Posts Tagged With: Assassination

“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

Forensic Analysis of the Abraham Lincoln Assassination

An interesting article has been published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology by Drs. Theodore N. Pappas, Sven Swanson, and Michael M. Baden from the Department of Surgery at Duke University School of Medicine. The authors attempted to come to a conclusion about an oddly debated detail of Lincoln’s assassination: the path the bullet took inside Abraham Lincoln’s skull.

In the journal article, the doctors discussed the contradictory evidence that exists regarding the path Booth’s bullet took as it was fired into Lincoln’s brain. This debate is not a new one, as fellow MDs and late Lincoln researchers John K. Lattimer (whose diagram is shown above), Blaine Houmes, and E. Lawrence Abel each wrote about this topic.

What makes this new journal article unique is the way in which Drs. Pappas, Swanson, and Baden, were granted access to the Presidential Box to re-stage the assassination based on eyewitness accounts. They attempted to simulate the circumstances surrounding the assassination to get a better idea of the path the bullet may have taken. I’m happy to see Ford’s Theatre allowing this scientific exploration, even though the process involved a somewhat eerie floating skull over the reproduction Lincoln Rocker.

I won’t spoil the doctors’ findings here. Instead, I encourage you all to read the article for yourself. As far as scientific journal articles go, this one is very easy to digest. Click here or on the following title to read their article on The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology‘s website:

I’m grateful to these doctors and the ones who came before them for using their expertise to help further our understanding of this key event in American history.

Categories: History, News | Tags: , , , , | 16 Comments

“Who could have done this?” – Christmas, 1883

On December 23, 1883, a tragedy eighteen years in the making occurred in Germany. For the prior nine months, an American couple, their three children, and their nanny had been living in the German city of Hanover. The couple was independently wealthy and often split their time between a home in Washington, D.C., and various long vacations abroad in Europe. Their German neighbors noted that the 46-year-old husband was “shy of human beings” but that they had lovely interactions with his 49-year-old wife and their three children, aged 13, 12, and 11. The family enjoyed life in Hanover as the children were educated in nearby schools.

Then tragedy struck just two days before Christmas. In the early morning hours, screams were heard from the room shared by the couple. The nanny, Louise, who was also the wife’s sister, entered the bedroom in response to the uproar. Louise witnessed a tragically bloody scene before her. Her sister was sprawled on the bed with two bullets in her chest and a knife wound to her heart. Within minutes, the woman was dead.

On the floor lay the husband. He had been stabbed five times, with one of the wounds striking his lung. In severe pain, he cried to Louise and to his wife for help. But Louise was focused on the bed above him. The husband gathered his strength and pulled himself onto the bed. The shock of seeing his wife’s bloody and lifeless body caused the man to scream out to Louise, “Who could have done this? I have no enemies!”

Louise quickly called for the authorities. When the German police arrived, the husband warned them of possible attackers hiding behind the paintings on the bedroom walls. He was taken to a hospital and treated for his stab wounds. Fearful of the well-being of his children, the man begged the police to catch the perpetrator of this violent act. The police informed the husband that the culprit had already been arrested at the scene of the crime. But it was not a man hiding behind a painting that had caused the bloodshed. It was the wounded husband, himself, Henry Rathbone, who had murdered his beloved wife, Clara.

Eighteen years earlier, Major Henry Rathbone and his fiancee Clara Harris had been invited by Abraham and Mary Lincoln to join them for a night at the theater. The young couple were happy to spend a night out with the President and First Lady as the nation was celebrating the effective end of the Civil War. Henry and Clara were seated beside the Presidential couple when assassin John Wilkes Booth snuck into their shared theater box. Before the intruder’s presence had even been detected, Booth fired his derringer pistol at the back of Lincoln’s head, fatally wounding the President.

To his credit, Rathbone reacted quickly. The army veteran grabbed the intruder and grappled with him. Booth took out a long knife and slashed at the Major. Rathbone lifted his arm to block the blade and suffered a deep and painful stab to the arm as a result. When Booth mounted the balustrade of the box, preparing to jump to the stage below, Rathbone reached for him. The Major got a handful of clothing, throwing the descending man off balance to the stage. As cries from Mrs. Lincoln and Clara Harris echoed from the box, Rathbone screamed for someone to stop that man. Others attempted to enter the box in order to render aid to its occupants, but Booth had barred the outer door shut before shooting the President. Bleeding profusely from his stab wound, Rathbone managed to dislodge the wooden bar from the outer door, allowing doctors and others to rush in. The Major nearly passed out from blood loss as all attention was focused on the unconscious President.

Major Rathbone had performed admirably in attempting to subdue the assassin at Ford’s Theatre. He recognized the gunshot and reacted far quicker to it than anyone else in the theater. Rathbone had grappled with an armed assassin at the risk of his own life. He had demonstrated true bravery.

Despite his heroics, Henry Rathbone was forever haunted by the night of April 14, 1865. He came to unreasonably blame himself for Lincoln’s death, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent the shooting. Still, the event likely caused Rathbone to develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which slowly affected his mental health.

Henry and Clara had postponed their marriage in the aftermath of the assassination out of respect for the martyred President. The couple eventually wed in 1867, and three children were born from their union. The oldest was Henry Riggs Rathbone, born on February 12, 1870. This meant that Henry’s namesake son shared a birthday with the late President Lincoln. Another son, Gerald, was born in 1871, and a daughter, Clara Pauline, came in 1872. When living in Washington, the family resided in a house located in the affluent neighborhood of Lafayette Square. From their home, the Rathbones could easily see both the White House and the home where Secretary of State William Seward was living when he was attacked by Lewis Powell on the night of Lincoln’s assassination.

Clara Rathbone was very much in tune with her husband’s mental struggles. The family’s long vacations to Europe were her efforts to bring about a change of scenery and mood for Henry, and, for several years, these effectively treated his despondency. His children were also a source of great pride to Henry, and he loved them dearly. However, Henry’s melancholic periods increased in length as the years passed. He began to grow more temperamental and aggressive towards Clara at times. In late 1882, as the Rathbones were planning their trip to Hanover, they visited family back in New York for a time. Their extended family all noticed a great change in Henry. Henry would often alter the subject of conversations to that of Lincoln’s assassination, stating his belief that the country had expected him to protect the President. His friends reassured him that this was not the case, but Henry couldn’t be swayed from his sense of guilt. The family also noticed Henry’s increased outbursts of anger. Some advised Clara to separate from Henry for a time or have him placed in an asylum. But Clara felt that Henry was better off in the company of her and their children than in the care of strangers. She loved Henry and felt she was the best person to help bring him out of his instances of paranoia. However, Clara did ask for her sister, Louise, to join the family in Hanover in order to help her with the children and Henry.

Clara Harris Rathbone

The family’s time in Hanover did little to improve Henry’s mood. Henry became increasingly irritable and paranoid. He began to believe that Clara was planning to leave him and take the children with her. Despite her constant reassurances to him that she and the children weren’t going anywhere, he continued to ruminate on the idea.

Henry became increasingly somber and distant in the days leading up to Christmas. Clara noticed the change and feared that Henry might attempt to take his own life. Henry seemed to have completely succumbed to his depression. For years, he had suffered from dyspepsia, a form of chronic indigestion, that had caused him constant pain, though how much of this physical pain was more psychosomatic is not known. Perhaps fearful of another sneak attack like the one he experienced in 1865, Henry slept with a pistol under his pillow. All of Henry’s demons took control of him on the morning of December 23.

At around 5:30 a.m., Henry arose from his bed, dressed himself, grabbed his pistol, and walked down the hall to the room where his children were sleeping. He knocked on the door, which was answered, but not opened, by Louise, who also occupied the room. Henry asked Louise through the door if Pauline was in bed. Louise replied that she was. He then asked if the two boys were in the room as well. Louise affirmed that they were. Henry told Louise to open the door as he wanted to see them for himself. In Henry’s deluded mind, the children had been taken away or were in the process of departing. Not knowing Henry was armed, Louise proceeded to crack the door, hoping the sight of his sleeping children would restore his senses.

Clara, awoken by her husband’s departure from their bedroom, had made her way to Henry by this time. She eyed the weapon in his hand and the look in his eyes. Clara attempted to calm Henry and began directing him back towards their bedroom. She called out to her sister to “lock the door and save the children; there is going to be dreadful work.”

To Henry, this command confirmed his paranoia. Clara was planning on absconding with his children and leaving him alone. He grabbed Clara by the arm and dragged her into their bedroom. Louise locked the door of the children’s bedroom and listened helplessly to the sounds of struggle from the couple’s bedroom down the hall. Louise heard the door of the couple’s bedroom lock and unlock several times. Whether Henry was trying to prevent Clara from escaping or Clara was attempting to keep Henry in the room to protect the children is unknown.

Eventually, Louise left the children alone and went to the couple’s bedroom in hopes of protecting her sister. Henry quickly escorted Louise out of the room and locked the door. Not long after, Louise heard Clara scream, “Henry, let me live!” followed by gunshots and a long silence. A house servant, aroused by the gunfire, joined Louise outside the couple’s bedroom door. Together, they two broke the door’s lock and entered the room. There, they found Clara dying on the bed and Henry with self-inflicted knife wounds on the floor.

Louise fled to her sister, whose last words were, “He has killed us both at last.”

Henry Rathbone’s trial commenced in January 1884. He was adamant that he had nothing to do with his wife’s death and that someone else had broken into his home, attacked him, and murdered Clara. Through interviews with Louise and others, the court effectively established a history of insanity on the part of Henry Rathbone. Rather than sentenced to prison, Henry was committed to an asylum in Hildesheim, Germany. He remained there for over 25 years until his death in 1911.

The three Rathbone children, left without either parent, were taken in by Clara’s brother William Harris, and moved to Ohio. In time, Henry Riggs Rathbone, the eldest child, became a Representative from Illinois and sponsored the government’s purchase of Osborn Oldroyd’s collection of Lincolniana housed in the Petersen House where Lincoln died.

Henry Riggs Rathbone in front of the Petersen House

The story of Henry Rathbone and Clara Harris demonstrates the devastating long-term effects victims of crime can face. Henry Rathbone’s mind was forever scarred by the events of April 14, 1865. His inability to save the President created a sense of overwhelming guilt from which he could not escape. This trauma festered in Henry, devastating his mind. Yet, in the end, it was Clara, not Henry, who paid the ultimate price for this trauma. Clara, herself having suffered the trauma of witnessing the shooting of the President and the stabbing of her fiancee, lost her life in trying to stop the man she loved from harming their children. In this way, both of the Rathbones proved themselves to be selfless and heroic.

