore to Philadelphia, John Wilkes Booth, his brother, made his appearance in Baltimore. He knew that I was playing in one of the theaters there so he came around to the theater to see me. John Wilkes Booth and his brother Joe were entirely dissimilar in disposition, and in every other way. Joe was [illegible] stupid or counterfeited stupidity to such perfection that I never was able to learn that he was otherwise. Wilkes was one of the brightest and most intelligent men in the theatrical world. He was quick, impulsive, fiery, big-hearted, [illegible], and magnetic. You could not resist his captivating manners. His heart and soul seemed to beam out of his eyes. They lighted up every lineament of his countenance. His voice was seductive and his manners captivating. A more generous man I have never met. He was worshiped by his mother and sister to whom he was most kind and most women fancied him. But there was one instance in which his attentions to one of that sex met with a [illegible words].

Howell and Booth Went a Mashing

He and I, as long as we roomed together, were inseparable companions. At the time we were rooming together he was suffering from a knife wound he had received from a jealous girl who had stabbed him because she had caught him flirting with another girl. [Note: Fellow actress Henrietta Irving stabbed JWB on April 26, 1861 after witnessing him come out of her sister’s hotel room] We both boarded at the house of a family named Brown. On our way we had to pass the establishment of a [illegible] who had a very pretty girl working for her. She was really a very beautiful girl. Baltimore was famed for its beautiful women, and I believe is still, but this girl was unusually lovely. Wilkes and I both became smitten with her. We got in the habit of passing the place very often, and ogling her. We would wait on the street until she came out, and follow her. Finally, Wilkes said to me, ‘Howell, her bright eye has me still. We must contrive some way to be introduced to her.’

She would look at [illegible words] gave [illegible words] very great amount [illegible words]. Acting on Booth’s hint I questioned an old gentleman who was a reporter on one of the Baltimore papers, who seemed to know nearly everyone in Baltimore. From him we learned her name and that she was in the habit of attending the Methodist Church where she sang in the choir. Of course we went to the church and waited after the service for her to come out. As she gracefully descended the stairs Booth whispered in my ears.

‘See where my love appears
Darting pale luster
Like the silver moon
Through her veil of sorrow.’

To our chagrin as she reached the foot of the stairs, a group of young men who were also standing there formed a circle about her and walked away with her like a special and privileged bodyguard. To make the matter all the worse as they went off with her down the street I heard them tittering at us.

The next morning’s mail brought us an anonymous letter, It was addressed to ‘J. Wilkes Booth & co’ it read thus:

‘Sirs: Your impudent attention to and constant following of Miss Blank has been observed by a number of her gentlemen friends who will give you what you richly deserve in case you persist in trying to force yourselves upon the lady’s presence. A word to the wise is sufficient. HER FRIENDS’

While neither of us were frightened at the note or its writers we came to the realization that our attentions were annoying to the lady herself and she might have inspired its having been written to us. Booth was as gallant as he was handsome, and he never intended to do anything to annoy a lady. Both of us saw her afterwards only in our dreams, except a single time when she happened to come to the theater where we were both playing. She was [illegible]ly dressed and sat in a very expensive box. We feasted on her beauty but never annoyed her by our attention. I was in love with her almost as much so as I was with Charlotte Cushman when the latter kissed me. But Miss Cushman was then old, although a very handsome woman, while the beautiful Baltimorean was barely more than a slip of a girl, just budding into womanhood.

After a Yankee Regiment

While Booth and I were rooming together he belonged to a Confederate organization, that sallied forth one night and captured a lot of cannon that were at St. Timothy’s College. These they brought to Brown’s back yard, where our boarding house was, and secreted them and held them in readiness to carry out on the York road and fire them on the famous New York Seventh Regiment. This regiment was expected to pass through Baltimore on its way from New York to Washington. Sometimes the Yankees got wind of the project. At any rate, the purpose of the Confederates was thwarted the Seventh Regiment of Gotham going around by way of Annapolis instead of coming through Baltimore.

