Mercury Summer Theatre 46-06-21 03 The Hitch-hiker

Summary

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Podcast Summary: Harold's Old Time Radio

Episode: Mercury Summer Theatre 46-06-21 03 "The Hitch-hiker"

Aired: October 27, 2025
Host: Harolds Old Time Radio
Featured Production: Orson Welles & the Mercury Summer Theatre, Lucille Fletcher's "The Hitch-hiker"

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Overview

This episode features a classic radio play from 1946, “The Hitch-hiker,” adapted for radio by Lucille Fletcher and performed by Orson Welles and The Mercury Theatre. Welles delivers a suspenseful, psychological horror about a man plagued by a mysterious figure during a cross-country drive. The episode explores themes of sanity, fate, and death, utilizing radio’s golden age tradition of immersive storytelling.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Highlights

1. Introduction and Setup

• Orson Welles introduces the story as one meant to evoke chills rather than sentimental warmth (00:31).
  • “The element of suspense is so vital to our story tonight...”
    — Orson Welles [00:31]
• The narrative begins with Ronald Adams in an auto camp on Route 66, desperately recounting his tale as a way to hold onto his sanity.

2. Ronald Adams' Journey Begins

• Adams describes himself and his circumstances, emphasizing his normalcy and insisting on his current sanity.
• He recounts his departure from Brooklyn, with his mother seeing him off amidst rain and worry (03:05-03:31).
  • “Promise me you'll be extra careful. Don't fall asleep or drive fast or pick up any strangers on the road.”
    — Adams’s Mother [03:24]

3. The First Sightings of the Hitch-hiker

• Adams first sees the hitch-hiker—a drab, thin man—on the Brooklyn Bridge.
• The man appears repeatedly, defying logic and time, at various locations: Pulaski Skyway, New Pennsylvania Turnpike, Zanesville, Ohio (04:00-07:40).
• Adams’ unease grows:
  • “Now I would have forgotten him completely except that just an hour later... I saw him again.”
    — Adams [04:00]

4. Escalating Paranoia and Isolation

• Interactions at a gas station and a roadside stand establish Adams’ growing desperation.
• Each sighting of the hitch-hiker drives Adams further toward nervous collapse, especially as others don’t witness the man (08:37-10:11).
• A near-death incident at an Oklahoma train crossing crystallizes Adams’ fear that the hitch-hiker wishes him dead.

5. Desperate for Company

• Hoping company will dispel the apparition, Adams picks up a female hitch-hiker (14:08).
• He tries to explain his terror, but she sees nothing, growing fearful of Adams himself and exiting the car (15:46-16:53).
  • “I just gotta work. I'm getting out of here.”
    — Hitch-hiker Girl [16:31]
  • “She ran from me as if I was some kind of monster.”
    — Adams [17:21]

6. Breakdown and Revelation

• The hitch-hiker’s appearances become relentless, following Adams throughout the Southwest as he speeds through New Mexico (18:00 onward).
• Adams seeks solace in hearing his mother’s voice, telephoning home from an auto camp in Gallup, New Mexico (20:49–23:23).
• In a twist, he learns from a stranger (Mrs. Whitney) that his mother is hospitalized after a breakdown following Ronald’s death in an accident six days earlier—the day Adams first saw the hitch-hiker.
  • “It’s all taken place since the death of her oldest son, Ronald. He was killed just six days ago in an automobile accident on the Brooklyn Bridge.”
    — Mrs. Whitney [24:12, 24:18]

7. Ambiguity and Haunting Finale

• Realizing the possible truth—he may be dead, and the hitch-hiker was calling him beyond—Adams closes his story in despair.
• The broadcast ends with Orson Welles promising another classic next week.

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Notable Quotes & Moments

• Setting the Mood:
  • “Sometimes you want your heart to be warm. Sometimes you want your spine to tingle.”
    — Orson Welles [00:31]
• Mother's Ominous Advice:
  • “Promise me you'll be extra careful. . . Don’t pick up any strangers on the road.”
    — Adams's Mother [03:24]
• Adams's Descent:
  • “Yet at the same time, I felt more than ever unspeakably alone.”
    — Ronald Adams [08:44]
• The Turning Point:
  • “He was killed just six days ago in an automobile accident on the Brooklyn Bridge.”
    — Mrs. Whitney [24:18]
• Hopelessness:
  • “Somewhere among them, he is waiting for me. Somewhere. . . I shall know who he is and who I am.”
    — Ronald Adams [24:50]

