Do You Believe In Ghosts Ep#009 1931 Abraham Lincoln - Harold's Old Time Radio

Summary4 min read

Podcast Summary: Do You Believe In Ghosts Ep#009 – 1931 Abraham Lincoln

Podcast: Harold's Old Time Radio
Host: Harold's Old Time Radio
Episode Release Date: October 24, 2025

Episode Overview

This episode of Do You Believe In Ghosts revisits a dramatic radio play from 1931, blending moral quandary, history, and the possibility of supernatural intervention. Set against a stormy night, a state governor faces the emotional toll of denying clemency to a condemned young man—until a mysterious, spectral visitor leads him to reconsider. The tale draws inspiration from stories of Abraham Lincoln's legendary mercy, inviting listeners to reflect on justice, compassion, and what it means to be haunted—by guilt, by history, or perhaps by ghosts.

Key Discussion Points & Plot Breakdown

1. The Governor’s Dilemma (00:21–03:10)

The episode opens with the Governor, troubled over his decision to let a young man be executed for murder.
His secretary, Dabney, relays that the boy’s mother is waiting outside, desperately hoping for a reprieve.
Despite his sorrow and fatigue, the Governor insists the law must take its course:
- Quote [02:11]:
  “The boy must hang. … The evidence was conclusive. He went to the house to elope with the girl… the boy shot him. That's murder, Dabney, and the law must take its course.”

2. A Haunting Visitor Arrives (03:12–06:45)

Alone and wearied, the Governor is visited by a mysterious stranger, deep in the shadows.
The stranger challenges the Governor, recalling a tale from the past where a president (hinted to be Lincoln) pardoned a boy sentenced to die for sleeping on sentry duty.
- Quote [05:12], Stranger:
  “Once there was a boy who went to sleep on sentry post in the face of the enemy. Military law said he must die… the President knew right well he shouldn't oppose his Secretary of War... but he figured it this way: That boy dead was no good to anybody alive… So this puddin-headed old president told the mother she could have her boy back. Which was wrong accordin’ to society, but awful right accordin’ to that mother’s lights.”

3. Questioning Guilt and Rethinking Justice (06:46–09:00)

The stranger proposes an alternate version of the crime—what if the girl, not the boy, had shot her abusive father? What if the boy is innocent, taking the blame out of love?
The Governor’s conscience and memory stir; he recalls evidence that supports this alternative, including the girl's fingerprints on the gun and her emotional state at trial.
The visitor disappears, his face now revealed as that of Abraham Lincoln.

4. The Climax: A Last-Minute Reprieve (09:01–10:30)

Galvanized by new doubt and empathy, the Governor orders Dabney to contact the warden and grant an executive reprieve to the condemned youth.
The mother, overwhelmed with joy and relief, thanks the Governor, who humbly credits his spectral advisor.
- Quote [10:17]:
  “Oh, no, madam. I didn't give you back your boy. A man much wiser, much kinder than I saved your boy for you tonight. As surely as he saved another mother's son who went to sleep on sentry post.”
- When the mother asks who he means, the Governor replies simply:
  - Quote [10:29]:
    “Abraham Lincoln. … Oh, no, madam. No, not dead. He belongs to the ages. Do you believe in ghosts? Do you?”

Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

On the Governor’s burden:
“It's a terrible thing to hold a man's life in your hands, Dabney.” (01:33)
On justice vs. compassion:
“But that gray haired woman praying outside that door—she dies, but goes on living.” (08:31)
Abraham Lincoln’s wisdom (the stranger):
“Secretaries are to be heard, but not heeded when you want to see a man, Governor.” (04:13, Stranger)

Important Timestamps

00:21 – Governor’s moral struggle begins
03:12 – Mysterious visitor arrives
05:12 – Lincoln’s story of mercy is cited
08:00 – Alternative version of the crime is explored
09:30 – Governor decides to grant reprieve
10:17 – Governor credits Lincoln with the true act of mercy

Tone, Style & Takeaways

The episode is deeply atmospheric, blending suspense with melancholy and hope. The Governor’s internal conflict is rendered with gravity and empathy. The visitor—eventually revealed as Abraham Lincoln—offers gentle wisdom with a folksy cadence, inviting both character and listener to consider the higher calling of mercy over blind justice.

The final question, “Do you believe in ghosts?”, lingers—inviting reflection not just on the supernatural, but on the enduring presence of conscience and history in our most difficult decisions.

