 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudious, The Most Violent, The Lonesomeest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. It's a place you drift to because the other promises you've made to yourself never happen. It's a place where you leave your life behind and stand on a street corner beating down a scream in your throat. It's the best of the thousand and one nights you've dreamed of. The place in the world where something happens to you outside of the movies. It's Broadway, My Beat. At 6 p.m. Broadway is getting ready for the night time. There's a feeling to it. The fury crouches in the doorways waiting till all the lights turn off. The feeling trails down into the small streets that feed Broadway. Down into the small streets and the round corners, somehow, that Friday night it stops in front of a particular house. Mrs. Brandeis lives there. Through the window you see her standing in front of a candelabra of seven candles that palms of her hands pressed against her face. You wait, then you press the bell. Danny Clover, oh, it's good you came tonight, Danny. Good job, Mrs. Brandeis. Thank you, Danny. Please, come in, come in. Danny, you got some news? You heard something about my son? Yes, that's why I came, Mrs. Brandeis. In the parlor. There, we can sit down. There, you can tell me the news of my son. Your husband, Mrs. Brandeis? Oh, listen to him, Danny. Already, Mr. Brandeis is saying for our son the prayer for the dead. Please, sit down. Thanks. To him, Mori is already dead. He said to me, Danny, Mr. Brandeis said that no son of his was a murderer. To him, he said such a son is dead. So to him, it's not Mori who sits in prison. It's a stranger. I don't know how to say this, Mrs. Brandeis. Oh, say it, Danny, say it. Mrs. Brandeis, the plea for stay of execution. You see, the board that handles... What, what, Danny, say it. The execution takes place Monday morning at one o'clock. There. They're going to kill my son. Execute. That's the way they use for killing my son. What can I say to you? Say this. Tell them no, Danny. Tell them they can't do this. This execute. Tell them, Danny. Mrs. Brandeis. Tell them this is a notion they've got that my boy is a murderer. This board, these people who think such a thing. What do they know of Mori? There's nothing I can do. Mori didn't kill anyone. You tell them that, Danny. If Mori was innocent, I'd tell them. Oh, Danny, Danny. A mother who has looked into the heart of her son tells you this. Mori didn't do this thing. A mother tells you this. I'd better go, Mrs. Brandeis. Yes. Yes, then I go. Good night. When I left, the chant of an old man's prayer for his dead son was in my ear. But rising above it was a twisted melody all mixed up with lament and hope and desperation. And that would be Mrs. Brandeis. And that would be all I had to go on. The instant of a man's dying had been written down and sealed and approved. And all I had to do was to tear it all up like it had never happened. That could be the mission of a fool. So I'm a fool. So I went back to my office headquarters and waited for Sergeant Tataglia to bring in the file on Mori Brandeis. And when he brought it in, it was 10 o'clock of a Friday night. It's 10 o'clock, Danny. That means something to you? Oh, yeah, Danny. Why did you bring me on Mori Brandeis? Oh, everything, it works. But I could sketch it for you, Danny. This way we could all go home earlier, you and me. All right, sketch it. A sketch to win. On May 22, 1949, at 11 o'clock of the same evening, May 22, 1949, one Mori Brandeis did hold up the jewelry shop of one Charles Gilbert. He did, in process of hold up, shoot one Mori Gilbert in the back, said Mori Gilbert being the daughter of four said Charles Gilbert, jewelry shop proprietor. What says he did all that? What says is two witnesses, one Phil Alexander-Mail and one Nikki Thomas-Female. They saw the killing? Yeah, Danny, yeah. What they seem goes like this. Phil and Nikki was walking home from a dance. They see Brandeis with a gun in the girl's back. The girl has got her hands in the air. They hear the shot, they want to call the police. How did they know it was Brandeis? Oh, they didn't, Danny, they didn't. They had presence of mind and note down the license number of a new Nash car standing on the street in front of the store with its motor running. In this car was found the gun, the loot, the ownership tag of