 Thus, then, tonight, Mrs. Jackie Cooper, as star of The Clock and the Rope, a defense play produced, edited, and directed by William Spears. Would you like to hear the old story about the innocent man facing execution and his last-minute attempts to get a pardon, how it feels when he doesn't get it? Well, I can tell you all about it, because that's my story. There's a couple of different twists to it, of course, and there always are. For one thing, it happened to me, and now I keep away from you. I keep away from cities and buildings. Buildings with the cells they call rooms and the doors that don't always open. I never button my collar. You'll find out why. I earn my living as a guide for hunting parties. Me, who couldn't find my way across the city park without asking a cop for directions. I never sleep endure. I can't. And I can't stand clocks. Most of all, I can't stand clocks. It happened so fast. I told him it wasn't murder. It was self-defense, involuntary self-defense. You know, like putting up your arms to protect yourself. But it didn't work out that way, of course. That's the other different twist I told you about. They convicted me. They sentenced me to be hanged. And they hanged me. I was a night man. Saw a little gas through the rough strip down for some repairs that had to be done the next day. Take care of any transient overnight parking. Then this girl started dropping in for gas every other night or so, late. I liked her style, but I was too shy to say anything, and I guess she figured it. She was set with a sort of little smile, half turned in her seat to watch me while I filled the tank. Then she'd pay me and pull away with a funny look in her eyes. As if she was getting a kick out of the way I acted. Then one night, instead of pulling away when she'd paid me, she spoke. Oh, come on. Open up. What? Say something. I've been here 20 times. You can say a word or two times. Hello, or at the nice night. Well, I didn't know that you wanted me to. You're a funny fella. I didn't look like I didn't want you to, did I? Or don't I know my looks anymore? Oh, sure. I thought you... Tell me, did I hear somebody call you home the other night? I guess you did. My name is Henry. Henry Gilford. Does your girl call you home? Or haven't you got a girl? No, steady girl. That's what you mean. What would you be doing with a steady girl working here every night? Oh, I'd get one night off, go to a dance or something. Oh, sure. Sure, I'd... Say, you like to dance? I have some. Well, uh, I'm off tomorrow night. You ever go to the Arcadia? They've got a good band there. I forget who it is this week. Oh, I'm sorry. Tomorrow night isn't my night off. Oh. But, uh, I'll get off at midnight tomorrow night. You see the Arcadia closes at midnight. All the big dance places close at midnight. Well, you don't have to have a big play, do you? Uh, no. Oh, no. No, there's the All In out on Task Scott Avenue. They run late and have a pretty good little band and the boots and everything. That would be fine. Well, I could pick you up at your job. No, no, I, um, I'm way up the other end of town and I have to drive my car back anyway. Suppose I need to at the hour. I'll be there a little after midnight. I'll be there. Okay, see ya. Well, say, what's your name? Yucca Lamai. Goodbye. That next night around 11.30, I caught the trolley going out along Task Scott Avenue. The Mortarman was old Steve Hoffman. He had known me since I was a kid and he'd rid me about my new gray suit especially by wanting to get off at the All In. I said I was stepping out in class company. We got there in about 20 minutes and I started up the driveway kind of thrilled at the idea of a midnight date. I was just starting up the steps to the end when I heard voices coming from a grove of trees to one side. Nobody, I tell ya. Don't give me that stuff. I followed you all the way out there. Who you meet? Nobody. Okay, but giving me that, you'll get sick. Ow! Back here. Hey, hey, what's this? Oh, this is the guy you're gonna meet. I'm Swell. I'll take care of both of you now. Hey, what's going on anyway? Ow! What did you hit him for, Joe? He's got nothing to do with it. Get up and run. That guy's crazy. Crazy? Well, then call somebody. No, no. You get out of here. Now run. You want more, huh? Well, I got it right here for you. Get the block. Run, Hank! No, you don't. Hey, now let go. No, you don't. You don't grab this. Well, I did it, I guess. Hey, who? Who is he? He would have done worse than you. We have to go together. Well, I didn't know you had a steady follow. I thought when we made our date, you... You didn't ask me. Besides, we were breaking up. He had no right here to fear. Well, what do we do now? Mean about him? I'll take care of him. You mean leave him here with you? Well, he'll... Please, go. There'll be more trouble for you, too. Go ahead. I'm going to leave you right away, too. He'll be all right. But he wasn't all right. He was dead. I knew about it hardly two hours later. No, she didn't come and tell me. The police came and got him. And they didn't learn about me from her either. They didn't know anything about her. And they actually didn't want to know. Why did you walk home? You rode out there in the trolley. Why didn't you ride back? Well, I just wanted to think, that's all. Sure. Because you weren't thinking about how maybe the motorman wouldn't remember taking you out there if you didn't ride back. No, why would I do that? I've known old Steve Hoffman all my life. Is that how you found out? You're not very smart. I'm not trying to be smart. Okay. So you hit him in self-defense to say the girl. Now, what's her name? Her name? I don't see it. I never got it. She didn't tell