 Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudiest, The Most Violent, The Lonesomeest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Through sequined loud speakers on Broadway to get all the happy out, and the crowd walks in holiday cadence, conditioned by age, measurements, and the size of the pocketbook. And it's all there in the shop windows, mechanical clown, tin man dancing a jig on a tin box, and toy army, precisely to scale, mechanized, some with parkas and skis for the difficult terrain over the raw cotton battlefront. And eyes are bright with hope and desire, and the wish made on a neon star. But in the place where I was, holidays coming is marked only by the rise of empty liquor bottles in trash cans, alley off of Third Avenue. And this winter's late night marked by horn of the moon stuck through clump of clouds. And this, the boy lying unconscious, and Detective Markovan. Name's James Barton Danny, here, his wallet. Lots of identification here. Address lives on East 58th, 1212. Hold your flash over here, Markovan. 19 years old. Whoever did it to him was pretty systematic, Danny, worked him over real good. Who reported it? Officer Farm called it in walking his feet. Danny. Christmas season, a kid 19 beaten in an alley. Well, whoever did it wasn't a mugger. The kid's got maybe 60 bucks in his wallet, he wasn't beaten for money. What happens to a kid this age gets dragged into a sewer like this and worked over? Nice looking boy, why is that? Sure. Ambulance ought to be here in a second, Danny. Think the kid will live? Boy, it's cold. The winter's still, city and chill, play of wavering reflected night lights. And the boy's part of it, beaten, flung against alley litter. Skyward, the fleet curve and fall of a December star. The sounds of night fury are muted now in the soft keening and whirl of river wind. And not too distant, clack of a woman's heels on pavement. Slow walking. Then running, then lost in a sudden cry of wind. Just called for, laid gently on a stretcher. Received into drifting night, carried away. So leave there. The remnants of sleep, the half-dream. And in the morning, the call to headquarters, the report on the boy. Jimmy Barton's still in shock. You'll be notified when it's all right to talk to him. So go to a place, the boy's address on East 58th. Show a badge, get a door open. Walk in. And Jimmy Barton's apartment is early December sunlight on ceramic vases of cut flowers. His bed, neatly folded down and arranged for sleep. Is this a basket of fruit, an open box of candy on nightstand, another unopened on shelf below. And in bureau drawers, knitted things. Heavy woolen sweater, complete with design of stag with antlers. Woolen socks, argile, arranged neatly as the pattern and color. Shirts, monograms, handkerchiefs, lemon, hand rolls. What is? There'll be naughty what you're doing. Jimmy's such a neat type. He'll have a spell when I tell him a thief must up his brains, a child of flip. Who are you? A girl who leans against doorways, languidly, like this, and chats brightly with thieves. Don't you tell? I'm for police, I... I also chat brightly with policemen. Trump. This girl across the hall type will stick my nose into any of my neighbor's affairs, lately mostly Jimmy. And my name is Ina Small. In a German cellar, kick-eye was once on, used to call me Ina Kleiner, like a nightingale. Cute, huh? How long have you known Jimmy? Long enough to be concerned about the child. Jimmy did a prank, which you must consider the boy's night, too. We found him in an alley last night, beaten, unconscious. It'll take me a minute to get out of this. How shall I dress to call on Jimmy, policemen? Black? He's badly hurt, we don't know for a while. Tell me, how long have you known him? He moved into this apartment maybe five months ago, July. I was neighborly. I brought him bread and salt for his new home. He lives here alone? More alone, and across the hall, me. His clothes, his things. They're nice, expensive looking. Well, he's a nice boy. He deserves expensive things. You know where he works? Work? Jimmy works? Not every one my time. Other times, I wouldn't know. Anything else you can tell me about him? Like, who hated him enough to beat him up like that? Well, Jimmy was hurt before, you know. I didn't know. Yeah, some automobile accident in March, I think he told me. Something he was laid for a while. We had to sit out dances. Look great. If Jimmy's dying, I want to be very... We'll let you know, Miss Small. Thank you. Neckles? Officer Neckles? There's a bench to rest your troubles on, lad. Oh, you, Danny Ladd. I don't know if it's the lieutenant. Oh, Neckles. Oh, beautiful. And you, Danny? Okay. Hey, something you ought to know, Danny Ladd. What? There was a debate here amongst the boys in record. Should we put lieutenants with their pay and all on our Christmas list? It was touch and go, I can tell you. Also, I took the affirmative side of the bitter controversy. I thought it was something you'd want to remember. Now, what else can I do for you, Danny Ladd? Well, a point on an automobile accident last March. Involved the boy named James