one Mori Brandeis, which was found to sleep drunk in his house two hours later by one of our boys. Can I go home now? Yeah, I'd like to go home. Then it was 10.15. In the night, the city makes a somber tearing music that seeps through stone and shrieks through your open window. And it's still there. You try to memorize the details that will bring death to a man on Monday morning at one o'clock. And finally when your eyes feel as if they'll crack, you've memorized them. Then it's dawn and you grab some sleep. Then you're waking and it's something to eat. Then you wait for a man named Charles Gilbert to open his jewelry shop. You watch him move slowly out of the curtain shadows at the rear of his shop and slowly walk and slowly unlock the door. And it's nine o'clock Saturday morning. Good morning. Good morning, sir. A beautiful morning, isn't it? Here, Mr. Gilbert. Mr. Charles Gilbert. Yes, that's me here early, aren't you? On your way to work? Mr. Gilbert, oh, I know you want to buy before the rush will come in, please. You'll find I have some excellent values on sale, sir. You read my ad in the news? Expensive, but worth it if customers come so early. I'm Danny Clover, police department. I want to talk to you, Mr. Gilbert. Is it about the murder of my daughter? Can we go in the back of the store and talk, Mr. Gilbert? Yes, of course. Through the curtains, Mr. Clover. You understand, Mr. Clover, that whatever words we will speak over my daughter will bring me great pain. I'll make it as easy as I can. I'm trying to save a man's life, Mr. Gilbert. A murderer's life? There's a question in my mind if he is a murderer. There is none in mind, Mr. Clover. I want you to go over the night of the hold-up with me, Mr. Gilbert. Everything, the simplest, the most ordinary details. Everything. I have already done that with you, police, Mr. Clover. Is that how you work? To rake through a man's brain? That's how we work. It was a Thursday night. It was late. Someone pounded on the door, kept pounding. My daughter said she'd get up and see what it was. I told her not to bother. They'd go away, I told her. I told her. I told her. Go on, Mr. Gilbert. Ruth slipped on her old coat and went to the door. She opened it. I heard her say, what do you want? And then I heard the door close and then whispers and then shot. That terrible, terrible crashing sound and Ruth's cry to me. Like when she was a little girl. No, no, Mr. Clover. You have customers, Mr. Gilbert. Good morning. Oh, you mind if we look around that? My wife and me are in the market for a bubble. Nothing's too good for my wife. My right wife? Please go ahead. I'll be in the back of the store. Just call me when you're ready. Yeah, sure thing, Dad. Do you want more, Mr. Clover? All of it. All of it. I picked up my child, Mr. Clover, and put her on the bed. She was still alive then. I took off her coat. He shot her in the back. I held her like a baby in my arms. And she died. Do you want to save and murder his life, Mr. Clover? Save it and my curse on you. No coat was mentioned in the transcript. Why wasn't it mentioned, Mr. Gilbert? How would I know, Mr. Clover? Where is that coat? I gave it away to whom? To a boy who comes in Saturdays and cleans my shop. A boy by the name of Robert Shaw. Do you know where he lives? In Harlem, Mr. Clover, 1229 West, 117th Street. I know because I had to send him postcards to reach him. The coat is important. I wouldn't know. I'm sorry, Mr. Gilbert, but I had... I'm sorry. Thank you, Mr. Gilbert. Saturday afternoon, 2 p.m. Standing there in front of a house in Harlem and trying not to look like a policeman. But somehow the people who lean from the windows over the shoulder glances you get them passes by, you can't hide it. So you pat a kid on the head and smile and look around. But nobody smiles back at you. Not even the kid. The man you're waiting for acknowledges your greeting with a short nod. Yeah, I'm Robert Shaw. I'm Danny Clover, police. I need some help from you, Shaw. For me? Help? It's about a coat, a woman's coat. I've been lucky. I've done an honest job. I don't have to steal. I didn't say anything about stealing. No, no you didn't. You just said it was about a woman's coat. The coat that belonged to a murdered girl. Mary Gilbert? That's right. Where's that coat? Her father gave it to me. I didn't ask him. He said, here, here, Robert, here's a coat. He said, maybe I could use