While Henry is the one who killed Clara in a fit of insanity, he is not the sole answer to the question, “Who could have done this?” The blood of this Christmas tragedy is also to be found on the hands of John Wilkes Booth.

References:
Worst Seat in the House: Henry Rathbone’s Front Row View of the Lincoln Assassination by Caleb Stephens

Categories: History, OTD | Tags: , , , , | 12 Comments

New Section: On This Day

As a kid, I remember visiting the “calendar store” that popped up in our local mall near the end of every year. While not as popular as the similarly seasonal Spirit Halloween or Santa Markplace-type stores, the calendar store was nonetheless a fun place to browse the wide variety of calendars designed to suit all tastes. 12 months of beach scenes? Check. Themed kitty cat photos? Check. Outhouses from around the world? Check. Almost any type of animal or location was represented in the calendar store. While the traditional 12 monthly calendars were no doubt the store’s bread and butter, this was not the limit of calendar technology. They had 16-month calendars for those who liked to plan far ahead, weekly calendars one could use as a planner with areas for notes, and small calendars that fit onto bookmarks. My favorite calendars were always the Day-to-Day calendars that had a tear-away page for each day. They were attached to plastic stands so that they stood up like a frame on your desk. As the year went by, you’d rip off one page a day, and your calendar would get thinner and thinner. Each year, I would select my day-to-day calendar for the upcoming year, regularly choosing between my favorite comic strips, Peanuts, Garfield, The Far Side, Foxtrot, etc. In addition to the daily fix of a comic strip, the best day-to-day calendars had word puzzles, riddles, or fun trivia on the back of each sheet. As I got older, I noticed that Saturday and Sunday started to share a single page and comic, which I always thought was a bit of a rip-off.

Whenever I would open my brand new day-to-day calendar, it took all my available willpower not to flip through it and read every page on that very first day. These were early lessons in self-control that I generally did pretty well with, although I would always jump ahead to my birthday and some holidays just to see what those days would have in store. These day-to-day calendars gave me something small to look forward to every day.

Several years ago, I had the idea to create my own day-to-day calendar relating not to my favorite comic strips but to my favorite historical subject: the assassination of Lincoln. An odd subject for a calendar, I admit, but not any stranger than others I’ve seen, like Museum Bums 2024. I thought how interesting it would be to assemble one event relating to Lincoln’s assassination or the Booth family for each day of the year. Maybe it could be something that I could even publish. I started the process of trying to find relevant facts. I soon discovered, however, how difficult such a project like this would be. After struggling to find a dozen or so facts and inputting them into a spreadsheet, I shelved the idea.

In the intervening years, two big changes occurred. First was the publication of Art Loux’s book John Wilkes Booth: Day By Day. Art spent his lifetime meticulously tracking and documenting Booth’s whereabouts. While it was impossible to say where Booth was every day of his life, his career as an actor made it possible to fill out most of his movements from 1860 onward. In many ways, Art’s book is like a day-to-day calendar themed around John Wilkes Booth, which is probably why I enjoy it so immensely.

The other big change was my move to upload my digital research files from just being on my one computer to a backup on the cloud. For years, I had been terrified a hard drive failure would cause me to lose every file I’d ever saved. As a result, I started uploading my files to the cloud. This also gave me the ability to access my files from my phone, no matter where I was. This greatly improved my ability to conduct research in the field. An unexpected side effect of uploading my files to the cloud was that they suddenly became searchable. The all-seeing cloud could decipher and read the text from many of the pictures I had uploaded. When I searched my cloud drive for a phrase or word, I found that I was no longer limited to only files I had given that name to. All the documents that the cloud could read and bore that word or phrase popped up in my search. The functionality of my research had increased immeasurably.

In August of 2021, I found myself tweeting about when John Wilkes Booth recruited his childhood friends Samuel Arnold and Michael O’Laughlen into his plot. It happened to be just around that day, so I used the common enough Twitter hashtag #OTD, which stands for On This Day or On This Date. The tweet got some good engagement, so the next day, I searched my cloud for that day and found a corresponding event among my files. I tweeted another #OTD tweet for that day. I followed suit on the third day as well. Soon, I discovered I had unintentionally reignited my project from years ago to create a day-to-day calendar of the Lincoln assassination. And now I was doing it on the fly, not spending months researching and preparing.

Each day, before bed, I would try to find an event that would work for the next day. When my own files failed to produce anything, I would fall back on Art’s book to locate a Booth-related event I could use. Some days were easy and provided many options. Other days were frustratingly difficult, and I struggled mightily to find something better than John Wilkes Booth performed in such a-such play. As a visual learner, it was also important to me that each event be supplemented with images of some kind. Often, I would work late into the night, finding an event and assembling relevant images to accompany it. On weekends, I would try to get ahead and prep multiple days if I could.

An example of one of my On This Day tweets

I had previously highlighted my daily tweets as weekly stand-alone posts here on the blog. However, since that time, Twitter has been bought, renamed, and had its accessibility severely curtailed. My tweets no longer load properly in my prior posts. In addition, Twitter has become increasingly toxic since the takeover by Lex Luther. I’ve decreased my activity on that platform as it gives way to increased bigotry and right-wing conspiracy-mongering. It is becoming completely unrecognizable from what it was, and I am not confident my years’ worth of content on that site will survive.

However, I did not want my day-to-day project to all be for naught. I made a mistake in assuming my work would be preserved long-term on Twitter. Therefore, I have painstakingly copied the text and pictures from each of my On This Day tweets and reproduced them as regular text and image slideshows. To house this project, I have created a new section here on LincolnConspirators.com. Twitter can continue to X itself into oblivion without me fearing the loss of over a year’s worth of work.

The On This Day section is the culmination of over a year of work researching and highlighting different events relating to the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the Boooh family for every day of the year. It is my own Lincoln Assassination Day-to-Day Calendar in a digital form.

In order to prevent an overload of 365+ mini-posts, I have attempted to hide each day under a collapsible list. Clicking a month on the list will reveal each day of the month. Clicking a specific day will reveal an event (or occasionally two) that occurred on that day in a certain year. Underneath the text is a slideshow of relevant images. I know it’s not the prettiest of lists, but I assure you that there are diamonds hidden beneath the surface if you don’t mind doing a little digging.

While each entry is hidden underneath the list, the page still attempts to load each entry’s slideshow when the page is first opened. As a result, some of the slideshows take longer to load completely, especially those in the latter part of the year. If you click on an entry and the slideshow is just a black screen, give it some time, and it should eventually load. I appreciate your patience.

It’s up to you how you want to use this calendar. You could come back and visit each day to read about an event on its anniversary or binge them all at once. I won’t judge. This list is static for now, but I have the idea of adding more events and facts in time. When that happens, I’ll make an announcement.

Click the Lincoln calendar image above or on this link to visit the On This Day page. There is also a new link on the top menu of the website to find the OTD page easily in the future.

I hope you enjoy delving into a whole year of Lincoln assassination and Booth family-related events.

Categories: History, News, OTD | Tags: , , , , | 4 Comments

The Lincoln Assassination On This Day (July 4 – July 31)

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.

This post is an especially long one, comprising of almost an entire month of tweets. It will take quite a long time to load.

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 (May 9 – May 15)

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

Conspiracy in Presidential Assassinations

I am continuing to work on my Master’s in American History degree from Pace University and the Gilder-Lehrman Institute of American History. They have a great online program designed specifically for K – 12 teachers and I have been enjoying it immensely. My most recent class, which ended today, was titled The Kennedy Era and was taught by Kennedy historian Barbara Perry. For my final paper for the class, I chose to write about the history of conspiracy in presidential assassinations. In the same way that I previously posted my final paper for my American Indian class last year, I thought I would share this one as well. I do not claim to be a Kennedy expert and the purpose of my paper is not to rehash the evidence against Lee Harvey Oswald. Rather, I wanted to cover the history of conspiracy and explain why conspiracy theories are so common in the study of presidential assassinations.


Conspiracy in Presidential Assassinations

By Dave Taylor

Since the founding of the United States of America, four presidents have met violent deaths at the hands of their fellow citizens. Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, William McKinley, and John F. Kennedy have all lost their lives through acts of public assassination. Their murders have occurred over a period of almost 100 years, with the first assassination taking place in 1865 and the most recent having occurred in 1963. The men who became martyrs for the country they served came from distinctly different backgrounds and epochs in the American experiment, and so did their respective assassins. Despite these differences in time and character, there has been one overarching concept that can be found in the story and memory of each successful Presidential assassination – the involvement of conspiracy in their deaths. The nature of the first successful Presidential assassination in the United States set a historical precedent for conspiracy. That assassin, John Wilkes Booth, recruited literal conspirators to help him in his plan to assassinate not only President Lincoln but also other heads of the federal government. Since that time, the American public has returned to the idea of conspiracy when trying to make sense of subsequent reoccurrences of presidential assassinations. By looking at the history of real and perceived conspiracy in our country’s assassinations and the psychological effects of conspiracy theories on the general public, we can come to understand why, despite a preponderance of evidence implicating Lee Harvey Oswald and the sole murderer of President John F. Kennedy, conspiracy theories regarding the murder of JFK continue unabated in the minds and memory of the public.

The history of conspiracy as a real and concrete part of American assassinations stems from the death of President Abraham Lincoln on April 15, 1865. In the aftermath of Lincoln’s assassination and the subsequent killing of his assassin twelve days later, a trial of eight of John Wilkes Booth’s alleged conspirators occurred. While there is much debate regarding the effect vengeance had on the meting out of justice in Lincoln’s case, there is no debate that a legitimate conspiracy existed in the death of our first president. At the same time that Lincoln was being shot at his box at Ford’s Theatre, William Seward, the Secretary of State, was viciously stabbed in his bed by a would-be assassin. “Coordinated assaults could mean only one thing: a conspiracy, and a well-developed one.”[1] The Union government’s primary goal in the aftermath of Lincoln’s death was to find all of those who had a hand in its execution, thus resulting in the trial of the conspirators. Of the seven men and one woman who were put on trial in 1865 for their involvement in Booth’s conspiracy, the evidence overwhelmingly supported knowledge of a plot for five of them. These men had been persuaded by Booth to join a conspiracy to abduct Abraham Lincoln from Washington and ferry him into the open arms of the Confederacy in Richmond. As the assassin himself wrote while on the run, “For six months we had worked to capture. But our cause being almost lost, something decisive & great must be done.”[2] It was the surrender of Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia to Union General Ulysses S. Grant’s Army of the Potomac on April 9, 1865, at Appomattox Courthouse and the impending end of the Civil War that caused Booth to change his plot from one of abduction to assassination. Some of those put on trial in 1865 joined him in the carrying out of Lincoln’s murder, while some had left beforehand. Regardless of this distinction, in the eyes of the public and the law, they were held vicariously liable for the death of Lincoln and the attempted assassination of William Seward. Their shared act of conspiracy, first to kidnap and then to kill Lincoln, bonded them together and showed to the public that the death of the Great Emancipator was not the act of a single man but of a group. Occurred as it did, during the time of war in which a great many men had sealed themselves together in an act of rebellion against the United States, this conspiracy helped the public make sense of Lincoln’s death and put it into context. This established the precedential connection between presidential assassination and conspiracy in the minds of the American public.