Barton. Barton, last March of an automobile. Anything you want. I mean, just as you said, Lieutenant. Oh, it's theater. Accidents, intersection, 93rd and Lexington, 129 a.m., 8th March, 1951. Jim, Barton 19, hit by Club Coupé, compound fracture of both legs, possible internal injuries, coupé driven by a Charles Rosson of 1840, 60, 62. Is this the one you want to look at, Lieutenant? Never mind, Nichols, I'll take it with me. Anything you want, Lieutenant Ladd. That's right. I'm from the police. My name's Clover. Yeah? Uh, may we talk inside? If you believe we should, of course. Please come in. Thanks. Now, what is it? What a boy named James Barton. Oh, please. What? I just refuse to talk about it anymore. Oh. For months after it happened, newspaper reporters, insurance adjusters, traffic safety engineers, now you. Now there's a difference. James Barton's been hurt all over again. Well, what do you want me to do? I don't want you to do anything, Mrs. Rosson. Boy's been hurt, we're trying to find out why. The way we do things like this is to... Take up the edge of his life and hunt for clues. I know, I know. I'm glad you do. Let's get on with it. As if you already don't know. All I'm asking you is your version of that accident. My husband and I were coming home from the evening. My husband was driving slowly, but fast enough to break that boy's legs when he stepped in front of our car. We took him to a hospital. He admitted that he was at fault and absolved us. I haven't heard from him since. Now what? How about your husband? What about him? Do you know whether he's seen or heard from James Barton since the accident? No, let's call him at work and find out, shall we? Well, never mind, I... No, no, no, let's call him. Let's get rid of that boy's name around here once and for all. Charles? No, no, I'm all right. Listen, Charles, there's a policeman here. About that boy James Barton again. Well, he's had another accident or something. Anyhow, the policeman wants to know whether you've seen or heard from that boy since. That's what I told him. Well, good-bye, honey. See you tonight. All right? All right. Does that answer your question, Mr. Clover? All right. Thanks a lot, Mr. Charleston. Back to headquarters now through the prime when afternoon stands still for two hours. And when you get to where you're going, it's suddenly dark and to the office with the details and paperwork and the cigarette on the edge of the desk. The coffee's sent out for and drank. Reports to make and the quiet policeman pocket days then. The latest report from the hospital, Danny. James Barton might not die. Danny. Yeah? All that loot in that kid's room. What do you mean, his clothes? Such expensive stuff. And as far as we can find out the kid didn't have a job, that makes it loot. Thanks, Michael, and now I know him. You think maybe the kid's a thief, a young virtu... Danny! Here, the report just came in communication. Thanks, you know. Who? The man who was driving the car that ran in the last march to House Wilson. What about? He ran the corner from his office in the alley. That's where he was just found, shot to death. Listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fein and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Until December when, the year moves swiftly to the place of its dying, and Broadway arranges its emotions for the occasion. On planned flux, the current emotion, suitable for Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas future. And this, in high places, strategies are being shaped so that Santa will not bypass the boys. And Broadway walks by, glances out, hurries to buy the last-minute gift for the last-minute girl. The time is short, kid. Think fast. There must be something no one else has thought together. And at headquarters, new winter day, the patter of tired feet, the sound of manly giggles, as ribbon packages are stashed away in lockers. And in my office, Sergeant Gino Tartaglia will be able to suggest them for the holiday season. Take off your shoes, Danny. Don't fight me in this, Danny. Simply do as I say. One shoe off will be sufficient if modesty insists. I have tape measured ahead. What is this, Gino? Please, Gino, tell me. My eldest, Christina Tartaglia. She made me promise I would get your foot size unbeknownstly. I chose this method. Tell Christina's size, eleven and a half, Gino. I know, I know, Danny. But taking into consideration the Christmas present my eldest is knitting for you is a pair of space socks. Space socks? Therefore, in revealing to her your size foot, I must also take into consideration the layer of air which must be knitted in to offset the forces of cosmic energies with their nutrients and quotas. Such were the instructions I received from Space Cadetist 3ZXL Tartaglia. Danny, I must- Later, huh, Gino? Well, if you wish to fork the progress of the scientific mind, to work, shall we, Danny? You may measure me, Gino, but later, huh? Perhaps later. Now, to work. In the matter of Charles Walton deceased of a thirty-eight caliber bullet in an alley back of his office, these items and sundry investigations through it that he was a man