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13th Juror - 01 - John Wilkes Booth 49-04-23
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13th Juror - 01 - John Wilkes Booth 49-04-23
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Vincent Price
Bring along an American Express card to open the door to rewards wherever you go. Morning coffee, run with an old friend. Earn cash back. Weekend getaway. Earn miles. Dinner at the hottest restaurant in town. You get the idea, no matter the place or the plan. AMEX rewards your inner explorer. See if you pre qualify for an American Express card with no impact on your credit score. Learn more@americanexpress.com check 4 offers. Your credit score may be impacted if you accept a card. Terms apply. But to stalk over the earth, lonely and friendless, until the end of time. Time is the judge history. The jury of these mysterious men whose stories have no ending. And you seated there beside your radio, you sitting in judgment on this mystery. You are the 13th juror. Starring the distinguished actor Vincent Price. This is the first in a series of unsolved mysteries written and directed by Arnold Marquis, creator of NBC's prize winning programs Unlimited Horizons, the Pacific Story and the Fifth Horseman. This is the mystery of the man who shot Abraham Lincoln. We bring you the facts in the case and we ask you, the 13th juror. What happened to John Wilkes Booth? This is Vincent Price. On the night of April 14, 1865, John Wilkes Booth stepped into the President's box in Fort Theater in Washington D.C. shot Abraham Lincoln, jumped to the stage and shouted, rushed out of the back door and galloped away. This much we know. But what happened after? This is John Wilkes Booth is shrouded in mystery. Twelve days later, after one of the greatest manhunts of all time, the War Department announced that John Wilkes Booth, the assassin of the President of the United States, was dead. Killed by federal troops near Port Royal, Virginia. The body was brought back to Washington secretly. Easy now. Easy. Lower away. At midnight, by the light of flickering candles, the body of the man killed near Port Royal was lowered into a grave beneath a warehouse floor. Easy. Easy now. All right. When they had finished, they sealed that grave with concrete level with the warehouse floor. And there officially ended the story of John Wilkes Bruce. But even before that secret midnight burial, many Americans wore the real John Wil Booth had escaped that they had seen Booth far from Washington D.C. alive. That wasn't Booth they killed. I saw Booth myself. Two days after he. They killed another man to stop the nationwide clamoring for Booth blood. That's what they did. The United States Secret Service brought back the cops of an innocent man to collect that $50,000 reward. I heard he was seen out with Bob, a South American. If you ask me, I think was he dead or did he escape? By now, the living ghost of John Wilkes Booth was stalking the earth. Six days after the assassination, John and Martha Murphy, farmers in Oak Harbor, Ohio, had a late caller. Somebody's at the door. This time of night? Yes, it's pretty late. I'll go. It's funny. Just about bedtime. Good evening. Evening. I beg your indulgence. My name is Jonathan Baxter. I'm a traveler on my way to Toledo. I'd like a room for myself and shelter for my horse. We ain't got no. I cannot go on. I have an injured leg and my horse is dead. All we got is a bed in the attic. Attic's no place. Oh, any place will do. And thank you for your kindness. I should be glad to pay whatever you ask. Oh, my leg pain. Oh, well, come in. Come in. If you don't mind sleeping in the attic, and John take his horse out to the barn and. All right, all right. Now, Write this way, Mr. Baxter. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Jonathan Baxter, J.B. the same initials as John Cooper. So far as Mr. And Mrs. Murphy of Oak Harbor, Ohio, were concerned, Jonathan Baxter slept asleep of the just. They were up early, and so was he. And while John Murphy was out dabbling the stranger's horse, Martha engaged him in conversation. Well, I guess new travelers see a good deal always on the go. There's quite a good deal, Mom. Have you heard much about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in this part? Well, I guess we heard about the same as Everybody else did. Mr. Baxter, your horse is ready. Oh, well, thank you. You are hospitable indeed. Mr. Baxter was just asking if we heard much about the murder of Mr. Lincoln. Yes, we did. That fellow Bull should be catched and strung up. Why do you say that, sir? Well, he killed Mr. Lincoln, didn't he? The man who killed Lincoln