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Important Timestamps

• 00:31 – Orson Welles’ chilling introduction
• 03:05 – Ronald leaves Brooklyn; mother’s warning
• 04:00–07:40 – Ronald repeatedly encounters the hitch-hiker
• 10:06–12:00 – Encounters with locals who disbelieve him
• 14:08–16:53 – Attempts to enlist a companion, who flees
• 17:21–18:00 – Adams realizes his utter isolation
• 20:49–24:18 – The revelation: Ronald learns of his own death
• 24:50–25:00 – Desolate conclusion, with Adams abandoned to the night

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Tone and Language

The drama is delivered in an intense, urgent, and personal tone, reflecting Adams’s mounting desperation and confusion. The use of first-person narration, sharp dialogue, and evocative soundscape creates an immersive, suspenseful atmosphere, typical of Orson Welles's radio productions.

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Summary

This episode stands as a classic of radio suspense, weaving existential horror with personal tragedy. Ronald Adams’s cross-country odyssey is not just a journey through physical space, but into the liminal realm between life, death, and madness—magnified by Welles’s masterful narration. "The Hitch-hiker" is emblematic of the era's ability to send chills "up the spine" using only words and sound.

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Transcript

[A]

Every now and then I rinse it out. And I need Downy Rins tonight. And I need it more. My kid went through that. And the smell never leaves. I don't know what to do. I'm always in the dark. The sweat and dick sure smells like a dark bar. I'm Downy Rinsing tonight.

[B]

Downy Rinse fights stubborn odors in just one wash when impossible odors get stuck in.

[A]

Rinse it out.

[B]

Good evening. This is Orson Welles, your producer of a special series of broadcasts presented by the makers of Pabst Blue Ribbon, the Mercury Summer Theater of the Air. Ladies and gentlemen, the element of suspense is so vital to our story tonight that our sponsors, the makers of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, are omitting their usual commercial message during the intermission between the acts so that our play will go uninterrupted from spooky start to spooky finish. We of the Mercury reckon that a story doesn't have to appeal to the heart. It can also appeal to the spine. Sometimes you want your heart to be warm. Sometimes you want your spine to tingle. Well, the tingling, it's to be hoped, will be quite audible as you listen tonight to a classic among radio thrillers. Its author is one of the most gifted of all the writers who've ever worked for this medium. Lucille Fletcher, who wrote the greatest single radio script ever written. Sorry, wrong number. The title of this, her terrifying little tale of Gru for this evening is Another spine Tingler by name, the Hitchhiker. I am in an auto camp on Route 66 just west of Gallup, New Mexico. If I tell it, maybe it'll help me. It'll keep me from going crazy. But I must tell this quickly. I'm not crazy now. I feel perfectly well. Perfectly well, except that I'm running a slight temperature. My name is Ronald Adams. I'm 36 years of age, unmarried, tall, dark, with a black mustache. I Drive a 1940 Ford V8, license number 6B7989. I was born in Brooklyn. All this I know. I know that I'm at this moment, perfectly sane. That it is not me who's gone mad, but something else. Something utterly beyond my control. But I must speak quickly. Any moment, the link with life may break. This may be the last thing I ever tell on Earth. The last night I ever see the stars. Six days ago, I left Brooklyn to drive to California.

[A]

Goodbye, son. Good luck to you, my boy.

[B]

Goodbye, Mother. Here, give me a kiss and then I'll go.

[A]

I'll come out with you to the car.

[B]

It's raining. Stay here at the door. Oh. Hey, what's this? Tears? Oh, it's just the trip, Ronald.

[A]

I wish you weren't driving.

[B]

Oh, Mother. There you go again. People do it every day.

[A]

I know.

[B]

But you'll be careful, won't you?

[A]

Promise me you'll be extra careful. Don't fall asleep or drive fast or pick up any strangers on the road.

[B]