it. But a coat for a woman? Yeah, for a woman. For my sister Ethel. I gave it to her. Where is she? Well, trial Harlem Hospital, mister. I got word this morning early that that's where my sister was. In the hospital. Saturday afternoon, 3 p.m. You walk slowly up the worn sandstone steps. Slowly because somehow you never hurry when you can walk into a hospital. And a nun accepts your question quietly and tells you to wait because the girls asleep. And you wait. And your eyes dart through open doorways in the hospital corridor. And you wait. And it's four o'clock. And it's five and still you wait. And the smell of the hospital melts into the furtive sounds and the quiet footsteps and your doze. And then there's a gentle tap in your shoulder and it's eight o'clock. You're shown a ward and a numbered bed. The tired girl who tries not to be frightened. But I've already been questioned by the police, Mr. Clover. I know, this will only take a moment. What do you want to know? The coach your brother gave you. I told him. I told him all about it. Tell me. I was walking home, Mr. Clover. It was late. When? Last night. It was very late about midnight. That's when it was. Tell me just what happened then. As soon as I stepped down from the curb, the alley curbed, Mr. Clover. He came out of the... It was dark. He approached me and whispered in my ear. He said he would give me ten dollars for the coat I was wearing. The coat? Yes. Then he hit me. He started to tear the coat. He tried to tear it off of me. But he screamed and the man ran. And a policeman was standing over me. I see. Where's the coat now? It's over there, Mr. Clover. It's in the closet. This one? It's the dead girl's coat. I don't want it anymore. Nine o'clock. Tartaglia brings the dressmaker's dummy into my office. Drapes it with the dead girl's blouse, puts the coat over it. The bullet hole in the blouse matches the sewn-up bullet hole in the coat. Right on the same line. Ten o'clock it still matches. Ten thirty. Tartaglia sends out for spud nuts and coffee. Eleven o'clock. We've torn the coat apart. Nothing there. Eleven thirty. We've got a torn-up coat. Nothing else. Twelve o'clock. It's life. And it's Sunday. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. May as well face it, a lot of your conversation during the course of a week is about the shows on CDS on Sunday nights. Charlie McCarthy, Edgar Bergen, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and as the romantic high school teacher, our Miss Brooks. Drama lovers next week will surely be discussing Irene Dunn's performance in the Barretts of Wimpole Street this Sunday night on The Family Hour. And everybody will be talking about Margaret Whiteing's songs on The Contented Hour and Horace Hyde's newest finds on his Youth Opportunity program. All of these great shows will be heard this Sunday night on most of these same CDS stations with Jack Benny being heard on them all. There's this about Broadway. It's a place of waiting. It's a place of clocks because you're nothing if you don't know what time it is. The clocks are in shop windows and hotel lobbies, spectacular. And at the very top of very high buildings because pigeons have to stay on schedule. And no matter how you figure it, it still comes out 10 o'clock Sunday morning. It still comes out 15 hours between you and the execution for murder of a boy named Maury Brandeis. And what you've got to save his life is a girl's coat with a bullet hole in it. And it makes no sense. So you make a Sunday call on a man and a woman who saw Maury kill a girl. I was just reading Sunday funnies to Nicky, Mr. Clover. She likes it when I do that. Don't you, Nicky? Sure, I like it, Phil. Sure you do, honey. I have much time, Mr. Alexander. Yeah, sure, I understand. You're trying to save a killer's life. This is a twist for a cop, isn't it, Mr. Clover? I'm only kidding, don't you, Clover? I want you to tell me exactly what you did and what you saw the night of the hold-up. Well, this is on the record. You didn't look it up? I want to hear you tell me. We were at a dance. We were walking home. Mr. Clover wants me to tell him, honey. It's still the same Clover like on the record. We're at a dance, Nicky and me. What dance? Well, I don't like to repeat myself, but the dance was the same dance like I testified. What dance? The Cruiser Social Club on Grand Street. I was walking, Nicky, home because that's romantic