me. You had a date with a girl and you didn't even know what her name was. Well, yes. I asked her. I've seen her often, but she didn't tell me. Are you sure there was a girl? Of course. Who would I have the date with? Maybe just with the guy you killed. I never met him before. I don't even know him. You just don't know anything, do you? Well, I'll ask you a very simple question. I'm sure you can answer this one. I'll try. How much money did you take off the man you murdered? How much? Yeah, how much? And where is it? His pockets were turned inside out. You went from self-defense to help yourself. They pushed me around some after that. They'd take me to court and then back to myself. Half the time, I didn't know what was going on. They gave me a lawyer, Mr. Hall, Bailey Hall. He'd do the talking. He kept asking for things like reduced bail, time for further investigation, his continuances to find witnesses, just sort of stalling all the time. I don't know why. I told him I didn't have the money for any bail. And witnesses. And there's only one I wanted, that girl. But he kept on, always trying to hold up things. Then one day he told me I'd been indicted. I knew it wasn't her. It meant I had to go on a trial for murder. That's bad, boy, bad. I've done all I could to delay indictment and trial and I hope there's something to turn up, but we're in for now. And we should give me something more to work on. What do you mean? This girl, you can't even name. I can't go into court with just that. The police will certainly never was a girl. There's no trace of her anywhere. Well, maybe she'll show up. Show up, my boy, you've got a lot to learn. Mr. Hall, that's all I know. I can't help it. Thank God you never mentioned the girl and just claimed self-defense for a fight. It's a girl thing that's so bad it makes your whole defense fooling. Boy, if you made up a girl, why didn't you make up a name? Brooke, I've been all through that with the police. Now, if you're going to talk that way too, maybe we better forget the whole thing. Maybe they'll give me another attorney or none at all for right here. Easy, boy, easy. I'm sorry I popped off, but it isn't a new attorney you need. It's a new story. That's right. Euford wrote out to be in that night in my trolley. It was on the 4th or the 5th. Uh, face the jury, please, and talk louder. Oh, louder. I say... I say, uh, I took Euford to the inn that night. It was about 10 after midnight. He got out and started for the inn. Did you notice anyone else around? Any girl, for instance? A girl? No. Nobody else. That'll be all, thank you. The defense may have the witness. As soon as we started to talk to Euford, he confessed to striking the blows. He talked about doing it in self-defense and about a girl he had a date with who witnessed the fight. Have you been able to trace this girl whose existence is claimed by the defendant? No. No trace of her at all? No, sir. No trace ever at all. And then we come to the conclusion and then we come to the actual evidence, gentlemen of the jury. Where do we get the evidence? From the witnesses. And who is the state principal witness? None other than the defendant himself. But the defendant can prove his story. He has a witness. The girl who saw it all. The girl he paid for my bad business. Would any girl be so heartless as to leave such a benefactor in the lurch when just a word would save him? Why doesn't he appear? Why isn't he found? No. There is no trace of her. Not even a small-sized note. In other words, she is behaving exactly as you would expect someone to behave who is not real, but just a figment of a desperate man's imagination. The defendant will rise. Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached the verdict? We have. What is your verdict? We, the jury, find the defendant Henry Guilford guilty of charge of murder in the first degree. I... Yes. To work their days, chipped in some money. I had an uncle in West Virginia who sent Mr. Hall $50 in cash and a promissory note for another $50. And I guess Mr. Hall put up the money himself for his sentence. Anyway, he kept appealing the case all the way up to the state supreme court. But it didn't do any good. Kept coming back to the original decision to sustain Mr. Hall's death. All this time, the court had kept changing a date. The date I was supposed to be hanged. Now all of a sudden, I knew there weren't going to be any more changes. The last date set was this. I think I started to suffocate right then. There was something growing in my throat that wouldn't let me breathe. The evening of the next day, McGill, the deputy warden, came into my cell with a couple of guards. He told me I was moving. I knew where. It was down on the main floor. A row of only three cells. It was the last stop. Death's throat. They have a team of two guards who live right in the cell with you the last few days. One time, a prison breaks down and shows a human touch. Again, or else they just want to make sure you don't go ahead and carry out the sentence on yourself. Anyway, whatever it was, I was grateful. Because now, I was lonely. I was afraid. Not afraid like a man, but afraid the way a child is afraid. I was going someplace. The last place. And I was going alone. The thing you feel most the last hours is the time. The clock. Remembering how often you wish it would hurry so you could get off work, go out of school, or see your girl, or go fishing. You remember a million hours like that when six hours you thought you got left? Outside, you know they're watching the clock too. Not like you are, but they're watching it. All the usual people concerned with an execution, doing the usual things. Their lawyer, the warden, the governor