Strangers? Don't you worry. There's anything going to happen. It's just eight days of perfectly simple driving on smooth, decent, civilized roads. With a hot dog or a hamburger stand every 10 miles. I was in excellent spirits. Drive ahead. Even the loneliness seemed like a lark. But I reckoned without him crossing Brooklyn Bridge that morning in the rain, I saw a man leaning against the cables. He seemed to be waiting for a lift. There were spots of fresh rain on his shoulders. He was carrying a cheap overnight bag in one hand. He was thin, nondescript, with a cap full down over his eyes. He stepped off the walk, and if I hadn't swerved. Swerved, I'd have hit him. I almost did. Almost did hit him. Now I would have forgotten him completely. Except that just an hour later, while crossing the Pulaski Skyway over the Jersey Flats, I saw him again. At least he looked like the same person. He was standing now with one thumb pointing west. I couldn't figure out how he got there, but I thought maybe one of those fast trucks had picked him up, beat me to the skyway and let him off. I didn't stop for him. Then, late that night, I saw him again. It was on the New Pennsylvania Turnpike between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh. It's 265 miles long at a very high speed. I was just slowing down for one of the tunnels when I saw him standing under an arc light by the side of the road. I could see him quite distinctly. The bag, the cap, even the spots of fresh rain spattered over his shoulders. He hailed me. This time. I stepped on the gas like a shot. That's lonely country through the Alleghenies. And I had no intention of stopping. Besides, the coincidences or whatever it was gave me the willies. I stopped at the next gas station. Yes, sir? Fill her up, man. Take your oil? No, thanks. Nice night, ain't it? Yes, it has been raining here lately. Has it? Not a drop of rain all week. Oh, no, I. I suppose that hasn't done your business any harm. No. People drive through here, all kinds of weather. Mostly business, though. Ain't many pleasure cars out in the turnpike? This season of the year, it's not. What about hitchhikers? Hitchhikers? Here? Why, what's the matter? Don't you ever see any? A guy be a fool who started out to hitchhike on this road. Look at it. Then. You never see anybody? No. Maybe they get a lift before the turnpike starts. I mean, you know, just before the toll house. But then it's a bite. Long ride. Most cars wouldn't pick up a guy for that long a ride. This is pretty lonesome country here. Mountains and woods. Yeah. You ain't seen nobody like that, have you? Oh, no, no. It's. It's just a technical question. Oh, I see. Well, that'll be $1.49. The thing gradually passed from my mind as coincidence. I had a good night's sleep in Pittsburgh. I didn't think about the man all next day until just outside of Zanesville, Ohio, I saw him again. It was a bright, sunshiny afternoon. The peaceful Ohio fields, brown with the autumn stubble, lay dreaming in the golden light. I was driving slowly, drinking it in, when the road suddenly ended in a detour. In front of the barrier, he was standing. Let me explain about his appearance before I go on. I repeat. There was nothing sinister about him. He was as drab as a mud fence. Nor was his attitude menacing. He merely struck. He stood there waiting, almost drooping a little, the cheap overnight bag in his hand. He looked. He looked as though he'd been waiting there for hours. And he hailed me. He started to walk forward. I'd stopped the car, of course, for the detour. For a few minutes I couldn't seem to find the new road. I realized he must be thinking that I'd stop for him. Hello. No. Oh, I'm not just now. I'm sorry.

[A]

Going to California?

[B]

No, no, not today. The other way. I'm going to New York. Sorry. Sorry. After I got the car back onto the road again, I felt like a fool. Yet the thought of picking him up, of having him sit beside me, was somehow unbearable. Yet at the same time, I felt more than ever unspeakably alone. Hour after hour went by, the fields, the towns ticked off. One by one, the lights changed. I knew now that I was going to see him again. And though I dreaded the sight, I. I caught myself searching the side of the road, waiting for him to appear. Y what is it? What's going on? You sell sandwiches and pop here, don't you? If we do in the daytime, the clothes up for the night. I know, but I was Wondering if you could possibly may have a cup of coffee. Black coffee? Not at this time of night, mister. My wife's a cooking cheating bed. Well, now listen. Just a minute ago there was a man standing here right. Right beside here. And he was a suspicious looking man.

[A]

Henry. Who is it, Henry?

[B]

It's nobody, mother. His affair. Thinks he wants a cup of coffee. Go back in the bed. I don't mean to disturb you, but you see, I was driving along when I just happened to look and there he was. What was he doing? Nothing. You been hitting a bottle, that's what's the matter with you. You got nothing better to do than wake decent folk out their hard earned sleep? Now get going. Go on. He looked as though he was going to rob you. I ain't got nothing in this stand to lose down your way. Before I call out sheriff folk. I got into the car again and drove on slowly. I was beginning to hate if I could have found a place to stop to rest a little. But in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, though few resort places there were closed. I had seen him at that roadside stand. I knew I'd see him again, maybe at the next turn of the road. I knew that when I saw him next, I'd run him down. But I didn't see him again until late the next afternoon. I'd stopped the car at a sleepy little junction just across the border into Oklahoma. Let a train pass by. When he appeared across the tracks, he was leaning against a telephone pole. It was a perfectly airless, dry day. The red clay of Oklahoma was baking under the southwestern sun. Yet there were spots of fresh rain on his shoulders. I couldn't stand that. Without thinking blindly, I started the car across the tracks. He didn't even look up at me. He was staring at the ground. I stepped on the gas hard, veering the wheel sharply toward him. I could hear the train in the distance now, but I didn't care. Then something went wrong with the car. It stalled right on the tracks. Train was coming closer. I could hear the bell, heard cry its whistle. Crying. Still he stood there. Now I knew that he was beckoning. Beckoning me to my death. Well, I frustrated him that time. The starter had worked at last I managed to back up. But after the train had passed, he was gone. I was all alone in the hot, dry afternoon after that. I knew I had to do something. I didn't know who this man was or what he wanted of me. I only knew that from now on I mustn't let myself be alone on the Road for one minute. Hello. Gain super flings are here to take your laundry to the next level.