However, it is important to point out that while there was a legitimate and established conspiracy involved in Abraham Lincoln’s death, the true precedent that was set in 1865 and became increasingly applicable to President Kennedy’s death in 1963 dealt with the assumption of a larger and more complex conspiracy. In his book, The Lincoln Murder Conspiracies, historian William Hanchett devotes one whole chapter to the idea that the assassination of Lincoln was a “Grand Conspiracy” by the Confederacy. Even though the writing was on the wall regarding the collapse of the so-called Confederate States, the open hostilities that had existed between the North and the South made the Confederates an extremely plausible, and even likely, scapegoat for the death of Lincoln. The investigation into Lincoln’s death led those at the highest heads of the government to vocally support the idea that Booth had acted not just of his own accord in support of the Confederacy but as their approved agent. The final charges against the captured conspirators put on trial included the names of still-at-large officials of the Confederacy, officially avowing that “the assassination was the result of a grand conspiracy involving the Confederate leadership and the Copperhead Booth and his associates.”[3] Despite the government’s fully supported attempt to place the blame for Lincoln’s death at the feet of Jefferson Davis and other high-ranking members of the Confederate government, their case was stymied by perjured witnesses and a lack of concrete evidence. Two future investigations, including the 1867 impeachment investigation against President Andrew Johnson and the civilian trial of Booth conspirator John Surratt, once again failed to prove the existence of a grand Confederate plot. According to Hanchett, by 1869, “there was nothing left of [Judge Advocate General Joseph] Holt’s grand conspiracy except long-lingering bitterness.”[4]

So, too, was there the initial impression and belief that Lee Harvey Oswald’s crime was the result of a grand conspiracy with Communists being exchanged for Confederates as the puppet-master perpetrators. In the very first instance of Lyndon Johnson being addressed as “Mr. President” from a hallway inside Parkland Hospital in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963, Johnson was asked by Assistant White House Press Secretary Mac Kilduff if he could announce President Kennedy’s death to the public. Johnson first nodded yes before countermanding with, “No. Wait. We don’t know whether it’s a Communist conspiracy or not. I’d better get out of here and back on the plane.”[5] It is telling that Lyndon Johnson’s first reaction to Kennedy’s murder was the assumption of a Communist conspiracy. While the United States was not overtly at war with the Communists in 1963 in the same manner they were at war with the Confederates in 1865, Lyndon Johnson perfectly encapsulates the impression Kennedy’s murder had on those in power and the general populace due to the heightened level of fear during the Cold War era. As Max Holland, a Kennedy assassination researcher and Warren Commission chronicler, noted, “The overwhelming instant reaction among those [national security] officials was to suspect a grab for power, a foreign, Communist-limited conspiracy aimed at overthrowing the U.S. government.”[6] The immediate fear of the unknown in Kennedy’s death and the precedent of Lincoln’s death almost one hundred years earlier at the hands of an assumed grand conspiracy played into the public perception of what occurred in Dallas. The idea that Oswald was merely a cog in a Communist conspiracy was also influenced by another prior assassination – the death of William McKinley in 1901.

In 1901, almost forty years after the death of Lincoln, our country suffered its third assassination of a President. William McKinley was struck down while shaking hands with a queue of well-wishers at the Great Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. A young man wearing what appeared to be a bandage around his right hand slowly made his way to the front of the line to greet McKinley. When McKinley reached for the man’s unbandaged left hand to order to shake it, two bullets emerged from a concealed pistol behind the handkerchief. The assassin was a 28-year-old self-proclaimed anarchist named Leon Czolgosz. Unlike his forbearer of John Wilkes Booth, Czolgosz made no effort to run or evade capture after his crime. Instead, he did little to prevent bystanders from subduing and even attacking him in their rage. When interviewed after his arrest about his crime, Czolgosz stated, “I killed President McKinley because I done my duty. I didn’t believe one man should have so much service and another man should have none…I am an anarchist, a disciple of Emma Goldman. Her words set me on fire.”[7] In the same way Communism had become the sinister enemy facing the United States in Kennedy’s day, by the end of the 19th century, the threat to the world was the concept of anarchism and its teachings. Anarchist violence had already deprived the world of many leaders during the era, including the King Umberto I of Italy just the year before. Czolgosz had been inspired by the killing of Umberto, carrying an article about his assassination in his pocket and purchasing the same type of handgun used by Umberto’s assassin for use in his own murder of McKinley.[8] Czolgosz’s identification as an anarchist led to a crackdown on known anarchists, including the arrest of many anarchist leaders. “Telegrams went out from Buffalo headquarters to Chicago police, who arrested [anarchist Abe] Isaak and his family that night, and [Emma] Goldman within the next couple of days, charging them with conspiracy in the President’s shooting.”[9] These actions were taken despite Czolgosz’s own insistence that he was acting under his own accord and that, even under possible torture, he did not, “implicate anyone else.”[10] In the end, the investigators could find no overt connection between other anarchists and the murder of McKinley. Leon Czolgosz was no doubt inspired by the anarchists’ movement and their portrayal of a utopian society where the suffering borne from class oppression would be replaced with a commune and leaderless existence where each person worked and provided for the well-being of the whole. He also took great motivation from the violent anarchists, who were a distinct subset of the aforementioned intellectual breed who spoke mostly in hypothetical terms. The violent anarchists believed the only way to bring about the desired leaderless and utopian society was through the removal of all leaders through direct action. By killing McKinley, Czolgosz desired to prove his worth as an anarchist.

Leon Czolgosz, the assassin of President McKinley

Due to Czolgosz’s status of a self-proclaimed anarchist and the subsequent arrest of anarchist leaders, it was easy for the press of the day to portray McKinley’s death as a conspiracy, even though such a view was not supported by the authorities. “There is reason to believe,” the New York Herald newspaper reported, “that other anarchists stand ready to complete the work of Czolgosz if the President recovers.”[11] Even after the mania stage of McKinley’s shooting and death subsided and the investigators officially dismissed any notion that others were directly involved in the president’s death, the idea of conspiracy remained present in explaining the assassin’s actions. At his trial, both the defense and the prosecution made note of how much Czolgosz had been affected by the language and allure of the anarchist circles. While no other anarchist leaders were put on trial next to him (as had been the case in the death of Abraham Lincoln), anarchism, as a concept, was tried to the same degree in the court of public opinion.

In the same way John Wilkes Booth wrote sympathetically of the Confederacy and anarchist propaganda was loving collected by McKinley’s murderer, so, too, were Communist writings discovered in Lee Harvey Oswald’s home by investigators. Writing in his you are there style, lawyer-turned-author Vincent Bugliosi described the search of Oswald’s rooming house. “The detectives are particularly struck and alarmed by the stuff in Russian and the left wing literature. It’s not the kind of thing they find too often in Dallas. There’s a letter…in Russian from the Soviet embassy in Washington, and another from someone called Louis Weinstock of the Communist Party’s paper, the Worker.”[12] Throughout the investigation, it became increasingly clear that, similar to the case of Leon Czolgosz sixty years earlier, Lee Harvey Oswald had been well educated in a system believed to be very much at odds with the Presidency of the United States. Yet, an education alone does not mean one was part of a conspiracy. Oswald may have been motivated by his Communist beliefs to murder Kennedy in the same way that Czolgosz was motivated by his anarchist beliefs, but legitimate investigations failed to uncover any overt connections between Oswald and a greater conspiracy.

Lee Harvey Oswald, the assassin of President Kennedy

In talking to reporters in the early hours of November 23rd, Dallas District Attorney Henry Wade (of later Roe v. Wade fame) was asked, “Are you willing to say whether you think this man [Oswald] was inspired as a Communist or whether he is simply a nut or middleman?” Wade replied, “I’ll put it this way, I don’t think he’s a nut.”[13] The reporter who phrased this question was channeling another precedent set by presidential assassins in American history. While conspiracy had been an overarching theme and one that could be traced to Lincoln’s death in 1865, the question of mental instability had always gone hand in hand with conspiracy. There was a societal expectation that those who engaged in such heinous acts, such as the murders of the heads of state, must have suffered from severe mental disorders. This expectation was likely reinforced by the case of another prior presidential assassin.

On July 2, 1881, President James Garfield was shot at a Washington, D.C. train depot by assassin Charles Guiteau. A barely qualified lawyer by profession, Guiteau was a unique combination of religious zealot, grifter, and delusional dreamer. From an early age, Guiteau had grandiose dreams about his own self-worth and prospects for the future. When he became a lawyer (an easier task in those days than today), he filled his business cards with the names of well-known businessmen he had barely met and bragged that his office building had an elevator.[14] Ever trying to improve his lot in life, Guiteau attempted to drift into politics, a realm where a man of his assumed talents could truly prosper. During the Presidential election of 1880, Guiteau put himself firmly behind the Republican ticket and its candidate, James Garfield, hoping to hitch his own wagon to that of the prospective president. Before Garfield became the Republican nominee, Guiteau was convinced that U. S. Grant would take to the White House again. He wrote a speech extolling the virtues of the former President and the need for his leadership once again. When Garfield, not Grant, became the nominee, Guiteau adapted his speech by merely changing the names and little else. Through shameless tenacity, Guiteau managed to convince Chester A. Arthur, Garfield’s running mate, to allow him to give a short stump speech for the pair in New York. According to historian Candice Millard, this insignificant act – the recitation of a hurried and half-heard speech by a complete stranger – convinced Guiteau that he “had played a pivotal role in putting Garfield in the White House and that it should certainly guarantee him a position of prominence in the administration.”[15] When Garfield was elected to the presidency, Guiteau truly believed that his reward for all of his hard work was soon at hand and that an ambassadorship was in his near future.

