I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead by Charles Tranberg

left you a little
apprehensive, one word of comfort: when you go to bed tonight, don’t
worry. Put out the lights and go to sleep. ( A wolf howl. ) It’s all right, you
can rest peacefully, and that’s just a sound effect. There! Over there, in the
shadow, see? It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing at all — I think it’s nothing.
But always remember ( Now as Van Helsing ) Ladies and gentlemen, there are
wolves. There are vampires. ( As himself again ) Such things do exist.” This
was Welles’ way of saying “Boo” months before Halloween — but by that
Halloween of 1938, he had an even more elaborate prank to pull on the
American listening public.
    Arthur Anderson made his debut the following week as Young Jimmy
Hawkins in “Treasure Island,” with Agnes cast as his mother. “She used a
very authentic cockney accent, she was wonderful at dialect,” he would
remember. Anderson recalls the routine of the show as very casual. “We
would do a first reading around a table, then we would do a mike check for
special effects. A dress rehearsal would then be done with the orchestra led
by Bernard Herrmann, who had been rehearsing prior to this. Then Orson
always recorded the dress rehearsals on discs and he, John Houseman (the
producer), and Paul Stewart would sit around, probably while eating
dinner, and argue it out on what to cut or change, then the actors would be
brought in again and told what was decided.” Anderson would also recall
that at this time Orson and Houseman worked efficiently together, but
later they went their separate ways and were estranged for the rest of their
lives. Anderson remembers being told (he wasn’t present) that the Mercury
actors were called into a meeting by Orson to set the record straight about
which man — he or Houseman — ran the Mercury Theatre. “There is
some dissension about who is in charge,” Welles was reported to have said.
“Well, I am the Mercury Theatre.”
    Elliott Reid, who also worked in several Mercury productions, recalls
Houseman as “A portly gentleman (who) spoke beautiful English, having
been brought up over there. He was a charming person, highly intelligent;
I liked him and admired him. He was producing the business side of Orson
Welles — he had a little cubby-hole office — a little hole in the wall.”
    For all his admiration for Orson, Anderson considers Welles “The
supreme egotist; actors who were twice his age could be intimidated by
him and he would take them aside and say, ‘shame on you,’ if they did
something wrong. My opinion is that Orson was usually right.” Welles is
also credited by Anderson as “very clever and creative as a director — he
didn’t mind doing outrageous things and then changing them if they didn’t
work out, which any good director would do.” As an example of Welles’
innovations, Anderson would recall that he was cast as the Ghost of
Christmas Past in the Mercury adaptation of “A Christmas Carol.” “Here I
was only 15 and I’m playing this part, but that was the innovator in Orson.”
    Elliott Reid also credits Orson as a creative radio director, but adds: “He
didn’t go in for directorial flourishes. He had people who he knew could do
it or he wouldn’t cast them in the part, so he trusted them. He did direct
the actors at times, but technical things were what he concentrated on. But
perusing the inner life of a character or artsy direction — No. I can’t recall
Orson ever saying, ‘Now this guy . . . ,’ and telling his background.” As a
director, Reid recalls that Orson liked to keep things relaxed. “He would
come to the table with a good deal of bantering, before the reading of the
script, and then we would get to it. I looked forward to being in one of
Orson’s shows.” When directing the Mercury shows, Reid says that Welles
“had earphones so he could hear the actors from what it sounded like in the
control room. Very rarely did he direct from the control room itself —