[A]

Talking about gain super flings.

[B]

Super sized laundry packs. These things are huge. Super fresh, super clean. Gain super flings. Gain super flings Laundry packs have four times the oxy cleaning power and three times the febreze. Freshness versus gain original liquid. Super fresh, super clean Gain super flames. Gain super flings for next level laundry. Hello. Like a ride?

[A]

What do you think? How far you go?

[B]

Amarillo. I'll take you to Amarillo.

[A]

Amarillo, Texas?

[B]

Yeah, I'll drive you there.

[A]

Gee, pop.

[B]

Here.

[A]

Mind if I take off my shoes? My dog?

[B]

No, go right ahead.

[A]

Oh, gee, what a break this is. Swell car and decent guy driving all the way to Amarillo. All I've been getting so far is trucks.

[B]

Hitchhike bunch. Sure.

[A]

Only it's tough sometimes in these great open spaces to get the brakes.

[B]

I think it would be. But I'll bet though you could if you got a good pickup and a fast car, you get to places faster than what we'll say another person in another car.

[A]

I don't get you.

[B]

Well, if you take me for instance. Suppose I'm driving across the country at a nice steady clip of about 45 miles an hour. Couldn't a girl like you, just standing beside the road waiting for lifts, beat me to town after town, provided she got picked up every time in a car that was doing 65 or 70 miles an hour.

[A]

I don't know. Maybe she could, maybe she couldn't. What difference does it make?

[B]

Oh, there's no difference. It's just crazy idea I had sitting.

[A]

Here in the car. Oh, imagine spending your time in a swell car thinking of things like that.

[B]

What would you do instead?

[A]

What would I do? If I was a good looking fellow like yourself, I'd just enjoy myself. Every minute of the time I sit back and relax. I saw a good looking girl along the side of the road.

[B]

Hey, did you see him too? That man standing beside the barbed wire fence?

[A]

I didn't see anybody.

[B]

Right there.

[A]

It was nothing. Just a barbed wire fence. What did you think he was doing? Trying to run into that barbed wire?

[B]

There was a man there, I tell you. A thin gray man with an overnight bag in his hand. I was trying to run him down.

[A]

Run him down? You mean killed?

[B]

I. I'm trying to get rid of him or at least prove that he's real. But you. You say you didn't see him back there. You sure?

[A]

I didn't see a soul as far as that well, watch for him.

[B]

Watch for him the next time. And keep watching. Keep your eyes peeled on the road. He'll turn up again, maybe any minute now. There. Look there.

[A]

I just gotta work. I'm getting out of here.

[B]

Did you see him that time? Did you see him?

[A]

No, I didn't see him that time. And personally, mister, I don't expect never to see him. All I want to do is go on living and I don't see how I will very long drive him.

[B]

Look at you. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Please don't go.

[A]

Oh, if you'll excuse me.

[B]

Please. You can't go. Listen, how would you like to go to California? I'll drive you all the way to California.

[A]

You think? Elephants all the way. No, thanks.

[B]

Listen, please. Just one minute.

[A]

You know what I think you need, big boy? Not a girlfriend. Just a good dose of sleep. There, I cut it now.

[B]

No, no, you can't go.

[A]

Lay your hands off of me. Here.

[B]

Come back here. Please come back. She ran from me as if I.

[A]

Was.