It is my impression that all of the sons of Junius Brutus Booth were born in Maryland where he owned a farm. I believed that at one time it was his intention of making farmers of all of them, but two of them at least, Edwin and John Wilkes, would not suppress the histrionic genius they inherited from him. I believe that they buried him on the farm when he died. But no matter where he sleeps I hope he rests gently and peacefully. He was one of the grandest actors I ever saw and his two sons possessed [illegible] of great talent as he did. Of them I was most intimate with his son John Wilkes than with Edwin because Wilkes was about my own age and was [illegible words] and companion. [illegible sentence] Wilkes was going to raise a company in Harford County where his father’s farm was and among the youth with whom [illegible words], and I was to have been an officer of the company. Wilkes was to have been in the service of [illegible] of the Confederacy. While we were waiting [illegible words] from Richmond [illegible words] Federal troops took possession of Baltimore and thwarted our patriotic plans. Often I have pondered on what would have [illegible words] had we gone into the [illegible]. Whether we would have won the [illegible words] in gray uniforms or slumbered under the [illegible] of a battlefield? Poor Wilkes came to a terribly tragic end so I have thought it would have been better for him to have been slain in battle not killed as he was. I am not one of those who believes that Booth escaped after killing Lincoln. I am convinced Booth was pursued and killed by troops in the barn, and that identification of his body at the time was complete. I have often read the stories of his survival and alleged subsequent death thirty years later but I knew they were fictions because I was so intimate with John Wilkes Booth that I know if alive he would have found a way of communicating with me and I would have gone thousands of miles to have been with him once more.

Edwin Booth’s Trying Time

It was not a great while after the terrible tragedy that Edwin Booth had to undergo a trying ordeal. I was not with him then and I get my account of him from John Marion Barrow [Barron], himself an actor of great power, who frequently appeared in the same plays with and supported Edwin Booth. This was the first night that Edwin Booth appeared on the stage in Philadelphia after the death of Lincoln. The play was Othello. Booth was cast for the part of Iago, and Barrow that of Roderigo. [Note: John M. Barron was a small actor at the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia when Edwin Booth returned there in April of 1866. He did support Edwin in Othello but he did not play the role of Roderigo]

‘Before the curtain arose,’ Barrow said, ‘I found Edwin Booth literally quaking in his boots. He was standing in the wings waiting for his cue. The orchestra was playing, and I stood next to him. I had never seen Edwin Booth appear nervous before. I could not help [illegible] his condition. He said to me ‘Barrow, I don’t know whether I am going to get bricks or roses tonight.’

I assured him as best I could, although I had some misgivings myself. I told him that the people of Baltimore [sic] held him in high esteem and did not hold him responsible for his mentally unbalanced brother. I assured him they were as staunchly loyal to him then as they were before that unlucky Friday night. We had but a few brief moments to wait, during which the tension was great on Edwin. The music ceased; the curtain rose. The cue came and I went on the stage, going to the right while speaking my lines. In a moment, Edwin Booth followed. If the vast audience had possessed but a single voice it could not have shouted in more perfect unison. The men waved their hats and the ladies their handkerchiefs. Both shouted a loyal welcome while flowers fairly rained upon the stage.

Booth stood in the center of the stage. He removed his hat as only he could do – while the showering of flowers continued. The audience cheered and cheered again. Finally, from exhaustion it subsided. Booth had nerved himself and was himself again. Never did he act so grandly. Gratitude made him magnificent. The play had been splendidly cast. ‘The performance, I think,’ said Barrow, ‘was the grandest that I ever appeared in and the best that Edwin Booth ever acted and participated in. I know I never saw him to better advantage than upon that night.’

Edwin Booth’s Liberality

In the last interview I told you the hard luck of Tim Murphy and his companions when the opera house in which they were to play in Arkansas burned. It was a humorous thing. Now I shall tell you one of the most pathetic ones. I do not wish to name the actors connected with it. It occurred in Logansport, Ind. There an unfortunate theatrical troupe had stranded. One of its principal members had died. They had no funds to bury him nor any with which to return to Chicago, from whence they came, and whence they wished to return. The same John Marion Barrow [Barron] to whom I have just alluded was then with Edwin Booth and the latter company in the same place. Barrow went around among the members of Booth’s company and from them obtained donations in the amount of $[illegible]. He called on Booth last. He said to him, ‘Ned I want $5 or if you can spare it, $10.’

Booth handed him the largest amount and then asked Barrow what he wanted with the money. Barrow told him he wanted it to bury the dead man with. He told Booth the amount he had raised and from whom. Booth then said ‘John, you give that money, every cent of it, back to the members of this company. They need every cent they have themselves. I insist on it. You leave this whole matter to me. Let me know what it will not only cost to bury the poor fellow, but also what it will take in addition to carry the whole company back to Chicago.

Barrow returned the money to the actors who had raised the $[illegible]. Edwin Booth buried the dead one at his own expense and sent the live ones home with lots of gratitude and blessings.