was a hero. Are you crazy? Crazy indeed. I shall be immortal. I. I am J. Wilkes Booth. You, Jay Wilkes? Yes, I. This injured leg of mine was broken in the jump from the presidential box to the stage. But I'll never be taken out of my way. Thank you. I'm on my way to Canada. They'll never take me. He looks exactly like his sister. Was that J. Wilkes Booth? Or was Booth Field in that grave beneath the warehouse floor in Washington? By this time, J. Wilkes Booth was stalking the earth. Was he living or dead? Not so many years later, parishioners of the church in Richmond, Virginia, watched their minister and wondered. Every stunt is more and more like a knife. Shh. People are looking at you. No two men could be so much alike. He came Here, right after the trouble up north. Looks just like that after he stall and thin. And he had that broken leg when he first lashed. Now, please, if he is well, then we ought to know it. He's a fine minister. His summons are inspiring. Polished, too polished. At last he's quiet. Now he's going to speak. There will be many, yea, multitudes of those who will ponder their ways here on earth and mourn their price of companions. For there should be no opportunity for repentance once the gate has been shut before them. Think you well on the story of the foolish virgin, and take it into your heart. For if ye neglect the oil for thy lamp while it is available, you will find the supply has dwindled and dawned before ye have fed the wick of thine own God. And so I say unto you, know thyself and keep thy lamp filled with oil, that ye may be numbered in the glorious sumternation. Let us, Baker. Sometimes I want to stand and shout, tell us you're really John Wils. Bo, you blackguard. Was this man John Wil Booth? The doubt never died. But this creature had so much charm, so much composure, that no one ever brought him to the challenge. By this time, John Wilkes Booth had become almost a legend. He was seen everywhere. Ten years after the assassination and the reported killing of Booth, a saloon keeper in Granbury, Texas, said something to a youth. You've heard how Abraham Lincoln was shot in Ford's theater in Washington 10 years ago? Why, yes, sir. We were told in school. Yeah. And were you told of what happened to the man who fired the shot? To John Booth? He was shot in the barn. He was not shot in the barn, but captured him in an. I wanted to clear my soul of his burden for many and many a year. My lad, I can prove to you beyond any doubt that what I have told you is true. That John Booth was not shot. Yes, for I am very excited. This fantastic claim might have passed unnoticed, the lurid tale of an irresponsible drink sodden character. But 25 years later, the boy, now grown to manhood, now a respected attorney in Memphis, Tennessee, journeyed to Enid, Oklahoma, to view the body of a human derelict who had committed suicide. Attorney Finnicell Bates scrutinized the body. Yes, this is the body of the same man who told me 25 years ago that he was Booth. This is not the body of an ordinary vagrant. This is the body of John Wilkes Booth. Attorney Bates took the body back to Memphis, kept it there for many years, mummified while he made an exhaustive investigation of the Booth mystery. Booth was not killed. I have his complete confession. And I know the name of the man who did die in that tobacco barn in Virginia on that confused and bloody day in 1865. If the man buried under the warehouse floor in Washington was not John Wilkes Booth, who was. Immediately after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, the nation seethed in the frantic search for the fugitive Booth. Troops of cavalry scoured the countryside, but the tall, thin assassin, dramatic in word and action, slipped through their line. Some days later, two gaunt men, one of them tall and thin, with an injured leg, turned up at the ferry on the Rappahannock River, Port Royal, Virginia. Look. That considerate soldier there is waiting for the ferry to take him in a steam and wagon across the river. He looks suspicious to me. Stop clenching your hands like that. I wasn't clenching my hand. I ain't nervous. Ask him to give us a lift on the road. I don't know what to say. We cling off here. All right. How'd it do? My name's Dave Boyd. I'm Captain Jeff. Willie J. Glad to know you. This here's my brother, Mr. John. Boy. Mr. Boy. How do you do, sir? My pleasure. My brother here, he. He's wounded. Ball in the leg. I regret, sir. Yes. The end of a glorious, majestic effort. There is not for us Confederates to do now but to go home, broken in body and spirit as I am. Captain Jetson, would you mind giving us a lift down the road, maybe? Well, perhaps