Charles Guiteau arrived in Washington, D.C., the day after Garfield’s inauguration, eager to attain the position he felt himself rightfully owed. Lacking any sense of tact or shame, he repeatedly wrote and visited the White House, ready to be given an ambassadorship to France. He even met with President Garfield in the White House regarding his request, giving the President a copy of his speech and relating his own qualifications for the job. To Garfield, however, Charles Guiteau was just one of the many unqualified office seekers who flooded the White House looking for a handout. Garfield treated the man kindly the first time they met but had no inclination to give him any sort of position. Months went by, with Guiteau making repeated calls to the White House and State Department, addressing many notes and letters to the President, though he never met with him again. At first, the delusional Guiteau truly believed that his application was being considered and reviewed and that his ambassadorship was only a matter of time. However, the normal protocol of ignoring office seekers and waiting them out did not work with Guiteau. His delusions were of such a degree that he would not give up on his goal. Guiteau truly felt he deserved a consul position and that he would get one. Eventually, Secretary of State James Blaine lost all patience with the man and told him that he had “no prospect whatever of receiving” an appointment with the government and that he should “never speak to me about the Paris consulship again.”[16]

Stung by Sec. Blaine’s response, Guiteau began writing to Garfield informing him that he must fire Blaine at once and that the man would cause his downfall if allowed to remain in his administration. He continued to visit the White House hoping to speak with Garfield, but as Millard put it, eventually, “Guiteau’s eccentricity and doggedness turned into belligerence,” and he was barred from the White House.[17] Over the next few weeks, Guiteau’s mind began to reflect on his own mistreatment and further embraced a religious zealotry that he had learned from his youth. By the end of May 1881, Charles Guiteau had convinced himself that God wanted him to kill James Garfield. “The Lord inspired me to attempt to remove the President in preference to some one else, because I had brains and the nerve to do the work. The Lord always employs the best material to do His work,” Guiteau later explained.[18]

In the aftermath of Guiteau’s crime, which he finally enacted on July 2nd, the assassin was very vocal about how God had chosen him to remove Garfield. He was only an instrument of God’s will on earth, and therefore, he could not be tried or convicted by men. The conspiracy behind James Garfield’s death was quickly understood by the public to be the imagined conspiracy in Guiteau’s unstable mind between himself and God. Insanity was the conspiracy that satisfied the public in their quest to understand Garfield’s murder. Lincoln was killed by a group of conspirators, many men poised against one. Though Garfield was killed by a single man, that man was mad and completely outside the realm of normal society and expectations. There was no need to pin Garfield’s death on a more complex conspiracy in this case as the public more widely understood and accepted Guiteau as being crazy. Garfield’s death was still an event to be lamented and mourned, but there was no uncertainty behind it that required a specter of conspiracy for understanding.

Thus, when Dallas D.A. Henry Wade gave the press his opinion on November 23, 1963, that Lee Harvey Oswald wasn’t “a nut”, he gave credence to the only other mode of understanding that the public had experience with – conspiracy. Interestingly, this opinion also helped put into motion the event that would help to solidify the idea of conspiracy in Kennedy’s death: the subsequent murder of Lee Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby. The owner of popular night clubs in Dallas and deeply affected by the President’s death, Ruby had been drawn to the police headquarters much like Charles Guiteau had been drawn to the White House for his ambassadorship. Through confidence alone, Ruby managed to gain entrance into the police headquarters and ingratiated himself with the press reporting on the assassination. He was present when Oswald was first brought before the press. “I felt I was deputized as a reporter momentarily,” Ruby later said.[19] Ruby introduced a disc jockey from the local KLIF radio station named Russ Knight to Henry Wade, the D.A. Knight later mentioned that, “Ruby was insistent that I ask Wade if Oswald were insane,” which he did and was informed that, “Oswald was not insane and that the President’s murder was premeditated.”[20] This information regarding Oswald’s sanity was important to Jack Ruby, who already felt that Oswald deserved to die for what he had done to the country and Mrs. Kennedy. However, had the belief been that Oswald was of unsound mind through the police’s initial rounds of questioning, this may have made an impact on Ruby. It’s impossible to know for certain, but Ruby, who was accused of being mentally unstable himself after his own arrest, may have altered his plans to kill Oswald if he had reason to believe Oswald was not responsible for his actions. Without any such extenuating circumstances, however, Jack Ruby took justice into his own hands and shot Lee Harvey Oswald in front of live television crews as the assassin was being escorted through the Dallas police headquarters basement on November 24, 1963. Oswald was rushed to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead during emergency surgery about an hour and a half later, and Jack Ruby was taken into police custody. As he was being taken up in the police headquarters’ elevator from the basement, Ruby stated to the policemen all around him, “Somebody had to do it, you guys couldn’t.”[21]

Lee Harvey Oswald died almost exactly 48 hours after his victim, President Kennedy. During his brief time in police custody, he denied having anything to do with JFK’s assassination, and his few writings contain no reason for it. During his limited time in front of the press while being shuffled from different rooms at headquarters, Oswald feigned ignorance of the whole affair, even going so far as to state the infamous “I’m just a patsy!” line that conspiracy theorists continue to cling to today.[22] However, as many of those who interviewed Oswald before his death stated, it was obvious that Oswald was putting the police and FBI through the motions as a form of sick punishment or comeuppance for their former surveillance of him and his Communist activities. The police and press alike described Oswald’s attitude during his interrogations as “arrogant,” “defiant,” and “stoic.”[23] In the aftermath of his crime, Oswald was enjoying himself. He had brought a country to its knees and now had all the attention placed on himself. But the sense of power and control he maintained at the Dallas police station would not have lasted forever. Just before his ill-fated escort to the basement of the headquarters in order to be transferred to the county jail, Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrels noted a change in Oswald’s demeanor. “I felt he was less arrogant,” Sorrells later said, “more ready to break.”[24] It seems likely that Oswald’s arrogant façade would have broken as the walls came closing in on him in county lock up and he was less available to the press to feed his desire for importance.

Oswald’s murder before he could express his reason for killing Kennedy and be put on trial for it created an uncomfortable hole in the minds and hearts of the American people. A similar hole had been created in 1865 when John Wilkes Booth was cornered and killed twelve days after shooting the President, but the trial and execution of his conspirators helped to satisfy the public in feeling that Lincoln had been properly avenged. Even though Charles Guiteau was deemed insane, he likewise paid the ultimate price for murdering Garfield, while Leon Czolgosz also suffered trial and execution for killing McKinley. After Oswald’s death on November 24, 1963, at the hands of a private citizen, Jack Ruby, the public lacked a person to punish properly for a President’s murder. Unlike Booth, Oswald did not have any conspirators to take his place. The government did its best to press on in making sense of Kennedy’s death, even as millions of private individuals struggled to do so. Less than a year after the assassination in Dallas, the President’s Commission on the Assassination of President Kennedy released their reports on the evidence in the case. Known as the Warren Commission, their report “included an 888-page summary, twenty-six volumes of supporting documents, testimony or depositions of 552 witnesses, and more than 3,100 exhibits.”[25] The commission concluded, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in shooting John F. Kennedy from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository.

Why, then, with such detailed and voluminous evidence pointing to Oswald as the lone gunman, is the story of President Kennedy’s death so fraught with outlandish conspiracy theories that place the blame on a multitude of others? As has already been discussed, Oswald’s denials, closely crafted words during his brief period in police custody, and the unexpected nature of his death created a lack of resolution in the mind of the public, which often turned to suspicion and paranoia. Violent crime is something that a society is programmed to abhor. There is a natural tendency to attempt to dehumanize any perpetrator of an overtly violent act. This is one reason we often portray violent criminals as being “crazy” or “insane.” The label of insanity serves to help us feel separate from those who commit crimes. It reinforces the idea that there is something fundamentally wrong with them and prevents us from having to face the possibility that we may be capable of the same violent act under different circumstances. Historian James W. Clarke, in his book American Assassins, took a psychological approach in writing about those who have tried to take the life of the chief executive. Clarke groups the different men and women into different categories based on their upbringings, life experiences, and character traits. In the case of Oswald, Clarke classified him as an “anxious, emotional, and ultimately depressed person who is primarily concerned with his or her personal problems and frustrations and only secondarily with causes or ideals.”[26] While Oswald may have had political feelings about the United States’ treatment of Cuba and communism, he did not act out of a purely political ideal. He was not like Booth, who was willing to sacrifice himself on behalf of the Confederacy, nor was he Czolgosz, who sought to prove his worth to the anarchism community. Neither was Oswald a Charles Guiteau, so irrational that he was unable to grasp the response his crime would bring. Even after taking into account the many failed assassins that had preceded him, Clarke still determined Oswald to have been the first assassin of his type, making him an outlying point of data that could not be easily understood in his day.

In the end, it has been Lee Harvey Oswald’s enigmatic nature that has helped conspiracy theories about Kennedy’s death spread and grow. The day before he gunned Oswald down in the police basement, Jack Ruby verbalized the same thoughts that millions of people had (and continue to have) regarding the man who shot the President: “It’s hard to realize that a complete nothing, a zero like that could kill a man like President Kennedy. It’s hard to understand how a complete nothing could have done this.”[27] This true and honest assessment of Lee Harvey Oswald as “a complete nothing” is at the heart of all of the conspiracy theories about Kennedy’s death. Those who portray Oswald as a framed bystander, a patsy, or merely the trigger finger of a shadowy organization suffer from the same inability as Jack Ruby to make sense of the incongruity between Oswald and his victim. Kennedy historian William Manchester makes the most eloquent argument regarding why many believe and will continue to believe, that John F. Kennedy’s death was the result of a conspiracy. Manchester invokes the image of a scale as a way in which we try to make sense of a great tragedy. Using the Holocaust as an example, he relates that “if you put six million dead Jews on one side…and on the other side put the Nazi regime – the greatest gang of criminals ever to seize control of a modern state – you have a rough balance: greatest crime, greatest criminals.” But, when it comes to the death of President Kennedy, the scale between Kennedy and the “zero” Oswald does not balance: “You want to add something weightier to Oswald. It would invest the President’s death with meaning, endowing it with martyrdom. He would have died for something.”[28] We have a psychological desire to balance that scale. Balance brings comfort and understanding. It reaffirms to us that society is just and stable and that only huge events and huge people can be at the cause of such massive suffering, such as the loss of a President. And so conspiracy theorists look for more to put on Oswald’s side. They use misconstrued “evidence” and faulty reasoning to place Oswald on top of a massive house of cards, hoping to balance him with the greatness that is President Kennedy. But the truth is that the scales rarely, if ever, truly balance. Booth and his legitimate band of conspirators don’t balance out the greatness that was Abraham Lincoln. Charles Guiteau’s insanity doesn’t balance out the promise that was James Garfield. Leon Czolgosz and his anarchism didn’t balance the representational American government that William McKinley embodied. In the end, conspiracy theories are nothing more than misguided coping strategies – faulty tools we invent for ourselves to help us make sense of what is actually a chaotic and random world. As strange as it seems, there’s a comfort in the concept of conspiracy. It creates a group of unspecified “others” that can be blamed or railed against when things go wrong or tragedies happen. But, as nice as this may seem, conspiracy theories also prevent us from developing real strategies for addressing and dealing with problems both in our public and private lives. Conspiracy theories provide a scapegoat for our troubles but deny us a path to healing and growth. American presidential assassins share this in common with the conspiracy theorists in that each group fails to develop healthy means to interact with the world around them and chooses, instead, to lash out at those they blame for their lack of control.