respected in his line of business machine tools, that his bank account was commensurate with his type income, neither too large nor too small, but tidy, that his life insurance was placed with the firm Adler Insurance Brokers on Madison. Danny Clover speaking. Margaret and Danny, two things. Just got work from the hospital. Get Jimmy Barton's fine. He's setting up. And the other thing, that girl, minus small, you know, lives across the hall from Jimmy. Yeah, I know. What about her? She's down to emergency hospital visiting the beat-up boy. I thought maybe- Yeah, right away. Anything else, you know? Nothing. I had finished. I may go now. Well, don't talk, Jimmy. I'll be back. You can measure my foot. We shall see what we shall see. Don't forget your muffler, Lieutenant. Just let me suck this pillow for a second. Now you just lie back, Jimmy. The boy looks boys, doesn't he, Mr. Clover? How do you feel, Jimmy? Don't take your fingers away from my cheek, I know. Real good. That's how I feel, Clover. Who beat you up? Now, don't you make him think of a pleasant thought is what my Jimmy needs. Yeah. Who beat you up? I better tell him, honey. Then you go away. I guess. I don't know who beat me up. I was attacked from behind. I never saw him. Poor Jimmy. It was awful. You remember a man named Charles Ralston, Jimmy? Sure. What about him? Once he hit me with a car, it was my fault. Wet night all over, I stumbled into his car. What are you building? Since the accident, have you seen him? No. Did you know Mr. Ralston was dead? Dead. Last night, he was murdered. What about it, Jimmy? I know. Yeah, baby. Peel me one of those oranges you brought. Sure, honey. Mr. Ralston murdered him. And you beaten up? And once the two of us had an accident together. Now look at us. That's what I mean, Jimmy. Another thing. What do you do for a living? He saw the pretty stuff in your room, baby. Don't worry about me, Clover. How long has it been since you've had a job? Well, since that car accident last night. Used to work in a filling station before that. Now I can't face it. Thanks, Jimmy. Thanks, baby. I really need an orange or something. This fella's upsetting me terribly. Trails his hand gently through the boy's hair. Bites her lip. Muses over his problem. Then comes up with a solution. The box of candy she had brought. Opens it. Makes a decision. Bites into it. Takes the orange out of his hands. Feeds the candy to the boy. You're a blast shot. Believe the happy convalescence. And into December streets, walk it. And against background of Winfraid Tinsel, Winfraid crowd, pose the violence. The murdered man, Charles Rolston, a man who in March of last year had run down a boy. Boy, Jimmy Barton, who used to work a filling station but couldn't face the thought anymore. A 19-year-old boy with nice apartments, expensive things to wear to touch. Boy found beaten and $60 in his pocket. Boy with girl, Ina, boy without job. Run down nine months ago by Charles Rolston, beaten two nights ago, assailant unknown and enjoying every minute of it. So go now to a place to ask a question. Adler, insurance brokers, and Madison. Mr. Adler is highly pleased to meet you and won't you have a seat? His face will only take another minute. These shavers, electric and all are boom. A boom, Mr. Clover, to the male civilization. I must relate to the running to people and my thoughts on this subject. Here, see you later. Come on over here and see him like he... Look, Mr. Adler, I did move. Move, I can tell you. When I get through with her, Mrs. Cremat will tell you the same thing, I'll tell you. What? Aunt Lake Cremat, our newest widow. Husband tripped in the shower bed this morning, died on the way to the hospital. So I am pumping my face. I know my way right now to tell Adler. Poor Mrs. Cremat. Husband's insurance, all hers. It'll perk her up. Let's face forward to newly rich widows, huh, Mr. Clover? You're through now? Mmm, like a baby. Yeah. What's your problem, Mr. Clover? Charles Rolston. Fine fellow. Murder I read. You want to check on his insurance, huh? See, I'm way ahead of you. All right, tell me. Well, my opinion is you should mark up another tree, Mr. Clover. All Rolston characters, 10,000. 20 year life. These days, 10 grand is hardly worth coming for, isn't it? But the taxes, court costs, et cetera, et cetera. His wife with beneficiary? Why aren't you saying about that? Tell me. A year ago, she wasn't. Four months ago, she wasn't. Now, she is. Regardless. The Rolston's had a boy, 18, Charles Jr. He was with beneficiary. A year ago, it happened to him in Korea right away. Mr. Rolston wanted to change beneficiary to his wife. She wouldn't hear of it. She said keep it for her son. All right. The mothers in my business do that sometimes. They don't believe their boys are really killed. They just lost, not dead. Three months ago, Mrs. Rolston came around to the war department's way of thinking and the husband. So she let her husband make her beneficiary. Rolston carry accident insurance liability. Oh, you mean about when he ran down the kid James Barton? That's right. Yeah, he carried. We didn't pay a red cent. Mrs. Rolston