I can manage. No, sir. I'm grateful for your charity. I'll try to clear a place on the wagon. Yeah, I'll help you there. Yeah. I guess there's a place for you two now. Thank you, sir. Take my hand. Hang on now. Harry's come to take us across. As they cross the river and roll down the road, Captain Willie Jet eyed his two passengers. I'll be glad to get home. Yes, the spirit of the true south isn't crushed. Oh, that's right. I didn't see as much action as I wished. But I'll be proud of my part. Every true Southerner should be proud of his part. Yes, a Southern gentleman's badge of honor is his uniform. But there were some heroes who did not wear the uniform. Well, I suppose some of us were heroes in another thing. How do you mean? I am the assassinator of the president. I. I'm afraid I. I don't understand yourself. I killed President Lincoln. You don't pay no attention to him, Captain. He's all I am J. Wils Bowl. It's impossible. Look at my leg. Broken in the jump from the president's box to the stage. It's broken, not shot. You don't know what he's saying. Are not done on the battlefields alone. Did you ever see me on the stage? I am the Brutus who has saved this nation. Yet the newspapers called me cutthroat and darling thug. I, JW but it was I, I who forever ended tyranny in this nation. Captain Willie Jett was struck with fear. Four miles down the road from Port Royal, he palmed off the two suspicious characters to a farmer named Jack Garrett. Yeah, I guess we got a bad boy upstairs. Well, I should be grateful, sir. Captain Jack give us a lift. Cause we. We was with A.P. hill Corps. You two see anything of that pay actor John Booth on the roof? No, no, no, we. We ain't seen nothing of him. No. Have you? They're offering $50,000 reward for him, dead or alive. That is a great deal of money. Wished he'd come this way so I could catch him and get the reward. It'd be well to come this way. Would you inform against him? I could sure use the money. Yes, but you would. What's that? Cavalry. Oh, there's a troop of Yankees coming down the road. Yankee hoses. Yeah, Yankees. Have to hide the food, lock the barn. Perhaps I'd better hide too. Oh, you're not in danger, sir. It's best that we hide. Come, cousin, give me a hand. Where you going, Mr. Boy, I'm Waden. I feel that they won't touch you. They might steal provisions. Oh, look, a whole CO gang is riding by. It must be important for that many cavalrymen to be down here. We touch this farmhouse, Lieutenant? No. It looks all right. Hold it. I wonder what they're looking for. Maybe they're after you, Mr. Boyd, and your cousin. What? They want us. What are you hiding? My good fellow, we have nothing to hide. You telling the truth, Mr. Boyd? The gospel truth, Mr. Boyd, you better clear on out of here. Clear up. Mr. Garrett, your father assured me that he was glad to help a former Confederate soldier. Especially being wounded. I don't trust you. I don't understand the way you wanted to sneak off when those soldiers came. Oh, that. Get your belongings and get. We don't want you on our place. My good fellow, I'm a wounded man. We don't want you around here, either of you. But we can't go on tonight. My leg. Can't we sleep under the porch? No, Dogs will tear to pieces. I must plead with you, Mr. Garrett. I cannot go tonight. Can't we sleep anywhere? In the barn, perhaps near our horses? No, no, you'll have to get out, my friend. Suspect us of anything, you must. But I pray you don't put us out tonight. Please let us sleep in the barn. Please. Well, you can sleep in the tobacco barn on the hay. But I'm gonna sleep in the corn crib. No horses gonna be stolen from here in the night. The stage was set for a dramatic scene the world would never forget. As evening fell, the two strangers made their bed in the hay in the tobacco barn. The tall, thin one with the dramatic voice lay himself down with a grand manner. Nearby, in the corn crib, lay Jack Garrett pondering over the name John Bowen and the initials JB and their possible relationship to John Booth. And up the road at the Goldman Tavern, tossing and turning in his sleep, was the Confederate officer who had given the two strangers a lift from the ferry at the Rappahannock, Captain Willie Jett. Who? Who is it? Break in the door. Wake up, Roy. What do you want? I'm Lieutenant Doherty, in charge of the search for Boo. Wake up, I say. Wake up. What's that against Maurice? A pistol. We want information and we wanted faxes. Where's Who? Who? Who? John Wilkes who? I don't know. Sergeant, put that rope around his neck. Yes, sir. Wilkie. All right, where's Hoof? I don't know where he is. We have information that you gave John Wilkes Hoop and