 I was a communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Severick, come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star, Dana Andrews as Matt Severick, who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. Love, be I. Love to a dedicated red is the business of the idol. During the nine loveless years I spent as a communist, I learned that hate is a business too, a big business. I'd like to tell you how the hate business pays off in the red. In a moment listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Severick, Undercover Man. Matt Severick, Undercover Man. This story from the confidential file is marked Rich Man, Poor Man. You can take place anywhere, in the loft on a dark street, perhaps or in your neighbor's rumpus room, in the rear of a candy store or in a fashionable penthouse. This meeting was held in the home of our star leader, David Bowden. Good news, comrades, delightful news. The plum has been chosen for our exalted course. The fat, ripe, juicy plum. His name, the name of our plum, the irony delights me, simply delights me, his name is Jules Jordan. The same, a millionaire with a social conscience, publisher of that great liberal weekly, open thought. Comrade Bowden. Ah, Comrade Sebetty, you look worried. For this man, as Jules Jordan, with his bourgeois conception of liberalism, I don't trust him. Comrade Sebetty, Jordan is obviously a capitalist who fears the inevitable revolution. We have been assigned to put his millions to work for the Red Master Plan. In the past few weeks, I've made it a point to become friendly with Mr. Jordan, quite friendly in fact. He now comes to me for advice on the editorial policies of his magazine. One liberal to another, that sort of thing. You work fast, Comrade Bowden. This assignment is my responsibility, Comrade Sebetty. It's success, it's my success within the party. It's failure. There can be no failure. Good. Good. I'll need competent, trustworthy assistance. You will help me. Comrade Bowden, I'm honored. Will you pass the menu, please? Hmm? Oh, here you are. There's red on the M. Red on the C. You're losing weight, man. It's understandable, isn't it? I'm not suspecting you, Addy. I don't think so. I just got a new assignment. Assistant to our cell leader, David Bowden. Jobs to suck Jules Jordan into the party. Oh, that's a new twist. A red millionaire. How come they picked Jordan? His magazine, for one thing. They'd like to print it in red ink. What about Jordan himself? He's a perfect patsy. Young, naive. Worried about doing some good with a doughy inherited. He thinks he's a liberal, but the Comys think he's a chump. They started work on him, yes? Bowden's become real palsy with him. He's even advising Jordan how to run the magazine. Ouch. And the next step? Just run the magazine. When does the FBI step in? You better wait. There may be more to this than I know. I'll keep in touch. You're bound to have trouble when half of you is communist, and the other half is human being. My communist half was supposed to consider Jules Jordan a wealthy chump, a sucker to be despised and exploited. The human half of me, however, couldn't help feeling he was a decent, honest guy. As I grew to know him better, it was easy to understand his two greatest loves, his wife Jane and his weekly magazine. Listen to those presses, Matt. Beautiful music. Beautiful, beautiful music. You're sure it isn't just plain noisy, Jordan. Pretty presses are supposed to be noisy. Let the whole world know how important they are. Can't hear you. Never lie. Come out of my house. Good idea. There's something I want to talk to you about. Oh, you and Bowden have been hatching up another improvement for the magazine. I can feel it. Come on in. Thank you. Are they wrong? Bowden tells me that Harry Renear fired George Krebko. Krebko? Krebko, Krebko. Oh, him, young, incompetent writer. I understand he's a red. He was recommended by Bowden, you know. Well, heck, David can't help it if the man wrote bad editorials. But Renear never consulted us. Harry's the editor, Matt. He has the right to fire a man who can't do the job. This might interest you, Jude. Krebko has been unable to find work since he left here. No kidding? It's that bad, huh? He has a wife and three children. Gosh, three kids. And the reason George Krebko can't find work is that he's been branded a communist by your editor, Harry Renear. Well, is he a communist? Why not ask Mrs. Krebko and the three kids? Look, Matt, if there's anything I can... That's strictly between you and your conscience, Jude. See you later. Ah, Matt, you were superb. Well, shut the door. I heard it all on the speaker. You followed instructions to the letter, comrade. Thanks, comrade Bowden. Tell me something. Does comrade Krebko have a family? Of course not. The Jordan will never know