The idea of conspiracy has played a role in the public’s understanding of every assassination of an American president, but it has not always manifested the same way. In the introduction to his book, James Clarke wrote that “many of the thoughts and emotions of some of the [assassins] may be disturbingly familiar to a good number; the beast slumbers in us all.”[29] In the case of President John F. Kennedy, for example, the conspiracy Lee Harvey Oswald was engaged in that led him to shoot from his sixth-floor window in Dallas was not a conspiracy of men but a conspiracy of neuroses from within his own mind. Oswald could not rectify his life and failures, and the 35th President of the United States paid the price.


[1] Michael W. Kauffman, American Brutus: John Wilkes Booth and the Lincoln Conspiracies (New York: Random House, 2004), 24.
[2] Kauffman, American Brutus, 399.
[3] William Hanchett, The Lincoln Murder Conspiracies (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1986), 64 – 65.
[4] Hanchett, Lincoln Murder Conspiracies, 89.
[5] Vincent Bugliosi, Four Days in November: The Assassination of President John F. Kennedy (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2007), 119.
[6] Bugliosi, Four Days in November, 121.
[7] Jack C. Fisher, Stolen Glory: The McKinley Assassination (La Jolla (CA): Alamar Books, 2001), 93 – 94.
[8] Fisher, Stolen Glory, 9.
[9] Eric Rauchway, Murdering McKinley: The Making of Theodore Roosevelt’s America (New York: Hill and Wang, 2003), 19.
[10] Rauchway, Murdering McKinley, 31.
[11] Fisher, Stolen Glory, 91.
[12] Bugliosi, Four Days in November, 215.
[13] Ibid., 307.
[14] Candice Millard, Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President (New York: Anchor Books, 2011), 59.
[15] Millard, Destiny of the Republic, 111.
[16] Ibid., 125.
[17] Ibid., 134.
[18] Ibid., 137
[19] Gerald Posner, Case Closed: Lee Harvey Oswald and the Assassination of JFK (New York: Anchor Books, 1993), 378.
[20] Posner, Case Closed, 379.
[21] Steven M. Gillon, Lee Harvey Oswald: 48 Hours to Live (New York: Sterling, 2013), 127.
[22] Bugliosi, Four Days in November, 256.
[23] Gillon, Lee Harvey Oswald, 78 – 79.
[24] Ibid., 119.
[25] Ibid., 137.
[26] James W. Clarke, American Assassins: The Darker Side of Politics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 15.
[27] Posner, Case Closed, 377 – 378.
[28] Ibid., 469.
[29] Clarke, American Assassins, 16 – 17.

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The Ford’s Theatre Orchestra

“More is probably known about the people who were at work in Ford’s Theatre on the night of April 14, 1865, and about the topography of the theatre itself than of any other house in the world. We know the names, habits, and duties of every actor, stagehand, ticket-taker, box-office man, and usher*, and we know who many of the audience were.”

This quote comes from the doctoral dissertation of John Ford Sollers, the grandson of Ford’s Theatre owner, John T. Ford. While Sollers’ claim wasn’t quite true when he wrote it in 1962, thanks to modern scholarship, we now really do know a lot about the actors and stagehands of Ford’s Theatre on the night of Lincoln’s assassination. However, despite the wealth of information historians have discovered, we still have one blind spot in our knowledge of the inner workings of the theater that night. This blind spot was even acknowledged by Sollers in his day, forcing him to add a footnote after the word “usher” in the quote above. The footnote attached to it admitted that:

“Unless further information has been found, we do not know the names or even the number of the orchestra”

Music was a crucial part of the theater experience in the Civil War era. Even during non-musical performances (like the comedic play Our American Cousin), an overture and entr’acte music were expected by audiences. Theaters were houses of entertainment, and an orchestra was part of what you paid for when you bought your ticket. We know that Ford’s Theatre had an orchestra. We know that President Lincoln’s party, arriving late to the theater, was greeted by that orchestra. But how much do we really know about the musicians who played that fateful night?

The big challenge when it comes to determining the identities of the orchestra members at Ford’s Theatre is that we lack any sort of list from the period. When John Ford Sollers was writing his dissertation about his grandfather, he had access to documents that had belonged to John T. Ford, and even he could not come up with the names of any members of the orchestra aside from its director. Over the past week, with the assistance of fellow researcher Rich Smyth, I have assembled a partial list of those who were said to have been in the orchestra the night Lincoln was killed. The evidence supporting their attendance is, overall, extremely weak and varies greatly from man to man. Every name must be taken with a grain of salt, and aside from William Withers, we cannot guarantee that any of these men were actually present. With that being said, what follows is the list of the possible Ford’s Theatre orchestra members on April 14, 1865:

William Withers – orchestra director
George M. Arth – double bass
Scipione Grillo – baritone horn
Louis Weber – bass
William Musgrif – cello
Christopher Arth, Sr. – violin
Henry Donch – clarinet
Reuben Withers – drums
Henry Steckelberg – cello
Isaac S. Bradley – violin
Salvadore Petrola – cornet
Joseph A. Arth – drums
Paul S. Schnieder – possibly violin or trumpet
Samuel Crossley – violin
Luke Hubbard – triangle and bells

Below you will find little biographies of each man and the evidence we have about their presence at Ford’s Theatre. I’ve placed them in an order that arranges them from more likely to have been at Ford’s to less likely to have been at Ford’s. Judge the evidence for yourself as we explore the boys in the band.


William “Billy” Withers, Jr. – orchestra director

In 1862, when John T. Ford first remodeled the Tenth Street Baptist Church and opened it up as Ford’s Atheneum, he hired a musician named Eugene Fenelon to be his orchestra director. As director, Fenelon not only conducted the orchestra on a nightly basis, but was also tasked with the duty of recruiting and hiring musicians to ensure that Ford would have an ample-sized band each night. In this capacity, Fenelon recruited local D.C. musicians. Fenelon remained as Ford’s orchestra director until a fire struck Ford’s Atheneum in December of 1862. The loss was a hefty one for John Ford at about $20,000. Consumed in the fire was a bulk of the orchestra’s instruments and music. While Fenelon stayed in D.C. during the process of rebuilding that followed, when the new theatrical season opened in the fall of 1863, Fenelon took a job as the orchestra leader of the recently opened New York Theatre in NYC. Ford was then tasked with finding a new orchestra leader for his new theater. He chose to put his faith in a 27-year-old violinist and Union veteran, William “Billy” Withers, Jr.

Withers was from a musical family, and at the beginning of the war, he, his father, and his brothers had joined the Union army and served as members of a regimental band. The bands provided music during marching and aided with the morale of the men. In the late summer of 1862, however, Congress passed a law abolishing regimental bands, feeling that the service had been abused by non-musical men trying to avoid regular duty and that the bands were not worth the cost during wartime. Though Withers stayed on for some time after the dissolution of his band and acted as a medic, he was eventually discharged. Withers excitedly took up John T. Ford’s offer to be his new band leader. When the new Ford’s Theatre opened in August of 1863, Withers’ orchestra and his experience playing patriotic music were complemented.

“The music under the leadership of Prof. Wm. Withers was highly pleasing, and the execution of the national airs gave a spice to the entertainment, which was fully appreciated.”

Ford’s Theatre had always had a healthy competition with its Washington rival, Leonard Grover’s National Theatre. As the two leading theaters in the city, the press abounded in making comparisons between the two houses. One way the theaters rivaled each other was with their orchestras. While a normal theater orchestra at the time would contain about ten musicians on a nightly basis, both Ford’s and Grover’s began advertising that their orchestras had been “augmented” to include more musicians. It appears that Withers continued to augment the orchestra during his tenure and found his growing of the band to be a point of pride. “Our orchestra under the Brilliant Leader Prof. William Withers, Jr., is considered second to no theatre South of New York,” proclaimed one Ford’s Theatre advertisement. Another highlighted the fact that the orchestra, “has lately been increased and numbers now nearly a Quarter of a Hundred first class Instruments,” and that it had been, “lately largely augmented and is now unsurpassed in numerical and artistic strength.” Billy Withers was a great asset to Ford during his first theatrical season. In addition to his duties as conductor of the orchestra, Withers would occasionally volunteer his services as a solo violinist for special occasions.

Theatrical seasons ended during the hot months, which left many musicians without jobs during the summer. Without the steady (albeit small) income from the theaters, musicians had to make their own arrangements. During this time, many teamed up with other musicians to play small concerts in music halls. With his connections, Withers was able to rent out bigger venues. During the summer of 1864, Withers and his orchestra played concerts at both Grover’s and Ford’s theaters. On July 10, 1864, Withers presented a “Concert of Sacred Music” at Ford’s, for which he brought in two vocalists and “forty musicians of the best talent in the city, forming an array of talent such as has never before appeared jointly in Washington.” The concert was well received, and the proceeds helped the D.C. music scene make it through the lean summer.

When the 1864-65 theatrical season opened in the fall, Withers was rehired by Ford to be his orchestra director. The season started without a hitch, but in January of 1865, Withers experienced some unaccustomed criticism of his orchestra in the press. In comparing the two main D.C. theaters, a reviewer from the National Intelligencer stated that, “In some respects, Mr. Ford has done better. His theater has been uniformly dignified, and he has succeeded in procuring a different class of stars from those played by his competitor…but his stock company has not by any means been all that it should be, and his orchestra needs improvement.” It appears that, perhaps due to this critique, Withers began the process of augmenting the Ford’s Theatre orchestra again. His attention on the theater orchestra was a bit distracted, however, as Withers was chosen to provide some of the music for President Abraham Lincoln’s second inauguration ball. He entered into a contract in which he would be paid $1,000 for forty pieces of music. Withers not only used the local talent at his disposal but also brought in musicians from New York. After the inauguration was over, it’s likely that a few of these musicians from New York were hired by Withers to augment the Ford’s Theatre band.