This reminds me that poor Billy Williams is ill and hard up here in San Antonio and the newspaper men and others are getting up a benefit for him. I have not been on the stage for many years, but I would be willing to go to aid him and I would give money, too, if I had it. I tell you, though, I am of the opinion that the people who ought to do most for Billy in this his hour of trouble are those at Memphis. I have been told that Williams, during the yellow fever plague that was a terrible visitation to that city, being at that time in good financial circumstances, gave the Memphians many thousands of dollars. This being the case, I think it the duty of Memphis people to come to his relief now. They could come across with a couple thousand dollars and ought to do it. If they let him die here in poverty as he is apt to, and [illegible] aid only from generous San Antonians, it will be a reproach on Memphis. I believe that if they knew the condition that Williams is in here they would hasten to his aid. I hope they will. [Note: William “Billy” Williams was a minstrel performer who gave a great deal of money to aid in a Yellow Fever epidemic that struck Memphis in 1879. At the time of this article Williams was in poor health and living in San Antonio. The locals did a benefit performance for him and he eventually made his way North before dying in 1910]

All actors have their sorrows. I have had my share of them. When but a very young man I married one of the most loveable women on earth. After bearing me two children, a boy and a girl – she died and left me alone with them to look after which I have done as best I could. Her death broke my heart. It made me leave our home that had been so happy. That was the cause of my coming to Texas and intimately to San Antonio, to get away from the scene of my sorrow. I left and wound up here. I worked even as a day laborer on a railway. Finally I became crippled and unable to do hard physical labor but even now, in my old age, I am not idle. I earn an honest living and am as cheerful as possible and am oftener seen smiling than frowning or grieving for I don’t care to force my thoughts on anyone else. I believe as a great poet says:

‘Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone.'”


As with most reminiscences, there is a fair amount of exaggeration and fiction in some of Howell’s stories regarding the Booths. But there are also some fascinating nuggets of truth in these memories of the assassin and his family. I especially appreciate Howell’s rebuttal of the “Booth escaped” stories that permeated Texas during his lifetime and beyond.

William Alexander Howell died in San Antonio on February 26, 1913. A member of the International Order of Odd Fellows for over 50 years, Howell was laid to rest in San Antonio’s IOOF cemetery. During a recent visit to San Antonio, I took the time to seek out Mr. Howell’s grave in the corner of the cemetery.

I’m grateful for William Howell’s memories of his time on the stage. While his stories need to be taken with a grain of salt, they still help us to flesh out the lives of John Wilkes, Edwin, and Joseph Booth. In appreciation, I’m going to end this post with a final Howell and Booth story.

On February 26, 1887, Edwin Booth made his first appearance in San Antonio. The celebrated actor performed a matinee of Richelieu followed by an evening performance of Hamlet. In the hours between his arrival in the city and the afternoon’s matinee, Edwin Booth did what everyone does when visiting San Antonio, he went to the Alamo where he “asked many questions” according to the papers. The later performances were well anticipated with ticket prices being raised for this one-time event.

Edwin was lauded by the San Antonians (though one critic thought Booth’s performance of Hamlet seemed a bit apathetic) and all were happy they managed to see the famous tragedian in what would surely be his only performance ever in the city. Booth, himself, complained of the struggle he had in the trip from San Antonio to the west coast making it seem a repeat performance would never occur. However, a year later, Booth was on tour once again. He needed funds for his fledgling social club, The Players. The group was looking to purchase a building somewhere in New York City. This need for money outweighed Edwin’s own discomforts in a national tour. As a result, he planned a return to Texas and scheduled two dates in San Antonio. This time Edwin was joined by fellow player Lawrence Barrett as a co-star. On February 22 and 23, 1888, the men performed in Othello and Julius Caesar. Prices were increased again with one newspaper lamenting, “It takes nearly ten dollars to take your girl to see Booth and Barrett tonight.” Still, the performances were completely sold out (though, again, critics felt that Booth may have been phoning it in). After these two dates, Edwin Booth departed San Antonio, never to be seen there again.

The reason I bring this all up is because there is an 1891 article that states while Booth and Barrett were in San Antonio they shared a dinner with their fellow veteran actor and friend, William Howell. According to the article the three men, “had a long chat…about the old times when they were all neophytes”. Then, according to the article, Edwin Booth stated to his host, “What a fool you were Howell not to have stuck to the stage. You would have been not only famous, but wealthy.” While the source of the article could only have been William Howell himself, I’m still willing to grant him the kindness of closing on the claim that Edwin Booth thought the veteran actor in San Antonio had the talent to have been a successful actor, worthy of the Boothenian name, after all.