wanted us to pay, but I outlined to her how the boys were up and down. It was his fault. So she was just being foolish. It didn't really penetrate them. No? No. I think she paid off all the boys' hospital bills, sent them books, California for things like that. Look, Mr. Culver, if you knew how anxious the widow gets, she hates to be kept away. Yeah, you're told me. Have fun, Mr. Adler. Come in, Danny, come in. Have a chair. What can I do for you this evening? How long has it been since you were at the hospital to see Jimmy Barton? Five this afternoon. He told me you were in this morning. He said you upset him. Upset him. I have a theory about that boy. Fun. Someone could beat him over the head with a baseball bat and he would become unconscious. But as far as beating him over the emotions, he would only grin at you. The layman phrase for it is, uh, tough cookie. A real hard boy, Danny. How badly was he hurt? Contusion. It was. He'll be released tomorrow. Could it be done tonight? I think so. Well, think about it right now, Dr. And tell me. All right, I'll release him. Good. Meet your phone, Dr. Help yourself. Danny. Danny, Markerman. Yeah. Jimmy Barton is going to be released from the emergency hospital. Salem. Right. You'll be where? Waiting to hear from you in my office. Oh, sure, Danny. Where it's warm, huh? That's right. I'll turn up the heat and think about you, Markerman. Thanks, Dr. Oh, the word was warm. The office. To look through a window out on the word was cold. Cities seen through beads of moisture. Crowd fleeing to a thousand places. Winter lights that speckle winter sky with colors and fleeting shapes. Winter building gray and stark. All of it framed in a patina of wet. Look at it. Wait for it. Danny Clover. You can come out now, Danny. The lady's apartment. You're right there. The phone call came out over here. Oh, sorry. Yes, I do. Oh, that's too bad. We want to tell Jimmy how glad we are he's up and about your apartment. What are you talking about? You got another way of saying it, Danny? Just let's go inside, Mrs. Well. The men. They're here. Please. Make yourself at home. How do you feel, Jimmy? Claire says I look awful. He does. Claire was going to make me a poultice. Isn't that what you call it, Claire? A poultice? Mr. Clover. Yeah? He didn't do so much. Yeah, we were worried. Yeah. That's right, Jimmy. Worried why a 19-year-old boy gets beaten up lands in a hospital. That's civilization for you, isn't it? What are you doing here, Jimmy? I'm going to tell you something. I really don't know. Honestly. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I really don't know. Honest. Jimmy. Honest, Claire. I got out of the hospital. I figured it was what you'd like me to do. Call you. Come over here. But I got to tell you, too. I don't know why. We're pleasant, Jimmy. The monogram shirt, the knitted sweater. It's hard of it. Not all. Jimmy. I think you better go home. Why? Just go. Stick around, son. Why do you want me to go home, Claire? Boy. She doesn't want you to be hurt. I'm not going to be hurt. That's all over. You want to tell us who beat you up now? He keeps eating you guys, don't it? Not especially, Jimmy. We know. Well, huh? Listen, you two. It's got to end now, Mrs. Ralf. You can't protect him anymore. And it started ending when your husband beat him up. Claire. What? They figured it out themselves. I didn't tell them. And that's what worries us, son. A kid gets beaten up by an older man in normal procedures to come running. Why didn't you? It would have spoiled a good thing. What are you talking about? I'm old enough to be. His mother. Yeah. Yeah. His mother. Yeah, that's what it is, Claire. His mother. Substitute of this boy for your son who was killed in Korea. What is it? You lied to us, Jimmy. When you said you hadn't seen the Ralphsons after you walked into their car. Well, after all, well, I figured I owe this lady something. This lady? This lady? You got a blast giving me presents, taking care of me. Why shouldn't I do something you asked me? Like lighter cops, even when it had murder in it. I didn't kill anybody. She did. I still got presents. And that's... that's all that counted? Sure. I'll just see what's happened to me. All I know is Claire gave me an allowance that made her happy. But not her husband. He got sick of it. Beat you up. Don't get a stay away. Claire. What, Jimmy? Is that what you want? To be my mother? Yeah. That's a fresh one. Jimmy. Are you sorry for me? What happens to that insurance you're supposed to get now? You think you'll get it? Knocking over Mr. Ralphsons and me? I could sure you just thought I'd ask. Forget it. It's a clock hour, the time of going home. But in a while, the night will dip down and touch the streets, and there'll be fury again. Rack and roar, and proud. The puppet dance into the furnace of light. Directed by Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Elliott Lewis. The musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Paula Winslow was heard as Claire Walson and Sam Edwards as Jimmy Barton. Featured in the cast, Welvina Temple, Steve Dunn and Tom Holland. Alexander speaking.