Davy Herold a ride in your wagon. Now, where is he? The Wasp. The Wasp? He said he was passionate of the President. I dropped him off at a farmhouse. A farmhouse? About four miles down the road of Bowling Green. Get up. You're taking up there. Hot on the trail, the Federal cavalry troop galloped down the lonely road through the dark of night. Captain Willie Jett leading the way. The Yankee lieutenant and his sergeant riding full tilt beside him. With pistols drawn and sabers flashing in the moonlight. They drew up to a halt on the Garret farm. Surround the house and dark. Come with me. Captain Jackson. Yes, sir. Open up. Open up. Sergeant, bring that rope. Yes. 2:00 in the morning, sir? Maybe. Open up or we'll break in the door. Peter. What do you want? Searching party. Where's Booth? Booth? Yes. John Wilkes Booth. Where is he? I don't understand. We're looking for John Wilkes Booth. Captain. Jeff, tell this man what you told me. I'll put J. Wilke's Booth off here. Now, where is it? Oh, it's Boyd and his cousin. They told me they were brothers. They're down on the tobacco barn. Where is that barn? Yeah, right down this way. Yeah, they are. Stay in there. Get in there and tell them to surrender. But I. Get in there all right. Gentlemen, the place is surrounded by a Yankee troop. I want you to come out and give yourselves up. Get out of here, you brash from a soul. All that I could have trusted Such a treacherous villain. He won't come out. He's waving a pistol in the carbine. I'll talk to him. How? Quiet, everybody. John Wilkes Booth. I've come in the name of the federal government to arrest you for the murder of President Lincoln. Come out and give yourself up. I am being persecuted as the Christians. We gotta give up. We've got to come out. I demand your surrender in the name of the federal government. I'm gonna go. I'm going out there to get myself home. I can see them out there. They'll show. I'm going. Look, he's coming out, smirking and phoning like he was silly. Sergeant, find this man and put a God over. Yes, sir. Now, Booth. Navy Herald has given himself up. Come out while there's still time. In the democracy of the dead, all men at last are equal. I am a poor, wounded Confederate power. Come out, Booth, or we'll come in and take you. Oh. Oh, I'll show you, Ms. Harris. I will. Come out and fight all of you. I'm McLach. Oh, Miss Poor Flag. We'll smoke him out. Sergeant Corbett. Yes, sir. My orders are that no one is to shoot. We must take this man alive. Understand? Yes, sir. But he might try to fight his way out. He has a couple of guns. My orders are no one is to shoot. Yes, sir. Go around to the rear of the barn, reach in through one of the cracks and set fire to the hay on the floor. You'll smoke him out. Yes, sir. A wisp of smoke billowed into a cloud and suddenly the barn was ablaze, a flaming holocaust in the dark of night. The troopers held their positions, the grim expressions etched in their faces by the firelight. Watch his men. Don't let him escape. Must take him alive. Inside the barn, the trapped man struck at the flames. Struck out like a wild man. The flames left up around him. Hold up a little. Suddenly, in the back of the barn, somebody fired. Somebody fired a gun down. He shot. Somebody shot. Who fired that gun? Quick, quick. Crush in and dragged him up. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Come on, give me. Here. Here. Carry him over to the porch. Look. Bullet hit him in the head. Did he shoot himself? No, that. That sergeant shot him. Sergeant Corbett, why did you fire against orders? God Almighty directed me. Was this the end of John Wilkes. Was it John Wilkes Booth who stopped that night at the Murphy farmhouse near Oak Harbor, Ohio? Was that minister in Richmond, Virginia? John Wilkes Booth was that saloon keeper in Granbury, Texas, who killed himself in Enid, Oklahoma? John Wilkes Booth. Thousands of fragments of evidence testify that John Wilkes Booth escaped. And thousands of denials have been made that this could have been possible. What then happened to the man who killed Abraham Lincoln? Time is the judge history. The jury and you are the 13. The decision rests with you. You have just heard Vincent price in the 13th juror, an NBC Hollywood Radio City production, written and directed by Arnold Marquis. Join us again at this same time in the weeks to come and hear the unsolved mysteries of Niccolo Paganini, the lost Dauphin Marshall, nay, Judge Crater, Ambrose Bierce, Hitler and many others on the 13th juror. The music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. John Storm speaking. This program came from Hollywood. This is NBC, the national Broadcasting Company.