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The Lincoln Assassination on this Day (December 12 – December 31)

Taking inspiration from one of my favorite books, John Wilkes Booth: Day by Day by Art Loux, I’ve been documenting a different Lincoln assassination or Booth family event each day on my Twitter account. If you click on any of the pictures in the tweet, it will take you to its individual tweet page on Twitter where you can click to make the images larger and easier to see. Since Twitter limits the number of characters you can type in a tweet, I often include text boxes as pictures to provide more information. I hope you enjoy reading about the different events that happened over the last week.

NOTE: After weeks of creating posts with multiple embedded tweets, this site’s homepage now tends to crash from trying to load all the different posts with all the different tweets at once. So, to help fix this, I’ve made it so that those viewing this post on the main page have to click the “Continue Reading” button below to load the full post with tweets. Even after you open the post in a separate page, it may still take awhile for the tweets to load completely. Using the Chrome browser seems to be the best way to view the tweets, but may still take a second to switch from just text to the whole tweet with pictures.

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The Lincoln Assassination on this Day (December 5 – December 11)

Taking inspiration from one of my favorite books, John Wilkes Booth: Day by Day by Art Loux, I’m documenting a different Lincoln assassination or Booth family event each day on my Twitter account. In addition to my daily #OTD (On This Day) tweets, each Sunday I’ll be posting them here for the past week. If you click on any of the pictures in the tweet, it will take you to its individual tweet page on Twitter where you can click to make the images larger and easier to see. Since Twitter limits the number of characters you can type in a tweet, I often include text boxes as pictures to provide more information. I hope you enjoy reading about the different events that happened over the last week.

NOTE: After weeks of creating posts with multiple embedded tweets, this site’s homepage now tends to crash from trying to load all the different posts with all the different tweets at once. So, to help fix this, I’ve made it so that those viewing this post on the main page have to click the “Continue Reading” button below to load the full post with tweets. Even after you open the post in a separate page, it may still take awhile for the tweets to load completely. Using the Chrome browser seems to be the best way to view the tweets, but may still take a second to switch from just text to the whole tweet with pictures.

Continue reading

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The Lincoln Assassination on this Day (November 28 – December 4)

Taking inspiration from one of my favorite books, John Wilkes Booth: Day by Day by Art Loux, I’m documenting a different Lincoln assassination or Booth family event each day on my Twitter account. In addition to my daily #OTD (On This Day) tweets, each Sunday I’ll be posting them here for the past week. If you click on any of the pictures in the tweet, it will take you to its individual tweet page on Twitter where you can click to make the images larger and easier to see. Since Twitter limits the number of characters you can type in a tweet, I often include text boxes as pictures to provide more information. I hope you enjoy reading about the different events that happened over the last week.

NOTE: After weeks of creating posts with multiple embedded tweets, this site’s homepage now tends to crash from trying to load all the different posts with all the different tweets at once. So, to help fix this, I’ve made it so that those viewing this post on the main page have to click the “Continue Reading” button below to load the full post with tweets. Even after you open the post in a separate page, it may still take awhile for the tweets to load completely. Using the Chrome browser seems to be the best way to view the tweets, but may still take a second to switch from just text to the whole tweet with pictures.

Continue reading

Categories: History, OTD | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Lincoln Assassination on this Day (November 14 – November 27)

Taking inspiration from one of my favorite books, John Wilkes Booth: Day by Day by Art Loux, I’m documenting a different Lincoln assassination or Booth family event each day on my Twitter account. In addition to my daily #OTD (On This Day) tweets, each Sunday I’ll be posting them here for the past week. If you click on any of the pictures in the tweet, it will take you to its individual tweet page on Twitter where you can click to make the images larger and easier to see. Since Twitter limits the number of characters you can type in a tweet, I often include text boxes as pictures to provide more information. I hope you enjoy reading about the different events that happened over the last week.

NOTE: After weeks of creating posts with multiple embedded tweets, this site’s homepage now tends to crash from trying to load all the different posts with all the different tweets at once. So, to help fix this, I’ve made it so that those viewing this post on the main page have to click the “Continue Reading” button below to load the full post with tweets. Even after you open the post in a separate page, it may still take awhile for the tweets to load completely. Using the Chrome browser seems to be the best way to view the tweets, but may still take a second to switch from just text to the whole tweet with pictures.

Continue reading

Categories: History, OTD | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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