As much as John T. Ford liked being the best, he and Leonard Grover had realized the costly arms race that dueling orchestras would cause them. It appears that sometime over the last two years, the two theater owners had come to a mutual understanding regarding the size of their orchestras. Rather than continuing to attempt to one-up each other, they had put an unknown limit on each other in order to keep the houses equal. When Withers began increasing the size of the orchestra in early 1865, Ford objected, fearing it would break the truce with Grover. On April 2, 1865, Ford wrote a letter to his stage manager, John B. Wright:

“Respecting the orchestra I have promised and wish to keep my word to make my orchestra the same number that Grover has in his – will you notify Withers that for the rest of the season, I wish it reduced. The necessity of this I will explain and stisfy you – If Grover wants Withers – he can go – O can easily supply his place. Let us have the same Instruments that Grover has – my honor is pledged to this.”

Rather than run off to Grover’s National Theatre, as Ford thought might occur, William Withers stayed at Ford’s Theatre and likely reduced his orchestra as ordered.

In addition to being a band leader and talented violinist, Withers also composed music. He wrote several polkas and instrumental pieces, which were sold by local music shops. Another piece that he composed that he had not published was a song called “Honor to Our Soldiers”.

With the Civil War coming to an end in April of 1865, Withers was looking for a chance to perform his own patriotic air, which featured vocalists. He had arranged for a quartet of vocalists to perform the song on the evening of April 15th. However, during the morning rehearsal for Our American Cousin on April 14th, Withers heard the news that the Lincolns, possibly joined by the Grants, were coming to the show that night. Performing his song in front of the President and General Grant would make for a much better debut, and so he decided to perform the piece that night instead. Not having time to arrange for formal vocalists for that night, Withers was forced to rely on the talent around him. Withers tapped three of his coworkers to sing solos in the song: May Hart, Henry B. Phillips, and George M. Arth. May Hart was a new member of the Ford’s Theatre stock company, having been recently transferred from the Holliday Street Theatre in Baltimore. She was performing the minor role of Georgina that night. H. B. Phillips was the acting manager at Ford’s, and it was his job to improve the quality of the stock actors. Phillips is credited as having written the lyrics for “Honor to Our Soldiers”. George Arth was actually a member of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra, who is discussed later. In addition to these soloists, lead actress Laura Keene said she and other members of her company would be happy to sing along as backup.

As we know, the Lincoln party did not arrive at the theater on time. Knowing they were on their way, Withers was given instructions to play a longer-than-average overture in hopes they would appear. After 15 minutes had elapsed without the Presidential party, the play began without them. When the Lincolns, Major Rathbone, and Clara Harris did make their appearance, the play was halted, and Withers and his orchestra began playing “Hail to the Chief”. This was followed by a rendition of “See, the Conquering Hero Comes” as the Lincolns and their guests took their seats in the Presidential box. With that, the play went on.

Withers was initially promised that the performance of his song would occur during the intermission between the first and second acts. However, when the intermission came, he was told by stage manager John Wright that Laura Keene was not prepared to perform during this break and that the orchestra should play his normal intermission music instead. Though slightly annoyed, Withers was assured the song would be performed during the next act break. When the second act break came, however, Withers was once again informed that Laura Keene was not ready. When the third act began, Withers made his way out of the orchestra pit by means of the passageway that led under the stage. He was miffed that his song had been delayed twice. He made his way up one of the two trapdoors on either side of the stage and went to converse with John Wright backstage. Wright said that Withers should plan to perform the song at the conclusion of the play and that Laura Keene had already sent word to the Presidential party to please remain after the curtain fell. Angry at Wright, Withers spied Ford’s stock actress Jeannie Gourlay also backstage and went over to talk with her. It was while Withers was conversing quietly with Jeannie Gourlay about his troubles that the shot rang out.

What occurred next has been well documented. After shooting the President and slashing away Major Rathbone with his knife, John Wilkes Booth jumped from the Presidential box onto the stage. The only actor on stage at the time, Harry Hawk, turned and ran out of Booth’s path. Upon reaching the backstage, it was William Withers and Jeannie Gourlay who stood in the way of Booth’s exit.

“Let me pass!” Booth yelled as he slashed at Withers with his knife, cutting his coat in two places. Booth pushed past Withers and Gourlay, made his exit out the back door, and escaped on horseback into the Washington streets. Withers’ backstage encounter with Booth became a well-known part of the assassination story, and up until his death in 1916, the orchestra leader never passed up an opportunity to tell his tale. As far as evidence goes, William Withers’ attendance at Ford’s Theatre that night is airtight, and even his slashed coat is on display in the Ford’s Theatre museum.

To read more on William Withers, pick up Tom Bogar’s book, Backstage at the Lincoln Assassination, or check out the following articles by Richard Sloan and Norman Gasbarro.


George M. Arth – double bass

Like William Withers, George Arth came from a musical family. At least two of his brothers and his cousin were active in the D.C. music scene. In August of 1861, George Arth joined the U.S. Marine Band, known as The President’s Own band. Arth could play many instruments, but his role in the Marine Band was that of a bass drummer. With the Marine Band, Arth would perform at important events around Washington, often for the President or other dignitaries. The job wasn’t full-time, however, and many members of the Marine Band had other jobs in the city as music teachers or as theater orchestra members. In 1864, while Laura Keene was renting out and appearing at the Washington Theatre in D.C., she hired George Arth to be her orchestra director for the engagement. The job was temporary, however, and when she left the city, George Arth went back to being just an ordinary orchestra member at Ford’s Theatre.

Arth must have had a good singing voice since, as pointed out earlier, he was one of the Ford’s employees that Withers pegged to help him in the singing of his song, “Honor to Our Soldiers”. While we do not have any record of Arth’s whereabouts during the assassination, we can safely assume he was somewhere on the premises preparing for the song when the shot rang out.

An additional piece of evidence we have that places George Arth at Ford’s that night is a letter he wrote in the days following the assassination. After Lincoln was shot, the theater was shut down and subsequently guarded. Members of the Ford’s Theatre staff were brought in for questions, and some were arrested. On a normal night, it was typical for the musicians to leave their instruments in the theater, especially when they were engaged to play the next day. While Arth likely assumed that the next night’s performance at Ford’s Theatre wasn’t going to occur, in the chaos that ensued after Lincoln was shot he was apparently unable to retrieve his own instrument. Unlike some of the other musicians who may have carried their instruments out of Ford’s with them, Arth played the largest bowed instrument in the orchestra, a double bass. After the government locked down Ford’s and started guarding it, no one was able to take anything out of the premises.

On April 21st, Arth wrote a letter to the general in charge of the guard detail asking for permission to retrieve his trapped instrument.

“Respected Sir,

I beg of you to grant me a permit to enter Fords Theatre & bring from it mu double bass viol & bow belonging to me & used by me as one of the orchestra at said theatre – as it is very necessary to me in my profession & I am suffering for its use.

I am humbly your servant

George M. Arth”

Arth’s request was approved, and he was allowed to retrieve his double bass. Arth remained in D.C. after the war and continued working asa  musician. He died in 1886 at the age of 48 from consumption and was buried in Congressional Cemetery.


Scipione Grillo – baritone horn

A native of Italy, Scipione Grillo became a naturalized citizen in 1860. He originally made his home in Brooklyn, New York, where he offered his services as a music teacher. By 1861, however, he had relocated his wife and kids to Washington, and in July, he joined the Marine Band. In addition to being a musician, Grillo was a bit of a businessman. When John T. Ford rebuilt his theater after the 1862 fire, he devoted space on the first floor just south of the theater lobby to the creation of a tavern. As part of his property, Ford could lease it out for a profit and provide an easily accessible place for patrons to get drinks between acts. The tavern space was eventually leased by two Marine Band members, Peter Taltavul and Scipione Grillo, who co-owned the venture. They called their establishment the Star Saloon after the theatrical stars who would patronize it. On the night of Lincoln’s assassination, it was Taltavul’s time on duty, and he acted as barkeep to the thirsty theater-goers. Taltavul has become famous for pouring John Wilkes Booth his last drink before the actor assassinated Lincoln.

Scipione Grillo’s partnership in the Star Saloon is often overlooked because he was spending that night in the orchestra instead of serving Booth. While Grillo was required to attend the trial of the conspirators during the entire month of May in 1865, he was never called to testify about his acquaintanceship with John Wilkes Booth and David Herold. It wasn’t until two years later, at the trial of John Surratt, that Grillo took the stand to state what he knew. During his routine questioning, Grillo was asked whether he saw anyone out on the pavement of Ford’s during the show. He replied:

“No, sir. I was not out of the place myself. I was in the orchestra between the first and second acts; but in the third act we had nothing to do, (being always dismissed after the curtain is down,) and so I went out and went inside of my place.”

Grillo also stated that he was still inside the Star Saloon when the assassination occurred. So, while he did not witness the assassination firsthand, he was among the members of the orchestra that night. Since it was part of the Ford’s Theatre building, the Star Saloon was also closed by the government, which ended Taltavul and Grillo’s business together.

Scipione Grillo appears to fall off the map after his 1867 testimony. I have not been able to find any trace of him after that, but it is possible that he, his wife, and children traveled back to Italy to live.


Louis Weber – bass

Louis Weber was born in Baltimore in 1834, but his family moved to D.C. when he was four years old. He became a member of the U.S. Marine Band and played at the inauguration ceremonies for Presidents Buchanan and Lincoln. He was an active member of the Marine Band for 25 years.

In the same manner as George Arth, the evidence pointing to Weber being a part of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra was the return of his instrument by the government. While Weber’s original request does not seem to have survived, on April 28th, Col Henry Burnett (later one of the prosecutors at the trial of the conspirators) sent a telegram off to the general in charge of the Ford’s Theatre guards ordering him to “send to this office, one bass violin the property of Louis Weber”. This order was fulfilled, and later that same day, Louis Weber signed a receipt for his bass.

Weber lived out the remainder of his life in Washington. He died in 1910 from a stroke and was buried in Congressional Cemetery.


William Musgrif – cello

William Musgrif was born in England in 1812. After immigrating to America, he settled in New York. As a musician, Musgrif was skilled in both the violin and the cello, but seemed to have preferred the cello best. In 1842, Musgrif and his cello became founding members of the newly established New York Philharmonic. As part of the Philharmonic, Musgrif mentored younger players in the cello. By 1860, he, along with his wife and son, had moved to D.C., where he offered his skills as a music teacher. Musgrif was also the conductor for his own group in D.C. called the Mozart Society.

The evidence that William Musgrif also moonlighted as a member of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra comes from yet another letter written in the days after Lincoln’s assassination. William Withers had already written once and received a portion of his instruments that had been left at Ford’s that night, but he had not received all of them. In May of 1865, Withers penned another letter asking for permission to get the “balance of my things,” which included “sleigh bells, triangle, harmonica”. He also requested, “one instrument, violocella, for Mr. Musgrive [sic]”

These items were inspected and then delivered to Withers. On May 7th, Withers signed a form stating he had received, “a lot of sleigh bells, a triangle, harmonica, and violincella being properties left at Fords Theatre on the night of the Assassination of President Lincoln.” Withers signed for both himself “and Mr. Musgive [sic]”.