that, will he? It made me sick just thinking about it. But evidently, the germ that had been planted in Jude's Jordan's conscience took effect immediately. The following night, David Bowden and I were invited to dinner at the Jordan home. Jude was his usual genial self, lighthearted, gracious, charming. His wife Jane was charming too, but cold. Cold as ice. What's the matter, Janie? You don't seem to be with us. Oh, I guess my mind was wandering. Which way, Mrs. Jordan? To the right or to the left? Politics again. Very strange. Strange? Yes. Other men talk about their families or baseball or that terrific weekend in Atlantic City I'm sorry, Jules, have you read any good books lately? Not you. You and Mr. Bowden seem to be impaled on one subject. Politics. The revolt of the masses. Jane, I invited them here to talk politics. I'm sorry, Jules. Must be the woman in me that objects. As for the revolt of the masses, Mrs. Jordan... I said I'm sorry. Here's what I had in mind, gentlemen. After Matt left yesterday, I did a lot of thinking about what's his name, the fellow who was fired. Krebko. Yes, Krebko. I'm sure that Harry fired him on the basis of his ability alone, but still, if he's been branded a commie... He's been unable to support his family because of it. And that bothers me, it really does. I'd like to do something for Krebko. I can't help feeling responsible. Why stop at Krebko, Mr. Jordan? What do you mean? I think David means that there are many individuals in this country today who are being persecuted for their views. Krebko is just one of thousands. Well, I can't really help thousands. Why not? Why not? Well, after all, I... After all, what, Mr. Jordan? More dessert, anyone? After all, what, Mr. Jordan? You, Mr. Setic? No, thank you. Look, suppose a man likes a Krebko, gets fired, needs money, can't get a job, all because of mistaken ideas about his politics. Now, isn't there some place he can go for financial help? Legal aid? Well, there are a few organizations. None that has been set up specifically for that purpose. There's no fund as such available to unfortunate victims of political persecution. You know something, folks? I'd like to set up that fund. Jewels for heaven's sake. We could call it something like... Oh, a fund for freedom? American Liberty Fund. How's that? Hey, that's great. American Liberty Fund, dedicated to the preservation of security for the individuals, something like that. You probably want a charter from the government. They're hard to get. Jewels, how do you expect to get a charter? You're considered a fellow traveler. You've been hanging yourself on the party line for years. I've told you a million times they can consider me anything they please, but they can't consider me a commie. It's just unfortunate that some of my ideas coincide with the red. Unfortunate is right. Well, certainly, Mrs. Jordan, you'll agree that the man of your husband's means should have no trouble securing a charter. This is a mercenary world, you know. Money is influence. The remainder of the evening was miserable. While Bowden and Jordan buzzed and fussed over plans for the American Liberty Fund, Mrs. Jordan burned withering glances across the room at knee. Finally, after a small eternity, it was time to leave. I paused in the open doorway to button my coat. Mr. Svedik. Yes? I'd like to ask a favor of you. Of course, Mrs. Jordan. Believe it or not, I've never interfered with my husband's work before, but you and your friend have changed all that. Let my husband alone, please. Go away and let him alone. Are you afraid of losing him to a greater cause, Mrs. Jordan? Is our influence stronger than yours? No. No, it isn't. I won't let it be. I think I love him more than you love that... that greater cause. Coming, Matt. I'll be right there, David. No need to make a contest of this, Mrs. Jordan. Some things are inevitable. Like the revolt of the masses? Exactly. It's a difficult thing to be hated by a beautiful woman. But in this case, there was one consoling thought. If Jean Jordan could hate me violently enough, she might prevent her husband from becoming ensnared in the Communist Web. That Web, by the way, was being drawn tighter and tighter about him. The Charter for the American Liberty Fund was granted before I could have my FBI contact stop action on it. And then my red cell leader, Bowden, produced a new element, something I had hoped to be able to avoid. I want you to listen to this. Perhaps you wondered why I mistrust that Harry Renear. I recorded this conversation in Jules Jordan's office this morning on tape. Those hidden microphones are invaluable, aren't they? Standard procedure. Very practical. Listen. Those two friends of yours, Jules. The place is crawling with reds. Relax, Harry. You're getting giddy. Giddy. Giddy. Wake up, Jules. Check