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Transcript1 lines

[00:00]
A
Limu Emu and Doug. Here we have the Limu Emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Limu. Is that guy with the binoculars watching us? Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Vary Underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates Excludes Massachusetts. Do you believe in ghosts? Do you? The governor of the great Commonwealth sat at his desk in his study, staring at the dying embers of the grapefire. The room was in darkness save for a spot of light from the green shaded lamp, which brought his shaggy gray head into sharp relief as he sat with hands clasped on the desk before him. Outside, the wind played a minor harmony and sent sharp gusts of rain beating furiously against the tall windows. In the shadowed recesses of the room, a door opened softly. Mr. Governor? Yes, Dabney? The mother is still waiting, sir. Says she won't leave until she has some further word from you. Yes, I know, Daphne, but it's no use. My decision is unchanged. The boy must hang. Oh, yes, sir, I've told her that, but she insists she be allowed to remain until the last minute. What time is it now? It's nearing midnight, Governor. The governor rose and crossed to the fireplace. Five hours more. It's a terrible thing to hold a man's life in your hands, Dabney. But I have no other course. The boy had a fair trial. The evidence was conclusive. He went to the house to elope with the girl against her father's wishes. The father interfered and the boy shot him. That's murder, Dabney, and the law must take its course. I know what this mother is suffering, but the courts have decided what penalty the boy must meet, and I have no moral right to interfere. For a moment the governor closed his tired eyes and the room was still save for the dreary rhythm of the rain against the glass. Your decision is just, Mr. Governor. There can be no doubt of that. Now, sir, please, won't you go to bed? Not yet, Dabney. And the mother, sir? Shall I let her remain? Ah, yes, yes, let her remain, if it makes it any easier for her alone. The governor sank into the deep leather chair back of his desk and resumed his silent vigil with the dying fire. As he sat there, across his blurred vision fell the shadow of a gallows, a straight young figure mounting the 13 steps, the black hood around a head held high, the solemn intonation of Voices and a mother weeping. Slowly the Governor's head sank forward on his arms. When he raised it again, the last glow had been drained from the coals and the wind had died to a low moan. Why? Oh. Oh, I. I beg your pardon. I. I told my secretary to admit no one. A shadowy figure in the chair across the desk relaxed deeper into the darkness beyond the circle of light that fell from the desk lamp. And when he spoke, there was a gentle drawl in his voice. Secretaries are to be heard, but not heeded when you want to see a man. Governor. The Governor made a gesture of impatience. I'm sorry, my dear sir, but you will understand. Yes, yes, I know. I sort of surmised I might be able to help you tonight, Mr. Governor. Well, it's. It's very late. Tomorrow, perhaps. I think maybe it's tonight you need a friend to talk to. You're carrying a big load tonight, Mr. Governor, and it's galling you. Maybe if somebody come along helped you to heft it just a mite, you'd see your way clearer into what you're doing. You. You mean the boy? Of course I mean that mother who's sitting out there in your anteroom. That mother whose son is to be hanged at dawn. The Governor's eyes sought the face of this strange visitor, but all he could see was the vague outline of a man's form slouched deep in the chair opposite him. Well, if you've come to plead for reprieve, you're wasting your time. My decision is unalterable. This boy has committed a crime for which society exacts the payment of his life. Yes, yes, Mr. Governor, I'm quite aware of that. The payment of his life. You know, once there was a boy who went to sleep on sentry post in the face of the enemy. Military law said he must die. A court martial so decided Secretary of War proved it. And the Secretary of War was right. But the lad's mother didn't agree. So she went to the President of the United States and asked that soft hearted old meddler to give her back her boy. Now the President knew right well he shouldn't oppose his Secretary of War. Knew he'd send the country to the dimnition bow wows if he did. But he figured it this way. That boy dead was no good to anybody alive. He had a chance to pay back his debt to the nation. So this puddin headed old president told the mother she could have her boy back. Which was wrong accordin to society, but awful right accordin to that mother's lights. Oh, but my dear sir, the cases are not parallel. This lad deliberately killed a man who was defending his home, his family. It's a plain case of murder. Are you right sure that, Mr. Governor? Pretty hard to be sure sometimes. Now here, let's suppose that for 18 years a girl had been bullied by a harsh, unloving father. Father who denied her every right to happiness. Suppose that a lad came to her with clean hands and a great love in his heart, Offered her a chance to escape. Suppose that on the very night she was to go with him, she found that her father again was blocking her way. And then suppose that in her hot rebellion, she shot the father. Now, boy arrives a few minutes later, he's a man, he's young, he's in love. So he takes the blame. And tomorrow at dawn, he pays the penalty. Or does he, Mr. Governor? He dies, to be sure. But that gray haired woman praying outside that door. She dies, but goes on living. Suddenly the cloud of fatigue seemed to lift itself from the governor's mind. In quick photographic flashes, the evidence in the case came back to him. The father had been brutal to the girl, conclusively established by every witness. The girl's fingerprints had been found on the revolver. Then there was the boy's reticence on the witness stand, the girl's hysterical heartbreak, and the mother's abiding faith that her son could not have killed anyone. Why, yes. Yes, that was it. What this strange visitor said was true. The governor looked up and found that his guest had risen within the circle of light. He stood tall, angular, stooped. Then the governor's eyes found his face and with a start, he rose from his chair. Why, why? Why? He was looking at a square, homely face with deep, set, kindly eyes, firm jaw, smiling mouth, and a rugged chin fringed with a thin, dark beard. For an instant the eyes and lips smiled down on him. And then the governor was alone in the room. A startled Dabney looked up from his desk to see the governor standing over him. Get the warden on the phone at once, Dabney. Tell him an executive reprieve has been granted. From across the room there came a sobbing, triumphant cry. And a white haired woman stumbled toward the governor and fell at his feet. Oh. Oh, my boy. My boy. You've saved him. You've given me back my boy. Gently, the governor raised her to her feet and took her hands in his. Oh, no, no, madam. I didn't give you back your boy. A man much wiser, much kinder than I saved your boy for you tonight. As surely as he saved another mother's son who went to sleep on sentry post. Why? By whom do you mean? The governor's voice was so low, she scarce could hear him. Abraham Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln? Why, sir, he's been dead these many years. Oh, no, madam. No, not dead. He belongs to the ages. Do you believe in ghosts? Do you?