William Musgrif continued to live in D.C. in the few years following the assassination. In 1868, an unfortunate incident caused Musgrif to make the acquaintance of another person who had been at Ford’s on April 14th. On February 19th, Musgrif was in the billiard room of the National Hotel observing a man named William Rogers, who was drunk. When Musgrif attempted to take the billiard balls away from the drunkard, Rogers “hit him over one of the eyes.” A police officer was summoned, arrested Rogers, and proceeded to take down the 56-year-old musician’s sworn statement. That responding police officer was none other than Officer John F. Parker, the man history has condemned for allegedly leaving Abraham Lincoln unguarded on the night of his assassination.

By the mid-1870s, William Musgrif had moved out to Colorado with his son. It is likely he died and was buried there.


Christopher Arth, Sr. – violin

Chris Arth was the cousin of George M. Arth, the would-be soloist for “Honor to Our Soldiers”. His 1901 obituary, which is also one of the pieces of evidence for his presence at Ford’s Theatre, gives a good description of his life.

In addition to this obituary’s claim that Chris Arth was a member of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra, there is also a 1925 article from a D.C. correspondent known as the Rambler that supports the idea. I’ve briefly touched on the Rambler before. His real name was John Harry Shannon, and he wrote for the Evening Star newspaper from 1912 to 1927. His stories involved local interest pieces and often involved him travelling around Washington, talking to old timers. In an article he wrote about the history of D.C.’s music scene, the Rambler included a letter that was written to him by John Birdsell, the secretary of the Musicians’ Protective Union. You’ll notice that in the obituary above, it states that Chris Arth was a member of the same union during his lifetime. Birdsell compliments the Rambler’s work and then poses a challenge to him:

“In this connection it may be possible that, during the course of your researches for the preparation of these writings, you may acquire a complete roster of the orchestra which played at Ford’s Theater the night President Lincoln was shot. I have had inquiry for this from several sources. The first came from somewhere in California. I communicated with the Oldroyd Museum, and while they did not possess this information, they expressed a desire to acquire it.”

After this, Birdsell proceeds to give the list of names he has been able to determine.

“To date the partial roster, which I have is as follows: Leader, William Withers; violin, Chris Arth, sr.; bass, George Arth; clarinet, Henry Donch; cornet, Salvatore Petrola.”

After this list, Birdsell makes the final statement that since average orchestras at the time consisted of 10 instruments, he believes he is only half complete. Birdsell was likely unaware of Ford’s and Grover’s mutually agreed-upon augmented orchestras, which were no doubt larger than ten musicians.

If we trust his obituary and Birdsell’s list, then Chris Arth, cousin of George Arth, was in the orchestra at Lincoln’s assassination.


Henry Donch – clarinet

Henry Donch was a native of Germany who moved to the United States in 1854. He lived in Baltimore and was also a member of the Annapolis Naval Academy Band before he moved to Washington. Donch joined the U.S. Marine Band in August of 1864.

The evidence for Donch’s presence at Ford’s Theatre the night Lincoln was shot is the same as Chris Arth’s: the Birdsell list and his obituary.

A second obituary for Donch provided an additional detail regarding his alleged presence at Ford’s:

“Mr. Donch was a member of the orchestra at Ford’s Theater on the night Lincoln was shot. Mr. Donch, who was facing the assassin as he leaped from the box, always declared that Booth never uttered the phrase, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis,’ which is attributed to him.”

While the general consensus is that Booth did, in fact, utter the phrase “Sic Semper Tyrannis” after shooting the President, Donch’s contrary claim does not, by itself, prove him to be a liar. The eyewitness accounts from Ford’s vary widely, and it’s possible that, in the confusion, Donch truly did not hear or remember Booth stating these words.

Coincidentally, Henry Donch would observe another Presidential assassin, though this time during the period after his crime. After Charles Guiteau shot President James Garfield, Henry Donch was selected as one of the grand jury members in his trial.


Reuben Withers – drums

Reuben Withers was the younger brother of Ford’s Theatre orchestra director, William Withers. Reuben had joined the same regimental band as his brothers and father at the start of the Civil War, but similarly was sent back home when such bands were disbanded. He joined the ranks of his brother’s brass band and, it appears, the Ford’s Theatre orchestra.

In his older years, William Withers suffered from paralysis and was cared for by Reuben. The two elderly men shared a home and business together in the Bronx. Even in his paralysis, reporters came to hear the story of William Withers being stabbed by Booth on the night of Lincoln’s assassination. In at least one interview, Reuben recounted his own remembrances of the night of April 14th:

“The President was a little late coming in. We had played the overture and the curtain was just going up when we saw him enter the stage box. Brother William immediately started us playing ‘Hail to the Cheif,’ then ‘Star-Spangled Banner,’ and there was a lot of cheering. Everybody was feeling good and happy…

After we had played the overture I left the theatre to catch the 9.20 train for Zanesville, O., and so I missed the actual scene of the great tragedy. I had been offered a better position to play in the band of Bailey’s circus, and I had fixed that night of April 14, 1865, as the time of my leaving Washington…”

Was Reuben Withers truly in the orchestra that night? After years of hearing his brother tell his tale, perhaps he just wanted to include himself in the narrative. Or perhaps he did tell the truth and left the theater before the crime occurred. We may never really know. Reuben Withers preceded his brother in death, dying in 1913. The house and business the Withers brothers owned still stands, albeit a bit modified, at 4433 White Plains Road in the Bronx.


Henry Steckelberg – cello

Henry Steckelberg was born in 1834 in Germany. He immigrated to the United States in 1858, residing at first in New York. When the Civil War broke out, he, like the Witherses, joined a regimental band in New York. After returning to civilian life, Steckelberg made his way to Washington and can be found in the 1864 D.C. directory listed as “musician”.

When Steckelberg died in 1917, his obituary stated that, “On the night of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination he was playing at Ford’s Theater. The orchestra was having an intermission when the tragedy occurred.”

An additional piece of evidence comes from the Steckelberg family. The genesis for this entire post was an email from Steckelberg’s great-granddaughter asking if a list of the orchestra members existed. She told me about her family’s belief that her great-grandfather played that night and that the family still owns Steckelberg’s treasured cello that he, presumably, used. In addition, she was kind enough to send along a letter, written by Henry Steckelberg’s sister-in-law, which supplemented his obituary. The relevant part of the letter states:

“On the night of Lincoln’s assassination, he [Steckelberg] was playing in the regular orchestra in Ford’s Theater. The assassin was a regular hanger on around the theater and he (Booth) often played cards with the orchestra members in the rehearsal room below the orchestra pit. His presence in the theater caused no notice. Booth was unemployed at the time, very jealous of his successful brother. He had no personal animosity toward Lincoln but wished to do something to draw attention to himself.”

It’s hard to tell if the writer of this letter was using knowledge she had obtained from Steckelberg or merely adding her own embellishments and beliefs about the Lincoln assassination story to the basic Steckelberg obituary. The latter part of the paragraph is entirely opinion, and the former contains one factual error: there was no rehearsal room “below the orchestra pit” at Ford’s Theatre, as the pit was the lowest you could get.

While there isn’t much to go on regarding Henry Steckelberg, his obituary does recount that the orchestra was on break during (and therefore didn’t witness) Lincoln’s assassination, which is in line with what Scipione Grillo testified to in 1867. It’s possible that Henry Steckelberg was there after all.


Isaac S. Bradley – violin

Isaac S. Bradley was born in 1840 in New York. During the Civil War, Bradley joined the Union army, where he served as a bugler in the 10th New York Cavalry. Bradley was discharged from the service on November 20, 1865. By 1868, he had moved to Dayton, Ohio, where he married and started a family. He lived in Dayton for the remainder of his days, becoming a photographer. Bradley died on July 10, 1904.

While I have yet to find any period documentation of Bradley’s presence at Ford’s Theatre during his lifetime, in 1960, his elderly daughter Clara Forster was interviewed by a newspaper in her home of Anderson, Indiana. She stated that during her father’s military service, he “fell victim to a rheumatic ailment that hospitalized him for some time in Washington,” and that he, “was ready to accept the offer to play in the orchestra at Ford’s Theater in Washington because he had with him his own Amati violin…”

With her father’s antique violin in her hand, Mrs. Forster then recounted the story her father had told her of that night:

“We were playing very softly when suddenly a messenger came and told us to play louder. We had heard a shot and someone running across the stage above, but we thought nothing of it.

So we played louder, not knowing of the tragedy that had occurred overhead; not knowing that our beloved Abe Lincoln had been shot.”

The article went on to state that “the order to play more loudly was given in an effort to offset commotion caused by the shooting and to avert panic in the audience.” It’s important to note that Mrs. Forster’s account is in contradiction to the testimony of Scipione Grillo, who made it clear that the orchestra was not on duty during the assassination.

Mrs. Forster was very proud of her father’s heirloom violin and described it in detail:

“Mr. Bradley was second violinist in the orchestra, playing with four other young soldiers who had served in the Civil War…

[The violin] had been given to him when he was about 10 or 11 years old. It had been acquired by his grandfather from the Cremonesis family in Italy, reported to have taught the famed Antonius Stradivarius the art of producing priceless violins.

Mr. Bradley was told that the instrument purchased by his grandfather, who served in the Revolutionary War, was made in 1637. A certificate inside the violin bears that date and the name of the maker.

Mrs. Forster reports that her brother, the late Frank Bradley, had the violin in his possession for some time and about 1914 refused an offer of $20,000 for it. During the past few years, Mrs. Forster made her home in Milwaukee, where a concert violinist and teacher became interested in the Amati violin and wrote an article about it for a national music publication. One of the amazing facts was that its owner had carried it with him through much of the Civil War and that it had not been damaged.”

Mrs. Forster appears to be the only source that her father was in Washington and a member of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra that night. She was apparently quite convincing, though, especially with her father’s violin as a witness. In the 1960s, when the National Park Service was preparing a historic structures report about Ford’s Theatre, Mrs. Forster wrote a letter to George Olszewski, the National Capital Region’s chief historian. Olszewski was convinced enough by Mrs. Forster’s letter that he included Isaac S. Bradley’s name in his partial list of orchestra members.


Salvadore Petrola – cornet

Salvadore Petrola, a native of Italy, came to the United States in 1855 when he was 20 years old. A talented cornet player, Petrola joined the U.S. Marine Band in September of 1861 and remained a member for the maximum time allowed, 30 years. As a band member in the 1880s, Petrola was the assistant conductor of the band, second only to its leader, John Philip Sousa. Petrola assisted Sousa in arranging music for the band and served as its primary cornet soloist for many years.