up on your personnel. Check up on the content of your magazine. No matter what measures I take, the stories come right out from under Stalin's mustache. I've been expecting this from Renear for some time. You need these things yourself, Jules. If you'd spent less time with that American Liberty Fund, what should be about that? Have you noticed where that money is going? Your money is being used to bail out commie goon boys to give a bunch of red plug-ups at least a chance to... I see what you mean about Renear, comrades. But I think he feels a need here. He keeps things in proper perspective. Renear is dangerous, comrades. He will please see that he's eliminated. Why? How? Anywhere you see fit, as long as it's quick and lasting. For the FBI and the second act of our story, you will enjoy these reports, I'm sure. First of all, the American Liberty Fund. Contributions from our inadvertent alive, Jules Jordan, have brought the total up almost 200% since its inception. Of its expenditure, 70% has gone out as direct aid. Direct aid, mind you, to members of our party. This, of course, will increase as time goes on. Comrade Sabetik, will you report on the progress made within Mr. Jordan's magazine? I'm happy to announce that, as of today, 65% of the personnel on open thought are actively contributing to our exalted cause. The editorial policy is now closer than ever to the party line. In fact, some of the more reactionary American congressmen have already hurled charges against the magazine and Mr. Jordan. A question, please, Comrade. Yes? Aren't we defeating our purpose by calling attention to our success within this magazine? Comrade Gordon. The subtleties of the plan have escaped you, Comrade. We're more interested in Jordan and his millions than in his magazine. Yes, but how can we get him into the party? Remind me, Sabetik, no important assignments for that fool. My dear Comrade, Jules Jordan doesn't realize it yet, but everything he touches turns red. His magazine, his American Liberty Fund, his companions, his employees. In the eyes of bourgeois Americans, he's a traitor. This will become more and more evident as our pressure increases. Then the final dais cast, Mr. Jordan, will have no place to turn for sanctuary but here, among his comrades and fellow workers in the Communist Party. Now, do you understand? Thank you, Comrade Gordon. Good. And you, Sabetik, have you arranged for the elimination of Harry Renier? Yes, tonight, Comrade Gordon. Tonight. Gordon wants me to liquidate Harry Renier. Who's he? Editor of Open Thought. He's too suspicious of us. Can't you get out of it? Funny man, it's got to be done tonight. Tonight? You've got to help me. All right, start talking. I've arranged to pick up Renier at his home at about 10 o'clock. I'll drive out Highway 14 to about three miles. To me, it's pretty late to be visiting, Mr. Jordan. Jules and sisters on having the meeting tonight, Harry. You know how he is. Yeah. But what's the big rush? I don't know. Something about red infiltration on the magazine. Well, maybe the boss is waking up at last. That car back there has been behind us since we left the office. I hadn't noticed. Funny. That car is still back there. I'd swear it was following us. You've got the jitters or something? I don't know. Maybe. Say, isn't it taking us a long time to get to the Jordan's? Same as you, Jules. Oh, what are you turning here for? Hey, hey, wait a minute. We're nowhere near the Jordan's. Sit down. What is this? Where do you think you're... Be quiet, William. Nothing is going on. I don't like it. I'll stop the car. Let me out of here. Sit still, Harry. You'll get hurt, hurry. I don't understand. You won't for a while. Take care of him, boys. See that nothing happens to him, Beaker. He'll be all right, man. A little confused, but safe. At least a coming knuckle gang won't get to him. How about you, man? What are you going to tell your little red team-mates? Lies. After working with them this long, it's easy to lie. Especially to them. Admiral Sedetti, do I understand you correctly? You turned Harry Renier over to the FBI? That's right, Comrade Borden. I planted some false credentials in his desk and reported him as a Communist agent. A Communist agent? A... A... Ha ha ha ha ha ha... Oh, dear. Dear me, delightful, delightful. Harry Renier. A Communist agent. Comrade Svetik, you have a delicious sense of humor. The irony appeals to me. to me. Delightful. I'm glad I'd comrade. Now, now we must swing into action. We must report this news to Jordan then. To Jordan? Of course. He'd be very broken up about it. Renier was his closest friend. He'll need us to advise him more closely now. So closely that we'll be running the magazine. After all, how can Jordan trust his own judgment? His best friend turned out to be a communist agent. I