maybe, newspaper man, the guards, the executioner. I know what every one of them was doing as they watched the clock that night. Now, I'll never forget it. Clocks all over the state. Ticking away my life. I ought to get some sleep, warden. It's only five hours away. Yes, I know, Major. I wish I could lose this pain in my chest. I think I'll lie down here on the couch for a little while. Yes, do that. When shall I call you, warden? Oh, make it an hour beforehand. Five a.m. This is Bailey Hall. Yes, I'm guilty. You're who? You're the... Well, where have you been all this time? What? Hey, look, you're not just some crook this afternoon. I know, I know what's for sick this morning. Where are you? All right, wait for me. I'll be right down. We've got about two hours. Take my reputation, my governor. This is the girl. At least it serves a stay of execution. It's true, sir. I swear it's true. I've been in the East. I just haven't heard about it till tonight, but it's just as he said it was. And the money that was taken out of the dead man's pocket? I took it. I needed it, and I had to be right to it. He's been my husband. Very well. Richard. Yes, governor? Type out a stay of execution on the Guildford case for three weeks. Bring it in and out, sign it, and you can take it down. All right. You'd better phone the warden to make sure, though, governor. That boy's only got about a half hour left. Uh, warden's office. Yes, this is warden Barnes. Huh? Oh, yes, governor. Young Guildford? Oh, you don't say so. Why, that's splendid, governor. Splendid. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I'll let them know right away. Yes, sir. Oh, McGill. McGill. Great. Jack, come here quick. What's the matter? Let me grab him to the warden. Help me get him up on the couch. Like a stroke. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Call the doctor, will you? Sure. Hey, the phone's off the hub, mind that. Call the doctor. Yeah, must have been a strain of his execution. I think he kind of liked the kid. Yeah, five-thirty. And I'll have to take over for the execution. Gentlemen, gentlemen, now ten minutes to six. In a few moments you will be admitted to the ground floor of Lockhouse A. The scaffold has been erected and where the execution, which you are to witness as newspaper men and members of the medical profession, will take place. You'll find rows of benches. Please take your seats quietly and any of the rows except the first. It has been reserved for members of the medical examining committee. We ask you to cooperate with us in our duties and to respect the solemnity of the occasion by moving quietly, refraining from any loud conversations in the moment you enter until you leave. That's all. Thank you. The minister was reading from the Bible when I knew at this time they were coming for me. This was it then. There was a group of guards. The deputy warden was with them. They opened my cell door. One of the guards came straight up to me. He was carrying a leather strap with a big buckle on it. I stood up. I felt them strapping my arms behind me. The minister stopped reading for a moment to say something. We'll go now. I started to say something to the deputy, but he nodded his head at the men and we started to move. The two guards who had been in the cell with me stood back. One of them reached over to me and put his hand on my shoulder for a second. I tried to say goodbye. I walked and realized I couldn't breathe very deeply though I wanted to. Just short breaths were all I could take. The deputy turned around and looked at me. He seemed nervous. That bothered me. I wish he wasn't so nervous. When we got to a door in the corner, through that, then another door. That was already open. I walked through. I was in a room full of men. But my eyes went to something else. There were the steps just ahead of me. Untainted wooden steps. They led up to a platform. And from above that, there, up there was... I saw the rope move me into position. The men in the room below me now, they were looking up. There was a movement among them. One of them had fainted, fell off the bench and landed hard. It was like in a dream. I wondered if he had hurt himself. Then I felt something over my head. And I knew the rope was being adjusted. And another guard was in front of me. He had a hood. He lifted it and it came down over my head. Somewhere inside of me screamed again, but my lips were closed. And I was saying to myself, hurry, hurry, hurry! Don't you know better than to ring the phone now, Gilbert's on the scaffolding. What? Are you sure? Crap, it sprung! McGill! McGill, stop! There's a pardon! Stop this! Talk about the neck being broken and the death coming instantly. No, not always. Death doesn't come for a long time. For some men, it's nearly 20 minutes. For others, it may be less. But never under 12 minutes before the heart stops. You can check on that. Me? I was up only a few seconds. They cut me down and the doctors worked on me right on the wheel stretcher that was waiting to carry my body out. No, I didn't lose consciousness. I sometimes wish I had. I sometimes wish I had gone then instead of being brought back to remember every bit of those last hours. There was a new trial after I was on my feet again. I don't know what was said. I was free. I saw the girl, Judy. I know her name now and I thank her. Neither one of us knew what to say after that, so she just went. Yes, and I never sleep indoors. I never button my collar. I don't like building, any building. It drops stone and steel and holds you in. I want to be out here where I can see the sky anytime I open my eyes. And I open them often. I think too much when they're closed. I hear the clock. The clock. The clock.