![]() ![]() Students heading into her class might not have expected to spend an hour investigating the literary techniques a 1938 radio play about aliens. It’s a profound question to end on-one that characterizes the entire course. “In this mass democracy … what happens when you have these fake stories?” she asks. Once they’ve analyzed it through, Ards has a concluding question. Was it satire? A hoax? What would the difference be? They analyze the way the story is told, from the subtle nuances of characterization and dialogue, to the gradual pacing that shepherded the listener from a broadcast of Latin music through to a potentially dangerous astronomical phenomenon and finally to the impending doom of an alien invasion. The class discusses the implication of this event. Despite Welles’ disclaimer that the broadcast was nothing more than “Mercury Theatre’s own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying Boo!” people thought they were listening to a real news broadcast and that the aliens had finally arrived to overthrow and annihilate humanity.Ī day after the program aired, the New York Daily News ’ headline read “Fake Radio ‘War’ Stirs Terror Through U.S.” Seventy-nine years ago, this radio broadcast announcing a hostile alien invasion sparked panic across parts of the United States. On this morning, Ards plays the original recording of Orson Welles’ 1938 War of the Worlds broadcast at the beginning of her class. So begins one of the greatest works of fake news ever written. The spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen and moving towards the earth with enormous velocity … We now return you to the music of Ramón Raquello.” At 20 minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars. “Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News. After only a few seconds of grooving to the beat, the broadcaster cuts in to announce some potentially alarming news: “With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small spinning fragment of solar driftwood which by chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space.”Ī radio broadcaster cuts in seconds later to introduce some upbeat Latin music courtesy of Ramón Raquello and his orchestra. The first step toward that larger goal occurs every Tuesday and Thursday morning at 10:30 a.m.Ī dramatic narration crackles over the speakers in Campion 235. ![]() This journey through journalism-which began in Texas, her home state-has led her to Boston College, where she is now tasked with helping to create and build a journalism minor that brings together many facets of her own experience. Her byline has since appeared in Time, The Nation, and The Los Angeles Book Review, and she has published two books of her own. She went on to work at The Village Voice as a deputy copy chief, contributor, and senior editor. But her first feature was far from her last. When she wrote it, she was only starting out as a journalist two years out of UCLA with a masters in Afro-American studies. This literary opening anticipated where Ards’ career would eventually take her. She was a famed activist and writer and the fourth African-American woman ever to earn a doctoral degree. Opening with a Cooper quote is a lofty bar. “It begins with a quotation from Anna Julia Cooper, who was a 19th-century black feminist writer and educator.” “It was an effort to bring the awareness of violence against women and domestic violence to the community,” she said. On a personal level, it was the first time a major publication had trusted her to write a full feature. The famed boxer Mike Tyson had just been released from prison after a three-year sentence for rape, and Ards’ piece was a reflection and examination of the homecoming. The story was published in The Village Voice on July 25, 1995. “My favorite story is this story,” Ards said, pointing over her shoulder. In the sparsely-decorated space which she just moved into, the bold headline-“Sisters Act”-stands out. A framed page of newsprint, organized in columns around black and white photos of women marching, hangs behind Angela Ards’ desk.
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