hadn't expected this at all. Bowden was using my plan for Renier's safekeeping to bring about Jules Jordan's downfall. There was no time for me to undo what I'd done. Only one chance was left. Mrs. Jordan, I had to make her hate me. Her influence over her husband was strong. I knew that. The best way to put this influence to work was to make her hate me violently, bitterly. I don't understand it. I... I just can't understand it. Harry. He was always such a sensible guy. I've known him for years. He just can't be a red agent. I won't believe it. Thanks, Mr. Jordan. No matter how brutal they seem. But Harry's the last guy in the world to... I don't know. I don't know. Reason, Jules. Reason. Emotion is useless at a time like this. You're not being much help, Mr. Settler. Would you mind, fellas? I... I think I'd kind of like to be alone for a while and figure this mess out. Please go. Jules is awfully upset. But the logic is so clear. So crystal clear. We know now why your friend, René, tried to turn you against... Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. This explains why he disagreed with our editorial suggestions. Why he accused us of planting reds on the staff when he was the biggest red of them all. All right, all right! Mr. Bowden, will you please let Jules alone? It's important that your husband realize these facts now, Mrs. Jordan. It's important that you both let him alone. Can't you see he's upset? It's okay, honey. It's okay. This display of shabby sentimentality is certainly a poor substitute for reason. It may be poor, but it's the only one we've got. Now get out of both of you. Get out! Not yet, Mrs. Jordan. Indeed not. Your husband must realize his responsibility to his employees, his readers, to the ideals his publication stands for. Ideals whose ideals? His, Harry's, or yours? Ours, of course. All others are mere delusions. Get out of here. Get out! Honey, honey, take it easy. Let them up. They've been right all along. They can handle it better than I can. Come on. Your magazine can't... Let's face it, honey. Who am I to tell them what's right and wrong? I can't even pick my friends. At least I know David Madder right thinkers. Thank you, Mr. Jordan. We'll go now. Jules, for the love of heaven, listen to me. Jules, please. Please, you've got to listen to me. Hemret Smithick, I can understand now why Jordan had so much affection for these presses. Now that they're ours... Ours? In spirit, Fleet. And soon the rather broken spirit of Jules Jordan will be ours, too. Good to be commended, Comrade Bowden. Well, thank you. You won't mind if I take full responsibility for this project, will you? Not at all. You deserve it. Interesting how the humiliating prospects of failure seem less sinister from a pinnacle of success. What's happening down there? The presses, they're stopping. We've got to see what's wrong. Nothing's wrong, gentlemen. They're just not working anymore. The presses are out of business. And so are you. Oh, what's that mean, Jules? As of right now, the magazine known as Open Thought is closed. Finished. Dead. Finished? Dead? Well, I... You can't... What's the reason for that? I have a wonderful wife, Sevetik. She explained a few things to me. How you run a self-respecting magazine right smack into the mud. How you sacrifice my best friend. How you try to break up my home, my friends against me, ruin my reputation with that American Liberty Fund. By the way, that stopped when the presses stopped. But if you do all this, Jordan, what will become of me? Didn't know you cared that much, Bowdoin. I've never been sure what your angle was, but it doesn't make sense. Nothing made sense since you went into my life. So you may go now. But this means failure. Failure means annihilation. The magazine is dead. The American Liberty Fund is dead. As far as I'm concerned, you're both dead. Get out. Dead. I failed. Bye, Jules. Oh, Sevetik. Yes. Just to keep your ego where it belongs, my wife mentioned that she hates the ground you walk on. So do I, Jules. So do I. It goes on and on and on. The hating, the bitterness, the chaos of mind and soul. Bowdoin is gone now. He never appeared at another cell meeting. The Jordans? They're around somewhere nursing their bruised ideals. Harry Reneer is free and safe. But none of them can ever know the real story, the full story. They'll continue to hate the ground I walk on. The ground I must walk along. Our star, Dana Andrews, will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews with a word about the story you've just heard. And this story has in all others names, dates and places are fictitious to protect innocent persons. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the life of Matt Sevetik who worked undercover for the FBI. Next week, another fantastic adventure. Join us, won't you?