to walk with your best girl. And then we see through the window, Maury holding up the girl in the jewelry store. How could you tell it was a hold-up? Such a simple question, Mr. Clover, of the police department. The girl had her hands up in the air. How did you know it was Maury? Because we saw a car parked at the curb with the motor running. When we heard the shopkeeper took the license number and called the police. It was only the next morning we knew it was Maury. I marry a girl and now I find out she likes to talk. Mrs. Alexander, was the girl wearing a coat when she was shot? May I? The girl was wearing a coat. Anything else, Clover? No, Phil. That's all, Phil. Now you can go on reading the funny paper, Phil. Sunday afternoon, 2 p.m. On a short run like the one from New York to Austin, the trains are always on schedule. Then the automobile ride to the prison. The warden's tight greeting and finally the walk into the prison yard. Maury Brandeis would be there, the warden said. Maury's request. He wanted to be outside on a Sunday afternoon before he died. Request granted. Complete with chaperone. A guard sitting on an orange crate holding a shotgun and sucking on a match stick. Maury. Maury. I'm Maury Brandeis. I'm Danny Clover, Maury. You remember me? What do you want? What do you want me to say? Did you kill that girl, Maury? They say I killed a girl. They say I shot her. Did you? Yes, I killed her. I believe I did. They told me I did. They keep telling me I did. I believe it. You went into the jewelry shop to rob it. When Mary Gilbert came downstairs, you made her turn around and you shot her in the back. Listen to me. You're sure of it, then, that you murdered Mary Gilbert? I was drunk. I was at the dance and I got drunk. Why did you get drunk, Maury? I did it before. I liked it. Maury, I'm trying to help you. I promised your mother I'd help you and there's not much time. I know, I know, I know that. I'm going to be electrocuted. They say it won't hurt. You know that? I'm going to be electrocuted a man. Kill him. And it's painless. I can't help you when you talk like that. Think, Maury, think of something to tell me. Something I can go on. Some place it'll take me. Someone I can talk to. What happened that night when you were drunk? Why did you leave the dance? I was drunk. Did you have the gun when you left the dance? Drunk. Why did you tell her to turn around before you shot her? They keep asking me to say so. They say a man always confesses before he's electrocuted. It makes a man feel better. So I'm saying it. I killed her. And I don't feel anything at all. More 45 on a Sunday afternoon. And all I had was a hat full of dried leaves. And back to the opposite headquarters and staring at a headless dressmaker's dummy draped in a blouse and a torn tweed coat. Staring at it until it grew ahead and laughed at me. Laughed at me when I asked it why anyone would want that coat and not tasting the cigarettes and the coffee and feeling time run through your fingers like dust in that rotten clock. Why don't you go home now, Danny? Why? Well, because it's getting late. It's almost nine o'clock. You read and reread the records and the reports, the impersonal data, the typewritten words on municipally furnished stations. The reason why a man must walk to his death in a few short hours and the dressmaker's dummy puts her hand on her hip and winks at you. Danny. Danny, I brought you some more coffee. Tartaglia. You think Maury killed that girl? You want an honest answer or an answer that will make you feel good? Just an answer. Okay, Danny. Yeah, I think Maury Brandeis killed Mary Gilbert. I think no matter what personal reasons you got for going through all this, Maury Brandeis will still die at one o'clock tomorrow morning because he killed that Gilbert girl. You through talking? Yeah, Danny, I'm through. Why did someone beat up a girl to get that coat back? I don't know. How did they know about the coat the same time I did? I don't know. How? How did they know about the coat the same time I did? I told you, Danny, I don't know. Call up Gilbert's jewelry shop. Get me Gilbert. Danny, look, it's 11.30 o'clock at night. Let the poor guy alone. Let him sleep. Call him up. Okay, okay, Danny. Let me find the number. Now, here it is. Give me that phone. Okay, Danny. Don't bite my head off for a lousy phone. Here. Who was in your shop when I was talking to you? Really, Mr. Clark? Who