[B]

Some kind of monster. A few minutes later, I saw a passing truck pick her up. I knew then that I was utterly alone. I was in the heart of the great Texas prairies. There wasn't a car on the road after the truck went by. Trying to figure out what to do, how to get a hold of myself. If I could find a place to rest. Or even if I could sleep right here in the car. Just a few hours sweet. Just along the side of the road. I was getting my winter overcoat out of the back seat to use as a blanket, just as a blanket, when I saw him coming toward me, coming toward me, emerging from the herd of moving steer. I didn't wait for him to come any closer. Maybe. Maybe I should have spoken to him then. Fought it out then and there. For now, he began to be everywhere. Whenever I stopped, even for a minute for gas, for oil, for a drink, a pop, a cup of coffee, a sandwich, he was there. I saw him standing outside the auto camp in Amarillo that night. When I dared to slow down. He was standing near the drinking fountain. A little camping spot just inside the border of New Mexico. He was waiting for me outside the Navajo reservation, where I stopped to check my tires. I saw him in Albuquerque, where I bought 10 gallons of gas. I was afraid now, afraid to stop. I began to drive faster and faster. I was in. In lunar landscape now, the great arid mesa country of New Mexico. I drove through it with the indifference of a fly crawling over the face of the moon. Well, now he didn't even wait for me to stop. Plus, I drove at 85 miles an hour over those endless roads. He waited for me at every other mile. See his figure, shadowless, flitting before me, still in its same attitude over the cold and lifeless ground. Flitting over dried up rivers, over broken stones cast up by old glacial upheavals. Flitting in the pure and cloudless air. I was beside myself. Beside myself when I finally reached Gallup, New Mexico this morning. There's an auto camp here. It's cold, almost deserted this time of year. I went inside and asked if there was a telephone. I. I had the feeling that if I could speak to somebody familiar, somebody that I loved, I could pull myself together.

[A]

Number, please.

[B]

Long distance.

[A]

Thank you. This is long distance.

[B]

I'd like to put in a call to my home to Brooklyn, New York. I'm Ronald Adams. The number is Beechwood 9970.

[A]

Thank you. Thank you. What is your number?

[B]

My number? It's 312.

[A]

Albuquerque, New York for Gallup, New York. Gallup, New Mexico, calling a Beechwood 9970.

[B]

I'd read somewhere that love could banish demons. It was in the middle of the morning. I knew mother'd be home. I pictured her tall, white haired in her crisp house dress, going about her tasks. It would be enough, I thought, just to hear the even calmness of her voice.

[A]

Will you please deposit $3.85 for the first 3 minutes? When you have deposited a dollar and a half, will you wait until I have collected the money? All right. Deposit another dollar and a. Will you please deposit the remaining 85 cents? Ready? With Brooklyn. Go ahead, please. Hello, Mrs. Adams residence.

[B]

Hello? Hello, mother?

[A]

This is Mrs. Adams residence. Who is it you wish to speak to?

[B]

What? Who's this?

[A]

This is Mrs. Whitney.

[B]

Mrs. Whitney? I don't know any Mrs. Whitney. Is this Beechwood 9970?

[A]

Yes.

[B]

Where's my mother? Where's Mrs. Adams?

[A]

Mrs. Adams is not at home. She's still in the hospital.

[B]

The. The hospital?

[A]

Yes. Who is this calling, please? Is it a member of the family?

[B]

What's she in the hospital for?

[A]

She's been prostrated for five days. A nervous breakdown.

[B]

Nervous.

[A]

Who is this calling?

[B]

Nervous breakdown. Wait a minute. I know that it's never.

[A]

It's all taken place since the death of her oldest son, Ronald. Since the.

[B]

Death of her oldest son, Ronald. Hey, what is this? What number is this?

[A]

This is beechwood9970. It's all been very sudden. He was killed just six days ago in an automobile accident on the Brooklyn Bridge. You're three minutes, Goro.

[B]

Sir.

[A]

Your three minutes are up. Sir. Your three minutes are up, sir. Sir, your three minutes are up.

[B]

And so I'm sitting here in this deserted auto camp in Gallup, New Mexico. And so I'm trying to think. I'm. I'm trying to get a hold of myself. Otherwise. Otherwise, I'll go crazy. Outside, it is night. The vast, soulless night of New Mexico. A million stars are in the sky. Ahead of me stretch a thousand miles of empty mesa, mountains, prairies, desert. Somewhere among them, he is waiting for me. Somewhere. Somewhere, I shall know who he is and who I am. Now, here is Orson Welles. Well, next week, ladies and gentlemen, we bring to your radio another Mercury favorite. We hope a favorite of yours. You've asked for it many times. We've performed it many times. Jane Eyre. And Jane will be played by a Mercury actress who was heard tonight and has been heard so often on our shows. One of the most gifted people we know in our business, Ms. Alice Frost. Jane Eyre, then with Alice Frost and your obedient servant. That's the same time next week, same station. Please join us. Until then, speaking for my sponsors, the makers of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. For all of us on the Mercury Theater, including Bernard Herman, who wrote and conducted the music on this program, I remain, as always, obediently yours.