Despite a lengthy search, the only concrete evidence that I have been able to find to support the idea that Petrola was in the orchestra at Ford’s is the list of names John Birdsell, the secretary of the Musicians’ Protective Union, provided to the Rambler in 1925.

One additional fact could be taken as, perhaps, circumstantial evidence in favor of Petrola’s presence, however. The only instrumental solos contained on William Withers’ handwritten copy of his song, “Honor to Our Soldiers”, is for a cornet. In fact, the cornet gets three solos over the course of the song.

Is it possible that William Withers wrote so many solos for his cornet player because he was working with the very talented, Salvadore Petrola? We’ll never know.


Joseph A. Arth – drums

Joseph Arth was the younger brother of Ford’s double bass player, George M. Arth. Like his brother and cousin, Chris Arth, Joseph was a member of the U.S. Marine Band. Like Salvadore Petrola, Joseph stayed in the Marine Band for 30 years.

Our only evidence for Joseph Arth’s presence at Ford’s Theatre comes from his wife’s obituary from 1940. Joseph married Henrietta Scala, the daughter of the one-time Marine Band leader, Francis Scala. Upon Henrietta’s death at 90 years of age, the newspapers highlighted that she was both the daughter and wife of noted Marine Band musicians. In referencing her husband, the obituary stated:

“She was the widow of Joseph A. Arth, drummer with the band during the same period. Files of The [Evening] Star report that Joseph Arth was the drummer in the pit at Ford’s Theater the night President Lincoln was assassinated.”

It’s not much to go on, but perhaps Joseph was playing alongside his older brother George in the Ford’s Theatre orchestra that fateful night.

A pair of drumsticks in the Ford’s Theatre collection. These are said to have been present on the night of Lincoln’s assassination. Could they have been used by Reuben Withers or Joseph Arth?


Paul S. Schneider – possibly violin or trumpet

Paul Schneider was born in Germany in 1844 and immigrated to the United States in 1861. During the Civil War, he joined the Union army under the alias Ernst Gravenhorst. He served as a bugler for the 5th U.S. Artillery from January 1863 until December 1865. In the 1870s, Schneider moved to Memphis, Tennessee, initially working as a musician in the New Memphis Theatre before becoming a music teacher. In 1882/3, Schneider became the second director of the Christian Brothers Band, the oldest high school band still in existence. As director of the band, Schneider and his students performed at important events, including playing for President Grover Cleveland in 1887 when he visited Tennessee. In 1892, Schneider was succeeded as director by one of his former students, but remained in Memphis and was involved in the musical life of the city. He died in 1912.

I have been unable to determine the source of the claim that Paul Schneider was a part of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra on the night of Lincoln’s assassination. It appears to have come after his lifetime but is not well-documented. In 2011, Patrick Bolton, the current leader of the Christian Brothers Band, published his doctoral thesis about the history of the band. The dissertation contains a large amount of information about each band leader and the growth of the band over time. While it gives a great biography of Paul Schneider, the information about his connection to Ford’s Theatre is limited:

“Schneider was also known for his skills as a violinist and performed in touring orchestras around the country, including one that performed in Ford’s Theatre in Washington, D.C. On the evening of April 14, 1865 he has been placed in this historic theatre performing Hail to the Chief for President Abraham Lincoln before the fateful performance of the play, ‘Our American Cousin.'”

Bolton was a good researcher, but it appears that even he had difficulty in finding evidence for this claim. His phrasing of “he has been placed” demonstrates a degree of uncertainty. Likewise, the best reference Bolton could find to support this idea was from a 1993 newspaper article about the Christian Brothers Band, which merely mentioned that Schneider had been a member of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra without any supporting evidence.

Without additional period evidence, I have some serious doubts that Paul Schneider was present at Ford’s. However, the idea that one of their band leaders was a part of such a historic event is a point of pride to the Christian Brothers Band. When the band traveled to Washington, D.C. in 2014, they even presented a picture of Professor Schneider to Ford’s Theatre.

Update: Patrick Bolton has continued his research into Paul Schneider and, in 2025, shared the following obituary for Schneider, which mentions his supposed presence at Ford’s Theatre:

Of course, the idea that Paul Schneider narrowly escaped a bullet from John Wilkes Booth’s gun does not fit the known facts of the assassination. Booth only shot one bullet that evening, and that was nearly point-blank at President Lincoln.


Samuel Crossley – violin

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I have been unable to find any verifiable information about Samuel Crossley aside from the story I am going to recount. In 1991, the National Park Service received a donation to the Ford’s Theatre collection in the form of this violin.

The violin was said to have been played at Ford’s Theatre on the night of Lincoln’s assassination. A label inside the violin identified its previous owner, a Union soldier by the name of Samuel Crossley.

On February 11, 2009, at the grand re-opening ceremony for the newly remodeled Ford’s Theatre museum, noted violinist Joshua Bell played the song, “My Lord, What a Morning” on the Crossley violin. In the audience were President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. Though I haven’t been able to find a recording of that performance, in videos of the President’s remarks, Bell can be seen in the background holding the Crossley violin.

More information about Samuel Crossley (and the provenance behind his violin) is needed.


Luke Hubbard – triangle and bells

Luke Hubbard was born in 1848 in Onondaga County, New York. In 1863, Hubbard attempted to join the Union army but was rejected on account of being under the age limit (he was only 15 at the time). Not one to be deterred, Hubbard waited a year and then enlisted again, this time claiming he was 18 years old. Records verify that Hubbard served as a private in Company B of the 22nd New York Cavalry from July 1864 until he was discharged from service on October 18, 1865. Years later, Luke Hubbard claimed that an unexpected series of events during his tour of service caused him to not only be present at Ford’s Theatre on the night of Lincoln’s assassination, but also to be an acting member of the orchestra.

The following comes from two sources: an account that Hubbard gave during his lifetime and his subsequent obituary.

“That fall [1864] I was taken ill with fever and removed to Carver hospital in Washington. After I recovered, instead of being returned to my regiment and probably largely because of my youth as well as being in a weakened state, I was given a position in the Carver hospital band. In the army I had been a bugler. This hospital band furnished the music at Ford’s theater on the memorable night. I was playing the triangles and sat at the end of the orchestra under the box occupied by the presidential party…”

“The actor, John Wilkes Booth, was well known by the president, and when he was not in the piece being presented or when Booth was off the stage for a time, or between acts, he would often call on President Lincoln in his box, when both would witness the performance together, or sit and chat in the most friendly manner, so that he had no trouble gaining access to the box on the night of the conspiracy.”

“Many people have claimed that Booth said this or that when he jumped to the stage from the box, but with thirteen pieces playing at the time. I don’t think he could have been heard had he uttered any remark…

In a moment Mrs. Lincoln appeared at the edge of the box, waved her handkerchief to the leader of the orchestra, who raised his bow, a signal for the music to cease. Mrs. Lincoln was then heard to say, ‘The president has been shot.’

The members of the orchestra meanwhile not understanding the scene before them, saw Booth drag himself across the stage holding in one hand the revolver which had done its fatal work, and in the other grasped a knife for use in case the other weapon failed. As the door at the rear of the stage opened, the orchestra members who sprang to the stage saw two pair of arms sieze [sic] the injured man, the last that was seen of him. When the door was reached it was found to be locked on the outside, and by the time they reached the street through another exit the theater was surrounded by a cordon of soldier, and they were obliged to give their names and business at the theater that night.”

“Mr. Hubbard was the third man to climb over the footlights and rush to the back of the stage, but the door was locked on the outside.”

Ironically, one of the most detailed accounts we have from a person who claimed to have been in the orchestra at Ford’s Theatre is also the least factual and least reliable. Very little of what Hubbard recounted is accurate. The orchestra was not playing when the shot rang out. Booth dropped the derringer pistol he used on Lincoln in the box and therefore did not have it on the stage with him. No one grabbed the injured Booth and pulled him out the rear door of Ford’s. The back door of Ford’s was not found to be locked from the outside after Booth passed through it. And perhaps the most egregious (and somewhat laughable) error of them all: John Wilkes Booth was not a friend of Lincoln’s, nor did he often join the President in his theater box to “chat”.

As entertaining as it is, it’s probably safe to dismiss Hubbard’s account entirely. Still, it’s interesting that the instruments Hubbard claimed to have played that night, the triangle and bells, were two of the instruments William Withers asked permission to retrieve after the assassination.


The stage of Ford’s Theatre taken in the days after Lincoln’s assassination. The orchestra pit with music stands and sheet music still in place can be seen at the bottom of the image.

Compared with the stars who graced the stages of Victorian era theaters, the lives of theater orchestra members were without glamour or fame. While equally talented in their own specific roles, many of the men who provided crucial musical accompaniment led quiet and largely uncelebrated lives.

The names listed above are only possible members of the Ford’s Theatre orchestra, with some having much better evidence than others. We only know them because either they chose during their lifetime or their friends and family chose after death, to connect their names with one of the most notable events in our history. This desire to be remembered and connected to such important events leads some people to exaggerate or outright lie. On the reverse, however, it is possible that there were members who did not wish to have their whole musical careers boiled down to a single, traumatic night. How many orchestra members witnessed Lincoln’s assassination, but never talked about it publicly?

As time goes on, additional people who are claimed to have been in the Ford’s Theatre orchestra will no doubt be found. When that happens, we must judge the reliability of their evidence just like the names above. If you stumble across a new name, I encourage you to add a comment to this post so that others may evaluate the evidence.

The exact identities of those playing at Ford’s Theatre on April 14, 1865, will never be known with certainty. Just like in 1925 and 1962, we still do not have a reliable count of how many musicians were even there, and we likely never will.

Known and unknown, the orchestra members of Ford’s Theatre, under the direction of William Withers, have the distinction of having played the last music President Abraham Lincoln ever heard.

References:
The Theatrical Career of John T. Ford by John Ford Sollers (1962)
Backstage at the Lincoln Assassination by Tom Bogar
The Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
The Lincoln Assassination: The Evidence edited by William Edwards and Edward Steers
The Trial of John H. Surratt, Vol 1
Catherine Adams – great-granddaughter of Henry Steckelberg
Restoration of Ford’s Theatre – Historic Structures Report by George J. Olszewski
“The Oldest High School Band in America”: The Christian Brothers Band of Memphis, 1872-1947 by Patrick Joseph Bolton
Rich Smyth
The Art Loux Archive
Newspaper articles discovered via GenealogyBank
Most of the biographical information was compiled through the resources available on Ancestry and Fold3
Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division

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