was in your shop? Thanks, Mr. Gilbert. Something, Danny? Something. Get me a squad car to tag you. Midnight and Sunday was over. And in one hour, Monday would be over for Maury Brandeis. The siren gouges a path through the city swiftly like a wild sob trailing across the dark. And you ride it. Inside of you, you're screaming with it. There's a light in the window of the house you're looking for and the odds get better for you. Going someplace, Nikki? I asked you, going someplace? At the cab, Nikki? No, no, it's not the cab. It's Danny Clover. Relax, Phil. I'm talking to Nikki. Going someplace, Nikki? While the bag's packed. It's simple. I'm talking to Nikki. Well, Nikki? It's our second honeymoon. Every six months, we take a second honeymoon. When did you get married, Nikki? It was murdered, wasn't it, Nikki? An impulse, Nikki and me were impetuous. Impetuous? Or a wife can't testify against her husband? Tell me, Nikki. How did Phil kill Mary Gilbert? Are you kidding me? Shut up, Phil, I asked Nikki. Was it like this, Nikki? You waited outside while Phil was robbing that store. Then Mary came in and surprised him. He held a gun on her, made her turn around and shot her in cold blood. That's what Maury Brandeis did, remember, Clover? That's why he's gonna burn her. So, please, tell him. Quiet, keep quiet. Come on, Nikki, tell me. I'm tired, Mr. Clover. I'm so tired of... I'll tell you. Shut up. I told you to shut up. Leave her alone. I said, leave her alone. Okay, Phil, over there, face the wall and put your hands up. Like I said, over against the wall and keep your hands high. I'm gonna book you for something like 10, 10 West 86. Yeah, Danny, right away. What's up? I got a wife, Peter. I got a... Wait a minute. Now. Now I know I got a murderer. Stay where you are, Phil. Hey, what? What did you say, Danny? Hold on to it, Taglia. You did it, Phil. You killed Mary Gilbert. It's over, Phil. He knows. You don't know nothing. What are you talking about, Clover? The coach, you're trying to tear up a girl's back and Harlem proves it. But all I hear is noise. Listen closer. The bullet hole in the coat was in line with the bullet hole in her blouse. That means her hands weren't in the air like you told us they were. Listen to him, Nicky, any kick? The coat rises when a person holds his hands in the air like yours is doing now, Phil. If I shot you in the back, the bullet hole in your coat would be a couple of inches lower than the one in your shirt. So you lied. So you committed murder. So you're both under arrest. Danny, are you all right? Yeah, get off the phone, Taglia. I got to put through a call to sing-sing. I watched Nicky's face as I waited for the call to go through. And it was the face of a woman who was dead without tears, without bitterness. Only the final, the desperate rejection of life. Then I was talking to the warden. Then I hung up, made another call to Mr. Brandeis to tell him his son was back from a journey into shadows. To tell him he need no longer pray for the dead. Caring the funny mask of the funny nose. The great, big, toothy smile painted pretty in scarlet. Scarlet's a color you've known in other places and other times. So you don't rip the mask off because you couldn't stand what you'd see. Because it's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesome must smile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover and is written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The musical score was composed by Alexander Courage and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. And the program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The cast tonight included Charles Calvert, Lillian Bayef, and Vivian Weber. Some people go to the Caribbean. Some go to the Klondike. Others who don't care for treasured diving or nugget hunting just stay at home and latch on to sing it again. You don't have to barrel barracuda. You don't have to grow a five foot beard. With sing it again all you have to do is tell Dan Seymour when he phones who owns the Phantom Voice. It's 53,000 in prizes and cold hard cash so sing it again Jackpot this week. Sing it again follows immediately on most of these same CDS stations. This is CDS where you'll find Broadway is My Beat every Saturday night the Columbia Broadcasting System. A presentation of RadioClassics.com Programs are copyright their respective owners. All rights reserved.