(This story was originally written and recorded for Retrocast #29 – Podcast #229, released on November 12, 2024.)

James Masters, 60, a ventriloquist without a dummy, stirred up mischief in Joliet on Thursday, April 10, 1941, after having a few drinks. He wandered into a bus depot and began mimicking loudspeaker announcements for arrivals and departures, throwing the station into chaos. Passengers scrambled to board non-existent buses, while others collided with each other, convinced their long-awaited relatives had just arrived. Luggage got tangled, tempers flared—and Masters sat serenely, keeping a straight face through it all.

Eventually, the police tracked down the mysterious voice and hauled Masters to headquarters. There, he faced Captain Ernest Overbey, who was known for his tough interrogations. But before Overbey could start, Masters beat him to it—by throwing his voice and conducting his own questioning.

“You’re drunk,” Masters accused himself.
“No, I’m not,” he answered back. “I just had a few drinks to dull my arthritis. Don’t you agree, chief?”

Overbey, momentarily stunned, found himself nodding in agreement—though he didn’t say a word.

When the captain finally declared that Masters was going to jail, another voice floated up from the basement.
“Don’t put him in this crummy jug. There are creatures running up the walls.”

Despite the disembodied plea, Masters was locked up and later brought before Police Judge William Meade.

“Fined $3 and costs,” the judge ruled, though this time the ventriloquist wasn’t the one speaking.

“And fine suspended,” the court clerk interpreted, watching as Masters breezed out of the courtroom without paying a cent.